Geoffrey Condit (15 page)

    “Behind us, Aunt Catharine.  We’ve been seen.”

    They darted into an alley.  Three men dropped their pretense of not being seen, and raced after them.  Two carried clubs.

    Catharine knocked down some reed baskets, blocking the alley behind them.  They dodged between two wagons groaning under the weight of vegetables, and in the next street hid behind a peddler’s wagon hung with pots and pans. Catharine grinned as she watched the men fight their way through the tangled baskets.

    Part way up the next alley stood a simmering vat of pig lard.  When the men broke into the narrow passage, Catharine pulled out her emerald ring from her waistband and offered it to the toothless hag who stirred the pungent mix.   “For your lard, grandmother.”

    The clouded eyes widened and a mute nod followed.  Agnes and Catharine grabbed poles, and over turned the steaming mix onto the dirt passage.  The thick liquid rolled in a white flood toward the running men.  The women ran while the men slid and slipped sprawling in the scalding liquid.  Their screams and surprised curses decorated the air.  The old woman disappeared.

    The chase went on.  A wrong turn a half hour later found them in a dead end alley.  They discovered six angry filthy men closing in.  To their left a gate opened into a wide courtyard.  Carnahan stood in the opening, three armed men ranged around him.

    “Chin up,”  Catharine said.  “Follow me,” and walked to meet the mercenary.

    Admiration showed in Carnahan’s eyes. “Lady Trobridge, you are the most enterprising of women.  Do not condemn yourself.  You were maneuvered into this place with great difficulty.”  His expression changed to cold anger. “I can accomplish here exactly what I intended there.  Do not expect to escape again.”

    “These ladies won’t need to.”  The Duke of Buckingham strode out of the manor house and men moved hastily out of his way.

    “Your Grace.”  Carnahan kept his face vacant.  “I  did not expect you here.”

    “I know.  That is why I came.  One must ever keep an eye on one’s valued employees.  Especially ones with curious twists of mind like yours.”  He turned to Catharine.  “You are released, Lady Trobridge, and will be returned to your husband.”

    “But Your Grace!”   Carnahan’s sharp voice dropped in protest.  “We have them in our power.  The very people Lord Trobridge cares for most.”

    “I know.  You engineered this carefully, but without my knowledge or permission.  You work for me!  Me!”  Buckingham’s voice cut, and Carnahan licked his lips, eying the whip tapping at the duke’s thigh length riding boots.  “What were you planning to do?  Ruin both women, and return them shattered to his door step?”  Carnahan swallowed, and the duke smiled coldly.  “You’ve intruded on my plans, and this cannot be.”  Buckingham’s breathing quickened. 

    “My lord ... ”  Carnahan, face white, backed a foot away.

   “Be still,”  Buckingham said, pitted face rigid with anger.  “You’ve worked my good servant this last year.  You’ve shown yourself neither squeamish  nor fraught with scruples.  This I applaud.”  His voice rose, “But I cannot brook your crude attempt to tamper with my wider plans because of a personal vendetta with Lord Trobridge.”  His whip continued to tap on his boot.  “Lady Trobridge knows I intend to destroy her House and the House of Trevor.   But I will do it with other methods  already in place.”  He walked to Bess, and bowed.  “So this is the jewel of Peter’s eye.  The sparkling diamond of the House of Trevor.  Many have sought your hand, but Peter is loathed to give you up.”  Bess curtsied .  “He has every reason to be pleased, Lady Catharine.”

    “What is to happen to us?”  Catharine tightened her fingers into fists at her side.

    “You will be escorted back to Trevor Great House by,”  the duke whirled, whip extended to Carnahan who flinched, “this man.  He who arranged your abduction, against my wishes, will be celebrated for your rescue and safe return.”  His laughter went high and unsteady, then abruptly stopped.

    Snickering, Agnes covered her face.

    “Ha. Isn’t that poetic justice, my lady?  His punishment for violating my will should cause him exquisite pain all its own.”  The whip lingered under Carnahan’s chin, The duke raised it, turning the man’s face up, then without warning the whip whistled back and own.  It cut Carnahan’s shirt, but drew no blood.  “Don’t go against my will again.”  He turned to a silent armed giant standing behind him eyes vigilant.  “Bring horses.  They are to ride to Lord Trobridge in style.  Carnahan will ride with you, and explain their safe return to Lord Peter.”

    Catharine stared down a Peter’s incredulous face and felt intense relief.  They sat on their horses in the courtyard of Trevor House.  Carnahan, with eight retainers, had escorted them back to Peter without delay. 

