Court of Conspiracy (15 page)

It seemed that the guard had been withdrawn, for nobody challenged him when he entered the stable block. Luke made no attempt to search the stalls, knowing that they were cleaned out daily. Instead, he headed for the enormous pile of manure and straw, but one glance told him that he would never find what must by now be a dead rose stem in the huge mound. Several boys were exercising the horses and Luke stood smiling at their high spirits as they galloped on the finest horseflesh in the land. He leaned on the corner of the building watching as they raced each other across Bushy Park. His foot touched something, and looking down, he saw a plain buff leather glove with a short gauntlet. He was unprepared for the sudden descent of what felt like a dark cloud threatening the edges of his mind, endeavoring to smother him. Joss nudged his legs.

“Master Ballard, what can we do for you?”

Swinging round, Luke saw John Bell looking at him with no friendly eye. He made himself relax and smile.

“I came to beg some manure for my new herb garden, sir, but I see from the heap that it is much too fresh as yet.”

The Mewsmaster did not return his smile. “Yet the heap is over there and you are over here.”

“Aye, I saw the lads exercising the horses. They are a fine sight, are they not? You are to be commended on your care of them.”

“I does my duty to the King. Can I aid you further?”

Luke shook his head.

“No, except to tell me when you think I may come back on my errand.”

“I will send one of the lads with a bucket or two when it is ready. Now I have work.”

“Thank you. I, also, must away.” Luke strode across the road and into the park, never stopping until he was in the shelter of trees and knew he could not be seen from the Mews. The darkness had left him, but it was over the stables, of that he was certain. He had to get back and investigate and, more important, he had to retrieve the glove. He saw Bell emerge on horseback and head for the palace, but instead of going in through the gates, the man skirted the northern edge. He was going to Hampton Wick.

Luke walked back to where he had been standing, loosening the strap on his scrip. He knew Joss would warn him if anyone else came close. His timing was excellent, for the scrip dropped to the floor inches away from where the glove lay hidden in the long grass. Joss stood in front of him as he scrabbled around for it. His fingers closed on it and within seconds, it was stowed away. He stood up, fiddling with the strap, in case any watching eyes were on him, and felt the absence of the
malus nocte
. It had gone and left no trace.

A fresh breeze teased his nostrils and he took a deep cleansing breath, trying to work out what was happening. He had believed the shadow to be on the glove, but that was a coincidence of timing. He remembered seeing the glove, feeling the darkness and then turning to see John Bell. Had he overreacted and made the man suspicious? He knew he had not been mistaken about the dark menace.

Luke turned for home pondering the matter. His feet slowed as he approached the palace gates. There was only one conclusion. There was no shadow over the stables. There never had been a shadow over the stables. No, the shadow was on the Mewsmaster.

Chapter Seventeen

When he arrived home, Luke found Robin stirring a pot on the outer reaches of the fire. The boy answered Luke’s questioning look.

“I used to watch my mother do this and then my sister, so it should turn out all right.”

“What is it?”

“Frumenty.”

“Good.” Luke’s tone belied the word.

“We can have it for supper,” Robin said. Luke did not have the heart to say that he hated frumenty. Still, with Pippa gone and nobody looking after the household, choice was limited. To make matters worse, there was no meat, only cheese and some day-old bread. Well, he would have to make do with as good a grace as he could.

“I’ll go into the park later and get us a rabbit or two, if you like,” the boy said, trying to be diffident, but Luke could read in the boy a determination to do his share of the work and repay Luke’s kindness.

“It isn’t safe for you to go out, and besides, we must talk about Gethin.”

“I don’t know nothing about Gethin. I can’t stay here, cooped up like a broody hen, Master Ballard.” The boy stared into the pot. His tone became hesitant. “They didn’t recognize me when we came home from the apple store. Why should they recognize me now, especially if I go after dark?”

Luke flicked a suspicious glance at the too-innocent face. “Say what you have to say, boy.”

“If you use some of that colored oil to darken my hair again, it would help, but the effect doesn’t last. Don’t you have any walnut juice or something that can make it darker all the time? And could we change the style as well? I can’t stay indoors forever.”

“That’s not a bad notion, Robin. I should have thought of it.”

“You’ve been busy and preoccupied, sir. I’m sure you could mix something up, perhaps something I could rub on it every day so it stays dark. I’ve always hated having ginger hair.”

Luke pursed his lips to stop the smile that threatened. “You finish supper and I will see what I can find. We must tread with care. There are extra guards on duty now that the King and both his sisters are here.”

“I don’t understand why Princess Elizabeth has to stay at the palace. Her house in Bushy Park is less than a mile away.”

Luke chuckled. “Not far for us, boy, but not near enough for her. She and the Lady Mary circle each other like suspicious bitches each looking to make sure the other does not win a bigger bone. There is no way our Elizabeth would allow her sister to stay at Hampton Court and she stay elsewhere,” he said walking through to the shop.

He had only just unfastened the door when a stocky man strode in, his coarse features exacerbated by a sullen expression.

“You the apothecary?”

Luke saw that the other’s eyes were taking note of everything in the shop. “No, I’m a grave-digger. What do you want?”

