The Tudor Vendetta (21 page)

If possible, she appeared even more distressed. After gnawing at her lower lip for several moments, she finally said, “Agnes … she was never content. Were it not so difficult to find help in these parts, what with our distance from any city and their lordship’s impoverishment, she would already have lost her post. When Master Godwin arrived, she…”

“Made advances to him?” I suggested.

Mistress Harper did not appear surprised at my assumption. “Yes. She said she would make him fall in love with her, because he was crippled, and who else would deign to look at him? Oh, she thought herself so sly. And Master Godwin—well, bad leg or not, he’s still a man, is he not, and he reacted to her as such, or thus she claimed. She talked about him all the time, about how they would marry and move to London, where he’d find himself a position teaching a nobleman’s brood and she would serve a true lady in style.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Full of fancies Agnes was, as if she were born to velvet. I did not believe a word of it; I rather thought he would eventually ruin her in the way men do and she’d end up with nothing for her troubles but a belly and scolding from her ladyship. Another bastard in the house would not be to my lady’s liking, not after Raff.”

“And then what happened?”

“The fever.” She sighed. “Master Henry and her ladyship fell ill. After that, every one of us was up at all hours of the day and night, tending to them. Then Lady Parry came. We’d had no advance word of her arrival, but she put the nail in Agnes’s hope. When Master Godwin offered to escort Lady Parry, Agnes was fit to be tied, though Lady Parry is a matron of a certain age—oh, it was horrid to hear, the way Agnes carried on. She cared nothing that Lady Parry vanished or Master Henry died; she ranted that Master Godwin had gone and forsaken her, and now what was she to do, left here to scrub her fingers raw until the end of her days? As I said, she never was content. The more she thought she could get, the more she wanted.”

I felt a surge of triumph. Finally, I had something: Agnes and Godwin had been involved. While it did not clarify much, it did thicken the stew, as my Alice would have said.

“Did the tutor love her? Do you think he’d have done as she claimed if he had returned?”

“I surely could not say. Agnes lied about everything, from how much work she did to whether the sun was out. It was her way. I doubt he saw her as more than a pastime. He was educated, a man of letters from London. Agnes could barely spell her own name. What can two such persons possibly have in common, I ask you, save for a romp in the hayloft on Saturday?”

I found myself smiling. She did indeed remind me of Alice.

“Mistress Harper, does the name Hugh mean anything to you?”

Her brow creased. Then, to my disappointment, she said, “I can’t say that it does.”

“Thank you for obliging me,” I said. “I will not trouble you further.”

As I turned to depart, she added suddenly, “I thought Agnes tried the same with you. From the moment you set foot in this house, she was aflutter. She must have thought, here you were, another man from London, and from court no less: her second chance. When she told me she was in your chamber last night, I assumed … That is why I did not tell Gomfrey. None of my business what people do after the candles are snuffed.”

“I appreciate your discretion but I assure you, nothing untoward happened between Agnes and me. As you can imagine, we have nothing in common.”

Except, I thought as I left the housekeeper to her work, the fact that three persons had disappeared from Vaughan Hall—and Agnes was now one of them.

Chapter Sixteen

I went upstairs to my chamber to inspect my saddlebag. My coin pouch was gone. It had not contained enough to forge a new life, especially if one hankered for London, but perhaps it seemed so to Agnes. Or perhaps she had been so frightened by my questions that she decided to take what she could and leave rather than be exposed, lest her liaison with Godwin came to light.

Whichever the case, I had been robbed and after only two days here, it felt as if I’d been immured in Vaughan Hall for a hundred years. I longed for this thankless errand to end; I had to stop myself from marching to Lady Vaughan’s chamber to question her. She had eyes and ears; she ruled the house with an iron gauntlet, and Godwin had been educating her children. I found it almost impossible to believe she had not at least suspected her maidservant was a slattern who had cast eyes at Godwin, given her sensitivity toward her own husband’s indiscretion. But I would see her that night in the hall, no doubt, and ask her then. I also planned to question her about her argument with Lady Parry.