    “My lord Trevor,”  Carnahan said,  “we rescued your lady folk from highwaymen who held them prisoner near Southwark across London Bridge.  The highwaymen escaped.”  Head bare, Carnahan sat in the saddle facing an astonished Peter Trevor.

    “We are grateful, Master Carnahan,”  Peter said.  Catharine watched his face, a welter of warring emotions.  His voice held even, every word measured and civil.  Catharine marveled at his control.  “I will inform the Lord Mayor and the Sheriff of London.  And your master?”

    “His Grace would be here, but he has state business.  I am to extend his best wishes to your lordship, and his hearty pleasure at your women folk’s safe return.”

    “Inform His Grace of our heart-felt thanks, and take them yourselves.  Will you have a stirrup cup to refresh yourselves?”

    “We thank your lordship, but our master bade us to return without delay.”

    Catharine could see the struggle in Carnahan’s stricken eyes.  The farce, plain as it was, confused Peter.

    “As you wish, Master Carnahan,”  Peter said.  Grooms had helped the women dismount.  Carnahan and his escort walked out of the courtyard, and disappeared into the tumult of Bishopgate Street.  The courtyard gate closed, shutting out most of the sound.

    “God in heaven!  What happened?”  Peter burst out, running to her side.  “Carnahan bringing you back like this.   What’s going on?”

    “Come inside,” Catharine said.  “We’re starving.  I’ll explain over food and drink.”

    After she’d slackened the worst of her hunger, Catharine told her story, mixing a little fiction here and there to keep Peter’s questions at bay.

    Standing by the master chair, face dark with anger, Peter said, “Aye, a curious story you’re telling, Catharine.  I am past pleased you three are safe and sound, but you’re telling me a tale again.”  He slammed his open hand down on the table, eyes blazing.  “When you can, please begin telling the truth.”  The table shook, and Catharine’s silver goblet jumped and spilled. “You trot off on foot this morning not telling anyone, and then show up this afternoon escorted by our chief nemesis’ henchman, and expect me to believe this ... this fantasy?  I thought we were  going to work with each other, not do things behind one another’s back.”

    Catharine closed her eyes, exasperated at herself.  She opened them to his hard gaze.  “I haven’t been honest.  But I knew you wouldn’t let me go after Bess.”  Her voice lost power.  “Well, damn.  It was the only way.”

    “Only way?”  Peter said,  “When the truth gets out in its exhausted fashion, I’ll bet there would be other options you never considered.”

    “None that we could have used.”

    “What did you think I was going to do?  Lay siege to the place.  I’m not a fool.” 

    Catharine glared, on the defensive.  “Granted I made mistakes, but I did what I thought best.”

    “So, are we going to be honest with each other or is deception going to be standard fare with us?”  Peter’s tight lips pursed.

    “No.” Catharine hesitated, hating what she knew would come.

    “And?”

    “Every man I’ve known has always treated me as an incompetent child.”

    “I am not interested in an incompetent child-woman.  I need a partner who thinks.  Like you did with Hatch and the Fellowship of the Stable.  Anthony and Jacob said you ran things quite well while I was ill.  I am looking for a basis to keep our relationship on that level.  I thought honesty would be a good foundation.”

    Catharine took a deep breath and closed her eyes.  It’s the truth of it, but still ...  “Carnahan arranged the whole thing about kidnapping Bess,” she said.  “The duke didn’t know what he did, and actually put a stop to what he was going to do.”

    Peter arched an eyebrow.   “Going to do?”

    “Carnahan was going to dishonor both Bess and  me.  Then return us as damaged goods.”

    Peter’s muscular finger’s tightened into rock hard fists.  His breathing increased, but he sat down in the chair next to Catharine.  “Start at the beginning.”  Between mouthfuls, and sips of ale, Catharine related the whole story.

    “Carnahan has another son?  And he tricked Agnes?  Cunning bastard.”  Peter shook his head.  “As bad as Lady Stanley.  Nothing is sacred.”

    “I think you’re wrong about Lady Stanley.”

    Peter’s eyes frosted at her words, but he didn’t pursue the subject.  “So you escaped?”

    “Yes. In the end because Carnahan was stopped by the duke.  But I’m sure the duke has something in store for us that he considers far worse than anything Carnahan could ever do.  He won’t tolerate any interference from anyone in his household.  He humiliated Carnahan in front of a great many people.”

    “You are a very creative creature, Lady Trobridge.”  Peter shook his head.

    “You aren’t angry with me?”

