The four of them began a ladylike discussion about dyes and daylight. I stitched in silence. It was now very clear indeed that Bess and Mary didn’t like each other. I was going to have an uncomfortable stay, by the sound of it.
Not that it mattered. It wasn’t my business. I didn’t like to think about the business on which I was supposed to be here. Every time that came into my mind, I shivered.
That night, in a small bedchamber high in one of the castle towers, with Dale on a truckle bed next to mine, I fell into a heavy sleep, for I was very tired. But in the night, I awoke with my heart pounding. I sat up. The sunny afternoon had been only a respite, it seemed, for a fierce gale was now blowing. But it wasn’t the gale that had woken me, but a dream. I couldn’t recall the dream, but it had left a dreadful thought pulsing in my mind. I was supposed to be here to assassinate Mary. I had pretended to agree because Harry was threatened. I did not intend to do it, but I had gone as far as pretending. What if Elizabeth had been the victim I was supposed to kill? Would I, even for Harry’s sake, have as much as pretended to agree to that? Could I?
I realized that I didn’t know. Was it possible that there might be things, situations, that were – might be – of such huge importance that they might have to come even before Harry? It was an appalling idea. Surely, as a woman, I should put Harry first, always, no matter what the consequences. Surely, to protect my child, I should be ready to betray my country, commit a murder, even … Elizabeth?
I tried to find a way out and could not. Defeat the foe by guile? Take one’s own life? Even now, I have found no answer.
I tried to command myself. It hadn’t happened. I had so far managed to put up the pretence, to make an attempt to save Harry without committing any kind of crime. Except that I was expected to commit one. Even Elizabeth seemed to expect it. I couldn’t see how and even if I could, I couldn’t imagine how I would bring myself to do any such thing.
I had been given three months.
Feverishly, I wondered what use I could make of those months. Could I make a feint, create a failed attempt at murdering Mary? I tried to think of some kind of seeming accident that would look convincing but wouldn’t actually harm her. I couldn’t do that, either. I remembered my interview with Walsingham and his suggestion that there might be someone here in the castle who was keeping watch on me, waiting for me to act. It was a most unpleasant idea.
What were Brockley and Wilder doing? Had they achieved anything?
I should have put more trust in Harry. He, as it proved, had guile aplenty.
THIRTEEN
Word From Home
Next day, the gale continued to blow until nightfall, and there was heavy rain, but after that, things improved and the sun came out again. It made no difference to the fact that for me, life was miserable, and stayed so for the whole of the week that followed.
It was plain, very quickly, that Mary, although she was putting up with my company, and theoretically understood why I had once betrayed her, still wished I wasn’t there.
She used me as an errand runner. I was required to fetch and carry (find my riding gloves, will you, Ursula; Ursula, I’ve mislaid my big workbox, look for it, please; fetch me my fur cloak, Ursula). I was asked to tune her lute (but not to play for her); to applaud when she practised dance steps with Mary Seton and Lady Livingstone but not to join in; to thread needles for her; to wash her little black and white terrier, Timmy.
Because I was good at embroidery, I was sometimes allowed to help with that, but I was discouraged from taking part in the conversation that usually went with it. I was treated, in fact, like an unattractive poor relation. It made me feel like one.
At the end of that week, however, things improved a little, and that was due to Timmy. He was a lively little dog, sometimes given to slipping away to explore on his own, and on that seventh morning, Mary caught sight of him disappearing out of her parlour door, and told me to go after him.
I hurried out, saw his little piebald rump vanishing down the stairs, and gave chase. He glanced back once, realized that he was pursued and mischievously led me a dance, through a part of the castle that I hadn’t seen before, down some more stairs and straight towards the castle kitchens.
He was a fast mover and kept ahead of me, so there was time, before I caught up with him, for a noisy uproar to start beyond the kitchen door. I broke into a run and found myself in the hot, steamy cavern that is the usual kind of kitchen to be found in a castle, staring at two men dressed as chefs, one brandishing a most alarming carving knife and the other anti-climatically flourishing a bronze spatula. They were face to face and shouting, while Timmy cowered in a corner, whimpering.
