Taste of Treason (14 page)

A little serving wench tripped forward with a bowl, setting it in front of the Queen. Henry looked at his wife and laughed.

“Surely, Madam, you have eaten sufficient. What is this?”

“I did not ask for it, my lord,” she replied, her smile showing two delightful dimples. “But I do not complain. It is apricots in sugar and I cannot seem to get enough of them.”

“I must agree with His Majesty,” Reynard said. “A surfeit of sweet things is not conducive to your health, and you may make the babe ill.”

“But I like sweet things.”

“Your father charged me with your care, Madam, as did your uncle. Surely you have eaten enough this morning.”

“What nonsense,” Madeleine retorted and picked up her spoon.

Chapter Sixteen

Luke spoke to the yeomen guards on the main gate who told him Captain Creswell was at the Royal Mews still trying to discover the identity of the dead man. Uttering a prayer of thanks, Luke ran, arriving at the stables a few minutes later, panting with apprehension over Corbin as much as from exertion.

He found Byram surrounded by several women, all of whom appeared to have misplaced their husbands. Despite the urgency of his mission, Luke could not stop the grin that rose to his lips. The captain may have been a martinet to his men, but he was out of his depth when it came to the opposite sex. Mayhap that was why the two of them had become such good friends. He caught Byram’s eye and saw an expression of relief come over his face.

“I shall be back anon. Wait here,” Creswell shouted over the hubbub and hurried across to Luke. “I was never more pleased to see anyone. What in God’s name should I do with this gaggle?”

“Where is the body?”

“In one of the empty stalls.”

“Then order your men to guard it and another to conduct each claimant to examine it. If they want to fight over who sees it first, tell them they will all be placed under arrest.”

Creswell turned to go, but Luke caught his arm.

“Byram, I am in urgent need of a fast horse. Corbin is ailing. Will Quayne sent the little maidservant to tell me.”

Luke was heartened to see that, although Byram might not be able to handle a parcel of squawking women, when it came to a real emergency, he was quick and resolute. Shouting for the stable lads, he ordered a huge chestnut stallion to be saddled.

“This is Ranger,” he told Luke. “Just bring him back when you are finished with him. I will inform the Mewsmaster.” Byram turned, rubbing his hand over his mouth as he gazed back at the women awaiting his return. “And I will go and address this little problem.”

Although Luke had spent a good deal of his early life on horseback, it took some time to get used to Ranger’s bouncy energy, especially with Joss draped around his body. He could feel the horse’s desire to gallop its heart out, so as soon as they reached the parkland, Luke let him have his head turning for Hampton Wick and Corbin’s house.

Arriving there, he was more than relieved to see Will fling open the door and come to grab the horse’s reins.

“Is he here?”

“Yes, Luke. Anthony Boterel sent word from the Tower and Master Parry gave me leave to fetch them both. Boterel assures me that there is no truth in the accusations that Frayner made, but I do not know what ails Father.”

Luke strode into the kitchen. Bertila sat, her arms crossed over each other, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her cheeks. She saw Luke and ran to him.

“Luke, Luke, they have killed him. He lies in bed like a board, neither moving nor speaking.”

He kissed her cheek and gave her a brotherly shake.

“Take me to him.”

That first sight of his old master’s drooping face was one of the worst experiences of his life. Corbin appeared to be in a world of his own, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, taking note of nothing around him. Forcing himself to breathe calmly, Luke walked to the bed.

“How now, Master? I did not think to find you abed at this time of day.”

Corbin’s head moved a little and Luke reached for his hand. It was as cold as December. Luke frowned. He turned to Bertila.

“Tell me what happened.”

Whilst she explained, he squeezed Corbin’s fingers. No response. Leaning over, he squeezed the other and was rewarded with an answering pressure. Next, he pulled back the blanket and twisted the large toe on Corbin’s left foot. Nothing. The same exercise on the toe of his right foot brought forth an irritated grunt on the part of his patient. Finally, he took a chair from the corner of the room and placed it next to the bed before sitting on it and making his tone reassuring and calm.

“Corbin, I know you can hear me even though you cannot speak. Can you blink your eyes if you understand me? Good. You have suffered a seizure. It is nothing for you to worry about. I can make up a remedy to help you. You cannot stand because your left side has lost all feeling. I have seen this before and so have you, my friend.”

He saw the old man’s eyes blink.

“They have sorely tried you, but you and Bertila are safe now. Put your trust in God and the medicine. I will formulate the remedy now.”

Luke turned to Bertila.

“If Will and I can sit him up, do you think you could get some vegetable broth into him? He needs sustenance, as do you.”

