A Pawn for a Queen: An Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's (Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's Court) (11 page)

“But the mincing white-livered craven gave me the slip and dodged off into the night,” said Ericks in disgust.

He had tried to pursue his quarry, but not for long, because he was still a wee bit short of breath after his illness. No, he had not followed Edward home and had no notion where he was staying. He had given up the chase and been back in the tavern within a few minutes, and there were those there who knew him and could say so. The tavern keeper, recalled, bore this out. He also said that he had heard most of the exchange between the two men and no, Edward had not said where he was lodged.

“So I don’t think Ericks could have known. Besides, it makes no sense. It was just a squabble. They’re always happening, especially with Ericks. I’ve had to order him out a couple of times before. That sort of thing doesn’t lead to
this.
”

By
this,
he meant assassins who crept in at windows in the small hours of the morning, more than twenty-four hours after an argument in a tavern, and stabbed people in their sleep, and he was right. Everyone knew it, and if they hadn’t known it, John Knox, interrupting the proceedings for the third time, and this time wresting control from the provost so forcefully that even though he was not in the pulpit, he nevertheless became to all intents and purposes the presiding authority, proceeded to tell them.

Ericks, he declared resoundingly, was a good man, zealous for the Reformed faith, and he, Knox, would testify to Ericks’s charrracter at any time and in any fashion it pleased the prrovost or any other authorrity to require. To suppose that Ericks had gone on to spend
the day after the argument in creating a tangled scheme of stealthy murrder, and one, at that, which most likely needed at least one accomplice, was madness, and to believe it was to believe the whispering of demons. If Ericks had encountered Edward again, likely enough he would have offered rrighteous blows but as for crrreeping in at windows with a blade in his hand . . . !

“If this poor honest man Adam Erricks is named as the murrderer?” roared Knox, “it will be over my dead body and so I tell you!”

Loud cheers broke out from the people around him, and standing on tiptoe to see over the crowd, I realized that, in fact, quite a number of men were gathered around him now and that some of them, judging from their rich furred cloaks, were some of his Lords of the Congregation.

And no doubt they had retainers with them.

Whether or not Knox and his supporters swayed the verdict, I can’t be sure, but I would wager that they did. Confronted with the possibility of mayhem and further bloodshed, the provost and his jury did what Knox plainly wanted them to do and eliminated Ericks as a suspect. The provost was visibly simmering with anger but he was helpless, his court’s verdict decided by outside influence just as the Burgh Court’s verdict had been on an earlier occasion.

Not that the verdict was itself unfair. I did not myself think that Adam Ericks was guilty. It was true enough, I thought, that as the verdict said, Edward Faldene, visitor on unknown business from England, had been murdered by a person or persons unknown.

Then I realized with infinite relief that it was over and
we were free to go. Thankfully, we made our way out through a crowd of townsfolk, hindered only by a crippled lady who was being carried in a chair, and who gave us a sweet, apologetic smile as we stopped to let her be borne out of the hall ahead of us.

The Macnabs had not had room for us—unless we used the attic, which we certainly didn’t want to do. We had taken the lodgings recommended by the Keiths. They were not far from the Macnabs’ house, in another narrow, timber-fronted building, and they were chilly, cramped, and poor.

Our landlady, who had a plump face and a comfortable figure but eyes as cold as slate, kept one room free, she said, so that she could get some money for letting it to folk visiting Edinburgh, even if it meant her children sleeping on the floor in their parents’ chamber. One glance at the room showed that it was not only free of the children but practically free of furnishings as well. All it contained was a very small hearth for which we had to buy our own coal and firewood, a plain table with a bench on each side, a mattress to go on the bare floor and some blankets to cover it, and some more bedding inside a tall built-in cupboard, similar to the one I had seen at the Macnabs.

I gathered that I was expected to take the box bed while my servants shared the mattress, but although I was accustomed to curtained four-posters, the idea of sleeping in a pitch-dark cupboard appalled me. I told Brockley and Dale that if they could stand it, they could have it. I would prefer the floor. They said the box bed was quite warm and comfortable, and I must say that my solitary mattress was neither, but I preferred piling cloaks
on top of me to changing places with the Brockleys.

