part0016

The spaniel’s nose, black and endlessly inquisitive, had left another level line of smears along the glass where it had chased along the window seat, nose pressed to the panes, barking pointlessly at anything that moved in the courtyard below. Catherine, a wet cloth in one hand, set to remove the marks, knowing full well that the spaniel would ensure that by nightfall all of the nose marks would be replaced.

“Now that’s why I won’t allow dogs in any part of my house but the hall,” Christopher Morley said, striding into the room. “Good day to you, Mistress Eugenie. I was looking for Kate Ashley.”

“I am afraid she has not yet returned, sir. They are due later today. Lotty and some of the other ladies have arrived and they brought Elizabeth’s spaniel with them,” Catherine supplied cautiously, hoping he would bid her good day and turn on his heel.

Morley knew very well that Kate had returned, and Catherine would have paled had she known that he had come in search of her and not Elizabeth’s governess and confidante.

“I have been misinformed. It was not an important matter. I will find her later on, no doubt,” Morley said. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to see your Aunt again. ”

Catherine made a move to return her attention to the spaniel’s nose marks, but Morley was regarding her closely and she couldn’t really turn her back on him. “It will be good to have everyone back again at Durham Place. It is a large house, and a lonely place when there are so few of us here.”

“Ah, I have found you out! You are lonely, so it was a love you have lost that you would not tell me about last time?” he laughed, his manner easy and warm. He was older than Jack by a good few years, but still he reminded her of him, and she returned his generous smile. “So how did you lose him then? Has he gone to Court with the Lady Elizabeth or did you leave the lad in Cheshire?”

Catherine’s face clouded; she had, she supposed, lost someone, and she was very lost herself.

“I’ve done it again! I’ve made you sad. I’m such an insensitive clod!” Morley sounded rather upset himself. “I’ve no right to ask. I am sorry, mistress. I think everyone in London suffers as I do. My family are from Lincolnshire and I miss my wife Anne, and our children very much. I do not get to return to them as often as I would like.”

Catherine had been to Lincoln, and nearly said as much but stopped herself just in time. “It is sad to be parted from your family. How many children do you have?”

Morley brightened. “I have two boys, Jacob and John, and two girls, Margaret and Nan. She’s called Anne for her mother, but we’ve always called her Nan.”

“How old are they, sir?” Catherine asked .

“Well, Jacob and John are twins and they are fourteen now, big lads and I am proud of them both. Their sister Margaret is twelve and my little Nan is nine. I’m hoping to bring the boys to London with me next time I go back home. I’ve found places for them in good houses. I would have brought them last year, but Anne said she would miss them so much and begged me let her keep them for one last year,” Morley said.

“Twins? Do they look alike?” Catherine said. It was rare for twins to live. The babies were often small and weakly and not well prepared for the fight for life that all children must make.

“They are alike in looks but not at all in temperament. Which is lucky, otherwise we would not be able to tell them apart. John is bookish, and a harder working, more studious lad you would have to look hard to find, and his brother Jacob…” Morley smiled, “… wherever he is, there will be mischief. He’s not a bad boy but always seems to be getting into trouble. He rarely thinks before he acts.”

Catherine smiled as well. “I used to know someone like that as well, and you cannot help but like them.”

“I know that well. I have to talk sternly to Jacob, but it is hard to keep from laughing. Our cook used to get Jacob to bring the eggs into the kitchen for her. He had to get up early, the coops were a short walk, but he’d decided he didn’t want to do it anymore, especially in the snow. So the cook came down to open the kitchens up and found Jacob had brought the birds to the kitchens. He’d meant for them to stay in a small storeroom, but the clod left the door open. There were chickens pecking their way through the grain, roosting on top of the cupboards, even trying to nest in the cook’s pots.” Morley was laughing and Catherine couldn’t help joining in. “The dogs came bounding down into the kitchens to chase the birds. There were feathers flying everywhere, the cook and kitchen maids trying to round these birds up and keep the merry dogs at bay…” Morley paused to laugh at the memory of it.