Luke asked Will to stay with Corbin and made sure Bertila occupied herself with food for her father. He would need to talk to her later, but for now, he thought it best that she kept busy.

The little maid, Katelyn, was doing her utmost to take the running of the house as much off her mistress’s shoulders as possible, and making a fair mess of it by the look of things, but that, too, would keep Bertila’s mind engaged.

Corbin’s dispensary was a thing of beauty to Luke. Something to which he aspired, but realized he would never have until he discarded his poor clients and brought in more money. However, he had one gift his old master did not possess. Talking to Joss and searching through the shelves, Luke came upon powdered willow bark and hawthorn.

“Here we are. This is what I need, girl.”

Mixing them together in a mortar, he added some hyssop for purification. Despite his optimism before his friends, he knew the seizure to be serious. He took from his sleeve a rose quartz and a piece of amethyst, coating them with the powders and then adding oils and saying the three parts of the healing incantation, the first part for Corbin’s head, the second for his paralysis and the third for his speech. Holding his hands over the bowl, he warmed the potion until sparks flashed from the crystals.

Walking down the shelves again, he found chamomile, valerian and cowslip tincture. These he mixed with honey and wine for Bertila. He also dressed a piece of linen with lavender and rose oils, finally carrying everything out to the kitchen where Bertila was just spooning the broth into a bowl.

Being careful not to disturb the charged crystals, Luke added some of the willow bark to the broth.

“Before we go upstairs, Bertila, you must drink this.”

“I must see to Father, first.”

He put a restraining hand on her arm.

“No, my chick, if you are not well, how can you look after him and help him? Drink this. I have some special root at home that your father does not have. If I make up a mixture and send it with Rob, will you take it? You must trust me, Bertila.”

That last sentence undid her. The tears that she had held back in the invalid’s room upstairs sprang to her eyes and fell with free abandon. Luke clasped her to him, whispering words of comfort as one would to an injured child.

“Let it all out. You will feel better.”

She lifted her head.

“I will feel better when that priest gets his just deserts.”

Luke’s rage against Frayner mounted as he witnessed her shaking hands and anxious eyes.

“That is for the future, Bertila. Drink this,” he said handing her the goblet and watching as she drained it. He then tied the linen cloth around her neck.

“Breathe in these calming fragrances. Bring hot water and a small bowl upstairs. I will take Corbin his broth.”

* * *

Rob kept one eye on Alys and the other on the shop, hoping that nobody needed any remedies that were not already made up for sale. When he heard the shop door open, he cast resigned eyes up to heaven and prayed that whoever it was had a simple case of griping guts. Mindful of his anxiety and not wishing to transmit it to the customer, Rob put a welcoming smile on his face as he walked through. An old beldame stood at the counter, cloaked and bent with a troubled expression.

“Can I aid you, goodwife?”

She jumped as if all the demons in hell were at her skirts, putting one hand to her throat and peering at him.

“Are you Master Ballard?”

“Nay. I am his...assistant. What troubles you?”

Following Luke’s practice of immediately taking a read of new clients, Rob could discern nothing amiss with this one save a good dose of fright. He beckoned her to sit on one of the settles and sat opposite her.

“I can see you are distressed. Tell me and I will try to ease your worries.”

“I need no potions, lad. Mayhap it is better this way. Then if I am ever questioned, I can answer truthfully that I never spoke to the apothecary.”

Rob frowned and his voice sharpened. “Luke? What has your trouble to do with my master?”

He could see that she had screwed her courage up to come this far. He rose and poured a beaker of soother, noting that the flask was almost empty. Too many had needed it in recent days.

“Drink this, mother. It will make you feel better.”

He could tell that her throat was sore from the convulsive way she swallowed, just as he saw the tension leave her when the sweetness of the honey and the roundness of the borage and cowslips exploded in a bouquet of flavors in her mouth. She smiled at him.

“It has taken much courage to come here, but I will say what I must. My daughter works for Father Frayner.”

* * *

Luke put the infused crystals, one in each of Corbin’s curled hands and, aided by Will, sat the old man up, although he could tell it caused pain. Bertila managed to get half the broth down her father’s throat, wiping the liquid that had dribbled from one side of his unfeeling lips, before he closed his eyes, unable to manage more.

They propped him up with numerous pillows. Joss laid her head on the paralyzed arm, not understanding that Corbin could not feel the weight. She pawed at the unresponsive hand, only stopping when Luke clicked his tongue at her.

“Bertila, you need to put cold compresses on his brow and keep renewing them. This will ease the pain in his head. Where is the hot water?”

Bertila showed him the jug and small bowl.

“I had no idea what you intended,” she said. “Do you need another vessel?”

