A Traitor's Tears (11 page)

‘Having children is a womanly enough thing to do,' conceded Heron, staring at me down his beak-like nose. ‘But it's customary to do so within the bounds of marriage. However, I am not here to discuss that but to arrange the release of the man Brockley. He snapped his fingers at the clerk, who handed him one of the parchments. ‘Here is the document you are required to sign. The terms are clearly set out.'

The terms were outrageous. If Brockley did lose his nerve and flee from England, I would certainly have to sell Withysham. Heron enquired whether – and how – I could raise the money and on being told that Withysham would provide it, informed me that until the matter of Brockley's guilt or innocence was resolved, Withysham would be regarded as the property of the state. He added that he had expected something of the sort and turned to the clerk, who at once spread out a clean sheet of parchment, dipped the quill I had provided into the inkpot and proceeded to put this in writing, to Heron's dictation.

I asked Dale, who could read and write very competently, to witness my signatures, and she breathed in with an audible hiss when she read the sum I was to guarantee.

‘Hush, Dale,' I said. ‘We have to sign.' We did so. ‘When can we expect Brockley's return?' I asked as I handed the documents back.

‘Within a few days.'

‘I shall send a man off to Lewes this very day, with a horse and fresh clothing for him as soon as he is let out. I'll send Simon, our second groom. He's a steady young man.'

Sir Edward nodded. ‘You really do take care of your servants, it seems. I will not criticize you for that.'

‘Mistress Stannard is the best mistress any servant ever worked for!' Dale could contain herself no longer.

Heron bowed towards her. ‘I must admire such loyalty.' He stood up. ‘I must take my leave. I am to have the Cobbold Hall gardeners questioned again. It seems possible that the man Jarvis, who I understand has been found dead, may have somehow made them lie to protect him. I doubt it, but I will of course do my duty as ordered.'

‘Thank you,' I said.

When he had gone, I turned to Dale. ‘You'll have Brockley back soon.'

‘For how long, ma'am?' Dale's eyes were still full of worry. ‘Unless that man finds someone else to accuse, he won't leave my Roger free for long, I know he won't. He'll
look
for someone else, because he's been told to, but what if he doesn't find anyone? Or doesn't try that hard? I'm trusting you, ma'am. You're clever at such things. Please, find out the truth, and save Roger!'

‘I want to try, Dale. But where I'm to begin …'

Dale had a trick, sometimes, of getting to the heart of things. ‘Wouldn't it be best, ma'am, to start by going into everything that happened at Cobbold Hall that day? Couldn't you talk to the people who were there? To Master Cobbold?'

‘I've been advised not to approach him. You heard Cecil say so. Besides, I've already asked him if he saw or noticed anything helpful but he hadn't. He's clear of suspicion himself because he and Heron were indoors, together, at the time when Jane died. Cecil and Walsingham mean to have him questioned on the subject of Jack Jarvis, in case he knows anything to the point. You heard Lord Burghley say that, as well. I don't think I can go to Anthony myself.'

‘Well, what about seeing Mistress Ferris, ma'am? She often visits Cobbold Hall; he'll have talked to her, as like as not, maybe more … more freely than he'd talk to you. He might have said something to her – perhaps something that he didn't think was important – but it might be just the little detail we need. I should think those two must have gone over everything again and again – trying to make sense of it all, to understand why such an awful thing should happen to them. You're friendly with her and you haven't seen her since … well, since it happened, have you?'

‘No, and I wonder if she'll want to see me now!'

‘You could call casually, to tell her how Sandy's getting on here.'

That made me laugh, for the first time since Brockley had been snatched away from us. The young dog Sandy was already becoming a character. The grooms usually ate in the kitchen at midday but if it was warm they sometimes took their meal outside to the sunny courtyard where there were a couple of benches. Simon, on one occasion, had put an ale tankard down by his feet while he finished a pie, and then glanced down to find Sandy with his nose in the tankard. Sandy had been very sleepy all that afternoon.

