Heresy (49 page)

“Your services are no longer needed here, friend,” I said. “Get yourself home and say you were set on by highwaymen. Now!” I added, giving him a shove as he continued to lie there, dumb with fright; that jolted him into gathering his wits, and he scrambled to his feet and ran off into the trees, casting nervous glances over his shoulder as he fled. Thomas turned to me, his eyes flashing.

“You should not have done that, Bruno. Now he will return to Oxford and they will send more men after us.”

“Peace, Thomas—it will take him at least an hour to walk back to the city, and there are more than enough men after me already. Tell me what is happening.”

Thomas breathed deeply, then nodded, rose to his feet, and jerked the placid pony’s head upright.

“I have come to save Sophia,” he said, his bony face taut with determination. I saw a strange, hectic glitter in his eyes and his hands moved incessantly in nervous agitation.

“From whom?”

“From those whose safety she threatens.”

“Because of the child she carries?”

He snapped his head around and stared at me. “So you know about that? How came you to be here, Doctor Bruno?”

“Guesswork,” I said, setting my jaw. “I think you too may be in danger, Thomas.”

He gave a short, bitter laugh. “Did I not tell you that already?”

“I mean immediate danger. This very night.”

He opened his mouth to reply but at that moment a door opened in the rear range of the house and a voice called softly, “Who is there?”

“Pull up your hood and put away your weapon,” Thomas hissed, drawing his own cloak over his head. “Do not speak if you can help it, until we are inside.”

I saw no choice but to follow his orders as he picked up the pony’s reins and led the cart toward what looked like a servants’ entrance. The door was open a fraction and a tall, stooping man with sparse hair surveyed us through the gap with doubtful eyes.

“I am come to carry a passenger to the coast, at the request of Lady Eleanor,” Thomas said, in a low voice, keeping his hood pulled down. There was a long pause, as if they were both expecting the other to speak.

“There is a sign,” the man behind the door said eventually, with an embarrassed cough.

“Oh.
Ora pro nobis.”
Thomas bit his lip.

“I did not know there were to be two,” the servant said, still regarding us with open suspicion. “Well, then—step inside.” He opened the door a few inches wider and ushered us into a narrow passageway.

“Wait here, I will tell Lady Eleanor you are arrived.” He turned abruptly and strode away up the passage, taking his candle with him and leaving us standing in semidarkness. I glanced at Thomas, who only shuffled anxiously from foot to foot and would not look at me. I wondered what we were walking into, and felt for the reassuring presence of Humphrey’s knife under my cloak.

Presently the tall servant returned, his look still guarded, as if he was not convinced by Thomas’s performance.

“Follow me,” he said curtly, gesturing to the passageway ahead. “They wish to see you for a moment, to go over the travel arrangements.”

I imagined, rather, that this Lady Eleanor had heard there were two men present and had grown suspicious. I glanced uneasily at Thomas; once inside this warren of passageways, we were trapped. The servant, holding his candle aloft, led us along the flagstone passageway, up a narrow flight of stairs, and into a much grander, wood-panelled corridor where the boards were covered with scented rushes and early-morning light filtered through low windows. We walked for so long that I was sure the corridor must run the entire range of the house, and indeed eventually it turned sharply to the right and we reached a short flight of stairs ending in an imposing wooden door. The man knocked, and after a soft murmur from within, he pushed open the door and gestured us forward.

I found myself in a high-ceilinged room that spanned the two towers of the gatehouse; by one window stood a woman who was perhaps in her forties, tall and elegant in a dark-red satin dress with a stiff embroidered bodice and wide skirt, her hair bound up in a coif. Behind her was a closed door set
into the wall of the octagonal tower on the right, while the matching door into the left tower revealed a spiral staircase leading up. The servant crossed the room, his shoes clacking on the solid brick floor, and whispered something in her ear; she nodded briefly and leaned past him to regard us with an expression of inscrutable calm.

“You come from William Napper?” she asked softly. Thomas nodded confidently, though I was standing close enough to feel how his arm was trembling inside his cloak.

“Where is Simon?” She glanced sharply from Thomas to me.

“He was taken ill, my lady,” Thomas said, barely opening his mouth.

