The Fire Star

  ‘I cannot,’ I hear the woman’s voice, or, more likely, a girl’s.

  ‘You must,’ comes the gruff response. ‘If not tonight then never.’

  The girl gasps, and I hear her begin to sob. ‘Don’t say that, you do not give me orders.’ I am startled to recognise Lady Anice’s brittle tones, although they are less strident when soaked with tears.

  The man laughs, harsh and knowing. ‘Tell me that you would allow me to go without you.’

  There is a silence. ‘You pledged your love,’ Anice says.

  ‘It is mine to pledge and mine to take.’ His ruthless statement startles me. Who would dare speak so to the Lady Anice?

  Then he continues, smooth and wheedling. ‘Come now, let us retire to the garden.’

  I freeze as a hand begins to reach through the handhold to lift the latch. I whirl about, ready to run to the Lady Cassandra, but I see that my sharp movements have alerted her, and Sir Garrick is already taking action, deftly flipping the entire chessboard over the wall into the garden beyond while Cassandra rearranges her skirts.

  I slow my pace to a genteel stroll, and greet my lady loudly by name. I suspect that whomever it is whispering outside the gate will no more welcome the sight of other people than we would have done a few moments ago.

  My thoughts are confirmed when I hear the latch clank back into place, and the gate remains shut.

  ‘It seems we have lingered long enough here,’ Cassandra says to me when I reach her side. ‘It is time for me to dress for dinner.’

  Sir Garrick stands before her and bows. ‘I look forward to seeing you at table, my lady,’ he says, and lays a sweet kiss on her hand.

  Cassandra smiles at him. ‘I will also welcome your presence – even if my actions do not necessarily show my joy.’

  I smile inwardly, applauding her strategy. Cassandra has been won over here today by this clever knight, but she will not allow the Airl to see that.

  ‘It is as much to protect you as me,’ she continues when Sir Garrick would quiz her. ‘I am a less valuable proposition to the Airl without the Fire Star, and if he sees value in a friendship between us – or more specifically breaking it up – he will do so.’

  Sir Garrick appears thoughtful. I wonder that she trusts him with these words, given his many years of loyalty to the Airl, but he quickly repays the favour.

  ‘Very well, my lady, then I shall look forward to another quiet moment between us on the morrow.’

  As Sir Garrick makes his way to the gate, Cassandra’s eyes linger on his upright figure and I find myself wondering at both her absorbed expression and the bond that has formed so quickly here today.

  I cannot help but think that, even if Reeve has found the Fire Star hidden in the stable straw, the Lady Cassandra might now have plans of her own.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Reeve needed a cool drink, sooner rather than later. After nearly an hour of deftly avoiding the twitchy hind legs and eager teeth of the Airl’s string of fine horses as he tried to delicately question every man and boy working in the hot, dusty stables, Reeve’s throat was parched and his lips were dry.

  Worst of all, he’d discovered nothing. None of the regular stablehands knew much about Sullivan at all. Not that he’d asked about the man by name – there was no way he wanted to be remembered at any stage as having asked about a dead man.

  He wasn’t entirely sure what Myra had meant when she’d said she’d ‘tend’ to poor Sullivan, but Reeve knew it was best if his queries remained as oblique as possible. Reeve also knew, however, how to talk to people, and he knew how to turn a general conversation about the quality of a bridle into a discussion about those who worked in the stables.

  Reeve knew to find out a little bit from each individual, and then build that into a complete picture.

  Unfortunately, the picture he’d built was . . . patchy. Like a stained-glass window with broken panes.

  He’d learned that there was a new man called Sullivan and that he’d kept to himself. Everyone Reeve had spoken to could recall Sullivan being present in the stables the previous morning, and they’d all been relieved when he’d offered to sweep up the manure in the courtyard.

  ‘It were fresh, you know,’ one scruffy stableboy had confided, pinching the end of his sharp nose in case Reeve missed the point. ‘Shouldna’ been there but the Lady Anice insisted on another of those early morning rides she suddenly loves so much.’

  Reeve had bit his lip thoughtfully as he’d considered the information. When she’d been at Harding Manor, Anice had rarely emerged from her chambers before noon, and most of the household had been happy with this. Asleep, she was just bearable; awake, she was an irritable, irascible shrew.

