Taste of Treason (16 page)

“I had already deduced that, honestly. And Corbin managed to confirm that it is me the wretch is pursuing. What did this woman say?”

“That Frayner has mysterious late-night meetings with a stranger who lets himself in and out. That was what first alerted the housekeeper. She heard him mention your name, call you a quacksalver. She says that he was enraged when you trapped him into a promise to bury the Brook girl. The poor woman was so troubled by the fury of his response, she asked her mother for counsel.”

“That does not surprise me. His face when he finally agreed to it would have turned wine to vinegar.”

“She warns you to be on your guard from him.”

“These days, Rob, I am always on my guard, but thank you for the information.”

Alone in his room, Luke lay on the bed and thought deeply about the puzzles he faced. He now knew the arrest of the Quaynes had been a blind. Corbin had said as much. It was not Corbin and Bertila they wanted. It was Luke.

That meant Frayner must be part of the tangle. His antipathy seemed somehow false. For all the man’s undoubted venom, something did not ring true.

But when Luke thought about it, the pattern he had sought was there. Frayner had been the moving force behind the arrests, and it was in Frayner’s church that Alys had overheard the conversation between two unknown men, one of whom had a deep voice. He did not consider Frayner’s voice to be particularly deep, so was he the other man?

In an instant, the puzzle shifted into a different pattern. One that made him swing his legs over the side of the bed, every nerve twitching with tension. Was this why the priest, so obviously overqualified for the Hampton living, had decided to take it? So that he could be close to Hampton Court Palace and the center of the conspiracy? Had Luke finally divined the identity of Nimrod?

Chapter Nineteen

The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning. Who else in this matter had caused him so much anxiety and heartache?

Luke felt Joss’s nose nudge his knee as a familiar fragrance permeated the room. Seconds later he heard the voice of Queen Anne.

“Master Ballard?”

“Your Grace.”

“More incidents. An attempt to poison Madeleine and now a mirror in the confinement apartment has been smashed. The remaining shards form the same spider symbol that appeared on the wall and that you saw carved into the dead maid’s back. The King is beyond furious. We hope you have something to report.”

“I may have made some progress, Your Grace.”

“Speak.”

“Did you know that Gerard Frayner, the priest who caused my friends’ arrests, spent some years in Valladolid and has a Spanish servant?”

Queen Anne’s surprise was evident in her switch to informal speech and the sharpened tone of her voice. “I did not. You think that this is pertinent?”

“It is worthy of note, Your Grace. The Spanish, as we know only too well, have reason to cause discord.”

“You are right and I thank you for the intelligence. I shall not tell the King yet. I trust your friends are none the worse. It took some time, but I did what I could. I hear the King received a delegation from the apothecary guild.”

“Corbin has suffered a seizure. He can neither move nor speak.”

“No fault of mine. What is your next move?” She must have heard Luke’s sharp intake of breath for her next sentence was delivered in as cold a voice as he had ever heard. “People have seizures every day, Master Ballard. My only objective is the safety of my family and the realm. Nothing must get in the way of that.”

“I must arrange everything in its proper order, Your Grace, otherwise any conclusions will be flawed.”

“And you now have enough information to do that?”

“I believe I begin to see the pattern.”

“Let us hope you see it all before my daughter-in-law is driven to further bouts of hysteria and the King beyond his tether. Make haste, Master Apothecary. Your time is short.” She broke contact.

Luke cursed under his breath. The one thing he did not need was this constant threat of the rope—or worse—being thrown in his face, especially as he found his lack of progress quite as frustrating as his royal master. Despite his determination that the enemy would not find him such an easy mark this time, he had allowed problems in his personal life to hinder the investigation.

Why was it that as soon as he began to formulate theories, something else intervened and sent him back to the beginning? First Corbin and Bertila, and now Rob and this child, Alys.

A sudden memory of visiting a traveling fair when he was first at court with his childhood friend Giles Heneage came into his mind. A magician had made things disappear only to make them reappear a moment later.

Unlike the crowd, Luke had not been distracted by the man’s free hand and had seen him hide the cloth in his sleeve. Misdirection. Had Luke been watching the free hand, rather than the one that did the business? He remembered Alys’s words about his being sent running in all directions. The arrest of Corbin and Bertila had certainly distracted him. Logic dictated that one of the men Alys overheard was Nimrod, and the fact that the meeting took place in Frayner’s church argued that he was the sunderer Luke sought. A man of the cloth was a fine disguise for a sunderer. What was the saying? “Nearer the church, furthest from God.” That certainly fitted Frayner.

