The Reluctant Assassin

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  ‘And how long were you on the cart after that?’

  ‘Eternity,’ I said.

  Brockley smiled, but grimly. Dale said: ‘Oh, Roger, you mustn’t harass the mistress so!’

  ‘He has to,’ I said, dragging at my memory. ‘It seemed a long time. But ten minutes would seem a long time to anyone wrapped in a carpet and jolting along on a cart. And when we did get to the house where I was held, I never saw the outside of it, not the front, anyway. I did see the back. It was very ordinary but I think it was fairly big. If we could find out what houses have been bought or rented lately, in an arc round Priors Ford … we might not have gone straight on northwards. I couldn’t tell about that.’

  ‘Adam Wilder was born at Hawkswood,’ Brockley said. ‘He knows the country for miles around, has known it all his life. He knows every house for miles, as well. If you agree, I’ll consult with him and take him with me, and my name isn’t Roger Brockley if we don’t find the right place soon. Though it will probably be empty,’ he added. ‘Having got rid of you, I doubt if they would stay where they were. They evidently had another base, since you say they told you that Harry was in a different house.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘But we might find out something about the enemy’s further movements,’ Brockley said. ‘A party of strolling players with a handcart would surely be noticed by someone. Well, we can but try. Meanwhile, let us make for home.’

  Once we were home, I was overtaken by exhaustion and told Dale that I wished to retire at once. It was already nearly supper time. Dale saw me to bed. I settled under the covers and abruptly, taking even myself by surprise, burst into tears.

  Dale sat down on the edge of the bed and put her arms round me. ‘Ma’am, please don’t. Don’t take on like this. It will be all right. Roger will find Harry and bring him home, I am sure he will. Try to believe that. Do please try.’

  ‘It’s a nightmare!’ I tried, through my tears, to explain. ‘I can’t kill someone in cold blood! How can I? It’s impossible, I could never make myself do such a thing, not in a million years, and even if I could, I wouldn’t dare. If I couldn’t make it look natural or accidental, then I would be brought to justice. This is England! The law would have to be upheld. The queen couldn’t let it be publicly said that she had connived at murder. And yet, there’s Harry and what will happen to him if we don’t rescue him in time! I feel as though I’m going out of my mind. I’m being attacked by a weapon of many prongs. Whichever way I turn … whichever way I turn …’

  ‘I am going to fetch Gladys,’ said Dale with decision. ‘She must give you one of her draughts, to get you to sleep. That’s what you need, ma’am, most of all. Sleep.’

  She fetched the draught and I drank it and not greatly to my surprise or anyone else’s, woke up in the morning with the migraine I had been fearing and expecting. I usually managed to overcome these attacks within one day but this time, although Gladys brewed me a whole series of soothing potions I only threw them up. It took me a full two days to recover.

  Brockley said he had let it be known as widely as possible that I was ill; in particular, he had let Laurence Miller know it. He hoped that the news would reach the ears of my captors, so that they would understand that for the time being I could not travel to Sheffield or anywhere else. It would gain us time, just a little time.

  Meanwhile, he and Adam Wilder were going to the district north of Hawkswood, to investigate houses. After some thought, I sent my youngest groom, Eddie, with them. Eddie had come to work for me five years before, when he was only sixteen. Then, he had been shy and nervous, though not of the horses. But those five years had changed him. He was twenty-one now, a vigorous, bright and even, on occasion, a slightly saucy young man. He kept his dark hair tidily short but because it was wiry hair, it tended to stick up in unexpected spikes, which somehow reflected his nature.

  He was also athletic and strong, and quick-thinking. Eddie could well be useful, I thought.

  TEN

  A House Without Dogs

  They were to work discreetly. Even through the agony of my headache and the turbulence in my stomach, I managed to make that clear. Brockley and Wilder must find the house if they could but the idea that its tenants – or recent tenants – were criminals must not be bruited about.

