Court of Conspiracy (14 page)

As they rounded the northwestern corner of the palace, the Royal Mews were in plain view. The horses being exercised caught their eyes and their steps slowed as they watched. Luke heard Robin’s sharp intake of breath. He followed the boy’s eyes to the stables. Staring directly at them was the unmistakable figure of Byram Creswell, the Captain of the Guard.

Chapter Sixteen

It was two days before Pippa could manufacture a viable reason to go and see Bertila. She scurried along the road keeping to the Bushy Park side, head down, making sure that her hood was pulled well forward. In truth, it was Luke himself she did not want to see. If by some mischance she bumped into him, she could say that she was avoiding detection by Cecily. In the short time she had known him, Luke had developed an uncanny knack of divining her real thoughts. Pippa looked forward to the time when she would be able to cloak them.

Ajax, now full grown, trotted at her side. Master Dufay had queried why she needed to go to Hampton Wick for food instead of Hampton, but she had insisted that the fish market was better in Hampton Wick. She knew from their conversations over supper that Bertila used the market, so her plan was to go there and see if she could find her new friend. It would be less obvious than going directly to the house to visit, and at the moment, Pippa had need of subtlety.

Luck favored her. Bertila was moving from stall to stall, her basket already full. Pippa brushed past her, then swung round to apologize. “Mistress Quayne, good morrow. I never thought to see you here.”

Bertila’s face lit up with a welcoming smile. “Mistress Garrod. Hail and well met. Yonder merchant has carp and I know Luke loves it.”

“I have a new master. I think Master Ballard became discontented with me constantly tidying up after him and one of his patients was in need of a housekeeper, so now I am there. I think I have done well. My new master’s house is large and much better appointed than Master Ballard’s and he likes order, so I am well pleased.”

Was it her imagination, or did Bertila look disappointed at the news?

Bertila smiled. “You must come and take a beaker of ale or milk and tell me all. I have some gooseberry tarts cooling.”

“I would like that excellent well, if you think Ajax will not fight with your dogs.” She gestured toward the greyspring. “He was a parting present from Master Ballard.”

Bertila colored and leaned toward Pippa. “In truth, I think that Master Peveril may visit today, and he has a sweet tooth.”

They giggled, but Pippa felt a hot arrow of jealousy run through her. “I will come and put them to the test. We must make sure they are good enough for Master Peveril,” she said in a light tone. “Does he visit often?”

“Two or three times a week,” Bertila said, a soft smile curving her lips.

They strolled back to the house, Bertila returning greetings from some of the women going to market. Pippa was thankful that none of them wished to stop and pass the time of day. All she wanted was to arrive at the Quayne house before Geoffrey did.

They entered the kitchen and Pippa sat at the large table, Ajax at her feet, watching Bertila bustle about putting the tarts on a platter and pouring drinks. She took the opportunity to examine Bertila’s face. She might be daughter to a wealthy apothecary, but who could possibly prefer those ravaged features to her own? Pippa smiled from her perch, even as she silently declared war.

Bertila sat down at last. “Have you heard the whispers from the palace?”

“No.”

“There has been a great dispute between the King and the Lady Mary.”

Pippa leaned forward, all thoughts of Geoffrey Peveril banished for the moment. “In sooth? What about?”

“Oh, ’tis true enough. One of the royal apothecaries came to Father last night. He had run out of something or other and needed it for her. I happened to be passing Father’s storeroom and heard everything. There was a meeting between the King and the Lady Mary in open court. She began to upbraid him for persecuting those who believed in what she called the true religion.” Bertila made a dismissive gesture. “By which she meant the Catholics, of course.”

Pippa’s eyes widened. “Why did the man not go to Master Ballard? He is much nearer than here.”

“I do not know. He was sent here by one of the high lords, I think.” Bertila spoke in an artificial offhand tone, as if a royal summons was a daily occurrence in the household of the head of the Guild of Apothecaries.

Pippa’s lips tightened for a moment, but she was too interested to permit Bertila’s air to nettle her. “Lady Mary reproached the King? In open court?”

“Did I not say so? They say she is fearless when it comes to her faith and would even go to the stake for her beliefs.”

“And then? What did the King say?”

