The Reluctant Assassin

by FIONA BUCKLEY

  He did. His coat was an unremarkable brown and had some dark stripes, but he had a proud walk. The kennelman came with us on a pony, carrying a basket with spare collars and leads and the toys and blankets that Freya and Prince were used to, so that he could see them settled into their new home.

  As we rode back, the pair were allowed to range, just as Goldie and Remus had done on their last day. This time, no one attacked us. I watched my new acquisitions running among the trees and sniffing at roots and undergrowth and felt what I always felt when dogs died and had to be replaced: a wrench at the heart. The transition of affection couldn’t take place without that.

  Once home, there was the pleasant bustle of introducing the pair to their new kennel and showing them to the grooms, especially Simon, who would be feeding them. The kennelman gave precise instructions about the kind of food that would suit them best. Then we gave him some ale and sent him back to White Towers, and played with Freya and Prince a little, to make them feel at home, and waited impatiently for Brockley and Wilder and Eddie to come back.

  They were late and dusk was falling by the time they rode in, looking dispirited and with nothing to report, Brockley said, as they came into the hall, where I was sitting with Sybil and Dale. Philip’s headache had returned just after we reached home, and he had gone to his room to rest.

  ‘But we have something!’ I announced. ‘Sheer chance but what good luck! We know where the house is and what it’s called.’

  They all looked amazed, including Eddie, who had come into the hall with the others though as he was not indoor staff, he was hanging politely back.

  ‘Heath House,’ I said. ‘In the hilly common land between Ashtead village and Epsom!’ I explained about Christina’s legacy from her great-uncle, and the way she and Thomas were now using it.

  ‘Heath House?’ Wilder was puzzled. ‘I’ve never heard of it, and I thought I knew most of the houses in that district. That’s odd.’

  ‘Well, we know how to get to it,’ I said, and repeated Christina’s instructions.

  While I was talking, Eddie’s eyes were widening. ‘I know it! I’m sure I do! I called there once, on a hot day, to ask for a drink of water. I was exercising one of the horses! We haven’t been to that part of the district yet, madam, but …’ he turned to Wilder ‘… it’s quite new, only built a few years ago and it wasn’t called Heath House to begin with. It was Vale House at first.’

  ‘Vale House!’ Wilder beamed. ‘Oh, yes, of course. I do know it! Or used to. Maybe this great-uncle changed the name when he moved in.’

  ‘We had better go and look at it,’ I said. ‘If we find it and I think it’s the right place, we must find out if they’re still there and if so, keep watch. If they are gone, perhaps we can get some news of the direction they went in – someone might know, someone who did the garden or delivered food supplies there, or did building repairs. But we must be discreet. They mustn’t know we are trailing them, because that could be so dangerous to Harry.’

  ELEVEN

  Dead End

  ‘That must be it,’ said Brockley.

  We had halted on the crest of a low hill, having advanced warily, using the cover of a woodland patch. We were still under the shadow of the trees as we drew rein, looking down into the small valley below us. Wilder, Brockley and Eddie were my companions. Philip had wanted to come, but had admitted to being headachy again, and Brockley had discouraged the idea.

  ‘You never know, with bangs on the head. You’d better rest until you’re properly well again, son. You shouldn’t have ridden to White Towers.’

  I was a little amused to see how completely Brockley had accepted the responsibilities of fatherhood, and how well the pair of them were getting on.

  ‘Does it look like the right place, madam?’ Wilder asked.

  ‘As far as it goes,’ I said. ‘Thatch, red brick and I can see gable windows. All that’s right. It’s also ordinary. There are thousands of houses just like that. From what Mistress Ferris said, this ought to be the place but I wish we could risk a closer look.’

  ‘There’s no chimney smoke,’ Brockley remarked. ‘And I can’t see anyone in the grounds.’

  ‘It’s a warm morning,’ said Eddie. ‘I could do as I did before – call and ask for a drink of water. That time, I spoke to a manservant; must have been the old great-uncle’s man. He’ll be gone by now. If anyone is there at all, it won’t be him. But it might be the players. Anyhow, I think I could find out.’