‘You don’t kick Her Grace’s terrier! No one kicks Her Grace’s pets! You should have …’
‘I’ll kick any blasted animal except the kitchen cat that sets a paw in this place!’ bawled the chef with the carving knife. ‘And I wouldn’t put up with the cat except that it catches mice!’
He was a big man with a red face, though this was possibly due to the heat. There were four huge hearths and all of them contained roaring fires, where capons were sizzling on spits and cauldrons were bubbling. Both chefs and all their underlings – who had one and all stopped what they were doing in order to gape – were sweating heavily. ‘I am sick,’ Red Face announced, ‘sick of hearing about Her Grace!’ He managed to infuse the title with loathing, as though he were talking about the smell from a midden.
‘Her Grace,’ said the chef with the spatula, ‘is the guest of Her Majesty and in the care of my lord of Shrewsbury …’
‘And there’s folk enough in this land would be glad to be rid of her!’ Red Face became redder than ever. ‘It’s bad enough she has an altar in a private room and a Catholic chaplain reciting illegal Masses for her, polluting the air with her blasphemies, but as well as that, I have to put up with her minions taking over one of my hearths, and a spit and a trivet and all them pots and pans that I ought to have the use of, so as she and her folk can have whatever dainties they like, cooked in my kitchen, elbowing me out of the way as if I’m nothing. You just get out of my territory and …’
I gathered that Mary had a cook and kitchen staff of her own and a part of the castle kitchen set aside for their use and that the castle chef didn’t like it. And that he had kicked Mary’s dog. I also saw that the castle chef, knife upraised, was now advancing on the man with the spatula – Mary’s cook, presumably – and that the situation was about to become really ugly.
‘Stop!’ I shouted. They hadn’t realized I was there, and were sufficiently startled to turn and look at me. I swooped forward and picked Timmy up. He cowered in my arms, pressing himself against me and then whined a little as I gripped him. I realized that he had indeed been kicked and was probably bruised.
I stroked his head to soothe him and said sternly: ‘You two gentlemen would do well to behave with more dignity. I presume that whatever arrangements have been made for Her Grace’s cook were reached after discussion with Lady Shrewsbury or someone appointed by her, and it is your duty to abide by them. You!’ I stared hard at Red Face and his knife. ‘What is your name?’
‘What’s it to you? Who are you? Never seen you before!’
‘His name’s Master Tallboy,’ said one of the younger cooks, who was standing by a table with a wooden spoon and a mixing bowl in his hands and an array of jugs and small dishes in front of him, no doubt ingredients for whatever he was blending in the bowl. ‘New here. The old cook left to run an inn with his brother.’
‘And you hoped to take his place!’ snarled Tallboy. ‘You, Jim Randal, half my age and with half my experience! Hold your tongue!’
‘I am Mistress Stannard, and I have just come from visiting Her Grace’s apartment, at her and my lady of Shrewsbury’s invitation,’ I said coldly. ‘And I am not concerned with the internal politics of this kitchen. But I am concerned that Her Grace’s pets should not be hurt, and I am also concerned to find such an offensive
attitude to Her Grace. You had better be the one to watch your tongue, Master Tallboy. And also, watch what you do with your feet. I will have to report what I have heard. I shall now take Timmy back to his mistress.’
I turned away and left them to it. I heard curses from Master Tallboy, rude laughter from Mary’s chef, and exclamations and recriminations among all and sundry break out behind me, but I ignored them. I returned Timmy to Mary and told her what had happened. I did not repeat Master Tallboy’s objectionable remarks but I did tell her that he had apparently kicked Timmy and that I had spoken very sharply to both chefs.
Mary, gently petting her bruised Timmy, thanked me most sincerely. I did report the matter in more detail to Bess when I was able to speak to her without anyone else listening, and I heard later that Master Tallboy had been dismissed and that his chief assistant, Jim Randal, had after all been promoted.
Castle gossip informed me that the rest of the kitchen staff were relieved, as they hadn’t liked Tallboy. Randal, apparently, was both competent and popular, and quite able to manage the kitchens even when one hearth and a lot of equipment had been given over to Mary’s cook and his aides.
