The Assassin's Wife (45 page)

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“Is it true the Duke of Clarence is arrested?”
 

We lay spent in the hazy June twilight.

“Aye.” Miles twisted a strand of my hair between his fingers. “And will remain in prison until he regains his reason. He shouldn’t make such wild accusations against the Wydeville bitch.”

“What’s he said?”
 

“That she’s a witch and the king’s a bastard. But that’s nothing new.” Miles’ laugh drawled, lazy with satisfaction. He rolled to face me, leaning on his elbow, the shadows falling across his brooding face. “More shocking is his accusation their marriage is invalid.”

I sat up at once. “Why would he say that?” My mouth seemed dry as bone, though sweat pricked my palms. Had Stillington truly spoken to Clarence of Eleanor?

Miles’ lips curled in a curious smile and I cursed my hasty behaviour. His eyes surveyed me keenly as he might a horse he thought to purchase.

“He said tradition doesn’t allow kings to marry widows.”

A pause quivered with tension while Miles waited for my reply. Instead I averted my eyes and began picking at a loose thread in the coverlet.

“The tale of the king’s bastardy is an old one.” I feigned thoughtfulness. “But fancy Clarence accusing his mother! Lady Anne says she’s very pious.”

“Pious and proud.” Miles stilled my hand with his own. “I was once part of her household, lass, and I should know.” He paused again to study my expression. “But perhaps Clarence knows more than any realise.”

Deliberately I looked him full in the face. “Surely you don’t think that tale of the archer and Cicely Neville is true?” I widened my eyes in pretended amazement.

The swarthy face loomed over me, predatory and watchful. “I wasn’t alluding to that. I was thinking more about the secret marriage.”

Gooseflesh rose on my arms. “How could he know?”

No sooner did the words pass my lips than I regretted them.

“Why, everyone knows the King married the Wydeville widow in secret.” His eyes narrowed menacingly. “But there are whispers.” He tugged a hank of my hair, gently drawing my face close to his. “Secrets have been whispered behind doors.” He spoke so low I had to strain to hear. “Bishop Stillington and Clarence are thick as thieves—”

“Stillington! What’s he to do with Clarence?”

“Rumour has it the chancellor’s some secret knowledge of the king’s youthful indiscretions—a rumour that’s roused Clarence’s special interest.” Miles scanned my face intently. “The queen’s vexed such an eminent churchman should ally himself with Clarence. She says it’s tantamount to treason. Since then Stillington’s been out of favour with King Edward. There are those who predict his imminent fall—”

“Stillington’s a dangerous enemy.” My heart thudded and my mind busied itself fashioning a plausible tale of deception. “He tried to prevent Dame Eleanor from petitioning the king for the return of her estates. His avarice is legendary, as is his cunning. Be sure you keep away from him, Miles. For all his supposed piety he’s an untrustworthy knave without compassion or conscience. The king would be very wise to dismiss him from court.”

“My, my, what a passion the bishop raises in you, wife!” Miles’ words rang with teasing contempt. “I never thought you vindictive but young Jack Green told me—”

“Jack Green!” I gasped. “Of course!”

The bold-faced lad was Lady Eleanor’s scullion grown into a gangling youth; little Jack who’d wept at slights and begged me help him get a place at Sudeley; little Jack who’d worked at the Mercer’s bakery; little Jack Green who’d fallen in with bad company. How the threads of fate interweave like spider webs to bind us in their sticky fibres!

“He remembered you.” Miles spoke without astonishment, his eyes searching my face scrupulously. “He said you worked together at the Butler household in London. He’s some interesting tales to tell.”

“We ought to visit Dickon—” I wriggled free of his restraining arms. “The daylight’s going fast. Mistress Collins’ll have him asleep if you don’t hurry.”

Throwing on my garments and conscious of Miles’ eyes upon me, I kept my face turned lest he should read my thoughts.

“Jack Green told me an odd story about Lady Butler’s priest.”
 

Miles hadn’t moved. I made much of stooping to retrieve our discarded shoes.

