The White Rose (14 page)

Carey stepped forward. 'So Ruthven locks himself in his chamber, he visits no one and no one visits him, but the next morning he is found poisoned and a white rose discovered lying on the bed.'

'Just like Selkirk,' Agrippa added flatly.

'Are there any secret passages?' Moodie squeaked.

Catesby glanced despairingly at the ceiling; still, the old steward was summoned and questioned. The man was frightened, unable to tear his eyes away from Ruthven's corpse, but he shook his head.

'No tunnels,' he declared roundly. 'No passageways or trap doors, but there are ghosts,' he said defiantly. 'The monk knights still walk the corridors.'

Melford sneered in derision.

'Did Master Ruthven go down to the kitchen or buttery or ask for any victuals to be sent up?' asked Catesby.

The old man shook his head and was dismissed.

'Is there anything else?' my master asked.

'What do you mean?' snapped Carey.

'Something in the room perhaps?'

A brief search was made but nothing untoward was found. Ruthven's ink-stained quill was lying on the floor. My master picked it up, scrutinised it carefully then threw it on the table.

'A mystery,' Agrippa announced. He glared round at all of us. 'But someone here is a murderer who knows how Ruthven died!' He sighed and looked at Carey. 'Enough of this, Queen Margaret must be informed.'

We all trooped downstairs, my master staying behind to scrutinise the room once more then joining me outside, shaking his head.

'Doctor Agrippa is right,' he whispered. 'A true mystery. How can a man, hale and hearty before he retired, be found poisoned the next morning, when no one visited him and he remained locked in his room?' He looked at me sharply. 'You saw him?'

I nodded. 'You heard me,' I replied. 'He opened his chamber door, smiled at me and picked up his cat.'

'So how was he poisoned?'

The question dominated our discussions as we gathered in what used to be the long Chapter Room of the Knights Templar.

Queen Margaret sat at the head of the cracked, dangerously shaky table whilst Catesby ordered benches to be brought in for the rest. The King's sister was white-faced and tight-lipped, obviously finding it difficult to control her anger.

'Someone here,' she snapped, her eyes darting round us, 'murdered Ruthven! Someone here is also a traitor, guilty of the blackest treason. Why does the House of York plague us with their romantic dreams and stupid ambitions? The assassins, in their temerity, even left a white rose to mock us! Doctor Agrippa . . .' her voice trailed off.

The good doctor beamed around.

'We must account for our movements,' he said. 'Each and every one of us.'

His prompting was summarily answered. No one had approached Ruthven. Both Master Benjamin and myself had heard nothing amiss and Moodie, who had been in the chamber adjoining Ruthven's on the other side, could also confirm this.

'How was Ruthven?' Catesby asked. 'I mean, in the days before his death? Did he say or do anything untoward?' He looked around. 'To whom did he talk?'

'He talked to Moodie,' Melford observed.

'Well?' Agrippa asked.

The mouse-faced chaplain became even more agitated than usual.

'Ruthven kept to himself,' he stammered. 'He was distant, lost in his own thoughts.' 'What did he talk about?'

'About Selkirk's murder. He found the fellow's mutterings strange.' 'Anything else?'

Moodie licked his lips and looked nervously at Queen

Margaret. Then, placing his hands on the table, he looked down, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

'We also talked about the days before Flodden - the doings of the late King and the gossip of the court.'

'What gossip?' Queen Margaret asked smoothly.

'Nothing, My Lady. Just memories . . . recollections of happier days. I assure you, that was all.'

'The rose?' Benjamin asked abruptly.

'What about it?' Agrippa retorted.

'Well, there are no roses here!'

'There were in Canterbury,' Scawsby pointed out. 'Small, white rosebuds, the type which come late in the year.'

'So,' Benjamin continued, 'the murderer planned Ruthven's death, then . . .' He let his comment hang like a rope in the air.

'There is no doubt,' Agrippa intervened silkily, 'that Ruthven died by the same hand and in the same way as Selkirk in the Tower.' He took us all in with one sombre glance. 'How Ruthven was murdered, and why, is a mystery.' He looked at Scawsby. 'There was no food or wine in the room?'

The old quack shook his head.

'And you, Shallot, were the last person to see him alive?'

'And I heard no one come up!' I snapped.

Agrippa took a deep breath, placing both hands on the table before him.

'Is it possible, Master Physician, for poison to be administered in slow drops?'

Scawsby grimaced. 'I suppose so, but that would be dangerous. The poisoner would have to infuse the potions many times and, if he was caught . . .'

'Is it possible,' Catesby grated, 'for a poison to be slow acting?'

Scawsby smiled peevishly. 'I have never heard of such a potion. And, even if one existed, Ruthven would surely have felt the effects before he retired.'

'Master Scawsby is correct,' Benjamin added. 'Ruthven was meant to die in that room, behind a locked and barred door.' He waved a bony finger in the air. 'Remember, the door was locked and bolted from the inside. The assassin is subtle and clever. No one heard him come up but he must have got in for Ruthven to die and the white rose to be found.'

'And you, Master Daunbey, were in the chamber next to him,' Lady Carey retorted. She glanced balefully at me. 'Your servant was the last man to see him alive. Isn't it strange that you, Benjamin, were the last person to see Selkirk alive!'

'I am sure,' Queen Margaret intervened smoothly, 'no suspicion of foul play can fall on the Cardinal's nephew.' She glanced angrily at Lady Carey, then smiled falsely at us.

But, oh, that was a clever move by Carey! The damage had been done because when you fling dirt, some sticks. The rest of the group stared at us like a hanging jury before sentence is passed. Benjamin smiled as if savouring a secret joke.