  ‘It is good that the Lady Anice has taken to riding,’ Reeve had said, keeping his tone light. ‘It is such a pleasant pastime.’

  ‘Gah!’ the stableboy had scoffed. ‘I don’t think it’s the riding that she’s finding pleasant.’

  Reeve had pretended interest in the stitching on a saddle hanging from the hook beside him. ‘Goes on her own, does she?’

  The boy had laughed again. ‘Well, she’d ’ave us believe she does,’ he’d said, laying one finger down the side of his nose, and winking.

  Having seen the Lady Anice and Brantley for himself, Reeve had needed no further details. But the fact that the couple had been so indiscreet in their courting that the servants were talking about it bothered Reeve deeply. The Lady Rhoswen would be horrified.

  ‘Oi!’ A hoarse whisper brought Reeve from his thoughts. ‘You after Sully?’

  The man leaning against the water barrel in the deepening shadows didn’t look as though he worked in the stables, nor indeed anywhere at Rennart Castle. He wore a ragged shirt that might have once been white, ripped breeches and no shoes. He took a sip from a brown pottery crock, one of two by his side, and Reeve caught a whiff of cider as he walked towards the man.

  ‘You know this man called Sully?’ Reeve asked, careful not to confirm that he was ‘after’ anyone, and to speak in the present tense.

  The man nodded eagerly. ‘He brought me here,’ he slurred, slurping at the crock once more. ‘Found me on the road, he did, and said he could get me a meal. Good man, Sully.’

  Reeve squatted down beside the man, waving away the proffered crock, despite his powerful thirst. ‘Did you see him this morning?’

  The man studied Reeve a moment. ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘Reeve of Norwood.’

  ‘And why do you want to know?’

  Aware that this conversation was far too direct, Reeve scrambled for a reason.

  ‘I am squire to Sir Garrick, Knight Protector of Rennart Castle,’ he said with as much dignity as he could manage, given his awkward position, deciding to opt for something near the truth. ‘I am charged with finding out what I can about this morning’s theft.’

  To his surprise, the man started laughing, to the point where he spat cider down his own shirt. ‘That’s an awful lot of title for one so young,’ he finally managed before sticking out one grubby hand. ‘Well, Reeve of Many Words, I’m Kit. Just Kit.’

  Reeve took Kit’s calloused hand and shook it. ‘Nice to meet you, Kit,’ he said, aware that time was ticking away. ‘So, did you see, er, Sully this morning?’

  Kit leaned back on the barrel. ‘I did. He told me to wait here while he swept the courtyard – he were going to get me a new shirt today and some boots. My sister lives in Cleeland, see, and I’m going to see her, see if she has work for me. She’ll have work, but will that brute she married let her hire me.’

  As Kit prattled on about his sister’s ‘oaf of a husband’, Reeve waited impatiently for a gap in the flow of words.

  ‘And did Sully come back with the shirt?’ Reeve inserted as soon as Kit drew breath.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Kit muttered. ‘He swept the courtyard, came back with two crocks and told me to stay here. He had to go and see someone, and then he’d be back and we could go to my sister’s.�
��

  ‘Do you know where he went?’ Reeve asked quickly, before the insufferable husband made another appearance.

  ‘That way,’ said Kit, waving towards the gate with one hand while lifting the crock with another.

  ‘Was he alone?’ Reeve probed, his mouth feeling even drier as he watched cider drip down Kit’s chin.

  Kit paused mid-sip, wiping his face with his grubby sleeve. ‘Why do you care so much about Sully? He’s a good man and had nothing to do with anything. I’ll vouch for that.’

  Reeve took a deep breath, affecting nonchalance. ‘I’m just wondering,’ he said, brushing straw from his breeches.

  ‘Your lot does an awful lot of wondering,’ Kit said before taking another long pull at the crock. ‘Like that Neale. Know him? He’s got a title almost as long as yours.’

  Reeve froze. ‘You know Neale of Broadfield?’

  ‘We’ve met,’ said Kit, and his tone suggested the meeting hadn’t been a happy one.

  ‘When did you last see him?’ Reeve asked, and now he gave no pretence of disinterest.