  ‘I shall be amazed if they’re still in the house where I was taken,’ I said. ‘But we have to begin somewhere. You had better make enquiries – at inns and so on – about strolling players. Say that we want to find them again to ask for a repeat performance because we enjoyed their show so much. Ask if anyone knows of a house that was occupied by strolling players for a while. Say they gave the impression that they had a base out towards the north of Hawkswood. But make sure that you only make such enquiries from people who don’t know who you are.’

  ‘And if we find the house and they are still there?’ Brockley asked.

  ‘I doubt it,’ I said. ‘I doubt that very much. But if it happens …’ My voice trailed off for a moment. My head felt as though a hammer were pounding it, just over my left eye. Thinking was painful. ‘If they are still there,’ I said, ‘I want them watched. Eddie can carry reports to me while you and Wilder stay on guard. It will need two of you for that. Find a room or an inn nearby, and then one of you can watch the house by day and the other by night. If you see them preparing to move, follow them. They may lead us to Harry. Go armed. Just in case. You and Wilder can handle swords; find a dagger for Eddie.’

  The three of them set off, and I rested on my pillows and strove to recover. They returned that evening, having had no success, and rode off again the next morning. During that second day, my headache did gradually subside and I stopped throwing up. Once more, they came home with no success to report, but there was a good deal of ground to cover and quite a number of possible houses not yet investigated. Perhaps the third day would be bring good luck.

  That night, I slept fairly well and woke feeling better. Migraine, once it had gone, sometimes left me feeling weak, but this never lasted. Normal health would reappear with astonishing speed. I took some breakfast and not only kept it down, but wanted it. Having eaten, I felt a desire for fresh air and went outside, into a bright May morning, taking with me a carrot to give to my mare, Jewel. I found the groom Simon wisping her. Her coat was glossy and becoming glossier still under his ministrations but his face was unhappy.

  ‘These are sad times, Simon,’ I said, as I presented the carrot. ‘Wilder, Brockley and Eddie are out on a search for Harry and we hope we may find him, but … we are all drowning in worry.’

  ‘All the worse for losing the dogs, madam,’ Simon said gloomily. It was usually his business to feed them. ‘Bad enough about Master Harry, but the dogs as well! Arthur and I saw to burying them, madam; a sorry business. And now – well, a house without dogs isn’t properly alive, to my mind.’

  ‘You’re right.’ I had felt it myself as I crossed the courtyard and no lively canine friends had come bouncing to meet me as they usually did. Yes, something must be done about that. And although I had written to the Ferrises at White Towers, I ought to see them for myself. ‘Simon, finish Jewel as soon as you can. I shall need her.’

  ‘I will, madam,’ Simon said earnestly. I smiled at him, though smiling at all, at anyone, for any reason, was an effort. I returned to the house and paused in the hall, thinking. Then I went upstairs to the room that had been – no, was – Harry’s schoolroom. I had guessed right. Philip Sandley was there, sitting at the table, busy writing. He looked up as I entered.

  ‘Mistress Stannard! I was just … well, my pupil isn’t here but I can at least be ready for him when he comes back. I am roughing out a series of arithmetic lessons for him.’

  ‘How are you now?’ I asked. ‘How is your head? I see you’ve got rid of your bandage.’

  ‘I am all right, I think. Perhaps still a little shaken, but the headache has gone. It faded quite quickly.’

  ‘Could you manage to ride, do yo
u think? Slowly, at ease. But I want to visit the Ferrises at White Towers – where we went when we first searched for Harry, if you remember. The Ferrises breed dogs and nearly always have some for sale. We need dogs here. And since Remus and Goldie …’ My voice shook.

  Philip smiled, but in a kindly way, and for a moment, I saw his father, the young Brockley, look out of his eyes. If the world had been different, if circumstances had been different, Brockley and I, who had once so nearly become lovers, could have had a son like Philip. I pushed this foolish thought away. ‘I should like company,’ I said.

  He stoppered his ink jar and laid his quill aside. ‘Of course I’ll come,’ he said.

  It was good to be mounted and riding gently through the woods. Dread and sorrow gnawed at me but when all was said and done, Harry was not dead and somehow – I was determined on it – we would get him back home. Remus and Goldie were gone, which was painful to think about, but there would be new dogs soon, to love and play with. Things would come right in the end, said the bright, cool May sunlight and the piping of blackbirds, the murmur of wood doves and the soft thud of hooves on leaf mould.