“No, just that candle.”

Lighting it, Luke arranged the bowl of hot water over it on a stand and added a few drops of jasmine and vetivert to it.

“This will keep the water hot and fragrance the air.”

When Luke next looked at Corbin, he noted that the old eyes were brighter.

“Never fear, Corbin, we will have you hale and hearty before long. I shall come back and see you on the morrow.”

A look of anguish passed over the old man’s face.

“What is it, old friend?” Luke asked trying to understand what could be causing so much anxiety. “Is it Bertila? She is well. Just tired and in a state of nerves. Put your mind at rest—I have given her something to help.”

Corbin’s right hand clenched itself on the bedclothes.

“Not Bertila,” Luke said. “Then is it Will? No?” He frowned. “Is it the business? You have no need for concern there, Corbin. I will help as much as I can. You can rest easy about that.”

The frantic look in Corbin’s eyes intensified. What else could be worrying him to this extent? The body was good at prioritizing its needs. His torment followed by the seizure had taken all Corbin’s energy, but he was feeling more comfortable now and allowing other hurts to surface. Mayhap it was just a case of the healer refusing to believe that medicine could cure him.

“I give you my word, Corbin, you will be well again soon.”

Luke put his hand out and covered the still-twitching fingers, jolting with astonishment when the hand turned and grasped his own with a strength he had not expected. Corbin was trying to speak, Luke realized. He bent close to his friend’s mouth, struggling to make sense of the disjointed sounds.

Corbin seemed to be uttering the same thing over and over. Luke relaxed and put all his concentration into hearing and understanding. Then, at last, with a sudden sinking in his stomach, Luke finally comprehended the mangled words and their meaning.

“It’s you, boy,” Corbin mumbled. “They are after you.”

Chapter Seventeen

Henry’s eyes danced as he snatched the bowl of sweetened fruit from Madeleine.

“My love, you are already sweet enough,” he said holding it high, out of her reach as she shrieked with laughter, jumping to snatch it back from him.

“My lord, I need my sweet things, otherwise I may turn bitter and sour, and you would not like your Queen to spit at you like an angry cat, would you?”

Henry pretended to consider this and, in consequence, lowered the bowl. Madeleine pounced, making them both roar with laughter. The dogs joined in, jumping up and barking until all was mayhem.

“Down, down, all,” Henry shouted. “Madeleine, have a care, do not leap about so. Remember who you carry.”

“Then give me back my apricots,” she pouted, sitting at the table.

Reynard moved forward again.

“Madam, I repeat, this surfeit of sweetness cannot be beneficial in your state of health.”

Despite his earlier protest, Henry decided to humor his wife. It would also let Reynard know who ruled in this court.

“Very well, sweetheart.”

He reached across to place the bowl in front of her, but one of the hounds, more excited with the rough play than the others, leapt and joggled his hand, knocking all the apricots, still running with sugary juice to the floor. Before anyone could stop him, the hound had bolted the fruit and, avoiding Henry’s slapping hand, scuttled to the far end of the chamber.

“My lord,” Madeleine said, her smile dying, “I was looking forward to those.”

“My love, there are always more. I cannot understand how you can eat manchets and honey followed by sweetened fruit. Does it not make you feel ill?”

“They would have been all the more delightful, my lord, because, like all the best presents, they were unexpected.”

Henry’s smile faltered. He leaned down so that she looked up into his face from a distance of a few inches.

“You mean you truly did not order the fruit, my lady?”

Her face took on a puzzled look.

“No. Master Parry told me all our stocks were gone. I assumed the kitchen found some more and wanted to surprise me.”

“Summon Parry. At once.” The King began to pace up and down and Madeleine, alarmed now, ran to put her hand on his arm.

“My lord, you are frightening me. Have I done something wrong?”

She swung round toward Reynard, who was nearly at the door. Henry turned her back to face him and smiled into her eyes.

“No, no, you have done nothing amiss, my love. Do not fret. All will be well. Did I not promise that I would guard and keep you when we exchanged our marriage vows? I think it would be better if you left now and allowed me to speak to Parry alone.”

“By your leave, my lord. Parry is my servant and if you need to question him, I ought to remain.”

At that moment, Clifford Parry bustled in, his face a mask of apprehension. He dropped to his knees and waited. Henry, not wishing to render the man incoherent, bade him rise with a smile.

“This is only a simple query, Master Parry. The Queen was given apricots in sugar this morning, but says you told her all stocks were gone. How is this?”

Parry looked dumbfounded.

“How can that be, Sire? All our reserves of apricots were used up weeks ago. I do not understand.”

