by April Taylor
Henry smiled broadly. “And if I am not told, I do not know of it. Mother, you are as clever as you are beautiful. I will leave all to you.”
He bent down to kiss her cheek once more and decided he was ready for breakfast and, moreover, breakfast with his Queen.
* * *
Boterel, accompanied by Frayner, opened Bertila’s cell door. The interrogator had allowed her a light shift to cover her nakedness, but even if he had not, Bertila had determined that she would show them nothing but contempt. She waited, head high, for their accusations to begin again.
“Mistress Quayne, your father has told us how your scar came to be removed. We need to know about the procedure used with the herbal poultice, how it was applied and how quickly your skin was repaired. We would like to join you in thanking God for the delivery from your deformity.”
The idea of a poultice was ludicrous. Even Bertila’s scant knowledge of medicinal remedies told her that. Her mind sped like a sparrow escaping the hawk. Corbin had told them something, that was certain, but what on earth was it? She would try and bluster her way through. It seemed obvious to her that Boterel had less stomach for this interrogation than she had first thought. Could she use that? Divide him and the priest?
Frayner spoke with practiced oiliness. “Silence is of no use to you. Mayhap you could clarify your father’s story. After all, if your accounts tally, you must be telling the truth.”
“I am not answerable to you. What have you told this man? That you are my parish priest? Fie upon you for a black liar as well as a bully and tyrant. I live in Hampton Wick, Master Boterel, not in Hampton.”
“We are permitted access to question witches wherever they are found. Do not play that game.”
Bertila’s lip curled as she summoned all the contempt she could muster. His reaction to her disdain might give her the time she needed to formulate an answer for, at this moment, she had no idea what to say. Frayner returned her gaze but said nothing. She schooled her features to remain calm whilst her mind raced. What was the most likely thing her father would have said? Think, Bertila, think. A cream. Yes, she felt sure that would have been his instinctive reply. She would mix what she knew to be the truth with a deceit and hope to God it tallied with what he had said.
“Father told me a physician came to the house. I do not remember him—I was too ill. He left cream. I used it on the scar.”
The light in Boterel’s face told her that his relief was profound.
“Mistress, you could have saved yourself and your father much pain and misery had you told us this three days ago.”
“Master Boterel, you could have saved us much pain and misery had you believed us.”
Her legs almost buckled and she had to tense her muscles to remain upright. Frayner looked like a hawk denied its prey.
“How do we know they speak the truth?”
Boterel turned. His voice sounded patient, but tinged with anger.
“Master Priest, they have had no opportunity to match their stories, but both tell the same. Did you not just say that if their testimony matched, then they must be telling the truth? I think you have mistaken medicine for sorcery.”
“That is no proof—” Frayner began, but Boterel cut him off.
“It is proof enough for me, and if I am wrong then I will pay the price. I can do nought but free them, believing them to be innocent of the crime of witchcraft. Furthermore, sir, I do not care to be used in this way so that you may gain access to another person. I have never met this Luke Ballard you speak of, but if you have cause to think he is using sorcery, then find your evidence and bring it to me. I will do the rest.” He turned to Bertila. “Mistress, I will have someone bring your clothes and then we will go to your father.”
Boterel strode out of the cell. Frayner cast one look of malice at Bertila before following him. The serving woman who brought her clothes had obviously been told to say nothing, refusing to utter one word, despite Bertila’s pleading questions. As soon as Bertila was dressed, the servant led her from the cell.
Frayner had not cared to stay at the scene of his rout, so it was Boterel, Bertila and the woman who entered Corbin’s cell. He had managed to half dress himself, but his hands shook and his face was gray. Bertila ran to him.
“Dearest father, what have they done to you?”
She could see that he tried to smile and speak to her, but could not. She grasped his left hand, but it lay limply in her own. She read confusion and distress in his face, but he was unable to speak, and the left side of his mouth dragged downwards. He sat looking at her, his eyes pleading a message she could not interpret.
Boterel came to his side to help him up. Bertila took his other arm. They finally managed to get him on his feet.
“Father, you frightened me,” Bertila said, walking towards the cell door. “We are free. We can go. They know we are innocent.”
She found herself whirling round and falling on top of her father as he collapsed onto the flagstones.
* * *
A sleepless night, a fight with evil and Byram’s news that Corbin and Bertila were in the Tower had rendered Luke’s brain as stodgy as raw dough. Try as he might, he seemed unable to make his mind focus on one thing long enough to put a logical string of thoughts together. This would never do. He realized that he had unthinkingly added betony to the potion he was making instead of feverfew, swore and threw the bowl the width of the shop. Rob came in at a run, the frightened, ashen-faced Alys close behind.
“Master?”
“All goes ill, Rob. I can make sense of nothing.”
Alys slipped past the boy and put her hand tentatively on Luke’s arm.
“Sir, I hope you do not think my presence has brought evil on your house. You have shown me nothing but kindness and I owe you much. Tell me if you think I should leave.”
Luke, glancing at Rob’s set face, changed his mind about suggesting that Alys walk through the door and not return. He did not know the extent or source of the arrow that had smitten these two, but he knew for a certainty that if Alys left, Rob would follow. He forced a smile.