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Go along, then. Be careful. You’re out exercising one of my horses and you’re thirsty. That’s all.’

  ‘I wonder if we’re wise.’ As we watched Eddie ride off, Brockley was uneasy. ‘They could have seen that lad when they came to Hawkswood. If they’re there, they might recognize him.’

  ‘He can still be out exercising a horse and feeling thirsty,’ I said. ‘I doubt if they’ll harm him unless he shows too much curiosity and I think he has more sense. But …’ a new idea occurred to me ‘… if they do recognize Eddie as a Hawkswood man, well, that might make them decide to move. And if we’re on the watch and follow them – we just might find Harry. One has to take a chance sometimes, and seize a chance if it offers.’

  ‘You, madam, have taken chances so often that I often wonder you’re still alive!’ said Brockley candidly.

  Wilder said: ‘I hope that lad comes back safely, that’s all.’

  He need not have worried. Eddie was back in a very short time, shaking his head. ‘There’s no one there; I’ll take my oath on it. No answer to my knock, no sounds from inside. I put my ear to the door and yes, I did venture to peep in at a window. There was a room inside with tables and benches and things and a hearth, but no fire in it, not that that’s odd, on a warm day like this, but everything looked somehow – like it wasn’t being used.’

  I considered for a moment and then said: ‘Let’s go closer. If I can, I want to make sure that it really is the right place.’

  ‘That’s taking a chance,’ Brockley demurred.

  ‘Not so much of one, with you three beside me,’ I said. ‘And we’re all armed.’ As I spoke, I touched my riding skirt, and felt the hidden pouch, and the outline within it of my own small dagger.

  ‘True,’ said Brockley. And then his eyes gleamed. It was as it had so often been in the past. Brockley was protective of me and did not really approve of my way of life, and yet, when it came to the point, he would suddenly spark into adventurousness. ‘And if by chance we do find any of them there … yes, I suggest herding them at sword-point into one room and locking it, and keeping just one of them – the ringleader you told us about, madam, if he’s there – in our hands, and making him talk, also at sword-point.’

  ‘I fancy he will,’ Wilder agreed, glancing thoughtfully at Brockley.

  ‘Oh, he will. He’ll spill beans in abundance, like a kitchen maid who has tripped over the kitchen cat,’ Brockley assured him.

  ‘Assuming she’s carrying a crock of beans and not a bowl of eggs!’ remarked Eddie. ‘That would just make a mess!’ Whereupon we all laughed and as one, we urged our horses on and went at a canter down the sloping path before us.

  Heath House was surrounded by a fence, which by the look of it embraced not only a small front garden but a fair-sized garden at the rear. I recalled that the room I had slept in during my captivity had had a view of a rear garden. To the right of the house, there was an open archway which seemed to offer access to the property. We rode through.

  We found ourselves in a small stable yard. There were no horses to be seen. Another open archway to the left led us into a paved yard, with the back garden to the right, and the back of the house to the left. Glancing at it, I saw the windows I recalled, including the gable windows peeping out of the thatched roof. Such things were certainly features common to many houses but there in front of me was the shed which was the necessary house. Pulling up, I slid out of my saddle, handing my reins to Eddie.

  ‘Wai
t here.’ I went into the shed. It was dim inside but I left the door open and stooped to look at the right-hand wall, low down. My red chalk square was there. I backed out and shut the door after me. ‘It’s the right place,’ I said. ‘I left a mark. Do we go in? Maybe they’ve left a window unlocked somewhere.’

  Wilder, however, had also dismounted and had been trying door and windows. ‘They haven’t, madam,’ he said.

  ‘We can try,’ I said hopefully. ‘I have my picklocks with me.’

  But the picklocks failed me. I tried them on the back door, but though the lock turned, the door remained fastened, and felt as though it had a bolt inside. However, there was a fairly big mullioned window giving on to the room where I had been a reluctant dinner guest and been told of my hideous assignment.

