Court of Conspiracy (26 page)

Chapter Thirty

“How can I help you, Captain Creswell?”

For answer Creswell held out his hand. The gash that Luke had last seen the morning after the attack on Robin had festered, beginning a swollen and angry red path up the man’s arm. Luke looked closely at it, his nose wrinkling with the smell of rotting flesh. He winced, knowing the pain the Captain must be in.

“Sit there,” he said, pointing to the settle. “Are you feeling dizzy or light-headed yet?”

“Since early this morning,”

“Why did you not come to me earlier?”

“I did not think it serious.”

Luke was busy pulling down jars and pots from his shelves. “I need hot water,” he said, almost running into the kitchen.

He returned in short order with a large steaming jug and began pouring water into different bowls on the counter. “This will not be pleasant or painless. I think we might save your arm, but it will be a close thing.”

From Creswell’s expression, Luke knew that, had his face been its normal hue, it would have paled. “You think it that severe an injury?” he asked.

“Look at it, man. When did you last see yourself in the glass? You’re red in the face and I’d wager that you’re hot to the touch.” To confirm his opinion, he laid a hand on the man’s brow. “God’s wounds, we must pray you are not come too late. This will hurt.”

“Do your worst, apothecary. Pain is something I am accustomed to.”

For all his bravado, Creswell looked apprehensive when Luke began bathing the wound with distillations of aloe, yarrow and echinacea. Once he was sure the gash was as clean as he could make it, he dipped a knife blade in lemon balm and scraped away the necrotic flesh, making the man wince and clench his teeth.

“I must get all this dead skin off and present a clean wound. I am not causing pain for the love of it,” Luke said as sweat began to pour from the Captain’s brow.

“Get on with it.”

Once the wound was looking merely red and raw, Luke made a hot compress of lemon balm and applied it. Creswell clenched his free fist, but kept the wounded hand steady.

“How did you come by this? I seem to recall it was fresh the morning you were searching for that thieving stable boy.” Luke watched the man’s face, trying to fathom if Robin was still being sought. It would be no bad thing if Creswell’s attention were diverted from the scraping of the knife.

“Nothing to do with young Flete,” the captain said, stifling a wince. “The apothecary in Hampton heard someone trying to break into his shop and raised the alarm. We were told the miscreant was seen running towards the palace. From the shouts of the sentries, we could tell he had gone to ground near the water gate. He must have been looking back towards it where the rest of my men had gone, for he leapt out from the shelter of a bush and collided with me. The knave had a dagger. I believe the stroke that caused this was intended for my heart.”

Luke grunted. He was busy making up a fresh potion, putting powders of lettuce, purslane and sorrel into a goblet of wine. “Drink this. It will cool your blood. How does the compress feel now?”

“Not as hot as when you put it on.”

“How is the pain?”

“Do not worry about the pain.”

Luke stood in front of the Captain. “I am not concerned with your prowess, but with healing a wound that, had you left it another two days, would have either led to a loss of your arm or your death. How is the pain?”

“Not as raw.”

“Good. I will make you up a bottle of the blood-cooling remedy. Put it into wine four times each day and drink it. There is enough here for three days. That is, twelve doses,” Luke said, remembering Dufay’s assertion about the daily use of mathematics. “Make sure it lasts that long.”

“I will and I thank you. Have you finished?”

“No. I want to put on a plaster of comfrey first. That will heal your wound quickly, which was why I had to make sure it was clean.”

Luke took off the now-cool compress and examined the wound once more. It looked clean, although Luke was still aware of the reek of putrid flesh. That should have disappeared with the debris he had cut away and, more disturbing, it seemed that Creswell could not smell it.

“Is there something wrong?” Creswell asked.

Luke took his time and instead of answering, asked a question in reply. “In your work, do you ever get the feeling about a prisoner that something is not as it should be, or, do you know without being told that one of your men is not behaving as usual?”

Creswell considered. “Aye, sometimes. Why?”