He had been in the diocese for only a short time, but long enough to discover the friendship between Luke and the Quayne family. How easy for a priest to instigate an arrest and interrogation. And, having contacts at court, Frayner would have no problem gaining access to the palace. But if Frayner were Nimrod, was his objective to destroy the Tudors, to cause strife and chaos for Luke in retribution for the sunderer defeat the previous year?

* * *

The next afternoon was the burial of the unfortunate Edith Brook. The procession to the graveyard at Hampton was noticeable for its size. Mayhap they came to see that he buried the poor child properly and mete out summary justice if he did not. The priest’s sour expression as he surveyed the crowd led Luke to believe that Frayner had expected the threat of the sweating sickness to keep mourners away.

They faced him with unsmiling directness as if daring him to do what he undoubtedly wanted and refuse to give Edith a Christian burial. As the procession reached the church gate, Luke sensed an increase in the collective tension. A stillness. A watchfulness. It appeared that Frayner also recognized it, for he turned without comment, his face like parchment, and led them to a place in the far corner of the graveyard. Ground prone to flooding and about as far away from the building as it was possible to be whilst still lying in consecrated earth, thought Luke.

When Frayner’s eyes met his, it was all Luke could do to keep his composure. Seldom had he seen such venom in anyone’s expression, but the smile dancing on Frayner’s lips was full of malice and spite for Luke alone. Almost without thinking, the elemancer threw a protective cloak around Rob, Alys and himself, for he noted that the priest’s gaze rested for a good while on Alys. Then the coffin was placed next to the open grave and the priest looked down at his prayer book.

“Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live,” he droned, his voice dying away to an incomprehensible muttering, only rising again as he quoted part of the Litany. “As in Adam, all die, so in Christ shall all men be quickened. Have mercy upon us miserable sinners.”

Luke closed his eyes, concentrating, but Frayner’s tone again became inaudible. One woman, her arm around the weeping Goodwife Brook, stiffened. She looked around at the other women. Little by little all attention centered on Frayner, his head bowed, muttering under his breath. Luke watched the sneering mouth mumble to a standstill, the nose wrinkle in distaste. Then the priest turned and walked away without a backward glance. Returning to his comfortable house, no doubt, away from the common herd.

The sexton spat on his hands and began to fill in the grave as the mourners dispersed in uneasy silence. Within a few short minutes, the only people standing near were Luke, Rob, Alys and Goodwife Brook, who still snuffled into her sleeve. As she passed them, she caught Luke’s gaze and scurried by, averting her face. Luke frowned and, turning, found himself the object of the ancient sexton’s scrutiny.

“You must be the apothecary.”

“Aye. How did you know?”

The man gestured with his head after Frayner and spat. “Yon’s fair put out about you, lad. Called you a long streak of water with blond curls like a wench. Watch your back. For all he’s a priest, he hasn’t an ounce of charity in him, and you’ve made an enemy.”

“At least poor Edith Brook is buried in the churchyard.”

The sexton looked at him and shook his head.

“That’s as may be, but he didn’t do right by her, not even saying the right words over her dead body, and every time the tide is high, she’ll get a soaking, poor poppet.”

Luke’s muscles tensed. “What do you mean, he didn’t do right by her?”

“Go ask in the taverns. If I’m seen talking to such as you, it’ll be me he’s after next.”

And with that, the man turned away and resumed filling in the earth on Edith Brook’s grave.

Luke glanced at Rob, who nodded.

“I have an errand, Alys,” the boy said. “Master Ballard will accompany you home.”

* * *

To get back to the palace, they were forced to walk past Frayner’s massive house. As they passed he emerged intent on accosting them. Luke drew Alys to his left side so that he was between her and the seething priest. Luke had expected him to remain indoors salving his wounded pride but his rage had, if anything, escalated.

“How now, apothecary?’ he sneered. “Taking your doxy out for a stroll?”

Luke’s fists clenched, but he realized the danger of provoking the man further.

“Walk on,” he said to Alys. “Have no fear. This is no man of God.”

They resumed walking, but the infuriated priest overtook them, his face scarlet, eyes almost bulging and spittle catching in the corners of his mouth. Luke stared at him. Frayner had given in to his rage, further confirmation that he could be the enemy he sought.

As Luke had surmised, Nimrod’s lack of moderation might well be one way to defeat him. Now was a time for caution, but also an opportunity to observe how Frayner lost control because that would show the way to make him lose it again at a time of Luke’s choosing. But was Frayner Nimrod? Surely, not even a sunderer would risk a confrontation such as this in broad daylight? His deeds were best accomplished under cover of darkness. Luke continued to gaze at Frayner as if the other were a freak on show at a fair.

