The Assassin's Wife (22 page)

“So, you’re here at last.” Warm, triumphant laughter welcomed me into a firm embrace. “And haven’t I waited long enough?” Caged in his arms, the heat of his body overwhelmed my senses. Dizzy with desire, I melted into the enchantment of those stormy blue eyes, my hands pressed against his chest. What magic made me so bold? Drops of rain fell on my face as he bent his head, his mouth at last seeking mine. Was this the passion I’d dreamed of for so long? The kiss roused a sweet, wild hunger and we clung together as if drowning.

“Come with me, lass.”

In an instant I was lost—all thoughts of duty, all concept of loyalty or integrity swallowed up in that one delicious moment.

He mounted a silver-dappled horse and stooped to swing me up into the saddle before him when a guttural voice called out.
 

“Nan, my lady is sick. She asks for you.” Gerta, her heavy face paler than usual, dragged at my arm.

Torn— one hand on the horse’s neck, yet forced to pity by the desperate pleading in Gerta’s eyes— I dithered in the damp dung stench of the stable-yard.

“You can find me at the Boar’s Head.” My lover pressed my palm to his lips, his eyes full of warning sparks. “Your mistress will be gone from the city in a day or so. I’ll wait for you there.”
 

He spurred away into the bone-chilling drizzle, and like a sleep-walker I followed Gerta back into the house.
 

I found Eleanor stooped at the privy. When she’d done with retching and could rise from her knees, I helped her to her chamber.
 

“I suppose you know who our visitor was?” She crouched on the settle like a wounded animal, eyes dull as agate, face white and drawn. Tendrils of sweat-soaked, yellow hair clung to her neck and shoulders.

“Jack said it was the Duchess of York.” I draped a shawl about her, distressed by the shocking deterioration in her appearance and conscious of the damp seeping through to my skin.
 

“She told me to stop bothering the king! Can you believe that?” She plucked at the fabric of her skirts. “He’s very young and over-rash with his favours,” she said. “And like all young men, his ardour burns hot for a little while but then—” She struggled to deny the rising sobs. “But he loves me! You heard him promise—so how can she tear us apart?”

What could I say? Could kings break oaths? If only I could ask Brother Brian’s advice—
 

“She ordered me to leave for Sudeley at once. But how can I go, like this—?” Without warning, she sprang to her feet, casting aside the shawl, her eyes rolling. Up and down the chamber she paced, twisting her hands—a familiar sign of growing agitation.
 

“Is there no one who might help you?” This frantic pacing set my teeth on edge. My own thoughts span, plotting ways I might follow after my black-haired lover. Anything to get away from that wretched house!

“Do you think I should go to the king?”

“No!” The rising hysteria in her voice terrified. “He’ll surely send for you—”

Why did I lie? I knew, despite his promise, Edward of March would never send for her again.

“Joan says you’ve a sister in Norfolk—”

The wild look in her eyes reminded me of a trapped deer but the sudden eerie sound of her laughter made my hair stand on end. In the grey winter light, her face gleamed corpse-pale, the pearls about her neck like a rope. “Ned asked me to keep our betrothal secret, but secrets will out. One day I’ll have revenge for this perfidy—”

She laughed again, a chilling, discordant trill. “Tell Joan and Lionel to make ready for departure. They must go on to Sudeley this day. You and I leave for Norfolk at first light.”

* * * * *

Eleanor didn’t bother to bid Joan and Lionel farewell. She shut herself in her bed-chamber while the rest of us helped the carter and his lad heap the baggage high. Joan and I parted with tears and foolish promises.

“I don’t know why I’m crying.” She gripped me in a fierce hug. “You’ll soon be joining us at Sudeley.”
 

A misty-eyed Lionel lifted her on to the cart and we watched them trot away on the first part of their long journey.
 

How empty the house seemed without them! I set Alison and Jack to prepare supper while Gerta and I packed for the journey to Norfolk.

Engrossed in wrapping my lady’s precious Book of Hours in soft cloth, I turned suddenly to find Little Jack standing in the chamber doorway looking frightened.

“Canon Stillington’s serving-man’s taken the chaplain away.”
 

“What?”

“He asked me to take him to Brother Thomas. He was very angry.”
 

“Why?” I shook the boy by the shoulders, annoyed by his confusion. “Oh you stupid boy! Why didn’t you come to me? What have you done?”

“He said Canon Stillington wanted to speak to him upon a very important matter.” Jack gulped back tears. “And Gerta said Dame Butler mustn’t be disturbed. So I took him to the chapel. Did I do wrong?”

“It was a mistake.” I swallowed my rage with difficulty. “Gerta should have consulted me. It’s not your fault. Forget about it now.”
 

Next morning Eleanor handed the keys of the house to Gerta and dispatched her to return them to her cousin in Barnet. Without another word she allowed the carter to help her up while I comforted a sorrowful Alison in the street.
 

“Go to the Mercer’s shop in Bread Street,” I said, ignoring Eleanor’s calls for haste. “Speak to Harry. Tell him I sent you.” I dropped a kiss on little Jack’s tousled head before climbing on to the cart. “They’ll give you work.”
 

As the horse jolted forward, I held up a hand in farewell. Alison draped her arm about Jack’s shoulders and he looked up piteously, his nose drivelling snot from weeping. A heavy sense of foreboding fell upon me as the cart rolled towards Norfolk.
 

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Eleanor’s arrival caused uproar.
 

“Your mistress has caused no end of trouble.” The Duchess of Norfolk’s russet-haired serving-maid collapsed into infectious giggles.