“Because I have that feeling about your hand. So, drink some more of this and let me think.” Luke relaxed his shoulders and concentrated on the wound, emptying his mind of everything except the raw red flesh. As he watched, it began to ooze black pus. He could tell from Creswell’s demeanor that the Captain could not see the filth. He reached out and put his thumb and fourth finger on either side of the injury and pressed. The black pus ran faster and Creswell winced again. Eventually, the flow ceased. Luke washed it once more with a distillation of lemon balm. Now the comfrey could do its work unimpeded by dark magic.

“How is the pain now?”

“In truth, almost gone.”

“Good. I think you will be fine. I will put on the plaster. Please come back in two days.” Luke bandaged the hand and gave Creswell a clean linen glove to put between the bandage and his gauntlets.

Creswell flexed his hand. “That feels as good as new. I thank you, Master Apothecary.” There was a pause. “Did you come to any conclusion about your feeling?”

Luke held the other’s gaze without flinching. “I think it will heal well enough now,” he said in an even tone. “Remember to come back in two days so that I may see how it progresses.”

“How much do I owe you?”

Luke laughed. “You came by your injury in the service of the King. As one of His Majesty’s loyal subjects, I will not charge you at all. Do not allow the wound to get wet or dirty, and you will be as good as new in a week or two.”

Captain Creswell bowed. “I will do as you say. In recompense, I can tell you that you are no longer under suspicion in the matter of John Bell’s death.”

“You said you had suspicions of my behavior but I had no notion that his death was anything other than normal, or that I was a suspect.”

“You were, but the man had a reputation as a sot. We also have a reliable witness who saw him leave the tavern, stumbling and weaving his way back to the stables after I had seen you back into this house. I take it you did not leave again.”

“By my troth, Captain, I did not.”

“As I thought. It is clear that the man stumbled down the bank into the water and was too drunk to find his way out again. Even a sober man with his wits about him would have all on to escape a watery grave in this section of the river. He is not the first and he will not be the last to lose his footing. I thank you again for your treatment. I must get back to my duties.”

“May I ask you one question, Master Creswell?”

Creswell looked at him for a long moment. “You may ask. I do not guarantee that I will answer.”

“It is an easy question. Mewsmaster Bell’s boots. Were they on his body?”

“Aye.”

“What shape were they?”

“Shape?” Creswell’s brows rose in surprise. “Are you thinking of changing profession?”

“No. It is just a theory of mine. Were the toes round or square?”

Creswell frowned and was silent for a moment. “Square,” he said eventually. “I am sure they were square. Why?”

Luke laughed and tried to keep his voice light. “When I met him at the stables, he seemed to have problems walking, and I wondered if his boots did not fit properly or if they had been given him by a benefactor.”

Creswell was not deceived. “I am sure you will tell me when you are ready” was all he said before nodding a curt farewell and leaving.

Once the Captain had gone, Luke cleared away his bottles and jars. The black pus had confirmed that the knife wound had come from a corrupt blade. His intuition had been right. Wherever he looked, the
malus nocte
held sway. He would have to cleanse the whole shop before transacting any more business. Luke lit candles and burned cleansing oils. He mixed a purification spell and sent it around the shop until every surface glistened with a white sheen. Muttering the spell, he gathered all the droplets into a whirling column and skimmed them into a large urn, putting a lid on it. He would say the dissipation spell over it later and pour it away. Then he called for Robin. No point in having a dog and barking yourself. The shop was quite safe now. Robin could clean it.

“Do you have any more of that oil?” he asked Luke when the latter went into the kitchen.

“What oil?” Luke frowned.

“Look, Master Ballard, I may be a weedy urchin, but my wits have kept me alive. I know that when you use the oil, people don’t know me, but that as soon as it dries, I am me again.”

“That is how disguises work.”

“I am not stupid, Master Ballard. And I could be of use to you.”

“You mean you want to stay here permanently?” Luke asked.