    “Wife, I am wrought with anger, but what do I do?  You seem to have the ability to confound me.  I wonder if our marriage will be continually assaulted by such occurrences.  At any rate it won’t be boring.”  He sighed, looking tired.  “His Grace acted the fool with Carnahan.  The man will not forget.  To publically humiliate any person is the mark of stupidity.”

    “Carnahan seethed the whole ride here to Trevor House,”  Catharine said, dipping her fingers into a scented water bowl, and wiping them on a fine linen napkin.  “Two humiliations in the space of an hour.  The duke is a hard master, very sure of himself to censor Carnahan.  He teaches a painful lesson.”

    “The Butcher may yet bite the hand that feeds him,” Peter said.

    “Perhaps, but Carnahan is driven by the idea that pain is the only reality.  To him, pain is a god of sorts.  He remembers a time where you refused to kill him when he was whipped as a galley slave.  He swore an oath to repay you.”

    Peter stared at the cold ashes of the hearth.  “I was fifteen.  Anthony and I were invited to share a royal galley going to Bordeaux.  Carnahan had just killed a fellow slave in a fight, and was being disciplined.  I’m afraid I’m not given to slitting throats.”  He touched his scar.  “So this is pay back.  I didn’t know.”

    She nodded.  “He is pleased with your oath of vengeance.”  Peter said nothing.  She shifted in the chair feeling the letter, and was nagged by the odd feeling of familiarity in the writing.

    Peter rose, and began to pace, something Catharine was getting used to by now.  “What could be so bad that the duke would deliberately let you and Bess back unscathed?  You said he was very sure of himself, and made no hesitation in admitting a plan to ruin us?”

    “True.”  Catharine swallowed.  “He was sure. Utterly sure.  No question about it.”

    “Damn.  What is it?” Peter said, running his fingers through his hair.

    “My thoughts, too.”  A cold chill settled in Catharine’s stomach.

9

She lay pale and drawn on the bed - wasted by fever, exhausted by the bitter circumstances of having been driven from her home without warning.  Catharine leaned over and kissed her mother good-bye, then felt her father’s strong hands gently pull her away.  The awful grief welled, ruling everything and growing a hardened anger.  The dream had soured Catharine’s morning.  She stared out into the small brick walled garden from the tall soaring windows of Trevor House, brooding over the pain of her childhood.  Her embroidery lay abandoned in her lap.

    Peter’s chuckle turned her head.  He stood by the hearth, pleased expression on his square features. 

    “You seem very pleased,” she said, intrigued by the letter he was reading.  The ache from the dream still lingered.  All the pain behind a delicate dam of emotion.

    He gestured, white lawn shirt sleeves full in the morning light.  His green doublet set off his pale bronzed features.  It had been a week since Catharine, Agnes, and Bess had been returned by Carnahan at the Duke of Buckingham’s orders.  And they’d  still not found an explanation for what the duke intended to do.

    “A letter from the Fellowship of the Stable,”  he said.  “They are very pleased with the safe return of you, Bess and Agnes.  My colleagues sent a letter of thanks to Buckingham and his retainers for your safe return,”  Shaking his head, he turned away and then looked at Catharine, amusement in his eyes.

    “What is it?”

    “They congratulate me on having a first class merchant for a wife.  And they say the way you exposed Mr. Hatch proves you could lead a trading company or direct a war.  It was suggested York consult you in case of a further war with Lancaster.”

    “Merchant?  You’re the Yorkist merchant,” she said, contempt forming each word.  The emotions began to pour over the dam, eroding ...

    Peter’s face drained of color, and he stared at her in disbelief.

    “My mother died of fever because we were driven out by York soldiers into the rain with only the clothes on our backs.  You, a York wool merchant, can stand there and laugh at such a thing.  Your people cost me my family.  My mother dying.  My father and brother outlawed and driven into exile.  God knows, what’s happened to my brother.”  All the anger from the dream poured out, working pain into every syllable.

    “I maybe a wool merchant,” he said, eyes narrowing, “But I had nothing to do with what happened to your family.  What’s wrong with you?”

    “Did you bother to feed any of the Kendall’s you created?”

    “Let’s talk about pain,”  Peter said.  “Lancaster never bothered to control their soldiers.  They raped and sacked their way across England wherever they went. People fled before them.  Husbands and fathers made sure their wives and daughters were well out of the way of their marauding armies.  Talk about pain.  Five times we beat them off our lands and protected our own.   York always controlled their soldiers.”  He shook his head.  “I ’m sorry for your pain.  But I’m not its author.”

    “Your people killed a witless King in the Tower.”  The anger kept pouring out as though it had no end.  Her heart beat sounded in her ears.