Bertila’s face showed more animation than Pippa had seen from the girl, apart from her heightened color when she had gazed at Geoffrey. Well, she would allow the blemished chit this small victory.

Bertila leaned on the table, her hands around the beaker of milk. “You must not repeat any of this. People have been executed for less.”

“You need have no fear. Why, I would be putting my own neck in a noose.” Pippa put out a hand and laid it on Bertila’s arm. “Go on. What happened when she rebuked him?”

“His face turned almost black with rage. He is his father’s son when crossed, though he be but fifteen. He told her that he was sorry she had still not seen the error of her ways, that he would fain see more of her, but that until she gave up her heretical beliefs, he could not risk tainting the younger members of the court. She did not reply, and he used honeyed words to persuade her, telling her that as soon as she realized in her heart that she erred, she would be restored to her full title of princess of England and honored as such. I think he thought that as she had not replied, she was weakening.”

“And was she?”

“Not a bit of it. She lifted her chin up and told him that she would pray on her knees for the rest of her life asking God to forgive him. She said that he was not old enough to make up his own mind about something as important as religion, but that she could forgive him because he was subject to wicked influences. Well, of course, he took that to mean his mother.”

Pippa put a hand to her mouth. “She spoke against Queen Anne?”

“Not directly, but the King knew well enough who she meant. He stood up, and the apothecary said that he railed against her stubbornness, said that prouder heads than hers had rolled before now. He told her he would send her books of instruction so that she could be brought back into the fold and not burn in hell. She told him he could send her as many books as he liked—they would help light her fires in the winter. She knew that she was right and he was wrong.”

“She has courage.”

“Aye, she is certainly the daughter of her mother. Father told me that when the Scottish king attacked in 1513, Queen Katherine was Henry VIII’s regent whilst he was in France. She ordered our armies to Flodden field and won the battle. After the divorce she refused to take the Oath of Supremacy. Henry VIII subjected her to untold cruelty, but she never broke.”

“But the Lady Mary took the oath, didn’t she?”

“Aye, her father broke her, but I doubt if his son will.”

“So what happened when she said that about him being too young and that?”

“She probably realized she’d gone too far. So she swooned. Right there in front of everyone. The King bellowed for her physician and they carried her back to her apartments. Queen Anne never appeared at all. Some say that she sent her own physician, but that he was turned back at the door. She and the lady have never been able to bridge the gulf between them.” Bertila paused as if in indecision, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I will be frank. It was Lady Mary’s apothecary who came to ask for valerian and some other things. He said they had been trying to calm her down all day. She was hysterical.”

“Poor lady,” Pippa said, looking down into her milk.

“Addlepated lady,” Bertila retorted. “She knows better than most the risk she runs defying the King, even if he is nearly twenty years her junior. Anyway, enough of her—tell me about your new post.”

“Master Roland Dufay is a merchant and his house is some way along from the Royal Mews near Hampton. I think he likes me. I have seen his eyes rest on me a lot in the past two days. The house is large and backs on to the river. I like living in a prosperous place again.”

“Again?”

Pippa could have cut her tongue out. “I once worked in a large house in the country,” she said, thinking quickly. “I had a fancy for something more exciting, so I journeyed to London, but I missed the country, so I came here.”

“How did you meet Master Ballard?”

“I was unable to find work and very hungry and frightened when I took refuge in his shop. He has been very kind to me.” Pippa knew that if she stayed much longer, she would trip herself up, so she forced a smile. “Thank you for the tarts. They were delicious. Now, I must away, otherwise all the produce will have gone. I’m so pleased we saw each other. At least you will know where to find me now.”

Pippa rose to her feet, not daring to stay even though she would miss seeing Geoffrey. She grabbed her still-empty basket and almost ran out of the door. She had accomplished her mission. Bertila knew where she lived. Now all she could do was wait and see if her ruse had worked.

* * *

Luke did not stray far from the house for the next few days. Robin kept out of sight in the kitchen. The moment near the palace gates when Creswell had seen them put Luke’s senses on instant high alert, but he knew that Robin had been nearly paralyzed with terror. On impulse, Luke had raised an arm in greeting to the Captain, who, after a slight hesitation, had waved and turned back to the stables.