After that, I was treated more pleasantly by Mary, was even, sometimes, invited to join her and her two Maries over wine and pastries. I was closer to her now. Then I found that I wished I was not.
For one thing, I felt uncomfortable when, arriving to join them a little ahead of time, I found a thin, black-gowned cleric with what I would call a fastidious face, reading to them an account of someone back in the days of the boy king Edward the Sixth, who had been martyred for his Catholic faith. I could do nothing but obey Mary’s signal to sit down and listen but I remembered the three hundred or so Protestants, decent people nearly all of them, judicially and sadistically murdered for their faith in the days of Queen Mary Tudor, and I did my best to listen instead to the birdsong outside the window. And to block out Mary’s sighing remark that it must be wonderful to die for the honour of God.
That was the time when I noticed that one of the tapestries in Mary’s parlour was drawn aside and that behind it was a half-open door, through which I could see a little altar and a huge crucifix on the wall above it. It was the only time I ever glimpsed Mary’s chaplain or her secret chapel. I never desired a closer look and I never actually exchanged even a word with her chaplain.
But I had other reasons for disliking my new closeness to Her Grace. There were certain drinks and dishes that only Mary took and it would not be too difficult, I thought, remembering the phial that seemed to me to be burning a hole in the drawer where I had hidden it, to put venom into one of these. I had been presented with opportunities that I didn’t want.
Everyday food and drink apart, another possibility had now shown itself. Mary did indeed suffer from a persistent pain in her side and had a painkilling medicine which I learned, from casual talk with her ladies and her physician, contained traces of hemlock. I might well, I thought, manage to doctor that. Perhaps enough to make her ill … as though I had misjudged the dose …
But no. The thought was unbearable. I couldn’t. I couldn’t! Not even as a pretence, without doing any real harm. Oh, dear God, give your blessing to Brockley’s search. Find Harry before it’s too late! Find him! I can’t bear this much longer.
I tried to reassure myself that there was no very great urgency. I had been given three months and it would be reasonable for me to be careful, and not make any kind of attempt until my position was well established, and I would not so easily be suspected if Mary were to fall ill and die.
And yet, wouldn’t those who held Harry expect me to act, for his sake, as soon as I could? I was always tired those days, for I never slept much at night.
Far from home, without news, I was becoming more and more afraid, not for myself but for Harry.
I became obsessed with the idea that somewhere in the castle, someone was keeping watch on me, waiting for me to act. I tried, as the days went on, to make acquaintances, hoping to discover who was doing the watching. I cultivated the freckled page, whose name was Walter Meredith. He was cheerful company and I had discovered that he was a great gossip. The castle steward, whose name was William Cropper, would have been a good source of information too but he was so very dignified that I could form no kind of friendship with him; he might as well have been a Greek god visiting from Olympus.
Of course, there was Sir George Talbot’s clerk, Russell Woodley, who had proposed to me at Richmond. He too was knowledgeable and although I had refused him firmly enough, I knew at once that he had not given up hope. He kept on seeking my company, not obtrusively, but with an air of quiet determination, and now that I really wanted all the information I could get on the inhabitants of the castle, I allowed it, up to a point.
He was an excellent dancer, which presented me with plenty of chances to talk to him without attracting much notice, and I soon realized that he was not just well informed but very well informed indeed. He knew all the ins and outs of the castle and those who lived there, who liked or disliked whom; what love affairs were brewing; how the two households worked. He was a useful, if embarrassing contact. Quite apart from wondering if there was a spy in the castle, I had to be prepared in case I really did have to make a pretence at trying to attack Mary. I needed to know all I could about how her meals were prepared, and what her daily routine was, who was and who was not one of her servants, who was and was not allowed into her presence.
A third person with whom I more willingly made friends was Lady Alice Hammond, a pretty young thing who was one of Bess of Shrewsbury’s junior attendants. She too was well primed with castle gossip and she was good if giggly company. She was wholesome fresh air and I needed that.