  At White Towers, Christina came hurrying out into the courtyard to meet us. I looked at her with affection. She had been married for over ten years now and had three children. Two others had died in babyhood, which was a common misfortune, but the trio of survivors were thriving. Her marriage to Thomas Ferris had put an end to a long-standing feud between their two families, and she had in fact chosen well, for big, broad-shouldered Thomas was a kind and sensible man.

  During their courtship, Christina had had smallpox, which had spoiled her face, but where many young men would have turned away from a girl so badly pockmarked, Thomas appeared hardly to notice. He had merely told her that she still had her beautiful beechnut-brown hair and sparkling dark eyes and that they were enough for him. She had them yet, and her pocks seemed to have eroded with time. They were much less noticeable than they had been. Now, as she came quickly to greet me, it was the look of welcome and question in her expressive eyes that I noticed.

  She burst into speech as soon as Philip and I had dismounted. ‘Ursula! We had your note, so we knew that you were safe home again. Knowing that you are sometimes involved in secret matters, we guessed – we had already guessed – that you wouldn’t want idle talk. There has been none. Thomas and I have made that clear to all our household. But oh, Ursula, what happened? Is there any news of Harry? Come inside. We can’t talk easily out here in the courtyard.’

  We followed her into the great hall, where she invited us to sit down. The big hall of White Towers had changed a lot since I first saw it, years ago. White Towers had been a legacy from Thomas’s parents, who had had ambitious notions and had made their hall pretentious. It had had little colour in it, for they thought bright colours frivolous, and the furniture had been over-impressive, the table and sideboard so massive that there was hardly enough room to pass between them. Somehow, they made even the air feel heavy.

  But the older generation of Ferrises had died, and Christina and Thomas had a cheerful attitude to life. The walls now were bright with tapestries of hunting scenes, showing gaily dressed people on bay and chestnut horses riding through a woodland full of light green leaves, and the furniture was smaller and more convenient and veneered in some golden coloured wood. The weather was bright but not so very warm, so there was a fire, round which the three of us now gathered.

  Christina said: ‘You can trust our discretion. But please, tell me what you can.’

  ‘We can’t, or very little,’ Philip said. ‘Isn’t that so, Mistress Stannard?’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ I said. I looked frankly at Christina. ‘I was seized, and then released, and please forgive me, Christina, but I must not tell you more because if I do, I could put Harry in danger. Please leave it there. I came today to make doubly sure about your discretion, but also about something quite different. When I was seized, the dogs that were with me and Philip here were killed by my attackers. Remus and Goldie. They were lovely dogs. We need replacements. I was hoping you had a suitable litter and were willing to sell.’

  There was a pause, before Philip said kindly: ‘We do take care of our dogs. What happened to Remus and Goldie was just … an unexpected tragedy.’

  ‘I do lead an unsafe life,’ I admitted, recalling the previous occasion when one of my dogs had died because of my work. ‘But I will do my best to make sure that nothing happens to any more dogs of mine. Can you help, Christina? I don’t want small puppies, but young animals just out of puppyhood.’

  Christina smiled. ‘We know you care for your animals. All your dogs and horses look well fed. I was just thinking over the possibilities. In fact, we have two different litters where the puppies are now at the right age to leave home. If you have one from each, a dog and a bitch, they won’t be related, and you can breed from them. Oh, Thomas!’

  Clad in breeches and boots and a loose jacket over an open shirt, her husband had just come into the hall. He removed the dashing green hat he was wearing, bowed to us, and after throwing the hat onto the table, pulled up a stool and came to join us by the hearth.

  ‘You want new dogs? I heard you, just now. I’m sure we can help.’ His eyes searched my face. ‘Is there any news of Harry?’

  ‘Brockley and Wilder are pursuing enquiries. But as I said in the note I sent, it is essential that as few people as possible know about either Harry’s abduction or mine. For Harry’s own sake. I can’t say any more.’

  ‘I understand. But if we can help in any way, please call on us.’

