Court of Conspiracy (32 page)

Listening at the door of her chamber, she heard a commanding voice demanding admittance. Unable to restrain her excitement, she opened the door and swept into the entrance hall. Five travel-stained men stood in front of her. Their leader, a tall, grim-faced fellow with an injured hand, bowed.

“Do I have the honor to address the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk?”

“You have that honor.”

“Can Your Grace be ready to leave in haste?”

A smile lit up her face. “Indeed I can, sir.”

Creswell bowed. “Then I count it as even more of a privilege, Madam, to inform you that your plot with the Spanish is discovered, your son is dead and I am bidden to conduct you to the Tower. We leave within the hour.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Sir Nigel Kerr’s beard did not look as jaunty as usual. Sir Anthony could see the man’s apprehension, but Kerr seemed to find some comfort at the sight of the Constable. He would learn.

“Sir Nigel,” the Constable said, bowing. “Welcome to the Tower. We have experiences a-plenty in store for you.”

Kerr could not keep his lips from trembling enough to reply and Sir Anthony hoped that the remembrance of Gethin’s broken, innocent body blotted out the here and now for this prisoner.

“Ah, not speaking is never a good decision in this place, Sir Nigel.”

The guards held him by both arms, marching toward the White Tower. Sir Anthony’s voice never faltered.

“Ah, here we are. Now, Sir Nigel, you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Really, why is that?” The voice sounded as if Kerr was attempting some show of courage. He would learn where that led.

“I am a fair man. I have no true liking for persuading people to talk, or if they are talking and I believe them to be liars, persuading them to tell me the truth. I shall long remember young Gethin Pitt. Do you recall him, Sir Nigel? I suspected he did not have the wherewithal to withhold information. He was blameless, but I could not know for certain until we had put him to the severest of pains, an inconvenience to which I was forced because the King’s life was at stake. When you have done this work as long as I have, you know who is holding out and who is innocent. Gethin Pitt is not on my conscience, but his face comes between me and my food sometimes. I hope after today, that will not happen.”

“Why?” The prisoner looked puzzled and Sir Anthony smiled. Kerr probably thought that the Constable was just making conversation, social chat from one courtier to another, still ignorant of the fact that, by the time the axe smote his head from his body, Sir Nigel would welcome it like a lover.

“Because I know before we even enter this lower chamber—ah, here we are—that this time, I am questioning a guilty man. Believe me, I take no pleasure in these interrogations, but I will make an exception for vermin such as you.” He smiled again as he saw understanding dawn in the other’s eyes. “Now,” he said in a softer voice, “tell me about Master Geoffrey Peveril.”

Sir Nigel swallowed. “I never met him, sir, on my honor. All communications were through Edwin Achard.”

“You permitted a lowborn lackey to cover your skirts? I find that hard to accept. Truth is always of benefit, Sir Nigel. And, please, do not prate to me of honor. Vipers such as you have no notion of it.”

“I swear to you, sir, that I never met Peveril. You must ask Achard.”

“By the greatest of misfortunes, that is not possible. A little clumsy of us, I will admit.”

Sir Anthony smiled as Kerr’s face blanched. No need to tell this traitor that hands other than judicial ones had snuffed out Edwin Achard. His body, if that wizened shell could be called such, had been found by a laborer on the Feltham road. The finder had taken to his bed at the sight, his wits disordered. Sir Anthony himself had rejected the early reports from Hampton Court as nonsense. But when a message from the King’s own physicians stated that some unknown creature had drained from Achard everything that had made him human, he could not dismiss it.

He turned back to Kerr. “So, you refuse to assist us?”

“I do not refuse, sir. I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

“What a shame.” Sir Anthony turned to the guards. “The brake,” he said in a hard voice. “Then we must think up some new procedures for you.”

* * *

Luke presented himself at Greenwich. Creswell had organized a horse for him from the Royal Mews and he almost enjoyed the ride, breathing fresh air and stopping at a small inn in Blackheath to break his fast and make himself presentable for his monarch. Joss, who had run beside him, also needed wiping down, but she had taken as much pleasure in the journey as he had.

He was expected, rushed through all the guard posts and left in a small chamber with velvet hangings at the wall and a view down to the river from the windows. He felt a draught and turned to see the hangings bulging at the other end of the chamber.

A voice came from within the folds of the velvet. “Master Ballard, I come from the King.”

Aye
, Luke thought,
and it is those words that started this whole mess off
. He said nothing, however, but fell to his knees as Queen Anne appeared.

“My son thanks you for your loyalty,” she said.

“And the stable boy and his mother?”

“We know that the boy was innocent and Sir Nigel Kerr killed the mother. That much he has confessed,” the Queen replied.

“Sir Nigel Kerr. Oh, how slow of me. I should have known it was him.”

“How so?”

“Because in my trance I saw a great black dog kill Gethin’s mother.
Kerr
and
cur
. How dull-witted of me.”

In the depths of the shadows, he saw the Queen smile. “You had plenty to keep your mind occupied, Master Ballard. Do not chide yourself overmuch. Perfection is not within our power.”

“What do you want of me now, Your Grace?” Luke could not help but ask.

“The traitors are taken. All except the Lady Mary, who feigns ignorance. We have no proof of her treachery and we must needs keep Spain sweet since the marriage contract with Scotland has thumbed their nose. However, the King has sent a sharp message to the Emperor and his son.”

Luke looked directly at her. He was sick of prevarication. “Please tell me what you want of me now, Your Grace,” he repeated.

“The King wishes you to attend him directly. Mistress Paige will escort you.”

