Chapter Fourteen

Fatigue fell upon me as soon as I entered my chamber. Unlacing my sleeves, doublet, and breeches, I let my codpiece drop to the floor and blew out the guttering tallow light in a shallow dish by the bed. Someone, perhaps Agnes, had taken advantage of my absence to leave the light in my room—no doubt to warn me that while I might retain the key, there must be others that unlocked my door. A quick search of my bags revealed nothing out of place. With my mind in tumult, I fell onto the bed in my hose and shirt.

It was evident that my arrival had disrupted something beyond a family’s grief. Lady Vaughan had demonstrated as much by her presumptive manner, and the steward struck me as someone I should watch. Agnes was also one to be wary of, a sullen maidservant who sought advantage wherever it might be found, while Mistress Harper appeared a sensible woman unlikely to participate in anything illicit. Nevertheless, all three servants depended on the Vaughans for their livelihood. I could not rely on any of them to assist me.

Adding to my troubles was Master Gomfrey’s statement that Lady Parry had left the manor in good health with Master Godwin, whom both she and everyone else at the house had apparently trusted—though allowing an older woman to take to the road with a crippled man unable to defend her seemed to me the height of carelessness. Gomfrey had stated he tried to warn them of the risks of traveling unescorted; now, she and the tutor had vanished without a trace, that cryptic note under her saddle the sole indication of something untoward, perhaps fatal.

I let out a breath. I had thought this stranger must hold a connection to Sybilla, that he had initiated a gambit to lure me away from court to exact revenge; but here in the darkness, surrounded by the unknown, I began to doubt my own conclusions. My imagination could be blinding me, fueled by years of guilt.

What if the stranger I sought had another motive?

You must pay for the sin.

I thought then I would never sleep and decided to wait until the hour when everyone else had retired. Exploration of the manor might prove useful, particularly with no one to impede me. But I could not keep weariness at bay. Without realizing it, my eyelids drooped. Soon, I was lost to slumber, plunged once more into the terrifying nightmare in which I lay paralyzed, as Sybilla came toward me, clothed in skin and night, the glint of steel in her hands. I felt her weight as she straddled me, the warmth of her mouth; as I struggled to resist, she giggled and—

I jolted awake with a shout, flinging the figure upon me from the bed. As it tumbled, gasping, onto the floor, I pulled my dagger from under my pillow and lunged upright, about to thrust my blade downward when the figure cried, “No!”

I blinked, pushing away the furious haze of my dream to see Agnes glaring at me, coming to her feet and yanking at her disheveled skirts. “Would you skewer an innocent woman?” she spat, wiping her hand across her mouth. “I was just trying to—”

“I know what you were about.” I tugged my rumpled shirt, to disguise my evident waning arousal under my hose. “And I’d hardly call a woman innocent when she creeps into my bed.”

She simpered. “I thought my lord would welcome the company.”

“You are wrong. Now, remove yourself at once before I report you to Mistress Harper.”

“Do so.” Her smile turned nasty. “She’s drunk as a bishop on her stool in the kitchen. She likes a nip, does our Mistress Harper, after everyone takes to their rooms.” Her contemptuous tone overcame my better judgment. With two strides, I had her pressed against the wall.

“What do you want?”

“I told you. I thought you’d like some company,” she said. “But if you rather I remove myself, then I shan’t tell you secrets they don’t want you to find out—” She let out a painful gasp as I seized her by the arm.

“Speak plainly, girl. I tire of your insolence.”

Up close, her breath was foul with the tang of onion as she said, “Unhand me or I’ll not say a word.”

Reluctantly, I released my grip. Rubbing at her arm and scowling, she said, “They’re all lying to you: Lady Vaughan, Gomfrey, even his lordship—they don’t want you to know the truth of what happens under their roof. If I were you, I’d be very careful, because if you get too close, they’ll make you disappear just as they did Lady Parry.”

I eyed her, hiding my interest. “And I suppose you want a reward for helping me?”

She showed in that instant she was not merely any slattern seeking advantage; in her dull eyes surfaced a cunning that made me want to thrash her. “I am no fool. The old queen is dead and the new one is not likely to look kindly on papists. I’m not going to be arrested and put in the Tower for protecting them.”