We couldn’t find any alternative lodgings, though. The pending inquiry had made people suspicious. Our cold-eyed landlady had only let us in because, she said, she knew the Keiths and trusted them. “But ony trouble,” she warned us, “and ye’re oot. So tak that as a warning.”

She was kind enough to say, when we returned from the inquiry, that she was glad it was all over and that our names were clear. She then spoiled the effect by asking delicately how long we would be staying.

Brockley started to say that we would be leaving almost at once but I checked him. “I may have some business to complete in Edinburgh,” I said. “Do you really object if we stay on for a few days? Have we given you any cause for complaint?”

Grudgingly, she admitted that the answer was no. “Truly,” I said, “we have just been caught up in this tragedy by chance. And it is a tragedy. I am grieving for my cousin and dreading the news I must carry back to his wife.”

“I’ll grant that you’ve been no bother as yet. Well, as long as that continues . . .”

“It will,” I said, and led my companions upstairs to our room. I closed the door firmly behind us. Brockley and Dale regarded me questioningly.

“Are we not to leave Edinburgh at once, then, madam?” Brockley asked. “But—why?”

“When I gave evidence,” I said, “I didn’t tell the court of inquiry everything.”

“No, madam,” Brockley agreed. “You didn’t mention the list.”

“That wasn’t all I didn’t mention,” I said. “Listen, both of you. I was given leave to pack up my cousin’s things and I did so. I did it myself. Brockley, do you remember that on the day when we found him, you found a button from his black velvet doublet lying on the floor by the bed?”

“Yes, madam. But what of it?”

“I looked at his doublet when I was packing it,” I said, “and there were two buttons missing, right enough, but when I looked again at the one you found, I saw that it wasn’t one of them. The stars embroidered on the black doublet and its buttons are proper five-sided stars with the outlines filled in with silver stitchery while the one we found on the floor has a crisscross pattern in silver thread. It’s similar at a casual glance but not when you really look at it. It doesn’t resemble buttons on any other item of his clothing, either.”

“But . . .” said Dale, puzzled, and then stopped.

“I showed it to Mistress Macnab and asked if it had come from the clothing of anyone in the house,” I said. “I didn’t say where I’d found it—just that I’d picked it up off the floor. She looked at it and said no, it didn’t belong to anyone in her house and I believe her.”

“So, what are you saying, madam?” Brockley asked.

“I thought when we found it,” I said, “that it was evidence that Edward had gone out wearing his best doublet, which might mean he had gone to see one or other of his contacts, Sir Brian Dormbois or Lady Simone Dougal. They sound like the sort of people one wouldn’t normally visit in travel-stained riding clothes. While I was talking to Mistress Macnab, I asked her to tell me as much as she could about anything
Edward had said or done after he arrived. I said his wife would want to know.”

They nodded.

“It seems,” I said, “that although Mistress Macnab doesn’t know whether or not he went out on the day after he arrived, he did indeed go out the previous evening—that would have been to the tavern—and was only wearing his brown riding clothes then. She said he wasn’t gone all that long. Now, if you remember, at the inquiry, Adam Ericks said that while he himself was in the tavern, Edward came in, wearing a cross, and by the sound of it, their argument broke out almost at once.”

“Yes, Ericks did say that,” Brockley agreed. “And he asked your cousin who he was, and Master Faldene told him his name. There’s no doubt that Master Faldene was the man Ericks quarreled with.”

“Yes. When Edward came back, Mistress Macnab let him in, but she didn’t see him clearly because of course it was after dark and she only had a candle. She didn’t know until the inquiry that he’d been in a fight. He didn’t tell her. What he did tell her, next day, was that he wasn’t feeling well and he spoke through the attic door—he wouldn’t show her his face. Mistress Macnab may not know whether or not he did go out that day, but the maidservant thinks not. I spoke to her as well. He had all three meals—breakfast, dinner, and supper—in his room. He was called for each of them, but every time he said he was unwell and asked for the food to be left outside his door. I suspect that he stayed indoors all that day, and it does look as though he didn’t want anyone to see his face—didn’t want to be seen with the marks of a fight on him, in fact.”