  I peered through the glass and said: ‘There’s a latch here and if we can just get at that, we can probably open this window. I think we should. This is serious business, to do with saving Harry and an assassination plot. Go on, Brockley. Get us in. If anyone pounces on us, it will most likely be them. We have no need to justify ourselves to the people who have kidnapped Harry and we can pay the Ferrises for any damage we commit.’

  ‘Very well, madam,’ said Brockley and without hesitation used his sword-hilt to break one pane of glass so that he could put a hand in and lift the window latch. We left Eddie to hold the horses while the rest of us climbed in. I was wearing a very simple dress, not too full, with no ruff or farthingale, and with Wilder’s help I was able to manage the scramble quite well.

  Inside, the house was silent. We had made a good deal of noise when we broke in, but if anyone were lurking indoors, they hadn’t come to investigate. Keeping together, we moved from room to room, finding nothing but basic furnishings, mostly in need of dusting. The ground floor was empty and there didn’t seem to be a cellar. Cautiously, we climbed the stairs.

  We found the room where I had slept. The bed was stripped of coverings, though its hangings were still there. By the look of things, the players had taken away whatever items they had brought with them, but left the things they had found already there.

  It was much the same in the other bedchambers. We found a half-used candle beside one bed and a jug containing some stale water beside another but nothing to suggest present occupation. We went up to the attics, where the windows poked out of the thatch. These were not furnished as bedchambers, but seemed to be storerooms. One had some spare bedlinen on shelves and some stools and benches roughly stacked together; the other was empty but had scuff marks in the dust on its plank floor. It had perhaps been used to house some of the players’ equipment.

  There was no one to be found, and nor was there any indication of where the erstwhile tenants might have gone. I poked and peered, looking under pillows and pallets and in drawers, in case I might find a forgotten letter or sketch map or other document in which there was useful information but there was nothing.

  ‘We’ve found the house,’ Brockley said at last. ‘But it can’t tell us anything at all. What now, madam?’

  ‘We go home,’ I said. ‘And I think I must go to Sheffield and at least give the impression of … preparing to do as I am asked.’

  I was silent for a moment after that, remembering that Sheffield Castle was where Sir George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury was living, and where I would once more encounter his amorous clerk Russell Woodley, who might, quite possibly, pursue me again. Well, I would just have to cope with him. I had more important matters on my mind.

  ‘Somehow or other, before it’s too late,’ I said to Brockley, ‘you must – you must – find Harry!’

  TWELVE

  Sheffield Castle

  It was over a hundred and seventy miles to Sheffield. My late husband Hugh had, when young, travelled a good deal in England and had left maps that gave useful information about routes and distances. It took six days to get there, though that was to the good, since every one of those days represented another stretch of time during which Brockley and Wilder just might manage to trace Harry.

  One thing that helped to slow the journey down was the fact that I took Hugh’s old coach. Coach travel is always slower than horseback. Though I didn’t take the coach just to provide time; it was a practical necessity. Dale was to come with me but nowadays she wasn’t equal to a long journey on horseback, still less in the wet and windy weather which had now set in. She was apt to take cold.

  Besides, I must take my court dresses, since I was paying a visit to a noble house and would have to attend on Mary Stuart, who was a queen, albeit a dispossessed one. Some of my gowns were therefore elaborate, especially the ones designed for the open ruffs which were so much in fashion. I never felt that they suited me very well, but they were certainly elegant and a good way to display one’s necklaces. I would have needed the coach for the luggage, anyway. I also wanted to take ample funds with me and was glad enough not to have to carry a heavy money-bag personally. I felt reasonably sure that even the most suspicious of secret watchers could not wonder that I had encumbered myself with a coach.

  In my luggage too, tied into a leather pouch and hidden at the bottom of a packed hamper, was the phial of hemlock that my captors had given me. Just in case.

