Court of Conspiracy (22 page)

Creswell sent him a narrow glance. “He is. And what business is that of yours?”

“I was drinking with him last night in the Black Boy in Hampton.”

The Captain took his arm. “I think a few questions are in order. Come with me.” He kept hold of Luke all the way through the courtyards until they gained the Chapel Royal. “In here,” he said. “We will not be disturbed.”

He waited until they were both seated and then looked with what Luke read to be a perplexed expression. “You puzzle me, Master Ballard.”

“Why?”

“Because wherever I seem to be, you roll into view like a hoop. The King falls off his horse, and there you are. Someone appears to have been expressing sympathy for a convicted traitor and it turns out to be you. You visit a stable boy and next day he disappears. Now the Mewsmaster is dead and you admit you were drinking with him. I can’t make up my mind if you attract trouble or go looking for it.”

“I don’t go looking for it, but of late, it does seem to have found me.”

The Captain grunted. “Tell me about Bell. Why were you in the Black Boy? Not your usual haunt is it?”

“Nowhere is my regular haunt.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Horses. He was bemoaning the fact that he was down two good lads and their replacements didn’t know one end of a horse from the other.”

“Why did he take them on, then?”

Luke shrugged. “No idea.”

“What else did you talk about?”

“He didn’t like drinking at The Ship because of the river traders. What else? Oh, Aye. He said the tack that Robin Flete had stolen had been returned.”

“We know that.”

“And that he thought the boy might have gone to someone at Bridewell.”

“Bridewell? He didn’t tell us that. When did you leave him?”

“A short while before you found me.”

“You need to watch your drinking. You have no stomach for it.”

“I wasn’t drunk. I tripped over something.” It would not do to tell this astute man that someone had hit him on the head, especially as Dufay’s ministrations had closed the wound and rendered the skin whole again.

Creswell snorted. “Probably your own feet, judging by the amount of ale on your jerkin. What else can you tell me about Bell?”

“I don’t know his regular drinking habits, but he was gulping it down.”

“So?”

“Well, you will have more experience than me with people who are in their cups, but usually they are either frightened or trying to forget.”

“Frightened? Why should he be frightened?”

“It seems strange to me,” Luke said, choosing his words with care, “that he should lose two stables boys in such circumstances, and so close to each other. Does that not seem curious to you?”

“What seems curious is that you appear to be in the thick of it. You wouldn’t be trying to deflect me with suspicions of a dead man, would you?”

“Why should I?”

“Why indeed, Master Apothecary? Tread carefully. I have my eye on you. I am not convinced you are innocent in the matter of Bell’s death. Be off with you and make sure I can find you when I want to.”

Luke made his way home. He felt in his bones that Bell had been part of the conspiracy, silenced lest his loose mouth flapped. Luke thought again about the diablerie he had felt around the Mewsmaster. Creswell could not know about Bell’s confession, but whoever had been overshadowing the man in the Black Boy would know that Luke was now aware of the true situation regarding the rose stem. Bell had been silenced. Would they now try to silence Luke? It was imperative that he find out more about how Bell had died, but first, he had to know all he could glean from Pippa.

He found her still staring into the fire. “I thought you were going to cook a meal.”

She looked up in shock as if she had been elsewhere and then wrenched back to Luke’s fireside. “I am sorry. I lost track of the day.”

Luke could feel the misery pouring from her and despite his anger, he could not help feeling sorry for her wretchedness. “You have been pondering your decision?”

“Aye.”

“Well, try not to think about it now. Prepare a meal. I have work to do.”

“There were people knocking on the shop door. I sent them away.”

“I shall open up until the food is ready. We will talk tonight.”

The news that he had opened the shop took a while to spread, giving him time to mix the recipe from Dufay for his hand balm. It would be interesting to see how it enhanced his magic. He added basil to the mix because it was an oil to which he was susceptible and had helped him in his work before. He washed his hands before rubbing in some of the oil. His skin appeared to soak it up like water seeping into parched earth, so he kept replenishing it until a faint sheen stayed on his skin.