“I am tired. Do not look so affrighted.”
“Mayhap you should take a potion, Luke.”
This was the third time he had needed a reminder. Twice from Rob and once from Byram. His brain must indeed be pulp. He nodded but stood motionless. Rob grasped his arm and pulled him onto the settle.
“I will make it. Sit there and rest. Alys will attend to that,” he added, pointing to the shattered bowl and its contents on the floor.
Joss stood on her hind legs and with her front paws resting on Luke’s thighs, put her cheek to his. Automatically his arm went around her and they stayed unmoving for a few moments until the tumult in Luke’s mind eased. Within minutes, Rob handed him a jack and he drained it.
Slowly but surely he felt strength returning. Rob’s only problem, Luke decided, feeling a punch of flavor fill his mouth, was that he thought putting more of one ingredient in would make the potion more potent, when all it did in reality was make the patient dizzy. However, now was not the time to point that out. He was fortunate in his servant, and if having Alys in the house was the price he had to pay to keep Rob happy, then he would do it.
A timid knock at the shop door had Luke jumping as much as if it had been smashed clean from its hinges. Rob cast one uncertain glance at him and went to open it. On the other side a serving girl stood with a sheet of paper in her hand. Rob blocked her entrance.
“Mistress, the shop is not open yet.”
“If you please, sir, I have a message for Master Ballard.”
Luke walked forward. “Who are you, mistress?”
“My name is Katelyn, sir. I was asked to give you this.”
She handed Luke the sealed note, curtsied, then turned and scurried away before he could ask any questions. Luke looked from the letter to Rob and then from Rob to Alys.
“Alys, why do we not go and see what we can forage for dinner?” the b
oy said, leading her back to the kitchen.
Luke waited until the door had closed, then sank back onto the settle and broke the wax seal. The message was short.
‘Father is ill. Come at once. Will.’
Luke dropped the letter, grabbed his scrip and left the house at a run.
* * *
King Henry decided to join Madeleine for breakfast in her Presence Chamber, since she refused to enter her Privy Chamber. He sat opposite her, eating crisp manchets spread with golden honey. Usually, he preferred meat for his first meal of the day and, like his father, every other meal, too. But Madeleine said the smell of it made her feel ill. Feeling happy with his lot, Henry had agreed to forgo his usual fare and found himself relishing the change.
“You look very content this morning, my lord.”
“How should I be otherwise, when I sit here enjoying your company, not to mention your beauty.” He reached across the table and took hold of her hand, bringing it to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. “Could ever a husband be as fortunate as I?”
She colored, just as he hoped she would. Little did she know that part of his suppressed glee was because he had interrupted Reynard, about to sit and eat with the Queen. Henry could tell from her clouded expression that she had not been at ease at the prospect of sharing a meal with her priest. What he could not fathom was why she had not told the man to quit her presence.
“As for fortune, my lord, it smiles on me.”
Henry waved away the attendants so that he could speak with his wife in private. She tensed.
“Tell me, Madeleine. Does Father Reynard make a habit of eating with you?”
“He has lately taken to doing so, my lord.” Her voice held no color and she did not meet his eyes.
“And is it your wish that he should?” Henry’s voice was almost a purr, and when she looked up from her platter and gazed at him, they both knew she did not have to answer.
“He is favored by my uncle, but it is not just him. Ambassador Fuentes also fabricates reasons to come and offer his good wishes, usually at the most inconvenient times. It is bad enough that Father Reynard drops in, but I begin to think the Spaniard’s cook starves him. He has arrived three times this week just as I sat down to table.”
Henry frowned.
“Sweetheart, you are the Queen of England. My Queen. It matters not who is favored by whom. The King of France holds no sway in my court and the Spanish even less. I will not have them pestering you.”
It was her turn to catch at his hand.
“Tread carefully, my love. Father Reynard has an air about him that brooks no argument and as for the Spanish, well...” She left the sentence unfinished.
“Fie. You are the Queen. You command them, not the other way round.”
Her face fell and he saw worry sweep into her eyes.
“Sweetheart, I will not have this fear on you. I will have words with both gentlemen.”
Her hand squeezed his.
“No, I beg of you. It is not long until my confinement. We will make a decision after I have given you your son. For my sake, make no noise about this. It would only cause discord with France and drive them into the arms of Spain. Uncle Louis tells me that the Guise faction gains power daily at the French court. Any disruption would give them the opportunity they crave to rise against him.”
He inclined his head, accepting the wisdom of her words, before raising his voice.
“Summon Father Reynard.”
Winking at his wife, the King waited for the cleric, who bowed with practiced ease. Almost, Henry thought, as if he made a jest at their expense. Well, he would soon learn the extent of his error. Meanwhile, again recalling Cranmer’s suggestion of honeyed words, he smiled.
“Father Reynard, we wish to commend you for the care of our Queen.” Henry saw some of the tension ease from the priest’s face. “There is a chance that we may need to send you on a delicate mission to France.”
Reynard bowed again. “Sire, my only pleasure is to serve you, but I would be loath to leave the Queen before her confinement.”
