The Widow's Kiss (35 page)

Guinevere made no attempt to help him. She found she didn’t dare try to approach him. “What happened to your hand?” she asked, trying to keep her fear from her voice, trying to sound calm, composed, reassuring, as if she was not terrified of this mad stranger.

Hugh shot her a look of utter contempt and did not reply.

She swallowed, took a breath. “Let me put some salve on it and then bind it for you.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near me!” he declared. “Never again.”

She looked at him bleakly. It was madness for him to believe what he did. She spoke slowly, clearly, setting out the facts so that there should be no possibility of error. “You think I tried to poison Robin? You think I set Tyler to kill you?” Surely he would see the absurdity of it now. When it was put so plainly he must see that it could not possibly be true. Surely he would see that his own desperate fear for his son had overset his reason.

He looked at her again with utter contempt. “Three attempts have been made on my life since I was fool enough to marry you.”

Despair washed through her. How could she convince him? What possible words were there? Her voice shook. “But I love you, Hugh.”

He raised both hands, pushing against the air as if to keep her from him. “You lie! But God help me, I loved
you!
Now, get out of my life! I never want to lay eyes upon you again. I want you out of this house and on the road back to Derbyshire by dawn tomorrow.”

And there it was. In the face of that brutal conviction, the savage certainty in his eyes, she had to accept that he
had never truly believed in her innocence. He had allowed love, lust, whatever he chose to call it, to block out his conviction of her guilt in Stephen's death.

She tried once more although she knew it would do no good. She spoke as calmly as she could. “You said it was too late in the year to make such a journey, Hugh.” She stood with her hand at her throat. Her world had spun out of control; the man she loved had become a vicious, blind stranger. She had always known he had a rigid, harsh side to him, but until now she could never have believed him capable of this.

“You will go with all speed. Your daughters will ride pillion with my men so they will not need to rest so much. Without rest days, there's no reason why you should not reach your destination by the beginning of December, before the first snowfall. This time there’ll be no carts laden with luxuries to hold you up. If your servants go with you, they’ll ride at the pace set by my men who’ll escort you and then remain at Mallory Hall to guard you.”

“As jailers?” she whispered, the full horror dawning.

“If you wish to call them that,” he said coldly. “You’ll not leave Mallory Hall without my permission.”

“My children?” Her hand touched her belly in an unconscious gesture. “Are they too to be prisoners?”

“If they go with you, they will share the conditions under which you will live. If you wish to spare them that, or the dangers and discomforts of the journey, they may remain with me. I do not hold them responsible for their mother's evil.”

Guinevere turned away from him so that he would not see the despair and horror in her eyes. There was nothing she could do or say to change anything. He had convicted her and condemned her. And now she thought that even if she could convince him of her innocence she could no longer live with a man who could believe her capable of such monstrous deeds.

“My children come with me,” she stated, adding sotto voce,
“All
my children.”

She stood with her back to him, as erect and graceful as ever, her head held high, her shoulders straight, her hands clasped quietly in front of her.
Such grace, such elegance, such beauty. A shell,
he thought. An exquisite shell concealing such brazen greed, such a barren soul.

He commanded harshly, “You will be ready to leave at first light. When I return to the house in the morning, you will not be here.” He left the chamber, closing the door behind him with a definitive click.

Guinevere remained standing in the middle of the chamber, her hand still unconsciously resting on her belly. She had felt despair in the last months since Hugh of Beaucaire had ridden into her life, but now she understood that she had not known what true despair was. Now she was a black void, for the moment incapable of feeling, of action. She was bereft, hopeless, and helpless.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, unaware of the lengthening shadows. Finally she heard her children's bright, inquiring voices outside the chamber. They were calling her, knocking on the door, and she came back to hard reality. Once again her children's needs made her strong. She must protect them as she had always done.

She opened the door to them.

“We’ve been knocking for ages, Mama,” Pippa said. “Didn’t you hear us?”

