The Assassin's Wife (52 page)

The good humour vanished from Miles’ face and the frown between his black brows deepened.

“What’s this?” he asked, half-rising. Dickon, crouched before the fire playing with a little wooden horse, turned his head in alarm. No mistaking the menace in his father’s voice. “I didn’t know you were on intimate terms with the king.”

“Hardly intimate.” Inwardly I cursed Jack Green. “I was sometimes in attendance when he called on Dame Butler about her estates. I exchanged but a few words with him. I doubt he’d remember me.”

“I was jesting, Miles.” Jack’s insolent smile fixed on me. “I thought Nan would’ve told you about the king’s visits to the Butler household, that’s all.”

Miles said nothing but his eyes clouded.

“Will you join us for supper?” I smiled through gritted teeth.

“You must excuse me.” He rose and sketched a bow. “I’ve another appointment. It would be cruel to disappoint the pretty little wench who waits for me, wouldn’t it?” He threw Miles a knowing smirk that sickened me and retrieved his elegant cloak. “I thank you, though, for the offer of hospitality, Mistress Forrest.” He nodded obsequiously.

I didn’t press him.

“Mind what I said, Miles.” Jack’s eyes flashed warning sparks. “Our fortunes depend upon Stillington’s fate.” With a jaunty flourish of his feathered cap, he quit the chamber.

Miles winced as from a blow. I wondered how a stripling like Jack Green should have the power to frighten him.

“I saw my old priest again at the market,” I said, gathering up discarded tankards. “The brothers at the abbey were shocked by the news from London.”

Miles sat brooding as if he hadn’t heard me.

“He said the Duke of Clarence’s estates will pass to Gloucester and that’s probably why our Duke didn’t intercede.”

“Enough! I’m sick of all this talk. Clarence was a traitor and deserved to die.” Miles turned away with his head in his hands.

Dickon crept into the corner watching with frightened eyes.
 

“Do you really believe that? Mistress Metcalf says he was driven mad by the loss of his poor wife.”

“Elizabeth Metcalf’s a prattling fool!”
 

Two loping strides brought Miles to tower over me. He raised his fists and I cowered, knocking a tankard to the floor. Dickon whimpered.

“Why do you torment me?” Miles roared, but the expected blow didn’t land.

“You torment yourself.”

Silence stretched taut as a bow-string.

Daring to look up at last, I noticed the ugliness of suffering in his expression, his arms hanging loose at his sides.

Impulsively I clasped my own around him, drawing him close. Tremors wracked his body.
 

“You’d leave me if you knew the things I’ve done.” When I didn’t answer, he tipped up my chin to face him. “Do you know what I’ve done?”

I looked full into his eyes. “You’ve become a hired assassin,” I said, spilling the words I’d so long avoided at last.

“A soldier’s expected to silence enemies.”

“That’s an old excuse, and one you no longer believe in yourself. You haven’t been a soldier for a long time.”

“The Duke of Gloucester—”

“Requires your loyalty. I know, I know, you told me that before, but Richard of Gloucester will demand your heart and soul to satisfy his ambition.”

“He’s a good man.”

“And may not a good man be mistaken?”
 

“He seeks to do what’s right for England.”

“And is it right to kill one’s brother?”

Miles shook his head as if to expel some confusion.

“Oh I know what part you played in Clarence’s murder.” I seethed with anger then, watching his eyes widen in surprise. “Your unswerving loyalty to Gloucester has brought you to a pretty pass. Gloucester may have many virtues, but he’ll ride rough-shod over anyone who stands between him and his desire. Thanks to Lady Anne he’s developed his own vision for England. You’ve always underestimated her power. She’s her father’s daughter and she’ll follow Gloucester to perdition if it suits her.”

“I carried out orders, I gave my word, but I’ve been a fool. You knew—you always knew it was a trap, but I wouldn’t listen. You warned me—but now I’ve so much blood on my hands there’s no way out.” He sank on the bench, exhausted by the weight of despair. “Jack Green’s a fiend and Deighton thinks of nothing but profit—Oh, Nan, what hope is there for me? Tell me what to do!” His fingers twisted in his hair as if he could tear the guilt out his mind.
 