Frayner waved a fist as if preparing to strike.

“You will not ignore me, peasant.”

Luke pushed Alys farther along the road. “Walk on a little way, child. I will catch you up as soon as this gentleman and I have finished our conversation.”

They both watched the girl until she was out of earshot. Then Luke turned and faced his tormentor.

“I will not give your vile accusations credence by replying to them, but I tell you this. Do not accuse me of anything without proof, priest, whether that be of sorcery or immoral living. Have a care. I know well that you tortured my friends in an effort to make them confess to a lie.”

“You dare to threaten me? You jumped-up scurvy rascal. Do you think you can intimidate a servant of God? Be warned, sorcerer. I will bring your devil deeds into the light of day.”

Luke’s rising anger was like the river in full flood. He did not stop to consider his words or the authority of the man to whom he addressed them. All his frustrations of the past weeks came pouring out in a flow that made the priest step back.

“I repeat. You are no man of God. You fear to come at me directly, so attack me through my friends. And you are so bent on using them that you have caused an innocent man and a delicate woman pain, illness and humiliation. I would not have been so angry had I thought you believed your fantasy, but you used them as if they were of no consequence. And because of it, a good man lies broken and speechless in his bed. What true God-fearing man would do that? Nay, take counsel and keep out of my way.”

“Or you will do what? You are too taken up with your bawd there to cause me a moment’s agitation. I know what you are and I will break you. I have friends in higher places than you can dream of.”

Luke could not stop the eruption of laughter that spilled from him, almost bending him double. Enraged beyond measure, Frayner kicked out, but the protection spell around the apothecary redirected his foot and overbalanced him. Instead of Luke sitting stricken in the dust, it was the priest who sat, looking foolish.

Luke’s gales of merriment reached their height and he realized he was reacting to the strains of recent events. He stopped laughing with difficulty and put out a hand to help the priest to his feet. True to form, Frayner ignored him.

“Do not touch me, necromancer. I will see you swing before I am done.”

“In that case, I feel sorry for you,” Luke replied and walked on to where Alys waited.

“The sexton spoke true. You have made a bad enemy there,” she said.

“Aye, but I shall try to make sure he does not cause me further problems.”

A short while later and they were back in the Outer Green. They moved into the kitchen and Alys set about making up the fire and preparing a meal. Luke began to replenish his remedies. Whilst his fingers were busy weighing and measuring, his mind pondered the long speculative look Frayner had directed at Alys. Few outside the palace knew who she was. There was bound to be some conjecture about her.

Why was the priest interested in Alys? Did Frayner know that Alys had come from the palace, and if so, how? He might well have family friends at court, but that did not prove he had ever set foot inside Hampton Court. How could Luke find out if he had?

After carefully pouring the prepared oils into a jar, Luke closed his shop door and the shutter. He called Alys through from the kitchen.

“Sit down there, child,” he said pointing at the settle. “Do not be afraid. I need to ask you some questions about your life in the palace, but you are looking a little tired, so I’ve made you a soothing drink.”

Her eyes never left his as she took the beaker and drained it, but they lost their focus. Luke nodded and sat opposite her. The potion was already doing its work. He hoped she had regained enough strength to withstand the candor spell, but felt he could wait no longer to question her. He needed information now. She would give him the facts as she believed them to be.

“Can you hear me, Alys?”

“Aye.”

“How long did you know Edith Brook?”

“She befriended me on my first day when I could not find the Queen’s needlework. She was kind when the other girls teased me and made me cry.”

“When she collected water for the Queen’s bath, did you help her?”

“The Queen was angry because she wished to bathe and her ladies argued with her. In the end she pointed to us and ordered the linen and water to be prepared. At first, we both helped but then Edie said I should go back to the fire because I had spilled water down my skirt. She did not want me to take a chill, so I did as she told me and sat down to wait, but she never came. When Her Grace asked about the bath, one of the ladies said she would find out, and because Edie had not come back, I followed her.” Alys’s voice grew hoarse, tears gathered in her eyes. “She helped me and now she is dead and I have no friends.”

“You are safe here with Rob and me, child. Nothing can harm you. Describe exactly what happened when you followed the lady-in-waiting...”

A thunderous knocking at the shop door made Luke curse. Rubbing his hands together until they were hot, he blew sparkling dust into the girl’s face. She came back to the present with a start.

Luke threw open the door to reveal a grim-faced Byram Creswell.

“Captain, enter and take some refreshment.”