“No, I’m sorry, sweeting, I was deep in thought,” she said, lightly pulling the child's braid. “We have to move out of the house rather suddenly. Will you run and ask Crowder and Tilly to come to me?”

“But why must we move out, Mama?” demanded Pippa. “I thought we were to stay here for Christmas and Twelfth Night.”

“Is it because of Robin?” Pen asked, her hazel eyes sharply questioning.

“Partly,” her mother said, improvising. “Lord Hugh and I decided that it would be best for us to move. We don’t want you to catch Robin's illness. We think it's better that we should leave this house in case there's something unhealthful in the air.”

“Like the plague?” Pippa's hazel eyes widened.

“I doubt that,” said Guinevere gravely. “Robin is on the mend, but until we know what caused his illness, it's safer to stay somewhere else.”

“I’ll go and tell Crowder,” Pippa said excitedly. “I know he’ll be glad. I heard him telling Greene that he thought working with Master Milton was a pesky business. And Greene said he thought it must be. Pen can fetch Tilly.” She ran to the door.

“Is everything going to be all right, Mama?” asked her more perceptive sister with a worried frown. “Is Robin truly getting better?”

“Yes, he is, and yes, everything's going to be all right.”

“But is Lord Hugh coming with us?” Pen pressed.

“No,” her mother said. “He’ll stay with Robin.”

“But you’re his wife. Shouldn’t you stay with him?”

“These are unusual circumstances,” Guinevere said, forcing a smile. “Now, run and ask Tilly to come to me. We must talk about what we’re going to take with us. We have to pack lightly because we must make all speed to leave.”

Pen hesitated, frowning at her mother as if she had some question. “Go and fetch Tilly, Pen,” Guinevere repeated calmly.

Pen's frown didn’t lift but she left on her errand and Guinevere went to the dresser where lay her jewel box, her ring tree. She was thinking with cold clarity now. She was not going to go meekly into a life of exile and imprisonment. She would leave Hugh. But she would not subject herself or her daughters to the miseries of the kind of journey he had decreed. They would never understand the reasons for it.

She would need money to maintain herself. She no longer had access to the income from her estates, but he couldn’t prevent her from taking her jewels. They constituted a small fortune. Crowder would take charge of selling them, or pawning them. In addition she had some ready money left over from what she’d brought with her on the journey to London. Her jaw tightened. She would be far from penniless and Hugh of Beaucaire would learn that while he could destroy her soul, her happiness, he couldn’t take her independence from her.

“What's all this then, chuck?” Tilly spoke from the door as she bustled in. “Pen says we’re to leave ’ere.”

Crowder came in on her heels looking very grave. Pippa pranced behind him.

“Yes, within the hour. If it can be arranged.” Guinevere turned from the dresser, a sapphire necklace running through her fingers. She saw Pippa and said more brusquely than she’d intended, “Pippa, I didn’t ask you to come back with Crowder. Go to your chamber and decide what you wish to take with you.”

“I only wanted to know where we’re going.”

“You’ll know when I’m ready to tell you.” It was not a tone to invite argument and Pippa went off looking hurt.

Guinevere tried to smile but her lip trembled and tears stood out in her eyes.

“Ah, chuck. What is it? What's ’appened?” Tilly flew to her, embracing her. “Tell Tilly, now.” She patted her back as she had done when Guinevere was a child. Crowder stood to one side, anger flaring in his eyes as Guinevere unburdened herself to the people who had always stood her friends, served her without question, stood by her, defended her.

“Well, I never heard such lunatic nonsense!” Tilly cried. “I’ll soon put him right. Just you wait and see, chuck.”

Guinevere dashed the tears from her eyes, smiling
despite herself. “No, Tilly, that's not the way I want to deal with this. We will leave here, but of our own accord.”

She turned to Crowder, who was pale with anger. “Crowder, I think we must stay in London for the moment until I decide exactly how to deal with the situation. Can you think of lodgings anywhere that would be suitable? Rooms in a tavern, or private house?”