Robin frowned. “I do not know what you mean, Master Ballard. Are you going to cast me out?”

“No. I merely asked what you want to do. With your life, I mean.”

“You do mean to cast me out.”

“Not unless you want to leave. Tell me, if you could have any wish, what would it be for?”

“A roof, food, clothes and a fair master.”

Luke laughed. “Wouldn’t you rather be the King, giving orders and able to have anything you want?”

“No. Too much like being at the stables. Master Bell was a hard man. He ran the stables for the Master of Horse, who answers to the King. There weren’t many stable boys who did not think they could do the job better than Bell, especially when he was in his cups. It must be like that for the King. Always someone wanting to step into his shoes. No, I will stick with a roof, food, clothes and a fair master. I will go further, sir. You saved my life when others would have shunned me, although you did not know who I was or if I was guilty like they said. I remember my mother on her deathbed saying that the priest had told her of a passage in the Bible. It said that Jesus had chided people for not taking in those who were hungry or thirsty, or were naked or in prison, because they were doing it to him. But you took me in. I will stay with you and do your bidding until you turn me out.”

Luke stood up facing Robin. The boy’s eyes were clear and shining. Luke rubbed his hands together and held them over the red hair. When a golden light surrounded them both, Luke put down his hands.

“You speak truly, Robin. We must find a way of trying to change your looks permanently, so that you do not have to keep applying the oils or walnut juice. I will give it some thought.”

“Can you not change me now?” Robin stared at Luke. “I want to be able to go outside without having to look round constantly in case I see someone I know. How can I truly serve you unless I can come and go without fear?”

“Are you willing to change your looks forever?”

“Aye, and the quicker the better. Do not worry, sir. I know something of your skills. You may trust me. I will not betray you.”

A quiet scratching at the door to the yard made them both spin round. Luke jerked his head toward the stairs and Robin ran up them. Waiting until he had disappeared from view, Luke walked across the kitchen and opened the door. A woman with a shawl over her head stood with her back to him, looking toward the gate. When she heard the door, she turned round. It was Gwenette Paige.

Chapter Thirty-One

“You wanted to see me, Master Ballard?”

“Why did you not come at night when there are fewer eyes keeping watch?”

“I slipped away whilst they were all eating. They seemed very angry that I had consulted you. Sir Nigel made me feel like a child, rebuking me in front of the pages.”

“But Sir Nigel has no authority over you, Gwenette. Your mistress is the Queen. Why should he concern himself with your movements? Who do you mean by
they?
”

“I swear I know not, but I have seen him skulking in corners with that henchman of his. A dark man with a sneering expression. They spoke together and looked at me, although I made sure they did not realize I was watching them.”

Luke frowned. “Do you know the name of the other man?”

“I heard Sir Nigel call him Edwin.” She jumped at Luke’s sudden intake of breath. “What is it? What do you know of this man?”

“A question I was about to ask you, Mistress.”

“I know nothing other than I have said. I have seen them two or three times, usually in a corner of the Base Court, or near the Pages’ Room next the Watching Chamber. Once, I saw Sir Nigel give this Edwin a small black bag. They had their backs to the rest of the chamber, but I was working on the tapestry some way along the wall and could see.

“We are all working long hours in preparation for the marriage delegation and, of course, the King’s birthday in three days time. In more usual times, I would have left the chamber by the time Sir Nigel and the man came in.”

It could only be Edwin Achard, the man who had come to the shop on a flimsy pretext for something to soothe a woman’s nerves. Luke wondered if the woman needing medication could have been the Lady Mary, because it was certainly Achard who had been dallying with Cecily Messingham and taking flowers to the Lady Mary. Then he surmised that it might not have been medicine that Achard had been after, but to see what the apothecary’s shop had on its shelves, although how he would recognize the contents of each jar, Luke could not fathom. Unless, perhaps, he had some rudimentary training. Could that be it? Was it Achard who had broken into the apothecary’s shop in Hampton the night that Creswell came by that black blade? Or, was Achard’s visit so that he could identify Luke again if needs be? There was also something that Gwenette had said that woke a brooding unease in his mind. And, moreover, something he already knew.