“Brother Thomas was a fervent young chaplain. I remember the sermon he once gave us about King Edward miraculously seeing three suns in the sky.”

Miles ignored this attempted distraction. “Jack says he was arrested on Stillington’s orders and no one saw him again after that.”

“Oh, he told me that story when we left for Norfolk.” I answered, carelessly. “He was just a child then. I’m sure he made it up or he misheard some tittle-tattle amongst the servants. The whole household was rife with gossip.”

Leaning out the bed Miles grasped my arm suddenly, spinning me round to face him. “You’ve told me little about Norfolk or how you came to be in London when I found you.”

“There’s little to tell.” The heat of treacherous blood coloured my cheeks.

He drew me down to sit upon the bed beside him. Touching my burning face with one finger his lips twisted into the familiar wolfish smile.

“You’re full of secrets, wife. See how the wanton blood blooms. What tales could you tell me of secret lovers, I wonder?”

“What folly is this?” I looked at him feigning boldness. “I’m ashamed to think you listen to the half-remembered stories of a scullion. Jack Green knows nothing about me. And as for secrets, why, you’re full of them yourself. You tell me nothing of your mysterious errands.”

It was a daring challenge. Shaking myself free, I laughed as lightly as I could, for Miles’ moods could change as quickly as an April day. As I ran from the chamber, I turned to smile impishly over my shoulder. “Perhaps I’ll tell you something of my many past lovers if you can catch me!”

Giggling and panting we reached the nursery, but I evaded his grasp and burst in upon a stone-faced Jane Collins mending hose before the hearth.

“It’s a pity tha didn’t turn up earlier.” Her sharp glance took in Miles’ unlaced sleeve and dishevelled hair. “He were excited as a new puppy hearing his father were home, but he soon wore hisself out.” She looked up at me with disapproval, her eyes like spikes of ice. “Best let him sleep now.”

Chastened by this blunt scolding, I returned to conclude my discarded letter. Writing materials littered the table, but finding the little pot of ink overturned and my pen fallen to the floor, I knelt to search, assuming a sudden draught had dislodged the letter too.
 

“What are you looking for?” Miles squatted on his haunches.
 

I continued to rummage among ink-stained rushes. “A letter I was writing to Brother Brian. I’d almost finished it when I heard the duke’s arrival and came to welcome you home.”

“Is it so important that you must roll about the floor like a dog looking for titbits?” Miles laughed. “Can’t you write another?”

“Of course I can, but where can it have gone? I left it on the table and no one else has been to our chamber—unless someone came in while we were sleeping—”

“Or busy with other matters—” he said, roguishly. Noticing my gravity, he stooped to help me up. “It was probably taken while we were in the nursery. But who would want such a letter?”

Who indeed? I didn’t dare voice my suspicions. My letters to the priest concerned private matters. How I cursed my stupidity in leaving one unguarded. Pretending exasperation I sat down to pen another, my mind spinning. What had I said that might be misinterpreted? Had I revealed anything that might invite suspicion? The yellow hawk eyes of Bishop Stillington returned to taunt me. What might he pay for such a letter?

Chapter Fifty-Seven

The following day, I met Jack Green by the herb garden. I assumed he’d been to the stables, for he carried a bridle.

“Do you remember how the king called on us when we lived in London?” We crossed the courtyard together. “I’ve often wondered why he spent so much time in Dame Butler’s company.”

“He promised the restoration of her husband’s estates.” Eager to be rid of him, I quickened my pace. Something insidious in his manner of speech provoked me. “He was always courteous to those in need.”

“There were some thought his interest more than courtesy. I remember the chaplain being anxious about his visits.”

“Brother Thomas was overzealous,” I answered, curtly. Jack’s desire to raise these old matters irritated me—particularly since Miles mentioned Stillington in connection with the king’s youthful indiscretions. What might Jack, the scullion, remember of those days in Silver Street? And why now did he seem so interested?

“Why the haste?” Jack seized my arm. “Have you no time for old friends?”