I refrained from informing her that larcenous wenches like her did not go to the Tower; they were imprisoned instead in the Fleet, where putrid underground cells and hordes of hungry rats would make an end of her with far less mercy.

“You have coin.” She thrust her hand at my saddlebag. “I saw it. You must know important people at court. You can take me there when you go.”

“To court?” I smiled. “What do you think you’ll do there: wash Her Majesty’s linens and serve her at her table?” I watched the cunning on her face harden into defiance.

“Do not make sport of me,” she hissed. “You need me more than I need you, Master High-and-Mighty Prescott. Others will pay good coin for what I know.”

“And what is it you know?” I said through my teeth. “I’m not in the habit, nor, I wager, are those others you mention, of paying coin for information without verifying it first.”

She shrugged. “As you wish.” She started to the door, but she had to edge around me first and kept looking at me as if she anticipated a blow.

I was tempted to oblige her. With a clench of my jaw, I went to my saddlebag. She was a clever vixen: She had gone through my bag so expertly, I had not noticed. Taking out three shillings from my pouch, I tossed them at her. As she bent down to scrabble for them, I started to say there would be more if she talked now, when a querulous voice called from the corridor: “Agnes? Agnes, where are you? The fire needs stoking.”

It was Mistress Harper and she indeed sounded to be in her cups. The scratching of nails on floorboard announced that the mastiff Bardolf had climbed the stairs and was prowling the passage. His snuffling under the door froze Agnes in mid-crouch.

“God help me, she’ll have my head,” Agnes whispered. Her eyes had gone wide in fright; the revelation of her fear gave me pause. Was she afraid of the tipsy housekeeper?

“Stay put,” I said. “Do not move. Do not say a word.”

Bardolf was pawing at the door, the tip of his nose snuffling under the door’s seam. Pocketing the coins, Agnes stood frantically.

“Agnes,” I hissed as she whirled to the door. “Tell me this: Who is Hugh?”

Her hand froze on the door latch. Then she dashed out, closing the door behind her before the dog could get in.

I heard her outside, explaining in a hasty, tremulous voice that should not have fooled anyone: “I … I was seeing to Master Prescott’s water and candles. I … I had forgotten them.”

Her falsehood was so blatant, I braced for Mistress Harper’s retort. But the housekeeper only grumbled, “Is that so? Well, get back to the kitchens. You have no business up here with your betters. What need has he of water or wax at this hour? He should be abed.”

Their footsteps moved away. Moments later, I heard the dog lumber off, too.

Bunching my fists, I cursed under my breath. I should have restrained her—by force if necessary; make her confess what she knew. For I was certain she knew something. Her fear had been so obvious, as was her reaction to the name Hugh. I would have wagered my very life on it.

Tomorrow, I vowed. Tomorrow, I would question every one of them. I would drag the truth out if I had to threaten them with the Tower, the rack, or the scaffold itself.

I would start with Agnes.

*   *   *

I slept poorly, in fits and starts. As soon as sullen sunlight leaked through the window, I rose, bathed hastily using freezing water—Agnes had indeed left a pitcher in the garderobe to substantiate her story, along with two candlesticks; she was not such a bad liar, after all—dressed, and went down to the hall to break my fast. I had no appetite, forcing myself to swallow the brown bread, goat cheese, and watery ale Mistress Harper served me in stolid silence, her movements deliberate, betraying she had indeed imbibed too much the night before. As she was clearing the table, I asked her if I might speak to Master Gomfrey.

“He went out with his lordship early,” she replied, her eyes averted. “They said they would be back soon, to take you to that place where Lady Parry and the tutor disappeared.”

They had risen before dawn. Why? To hide evidence, perhaps?

“Mistress Harper,” I said. She lowered her face farther, until her chins sank into her collar. “May I ask you if you know anything about the circumstances in which Lady Parry left this house? Was there any disturbance I should know about?”

“Disturbance?” she repeated, as if she failed to understand.

“Yes. Was there a quarrel or disagreement? I had understood she came here to tend to her ladyship and Master Henry, who had both taken ill. Clearly, the boy, at least, was not yet recovered when Lady Parry left, seeing as he died soon after. Why would she have departed with only Master Godwin as her companion, leaving behind a very sick child?”