He became aware of her looking up at him with a troubled expression. “Are you unwell, Master Ballard?”

“Nay, mistress, just thinking.”

They stood staring at each other. Finally, Gwenette sighed. “You sent a young wench with a message that you wanted to see me.” Her eyebrows asked the question. “She said something about another pomander, but this one is still sound.”

“I have something to show you, but now I am not sure it is a good idea to involve you in my problems.”

Gwenette put a hand on his arm. “Master Ballard. Luke. We have known each other for five years and become friends. If you have something on your mind that I can aid you with, then please ask. I would like to help.”

Luke stood in a state of indecision. He could not help remembering that it was Gwenette’s skirts he had seen flicking out of sight the night he was attacked. But he did not know anyone else who had the necessary knowledge of garments and needlecraft that she did.

“Is it that you do not trust me?” she asked, frowning.

“No. It is that I do not want you to run foul of Sir Nigel Kerr or Edwin Achard.”

“You know this Edwin then?”

“He has been to the shop.” Luke bit his lip. His instinct was to trust Gwenette. Even if the Merchant Adventurers were behind the plot against the King, it did not mean that she was part of it. They had known each other a long time, and he had never known her do an unworthy deed.

“Mayhap it would be better if I went,” she said, putting the shawl over her head. “Though why I risked another censure to come and see you when you obviously do not trust me, I cannot say. It will not happen again—you may be sure of that.”

“No, I prithee stay. Wait here.”

When Luke returned with his scrip, he found Gwenette had taken a seat at the table.

“Where is Pippa? It is too late for market.”

“Pippa works for a merchant near Hampton now. We thought it best.”

“And is she still courting her Geoffrey?”

A tingle of shock ran up Luke’s spine. He glanced at Gwenette’s open face, but could detect nothing other than friendly enquiry in her expression. “I believe she thought better of it,” he said, struggling for something to say. “As far as I am aware, she is no longer seeing him. You know Master Peveril?”

“No. Never seen him. I met Pippa on the way back from Hampton Wick and we chatted. She seemed very much in love. I am surprised she would give him up so easily.”

“What did she tell you about him?”

“Nothing to his disadvantage, quite the contrary. Now, what did you want to see me about, Master Ballard?”

Luke took the thread from his scrip. “Do you have any idea where this could have come from?”

* * *

Pippa was trying to relax her mind and allow it to supply her with the answer she needed. She and Dufay were in his workroom. They had progressed beyond images on cards and he was now standing at the far end of the room with his head bent, sending her images with his mind. The first two items she had hazarded correct guesses as being a table and a dog. Since then, she had found it hard to concentrate. Mindful of Dufay’s instruction that if she was unsure, she should say nothing, she had been mute for the last five minutes. Eventually, she shook her head.

“It is no good, sir. When I begin, everything seems well, but after that a kind of darkness comes into the chamber and I cannot see.”

“The darkness is your doubt that you can see with anything other than your eyes. Remember that you are looking with the eye of your mind. However, we have done enough for today.” He turned back to his desk heaped with books and papers. Pippa stayed where she was, biting her lip and trying to find the courage for the question she needed to ask.

He spoke without looking up. “What is it?”

“Sir, did I guess correctly?”

“Until you know what you are looking at and do not call it guessing, you will not move forward. Do not be in too much of a hurry. It will come.”

* * *

Luke stood directly in front of Gwenette as he whisked the thread from his scrip. He noticed her eyes widen and in them he could read the first signs of fear. “I see you know this.”

“By my troth, I do not, but look at the colors, Luke. Purple and gold. Does that tell you nothing?”

“That it must be someone high up at court.”

“This is silk. Unless it is part of the lining for a cloak or gown or hose, then only the King and his family may wear it.”

“Can you tell where it came from?”