“Shut the door behind you, then,” she said, stepping forward. “We wish to be sure you are clear about the instructions. Barton, you will stay,” she added, nodding to the stooping servant who moved to position himself strategically between us.

“My lady,” he murmured.

I glanced around, aware that Lady Eleanor was studying us intently.

“I would be grateful, my friends, if you would lower your hoods indoors,” she said softly. “I know we must all be cautious about showing ourselves, but in this household we may trust one another. Sophia!” She half turned to call over her shoulder.

The small door in the eastern tower opened and Sophia Underhill stepped out, just as Thomas glanced once at me and drew down his hood with a flourish. Sophia gave a little scream and looked from Thomas to me, her hands flying up to her mouth. Reluctantly I lowered my own hood and her face seized in a strange rictus of disbelief.

“Bruno?”
she whispered eventually, her eyes betraying her utter confusion. “How came
you
here? And Thomas?” She jerked her head toward Thomas; I noticed that the tall lady had stepped forward, gesturing to Barton to stand by her, her face calm but clearly alert to the tension of the situation.

Before I could answer Sophia, she had turned to Thomas, her expression pleading.

“Thomas, I know what you think but you are mistaken. If you care for me at all, you will let me go.
Please,”
she added, seeing the implacable look on his face, her voice cracking slightly.

“Who are these people, Sophia?” asked the older woman with a hint of sharpness. “Do you know them? Are they here to hinder you?”

Thomas turned to her and executed a brief, insincere bow.

“Lady Tolling, we have only come to return Sophia safely to her family, who are sorely distressed by her absence. If she comes quietly with us now, nothing more will be said of this business.”

“The same family who have threatened her life for her faith?” Lady Tolling replied evenly, giving Thomas an appraising glance from head to foot. “We are not so easily taken in, young man.”

“But I fear you may have been, Lady Tolling,” Thomas said, with impeccable politeness, a dangerous glint in his eye. “I fear Mistress Underhill may not have told you the whole truth about her urgent wish to leave England.”

“Thomas, no!” Sophia cried, lurching at him, her hand outstretched. “You do not know what you do! Do not stand in our way now, it will do no good. You will not get what you want, and all will be lost.”

The tall servant took a step closer to Thomas, who glanced at him for a moment before turning again to Sophia and laughing, his head thrown back, a wild, manic sound that echoed around the wooden timbers of the ceiling.

“Sophia, Sophia,” he said, gently chiding as if speaking to a naughty child. “What lies have you been telling these good people? Have you persuaded Lady Tolling to help you escape so that you can join a French convent, because your family would persecute you for your conversion?”

Sophia blanched; her face stiffened and I saw real fear in her eyes. She
looked frantically at Lady Tolling and then I saw her legs tremble slightly, so that she stumbled; instinctively I moved to help her but Barton was between us in an instant, glaring at me, and I saw now that he carried an instrument that looked like a poker at his belt.

“Come with us,” Thomas said, in a softer tone. “This will not end the way you hope, Sophia, you know in your heart it will not. He means to kill you.”

Sophia shook her head furiously, her lips pressed tightly together.

“You are blind and stubborn, Thomas, and you have ever been so!” she cried, taking a step toward him. “You have always acted impetuously, always convinced that you are right! But you are badly mistaken this time, as I have already tried to tell you.”

Lady Tolling folded her arms impatiently and her glance flickered from Sophia to Thomas, but her voice remained steady. “What is this about? Who are these men, Sophia? Who means to kill her?”

“He is deluded, my lady, his wits are troubled, he knows not what he says,” Sophia interrupted quickly, her throat tight with emotion.

Thomas turned to face Lady Tolling with defiant eyes, apparently undaunted by her rank, the craven manner I had seen in Oxford entirely vanished.

“Your visiting priest,” he said, enunciating the words precisely. “Father Jerome Gilbert.”

If Lady Tolling was perturbed either by the accusation that she harboured a priest or that this same priest was bent on murder, she gave no sign of it, save for a small twitch of her mouth.

“Well, then, let us ask him,” she said, her voice calm as ever, and she crossed the room in a rustling of satin and stepped into the small antechamber on the right-hand side, from which Sophia had entered. We caught a brief exchange of voices from within and almost immediately she returned, followed by the young man I had known as Gabriel Norris.