  Kit stared at him. ‘Last night. He came down here asking questions about those two women who rode in late, what guests were expected for the wedding . . . Always asking questions, that one, wanting to know who was where and doing what with whom. Very interested in the comings and goings of Lady Anice’s horse.’

  He stopped, looking Reeve over disapprovingly. ‘Lots of wondering. Bit like you.’

  Reeve’s thoughts were spinning. Neale had known about the Lady Anice and Brantley. He must have! Why else would he be questioning stable staff about her horse? But if he knew, why had he kept it to himself? What did he hope to gain?

  And what else had he discovered? Why the interest in the wedding guests? In Lady Cassandra?

  ‘You okay?’ Kit was peering at him.

  ‘Did Neale speak to Sully?’ Reeve asked, trying to connect pieces of the puzzle.

  ‘What? No. Sully and me were too lowly for the likes of him to address,’ Kit scoffed. ‘He spoke to the Master of Grooms, who gave him short shrift. Nobody down here likes a shrinking, shirking spy.’

  ‘A spy?’ Reeve said, ears pricked. ‘That’s a strong word to use in these times.’

  Kit stared at him, balefully. ‘I speak it as I see it, young Master of All the Titles. He were a spy.’

  ‘For whom?’ Reeve asked.

  ‘Now, that I don’t know,’ Kit said, leaning back on the barrel. ‘I ain’t been here long enough to know. But Sully . . . he figured it out. I could tell.’

  Reeve stood up, feeling his muscles protest as he did. ‘How could you know that?’

  ‘Recognised him, didn’t he? First night we were here, Neale was skulking about and Sully kind of faded into the shadows, making sure he kept his face from the light. Says to me that a man recognises someone and doesn’t want to be recognised in return.’

  Reeve thought a moment. ‘Did Sully say where he knew Neale from?’

  ‘Nope,’ said Kit, wiping his hand across his lip to catch some dribble. ‘And I didn’t ask. Speaking of which, I reckon you’ve asked enough of me, Squire of All the Things. We’re starting to attract attention, and I don’t need it. I’m just going to wait here for Sully, and then we’ll be on our way.’

  Looking around, Reeve could see Kit was right – two grooms were whispering outside a loose box, throwing glances his way.

  ‘One last thing,’ Reeve said to Kit, trying to look as though he were stretching his muscles and not interrogating a man. ‘Did you see anyone follow Sully from the gates this morning?’

  Kit laughed. ‘Only half the castle,’ he said. ‘He left after chapel, and you know how busy that is.’

  Reeve’s heart sank. It was true that a crowd of people went through the gates each morning after the chapel service ended. Even the alert guards at the gates wouldn’t be able to pick one out.

  ‘Well, thank you, I must go now to assist Sir Garrick at table,’ he said to Kit. As he did so, he was struck by the poignancy of the man’s situation. Kit was waiting for a man who would never show up. A man who had promised to help him towards a brighter future.

  ‘Er, Kit,’ Reeve continued, thinking fast. ‘If for any reason Sully doesn’t come back by sundown, go to the wyld woman in the woods. She will help you.’

  Kit eyed him with suspicion. ‘And why would she do that? She don’t know me from a block of tallow.’

  ‘She is a good woman. Give her my name and all will be well,’ Reeve promised with a sureness he did not feel. Hopefully, Maven could use whatever means of messaging she had at her disposal to ask Myra to help Sully’s friend.

  Kit grunted. ‘All right, then.’

  As Reeve walked away, he heard the slosh of cider in the crock once more.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The din in the Great Hall is so loud that I cannot imagine that anyone can hear anyone else at all, and yet I see the conversations, here bellowed, there whispered under cover of the fiddle player and his lively airs. At the top table, Lady Cassandra continues to play the part of affronted, rebellious niece, and if I notice her sneaking sideways glances at Sir Garrick it is only because I know her well.

  Nearby to me, a red-faced minor Lord calls a serving maid for his pigeon-chested, sour-faced lady who is overdressed in last year’s fashion, before turning back to the chubby nobleman beside him. I am standing at the back of the hall, among the less desirables on the wedding guest list. These are the people invited out of duty, and so they’ve arrived too early, eager to curry favour or overindulge in the Airl’s hospitality.

