The Innocent (44 page)

Teeth chattering, she washed her feet last of all, and then, drying her body on one of Lady Margaret’s own linen bath sheets that had been left waiting for her to use, dropped a clean undershift over her head, followed by a neat, plain, dark red dress, made modestly high at the neck, though displaying the undershift prettily. There had even been matching red felt house slippers left for her, as well as worsted half-hose that she bound under each knee with ribbon so that they would not slip down.

Then, hair decently plaited and covered with a plain gauze veil, Anne was ready to face what the world might throw her way. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she pushed open the door into the warm solar to rejoin Lady Margaret and Deborah.

Sir Mathew was there now with the others and was waiting patiently, seated beside his wife on a matching gilded chair. Deborah was perched on an oak chest under one of the casements that looked down on the river. All three were serious.

“Welcome to Blessing House, my lady.” Sir Mathew had risen and the formality of his tone was backed by the sweeping bow he made to Anne as she entered the room. Ceremonious, he extended her his hand, and as the disconcerted girl took it, a little timidly, he insisted she seat herself where he had been sitting, conducting her to the chair beside his wife.

“While you are under my roof we have decided, with your permission, of course, that we will play a small charade. As far as the household is concerned, you are a cousin of Lady Margaret’s, who, in coming to visit us, very sadly fell grievously sick upon the road and must now be kept isolated, waited on only by your woman…” He bowed to Deborah. “And your cousin, my wife.” He bowed again, more deeply this time, to the seated figure beside Anne.

“Meanwhile, arrangements are being made to send you to my lands in the north as quickly as possible.

I believe you will be safe there, and sequestered, which is all to the good, for there is work to be done here in London that may take some time.”

Mathew had prepared the little speech and was making an effort to explain himself as plainly as he could. However, the very seriousness of his tone released butterflies of anxiety in Anne’s stomach.

Previously, she’d been focused on the journey to Blessing House, deliberately not contemplating any further ahead than she had to, but now that could not be avoided and she had to become an active partner in her fate again.

Sir Mathew paused for a moment before continuing. “Since we spoke at Windsor, an informant I maintain at court has told me that the letter we seek is held secretly in the Abbey treasure room. It is obtainable with help I believe I can provide. But for now, we must not presume you are safe in London, and so we will pretend that you are…other than whom we know you to be.” He said it gravely, allowing the words to hang in the air for a moment. “When I know more, we shall speak of these matters. As to the journey north, it’s my own captain and crew who will be taking you, and one of my ships too. She brings me the cloth we make each year from our wool up north, and often she’s taken out of sight of land, over to France and beyond. You’ll not have to do that, I promise. You’ll hug the coast the whole way to Whitby, and we’ll pick the time and tide.”

It was real, all of it. And as Mathew calmly explained his plan, it occurred to Anne that the wheel of fate really was turning with a vengeance now, and she was, through her own choice, strapped to its rim.

Going up? Coming down? No one could be sure.

So it was with a sinking heart that Anne allowed herself to be conducted to Aveline’s old room, the same one they had shared together before the misery of the other girl’s marriage had begun; the same one she’d been locked into, after she’d killed Piers. Of course, Anne was now to be the inhabitant of the box bed—not for her the straw palliasse on the floor—but as she heard the bolt shot home on the outside, she could not stop the fugitive thought that wormed its way into consciousness.

Sir Mathew had, seemingly, picked up her cause unquestioningly, but what if he was not her friend?

Was she now a prisoner, and about to be betrayed to the king? The king. With strenuous determination, she’d banished him from her thoughts, but for one strange and delicious moment she contemplated truly being his prisoner—his alone, locked up like the lady in the tower, just for him to find. She looked at the narrow box bed and a momentary picture of him lying there, she, naked, entwined in his arms, was as vivid as if it were real.

But it was a phantom, of course; a romance of the mind. And romance was just fiction, fiction designed to distract and entertain. Real life was what had truly happened in this room: misery, which resulted in betrayal and death. And she’d not been able to prevent any of it. Poor Aveline. Was she looking down at Anne now from wherever her spirit had gone?

