A Love for All Time (31 page)

“Nay,” the butcher said quickly.

“How can ye be sure?”

“Lord Bliss weren’t quite so tall although nearly so, and he was heavier set than this man.”

“Tell them yer name,” said Lord Burghley to the masked and cloaked man.

“I am Conn St. Michael, Lord Bliss,” came the reply.

“Nah, ye ain’t! Ye can’t fool me, m’lord. Lord Bliss had a real Irish accent. This poor fellow has but the hint of Ireland in his voice. I should know. My mother came from Ireland.”

“Take them away,” said Lord Burghley, and the guards released the three, and hustled them from the room.

“Are ye all right?” Adam asked Conn anxiously.

“I’ll live,” said Conn somewhat wryly, “despite Master Norton’s gentle ministrations, and the insult that Englishman just dealt me saying I didn’t sound like an Irishman. Of course I sound like an Irishman though granted my accent has softened during my years here in England. I noticed it when Aidan’s cousin was here recently. Next to him I sounded positively civilized.”

“Could Cavan FitzGerald have anything to do with this?” Adam mused aloud.

“What the hell would he have to gain by concocting such a plot?” Conn asked.

“I don’t know,” said Adam, “unless he hopes to get ye killed, and marry yer wife himself.”

“ ’Twould seem a trifle elaborate a plot to simply dispose of a rival,” said Lord Burghley. “There is always the chance that if Conn were convicted of treason his estates could be confiscated. If this fellow were after Lady Bliss it would be her wealth that attracted him. He wouldn’t chance losing it. It would have been far simpler to have Lord Bliss murdered.”

“But,” Adam mused, “what if the fellow were actually part of a plot, and Aidan and her wealth were to be his reward, and therefore it became necessary to use Conn as a scapegoat? The official-looking paper Master Trent claimed to have seen smacks of something more sophisticated than just a man seeking a rich wife.”

“Who is this FitzGerald fellow?” asked Lord Burghley.

“He arrived on our doorstep May first,” answered Conn. “He claims to have come from Aidan’s grandfather, Rogan FitzGerald. Says he’s the son of the old man’s younger brother who was a priest, and that Aidan’s grandmother raised him.”

“Indeed,” remarked William Cecil, “and what was his reason for being in England?”

“He said he’d been raised to take over the duties of steward on FitzGerald’s estate, and now that the old steward was retiring the family thought it would be a fine idea if Master Cavan FitzGerald came to England to see how prosperous estates were run here, and bring back more modern ideas to Ireland.”

The three men had now departed the torture chamber of the Tower, and were once again in the governor’s apartments. Lord Burghley called for a messenger to be brought to him, and sat down at a table to personally write a message. When he had finished he said to Conn and Adam, “I am sending this to the Countess of Lincoln. She would best know the situation of her family in Ireland, and I am assuming that this Rogan FitzGerald is related to her.”

“A distant cousin, I believe,” said Conn.

“Indeed,” came the reply. “Lady Clinton is with the queen on her progress right now, but she will reply quickly for I have said this information is of the utmost importance to me. Let us learn if your Cavan FitzGerald is actually who he says he is, and if he came to England for the reasons he claims. I am convinced, however, Lord Bliss, that yer not involved in any plotting against her majesty.”

“Then I may go home?”

“Not yet, my lord. There is, I am certain, a plot of some sort, and yer apparent guilt has been given to us to throw us off the real scent. If I release ye now then those involved escape me, and live to plan another plot against the queen. Help me ferret them out, and I promise ye will be rewarded.”

Conn shook his head. “I’ll help ye, my lord, but speak not to me of rewards. What I do I do for Bess. She had given me everything that means anything to me, but if Cavan FitzGerald turns out to be involved in this, let me have the privilege of beating him senseless!”

