13 - The Midsummer Rose (31 page)

‘Proceed,’ he said. ‘What do you want? Or is that a stupid question? I’m sure there’s a price on my head.’

‘Not that I know of. In any case, I don’t deal in blood money,’ I assured him, but without lowering my knife. ‘
Why
did you try to murder me a second time? And how did you know where I lived?’

He blinked rapidly. ‘The answer to both questions is Mistress Alefounder. She asked me to do it and she told me where to find your house. She’s afraid of you. She said you can’t keep your nose out of other people’s business and were better disposed of. Sooner or later, she thought, you’d puzzle out what was happening. It seems she was right.’

He was smiling again, so I took a chance and removed my knife from his throat. He made no move to attack me.

‘I’m not the only one who’s been looking for you,’ I said. My anger with Timothy Plummer had still not abated. ‘There’s a government spy in the city, desperate to discover your whereabouts and take you hostage for our king. A bargaining counter to use against your brother, King James. There’s also the apothecary, Silas Witherspoon, who owns the house at Rownham Passage and is one of Henry Tudor’s agents. I have reason to believe that he has also joined in the search. Now, the motives of both these men bode ill for your future good. I, on the other hand, just want to prove the innocence of a friend of mine who’s been arrested for murdering Robin Avenel.’ With a jerk of my arm, I brought up my knife again and pricked the skin of his throat. A bead of blood appeared on his neck. ‘So, what can Your High and Noble Mightiness tell me about that?’

‘I? N–Nothing,’ he stammered. But his eyes shifted sideways and downwards to try to locate his dagger.

I pressed the knife further into his thin flesh and a second gout of blood joined the first.

‘By my reckoning, Master Avenel was killed right outside this door. If you didn’t kill him, you must know who did. I just want to know the name of the murderer, that’s all. Then as far as I’m concerned, you’re free to go to Brittany or France or wherever you wish. I shan’t try to stop you, I promise.’

The sweat was standing out on his forehead in great drops.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I really don’t know, I swear by Christ and all His saints.’ He made to push aside the point of my knife, but I held it steady. ‘Look,’ he said desperately, ‘in return for your help, I’ll tell you all I do know.’

‘And what help can you possibly need from me?’ I sneered.

‘I need to get away. To escape. I need a ship to carry me to France as soon as possible.’

I frowned, sensing a trap. ‘Isn’t that what you’re doing? What Mistress Alefounder is doing for you? Trying to arrange your passage to Brittany?’

The duke sat down again on the bed, emitting a little moan and burying his etiolated face in his long, thin hands.

‘I don’t
want
to go to Brittany,’ he said in defiant, but muffled tones. Then he raised his head, a desperate expression in the sapphire-blue eyes, and proceeded to explain.

‘When Sir Thomas St John – he’s a disaffected Lancastrian supporter of Henry Tudor – came to me at Stirling and made his proposal, I have to admit that I was excited by it. I promised I’d consider the scheme. However, before I’d had time to think about it carefully, word reached me that my younger brother, Mar, was dead, probably murdered, and I was advised to get out of Scotland before I suffered a similar fate. Sir Thomas’s offer at once took on the appearance of divine intervention. It also meant I would have protection on my journey and that my passage abroad would be arranged without any extraordinary exertion on my part. So, Sir Thomas escorted me south to this house near Bristol, where we slept the night. The next day he left me in the care of Mistress Alefounder, who would see me safely aboard the Irish ship which was to carry me to Brest, and there I should be met and cared for by others of the conspirators.’ He shrugged. ‘But it all went awry, as you know only too well. Instead of being transported to Brittany, I’ve been mewed up here for over three weeks.’

‘And you’ve had time to think,’ I suggested.

The duke laughed grimly and said something in broad Scots which I didn’t understand, then reverted to English.

‘I’ve done little else but think in between Mistress Alefounder or that pretty friend of hers bringing me my meals. I shall go mad if I have to stay walled up here much longer. And after Master Avenel’s murder, his sister’s been as jumpy as a cat on cinders – and with good reason, I suspect. Especially now you tell me that there is not only an agent of Henry Tudor living in the town, but also one of King Edward’s spies.’

‘Not “one of”,’ I corrected him. ‘The best.’

Albany cursed fluently, again in broad Scots. It sounded splendid. I wished I knew what he was saying.