‘I could do that,' I agreed. ‘I could tell her about Sandy's taste for ale – though perhaps I won't mention how first of all, Hero tried to eat him! Thank goodness she's tolerating him now. And I could tell Mistress Ferris how he got into the house and tore my nice fur slippers to pieces. It might amuse her.'

‘I felt shy about calling on you, in the circumstances,' I said to Christina as she led me and Sybil into the parlour at White Towers. ‘Dale preferred not to come with us. With Brockley in prison, she's afraid that people will be unfriendly to her. But I did want to see you. There are things I must tell you … Oh,
Christina
!'

I had delayed for another three days before coming to White Towers, because like Dale, I doubted my reception. I needed time to summon up enough nerve. I had also dispensed with the usual groom to look after our horses once Sybil and I got there, in case we were turned away at the gate. There was no need to embarrass the servants.

We had been allowed in, but now I had lost my way completely in mid-speech and could only look helplessly at my friend. She was dressed in black and, beneath her pockmarks, her face was pale. She had lost her mother in a terrible fashion and I felt that I had no right to be there, least of all to ask questions of her. Then, moved by the sheer sadness of the mourning gown and the unhappiness in her face, I took a chance and put my arms round her. I feared that she might push me away, but she returned the embrace before gently detaching herself.

‘It's all right, Ursula. Truly. I know that Brockley has been seized, but my father doesn't believe it could have been him and I can't believe it, either. It wouldn't be
like
Brockley. Oh, do sit down, both of you.'

We accepted the invitation. The day was cold and wet and we were glad of the velvet cushions on the settles, and the fire in the hearth. ‘It makes no sense,' Christina said, picking up a poker and stirring the fire with energy. ‘I know that my mother …'

She paused at that point, obviously finding it an effort to get the next words out, but after a moment, continued valiantly: ‘I know my mother did sometimes, well, gossip about you, not kindly. But my father told her to stop and she did. He talks to me a great deal these days. In fact, he's closer to me than he is to my sister Alison, though she was always the good girl who did as she was told. Isn't it odd? But it's been a blessing for Thomas and me. The old feud between the Ferrises and the Cobbolds might never have existed! But look, if your Brockley was getting into fights over things that were said about you, they were said by other people, not my mother. Perhaps she started the talk, but she'd stopped, long before … she was killed. And Brockley is just not the sort of man to injure a lady. Everyone who knows him at all knows that!'

‘That makes it easier for me,' I said. ‘Easier, I mean, to tell you that arrangements have been made to release him on bail. We expect him home at Hawkswood soon. At least for the time being, while more enquiries are made. I hope they bear fruit. If they don't …'

A gusty wind made rain rattle against the windows and I suddenly shivered. Christina saw it. ‘Oh, Ursula! And you, Mistress Jester! You've been riding in the rain and I haven't sent for wine or offered you anything hot to eat. One moment.' She was out of the room in a trice, and back again in another trice. Christina's movements were always swift and graceful. After a short time with her, one ceased to notice her pockmarks.

‘It's coming,' she said as she returned. ‘I am glad that you came – in fact, I had wondered if I should visit you myself, though I wouldn't have chosen a day like this for it. Just listen to that rain!'

‘It didn't actually start raining till we were nearly here,' I said. ‘We didn't get so very wet. I didn't shiver just now because I felt cold. It was because I'm afraid for Brockley – and Dale is terrified! I want to ask you something.'

‘By all means. What sort of thing?'

‘I don't wish to approach your father direct. But I want to know, well, everything
you
know – that your father has perhaps told you … you said you'd talked … Oh, I know I sound incoherent. I'm sorry. I'm trying to say that I want, need, to know all I can about what happened at Cobbold Hall that day, before you and I got there. We arrived after dinner. What happened before it? At the time, your father mentioned things – about Sir Edward Heron and Roland Wyse coming and going – and Sir Edward Heron told me much the same things later, but I don't remember any of it very clearly. Do you know more?'