  Brockley must remain behind, to continue the search for Harry, and of my four grooms, Simon and Joseph were married with small children and would not want to be taken away for too long, while Arthur Watts, the senior groom, was getting on in years. Eddie, however, was young and fit. I told Simon that he must now assist Brockley and Wilder in their search for Harry, while Eddie came with me as groom and coach driver. The coach had only Dale as a passenger, for I intended to ride my mare Jewel. But I decided that we only needed a two-horse coach team. That way, Eddie would not have too many horses to look after.

  The weather also helped us to keep our journey slow, for we were plagued on the way with all the bad-weather hazards of coach travel, such as wheels getting stuck in muddy ruts and flooded fords where one had to take detours to find better ones, or bridges. However, the wind and rain relented on the sixth day and we arrived at Sheffield on a sunny May afternoon.

  So here we were at last, rolling up the final stretch of track towards the castle, which reared above the town, menacing in its power. It had been founded by Norman barons and they knew how to create castles that could dominate. Yet it had pleasant surroundings. Two rivers met close by and the castle stood on the west bank of one and the south bank of the other. Sheffield town was below it on one side but otherwise there was parkland all about, with trees and meads and grazing cattle and, in the distance, the square, grey shape of the modern manor house, with the tall, ornamental chimneys which I had learned – from Hugh, who had taught me so much – were an architectural signature of our times.

  I was jogging along beside the coach and now leant down to tap on the window. Dale opened it and looked out. Her face was wan. Even travelling by coach tired her. ‘Are we nearly there, ma’am?’

  ‘Five minutes away, no more.’

  ‘Thank goodness. I hope they let us in without a fuss. I can’t abide fusses when I’m tired,’ said Dale.

  ‘I have the credentials Walsingham supplied,’ I said.

  ‘You know what some people are like,’ grumbled Dale. ‘They peer and examine and tell you to wait while they consult someone else. It’s all meant to show how important they think they are.’

  ‘I hope that won’t happen this time,’ I said with feeling. I was tired too and I could tell that the coach horses, Bronze and Rusty, were just as weary.

  We need not have worried. Walsingham had smoothed our path for us. We were admitted without difficulty. Eddie went off to see the horses unharnessed and stabled, while Dale and I were met by a dignified steward, passed promptly to a page, and taken without further delay to the presence of Sir George Talbot.

  As we were escorted through the castle, I caught glimpses of the world I was about to join. We passed a doorway into a fine great hall, with a lofty paint
ed ceiling and a big stone hearth and a long, polished table in the middle. I caught sight of a couple of ladies seated at it and examining lengths of fabric.

  A narrow stair opposite the doorway vanished upwards and round a corner to somewhere out of sight. The page, a bright-eyed and freckled lad of about sixteen, smartly dressed and barbered but with a marked country accent, seeing that I had paused to look at it, said respectfully: ‘That do lead to Her Grace Mary Stuart’s quarters, madam. We address her as Her Grace. Up there’s her private rooms. She do have a household of her own. There’s thirty folk here to serve her. She do be a queen, after all.’ He sounded impressed.

  We were shown up a different staircase and into a small, cluttered, badly lit room. Like many castles dating from stormy past centuries, Sheffield had some immensely thick walls with small chambers hollowed out of them, and this was an example. Sir George Talbot seemed to be using this one as a study, since he was sitting at a table with a branched candlestick at his elbow to improve on the light from the two narrow windows, and writing figures into a ledger.

  ‘Mistress Stannard and Mistress Brockley, sir,’ said the page, with his accent carefully moderated, and with that, he left us. Talbot stood up and bowed. We curtsied.

  ‘So here you are.’ He recognized me, for we had met at court, more than once. I didn’t know his age but he looked as though he must be in his fifties. He was tall and thin, with a long, melancholy face, solemn hazel eyes, a thick brown beard and – which was usual with him – a most expensive doublet. This one was white satin with a small, busy pattern on it in silver thread. He looked round him, for all the world as though he didn’t quite know what furniture he had in his own study, noticed a padded stool and signed to me to sit down. Dale remained standing beside me.