Anne slipped to her knees and buried her head in the bolster. “Sister, help me now…if you can. For I, too, love and it may be my death.”

Chapter Thirty-two

Some days of eating and sleeping followed as Anne and Deborah rested ahead of their next journey.

The early January weather was foul. Rain-laden, freezing wind beat around the tower of Blessing House each night and the city air was full of gulls taking shelter from the mountainous seas of the English Channel.

Then a day dawned fine and sharp, with a high, clear sky and completely still air. And, as the morning progressed, a pale sun shone down on the Londoners, emerging blinking from their dark, smoky houses.

Anne woke early, before dawn, into silence—and anxiety crackled down her gut and into her spine.

Was this the day? She looked at a new traveling chest that stood between her narrow box bed and Deborah’s palliasse, where her foster mother was still asleep.

The chest was hers, given by Sir Mathew, and in it were three sets of new clothes: one good but serviceable woolen gown and two others made from heavy plain velvet, each with sleeves tipped in fur, lined with brocaded damask. There was also a traveling cloak and leather shoes with nailed soles, plus a set of patterns to walk above the slush of the streets below. Things that were much too good for a servant and would never be worn by her inside Blessing House.

Her gut clenched like a fist, she was fully awake, though she didn’t want to be. Carefully, she pushed back the covers on her bed and padded naked and barefooted over to the peg on the wall where she’d hung her undershift last night.

Shivering in the chill dark air, she dropped the shift over her head and looked out of the unshuttered arrow slit to see bright, white light obliterate the last of the cold stars. Everywhere the light touched, frost glistened; the day was dawning in a rush of sharp, clear radiance.

Both Margaret and Mathew had slept late after the last night of storms, and now they were talking quietly to one another behind the curtains of their bed. Yseul hurried over and timorously asked if she could get some water to rinse their mouths after the night, and when Sir Mathew agreed, she passed the water bowl through the still-closed curtains, listened to them swill their mouths, and then waited patiently for one of them to speak to her.

“Is it fine, Yseul?” Sir Mathew was careful to be kind, though Yseul made him impatient; he’d never liked nervous girls.

“Yes, Sir Mathew. Fine, bright and quiet.”

He appeared between the curtains, decently swathed in a long gown, partly patterned on the old-fashioned houppelandes he favored. “Fetch water for your mistress. We must hurry today.”

Though she looked like a frightened child, Yseul was no fool, and as she lugged cans of water back up to the solar she wondered again about the odd relationship between Lady Margaret and her cousin.

Over the last few days she’d been permitted to bring food to the door of the little chamber where the mistress’s cousin was confined with her woman, and it seemed to her that the beautiful girl she’d glimpsed through a crack in the door was very far from ill. Yet Lady Margaret spent a great deal of time there, cooped up in that tiny space, seemingly unafraid of catching whatever it was her cousin had.

The members of the household were avid for gossip about the two strangers, and Corpus, of course, was spreading the rumor that Lady Margaret’s cousin was pregnant and had been sent away from the court, shortly to be banished to a nunnery to bear the baby in disgrace before donning the habit of a sister. Others scoffed at the suggestion—including Maître Gilles, who cuffed Corpus heartily for his foul tongue—yet it did seem strange that no one from the household except Yseul, who’d only lately joined them, had been permitted a glimpse of the girl in Aveline’s room.

Aveline’s room. That itself was a cause for comment. Why would Sir Mathew allow any person to lodge in that cursed space? It was enough to send chills down the spine of any good Christian…

Oblivious to the servants’ gossip, Mathew was now dressed for the day and speaking quietly to Anne, while Deborah went to find something to break the nighttime fast. “Today’s fine weather seems like to set, and there is a good tide this afternoon. I’ve sent for my captain, but there is something I should like to discuss with you first.”