“You’d not stay in a tavern, chuck!” Tilly exclaimed, flinging up her hands in horror. “Not with the lassies. The Lord only knows what they’d see. That Pippa would be up to all sorts.”

“I don’t believe that will be necessary, Mistress Tilly,” Crowder put in. “The cook has a sister who runs a lodging house in Moorfields. ’Tis out of the city a bit, but nice and quiet. A very respectable kind of person, he assures me. He was telling me she's just lost her lodgers and is at her wit's end to make ends meet.”

“Will it house all of us?”

“I believe so, m’lady. Should I go straightway and see about arranging matters?”

“Yes, if you would. I wish us to be out of here within two hours at the latest. We’ll take only the barest necessities. Clothes and bed linen for the most part. Once I’ve decided what we’ll do permanently, then we’ll see about setting up our household again.” She thought of her books and then resolutely put them from her mind. There was no time now to crate them.

She handed Crowder a leather pouch. “We’ll take the lodgings for a month to start with, Crowder. I can’t see any farther at the moment.”

“Aye, madam.” He took the pouch, coins clinking as he slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll be back within the hour.” He hurried away, outrage in every dignified line of his lean frame.

“Ay! Ay! Ay!” Tilly exclaimed. “What a thing! My poor
babe.” She flung her arms around Guinevere. “For two pins, I’d cut ’is black heart out. To believe such a thing of my nurseling!”

For a minute Guinevere allowed herself to be comforted with Tilly's soft endearments. She could not carry alone this confusing paradox of despair and fury that made her long to be rid of all memory of Hugh even as her heart yearned for his love, his smile, the tenderness of his touch, the savage passion of his lust.

How could she live without him?

But she could not live with him. So she would as always be responsible for herself and for those who depended upon her. She would not hide from him. She would make no attempt to conceal her whereabouts as if she was somehow afraid of him. As her husband, he could object to her independence, but he would have to use main force to wrest it from her, and that, Guinevere knew, Hugh would never do. Or at least she thought she knew. Before today, she would have been certain of it. But now she’d seen a side of him that threw all preconceptions into doubt. Well, she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

“There, there, Tilly,” she said. “That's enough weeping now. We have much to do and I don’t want the girls to guess too much, not until they have to.”

“You’ll not keep this long from Pen,” Tilly said, going to the armoire. She began to take out gowns. “But ’tis a shameful thing. And you carryin’ into the bargain.”

“So you know,” Guinevere said. It didn’t surprise her. It was the sort of thing Tilly would know.

“Aye, o’ course I know,” Tilly said with a hint of scorn. “What d’ye take me for?”

Guinevere didn’t answer the rhetorical question. She began to sort through her jewels.

J
ack Stedman set his ale pot down on the stained planking of the table in the Dog and Duck and wiped froth from his moustache with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving Will Malfrey's countenance as he listened to the other man's tale.

It had taken Will an hour since his return to find Jack, who was whiling away the tail end of the evening in the nearby tavern. Now Will told his story slowly and in detail. His quarry had been deposited by the barge on the water steps at Greenwich at around mid-morning. The barge had still been at the steps when Will's skiff had arrived some half an hour later.

“ ’Twas one of Privy Seal's barges, sir,” Will explained. “The oarsmen knew it well. Lord Cromwell keeps it at the steps for ’is own convenience.”

“So our friend was a guest of Lord Cromwell,” Jack mused. “An important one if ’e gets to use Privy Seal's own barge.” Now he pinched his lower lip between finger and thumb.

“Well, I don’t know about that, sir,” Will said thoughtfully. “I spoke wi’ the bargemen. Right scornful they were
of ’im. ’E ’adn’t given ’em a sweetener, mind you, an’ that put ’em in a bad ’umor. But I got the impression ’e was more of a servant like. On orders from ’is master.”

So, no guest but a servant. That was something Lord Hugh would find interesting. Jack glanced up at the smoke-blackened timbers above. “What took ye so long to get back ’ere? ’Tis past ten now an’ ye say our man was dropped off at Greenwich mid-mornin’.”