“A civil tongue would be wise.”

He seemed to be expecting some sort of demur, a sign that Luke acknowledged he was speaking to a man of influence. Luke stayed silent. He had encountered bullies before.

The man shrugged. “I am Edwin Achard. I know people in high places.” He leaned over the counter. “Very high places,” he added. Luke blinked and turned his head away.

“Then what do you want from me? A breath-sweetening remedy, perhaps?”

Achard ignored the question, looking instead along the shelves behind Luke’s back. “I need something to calm the nerves of one of the women.”

Achard did not appear to notice Luke’s momentary stillness. He had assumed the oaf had been exaggerating his status. If not, why had he come here instead of a palace apothecary? Was this some kind of test to make sure Luke was obeying Norfolk’s instructions with regard to the palace? If so, then one false step now and he could be a dead man.

“Really? Which woman?” he said at last.

The man’s eyes stopped scanning the shelves and stared directly at Luke. “Why?”

“Because if you come from the high places you claim, you would be aware that I am expressly forbidden me to treat anyone in the palace, irrespective of the fact that I do not know the humors of the lady in question, which would affect the formulation of the medicine.”

“Oh, that. I did know. Trouble is, they’ve run out. It’s been like Bedlam since the Lady Mary arrived. Women dropping like sewer rats.”

“I see. Do you have written instructions giving me permission to dispense medicine to you? I would not want to disobey a direct order.” Luke’s voice was crisp.

Achard reached out, grabbing the front of Luke’s tunic and the apothecary felt some empathy with the fainting women. He clenched his teeth and stared down into the man’s dark brown eyes.

“Do not trifle with me, Master Apothecary. I was there when His Grace questioned you.”

Luke felt Joss nuzzle his knee as she began to growl. “If that is so, Master Achard, why did you need to ask if I was the apothecary?”

Joss’s growling intensified and Achard released him. “No need to take that tone.”

Luke put both hands onto the counter and leaned forward to show that he was not intimidated.

“You may bully others, fellow, but do not try it with me. If I am now required to supply medicines, I am happy to do so, but I will need proof in future that you have leave to ask me. Perhaps you might mention that to Sir Nigel Kerr.” Mention of Kerr’s name had been a shot in the dark, but from the sudden flush on Achard’s face, it was clear he thought Luke better informed than was the case. Luke pressed home his advantage. “On this occasion only, I will give you two remedies, with my blessing and no charge.”

He turned and picked up a small phial of oil from the shelves behind him. “This will calm most cases of nerves. Put four drops in a bowl of hot water and let the patient breathe in the vapors.”

“How long for?” Achard asked.

“One quarter of the clock. If she is not calm, replenish the hot water and drops and continue for a further quarter. If she is very disturbed, you may need to repeat this several times, but do not continue the treatment for longer than one hour without a goodly interval. In other words, you may give four changes of water and a total of sixteen drops in any one hour. Is that clear?”

“Aye. I have ears as good as the next man.” Achard made as if to leave.

“And this is for you,” Luke said, holding out a small cloth bag. “Have these and if they work, come back and buy more.”

“What are they?”

“Small tablets of parsley and violet. Your breath would fell an archer at forty paces. These will cover it up and mayhap make you more attractive to the ladies.”

Achard snarled at the insult and Luke could see why his breath was so rank. A jagged row of blackened stumps was clearly visible. Luke rubbed his own teeth and gums each day with a white cloth soaked in vinegar of quinces to ensure that his teeth were white and his breath fresh for his customers. Had Achard done that, he might have saved his teeth from such corruption. However, the parsley/violet mix would mask the worst of his problems. He watched the man swagger out and wondered who the woman with nerves might be. If Achard was Kerr’s man—and Luke was certain he was—then it had to be a high-ranking lady. Kerr would not be sent on trivial errands. Luke had no illusions. Talk of the palace apothecaries running out of lavender and chamomile was nonsense. He and Joss walked to the door and watched Achard pass under the arch of the main gate.

The frumenty was not as bad as Luke had been expecting, but perhaps that was because he ate more bread and cheese with it than was customary. Robin had been watching him all through the meal. He picked up the half-full trencher and put it down for Joss, who turned her nose up at it.

“She doesn’t like it, either,” he said.

Luke laughed. “It isn’t your cooking, boy. I’m just not that fond of frumenty. And Joss is more used to scraps of beef and mutton, but I haven’t had the time to buy supplies since Pippa left.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I miss her cooking.”

“Can you do any better?”

“No.”

“Shall I go out and see what I can catch?”

“Not yet. First, I want to know more about the day of the King’s accident. Were you at the stables?”

“Aye.”

“Close your eyes and tell me everything you can remember.”

There was a pause whilst the boy frowned. “I can’t remember nothing.”

“There is no need for alarm. Close your eyes.” When the boy’s eyes had closed, Luke took some powder from a small jar and sprinkled it on the table. He made sure his voice was soft and monotonous.

“I was gathering herbs early. It had rained the night before. The rain had left a thick river fog,” he said, wafting his hands over the powder and sending tiny grains flying up into Robin’s face.