Mathew swallowed nervously; never had the stakes for his house been so high, and not for the first time he searched his conscience about the wisdom of the gamble he was taking. His relationship with the king was of prime importance to him and to his house, and to take Anne’s cause as his own might well be seen as treachery if the truth of her birth was confirmed. Yet there was another possibility also; and that was the gamble. If Mathew could control the timing of Anne’s presentation to the king in her new guise, with incontrovertible proof, Edward might be brought to see great advantage in marrying her to one of his own chief support-ers—someone he could trust—and at one stroke, neutralize the risk of her existence, while delivering a powerful support to his throne if his wife did not bear him a son. In such a case, Mathew might be very well rewarded—if he managed to stay ahead of the developing game.

“For this time, Lady Margaret and I think that we must continue the fiction of your being a servant; you will be more anonymous as you travel. I have a proposal to put to you. Jane Shore is the daughter of an old friend of mine, Master Lambert, the mercer.”

Anne nodded. “Yes, I remember him.” How could she forget? It was John Lambert who had investigated Aveline’s murder of Piers.

“I have not told him your history, but I have asked for his help, in secret. He has agreed that his daughter, Jane, should visit York, where her husband, Master Shore, is currently on business with the Merchant Adventurers, and, of course, she will need to take serving women with her. You and Mistress Deborah. You will meet her at Southampton.”

Anne closed her eyes, remembering the strange feeling she’d had when she’d waited on Jane Shore at Aveline and Piers’s banquet. She was a girl not much older than Anne herself, and there had been such a feeling of connection, and the vision of a long journey, to be taken together…“And the letter, do you have it?”

Mathew frowned. “Not yet, but I have a contact, a monk at the Abbey. He was a serf, born in my father’s house, and because he was bright, my father gave him freedom, and helped him enter the monastery to study. He’s well thought of, but getting into the treasure house of the Abbey, where the king’s papers are kept, is not easy. Still…” He brightened. “Just possibly, we have another way. By coincidence I have just donated a new chalice and mazer to the high altar, and this Sunday, Lady Margaret and I will see it used for the first time. I have asked the prior to show me where it will lie between use.” He rubbed his hands. “For, of course, it will be housed in the treasure house!” His happy laugh was interrupted by a heavy knock at the door.

“Come,” Mathew called, and as the door opened, Anne was astonished to see an enormously tall and broad man ducking through the door. He was even taller than the king. This blond, gray-eyed giant was young, for his skin was still fresh, but the strength of his face gave him presence beyond his age.

“Anne, this is Captain Mollnar. He will take you north today in my cog, the Lady Margaret, with Mistress Shore. My son-in-law, Giles Raby, will meet you at Whitby—it’s all arranged. Please pack your things as quickly as you can.”

Anne curtsied and cast her eyes to the rushes as a good servant should as Mathew hurried away with his surprised captain. Leif Mollnar had never carried women as cargo before.

There was hardly time for Anne and Deborah to dress as warmly as they could before Margaret escorted them both down to the water gate, where Sir Mathew’s town barge strained at its moorings on the fast river. Anne quickly curtsied to the Cuttifers and thanked them before she and her box were bodily placed into the handsome boat that bobbed so impatiently at the river stairs of Blessing House.

Leif Mollnar shook his head in perplexity as he covertly glanced at his passengers. The younger one was pretty, that was something, though it was hard to see her face, shadowed as it was in the hood of her cloak. Women worried him. His serviceable cog lying at Southampton Water wasn’t equipped for them; how could it be? It was a working vessel with only one tiny cabin—his—under the poop. His men would not like three women on board. All seamen were superstitious, he among them, and women were bad luck, especially bleeding women. They brought storms, and this voyage would be difficult enough. It was winter and yet they had orders from Sir Mathew to sail through the night to save time, rather than put into port each evening as was normal.

Still, Leif lifted the substantial purse he’d been given by Sir Mathew and pondered the case. By the weight of the coin, this was far more than the usual payment for a routine voyage. And he remembered the urgency in Sir Mathew’s voice when his master had thrust it into his hands this morning. “Be careful of the three of them, Leif, very careful.” Bad luck or no, these women were important to his master.

There was something afoot here, something secret. It would be an interesting journey this time.

Chapter Thirty-three