He continued. ‘As I said, I’ve had time to think these past weeks and it’s brought me to my senses. I realized I’ve been deluding myself that I could ever usurp Henry Tudor’s place as the Lancastrian pretender to the English crown. Within days, hours even, of landing in Brittany, I’d be as dead as yesterday’s meat. But more than that, the whole mad scheme has as much substance as a puff of air. Henry Tudor is
never
going to be King of England.
I’m
never going to be King of England. King Edward’s hale and hearty according to all the reports I’ve ever had of him, and he’s the father of two male heirs.’ Albany gave a smile of great cunning. ‘Besides, I’d much rather be king of Scotland, and if I play my cards aright – well, who knows? Stranger things have happened. So you see –’ he paused and spread out his hands – ‘what I need is an accomplice who might be able to help me escape to France.’

I considered him for a moment or two, still holding him at bay with my knife. Was he genuine, or was this a ploy to put me off my guard? I had to make up my mind.

‘And in return for my assistance, you agree to tell me what you know of Robin Avenel’s death?’ I asked.

‘Everything. Although in fairness I should warn you, it isn’t as much as you would wish.’

I hesitated before slowly lowering the point of my knife.

‘I’ll have to take that chance,’ I said.

I
sat down beside him on the bed, but at a distance. I still wasn’t wholly convinced that I could trust him. He was a dark, swarthy creature of about my own age, but there was a shifty look in his eyes that somehow called his probity into question. It was an expression I had seen in the past in the eyes of George, Duke of Clarence, another dissatisfied younger brother.

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Tell me what you can.’

Before replying, however, he got up and walked over to the open section of wall, which, with an effort, he pushed shut. Catching sight of my face, he laughed.

‘You’re quite safe. It can be opened from this side, too.’ He resumed his seat on the bed, slewing a little to his right, so that we were almost face to face. ‘It’s a marvellous piece of machinery, don’t you agree? The Jews are a very clever people. Which is why we are so afraid of them, I suppose. Now, before I tell you anything, you tell me how you will get me across the Narrow Sea to France. I need to be gone as soon as possible. Tomorrow. Tonight if it can be arranged.’

‘What will you say to Mistress Alefounder?’ I enquired.

He shrugged. ‘Nothing, unless it’s necessary. She won’t come again until the morning. She’s already brought me my evening meal.’ He grimaced, intimating that he had not enjoyed it. ‘Since yesterday and her brother’s death, she has had much to occupy her mind, as you might expect. So, Roger – am I right? Is that your name? – what makes you think you can find me a ship’s captain willing to carry me to France, when Robin Avenel and his sister have so far been unsuccessful?’

‘There’s an Irish slave trader with whom I’ve had some dealings in the past. At present, his ship is moored along the Bristol Backs. He’s an honest rogue who knew of Eamonn Malahide, but had nothing but contempt for his double-dealing. He’ll take you, I feel certain, provided you can pay him what he asks.’

‘Ah!’ The duke gave me a quizzical glance. ‘Money! I’d forgotten about money. I’m afraid I don’t have any. Do you?’

Typical! These noblemen are all the same. They never pay for anything if they can help it; they’re too busy leeching off everyone else.

‘No, I don’t,’ I answered shortly. ‘Not that sort of money, at any rate. I’m a pedlar. Don’t you have any rings or a jewelled collar or something of that sort that I could offer Briant?’

Albany sighed and shook his head. ‘Not here. I left Scotland in such a hurry, I had to leave most of my belongings behind. I did have one ring, my signet ring, but I lost it – the Virgin only knows where.’

I caught my breath. ‘A heavily chased gold band and a roundel engraved with two letter As, is that the one?’

He stared at me, nodding. ‘Two As and the Lion of Scotland.’ He shook my wrist. ‘What do you know about it? Do you know where it is?’

‘I found it lodged in the mattress of the bed at Rownham Passage when I went back there to have a look around. I think you must have slept in that bed and got your hand caught between the ticking and the feathers. The ring worked loose.’

The Scotsman clapped his hands. ‘Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? Mistress Alefounder was right on yet another count. You are a nosy fellow, Roger! God bless you for it.’ A sudden thought struck him. ‘You still have it?’ he demanded anxiously. It was my turn to nod. ‘Then we can offer it to this Irishman of yours. Tell him that when I get safely to France and my good cousin, King Louis, grants me a pension, I’ll buy it back from him at three times its price. He’ll be well recompensed for all his trouble.’