  Philip said: ‘Mistress Stannard, could we not at least ask about the strolling players?’

  I rubbed my forehead, where, for a moment a twinge had reminded me of my recent migraine. ‘I suppose so.’ I looked at Thomas and Christina. ‘Without going into details about why I am asking, could you tell me, earlier this year, did you by any chance have a visit from a group of strolling players – all quite young, and one of them a red-haired girl? We did, and I would like to find them again.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ said Thomas.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  Christina turned to me. ‘They did indeed come here, some time ago now. And we know where they are now,’ she said. ‘We have let my great-uncle’s house to them.’

  I looked at the two of them in astonishment. ‘Your great-uncle’s house? I didn’t even know you had a great-uncle! What do you mean?’

  ‘Those players came here,’ said Christina. ‘In April some time. They performed for us one evening. They were staying in a Woking inn but they said their quarters were cramped and they wanted to hire a house somewhere within fairly easy reach of Woking and Guildford and Leatherhead. They said that was how they went about things – choosing a district, establishing a base in the middle of it and then working through all the possible households, before moving on. Isn’t that right, Thomas?’

  ‘Yes. And as it happened,’ said Thomas, ‘we could help them, because of Christina’s great-uncle Robert.’

  ‘He was my mother’s uncle,’ said Christina. ‘He died only a few weeks ago. Most of his money went to his manservant and there were small bequests as well to people who did the garden and cleaned, but I was his only surviving relative, so he left the house and its contents to me. We never saw much of him when he was alive; he wasn’t married and he wasn’t sociable, either. He lived alone except for the manservant. We were still wondering what to do with the house when these players appeared, and we saw a way of using it.’

  ‘If we let it to them on a temporary basis,’ said Thomas, ‘it would be occupied, and we would make some money from it, and we could take our time over deciding what to do with it eventually – sell it or keep on renting it out. It might be useful for one of the children, later. So we offered to lease it to the players for three months and they accepted gladly. I think they moved in almost at once – the place was furnished, you see. We had been to see it but we didn’t remo
ve anything.’

  ‘What is it called?’ I asked. ‘And where is it?’

  ‘Heath House, it’s called,’ said Thomas. ‘It’s in a dip in those low hills between Ashtead and Epsom. It isn’t old. Christina’s great-uncle only bought it three years ago – isn’t that right, Christina? It was newly built, then.’

  ‘That’s so,’ said Christina, nodding.

  ‘We’ll find it,’ said Philip. ‘It shouldn’t be difficult.’

  ‘Oh, we can give you directions,’ said Christina easily. ‘About halfway between Ashtead and Epsom – the market town; you know it, I suppose – there’s a track leading off to the left. It goes uphill and down dale and across some common land and then it forks. The left fork goes to Priors Ford and the other straight on to Heath House.’

  She rose to her feet. ‘But I imagine that you won’t be rushing off there instantly! You must stay and dine with us. And, of course, you have to choose your new dogs.’

  She moved towards the door and as she did so, because she wasn’t wearing a farthingale, I noticed her waistline. ‘Christina!’ I said. ‘Are you expecting again?’

  She and Thomas both laughed. ‘In the autumn,’ said Christina. ‘We hope for a son.’ Her face grew suddenly sad. ‘I have Edward and his two sisters, but the two that died were both boys. Well, you know what happened. All the children had the scarlet fever together. Edward and the girls pulled through; Johnny and Hal did not. They were the youngest, too small to fight back, perhaps.’

  ‘I hope you’ll get your wish,’ I said and Philip said kindly: ‘We will pray for you.’

  We rode home in the afternoon, accompanied by a weatherbeaten, heavily built man who was the Ferris kennelman, and two young half-mastiffs, one dog and one bitch, from different litters, as Christina had said. They were both very beautiful. The young bitch had a coat the colour of ripe wheat – ‘Thomas and I both heard stories about the Vikings when we were children, so we decided to call her after a Viking goddess of fertility,’ said Christina, laughing. ‘She answers to Freya. The dog is called Prince. He has a princely bearing, don’t you think?’