Lord Burghley smiled his faint wintry smile. Lord Bliss’ attitude smacked of his elder sister, and he nodded. “I am going to ask ye to remain here in the Tower for just a short while, my lord. Just enough time to clear this matter up. Yer incarceration will make it appear to the plotters that all goes as they have planned. In the meantime our agents will be seeking to find out who they are, and what they are actually up to in this matter. Ye have, I am told, arranged for comfortable living quarters, and have yer servant with ye.”

“Aye,” said Conn. “I can manage, but I don’t want my wife worried needlessly in her condition.”

“Young Lady Bliss appeared to me to be a young woman of strong moral fiber,” said Lord Burghley. “I understand yer concern, but if I allow ye to communicate with her then her fears will be eased, and who knows who is watching her. She must continue to appear worried lest we be given away. Lord de Marisco, what think ye? Can yer sister-in-law survive the worry these next few weeks?”

“Aidan is tougher than ye think, Conn,” said Adam. “It’s unfortunate to fret her so, but there is no help for it. She will be all right, and so will the babe.”

Conn sighed. “So be it then,” he said, but they could hear the reluctance in his voice. “One thing, however, my lord Burghley. If plague breaks out in London ye must move me at once. Is it agreed?”

“Of course, my lord. It was not even necessary to ask,” came the reply.

Conn smiled a wry smile. “I apologize if I’ve offended ye, sir, but my experience with the Tower is little.”

William Cecil actually chuckled, and then made a small joke. “My experience with the Tower, however, is great,” he said. Then, “I think it is time ye be returned to yer quarters, my lord, lest anyone grow suspicious. The guards have a tendency to tavern talk, especially when in their cups.” He yanked at the bellpull which was immediately answered. “Take Lord Bliss back to his cell,” he commanded.

“Farewell, Conn,” said Adam. “I will tell yer sister that I have seen ye, and of what transpired here today.”

“Give her my love,” said Conn, “and look after my wife.”

Adam nodded. “Never fear,” he said quietly. “She will be safe under our care.”

“We will speak again,” said Lord Burghley, his voice heavy with implied meaning.

“My lords,” said Conn, and then he departed the room, but not before turning a moment when the guard’s back was to him, to wink broadly at the two other men.

When he had gone Adam said to William Cecil, “Will ye need my help, my lord? I will do whatever I can to aid ye in getting to the bottom of this riddle.”

“Go home, my lord de Marisco,” said Lord Burghley. “I know from experience that yer wife is not a patient woman, and her outraged presence could complicate matters for us greatly. Tell her the truth of things, and tell her that I require her silence for now. With luck we will have this puzzle unraveled in a matter of a few weeks, and for now yer brother-in-law is comfortable, and safe. I will issue an arrest warrant for Master FitzGerald so we may question him also in this matter. From what you have said, my lord de Marisco, it is highly possible that this FitzGerald will be able to shed some light on this affair.”

Adam agreed with William Cecil, Lord Burghley, in his assessment of the matter, and so after spending the night at Greenwood House he rode off on the northwest road that led from London to
Queen’s Malvern,
in the fertile Midlands of England, a journey of several days. He made the trip in record time for he had been eager to leave the city, and return to the beautiful home that he shared with his beautiful wife. It was a peaceful place, and never more so than at this time of year. Turning off the highway and onto the graveled road that led up to his house he was filled with contentment at the perfect day, the warm breeze, the flower-scented air. A stableboy hurried to take his horse as he arrived at the front door which flew open to reveal his wife hurrying out. He would have sworn that Skye had grown more beautiful in the ten days since he had last seen her. She wore a wine silk dress trimmed with ecru-colored lace, and her beautiful hair was unbound, and deliciously disheveled.

“Skye, my darling!” he cried to her, sliding from his horse, and holding out his arms.

“Oh, Adam,” she said, going gratefully into his embrace. “Aidan is gone!”

A
idan St. Michael had lived in an agony of suspense since her husband, Conn, had ridden off with his escort of Gentlemen Pensioners. For several days she alternated between despair and hope. Skye had come by each day to reassure her that whatever the problem was it would be straightened out quickly for Conn was well-liked by all. Aidan tried to content herself with that, but it just wasn’t enough. Finally she ordered Mag to pack their things, and called for her traveling coach.