Outside, virulent storm clouds piled on the horizon. The wind moaned and rattled something, a loose weathervane or chimney cap. As I paced the narrow confine of my chamber, hearing the occasional spatter of rain mixed with sleet striking the high windowpane, I decided I should check on Shelton before it grew too inclement to venture outdoors. While I was at it, I would pass by the family cemetery to determine if one of the headstones contained the name Hugh, though I was beginning to question my own obsession. Raff had probably said a name that meant nothing. Still, I could not get it out of my head as I made my way back down the staircase, through the desolate hall and empty passageway to the postern door to the garden.

The wind assaulted me. I walked toward the cemetery with my face down and cloak flapping. Only when I was among the somewhat sheltered gnarled copse of trees did I notice a little figure huddled by the mausoleum. Slowing my approach to avoid frightening her, I heard her gasp when a sudden gust tore her snood from her head and little Abigail Vaughan leapt up to bound after it as it reeled and somersaulted, buoyed by the wind, toward the cliff edge.

I dashed after her, catching her in mid-stride. Her fair hair whipped about her face; turning mournful eyes that seemed to me much older than her mere six years, she said, “Oh, no. It is lost. My snood is gone. Just like my brother.”

“There, now.” I took her in my arms away from the cliff. “It’s but a snood.”

“But my lady mother will be angry,” she said. “She told me I must be very careful with my things because she can’t afford to replace them whenever I lose or soil them.”

I let her down. I had no experience with young children, but she seemed to me a sad waif in her sodden gown and cloak, her hair tangled in braids. She was also shivering; by the looks of it, she had been outside for too long.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” I said gently. “It’s starting to storm and the wind can be dangerous. What if it lifted you up and carried you away like your snood?”

She raked her foot back and forth on the ground. “Nobody would mind,” she muttered. “They loved my brother best.”

“I think your father would mind. He would miss you very much, I suspect.”

Her solemn eyes lifted to contemplate me. “Yes, but he misses Henry more. I can tell. He cries a lot when he thinks no one is looking and he drinks too much. My lady mother shouts at him all the time. She says she should never have married him.”

My heart went out to her. Girls were rarely prized like boys, for sons inherited while daughters wed and became their husband’s chattel. I wondered what would happen to Abigail. Her circumstances were hardly conducive to a decent marriage, let alone personal happiness. Once again, anger at Lady Vaughan gripped me. Was the woman so callous that she would leave her own daughter to wander about like this, mourning her brother and subjected to cruel remarks not meant for her ears?

“Your mother is grieving,” I said, trying to reassure her. “People sometimes say terrible things when they are hurting.”

She turned wistful, gazing at the mausoleum. “I miss Henry. He always played with me. Now, he’s not here and there’s no one to play with us.”

“Us?” I crouched down beside her. “Who else do you play with besides Henry?”

She shrugged. “We used to play with Raff, until Master Godwin came to teach us and our lady mother said we couldn’t play with him anymore. She hates Raff, too. She says he’s a … a bastard?” Her brow crinkled. “Is that the right word?”

I nodded. “It is. But it’s not a nice thing to call someone. Did Master Godwin like Raff? Was he kind to him?”

Her frown deepened. “Raff was afraid of him.”

“He was? Why do you think he was afraid?”

She hunched her shoulders. “Master Godwin hit him once across the head and said he was a cur. After that, Raff kept away from him.” She brightened with that unexpected urge to share that children display. “Henry and I would play games with Raff and his friend. It was fun.”

“Friend?” My breath turned shallow. “He has a friend?”

“Oh, yes, but I’m not supposed to tell. We promised Raff, Henry and me. It’s a secret.”

“I can keep a secret,” I said. Around us, the storm gathered force, the intermittent rain and flurries of snow starting to fall steadily. I had to pry this from her before I was obliged to bring her inside; I was surprised no one had come looking for her, but they would soon enough. “I know several secrets myself,” I added. “In fact, just between you and me”—I hushed my voice in a way that I sensed she would respond to—“I am also a secret.”

She giggled. “You are not! I can see you, so you cannot be a secret. Raff’s friend is secret because you can’t see him.”

“Oh? Is he … invisible?”

Abigail nodded, leaning to me. She smelled of wet earth and damp wool. “He hides in the tunnels under the manor. He lives over there.” She pointed past my head. I turned to look; she was indicating the squat watchtower on the western side of the manor.