“Aye, but ’e didn’t leave until this evenin’,” Will explained. “I thought I’d do best to see what ’e was up to. ’Ang around a bit, see what else I could pick up.”

“You always was an obstinate bugger, Will,” Jack observed without heat. “Takin’ matters into yer own ’ands. Writin’ yer own orders.”

“No point leavin’ a job ’alf done,” Will pointed out. “Anyway, I found our man in a tavern drinkin’ deep. I ’ad a pot or two of ale with ’im, but powerful closemouthed ’e was.”

“Privy Seal's man. More than ’is life's worth to blab,” Jack declared.

“Aye, I thought so. ’E seemed scared silly, lookin’ over ’is shoulder, sweatin’ like a pig, jumpin’ at the least sound. An’ no one came anywhere near ’im. Folks looked at ’im as if ’e was some kind o’ river rat. Got so I felt they was lookin’ at me in the same way so I left ’im to ’is drink and ’ung around outside, waitin’. Our man come out about mid-afternoon an’ goes to the docks. ’E goes aboard a ship an’ that's the last I seen of ’im. The ship sailed around five on the evenin’ tide.”

“Where to?”

“France.” Will spat on the floor. “Neat little craft, fast too. One of Privy Seal's runners, they said. Goes back an’ forth with ’is spies, is what I ’eard. No one wanted to talk much even though I bought a good few pots of ale.”

“No one in their right mind tells Privy Seal's secrets.”

“So ye’ll pass it on to Lord Hugh?”

“Oh, aye. Ye did a good job, Will. ’E’ll ’ave summat to say to ye, I’ll be bound.”

Will looked satisfied. “I’ll be off to me bed, then. Bit short o’ sleep I am, one way an’ another,” he added pointedly.

“Reckon ye can take the day off tomorrow, if’n ye fancies a visit to the ’ouse over the river.” Jack grinned and laid a finger to the side of his nose.

“Mebbe I will an’ mebbe I won’t,” Will returned with a similar grin. “I bid ye good night, sir.”

“’Night, Will.”

Jack sat over his tankard a while longer. Something was up in Lord Hugh's household and Jack for once was not in his master's confidence. First Master Robin had fallen ill and Lord Hugh had rushed him from the house. The next thing, Lord Hugh, looking like something the cat had dragged in, had ordered Jack to have an escort ready and provisioned at dawn to go into Derbyshire with his lady and the little girls. There’d been no explanation either for the master's injuries or for his orders, and Lord Hugh had gone off again immediately, all bruised and battered as he was, leaving an injured horse in the stables.

Jack had chosen the escort, given his instructions, and left the bustle and chaos of the stable yard for the peace and his thoughts in the Dog and Duck, where Will had found him. And Tyler appeared to be missing now as well. Not that Jack thought much of him. Too slimy by half. Still it was a puzzle to add to all the others.

He tossed a coin on the table and stood up, adjusting the set of his sword at his hip. Lord Hugh had told him where to send a message as soon as Lady Guinevere and her escort had left but Jack reckoned he’d not be sorry to be disturbed earlier for an account of Will's day.

Jack rode through the streets to Ludgate Hill, keeping to the center of the road, his sword in his hand. At the top
of the hill he came to a cluster of cottages. Lord Hugh's second-string horse was tethered to an apple tree in the small front garden of one of the cottages. Despite the late hour, lamplight showed faintly through a crack in the shutters and smoke curled from the chimney.

Jack hobbled his horse in the garden and knocked on the door with the hilt of his sword.

The bolts scraped back and the door was opened. Lord Hugh stood in the light, his sword in his hand as if he was expecting trouble.

“Jack? What the devil's amiss?”

“Summat I thought ye’d like to know straightway, sir.” Jack thought he had never seen Lord Hugh look so dreadful, not even after a day on a battlefield. Heavy bags pouched beneath his black-shadowed eyes, his mouth was drawn with pain, his complexion sallow and parchmentlike.