'Lady Carey is correct in some of what she says but her logic is faulty,' he commented. 'Ruthven died because he knew something. He was probably the only one, besides the murderer, to understand all or some of Selkirk's verses.' He leaned forward. 'The murderer is definitely here. I wonder which of us has Yorkist sympathies. Melford?'

The mercenary stirred like a cat alerted to danger.

'What is it, Daunbey?'

'Didn't your family fight for the White Rose once?'

The mercenary smirked. 'Yes, but that's true of everyone here. Isn't it, Carey?'

The old soldier fidgeted as memories stirred. Accusations grew heated, voices were raised. The sum total of charge and counter charge was that every person in the room, besides myself and Benjamin, had some affinity or link with the House of York and the cause of the White Rose. Queen Margaret sat back in her chair watching disdainfully. Catesby looked furious whilst Doctor Agrippa, eyes closed, arms folded, sat like some benevolent friar after a hearty meal. At last he stirred. Drawing a long, thin stiletto from his belt, he rapped the top of the table.

'Come, come!' he shouted. 'You are like children playing a game. These angry words prove nothing. Ruthven could have been killed by magic' He grinned down at me. 'But we are here on other business.'

'Master Daunbey, we have lost enough time over Ruthven's death.' Catesby interrupted. 'Have your bags packed. You are to leave within the hour. The steward will provide you with a local guide.'

Benjamin tugged at my sleeve. We rose, bowed to the head of the table and left our companions to their baleful conjecturing. Benjamin skipped lightly up the stairs but, instead of going to our own chamber, took me into Ruthven's. The corpse still lay sheeted on the bed. Benjamin scrutinised the room, especially the objects on the desk, picking up the quill, the ink and paper. He sniffed at each, shook his head and put them back.

'What are you looking for, Master?'

'I don't really know,' he replied.

He went across to the bed and pulled back the sheet. He scrutinised Ruthven's corpse, paying particular attention to the hands and closely examining the callous on Ruthven's third finger. Again he sniffed carefully.

'No poison there,' he whispered. He prised open Ruthven's mouth. I stood behind him, trying to conceal my fear and distaste. Surely the dead man's ghost would object to this? Was his soul still earthbound? Would it stay here forever or be freed only when his murderer was brought to justice? Benjamin examined the yellowing teeth. He took a small pin from the sleeve of his doublet and began to scrape between the yellow stumps until he extracted small, grey fragments still wet with mucus.

Benjamin held the pin up to the light, staring at these scrapings.

'What is it, master?' I whispered.

Benjamin shook his head. 'I don't know. It could be food, perhaps some bread.'

'What are you doing, Benjamin?'

Both my master and I turned quickly. Doctor Agrippa and Sir Robert Catesby stood in the doorway. Benjamin beamed.

'Nothing, good doctor. Lady Carey insinuated I might be involved in Ruthven's death. I thought I might find something to show I was not.'

'And have you?' Catesby asked.

Unobserved, Benjamin let the pin drop to the floor.

'No, not at all.'

Catesby waved us forward. 'Then come!'

We went into our own chamber. Catesby, closing the door behind him, told us to sit.

'Forget Ruthven's death,' he began. 'The Scottish envoys will soon land at Yarmouth. They have safe conducts and passes to travel to Nottingham where you will meet them. Queen Margaret's second husband, the Earl of Angus, will be present but the delegation is led by Lord d'Aubigny, one of the Regent's lieutenants. You will treat with him about Queen Margaret's return to Scotland. You will offer nothing, but listen most carefully to what is said. We have arranged for you to be there on the Feast of St Cecilia, the twenty-second of November. However, before that, in two days' time, on the Feast of St Leo the Great, you will meet Irvine, My Lord Cardinal's spy, at Coldstream Priory which lies about thirty miles from here. Irvine's information may well be given in cipher. You will memorise the message and bring it back to me and Doctor Agrippa.'

'Why the secrecy?' I asked. 'Why can't Irvine come here? Why are the Scottish envoys coming by sea? And why Nottingham? Moreover,' I glanced sideways at my master, 'surely the Scottish nobles will want to treat with someone more important than the Cardinal's nephew and,' I added bitterly, 'his manservant.'

Agrippa smirked. 'Shallot!' he murmured. 'Use your head. Irvine cannot come here - there is a traitor and a murderer in the Queen's party. Despite Lady Carey's accusations, you and Benjamin,' he glanced slyly at Catesby, 'are the only ones above suspicion. Moreover, if the Lord Cardinal trusts you implicitly, so will Irvine. As for the Scottish envoys . . . first, a journey by land is too dangerous; secondly, our good King Henry believes this is a Scottish matter and does not wish to intervene officially; finally, Queen Margaret and her household, on the other hand, do not wish to be seen to have anything to do with the men who drove her from Scotland.' Agrippa leaned closer and I smelt that strange perfume he always wore. 'So, Shallot, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. The Scots will talk with Master Benjamin. They know he acts on the personal authority of the Cardinal.'

'And the rest?' Benjamin spoke up. 'You all stay at Royston?'

Catesby grinned sheepishly. 'Unfortunately, yes, though Melford and I will leave for Nottingham within the hour to ensure the castle is ready for the Scottish envoys.' Catesby smiled. 'You have three days to reach Coldstream Priory. As for Ruthven . . . ' he turned and lifted the latch of our chamber door, 'as Scripture says:
"...
Leave the dead to bury the dead
..."
Eh, good doctor?'

And without further ado they slipped out of the chamber.

We took our leave of a sombre-visaged Queen Margaret and within the hour the steward's guide was leading us out of Royston Manor and into the mist-shrouded countryside. Catesby and Melford had already departed, riding hard for Nottingham, leaving Agrippa, the Careys, Moodie and the old quack Scawsby at Royston.