“She … she insisted on it.” Mistress Harper glanced warily around us, as if unseen witnesses might lurk nearby. “She said that Her Majesty had urgent need of her and she had to go. There was no disagreement. Master Gomfrey did advise them both to wait until we could arrange a proper escort, but Lady Parry … she would not hear of it.”

It was difficult to tell if she was lying. Her explanation sounded rehearsed, as if she recited words she had taken pains to memorize, but by now my suspicions were at such a pitch, everything I heard would seem like a falsehood.

“You do realize,” I said, “that should I discover that anyone in this household seeks to obstruct my investigations or hide important information that could help locate Lady Parry, the queen herself could consider it an act of treason. And God forbid that Lady Parry should be found harmed: Her Majesty will impose severe punishment on all those involved, whether they were directly responsible or not.”

My threat sufficiently dismayed Mistress Harper for her to lose her color. Grabbing up her tray with the remains of my breakfast, she muttered, “I have told you what I know. I am the housekeeper. I do as told and stay clear of their lordships’ affairs. If there was any disturbance or disagreement, I am surely not aware of it.”

She hastened away to the kitchen, leaving me more frustrated and angry than before. Throwing on my cloak, I stormed from the house through the thinning scrim of fog to the stables, hoping Shelton had had better luck questioning Raff. I intended to put a few questions to the boy myself, but when I entered the stables I found the first stalls that held the Vaughan steeds were empty. Cinnabar whinnied as he heard my approach. I did not find Shelton where I expected, up and tending to our horses.

Panic flared. Yelling his name, I began to search every stall, narrowly avoiding an ill-tempered bite from Cerberus, who, like Cinnabar, was hungry and restless. I was about to rush back to the manor to shout everyone into the hall with threats when I suddenly espied him, lying faceup in a hay pile in a far corner near a heap of detritus: a stack of old apple barrels, broken crates, and a tangle of rusted, hanging hooks.

At first, I could not move. He must be dead. He was so still, he could not have been anything else. A wave of despair choked me as I willed myself to step toward him.

He had one arm flung over his brow, his battered face slack, his skin tinged with an awful grayish hue. His mouth under his beard was open; as I bent over him, a howl of grief clawing at my throat, I realized with a start that his chest rose and fell, so slight it was almost imperceptible.

He was breathing.

“Shelton!” I shook him by the shoulder. “Shelton, wake up!” I could smell ale on his breath; saw now at his side a tray with the gristle and bone of a capon and a jug, tipped over in a pool of liquid. “Shelton, damn you, wake up!”

He did not stir. Seizing the pitcher, I ran to the outside trough and raced back inside, dumped its entire contents over his miserable head.

He spluttered, the water hitting him in the face. As he groaned and tried to open his eyes, I said furiously, “You old fool! You drank yourself into a stupor. I’m supposed to rely on you to watch my back, and here you are, passed out with drink, when I need you to—”

I leapt back as, rolling to one side, he spewed a bellyfull of vomit.

He gasped, wiping the filth from his mouth and chin. With excruciating caution, he sat up, his head hanging between his knees as he coughed and dribbled spittle.

My outrage faded. He was sick. He must have somehow caught the fever that had sickened Lady Vaughan and her son—

Then he raised bleary eyes to me and croaked, “You need not call for an undertaker, lad. I am not dying. Not yet.” He licked his lips, staggering to his feet. “God’s teeth,” he said, swaying as he struggled to catch his bearings. “How do they brew their ale in these parts? I feel as if I’ve licked Satan’s arsehole.”

I eyed him. “You didn’t even finish it. Look: Half that jug has spilt.… The ale,” I whispered. As he blinked uncomprehendingly, I knelt by the pool of liquid under the jug, dipping my fingertip in the pool and bringing it to my nose. The smell hit me like a mallet: the distinct trace of almonds.

I wiped my hand on my breeches, plunged back in time to a chamber in Whitehall, where I held my dying squire in my arms and smelled the same sickly scent on the seal of a note he had inadvertently opened.