    “A witless King controlled by a ruthless Queen.  One without scruple,” he said, folding the letter.  “Why are we fighting  like this?  We argue history for no good cause.  Neither of us can do anything about that.”  He began to turn red with anger.  “This is madness.  What’s got into you?”  He faced her.  “I’m going to our counting house, and I hope on my return this bile of madness has left you.”  He turned from the doorway as though to say something, then scowled and left.

    She faced the tall widows.. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.  Why did I do it?  Over things we have no control.  Jesus wept, why can’t I leave the past in the past?  Why is the hurt as fresh as yesterday?  He didn’t deserve my anger.

    “My Lady?  A courier from Lady Stanley.”  A servant handed her a letter.

    She thanked him and turned away, absently breaking the seal, and scanning the handwriting.  Lady Stanley requested the pleasure of a visit.  This pleased her.  To get away from Peter, the Trevor House, and all the ideas they represented made sense.  She felt suffocated, the need to get away.

    She rang her bell, and Agnes appeared.  “I’m going for a ride,” she said.. “Have horses saddled.  Arrange an escort with Sir Hugh.  I need fresh air.”

    “I’m not surprised.”  Agnes scowled.  “The way ye went after the man, I’d be surprised if he comes home at all tonight.  A shrew’s tongue if I ever heard one.  And here I thought ye two had made peace from the way ye been planting the garden.”

    “Agnes!”  Catharine shouted.  “How dare you!”

    “How dare I?  How dare you, girl!”  Agnes glared.  “Goin after the man without provocation.  Ye leaped in there with claws and fangs slashing.  It’s a wonder he didn’t take a rod to yer impertinent backside.”

    “You’re right.”  Catharine dropped her face into her hands. “All he did was read a letter from the Fellowship of the Stable.  And I, chief of jackasses, boiled out at him.  Him being a merchant and all.”

    Agnes snorted.  “When ye going to get it through yer head that every lord is a merchant of one sort or another?  Where do you think his great wealth comes from, the sky?  The man is a wool merchant.  A Fellow of the Stable.  A Merchant Adventurer.  Ye still have it in yer ’ead that nobility ain’t suppose to do a thing ’cept dance and hunt.”  She shook her head and left the room.

    Catharine stared out the window of the solar, not seeing.  She closed her eyes, remembering last night, the joy they realized at a love they’d thought lost forever.  Her hands shook, and she watched tears splash on her fingers.  Why, dear God?  Why does my anger escape me like a howling dog bursting from its rope?

    Sir Hugh knocked, entered, and bowed.  “The horses are ready, Lady Catharine.  Where to?”

    She wiped her eyes before she turned, and in a voice calm and controlled said, “North.  Middlesex.  Tis pretty country.”

    An hour later they stopped on the Great North Road, the Ermine Way, next to the small road leading to Lady Stanley’s manor.  

    “Lady Catharine,”  Sir Hugh said, face set and cold.  “Lord Peter recommended staying away from Lady Stanley’s less it compromise the House.”

    “I know his words.  I will decide my actions,” Catharine said, and walked her horse down the short road and through the courtyard gate to the manor.  Her heart beat fast for no reason she could understand.  She found herself surprised she wanted to confide in Lady Stanley, but now she understood the drive from her argument with Peter.  His warning  made her bridle within.

    The secretive atmosphere about the manor gave it an autumn gloom.  Silent servants, a broken off conversation between two gentlemen who seeing the new arrivals under the white hart pennon of Trevor, disappeared into the tangle of out buildings, and a courier thundered out of the courtyard.  It all gave her an uneasy feeling and a sense of being watched by unseen eyes.  But she fought this away, convinced that Peter’s paranoia somehow had invaded her senses.  Dismounting, she handed her reins to a groom.

    Lady Stanley entered the courtyard from the garden.  “Welcome, Lady Trobridge.  I was hoping you’d come.  What a pleasure.”

    “Thank you, Lady Stanley.”  Catharine advanced and accepted her brief embrace.  “Please forgive my intrusion without notice.  I received your letter and decided at the spur of the moment to come.”

    “I am pleased you did.”  Lady Stanley. smoothed her garden stained skirts.  “There is something pleasurable about the earth, don’t you think?  I rejoice in it whenever I can.”

    “Gardens give health, Lady Stanley.”

    “Indeed they do.”  Lady Stanley gave instructions for the comfort of Catharine’s retinue.  “Let me escort you inside, Lady Trobridge.”

    “Catharine, please.”

    “I feel the closeness too,”  Lady Stanley said.  They walked into the manor house, and at the solar Lady Stanley excused herself while she changed.