“Then we have one thing in common. As it stands, either we had none or we had some and, as a bowl was brought for the Queen’s breakfast this morning, it would appear that your accounting is in error.” He leaned forward and fixed the man with a hard glare. “You see, Master Chamberlain, we can think of only one explanation for this discrepancy.”

Parry turned even paler. “Your Majesty, you have my word that I am no thief.”

“I did not make the accusation, so your use of the term is interesting. What I need from you is an account of how the kitchen supplied nonexistent apricots. Well?”

“Sire, I do not know, but I will find out.”

Henry felt the Queen’s hand seize his. He looked down at her pale face and automatically put his arm around her. She shook, her gaze fixed on the other end of the chamber. He followed the line of her finger and saw the hound that had eaten the apricots lying immobile on the oak boards.

“Wait here,” he said, signaling to Madeleine’s ladies to help their mistress. Striding to the prone animal, he saw only too clearly what had happened. Henry’s lips tightened for fear that his courtiers would see his sudden terror, a terror that made him shudder.

The dog had vomited back the fruit, but the poison had been swift and lethal, leaving a powdery white deposit on its dead lips. He squatted by the body and stroked his unsteady hand over the cooling muzzle. How could he do otherwise for something that had given its life to save that of his beloved Queen?

* * *

Luke had returned to see Corbin, leaving Rob and Alys on their own. Rob could tell that his kinsman was making a great effort to smother his irritation at Alys’s presence. He knew that Luke hated any change in the routines of his life and that the apothecary grew apprehensive when the unexpected happened. The sudden fear on his master’s face when the letter came about Corbin reminded him of the aftermath of the previous summer’s investigation.

Then it had been Rob who had cooked, tended the hearth, brought food from the market and tried to keep the patients satisfied. Luke, like a statue, had remained immobile, seated day after day, gazing into the fire, his hand on Joss’s head, saying little and eating almost nothing. What had frightened Rob more than anything had been Luke’s gentle courtesy toward him, as if he spoke to a stranger.

Corbin Quayne’s visit some two weeks into Luke’s withdrawal had resulted in Bertila arriving daily, bringing medicines her father had made up and food and helping in any way she could. Bertila told Rob afterward that Luke’s collapse had been her salvation. Seeing her much loved friend in such straits had been the best possible remedy for her own ills.

Luke, noticing one day that she had regained her color and spirit, had finally emerged from his shell and rejoined the world. Since then, Rob had made it his business to see that his master knew more merry moments than anxious ones.

This latest royal mission appeared to be the least of Luke’s problems. He gave all his time and energy to Corbin and Bertila. But Rob knew only too well that Luke could not afford to ignore the investigation given the source of its command. If he gave the impression of being less than diligent, the consequences would be dire.

There was, however, one thing with which Rob could help. Luke had mentioned that nobody knew the identity of the dead man Alys had found. A courtier would have been claimed by now. Had the body been clothed the task might have been easier. Could the corpse have been a palace workman or someone from a local village?

Rob also needed to consider what the mother of Frayner’s housekeeper had told him. He was not surprised that Frayner should vilify Luke, but to know that the man’s main goal, to ensnare Luke and see him executed, was more appalling than anything he could imagine from a cleric. He had tried to tell Luke when he came back from the Quaynes, but his master had waved him to silence, spent an hour making up potions and rushed back out on Ranger. Understanding Luke’s need to keep busy, Rob decided there and then that he would take up the two threads that lay in his own hand. The identity of the dead man and trying to discover the truth of the woman’s assertions. He knew plenty of folk in the surrounding area. Surely it could not be too difficult to ask a few questions?

Alys. What should he do with Alys? He could not leave her in the house alone. He could not take her with him. The church. She would be safe there. He knew enough about Frayner to know that the church was the last place he would be.

He would walk into Hampton where he knew some of the lads who frequented the wharves, leave Alys at the church, and then come back and collect her after he had called on a few people and asked his questions. This would give him a chance to show his master how resourceful and useful he was.

Rob wrapped a shawl around Alys and they left the house. The girl had taken some persuading, but when Rob explained that he felt responsible for her safety and dared not leave her alone in the house, she had nodded.

“I need to go into Hampton village,” he told the girl. “I may not take you with me, but I shall leave you safe in the church and then come back for you.”

She grasped his hand. “You are leaving me alone?”

He smiled down at her, determined to allay her anxiety.

“You have no cause to fear, little one. If anyone wanted you, they would come first to the Outer Green house. Nobody will think to search for you in Hampton church. All you need do is perch quietly in a corner. If someone comes in, they will think you are praying and leave you alone.”

“I am frightened.”