One man I would have liked to cultivate but couldn’t do so easily was John Grey, captain of the castle garrison. I sometimes watched him drilling his men and saw that he was one of those quiet, competent men who can command without difficulty. If Brockley had been with me, I would have asked him to make friends with Captain Grey, but Brockley wasn’t there and Eddie hadn’t status enough to hobnob with the garrison captain.
On the twelfth day of my stay at Sheffield, carrying my workbox and the piece of embroidery on which I was currently working, I made my way to Bess’s apartment because, keeping up the pretence that I was there as her guest, she regularly asked me to join her for part of the morning before going on to Mary’s rooms.
As I approached her door, I was startled to hear cries – indeed, wails and sobs – of anguish coming from beyond it. Worse, I thought I could distinguish Alice’s voice. One of Bess’s senior ladies, whose name I did not know, opened to my knock and admitted me without a word, and with a completely blank face. She let me precede her inside, but I stopped short at once, distressed to see poor Alice, with tears in her eyes, leaning against the wall, as though she had been flung there, and holding a hand to the side of her face. As she saw me, the hand slipped a little and I saw that her left cheek was crimson. And Bess, breathing hard, was standing a few feet away, hands on hips and glaring at her.
The other ladies stood round, watching. Some looked upset, but no one was daring to protest. I swung round to the senior lady, who was just behind me. ‘What …?’
‘Lady Alice scorched a ruff. She was supposed to be pressing the pleats. She is careless, and chatters while she works and doesn’t attend properly to what she is doing,’ said the lady coolly. She was a middle-aged person, with a bearing as stiff as the buckram lining of her brocade bodice. There was no sympathy in her face.
‘But …!’
‘What a fuss,’ said Bess. ‘Really, Alice! I barely tapped you. In future, take more care with my belongings. You look surprised, Mistress Stannard, but I have no doubt you have seen the queen herself deal with poor service in a similar way. Alice, stop crying and take the spoiled ruff away. I shall not wear it again. The rest of you, settle down and get on with your sewing. Do be seated, Ursula. One of my ladies will play the lute for
us.’
It was perfectly true that I had seen Elizabeth chastise her ladies as Bess had just chastised Alice. There was nothing unusual about it. I still hated witnessing it. I knew all too well how it felt. The uncle and aunt who brought me up had been free with their blows. I had never let Harry’s tutors beat him because of that.
Alice, still sobbing, went to the back of the room and picked up the damaged ruff. Ironing was done elsewhere, so I supposed she had brought the disaster in to show Bess and apologize.
‘The world hasn’t ended. I have plenty of ruffs,’ said Bess. ‘But I expect certain standards of service from my household. In future, Alice, I trust you will take more care. You may go.’
Faint signs, not of contrition but of a weary kind of understanding, then appeared on her stern countenance and she added, addressing the lady behind me: ‘Lucy, see her to her chamber and send for some wine for her. It will revive her. Stop that whimpering, you silly girl. It was all your own fault. The wine will restore you. Now go.’
Alice blundered past me, and the lady who I now knew was called Lucy went after her. I found that I was trembling. Bess glanced at me, unconcerned.
‘I don’t allow carelessness in those whose business it is to wait on me,’ she said. ‘No doubt Alice will grow out of her foolishness, but I don’t propose to wait for nature to improve her. I mean to see that she becomes as responsible and reliable as she should be, now. I have ordered a small mid-morning collation for us all – a glass of wine each and some almond pastries.’
Bemusedly, I took the seat she indicated. This was a side of Bess I hadn’t seen before and it didn’t appeal to me. I opened my workbox, threaded a needle, with difficulty because my hands were trembling, and began on a half-finished oak leaf. Bess sat down beside me, and also picked up some work.
The other ladies followed her example. It was a cold day, bright as the month of May should be, but with a sharp wind that made itself felt even indoors and I had felt chilled as I made my way through the castle to Bess’s apartment. However, there was a fire in the room, and the warmth, and the comfortable cushions on the settle to which she had waved me, slowly calmed me. My trembling stopped. I hoped that Lucy was being kind to poor Alice. Accidents with irons did happen; Alice had been roughly treated in my opinion but since I was here as Bess’s guest, and needed to be here, I had better not irritate her.
The Reluctant Assassin Page 13