Outraged, the haughty pack of household servants in the hall stared down their elegant noses as if they smelt something unsavoury.

“Drink your ale,” the maid said. She clamped her hand over her mouth to smother further mirth. Her eyes danced. “I’ve something to show you.”

Cleverly, she drew me away from the prying eyes. No doubt they talked of me over dinner while we hid together in an alcove on the magnificent manor’s great oak staircase. “You should have heard them quarrelling,” she said, clutching at my arm, tears of laughter brimming in her eyes. “I’ve never seen the Duke in such a passion, and now he’s ridden off to his estate at Framlington. Oh, this will provide gossip for days and days!”
 

“But what did he say?”
 

I’d some inkling of what might have hatched the raised voices and the slamming doors but I wanted to discover how much the rest of the household actually knew.

“Why, that Dame Butler’s played the harlot, and even if she
is
his wife’s sister, he’ll not let her bring dishonour on his family.” Her amber eyes sparkled. “Oh you should’ve heard him rail!”

“But my lady’s no harlot.” Now the secret was out I felt compassion for poor, jilted Eleanor. It was too late for anger.

“No?” The maid’s impertinent grin widened. “But she didn’t get herself with child without she danced the bed-chamber jig with some knave, did she?”

“No knave,” I replied hotly. “My lady’s no wanton.”

“Then you know who the child’s father is?” The amber eyes grew round with curiosity, the pert face pink with excitement.

“No,” I lied.

Throwing back her russet curls, the flighty wench uttered an earthy, full-throated gurgle. “You must know something otherwise you wouldn’t look so guilty.” She gave me a sly look.
 

“I know nothing to speak of.” The bloom in my cheeks betrayed me. I feared she’d see into my mind where the king’s golden image roamed, vivid as the knight in the huge arras hanging on the wall behind us.

But she laughed again without rancour. “Of course not,” she said artfully.

When I made some feeble excuse and fled down the stairs, she hung over the banister to call after me, “But why is it such a secret?” Her trills of mischievous laughter taunted me all the way back to the servants’ quarters.

“The Duke’s banished Dame Butler from his house.” A bold-eyed kitchen wench plainly relished muttering this information as she passed me in the corridor. The loftier servants eyed me suspiciously, flicking furtive signals to one another until I grew so uncomfortable I sought refuge in the chilly, sun-lit gardens. While I wandered up and down the avenues of wind-whipped trees, shivering in my thin cloak, Eleanor’s troubled sister persuaded her to enter a convent.
 

It seemed a simple, heartless, solution. Clinging to the belief that the king would still send for her, Eleanor agreed. But she wouldn’t part with me.
 

“Without your aid how can I bear it?” Her eyes clouded, stormy with grief. “Stay with me, Nan, at least until September.”

“Until September,” I said, steeling myself to endure further servitude.

I imagined the convent to be something like the monasteries in which I’d stayed on my journey to London with Brother Brian almost four years before. My mind recoiled from the memory of those meagre lodgings, the bone-gnawing cold and the sad-faced monks, the melancholy tolling of the bells, the eerie chanting and perpetual twilight.
 

“The Sisters at Norwich are Carmelites.” The Duchess patiently explained matters to her sister. “Their lives are sheltered, dedicated to prayer and contemplation. I’m sure you’ll find it a comfort at this difficult time and as a tertiary you may receive visitors.”
 

Sitting mouse-small and still in a shadowy corner of her grand and gilded parlour, I listened as she counselled Eleanor to be strong. Having witnessed Eleanor’s past piety, I thought she’d find little hardship in such a mode of living but I quailed for myself.

“The Sisters eschew vanity. They embrace poverty and chastity.” The Duchess’s sombre words fell upon me like drenching rain. How would I endure it? The memory of my black-haired lover tormented me. I didn’t even know his name! How long would he wait?

Outside the convent’s lofty, ivy draggled walls, I looked back toward the river, watched the rippling sunlight dancing on its surface, and glanced up to follow the graceful, arcing flight of a swan, silver against the blue-washed sky. I’m bidding farewell to freedom, I thought, as the great gates swallowed us up.

“Welcome.” An elderly woman with a white mantle over her brown habit glided toward us. Eleanor’s face lit up with a serenity that terrified, but an overwhelming urge to run clutched me in its vice. My panicked gaze flicked at the high, encircling walls, the crouching buildings, the arching cloisters and the long, long rows of inhospitable stone. Would my black-haired lover keep looking for me at the Boar’s Head tavern? September suddenly seemed a long time away.

On the second day of our confinement Stillington appeared, black-clad and sleek, demanding speech with Eleanor. Had the Duke sent him? What did it matter? Eleanor’s fate was sealed. What business could Stillington have with her now?

Surprisingly, he sought me out. “Ah, yes, the serving maid.” His head bobbed. “We met at Westminster.” The yellow eyes gleamed savage, unflinching.
 

“Do you love your mistress, girl?”

I swallowed hard, my mouth so dust-dry I couldn’t speak.

“You wouldn’t want any harm to come to her?” He waited, his murderous smile an ominous caress, allowing me time to digest the implication of these words. “You’ve no memory of her
encounters
with King Edward?”

I flinched at the menacing stress. I knew Ned Plantagenet had cast Eleanor off as carelessly as he cast off his gorgeous robes at the end of the day. He wouldn’t be sending for her. If he thought of her at all, it would be as a mere dalliance. But now I recognised Stillington meant to silence both of us.