“I can imagine!” Catherine said, laughing herself, then asked, “and where was Jacob?”

“In his bed! He’d no need to get up early as he’d brought his work home with him and so he was fast asleep while my kitchens were ransacked by his feathery marauders. Do you have any brothers? If you do, then you’d know what young boys can be like.”

“I don’t, sir, but I can imagine,” Catherine replied, still laughing.

“I do miss home, and I miss the open countryside. London is not such an easy a place to live, especially when you do not have your family around you,” Morley said, a sad note in his voice. “I believe you are from Chester. I have family from that way myself. It is such a lovely city. Do you not miss it?”

“London is becoming my favourite city,” Catherine said cautiously.

Morley shook his head from side to side as if weighing the options. “We have to be careful to not let London define us, I think. When I am at home, I find there is a peace to life. Here I always seem to be at someone’s beck and call. There always seems to be much undone that I need to attend to. Just trying to get across London on some days can be a trial in itself. The roads are so bad. To get from my house to Lincoln is so easy. I can ride a horse across the fields or down the North road. I’m not going to get endlessly held up by wagons, processions, floods, markets stalls blocking the way and crowds gathered around preachers.”

“I agree. When I first came to London, I remember being so surprised that there wasn’t a middle. I’d expected an open green, something to mark the fact you were in the centre of the city, but it just went on and on,” Catherine said, remembering that first journey to London when Jack had reluctantly brought her to the town house Richard had been gifted by Mary.

Morely laughed. “I agree. London had much the same effect on me when I came here the first time when I was a boy. Even Chester where you are from, although a large city, still has the Cathedral in the centre and the marketplace.”

Catherine wisely chose not to comment on Chester but nodded and diverted him back to his own family. “Have you ever brought Anne to London, sir?”

“I’ve not brought Anne. I think I will when the girls are grown and wed. Her family are from Lincoln and I don’t think she would like the city and its ways.”

He left her shortly after this, Catherine still smiling and thinking of the chickens having an early visit to the pot. It had been good to laugh, and when she saw him later in a corridor beckoning to her, she smiled and followed him into the room. Morley closed the door with a quiet click behind her and Catherine saw that he no longer had his accustomed smile on his face.

“Sit down,” he commanded, pointing to a stool at the wooden table.

Catherine seated herself and waited, her heart hammering in her chest.

What was coming? What had she done?

“Let’s not waste too much time. I know perfectly well that you are not Kate Ashley’s niece,” Morley said conversationally.

Catherine didn’t reply. Morley watched with some satisfaction as her face went white.

“So, if you are not Eugenie, then who are you?” Morley asked, then added, “Think carefully before you speak, mistress, and do not tie yourself up in lies you will not be able to escape.”

What was she going to do? He’d obviously discovered she was not Eugenie, but what to tell him?

“The truth sometimes,” Morley said, turning his back on her for a moment, and almost reading her mind, “is often not as evil as you have come to think it is.”

Could she tell him the truth? Where she was now could hardly be seen as her fault, could it? From the moment she had hidden in the hayloft while her mother was murdered, her life had been directed by others. The choices had not been hers to make.

“Well then? Have you anything to tell me?” Morley said, taking the stool opposite her, his face serious now, not unfriendly, but the eyes that regarded her closely across the table warned her not to lie.

“My name is Catherine De Bernay,” she sniffed and wiped a running nose on her sleeve.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Catherine. Now, can you tell me how you came to be in Elizabeth’s household?” Morley said, promoting her to continue. De Bernay – that was a name he recognised.

This was a gamble. Was Morley Elizabeth’s man? She didn’t know. Her father had been an ardent supporter of Mary, and had lost his life supporting her cause. But whose side was Morley on?

“I’m not asking you to trust me. That would be foolish, but you know you will have to tell me. So who are you, Catherine?” Morley asked again.