“That lump on his jaw, madam,” said Brockley. “We thought it was part of—of what his murderer did to him, but it might have been done by Adam Ericks.”

“Very probably,” I said. “But do you see what I’m saying? When he went out to the tavern, he apparently wasn’t gone long, so I doubt if he went anywhere else first, and in any case he wasn’t dressed for visiting. When he got into the tavern, Adam Ericks accosted him at once, so he didn’t have much of a chance to speak to anyone else then, either. The next day, he almost certainly stayed in. What all this means is that he had no opportunity to get in touch with either of his contacts. And in that case—where’s the list?”

There was a silence.

At length, I said: “I was afraid to speak of that list to the provost or in the court. I didn’t know where it might lead. Religious feelings quite obviously run high in Scotland, and when I heard that story about the attack on the chapel when Queen Mary was hearing mass, I was sure I was right to be afraid. I could have found myself under suspicion of spying! It would be said that no innocent person ought to know anything about a thing like that list. I feel contaminated because I
do
know of it!”

I paused, but they were silent, guessing, I think, what was going to come next.

“From the first,” I told them, “although I came without their knowledge or consent, I knew that I had a responsibility to Sir William Cecil and the queen, as far as that list is concerned. I agreed to chase Edward and get it back if I could, for their sake as well as my family’s. I wanted to destroy it. Only, I have to find it first.”

“And also,” I added, after I had paused again and neither Brockley nor Dale had replied, “Edward Faldene, however misguided, was my cousin. He has been murdered. Well, I want to know who did it, and it seems to me that the list and the murder could be connected.”

“And you intend, madam, to make your own inquiries?” said Brockley, finding his tongue at last.

“Yes, Brockley.”

The pockmarks were standing out on Dale’s face, a sure sign that she was horrified. Brockley was shaking his head. “It would have been better,” he said, “to give full information to the provost and let him do it.”

“I told you. I thought it would be dangerous for me and perhaps for you.”

“And this,” said Brockley, “a private inquiry of your own—
isn’t?
”

Although I thought it most unlikely that he had seen them, the obvious place to start was nevertheless with Edward’s contacts.

“Apart from a button with a silver crisscross pattern on it, they’re the only leads I have,” I said to Dale and Brockley. “I suppose it’s
just
possible that he saw one of them when he first arrived in Edinburgh, before he came to the Macnabs—or that he sent the list to one of them by a messenger. At least, they may know something about any other acquaintances, or business, or enemies that Edward had in Edinburgh. I must start somewhere.”

The problem was to find them. Helene had given me their names but she hadn’t known where Lady Simone lived, and what she knew about Dormbois wasn’t too helpful, either. He had a house outside Edinburgh, apparently, but was in the service of one of the
queen’s uncles. I supposed that he had accompanied the royal Progress.

“We might inquire about them at Holyrood,” I said. “Someone there might know.”

Brockley, however, once he had wearily accepted that I meant what I said, offered an idea of his own. “The minister at the Kirk of St. Giles might have heard of them, even if they’re not members of his own flock. I fancy he would know something about all the foremost people of Edinburgh. If you wish, I’ll go and ask him.”

“Please do,” I said. I looked out of the window. The day had started bright but the sky was darkening. “Meanwhile,” I said, “Dale and I must buy ourselves some clogs. I think the streets will soon be muddy.”

When we returned to the lodgings, carrying the clogs in a bag, Brockley was waiting for us. In fact, he was gossiping in the kitchen with our landlady’s maidservant and her spitboy, but he heard our voices at the door and came out to meet us.

“I’ve been scraping acquaintance with the household, madam. You never know when you might hear something useful.”

“Did you see the minister?” I asked him.

Brockley’s normally impassive face broke into its rare smile. “I did, madam. He knew both Dormbois and Lady Simone. He is not sure, but supposes that Dormbois is with the court, as you thought. Lady Simone Dougal however is here in the city, in fact farther up this very street, nearer to Holyrood. Her home is called Pieris House. It’s just past St. Mary’s Street, the minister said. Not that I need have troubled him, not on account of Lady Simone.”