The boy smiled. “We drew straws to see who should saddle Jasper. I’d done it the day before, so I cheated and let Gethin win.”

“Did you watch him?”

“Aye. He’d been allowed to exercise Jasper for a few weeks, but it was the first time he’d had a chance to get him ready for the King, so he was being ever so careful.”

“Did he put a rose stem under the saddle?”

“No.”

“What happened when he had finished?”

“Master Bell came in and began checking Jasper’s girths.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He said Gethin had them too loose and that because of the way he turned the horse, the King would fall off if they were not really tight.”

“Did anyone ask you these questions after the rose stem was found?”

“No. The Master said I could have a sleep because I had been up so early. When I woke up, Gethin had already been taken.”

“And you said nothing to anyone of this?”

“No. For a few days afterwards, Master Bell had me working on the horses for the timber wharf. I didn’t come back to work in the stables until after Gethin was...was...hanged.” The final word was a hesitant whisper. It was clear that Robin’s mind had tried to erase the incident with the Mewsmaster because he had realized it might have been him dangling on the end of the rope.

“Was Master Bell wearing gloves that morning?”

“No.”

Luke put the remaining powder back in the jar before taking a pinch from another. It would not do for anyone to extract that story again, so he needed to eliminate it from the boy’s brain. He glanced at the amount in his palm and took another pinch. Better too much than risk a return of memory. He laid the powder on his palm and blew it into the boy’s eyes.

Robin stretched and yawned. “Shall I go and get a couple of rabbits?”

“I’m more worried about you getting caught than eating rabbit.”

“Then change me like you did before.”

Luke stopped in the act of putting more wood on the fire. “What do you mean,” he said, keeping his face averted.

“When you stroked my face with that oil, I thought it was an excuse for something else, but it wasn’t, was it?” Robin held up his hands as Luke jerked upright to face him. “Oh, don’t worry, I wouldn’t have minded. I’ve been used worse than that. But you’re not one of them, are you?”

“No, I am not.”

“So I got to thinking. When you’ve been around horses as long as I have, you tune into people a lot quicker. You like to help people. Some would say you’re soft and you can be, but not always. When you put that oil on me, I felt as if you was trying to make amends for something, but I don’t know what. I didn’t feel like me. So if you can do it again, I can go out and not get caught. Can’t I?”

Luke sat down at the table. “It made you feel different?”

“Aye. It wasn’t just my hair. It was me. I was different.”

Luke sighed. He had not bargained for the boy being so perceptive, but then he was probably alive because of his nimble wits. This could be a danger or a blessing. Another complication. He would need to ponder on the best course.

“We’d better cut your hair short,” he said. “That will change your appearance more than anything. I do have some of the oil left, but it will only darken your hair, I promise,” he said. There was only enough left in the bottle for one more application, but no need to tell Robin.

“Fine. Do it and then I’ll go. I’ll try to get a pigeon, too.”

Luke waited for a few minutes to elapse after Robin left. He spread a clean cloth on the table, eased the glove out of his scrip onto it. Then he examined every inch of it. Made of fine buff leather, it was the sort of glove only the wealthy could afford. He dropped his nose to sniff at the fabric. The smell of leather mixed with grass and something else. Something so transient that it was gone before he could identify it. He turned it over. There was a dark stain on the thumb and first two fingers. Taking a small swatch of linen, he wet it and dabbed the stain on the thumb. The linen came away red. Blood? Underneath the cleaned area were two tiny holes.

With as much care as he could, Luke turned the glove inside out. There was more staining on the inside. Not much use because whoever had been injured would show no signs of it now. He knew that his powers were not enough to identify the stain as blood. Perhaps a Dominus would be able to.

For the first time, Luke thought seriously about the advantages of progressing his talent. It was frustrating not being able to do things he knew were possible, but which he had not yet learned. He checked the glove again. The tiny holes were easier to see when the glove was inside out. It looked as if somebody had picked up something that punctured the skin and drew blood. Try as he might, all his mind could see was Pippa holding the rose stem at Corbin’s, blood dripping from her fingers.

The familiar surroundings of his kitchen faded. He saw the blurred outline of a man standing aside a horse, cursing as his hands scrabbled under the leather saddle. When he withdrew his hands, Luke saw blood on them. The man swore again before quickly pulling on a pair of leather gloves. The next Luke knew he was staring down at the glove in his hand.

He wrapped it in the cloth and hid it under the floorboards in his bedroom. He must get this news to Queen Anne. It seemed clear from Robin’s testimony that the Mewsmaster was deep in the conspiracy, too. Not a surprising conclusion given the diablerie Luke knew hung over the man. Had the glove been his? If Luke’s vision were right, then it seemed more than probable. Bell was not of the nobility, but anyone could have gloves made, provided that person had money. If the Mewsmaster was involved, he would be well paid. Mayhap he had not realized the thorns would damage the soft leather, and had been forced to take the glove off to avoid spoiling it further before using his fingers to push the spines under Jasper’s saddle. It was not much, but now Luke had something to report. Tomorrow, he would send Pippa to see the Princess.