“I’ve work to do.” I glanced at the bridle. “And doubtless you’ve errands of your own. Gossip belongs to grandmothers dozing by the fire or idle mischief makers. If you’ve something to say to me, Jack, then say it quickly and have done with subterfuge.”

He laughed then showing sharp teeth. “Why Mistress Forrest, what a shrew you’ve become. I wonder Dame Butler shared her secrets with you.”

“What secrets?”

The weasel smile goaded.

“Bishop Stillington’s most anxious to speak to you.” His slitted eyes bored into mine. The quiet insinuation struck cold terror into me. Catching my breath, I twisted my fingers into the bunched fabric of the shawl against my breast.

“He sent out spies in search of you in London but you weren’t easy to catch. Remember Cutter’s Lane?”

“You!”

“It was as well we didn’t catch you then, for I think the good bishop might have dealt with you quite differently from what he now intends.”

“I’ve no business with Bishop Stillington, either then or now.”

“You’d best tread carefully, Mistress Forrest, for you’ve sorely tried his patience. You can’t hide so easily in Middleham.”

I pressed a hand against a wall to steady myself. “Why should I want to hide?” Anger fuelled my query.

“What did Brother Thomas know? What secret is worth dying for?”

“I don’t understand. What became of Brother Thomas?”

“Times are changing, Nan.” Jack’s eyes shone cold as stones though his lips still smiled. “Those who’ve risen to high estate may soon find themselves cast down. I tell you, you’d be best to follow the new order if you treasure all you hold dear.” He turned his head meaningfully towards our apartments. “The Duke of Gloucester’s an ambitious man. Your husband’s chosen wisely in his allegiance.”

“You’re Stillington’s spy.” I took no pains to conceal my fury and contempt. “How can you speak of Gloucester when you imply that Stillington’s in league with Clarence?”

The lad’s mouth twisted into a gloating smirk that brought bile into my throat.

“Clarence lies in prison, Nan. A prisoner can’t wear a crown. A captive can’t dispense favours. Only fools follow lost causes. Stillington puts himself in danger if he persists in his dealings with a traitor. But some of us have seen a different future. As I understand, your secret might change a dynasty. You’d do well to foster those whose favour can be useful to you and yours.”

He leaned so close, I smelled the scent of sandalwood about him and wondered vaguely how he could afford such costly spice.

“You’d betray your master for such advantage?” The venom in my speech caused him to draw back sharply. “Bishop Stillington doesn’t know what a viper he has in his employ. For one so young you’ve learned much, Master Green.”

“Indeed, I have,” he said, recovering himself and looking smug. “I’ve much to thank the bishop for. He, more than any other, taught me the art of self-preservation. What can a scullion expect from life but constant servitude? A clever man sees which way the wind will blow and seizes every opportunity to advance his cause.”

“What does Miles know of this affair with Stillington?”
 

He shrugged, thrusting out his nether lip. “Miles seems surprisingly ignorant about some things. But then it’s difficult to know what he’s thinking. I’m never sure what’s true or what’s dissembling. He’s plainly Gloucester’s man, but he doesn’t share confidences easily.”

He tugged at the pearl earring in his left lobe and his eyes glazed over as if considering something. Caught by the green stone in the silver ring upon his little finger, I gasped. Where had I seen such a ring before?

“You’ve told Miles little of Dame Butler and the king.” Jack lifted an eyebrow slyly. “And I see now you’re reluctant to place your trust in one who desires to help you. Perhaps you need more time to consider your situation.” He executed a mocking bow. “I mustn’t delay you further, for you have
work
to do.”

I watched him stride away wondering just how much he knew of Eleanor’s relationship with King Edward. What secrets had Stillington unleashed? Unbidden, the ascetic face of Brother Thomas rose before me bruised and badged with blood. Around its neck, it wore a hempen noose. Far away I heard the voice of Mistress Evans reminding me: You will be a keeper of secrets. Was I then the only one left who knew the exact truth about Eleanor? The tortured face blurred and became that of Miles lit by candle-light. As I watched, his hands reached up all bathed in blood and I shook with the horror of the image.