“ ’Ow's Master Robin?” Jack asked making no attempt to conceal his anxiety.

“Better, I thank you.” Hugh stood back and held the door wider. “Come you in.”

Jack entered the cottage. Robin was lying on a pallet in the corner, on another before the fire slept an old woman covered by a thin blanket.

Hugh sat down on the stool beside his son's pallet and gestured to Jack that he should take its pair. He returned to tending his son, bathing the sweat from the boy's brow with lavender water. “The fever's broken,” he said. “He’ll live, thank God.”

“Thank God,” echoed Jack. He looked around the small room. Despite this happy news, the atmosphere was more suited to a charnel house, he thought. Lord Hugh seemed to have shrunk, the brilliant hue of his eyes dulled. His arm and one hand were bandaged and he moved with obvious pain. But it was more than physical pain. It was a pain that seemed to come from deep within him.

“Will Malfrey came back, sir.”

“Oh? What had he been up to?” Hugh sounded as if the information was of little interest.

“Seems like the man you was interested in, sir, could be one of Privy Seal's servants.”

Hugh didn’t seem to react for a minute, then slowly he raised his head and looked at Jack. His hand stilled on Robin's brow. “What makes Will think that?”

Jack gave him an account of Will's day. “Powerful scared ’e was,” Jack said. “Will said ’e was as jumpy as a rabbit headin’ fer the pot. An’ folk kept away from ’im. Will didn’t like the way they looked at ’im too when ’e was drinkin’ with the fellow, so ’e up an’ left ’im, jest watched ’im until he went on the ship.”

“He's certain it was one of Privy Seal's ships?” Hugh turned back to Robin who moaned softly and tried to brush away the cloth from his brow.

“Certain as ’e could be, sir.”

Hugh busied himself with Robin, lifting him to put a cup of water to his lips, wiping his mouth, smoothing the sheet.

Jack stood uncertainly, wondering if Lord Hugh had really heard him. He didn’t seem to be reacting at all.

But Hugh had heard. Had heard and understood the implications. But were they significant? His mind twisted, examining, looking for flaws. Privy Seal's servants acted under the orders of only one man. The man who had accosted him at the revels hadn’t seemed like a servant. But then Thomas Cromwell had servants in every walk of life. The fact that it was Privy Seal's ship didn’t necessarily mean anything. Cromwell's friends, acquaintances, a guest at his revels, could have been given the freedom of one of his vessels. He could be generous when it suited him.

Was it possible that he had been wrong? That Guinevere had had nothing to do with Robin's poisoning, with the attempts upon his own life? Tyler had been her man. She and Crowder had brought him into the house.

Hope fluttered in his brain, set his heart racing. But he told himself he mustn’t give in to it. It couldn’t be possible that he had been wrong. So much evidence, so much history, such compelling motive was against her. He had to think clearly, not rush to believe something that he would give a year of his life if it were true.

He remembered the man who had attacked him in the lane on his wedding day. A man who talked of orders. Who was left to bleed to death in the alley because no one would go near him. If he had been one of Privy Seal's men, one of his agents who prowled and snooped for his master around that part of London, it was possible that folk would have known him and if so they wouldn’t have offered a finger of help. Flail Crummock, as Cromwell was known to the general populace, was loathed as much as he was feared.

He closed his eyes, rubbed his face hard.

Jack could see a change in Lord Hugh. He seemed suddenly to sit straighter, the color in his eyes deepened, his skin seemed to fill out, to lose its waxy texture.

“They told me this afternoon that that man Tyler's gone missing, sir,” Jack said into the intense silence.

“I know,” Hugh said slowly, opening his eyes. “You’ll find him trampled to death in a lane at the bottom of Ludgate Hill.” Hugh stared at the wall. It was possible Tyler's body was still where he’d fallen. It was possible Tyler's body might hold some clue. He looked down at Robin. The boy was asleep again, his breathing peaceful and even. Hugh rose to his feet with sudden energy. “Let's see if Tyler's body can tell us anything, Jack.”