“No.”

“Can you think of any way of finding out?”

“Is it important?”

“It concerns a death. That is all I can tell you.”

She gave him back the threads. “I do not need these to look for any garment that may require repair. If I come across it, you may be sure, I will get word to you if I cannot come myself.”

“I thought you repaired tapestries.”

“At the moment, ’tis true that I am repairing tapestries, but that is because they are the very fine ones the late Cardinal purchased and require a degree of expertise that the normal sewing women do not possess. I am a seamstress. I have helped make and mend clothes for Queen Anne and she has always kept up with the most stylish fashions.”

Her voice had risen with each sentence, and Luke backed away in the face of an anger he did not understand. What had he said to enrage her so much? Before he could speak, she wrapped her shawl round her head again and flounced to the door.

She turned to face him and he could see two spots of high color in her irate face. “It is like someone likening your skills to a barber-surgeon,” she said before storming through the door and slamming it behind her.

“You have a way with women, Master Ballard.” Robin’s voice came from the top of the stairs.

“And you have flapping ears that may yet land you in trouble. How much did you overhear?”

“I heard the bit about Pippa, but I could have told you that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have seen Pippa and Gwenette talking and giggling together more than once.”

“You did not think to tell me?”

“It did not seem important.”

“Perhaps it is not. Come down. I want to speak with you.”

“Now,” Luke said when the boy stood in front of him. “Explain clearly what you meant when you said you knew of my skills.”

Robin blushed. “I know there are things you can do that others cannot. I caught a glimpse of that wound of Captain Creswell’s. I have seen such injuries before but never one quite as bad as that. It is a wonder he could still stand, yet your skills have brought him back from death.”

How perceptive of the boy. Luke wondered for an instant if Robin were simply observant or if he had a trace of the talent himself. It was not unknown for the gift to stop developing, leaving the individual with a high degree of intuition but nothing more. When he had probed Robin’s mind earlier, he had detected no signs of duplicity, but that did not mean... No use going down that road. What had Dufay said? He would need to trust someone. Luke decided to risk the hazard.

“You said you wanted to be changed. I am not saying that I can do it, but have you thought about it, and is it what you really want?”

“What is the point of me being Robin Flete? I am hunted and, innocent or not, if they catch me, I shall hang. I have no family. This is the nearest I have come to a home. Do you blame me for wanting to be someone else?”

“How do you want to look?”

“Well now,” began Robin and it became clear to Luke that the boy had put a lot of thought and not a little cunning into his plan. “Robin Flete must disappear. Could I not be a distant kinsman of yours, come to help you? I could be of more use running errands than skulking here all day trying to cook.”

“Let me think about it and make some preparations, Robin. Your plan has more good points than bad. I used to have a cousin in Lincolnshire called Robert of Panton. He had a child that died, also called Robert, who would be about your age, had he lived. Our family all have fair curly hair, so I would need to work out how to change that Tudor red mop of yours. It is easier to go dark than fair, but I think I can do it.”

Fate chose that moment to echo the words from his conversation with Gwenette. Everything was being made ready for the King’s birthday. The natal day Henry shared with Pippa. Was this the reason Peveril had targeted the girl, and if so, what was that villain planning and what was the degree of Pippa’s involvement? He became aware of Robin staring at him.

“I did not hear you. What were you saying?”

“I said, why don’t you use your magic?” Robin replied.

“What do you mean?” Luke asked, his heart hammering like an imprisoned stallion kicking at the door of his stall. He stared at the boy, now looking at him with knowing eyes. Blind fool that he was. He should have listened to his inner voice when it counseled caution, but, as usual, he had accepted Robin’s words at face value. It seemed so obvious now. The boy had led him with practiced neatness into a trap of his own making. It would be child’s play for a sunderer to make Robin’s mind appear truthful when Luke probed it. And, if that were the case, it was more than likely that this boy was in league with Peveril, and Pippa either their dupe or a willing participant.