    “Of course,” Catharine said.  After Lady Stanley left the room, a servant entered with a flagon of ale, cups, and a plate of shortbreads.  He served Catharine, bowed and withdrew.  She rose, finding herself oddly restless.  A large desk crowded with papers sat in one corner of the room.  Catharine  frowned.  It looked out of place.  Noticing two pages of a letter by corner of the settle, she bent to pick them up, and put them back on the desk.  But words leaped out at her.  Trobridge. Tudor.  The bold signature of Peter showed at the bottom of the first page. Scanning the neat writing, her eyes widened in disbelief.

             
You will find many of the Fellowship of the Stable willing to support you with secret donations to your just cause.  The usurper is not well liked in London or the Cinque Ports.  You will find me a reliable source of information and financial support.

    This couldn’t be possible.  She turned the pages and found a letter from Henry Tudor thanking Peter for his past help with information, and acknowledging the receipt of certain monies given.  Henry Tudor’s careful signatures lay at the bottom of the page.

    Footsteps echoed on the stone floor.  Catharine stuffed the papers in her gown seconds before Lady Stanley entered.  Catharine felt sick, but managed a weak smile for her hostess.

    “What happened?  You look terribly upset,”  Lady Stanley said, concern in both face and voice.

    A thousand thoughts, none good, roared through Catharine’s mind while she tried  to concentrate on Lady Stanley’s  courtesies.  Catharine gritted her teeth, and cleared her throat.  I’m going to see this through.  You are as treacherous as Peter said.  She felt a knife twist in her stomach.  Conniving viper.  You would destroy us both with your plots and schemes.  I have to get these papers back to Peter.  She smiled.  “I’m fine, Lady Stanley.  Dust from the ride perhaps.  Your ale and shortbreads are sure to resolve the problem.”

    “Would you like to lie down, Catharine?”  Lady Stanley’s concern seemed genuine.

    “No, but thank you,”  Catharine said.  She must think me an inadequate idiot.  The perfect pawn.  “I am curious.  How do you view the idea of a wealthy nobleman who offers to help your son gain the Throne?”

    “That would be treason.”  Lady Stanley kept her smile level.  “In public of course.”

    “But in private with no one to hear, would you still consider it treason?”

    Lady Stanley licked her lips, and fingered her rosary  “Are you saying your husband has an interest in that direction?”

    “Let us say he tires of certain situations,” Catharine said, “and would see a change.”

    “Perhaps we should discuss this further,”  Lady Stanley said, dark eyes fastened on Catharine.  The older woman’s hand shook while she glanced  over to where the letters had been on the floor.  She walked to the desk, and glanced amid the papers, searching.

    “Another time might prove profitable to both of us, Lady Stanley.  A merchant needs a banker.  A banker needs a merchant.  If you understand my meaning.”

    “They make a good combination.  Are you sure you can’t stay and discuss the idea?”

    “Not now,”  Catharine rose.  “I wanted to satisfy my curiosity first.  You understand it would not do for us to be seen too much together.  A few public meetings are forgivable.  Private meetings are suspect, and known to those in power.  We’ll have to use go betweens.”

    “I have such people,” Lady Stanley said.  “When you are ready, send yours to me.”  She paused.  “For one so young and who appeared to be so thoughtless and self absorbed, you have changed.  Is there a reason?”

    Astonished at her last remark, but realizing it was met as an observation and not an insult, Catharine said simply, “I married great responsibilities.  As far as the rest of it, I think it best  to test the waters before getting one’s feet wet.”   How to protect Peter and the House?  To throw her off the trail so to speak.  “We try not to be foolish, Lady Stanley.”

    “Wise, Lady Catharine.”  Lady Stanley said.  “These are troubling times.  One cannot be too careful.”

    Catharine said, “Many things are not what they seem to be.”  They rose and walked to the horses, where they said good-bye.

    Turning onto the Great North Road, Catharine turned to Hugh.  “Hugh, we must reach Peter without delay.  He was right.   Lady Stanley is a walking field of treachery.”  The knight nodded grimly.  Catharine set a killing pace, thundering over the roads until they reached Cripplegate, and the walls of London.  They followed the road outside the walls to make better time, and were surprised to find a courier in Lady Stanley’s livery pass them with no heed for his lathered and exhausted mount.

    In the courtyard of Trevor House, Catharine slid to the mounting block  and raced into the manor house.  Peter stood as she ran into the solar, almost out of breath.  “Peter, you were right about Lady Stanley.  Look at these.”  She handed him the two letters.

    He scanned them, and looked up in alarm.  “Where did you get these?”

    “At Lady Stanley’s.  On the floor of her solar.  She went to change.  I was alone ... ”