“We are going to London,” she said. “We are going today.”

“Ye can’t go off just like that, m’lady,” protested Mag. “Ye could injure the baby with all that jouncing along the road.”

“I’ve never been of a delicate constitution, Mag,” came the reply. “Both the child and I will be fine, but I must be near to Conn! I can get no news here.”

“What of Lord de Marisco? Wait until he gets back, m’lady!” Mag pleaded.

“Who knows when that will be,” said Aidan. “We leave today.”

“At least ask Lady de Marisco to go along with ye.”

“Skye is barred from London and the court, Mag. Besides I don’t need her, and her children do. Pack only a few things, Mag. With luck we’ll be home quickly.”

Martin, the coachman, bore stoically the lecture from Mag on how to drive, but both he and his assistant, Tom, eased their big awkward vehicle carefully along the London road for the next few days. The trip took an extra day, but Aidan was content as long as her destination was London. She was even content to rest a full day once they had gained the safety of Greenwood House. The servants were amazed to see her for Lord de Marisco, who had left just two days before, had said nothing of Lady Bliss’ coming. The morning after her arrival, however, she began to consider how to go about the task of gaining information about her husband.

“The queen is away,” she said to Mag, “as is the court, and so I have no recourse there. I do not think I can simply go to the Tower, and demand information of my husband.”

“Nay, m’lady, I don’t believe it’s done that way,” answered Mag who actually knew no more about it than did Aidan. “I think ye should send a man.”

“What man? I can’t send a footman. A footman has no authority.”

“What about yer cousin, Master Cavan?” said Mag. “He still might be here in London. What was the name of that inn he said he was staying at in the city?”

Aidan thought a long moment. “The Swan,” she said, “but he would have long since gone down to Devon.”

“Not necessarily,” Mag reasoned. “ ’Tis his first trip to London, and he would have wanted to stay awhile, and enjoy its pleasures, I’m sure. He’s a young man, m’lady, and when will the likes of him ever see this city again? Once he’s back in Ireland he’ll be on yer grandfather’s lands for the rest of his days. This is his only chance, most likely, to sport himself.”

“Send a footman, Mag, to the Swan, and if my cousin is there have our man bring him back!” said Aidan excitedly.

The quickly dispatched footman found Cavan FitzGerald at the Swan as Mag had predicted.

“Go back to my cousin, and say I will attend her directly,” Cavan told the serving man. Then he hurried back into the taproom where Miguel de Guaras was awaiting him. “My cousin has come back up to London, and wants to see me,” he said to the Spaniard.

“What does she want?”

“The footman didn’t say. All he said was that she urgently requested my presence.”

“Lord Bliss is in the Tower, and has already been racked once,” said de Guaras with a smile. “Old Lord Burghley himself has been in charge of his interrogation my informant tells me. The Trents, father and sons, have also been tortured.”

“But what if Conn O’Malley admits nothing despite the torture?” asked Cavan.

“It will not matter. The butcher and his sons are convinced that they dealt with Conn St. Michael, Lord Bliss, and they will not change their story whatever your cousin’s husband may say. The seeds of distrust will be sown, and my mission to destroy the O’Malleys will succeed. The king will be pleased. Go to your cousin, and see what it is she wants. Undoubtedly it is comfort, and ye will be only too pleased to supply that, Master FitzGerald, won’t ye?”

Cavan FitzGerald smiled. “Her face,” he said, “may be only pretty, but she has nice plump tits. She’ll keep me warm on long winter nights.”

“I wonder how much of her wealth will go to aid Ireland,” murmured the Spanish agent smoothly.

Cavan FitzGerald laughed. “Let Ireland aid herself,” he said, and then with a wolfish smile he was gone from the taproom. He hurried down the riverbank, and hailed a passing werryman. “Take me to Chiswick-on-the-Strand, Greenwood House,” he said, climbing into the small vessel, and settling back to enjoy the ride.