  It is these people, I know, who will talk too loud or too long about their grievances, and therefore give away more information than they might imagine.

  The wall tapestry is rough against my back as I lean on it, and I catch Reeve’s eye and smirk, secure in the knowledge that he must stand straight and still behind Sir Garrick and therefore not react. I know, though, that he is listening to all that is said at the top table and will share it with me later. We have agreed to meet outside the kitchens after we have performed all our duties, and I yawn as I realise that, thankfully, the time is near.

  I turn to take in the crowded tables once more, my focus drawn to the surly group of young men who have been banished to the very back corner of the hall. I recognise them as the same disreputable group ejected from the hall last night, and realise that the scruffy face of the one Reeve called Brantley is missing.

  I wonder idly if he has been banned from table altogether as I follow the unhappy, longing glances each man on the table throws across the hall at a table of sparkling young maidens, decked out in bright silks and feathers.

  This is the Lady Anice’s coterie, seated beneath the Airl’s watchful eye – the Airl’s frowning, watchful eye, I realise, as I catch him taking note of the empty seat at the head of the table. It seems the Lady Anice has absented herself, and the Airl whispers to Sir Garrick.

  To my surprise, Reeve is called forward, bending in close as Sir Garrick speaks to him. Around me, the shrieking laughter and hubbub continues, and I know that no one else has noticed the exchange. As Reeve bows and moves without hesitation towards the nearest door, I stand upright.

  Sir Garrick has sent him to enquire after the Lady Anice, and I feel my own curiosity rise. I glance across at the table of unhappy young men again and catch them whispering together, staring at the tall candles in the middle of their table. Is it my imagination, or does the central one have a mark upon it, not far below the flame?

  My mouth goes dry, remembering the snatch of conversation I’d heard through the garden door earlier that afternoon. Surely, the Lady Anice would not be stupid enough to follow a man like Brantley? She is a spoilt and petulant child, it is true, but a scandal like this would be the undoing of her.

  Even as I have the thought, I know it to be true. She who has been cossetted and protected her whole life would never imagine that another person would harm her. She is lucky enough to have nev
er had the lesson that I’ve learned so well.

  I gather up my skirts and dart for the closest door, knowing that those around me are too absorbed in stuffing their faces and guzzling their cider to take any notice.

  The hallways are no quieter than the hall, filled as they are with serving staff and drunken revellers who have taken the opportunity to engage in more private discussions and assignations. But I have no thought beyond finding Reeve and staving off disaster.

  If the Lady Anice departs tonight with a cunning, impoverished blaggard who cannot even afford to buy a knighthood, the Airl’s wedding plans will be thrown into disarray, and the whiff of scandal will envelop all at Rennart Castle for a long time to come.

  There is no sign of Reeve in the hallway and, if I am not to grind my teeth to the bone in frustration, I realise I must act alone. I turn on my heel, colliding with a footman carrying a full platter of jellied eels. I do not stop to apologise, racing headlong towards the kitchen.

  As I run, I try to collect my thoughts. I know that Anice will have left the castle-proper, for Brantley will have arranged to meet her somewhere he can get her alone. But where?

  When I think of the heated whispers I overheard today, I know that Anice has not committed to leave with him. Brantley may have convinced her to slip away from dinner, but I don’t think she would have agreed to go beyond the castle gates. Not yet.

  I try to put myself in Brantley’s shoes. He is a desperate, angry man and will leave nothing to chance. I do not think he will harm her, but he is thinking only of himself and what he wants. And what he wants is to compromise her good name, tying her to him forever, and therefore ensuring her father’s benevolence – or some form of it – towards him.

  If he succeeds in compromising the Lady Anice’s honour or, even worse, marrying her, the Airl will stop at nothing to save the situation, and Brantley will win his knighthood, and her dowry, which is no doubt worth a small fortune – even without the Fire Star.

  He will leave nothing to chance. I think of the whispering young men in the Great Hall, watching the candle at their table burn down, and can only hope that I am mistaken about what the mark might signify. My thoughts whirl around as I push past the armies of serving maids who are now leaving the kitchen with platters of sweetmeats and fruit.