“Aye, sir,” Jack said, sounding as confused as he felt. “But ’ow d’ye know where ’e is?”

Hugh indicated his bandaged wounds and said shortly, “He very nearly did away with me this morning.”

He went to the pallet before the fire and gently shook Martha awake. “Martha, I have business to attend to. I
must leave you. Robin's asleep. I’ll come back for him in the morning.”

Martha sat up, immediately awake. She regarded Jack with mild curiosity and gave him a brief nod. He bowed his head in polite response.

Martha thrust aside the blanket and got to her feet somewhat stiffly. She went to Robin and examined him briefly before nodding. “Aye, he's out of the woods now, poor lad. But before he's to go ’ome, ye’d best ’ave sulphur burned in his chamber, an’ get rid of ’is clothes, any-thin’ that's to touch ’im. I don’t know what poison caused the damage, but it might linger still. A pestilence that's for sure.”

Hugh nodded. “I’ll fetch him later and he’ll sleep in a different chamber.” He flung his cloak around his shoulders. “Come, Jack.”

They rode to the bottom of Ludgate Hill in silence. Jack made no attempt to ask for enlightenment. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be forthcoming.

Hugh reined in his horse and looked around. He had been so abstracted that morning he had been properly aware only of the crowds and noticed little else of his surroundings. He’d simply followed Tyler's suggested way out of the throng.

There were several lanes stretching dark and dank from the bottom of the hill. “This way.” Hugh gestured with his whip towards one leading off to the left that looked familiar. Tyler's body might not still be there, but who in this city would trouble to rid a lane of a dead body?

Unless, of course, he
was
one of Privy Seal's agents and his master had sent out search parties for his spy? Again his heart leaped, again he forced himself to be realistic. Even if the body was still there, it could well have been plundered and if there had been anything to tie the man to Privy Seal it would no longer be there. And without
conclusive evidence could he risk believing in Guinevere's innocence?

They both drew their swords and entered the lane gingerly. It was dark and apparently deserted. A few yards in, Hugh discerned a darker shape on the ground. He pointed with his sword and then dismounted. He didn’t dare to hope. And yet he was filled with it.

Jack dismounted and felt in his saddlebag for flint and tinder. As carefully as before they approached the shape. Tyler lay, his face in the mud. Jack struck a light and knelt with Hugh beside the body. It didn’t look as if it had been disturbed but it was so badly trampled it was hard to tell.

“Go through his pockets,” Hugh instructed, turning the man over. Gritting his teeth, he slipped his hand inside the man's bloody shirt, feeling for inner pockets, while Jack examined the outer garments.

Hugh's fingers closed over something hard beneath the lining of the doublet. “See here,” he murmured, drawing a soft leather pouch from a cunningly sewn pocket. His fingers shook slightly as he loosened the strings and tipped the contents into the palm of his hand.

Jack brought the light closer to shine upon a miniature seal, the kind used by travelers … the kind used by spies. Hugh examined it in the light.

“Privy Seal's,” he said softly, his voice flat, hiding the rush of emotion. “Tyler would have used it to identify missives that he sent to his master, and to mislead those Cromwell wished misled.” He replaced the seal in the pouch, drew the strings tight, and tucked it back into the pocket in the doublet. For a minute he sat back on his heels and let the incredible joy sweep through him.

Jack rearranged the clothes, turning the body back into the mud. Instinctively they both looked around. Were they being watched? No one must know that they had identified Tyler as one of Privy Seal's men. Cromwell had his
spies in every corner of the city, and that kind of knowledge brought the arrest in the night, or the knife in the back.

Jack looked curiously at Lord Hugh, squatting in the mud beside the body. He seemed mesmerized, immobile, staring down.

“Sir?” Jack said tentatively. “We should get out of here.”

“Yes … yes, of course.” Hugh stood up. What little starlight there was on this overcast night couldn’t penetrate the alley. The air around him smelled of death.