“Do you want me to report that there is a spy within Elizabeth’s household? Do you want to be arrested?” he said. “Can you really be that foolish? They will certainly find out who you are and where you came from, in circumstances that I can promise you will not be as comfortable as this room is now. So tell me now, and perhaps, only perhaps, those discomforts might not occur.”

Her eyes flicked up and met his. She’d seen Jack in debtors’ gaol and had no wish to imperil herself like that .

“You do know where you’ll end up?” Morley said, reading her expression.

“My name is Catherine De Bernay. My father died fighting for Her Majesty two and half years ago. My mother was killed and my household lost to me.”

Catherine told her tale, and Morley listened in silence. She ended with the probable death of Jack and with Richard’s deposit of her in Elizabeth’s household.

“Well, when I asked for the truth, I certainly got it.” Morley let out a long breath, his cheeks puffing.

Catherine sat in silence, wondering what he would make of it, and what was going to happen to her next.

Morley pushed himself up from the table. “I will speak with you tomorrow. Do not think of taking flight into the streets of London. We would find you, and the outcome would then be most wholly unfortunate for yourself.” The threat was clear. “Take consolation in this, I am Her Majesty’s sworn servant, but that does not mean we can condone your actions of being uninvited within the Lady Elizabeth’s household.”

He left her shortly after this and Catherine was forced to return to domestic duties that she had no enthusiasm for. Work was followed by a long night, most of which she spent awake.

“By accident it would seem,” Morley said.

“By design. We thought Richard Fitzwarren was dead. It seems he escaped last year. He spirited away papers Gardiner had on Elizabeth and they have never been seen or heard of since. Does she know where he is now?”

“No, she’s not seen him since he took her to Durham Place and she joined Elizabeth’s staff.” Morley supplied.

“And you believe her?” Cecil asked.

“She’s a young girl, Cecil. I know what you are thinking, that he is using as her an informant to pass messages to and from Elizabeth, and if that is the case we will soon know. I have already arranged to have her closely watched. Her story, what happened to her family, does indeed ring true. I’ve checked and Peter De Bernay was indeed killed in fighting before Her Majesty took her rightful throne,” Morley said.

“Had it occurred to you that she could be an imposter?” Cecil said, pulling on his beard.

“It did, especially after she herself told me that she was presumed dead in the fighting to take her father’s manor at Assingham. And I agree, we cannot be completely sure, however my gut feeling is, she has been used by the Fitzwarrens. She told me Robert Fitzwarren took her to his house hoping to secure Assingham for himself, and I believe Richard may have deposited her in Elizabeth’s household for safekeeping, perhaps believing that he too could lay a claim to the lady’s property when times are more…” Morley paused while he selected the right words, he could hardly say when Mary was dead, “favourable towards him.”

“Mmmm…” Cecil continued to think. “Do you think we can use her?”

“Possibly. That does depend on what reports I have back. A false task to prove her worth might be the best cause of action,” Morley suggested.

“See to it. Maybe we can use her to trap Richard Fitzwarren after Renard’s failure last year.” Cecil waved Morley from his presence and settled back in his chair to contemplate this recent twist. Richard Fitzwarren was a known supporter of Elizabeth and he’d allegedly stolen papers from Gardiner. Reaching for a pen, he pulled over a sheet of paper, calling loudly as he wrote. “Crake, get in here, will you?”

Crake arrived silently from a door to Cecil’s left, one of his three trusted staff, and he was handed the sheet of paper. “Bring me everything we have, and there should be a record from last year,” Cecil said, handing over the paper with the name Richard Fitzwarren written on it in Cecil’s neat, economic writing.

There was more than he had expected. He’d heard the name, and it had been Sir Ayscough in Lincoln who had dealt with the treasonous whelp. Prior to his death he had purloined papers that the Archbishop had relating to Elizabeth. These had never surfaced again and Fitzwarren, badly injured after the fight, had been presumed dead .