Luke had told Robin to stroll through the gates looking as if he had every right to be there, maintaining a light meaningless chatter so that the guard would not think anything was amiss. They had stumbled into the sanctuary of the kitchen. Just in time, too, for the heightened tension in Robin had made Luke’s makeshift spell wear off far more quickly than was usual. A few minutes after sitting down with bread and mutton, Robin was back to his normal height, his hair its usual sandy color and his eyebrows thick. They sat at the table drinking small beer in silent relief.

Robin had spent his first days at Luke’s house clearing out the upstairs bedroom and moving the pallet from the kitchen. Luke set him easy tasks like mixing herbs and oils for the basic remedies kept on the shelves in the shop. There was always a steady stream of patients, most of them penniless. Had it not been for Luke, they would have either suffered in silence or waited for one of the new traveling quacksalvers to gull them out of what little money they possessed. He daily thanked God that his few rich clients made it possible for him to treat these poor souls for no payment.

“Can you cook?” he asked the boy on their first morning together.

“Cooking’s women’s work.”

“Not in the palace it isn’t, and not here. You’ll have to earn your keep the same as everyone else.”

“I only know about horses.”

“Can you read?”

“No.”

Luke sighed. “Right, for the time being, I can buy bread from our friendly baker. I’ll show you how to cook a few things, though. We’ll work out the rest between us somehow.” Not for the first time, Luke missed Pippa.

Later, he met Twelvetrees about to take his wares to the palace kitchen, and asked to buy a loaf. The baker would not meet his eye. Luke clapped him on the arm and laughed.

“Do you think I bear a grudge because I was taken for questioning? Master Baker, I have no quarrel with you. You did as every citizen must. I was upset over Gethin Pitt’s death, but I would never question the execution of a traitor.”

The baker looked relieved. “It’s very fair of you to take it that way, Master Ballard. I’ll own I was in my cups when I spoke. It was a shock when we heard you’d been taken.”

“Where were you drinking?”

“In the tavern in Hampton. Mayhap I’ll try another. All a man wants is to drink in peace and be able to chat with his neighbor. Here, take this loaf. I haven’t seen your housekeeper for a few days. Is she ailing?”

“No. She has left me to work in a bigger house.”

“Ah, women,” Twelvetrees said. “There’s no accounting for ‘em. Don’t know when they’re suited, most of ‘em. Always wanting something else. You’re better off by yourself, Master Ballard and that’s a fact.” He cast a furtive glance back at his bakehouse. “Oft times wish I was,” he added.

Luke laughed, accepted the proffered loaf and returned to the shop. It was whilst he was mixing some more stomach remedies that he thought again of Pippa, recalling her joy when she summoned Ajax by name and fed the vital force into that lump of dormant matter. The memory steered his thoughts to his visit to the kennels. Luke had been lucky. The squire of the kennel had only one cell ready for vitalizing. The others were all too young as yet. They had chatted for a while, Luke asking if he had lost any cells to the sunderers.

“God’s nightgown, no. I make well sure that anything black goes into the fire,” the man had told him, beckoning to a closed stall gate. Looking over the top, Luke saw a massive and very ugly bandog. The dog’s lip curled, showing huge yellow teeth, and a deep rumble resonated in its throat. Luke backed away and the kennel squire laughed. “And at night Gabriel keeps a watch. Not even the King himself could get past Gaby.”

Thinking back to that conversation, Luke realized his logic had been at fault. He had assumed that umbrans had been bred at the kennels and that the shadowy presence he had felt at odd times during the past few days had emanated from there. But the kennels squire had been adamant that nothing evil had been in the place, and Luke had to admit that the sight of the bandog would have terrified any intruder. Which meant that the darkness he felt came from elsewhere. His watcher, no doubt. His hand stilled as his mind reached out, but no answer came. Perhaps a walk might help. It might also give his brain some direction in which to steer this investigation. All he had so far were vague strands that led nowhere, and he still had nothing to report to the Queen, a lady not noted for her patience.

What had started all this? The rose stem under the saddle? No, but it was the first tangible evidence of the plot against the King. Luke wondered if he could possibly find the stem after so much time had elapsed. He called through to tell Robin not to show himself if anyone knocked. Then he put up the shutter and headed for the mews, the place where Jasper had been saddled and unsaddled and the rose stem discovered.