“In the tower? Raff’s friend lives all alone up there?”

“Yes.” She clasped her hands in eager delight that she could confide something she had once shared with her brother. “He’s shy. Raff says he cannot be seen by anyone because he’s afraid the evil king will kill him.” She sighed. “I can’t visit him now that Henry is gone.”

“You could take me.” I wanted to grab her by the hand and force her to lead me there that instant. I would have thought it a mere child’s tale, make-believe to pass the time in this forsaken place, were it not that from what I knew of him, I doubted Raff could have concocted such a story on his own. He surely was illiterate; and who would have cared enough about him to dandle him on his lap and recite such a fanciful fable?

Abigail said emphatically, “I cannot take you. The tunnels scare me. It’s dark and there are too many spiders.” She shuddered. “Ugh. I hate spiders.”

“Me, too. I do not like spiders or the dark. But if we go together, we won’t be afraid.”

“No. I cannot.” Her face shuttered again. “I am cold. Can I go inside now?”

“Yes, of course.” Coming to my feet, I forced out a smile. “Let me take you.”

“You don’t have to.” She pulled her cloak about her. “I know the way. The postern door is over there.” Turning around to leave, she paused. She cast a shy look at me. “His name is Hugh. Please, if you go visit him try not to scare him. He’s very shy.”

Tugging at her damp skirts sticking to her legs, she scrambled through the cemetery to the manor, leaving me standing there under the rain, my cap dripping about my ears.

I had finally discovered the secret of Vaughan Hall.

A child was hidden in the tower.

*   *   *

I could not wait to tell Shelton, but when I arrived at the stables, drenched to my very skin, I found him seated on the hay pile, nursing his stomach. To my surprise, the mastiff Bardolf lolled next to him with an adoring look on his massive face.

“Raff hasn’t come back yet?” I asked, and Shelton grimaced.

“No, he hasn’t. And lest you are wondering, I am feeling much better.”

“I am sorry.” I sat beside him, told him what I had learned. When I finished, he gave me a skeptical arch of his brow. “Children make up tales. It’s hardly proof of anything untoward.”

“Do you not see?” I said, as Bardolf thumped his tail under Shelton’s caress. “She said the friend’s name is Hugh. He lives in the tower. How can that not be proof?”

Shelton belched. He may have been feeling better but he did not look it. “I don’t see how a children’s game can tell us about whatever mishap happened to Lady Parry.” He tried to shake his head but it evidently still hurt, for he winced. “You have your answer. Hugh is a make-believe friend. He’s not real, while what happened to Lady Parry is quite a different matter.” He let out a troubled sigh. “Call the spade by its name, lad.”

“What does that mean?”

“That Lady Parry is dead.” He held up his hand to cut off my protest. “Be reasonable. I know this place seems like a far corner of hell—and after what happened to me, I share your opinion—but is it not more likely she and this Godwin went to fetch a physician and were ambushed by brigands? The entire realm fell apart after Mary took the throne—not that it was safe to begin with. I think they fell afoul of men like those who came after us and we shall never know what happened to them. I think it is time for us to leave. There is nothing left for us to do here except kick up our heels.”

I started to come to my feet in furious incredulity, until Bardolf, sensing my abrupt move, growled. “The beast has a liking for me,” remarked Shelton. “He hasn’t left my side since you came back. At least something here cares if I puke or die.”

I bunched my fists at my sides. “What about that hooded rider we both saw on the horizon or the message that wretch imparted before he died? What about the attempt on the queen, the notes, and now this, your own near death? Someone
must
be behind this!”

“Why?” His quiet question made me even angrier. He was only speaking his mind, and much as I wanted to refute or deny him, he was making more sense than I cared to admit. “Maybe you only want to believe there is some plot because she put you to this errand. She asked you to help her, and you—as you have from the day you met her—feel obliged to fulfill her request at any cost. No,” he said gruffly, again overriding my protest. “I know you’re going to say that I never cared for her, and you would be right. Queen or not, Elizabeth attracts trouble wherever she goes. She is not like you and me, lad. She is a Tudor.”