His clients kept him busy for the next few hours. Goodwife Corbet came in for some aid with griping of the guts. Luke felt a frisson of shock as he saw that within a few days she had already lost flesh. When he put his hand on her shoulder, a faint smell of decay wafted toward him, but when he took his hand away, the smell disappeared. He gave her powdered lovage root in a beaker of wine, making up enough to last her for a few days. As she rose to leave, he handed her a measure of his own concoction of gillyflowers and marigolds, sprinkling in a pinch of replenishing powder. If his suspicion that she, too, was being prepared for death were true, then this would provide as much protection as he was able to give her. He would ask Master Dufay if the smell was as sinister as it appeared.

By the time Pippa had finished preparing the pigeon, Luke’s rush of clients had diminished to a trickle and he was able to close up with a clear conscience.

Robin came in just as the pie appeared on the table. Pippa looked at him with scorn.

“Trust you to turn up when dinner is ready.”

“Better that than spending the day looking at your long face.”

“Enough,” Luke said. “We will eat. Where have you been, Robin?”

“I have news. John Bell, the Mewsmaster, is dead.”

Luke looked up. “That I already know.”

“I’d wager you don’t know how.”

Luke put down his spoon. “You would win. How?”

“Drowned. Fished him out of the river at Teddington Weir.”

“When?”

“This morning. One of the traders bringing wood up to the palace found him. They reckon he’s been in the water since last night and that he took a beating before he went in.”

Luke felt the ground slip a little under his feet. His ears sang. He did not catch Robin’s next sentence and asked him to repeat it.

“I said, they think he went in somewhere near the stables,” the boy repeated.

* * *

Luke went up early to his bedroom and spent a long time sitting without light. His head ached with the effort of trying to fit together all the recent events. He had several lines of enquiry. Peveril and Pippa were among the most urgent, but Bell’s death overshadowed everything.

On reflection, he was happy that he had done the right thing seeking out Byram Creswell. It would hardly be the act of a guilty man to volunteer the information that he had been with the victim until shortly before his death. A few questions in the right place and it would soon be known that he and Bell had been together in the Black Boy. His safety would depend on how many other things kept Creswell occupied. Strictly speaking, it was the responsibility of the Beadles to investigate the circumstances of Bell’s demise. They might well consider it a natural death. Plenty of men had missed their footing in the dark after a gut full of ale. Robin had mentioned that Bell had been given a beating, but that could be the effect of the tide, the rocks and the weir. The timing of the man’s death was too suspicious for Luke to regard it as an accident, but it would only alert the enemy were he to voice his opinion publicly.

It was at this point that Luke remembered how easily he had followed the boot prints to the water’s edge. He had assumed that the agent of the
malus nocte
who had been tuning into their conversation in the tavern was the person who had dug up the rose stem and then taken it to the river. What if it had been Bell himself? There was only one way to find out and that was to try and get a look at the man’s boots. If they were the same as the prints Luke had memorized, then the whole thing was an accident and not the murder his overheated mind had boiled it up to be.

Why did Gwenette Paige come into his mind? The more he thought about it, the more positive he was that it had been her skirts swishing out of sight when he came round last night with the Captain bending over him. What was it that made him so sure? The height of the woman and the way she moved pointed to Gwenette, certainly. He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes and opened his mind. He saw again the glint of jewels on the bodice. That was it. Not a jewel, a needle. It had been the glint of a needle, its brightness caught in the flame from the torches. He had seen Gwenette weave needles into her bodice when she had finished the repairs she was doing to the tapestries.

How could he discover what she had been doing out and about when she should have been in bed and asleep? He must not forget that her close relatives were in the Merchant Adventurers, and the whole world knew how much they resented the King’s strictures against trade with Spain.

Robin was still a concern. Luke hoped that the news that the tack had been returned would be enough to call off the hunt for the boy, or that his casual reference to Bridewell would send the Captain chasing in that direction, rather than looking under his nose.