“We must get away from here.” Ignoring the nagging voice that reminded me how I’d wasted time at Barnard and at Middleham when I should have spoken out, I threw myself down, grabbing at his hands. “We could find a place easily enough. We’ve money to buy a farm with what I’ve saved these last years. You could breed horses and Dickon could grow up without fear of reprisal. We could be free of all this plotting and intrigue—”

“Would you have me be a horse-keeper like Deighton? Do you think the duke would let me just slip away? After what I know he’d sooner kill me than let me out of his sight!” A painful gash appeared between his brows. “And you’re no safer than I am! Haven’t you pledged yourself to the duchess with your accursed fortune-telling? That Sadler wench has a poisonous tongue for all her pretty promises. Do you think the men don’t taunt me about my wife, the sorceress?”

I sank beside him, the words of Mistress Evans echoing over the years to remind me—“Beware the man with blood upon his hands.” Only now did I truly understand their meaning.

Chapter Sixty-Five

In April Gloucester rode north to inspect his garrisons on the Scottish borderland, taking Miles in his company. Though I fretted at this new separation, I knew it would keep him away from London.

“The duke’s the king’s Lord of the North. Edward trusts him to keep the region in order,” Miles said as we parted. “When Lord Ned’s grown he’ll take over this appointment, so keep him friendly with our Dickon. A prince’s esteem’s a jewel. He’ll not have to go soldiering in Burgundy as I did. He’ll enjoy wealth and ease.”
 

“Is that so important?” I laced my arms about his neck. “Doesn’t this former soldier enjoy the duke’s favour and live in some comfort—not to mention having the devotion of a loving wife?”

Miles kissed me lightly on the mouth. “I wouldn’t want Dickon to live as we do.” He stroked back my hair and looked deep into my eyes. “But my wife’s a clever little witch who can worm her way into anyone’s affections.”

These farewell words put me on edge. That same evening when Lady Anne sent for me, they returned to torment me in a most sinister fashion.

In the duchess’s apartment, the little chamber-maid sat drowsing by the hearth. She hadn’t lit the candles and thick silence wrapped the twilit chamber in secrecy. Lady Anne, dressed in a ghostly grey mantle, put a finger to her lips, indicating for me to sit by her on a settle. A languid atmosphere like the fragrance of poppies seemed to envelop me as I joined her beneath the window. In the dusty corners, sinister shadows gathered, sly as thieves who wait on opportunity.

“When will I have that crown you promised?”

Her whispered words drove a crawling prickle of unease through me. Gooseflesh rose on my arms as if an unquiet spirit stalked the chamber.
 

“You’re no fool, Nan. You understand more of court intrigues than anyone.” She clenched my fingers, forcing me to look into her face. “Don’t pretend you know nothing about the secret Clarence sought to uncover. My Lord’s had some interesting information from your old acquaintance, Master Green.” Her eyes compelled. “Tell me now what lies in store for my Lord of Gloucester and for me. Do you have your cards?”

I shook my head, speechless with fear. The gathering dusk blurred her features, but I sensed the power that possessed her. Its vibrant energy filled the chamber. Closing my eyes, I allowed my mind to immerse in its rolling waves, expanding inner sight. Pictures uncoiled, startling me with the magnificence of their colour and resonance of sound.

“Lady, a great fanfare of trumpets fills the cathedral,” I said. “A churchman in a shimmering gold-encrusted cope processes towards the high altar—A bare-headed knight kneels before you, his sword upon his palms—and then a hungry shadow crosses the sky. It creeps slowly—so slowly—swallowing up the sun, blotting out the light. The wail of many women fills the air and then—”

“Your Grace!” The chamber-maid sprang up suddenly in a flutter of consternation. Blinking and rubbing her eyes, she fell into a low curtsey, stammering apologies.

“Enough, enough!” Lady Anne’s fury sent her prowling the chamber while the perplexed girl fumbled with the candles. Though the chamber flooded with their dancing brightness, I couldn’t move. The scattered fragments of my vision still fell about me. My heart raced with excitement.

* * * * *

Ned of Middleham proved more resilient than expected that summer. Daily he and Dickon rode out on the moors together.