“Quite so. However, that is a decision for us. And Her Grace’s doctors, of course. You need have no cause for concern regarding Her Grace’s health. We are keeping the closest possible watch on her, and anything that affects her equilibrium.”
“Then, Sire, I am at your disposal.”
A little serving wench tripped forward with a bowl, setting it in front of the Queen. Henry looked at his wife and laughed.
“Surely, Madam, you have eaten sufficient. What is this?”
“I did not ask for it, my lord,” she replied, her smile showing two delightful dimples. “But I do not complain. It is apricots in sugar and I cannot seem to get enough of them.”
“I must agree with His Majesty,” Reynard said. “A surfeit of sweet things is not conducive to your health, and you may make the babe ill.”
“But I like sweet things.”
“Your father charged me with your care, Madam, as did your uncle. Surely you have eaten enough this morning.”
“What nonsense,” Madeleine retorted and picked up her spoon.
Chapter Sixteen
Luke spoke to the yeomen guards on the main gate who told him Captain Creswell was at the Royal Mews still trying to discover the identity of the dead man. Uttering a prayer of thanks, Luke ran, arriving at the stables a few minutes later, panting with apprehension over Corbin as much as from exertion.
He found Byram surrounded by several women, all of whom appeared to have misplaced their husbands. Despite the urgency of his mission, Luke could not stop the grin that rose to his lips. The captain may have been a martinet to his men, but he was out of his depth when it came to the opposite sex. Mayhap that was why the two of them had become such good friends. He caught Byram’s eye and saw an expression of relief come over his face.
“I shall be back anon. Wait here,” Creswell shouted over the hubbub and hurried across to Luke. “I was never more pleased to see anyone. What in God’s name should I do with this gaggle?”
“Where is the body?”
“In one of the empty stalls.”
“Then order your men to guard it and another to conduct each claimant to examine it. If they want to fight over who sees it first, tell them they will all be placed under arrest.”
Creswell turned to go, but Luke caught his arm.
“Byram, I am in urgent need of a fast horse. Corbin is ailing. Will Quayne sent the little maidservant to tell me.”
Luke was heartened to see that, although Byram might not be able to handle a parcel of squawking women, when it came to a real emergency, he was quick and resolute. Shouting for the stable lads, he ordered a huge chestnut stallion to be saddled.
“This is Ranger,” he told Luke. “Just bring him back when you are finished with him. I will inform the Mewsmaster.” Byram turned, rubbing his hand over his mouth as he gazed back at the women awaiting his return. “And I will go and address this little problem.”
Although Luke had spent a good deal of his early life on horseback, it took some time to get used to Ranger’s bouncy energy, especially with Joss draped around his body. He could feel the horse’s desire to gallop its heart out, so as soon as they reached the parkland, Luke let him have his head turning for Hampton Wick and Corbin’s house.
Arriving there, he was more than relieved to see Will fling open the door and come to grab the horse’s reins.
“Is he here?”
“Yes, Luke. Anthony Boterel sent word from the Tower and Master Parry gave me leave to fetch them both. Boterel assures me that there is no truth in the accusations that Frayner made, but I do not know what ails Father.”
Luke strode into the kitchen. Bertila sat, her arms crossed over each other, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her cheeks. She saw Luke and ran to him.
“Luke, Luke, they have killed him. He lies in bed like a board, neither moving nor speaking.”
He kissed her cheek and gave
her a brotherly shake.
“Take me to him.”
That first sight of his old master’s drooping face was one of the worst experiences of his life. Corbin appeared to be in a world of his own, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, taking note of nothing around him. Forcing himself to breathe calmly, Luke walked to the bed.
“How now, Master? I did not think to find you abed at this time of day.”
Corbin’s head moved a little and Luke reached for his hand. It was as cold as December. Luke frowned. He turned to Bertila.
“Tell me what happened.”
Whilst she explained, he squeezed Corbin’s fingers. No response. Leaning over, he squeezed the other and was rewarded with an answering pressure. Next, he pulled back the blanket and twisted the large toe on Corbin’s left foot. Nothing. The same exercise on the toe of his right foot brought forth an irritated grunt on the part of his patient. Finally, he took a chair from the corner of the room and placed it next to the bed before sitting on it and making his tone reassuring and calm.
“Corbin, I know you can hear me even though you cannot speak. Can you blink your eyes if you understand me? Good. You have suffered a seizure. It is nothing for you to worry about. I can make up a remedy to help you. You cannot stand because your left side has lost all feeling. I have seen this before and so have you, my friend.”
He saw the old man’s eyes blink.
“They have sorely tried you, but you and Bertila are safe now. Put your trust in God and the medicine. I will formulate the remedy now.”
Luke turned to Bertila.
“If Will and I can sit him up, do you think you could get some vegetable broth into him? He needs sustenance, as do you.”
Luke asked Will to stay with Corbin and made sure Bertila occupied herself with food for her father. He would need to talk to her later, but for now, he thought it best that she kept busy.
The little maid, Katelyn, was doing her utmost to take the running of the house as much off her mistress’s shoulders as possible, and making a fair mess of it by the look of things, but that, too, would keep Bertila’s mind engaged.