The darkness outside his window was relieved only by flickering lights from the distant torches of the yeoman guards by the time Luke came to himself and remembered the practice he must do. He could still feel the last of the hand balm on his palms and stood up, mentally calculating the angle of light as it entered the window and repeating the visualization. He muttered the words of the spell, sketching his outline with his hands from his head down to his feet. He had no glass and therefore no means of knowing if the spell had worked or not. Moving toward the window, he looked down to see if his feet were visible. He could see not only his feet, but his whole body. It had not worked at all. Luke cursed.

“There you are, Master Ballard. I thought the room was empty,” came Robin’s whisper from the door.

Luke swung round. “What do you mean?”

“I opened the door, sir, but I couldn’t see you. You must have been standing in a patch of shadow.”

“Probably. What do you want?”

“It’s Mistress Garrod, sir. I was watching the river from my window. I heard a bit of creaking going on and I crept to the top of the stairs. She’s just slipped out of the kitchen door.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Luke felt his jaw clench with anger.
Slipped out to Peveril
,
no doubt.
“Has she taken the dog?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Right, Robin, you stay here. Which direction did she go?”

“Towards the palace.”

The answer to one niggling problem popped into his mind as he left his bedroom. Robin’s appearance had brought forward a mental picture of the boy’s buttock the morning he had been attacked. The square-toed indentation embedded in the boy’s flesh matched the print by the river. He knew he’d seen that pattern and shape before. It was another part of the puzzle coming together, and it was now imperative that he find out if the boots belonged to Bell. First though, he must deal with Pippa.

Luke slipped down the stairs after Robin and, making sure that no light showed, opened the back door to follow her. His mind tried to find her, but failed. He remembered the useful nooks around the outside of the palace where two clandestine bodies might meet, but there was no point in checking any of them. Since the latest attempt on the King’s life, security had been at full stretch. Luke doubted if a mouse could get in without being questioned.

With Joss at his heels, he skirted the Tiltyard and came to the orchard. He stood still for a few seconds to get his bearings and open up his senses. Although it was only a few hours since his first session with Dufay, he could already feel his magic gaining strength. He bent all his energies to locating the lovers, hoping that the emotion emanating from their coupling would augment the currents in the air, making them easier to pinpoint.

There was nobody in the orchard. That meant they had to be in the gardens near the river. In the normal course of events, he would have walked out into Bushy Park and curved round to come along the river path to the gardens, but he did not have the luxury of time. Closing his eyes to help his concentration, he once more went through the steps of the enclosure spell, knowing it really worked only when he was motionless. He knew that for it to be even half-effective, he needed to remain calm and unhurried with no hint of the anger and anxiety he was feeling. He would have to hope that any deficiencies in his spell would be covered by the cloak of night.

Joss kept close to his heels as he took a deep breath and strolled across the main gatehouse to the river, resisting the impulse to hurry and saying the words of the enshrouding incantation over and over in his head, waiting for a challenge from the sentries. He could hear their footsteps as they walked their beat across the front of the palace, but he made it to the river without incident. Only then did he realize that he had been holding his breath. He stood for a while under a tree, panting a little and with his hand on Joss’s head.

Once his breathing had returned to normal, he walked along the riverbank until he was level with the pond gardens. Relaxing his shoulders, he let his mind reach out over the wall, although he had no idea how Pippa would have been able to scale it unheard or unseen. Nothing and nobody stirred. He crept along as far as the Watergate tower, where more sentries were on duty. Still nothing. Where could she be?

* * *

Pippa’s senses were once more overwhelmed by the passion of Geoffrey’s kisses. She longed to succumb to the fire that weakened every part of her. His hungry mouth on hers pulled out every ounce of her resolve and when he at last drew back with a soft laugh of triumph, she found her legs trembled with the effort of remaining upright.

She had slipped from the house and into the park close to the Tennis Court. Geoffrey had been waiting as her heart had told her he would be. He stepped out from behind a tree to cover her eyes with his hands and she had turned for his kiss with a willingness that shamed her even as it drove her. The lights from the torches on the palace walls showed her the curve of his cheek and mouth and she stroked his face, trying to commit every part of it to memory.