He was dressed as usual in a well-cut doublet and breeches of sombre
black, though evidently of costly fabric, and wearing good leather boots with a silver buckle, his blond hair swept back from his face. Handsome and self-possessed, he looked every inch the country gentleman’s son; no one passing him in the town or the colleges would have taken him for a secret missionary. He looked from Thomas to Sophia to me with a steady, careful gaze, then nodded slowly.

“Well, then,” he said, spreading out his hands, palms up. “Let us say what needs to be said. Lady Eleanor, with the greatest respect, I would ask that you leave us. There are matters that must be resolved between old friends before any of us can go on.”

Lady Tolling seemed unwilling to relinquish control of any drama to be played out under her roof.

“Your safety, Father,” she murmured, glancing at me and Thomas. “These men have not even been searched.”

“I know them,” Norris said, reassuringly. “All will be well.”

When the door had closed behind her and the servant, Norris—or Jerome, as I supposed I must now call him—turned and fixed me with his clear green eyes.

“Doctor Bruno,” he said, a puzzled frown etched in the space between his brows. “I had thought—”

“You had thought Rowland Jenkes would have killed me tonight?” I offered.

“Well, yes. Though I am not altogether surprised you shook him off—I told him you should not be underestimated. You are, after all, the man who escaped the Inquisition.” His mouth curved into the barest hint of a smile, showing his white teeth. “Have you and Thomas formed your own Anti-Catholic League?” He paused briefly to laugh at his own joke. His manner was oddly relaxed and easy, given the circumstances, and now that he was not playing up to his flamboyant alias, he spoke in a more measured, mature tone. When he turned again to look me directly in the eye I was reminded of Humphrey Pritchard’s words: that Father Jerome made you feel
you were the only person in the world that mattered. “Well, then,” he continued, softly, “so you know the truth. Are you come to arrest me?”

“I came because I believed Sophia was in danger,” I said, trying to return his look evenly, though there was something disconcerting about the intensity of his gaze. I determined I would not look away first.

“From me?” he asked, as if the idea were absurd. “Why should I wish to hurt Sophia, who has so recently been received through my ministry into the one true Catholic Church?”

“Your
ministry?
Is that what you call it?” Thomas burst out.

“Because she carries your child,” I said simply.

“Slander,” Jerome said, his eyes suddenly flashing with anger as he took a step toward me.

“Did Thomas tell you that?” Sophia cried, her cheeks blazing. “You know that everything he says is a lie?”

“No one told me,” I said, now lying myself to spare Cobbett. “I may have been a monk but I grew up in a small village—I know how to recognise such things.”

Sophia said nothing, but pressed a hand over her mouth; Thomas smirked; Jerome sucked in his cheeks and appeared to be thinking.

“You will understand better than anyone, I think, Bruno,” he said seriously, at length, “how a man may feel trapped by the strictures of his order. Yes, I sinned, but I would not commit a greater sin to cover it. Sophia will be conveyed in safety to Rouen, where she will be looked after until such time as I can join her.” His eyes flicked toward Sophia as he spoke and she looked up gratefully, but there was something evasive about the look that convinced me he was lying for her benefit.

“I also know from experience, Father,” I said, “that the religious orders do not let go of their own so easily. Especially the Jesuits.”

Jerome nodded as if he were reluctantly impressed. “Very good, Bruno, you have done your work thoroughly. Yes, I was ordained a Jesuit in Rome
and joined the English mission through the seminary in Rheims. Thomas’s father brought me to Oxford—it was his role to coordinate the arrival of priests into Oxfordshire, find us safe houses, manage our provisions and disguises. The role Roger Mercer took over after Edmund’s exile. But you already know this, I presume.”

“I have only recently begun to understand the connections,” I admitted. “Yours was a very good disguise.”

“Disguise.”
Thomas spat the word, his eyes cold. “It was no disguise at all. He carried himself as what he always was—the son of a wealthy family who ever expected others dance to his tune. Joining the Jesuits was just another means of adventuring, for him. His
disguise
, as you call it, was so natural a part of him that in the end it became all too easy for him to forget his mission.”