“There is no need to be frightened in the presence of God, Alys. He will look after you.”

They opened the church door slowly and peered round. The hiss of silence met them.

“It is empty,” Rob whispered, leading her to a dark corner on the far side of the font.

“Look, squeeze in here. Nobody will see you. Stay here and do not move. I will return soon.”

She seized his hand. “You will not forget me?”

The audible fear in her voice touched his pity. He stroked her face.

“Alys, whilst I am on this earth, you will never be alone again.”

* * *

Henry was incandescent. His Queen had been taken to her chamber suffering a fit of hysteria and then, by all accounts, had renewed her wailing when she remembered she was sitting only yards away from where the Brook girl had been discovered. She then insisted on being taken to the Chapel Royal with guards on the doors. The hastily summoned Father Reynard had been able to do nothing with her. In desperation, Henry sent for his mother.

Queen Anne had soothed Madeleine and taken her to her own suite of rooms, whilst Henry set about putting his house in order. The apartments above his own had been scrubbed the previous day. Now he ordered that every spare man should be employed moving the Queen’s belongings into them and making sure that they would be ready for her to sleep in that night. He was determined that she would never have to set foot in her old chambers again.

Few had seen their King so enraged. Clifford Parry ran hither and yon, long parchment lists in his hands, terror in his eyes. Even so, he had mustered all his courage to show Henry the accounts, proving that the stock of apricots had indeed run out weeks before. Henry had seized the papers and torn them across in one vicious rip, shaking them under the Chamberlain’s nose.

“How can they be correct, knave, when I saw apricots being brought to the Queen with my own eyes?”

“Sire, I can find nobody who ordered them. I have questioned the serving maid, but she shakes so much she cannot remember her name, let alone who told her to bring the fruit to Her Grace.”

Henry looked at Parry, noting the weak chin and flabby jowls. No doubt he had blustered and shouted at the girl. That was no way to get information from a member of the fair sex.

“Bring her to me.”

When the maid came in, Henry saw at once that she could not have been more than ten or eleven years old and was plainly terrified. She kneeled inside the door and turned so white that he was certain she was about to swoon. Parry dragged her to her feet and forward before forcing her again to her knees.

“Thank you, Master Parry. You may go,” Henry said, waving the man away and waiting until the Chamberlain, plainly unwilling to leave, had quitted the chamber.

“Get up, child,” he said in the voice he used when Jasper was uncertain of his ground and skittish. “There is no need to be afraid unless you have done wrong. Have you?”

“Oh no, Your Majesty.” Henry struggled to hear the petrified whisper.

“Then you have nothing to fear. What is your name?”

“Gaynor, Sire.”

“Well, Gaynor, we are sure that you are a good, honest girl and innocent in this matter. So, calm yourself and try to remember who gave you the bowl of apricots for the Queen.”

“They was a-laying on the end of the table in Her Grace’s kitchen, Sire.”

“Did you see who put them there?” He lifted his hand to stop her immediate denial, but kept the kindly note in his voice. “Close your eyes and think back.”

His soothing tone had the desired effect. That she was still nervous was evident in the twisting fingers and shuffling feet, but he could see that she relived the earlier hours of the day.

“I remember coming in from the main kitchens. Master Cook had run out of sage and he did want to dress the chickens. The apricots wasn’t there when I left, but they was sitting on the table all by theirselves when I got back. So I called out to Dorothy and she said they must have been forgot when Her Grace’s breakfast went up and to run up and take them. So I did.”

Henry smiled at her. “You have an excellent memory, Gaynor. Now, off you go back to your place, and mind you talk to nobody about this.”

Her fear returned in full measure.

“Oh, no, Your Majesty, if they was to pull me apart with wild horses, I wouldn’t say nothing.”

Henry called for wine. This was a perilous business. For the time being, his Queen was safe, thank God. He made a great fuss about ordering three extra assayers, specifically to patrol the Privy Kitchens and oversee the preparation of Madeleine’s meals. It was doubtful that anyone would try that form of attack again. Now he needed to distract Madeleine. He decided to take his wife and mother on a tour of the rooms being prepared for the Queen’s confinement.

* * *

Alys felt as if she had been sitting in the church for hours. After a while, she had explored it, but that did not take long and she was ever mindful of Rob’s assertion that she must not be seen. Although the bench on which she sat was hard, she began to drowse. Her sleep the previous night had been deep, but waves of exhaustion made her feel light-headed.

Fearful of discovery, she huddled down on the bench and covered herself with the shawl. The corner was dark and if anyone came in, they would not see her, she was sure. Lulled by the silence and the feeling of safety, Alys drifted into sleep.