“I knew you would not fail me,” Geoffrey said, once more bending his head to kiss her throat. It was only the pressure of Ajax’s nose on Pippa’s ankle that brought her back to her senses.

“I am back at Luke’s house,” she told Geoffrey.

“Better there than at that prune-faced merchant’s. I did not like the way his eyes rested on you, my sweetheart.”

He bent once more to smother her with kisses, but she put up her hands and pushed him away.

“Geoffrey, we must talk.”

“There will be time for talking later.”

“No. We must talk now. I had a lot of time to think this afternoon, and what we are doing is wrong and must stop.”

“How can loving be wrong?”

“We have done Bertila a grave injury. Not just me, Geoffrey, but you, too. She loves you.”

“And you do not?” He raised his head and laughed, but not loudly enough for the distant sentries to hear.

“Aye, I do love you, but I must let you go back to her. She loves you and needs you and she has prior claim on your affections.”

She could hear puzzlement and the first stirrings of fear in his voice. “What is this nonsense? We will have no more of it. Do you think I could love a scarface like her when there is you?”

Pippa pushed him back and stood away from the tree trunk against which she had been leaning. “That is a shameful thing to say, Geoffrey. It is her misfortune, not her fault. Bertila is a kind and caring woman. One who would make a loving wife and mother.”

Geoffrey walked forward to take her in his arms again, but instead, trod on Ajax who had come to sit directly in front of his mistress. With a sudden oath, Geoffrey kicked the greyspring out of his way and held out his arms for Pippa, but, on hearing the yelp of pain, Pippa sank to the ground and cradled her dog.

“How dare you? That has decided me as nothing else could. We shall not meet again Master Peveril.”

Peveril hauled her to her feet. “I prithee pardon. Sweetheart, I acted on impulse. I promise I will never do that again. Please do not desert me, Pippa. Heart of my heart, I need you.”

“And why do you need her, Master Peveril? She has just told you that she does not want to see you again.”

The lovers swung round to face an angry Luke. Joss nosed a still-whimpering Ajax, her calm presence seeming to offer comfort. He stopped whimpering and climbed to his feet, one back leg dragging a little on the ground.

“Look, the dog is fine,” Peveril said. He made to walk over to Ajax but was stopped in his tracks by Joss’s persistent snarling. On hearing it, another small black dog came into view, its teeth bared.

“Merrick, quiet,” Peveril said. “Call off your dog, Master Ballard.”

“I will call her off when you are gone. Mistress Garrod said she did not want to meet you again. I heard her say it. Go, and take your animal with you.”

“Pippa is not in her right mind. She loves me. I love her.”

“On the contrary, the moment she said she wanted nothing more to do with you was the first time she has been in her right mind since she set eyes on your conceited face. Begone, as she asks, and do not trouble her again.”

“Or else what, Master Apothecary?” Peveril stood facing Luke, feet apart, hand on the hilt of his dagger.

“That is enough,” Pippa said. “Do you want the whole of the guard down on us? Master Ballard, how dare you follow me?”

“Because I knew where you were going, or rather, who you were meeting. Where are your senses, girl?”

Pippa began to weep. “I came out to tell Master Peveril that we could not meet again. I swear that was my only intent.”

“If that was so then tell him again. Now. In front of me.”

* * *

Luke’s challenge hung in the air. Swirls of almost tangible emotion came down like a mist. Through it, Luke looked at Peveril. The man’s face was full of passion but Luke could not tell if it was rage or despair. His gaze switched to Pippa. When she spoke, he could hear the desolation in her voice.

“It is true, Geoffrey. We cannot meet again. I have wronged Bertila and must renounce you.”

“But I love you, Pippa. My whole future is bound up in you. You cannot desert me now.”

“I can. I must. Goodbye, Geoffrey. This is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Please, as you love me, do not make it harder.”

Pippa’s face crumpled. She turned and stumbled toward the palace. Ajax limped after her. Peveril turned on Luke.