It might work. I reckoned the signet ring was of sufficient weight and value to satisfy Briant. And he was shrewd enough to see that it could have an importance in Albany’s eyes beyond its simple monetary worth.

‘Very well,’ I conceded. ‘But I’ll have to go home and fetch it.’

‘And take it to this Irishman now, this evening, without delay. If he agrees to the transaction, I’ll be aboard his ship tonight. I can return to Ireland with him, if necessary, and wait there until he’s able to carry me to France.’

I could tell he was used to issuing commands that he expected to be obeyed instantly. But there again, that’s royalty for you. Never a thought for what might be inconvenient – or dangerous or even difficult, come to that – for other people. My young lord entertained not the slightest doubt but that I would do as he bade me, in spite of the fact that he had twice tried to kill me. I guessed I was meant to be grateful that he hadn’t quite succeeded.

When I didn’t move from the bed, he gave me an imperious look.

‘We had a bargain,’ I reminded him. ‘I’ll fulfil my part of it when you’ve fulfilled yours.’

He glowered. ‘But if I do, how can I be sure you’ll do as you’ve promised?’

‘Because you have my word.’

He snorted with laughter at that. ‘The word of a pedlar! What guarantee is that?’

I rounded on him. ‘It’s as good as the word of a fugitive prince who can’t even keep friends with his own brother.’ I sprang to my feet. ‘But if you don’t agree, I’m off!’

He held out a placatory hand. ‘No, no! Don’t be so touchy! I’m sorry. Forgive me. That was unpardonably rude. Sit down again, please, and I’ll tell you what I know about Master Avenel’s murder. But, remember, I did warn you that it isn’t much.’ He patted the bed beside him.

I feigned reluctance, but eventually allowed myself to be persuaded. In any case, I had suddenly realized that I didn’t know how to open the secret door from inside the chamber.

‘So? What can you tell me?’ I asked.

He nodded towards the wall where I knew the door to be, although nothing was visible, not even the faintest hairline crack. Albany was right. Its original designer had been an engineer of genius.

‘There’s a small peephole over there, to the left. Not much good for seeing anything – it isn’t really big enough and it’s too dark on the other side – but at least you can occasionally hear things through it. Noises drift in from time to time. People come down here to store unwanted furniture, or they use it as a trysting place. Once, I came out too soon to stretch my legs and you were there, rummaging around.’

‘Yesterday morning,’ I said. ‘You were dressed as a woman. I saw you, but when I couldn’t find any trace of you, I decided you were a figment of my imagination.’

He looked slightly bemused. ‘Was that only yesterday? Time plays strange tricks on a man with no one but himself for company … Yes, yes, I remember now. I thought I’d risk going out for a while, so I put on my woman’s garb. But your presence thwarted my plans. Another time, you saw me in the street and shouted to me. You thought I was Mistress Alefounder’s maid. But I ran down here and hid myself.’ He chuckled to himself before proceeding. ‘So! To Master Avenel’s murder. It must have been … Let me see …’

‘The night before last,’ I prompted. ‘Midsummer Eve.’

He nodded. ‘The lady I was just speaking of, the lovely Rowena –’ he smiled lasciviously – ‘had brought me my supper. Now there’s a woman ripe for the plucking, but unfortunately, something of a prude.’ He rubbed one cheek reminiscently, and I guessed Rowena had rejected his amorous advances in no uncertain fashion. After another pause he went on, ‘Well, some while after I’d finished my supper – just how long, I’ve no idea – I heard the sound of men’s voices, raised in anger, come floating through the wall. One, I immediately recognized as Robin Avenel’s, but the other I didn’t know. And yet it sounded vaguely familiar, as if I’d heard it a couple of times before. I put my ear to the hole, but I was unable to hear exactly what was being said. There was a lot of shouting and also a noise like scuffling, which suggested to me that the two men were having a fight, a suspicion that was borne out by the fact that the voices got even louder and angrier until, suddenly, they ceased. Then there was silence.’

‘And?’ I was growing impatient.

He chewed his nails for a moment before continuing. I noticed that they were bitten down to the quick.

‘Well, after waiting for what seemed like an age, I opened the secret door – with the greatest caution, I might say – and almost at once saw Robin Avenel lying in the middle of the cellar floor. I knew it was him even though his face was turned away from me, but I fetched a lighted candle just to make sure. He was dead. He’d been stabbed through the heart.’