‘Not much more, I fancy, though Father and I have been over and over everything that happened that day. Sir Edward Heron has questioned him at length and my father has had word from someone at court, someone called Francis Walsingham, I think …' I nodded. ‘… who says that we have lost our tenant, Jack Jarvis, that he was found dead, miles away from here, on the road from London to Dover! When Sir Edward Heron came to Cobbold Hall to ask questions, he asked if my father could explain that. It seems that Jarvis was carrying a cipher letter of some kind. It hadn't been decoded, at least not then, so no one here knows what it's about.'

A maid came in then with mulled wine and some small, warm cakes. Baking must have been in progress when we arrived. ‘I understand,' I said, sipping the hot spiced drink gratefully, ‘that the man most likely to be able to crack it is Roland Wyse and he's away in Norfolk just now.'

‘Is he? Anyway, nothing of all that made any sense and poor Father knew nothing that could help. He gathered that Heron had been told to find out if there was any possible connection between the Jarvis business, and my mother's death, but there just isn't, or so Father says! Oh, now I'm the one who's wandering, aren't I? You want to know about that day – that morning, before my mother was found … Well, let me see.'

She thought for a few moments. Then she said: ‘Sir Edward Heron had been asked to dine that day. You know that. He arrived in good time and then I believe that Roland Wyse arrived as well, chasing after him with a letter from court – from the man Walsingham, whoever he is.'

‘He's one of the Secretaries of State,' I said.

‘As exalted as that!' Christina was impressed. ‘Wyse had tried Sir Edward's home and had been directed to us. He shared dinner with us but then he went off again because he said he needed to get back to London as soon as possible. Father said he had an air of being very busy and important.'

‘I daresay,' I said. ‘That sounds like Master Wyse. I know him fairly well. So does Sybil.' Sybil smiled. ‘What next?'

‘A little while after dinner,' Christina said, ‘my mother went out to call on Jack Jarvis. I understand that my father and Sir Edward stayed in the parlour, talking together.'

‘When your mother went out, how long was that after Wyse left?' I asked.

‘Oh, a good quarter of an hour, I think, from what Father said. But someone will ask Wyse about that when he gets back to London, surely. Anyway, Mother set off. The cottage is less than half a mile from the house – well, you know that. How on earth Jarvis came to be found murdered, so far from home – Father said it just bewildered him to hear of it. He could
not
make sense of it. It sounds so
unlikely.
'

Christina shook a bewildered head. ‘Well, to get back to what I was saying, my mother went to see Jarvis, intending to order some eggs from him. She does – did – that sort of thing. She made a point of buying things from the tenants sometimes, even things Cobbold Hall could supply for itself. She said it was a dignified way of offering charity to people less fortunate than ourselves. Mother was a good woman, Ursula. She
was
! It was just that … that she was too good in some ways. She didn't understand people – women – who were different from herself.'

For the first time, her gaze was defensive, as though she were daring me to criticize Jane Cobbold.

‘Yes, I understand,' I said pacifically. ‘So your mother went to see Jarvis. What then? She came back before we arrived, didn't she?'

‘Yes. Father says he and Sir Edward saw her come back – she was on foot. It seems that the gardeners had finished the weeding and had just gone off with their ladder, to deal with a tree near the Jarvis cottage. Father and Sir Edward saw them go, and saw my mother reappear and go straight to where they'd been working to see if they'd followed various instructions she'd given them. But they had left the garden by then. Father said all that to me several times over. He said he'd rather believe the gardeners did it, than believe that Brockley did. But he's come to see that they couldn't have.'

There were tears in her eyes. ‘Mother never came indoors. She disappeared round the side of the house and none of us ever saw her alive again. The last words she said to Father were when she was setting off for the cottage. She said she was going to order a dozen eggs from Jarvis. And Father said … said … Oh, dear God, he's been heartbroken about it. He said he was short with her, and told her she was making too much of a pet of Jarvis. He's been tearing himself to pieces because the last words
he
ever said to
her
were unkind!'

‘Please don't, my dear.' It was Sybil, this time, who went to Christina and put her arms round her. ‘Hush. Hush.'