Jane Collins chuckled, watching the prince struggling into his riding boots. “The duke were a sickly infant hissel,” she said. “He vows his survival were due to the firm training his cousin Warwick gave him. So tha can see why he wants yon lad to learn the knightly skills.”

The fragile little boy with the pale hair and the heart-shaped face sprang up with a heart-melting smile. “May I go now?”

“You must take your medicine first,” I said.

He tried to stand tall like a man-at-arms while I dosed him with coltsfoot and honey for his cough. “One day I shall be a knight and Dickon shall be my liege-man.”

Miles’ parting words returned to haunt me in this poignant remark.

“Master Metcalf’s waiting, Mama.” Dickon tugged my sleeve, jumping up and down with impatience. Being an energetic, restless child, he excelled in outdoor activities and couldn’t wait to be gone.

“You must keep warm.” I addressed both boys, although my main concern was the prince’s health. “It’s still windy out on the moors.” I wrapped the prince in a thick woollen cloak and marvelled at my own boy’s sturdy figure at his side. Barely six months older than the prince, he stood a head taller, with a thick mop of unruly black curls.

“Master Metcalf says we can ride to the rocks today.” His eyes blazed as they raced down the nursery steps together.

“That lad of thine’s horse-crazed,” Mistress Collins said with an indulgent shake of her head. “Aye, and the prince thinks the world of him.”

I wondered if she guessed Miles’ ambitions concerning this childhood friendship.

“The prince loves his riding lessons, too.”

“Aye, he’s a determined soul for all his ailments.” She helped me on with my cloak. “Did tha know he can read and write already?”

“I know he can beat Dickon at chess.”

I followed the boys out into the courtyard. Already they were walking their mounts up and down under the watchful eyes of their tutor and I smiled at their expertise. I thought how proudly Miles and I had first watched Dickon leap up fearlessly into the saddle and take the reins with the assurance of a seasoned horseman.
 

“He rides well.”

Jack Green’s smooth tones grated but I wouldn’t let him spoil my pleasure.

Dickon trotted by on his barrel-bellied pony, the morning sunlight dancing on its harness. Behind him Edward of Middleham, dressed in green and sporting a goose feather in his cap, bestowed a beaming smile upon the watchers. Master Metcalf, proud and upright in the saddle, inclined his head as he followed closely in the wake of his two young charges. I waved after the little entourage as it made its way towards the gates.

“He loves the horses,” I said. “Just like his father.”

“Who is presently engaged upon some further business with the Duke, I believe.” Jack Green arched an impudent eyebrow. “The Scottish Borders can be troublesome, and doubtless lonely, too.”

I turned aside, determined to ignore this taunt. Why did Jack Green’s presence make me feel so uncomfortable? A knowing watchfulness hung about him like a cloak. He’d acquired a silent step, an unnerving manner of appearing suddenly. The sly humour in his remarks rankled. Too often he goaded me with sneering remarks about Brother Brian, or probed me about poor Eleanor’s fate. I wondered if he still spied for the disgraced Stillington or if he worked solely to further Gloucester’s influence. Certainly the duke favoured him over-much. Jack possessed some charm that allowed him licence to travel freely between Middleham and London, and he was often seen at Jervaulx, at Sheriff Hutton and at Pontefract. I puzzled over Gloucester’s motives.

“Miles’s fond of his boy,” Jack said, at my elbow.

Once again I caught a whiff of danger.

“Your cousin, Harry, too, is very much the family man.” His eyes glittered with menace. “I couldn’t resist going back to the shop when I was last in London. Of course, Harry didn’t recognise me, but I remembered him. The Mercers are well-meaning folk, but I was never meant to be a baker’s errand boy.” A vicious smile lifted the corners of his perfectly sculpted mouth. “No, I was fortunate to profit from the kindly offer of an education—I had my own priestly mentor too, Nan.” Again that malicious smile scoured me. “Though there was a certain price to pay for his assistance, I learned to snatch what opportunities life handed. A scullion’s born to face adversity—but I think even you’ll admit, I’ve made a pretty pass of my fortune so far. I’m not a family man myself but I can appreciate the charm of children—Harry’s son seems sturdy—just like your boy, and the little maid’s very pretty—”