It was news indeed that Richard Fitzwarren had been closely linked with Elizabeth when she was under the guardianship of Catherine Parr and Thomas Seymour. The papers held a signed statement by Kate Ashley attesting to his assault on the princess.

Cecil put the statement to one side and tapped his fingers on the desk. Was this man for or against Elizabeth? Who was he working for, that was the question, but the answer to that question he did not find as he shuffled through the remaining pages in the file.

If this man were still alive, and it was more than probable that he was, not only did he have these papers, but he also had, it seemed, access to Elizabeth, and if not directly to her, then via Kate Ashley. Cecil wrote another note. This time he sealed it and sent it to Morley – he needed to know everything there was to know about this man and, more importantly, where he was now.

“The Master is not so well these days, you understand,” Edwin said to Morley as he directed him to a room to wait while he informed his Master, William Fitzwarren, that he had a visitor. “I will go and tell him you are here, sir.”

“Who?” William boomed, after Edwin told him that there was a man requesting to see him.

“His name is Christopher Morley, my lord, and he says he comes from Cecil,” Edwin explained again .

“Well, bring him in,” William said, waving Edwin to the door. “Go on, get on with it.”

Edwin, relieved, backed to the door and hastened along the corridor to the waiting Christopher Morley.

“Lord William will see you. If you would be so kind as to follow me, I shall take you in,” Edwin said, leading Morley to William’s rooms.

“My lord,” Edwin announced, opening the door, “Christopher Morley to see you.”

“Get the man a chair,” William barked.

Edwin dutifully brought one over and set it down.

“Not there, you bloody idiot, here – otherwise how am I going to hear him?” William glared at Edwin who moved the chair to the spot where William’s gnarled finger pointed. Edwin quickly brought an extra glass for Morley and filling it, set it on the table that was now between them.

“Now get out, go on…” William scowled at Edwin.

Morley had taken the offered chair and was smiling amiably at William. “My lord, it is very good of you to see me, especially when you are unwell.”

William cast his assessing gaze over the man. He was well dressed, but there was little to mark him out, the cloth good but with little in the way of embellishments, and the man wore only one simple ring, a wedding ring. This was a man who did not want to be remembered, thought William .

“So! Why do you want to see me?” William demanded, a crooked finger pushing his glasses up his nose. He wished to miss nothing.

“My lord, I work for Master Cecil, legal advisor to the privy council. About a year ago, your son, Richard, was involved in a crime in Lincoln, a murder, from which he seems to have escaped punishment and made his way to London,” Morley provided.

“Why have you come to me? I’m sure your Masters will be very well aware of the shame he has brought on my name and this house. He is no son of mine,” William spat.

“I am aware, my lord. However we are most anxious to trace him…”

“I am sure you are,” William cut him off, “and you think I can help, do you?”

“I am trying to locate him, yes.” Morley reached for his wine.

“Why? What’s that treasonous dog done now?” William barked.

“I’m not at liberty to say, my lord, but my Masters would like him to answer for the crimes he has already committed, and we would like to know if you have heard from him.”

William considered this for some minutes. He could lie, but then he was housebound and had no idea if Morley and his lackies had seen Richard enter his house. If he gave them what little he had, would it bring the cur to heel? It might, he supposed, although the risk was that Robert would find out, and that he could damn well do without. Morley seemed in no rush, and enjoyed the wine while William contemplated the possibilities.

“If I help you, I have a condition,” William voiced at last.

“Perhaps I can help, let me know,” Morley replied pleasantly.

“My son, Robert, gets to know nothing of this. There is a great enmity between him and Richard, and it is a wound I would not reopen,” William said.

Morley nodded. “Anything you tell me, my lord, I shall not repeat to Robert, you have my word.”

Those few words told William that Robert was also on Morley’s list of people to question.

“Aye, he came here a few weeks back, intent on theft, threatened to murder me where I sat,” William supplied.

“Did he say anything about where he was going, what he was doing?” Morley asked.

“No, he just had his eyes fixed on my gold. That was all he was after,” William said.