“I am not what you think, Master Ballard. I will not give her up. I cannot, for my life, be without her.” He put his head in his hands.

“You do not give her up. She has given you up, of her own free will. I beg of you to honor her decision and do not try to make her change her mind.”

“I need her.”

“But she does not need you. Goodnight, Master Peveril.”

Luke turned to follow Pippa. Joss, after one final bristle at Merrick, trotted close on his heels. Lengthening his strides, Luke was soon within earshot of Pippa’s weeping. He hurried to catch her up.

“I think you would stop weeping sooner if you tended to your dog. Have you not noticed that he is hurt?”

Pippa wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve, knelt on the ground and put both arms around Ajax’s neck. Luke stroked his hand down the dog’s side and sucked in his breath when Ajax flinched.

“God’s teeth. That ratsbane has a savage kick. This leg is broken. You must carry him.”

Without hesitation, Pippa gathered Ajax in her arms, and for the rest of the journey the only words she spoke were ones of comfort to her dog. When they reached the safety of the house, she laid him on the kitchen table. Robin had already gone to bed, for which both girl and man were thankful.

Luke gave Ajax a more thorough examination and turned in rage to Pippa. “Wherefore is he so thin? Have you been starving him?”

“I love him. Why would I starve him?”

“I must tend to his ills, but first, give him food.”

“What shall I give him?”

“A dish of milk, first, whilst I make up a remedy for him. Wait here.” Luke grabbed some leftover meat and bread and took some clean water from the pail. He strode through into his shop, more angry than he could remember, and seized three jars from his shelves. For an elemancer to neglect her greyspring was a sin of the first order.

Forcing himself to be calm, he heated the water before soaking the meat and bread in it. He wondered what great sin he had committed that he should be so sorely tried. There was no denying that he had been required to discipline his mind to repose more frequently in the previous month than in the whole of his life before, and all through no fault of his. Why did God allow women to have this talent of effortless chaos? If this was what love did, he wanted no part of it. Making them elemancers only aggravated the problem. Holding his hands over the bowl, he muttered three different incantations, adding a pinch from each of the jars in turn.

Ajax was just lapping the last of the milk when Luke returned to the kitchen. He fell on the contents of the bowl as if he had not eaten for days. Luke felt his mouth tighten and he glared at Pippa. She glared back.

“No need to look at me as if I have starved him. He refused to eat all the time we were at Master Dufay’s house. What was I to do?”

“Tempt his appetite. Ajax is your only protection when you are out and about. You would doubtless tempt Master Peveril’s appetite if he was languishing yet you won’t look after your dog properly.”

“Have you no heart, Master Ballard?” Pippa asked, making sure that every word dripped scorn. “I admit that I fell in love with Geoffrey. I still love him, but I have decided that duty must come first.”

“Sounded more like guilty conscience about Bertila Quayne to me.”

“And you would know the sacrifice of love, would you? You who have never loved any save yourself.” She picked up the now-empty bowl. “Thank you for this. I will take Ajax to Master Dufay in the morning. One last word before I crouch on my pallet next to the fire. Geoffrey loves me. And he was right when he said you did not know him.”

Whispering endearments, she took Ajax up in her arms and laid him next to the pallet. She settled beside him, turning her back on Luke. He climbed the stairs, knowing there was nothing more to be said.

“I am not what you think, Master Ballard.” Luke would have given much to know what Peveril meant by that remark. Unless, of course, he was telling the plain truth. That he loved Pippa as much as she loved him and could not bear the thought of life without her. What was this force of nature that made sane people act as if they had lost their wits? Love. Wars had been fought for it. Great Harry had brought England to schism for it. Luke had lost his dearest friend because of it. Why could people not see how destructive love was? He determined never to allow its insidious tendrils to wrap themselves around him. The degree of suffering he had heard in the voices of Bertila, Pippa and, aye, even that peacock, Peveril, troubled him, a weight of worry on his chest. It was a long time before sleep claimed him.