“You’ve been poisoned. This ale is tainted.”

He grunted, swerved back around to spew again. “Get me water. I need water.…”

I ran back out to the trough, rinsing the pitcher thoroughly several times before I returned with it full. He seized it, emptying water into his mouth and then doubling over to throw it all up. “You need a physic,” I said, even as I gripped my dagger’s hilt at my belt and felt the burning need to bury it into the heart of whoever had done this. More poison, just like the box sent to Elizabeth and the letter that killed Peregrine: The stranger stalking me had made his intent clear. He wanted me alone and cornered, at his mercy. He was nearby, watching us.

Shelton mumbled, “The last thing I need is a physic bleeding me with leeches,” and by sheer force of will, he lurched to the stall where Cerberus, sensing his master’s distress, tugged at his tether. “I’ll be fine,” he said as he comforted his steed. “Give me a few minutes to clear my head. It’s pounding like a thousand poleaxing imps.” He suddenly guffawed—a hoarse rattle. “I feel like I did when that mob in the Tower went over me with their pikes.”

“But, the poison: It could still be inside you—”

“Do not tell me what to do,” he snarled. “I am still your elder, boy. I told you to let me be a moment. Go see to your beast before he breaks down that stall gate.”

I knew better than to argue, slipping into Cinnabar’s stall to stroke his ears and neck until he settled down. His trough was almost empty. As I looked about for feed, it occurred to me that I had not seen Raff this morning.

“Where is the boy?” I asked. Shelton was murmuring to Cerberus and did not look up at me as he replied, “He never came back last night. I sat up, waiting for him until that capon went cold, but he never showed. He must have other places to sleep.”

“You did not see him all night?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Shelton pointed past the stall. “There’s a bag of feed over there and some sour apple rinds.”

The bag was only half full, the feed moldering, crawling with mites. “We should graze them,” I said, grimacing. “God save us, this is a horrid place. I cannot wait to get—”

The clatter of hooves outside interrupted me. I stalked out to find Lord Vaughan and Gomfrey seated on two mares with ribs poking under their hides. The horses here didn’t appear to be faring any better than the household; all of a sudden, my rage over the attempt on Shelton and certainty that I was being misled, coupled with my growing fear that the stranger could strike again at any moment, sharpened my voice. “My lord, this is an outrage!”

Lord Vaughan turned in his saddle with a startled expression. Before he could say a word, I strode up to him. “First, you ride out without waiting for me, though I specifically told you I wished to see the spot where the disappearances took place. Then I come to the stable to find my horses unfed and your idiot groom nowhere in sight. And to top matters off, my manservant almost—” I curbed my tongue, stopping myself as I remembered Agnes’s words.

They do not want you to know what goes on under this roof.

Lord Vaughan regarded me. In the daylight, he looked even more gaunt and hollow-eyed, his grief like a pall cast over him. I could not help but pity him. Yet as much as I wanted to believe that a man so broken by his son’s death would never countenance evil done against my servant or me, I could not trust him or anyone else in this manor.

“Well?” I stood with my hands on my hips, ignoring the granite-eyed steward staring at me from his lord’s side.

“I … I beg your forgiveness,” said Lord Vaughan, haltingly. “I tend to rise very early and thought it best to go with Gomfrey first, to ascertain the precise location where Lady Parry and Master Godwin vanished—or rather, where her horse was found. The first time I went with Her Majesty’s men, my son and wife were gravely ill; and I was not myself. I feared I might have forgotten. It’s not marked, you see.…”

His explanation faded into uncomfortable silence. He did not need to elaborate further. He had no doubt nursed a dependency for wine even before his son’s demise; with Henry now lying cold in the little mausoleum, he was drowning himself in it.

I understood grief. I had nearly lost my own reason because of it. Softening my voice, I asked, “Did you find it?”

He nodded. “It is closer than I first thought; less than an hour’s ride. I came to fetch you.”

I gave terse assent. “We ride alone. Have Gomfrey attend to my manservant, who’s taken ill.” Turning around, I marched into the stables to saddle Cinnabar. “You will not say a word,” I warned Shelton, where he stood clutching the side of a stall. “You must stay here and recover.”