“I am sorry this happened. Did you not think to report it?” Morley asked.

“And bring more shame on my name, that my son robbed me, an old man. Look.” William held out his hand where Richard’s knife had incised the flesh at the base of his thumb. The cut had festered and was healing badly.

“I can understand, my lord. Sometimes it is better to keep things within the family.”

“Well if you find him, you are welcome to him,” William said .

“Do you have any idea where we might look? Did he mention any places or names, my lord?” Morley pressed.

William was silent for a moment. He didn’t want to mention Christian Carter. If he did, Morley might find out that he had sent a message to summon Richard and the whole sorry story about Eleanor’s son might come back to haunt him. It was enough that someone like Morley was looking for Richard. They would find him – and God help him when they did.

“None. He will have spent my money and be back in a gutter somewhere, I have no doubt,” William growled.

It was three days before Morley found Catherine again. She had begun to think he had forgotten about her and the terror she had felt was beginning to lessen, especially in the face of the mundane household tasks that were her life now that Durham Place was once more occupied.

He found her in the garden cutting rue and tying it into bundles.

“Mistress De Bernay,” he announced, for there were no others within earshot.

Catherine dropped the bundle she had just finished tying into the basket, shock written plainly on her face.

“I hope today finds you well,” Morley smiled. “It seems that my Masters would like to find Richard Fitzwarren as well. Is this something you can help me with? ”

“I told you, I have not seen him since he left me here. He just left me. That was a long time ago. He promised to come back and he didn’t, and I don’t think he will,” Catherine said.

“That may be so, but there must be something you can give me that I can take to my Masters. Where was he stopping in London?” Morley asked.

Catherine didn’t reply straight away and then she remembered Morley’s words – ‘think before you lie’. They were going to find out anyway, she had been there herself, had stopped there before Richard had brought her to Durham Place. It was not likely that he was there now, she supposed.

“An inn, the name of it I don’t know, but I know where it is,” Catherine said slowly.

Morley smiled. “Good lass. That probably won’t be necessary. If you can give me a good description, I can probably find it. Now I want you to come and tell me everything, and I mean everything you know, about Richard Fitzwarren.”

Catherine went white.

“Child, he left you, did he not? If not for him, your family very well might still be alive? He is a traitor, a murderer and a thief, it seems. Do not stand on the same shore as this man. Now come with me.”

Morley took her inside and there, in the same room he had taken her to before, waited a second man, a scribe, ready to record the details of their conversation.

“Don’t mind him, my dear, my memory plagues me these days. It is the way I suppose and age makes me forgetful. Crake will record the details my frail mind may forget. Now then! Let’s start with where you think this inn is, shall we?”

Catherine told them where she thought it was. He asked her so many questions, sometimes a question relating to the recent past then a question relating to her time when she was still at Assingham, then forward again to how she had come to be in London, then back again to when she had been at Burton.

“So how did you get from London to Burton? You told me Fitzwarren brought you to London while he alleged he would try to contact your family, but after this how did you get back to Burton?”

“Jack took me…” Catherine stopped. She’d not meant to mention Jack. He was dead anyway, he didn’t matter, but she’d tried to reconstruct the past for Morley without him, and it hadn’t worked.

“Jack?” Morley asked slowly, the look on the girl’s face telling him she’d said more than she had meant to. There was a long silence, then he said, “You haven’t lied to me yet. Let’s not change that, Catherine. Now tell me, who is Jack?”

“Jack’s…” Catherine couldn’t help it and the tears came like rain in a thunderstorm. “Jack’s dead.”

Morley patiently waited. It eventually took the rest of the afternoon and Morley had to admit that his own head was pounding by the end of it. William Fitzwarren, it seemed, might have been keeping a little something from him. It seemed he had a bastard son as well who was with Richard. From her description, he knew where the inn was and resolved to find out if he was right the following day. Catherine he left, dazed, confused and feeling sick with the sense of betrayal.