Henry was attended only by pages and Byram Creswell when Luke entered. Luke dropped to his knees, but Henry bade him rise and beckoned to a window embrasure where they could converse unheard.

“Our mother has informed us of the details of your courage and clear thinking in the matter of this latest treason. We thank you for your steadfast loyalty, Master Ballard.”

Luke kept his eyes on the floor. “Your Majesty’s most precious life was saved by more than I. It could not have been accomplished without the help of Master Creswell, Sire, or...or...”

Henry put his hand on Luke’s shoulder. “The Queen mentioned the fate of your housekeeper. We shall see that she is given honorable burial through an anonymous benefactor.”

“Your Majesty’s generosity is unbounded.” Luke did not know how much Anne Boleyn had told her son, but he felt a slight easing of the heaviness his heart had carried for the past two days. It was a fitting tribute for Pippa’s supreme sacrifice. “Could I beg that she is buried near her parents at Blickling, Sire?”

“We will ask the Queen to arrange it. As for Master Creswell,” continued the King, “he is now the Captain of our personal protection whenever we are at Hampton. The question is, Master Ballard, what reward we should give to you?”

“I am very content to be a humble apothecary, Sire, serving the poor. I count it an honor that I was able to render Your Majesty my feeble service.”

“Fie, man. We must find a better use for your wits than merely physicking our poorer subjects.” He paused, waiting for Luke’s response but none came, save another deep bow. “We are in need of men like yourself. Not self-serving, not seeking power and influence. Your words tell me we were right in our decision.”

“Decision, Sire?” Luke’s heart sank. All he wanted was to get home and sit by his own fireside. He felt Joss nudge his knee, but he was weary of being manipulated. He simply stood waiting to learn his fate.

“No long faces, Master Apothecary. You may return to your duties at Hampton Court, but we designate you the King’s Privy Inquirer into Divers Mischiefs and Grievances.” Henry held up a hand before Luke could speak. “You will not be of our court, nor known as our Inquirer. Only Master Creswell knows and so does Her Grace, the Queen. You will be given those investigations we deem suited to a man of your talents and when we need to work in secrecy.”

Luke felt himself blush at the word “talents.” Could the Queen...? But no, it was not permitted. It could have been worse, he supposed. At least he could get back to the peace of his shop. “I thank you, Sire—you are most gracious,” he said.

Henry waved a dismissive hand. “We must now attend to the details of our forthcoming nuptials. You will communicate via the Queen. We must not be seen to meet publicly.”

Gwenette led him back to Queen Anne, sitting on her chair of state surrounded by serving ladies. Dismissing them to the outer room, leaving only Gwenette in close attendance, she beckoned him forward.

“His Majesty has told you of your good fortune?” She paused, but Luke made no response. Her face hardened. “We see this honor displeases you.”

“Your Grace, I wish only to return to my home and obscurity. I am tired and heart-sore.”

“Wherefore?” she mocked. “You have so little stomach that you wish for nothing else but a peaceful life? No revenge? No retribution on the man who destroyed Mistress Gardiner? You find that a fitting mark of respect to her sacrifice?”

Luke felt Joss’s warning nose, but disregarded her. “If I had the means of it, Your Grace, I would not tarry for one instant, but I am not yet a Dominus, and Peveril is a sunderer the like of which we have never seen. What can such as I do against his power?”

“Master Dufay has also been voluble on the subject.” The Queen leaned forward, her eyes showing warmth for the first time. “We have lived a long and oft hazardous life, Master Ballard. We have found that every Achilles has his heel, even such as Peveril. Find it and you have him.”

“Would that it were so, Your Grace.”

“You try our patience. Master Dufay’s head is full of numbers and calculations. He has never experienced the thrill of danger, knowing that every moment might be your last. The Elemagus and I have spoken at length about your new role and are in complete accord. You have shown your abilities to plan on the moment and keep a calm head. That is what you will need, both as Privy Inquirer and Inquirer Elemancer. Master Dufay will plan your training to encompass the skills you need to learn.”

Knowing that he had no real choice, Luke still sought a compromise. “I will strike a bargain with Your Grace.”

“You would parley words with us? Have a care.”

“I accept the honor bestowed upon me with gratitude. I will hunt out His Majesty’s enemies and do everything in my power to safeguard the royal family and the stability of the realm.”

“We would expect nothing less. You will be amply rewarded.”

“Your Grace, I seek no reward save this. That I should be permitted to search for the demon we knew as Peveril. Should I find myself on his spoor, I must be given full rein to pursue and destroy him, regardless of where the search leads.”

Queen Anne frowned.

“Your first duty must be to the King and to me. We understand your feelings and do not forbid you to pursue Peveril, but you do that in your own time, not in ours. You have our leave to retire.”

Luke strode out of the palace, Joss at his heels. He bent over and hugged her. “Now it begins,” he said.

* * * * *

About the Author

April Taylor was born in the heart of the English county of Lincolnshire, the location of the most dangerous revolt against Henry VIII in 1536. She has written stories since she was a small child, but at the age of 14 became fascinated by the Tudors, especially Anne Boleyn.

April gained two degrees in information studies and has worked in various libraries, including prison libraries and public libraries in the UK. She ended her career as the R&D Information Manager for a global pharmaceutical company, retiring early to devote her time to writing. She considers her seven unpublished novels as an “apprenticeship.”

A love of history and crime, mixed with magic, led to the creation of Luke Ballard, apothecary and elemancer at the Tudor Hampton Court Palace.

April now lives on the northeast coast of the UK where the land crumbles into the sea. Away from her desk, she enjoys playing the piano, singing, walking her dog along the beach and embroidery.

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