The Assassin's Wife (42 page)

“Then where?”
 

Conscious of his scrutiny, I turned my head away to dip my pen into the little bowl of ink. “I learned at Norwich.”
 

“Ah, from the Butler widow.”

Something sinister in the way Miles pronounced this remark made me wary. My shoulders tensed. We’d spoken little of my time with Eleanor and I often wondered what Miles knew about her. I didn’t mention Sister Absalom.

“I’m a poor scholar.” Surveying my work, I attempted lightness. “I fear Harry will have a hard time with all these blots.”

“I wonder you find so much to say to him and that a baker’s son should have learned such skills. He must find little use for them.” Stung by his surly tone, I swung round to face him with a bold, teasing smile.

“Why I do believe you
are
jealous, Miles! If you must know, poor Harry was
made
to go to school. The Mercers are quite well-to-do and wanted the best for him—but by his own report he got little pleasure though many beatings from his expensive education. Still, it’s proved useful in keeping accounts, and now we live so far apart, we can share news.” I squeezed his hand. “You’ve no cause to worry,” I said mischievously. “I like to tell Harry about you and Dickon and life here in the north. One day I hope you’ll meet.”
 

Pressing my palm to his lips Miles fixed his blue eyes on mine with a fierce intensity that made me tremble. “London has no lure for me. My world’s here with you and Dickon. I need nothing else.”

Folding my letter I prayed he’d never return to the city, but in my heart of hearts I knew an important task remained unfulfilled. Both Mara and Mistress Evans taught me that destiny may not be escaped—only postponed. One day I must save those boys.

“Where’s Guy?”
 

“In the stable, grooming the horses.” Miles fiddled idly with my pen. “The roan mare’s in foal. I said I’d go and take a look. The duke’s anxious about her.”

“I’ll come with you.” I wiped his inky fingers with the rag I kept for the purpose. “Let’s look in the nursery afterward. Dickon sometimes wakes about this time. I’ll make sure Jane Collins needs nothing more for the prince tonight.”

I knelt to help Miles put on his boots again and he wound a shawl around my shoulders, reminding me of the wind blowing cold off the moors.

“The duke’s ambitious for that lad of his.” We shivered our way down the narrow steps. “He speaks of the honours the king’ll surely heap on the boy when he’s grown. But I think your Lady Anne’s keen to raise a new Neville hero and it’s she who pesters to get the king’s recognition for the lad. You wenches are all the same!”

I thought then of Lady Anne’s greedy cat-eyes and the possessive way she watched her delicate prince. Only yesterday she’d extracted a promise of me to bring the cards to her bower-chamber so I might cast his fortune. She couldn’t forget the crown I’d seen in hers.

“Little Lord Ned will need to grow stronger if he’s to be another Warwick.”

“Aye, but doesn’t she rely on you to perform some spell upon him to make it so?” Miles widened his eyes knowingly. I looked up in astonishment. Unsure of his intention, I chose to brush aside the remark.

“Of course,” I answered with a pert smile. “Am I not able to bewitch all men?”

Chapter Fifty-Three

“Why can’t it always be like this?”

We sprawled on a tumbling hillside by a stream. Snatching a rare opportunity to escape the confines of the castle and the restrictions of duty, we sought the freedom of the moors. Exhilarated by the brilliant April sunshine, we splashed with Dickon in the shallow water or chased him among the furze and harebells. Worn out at last, he rolled like a young pony in the long grass to fall asleep by an outcrop of rough stone, one fat cheek pillowed on a tussock, chubby arms flung carelessly above his head.
 

For a blissful moment, Miles and I lay side by side on our backs gazing up at the sweeping blue dome of sky, soaking up the sun’s warmth.

“I wish we could keep this moment forever.”
 

Miles laughed. “There’s nowhere better than these moors in spring.”

Leaning on one elbow, I followed his gaze. Hills and dales swathed in luscious greenery stretched out before us like a mariner’s chart. The heady scents and bees’ drone lulled me. I yawned and stretched, contented as a cat, so that Miles caught me in his arms and twined around me in drowsy, murmuring comfort.
 

Startled by a kestrel’s shriek we woke to the urgent drum of horse-hooves. Miles sprang up at once.

“Someone’s in a hurry.” Shielding his eyes against the light he squinted back towards the castle.

Finding himself in an unaccustomed place, Dickon whimpered. Snuggling him close, I pressed his grubby cheek against my neck, watching his eyes grow round with wonder.
 

“What is it?” Foreboding strangled my voice.

Miles shrugged but when Walt’s surly, weather-beaten face appeared over the brow of the hill, I groaned.
 

“Trouble,” he said tersely. He wiped sweat from his bald pate with a grubby rag. “Thou’d best come quick, Master Forrest. The Duke’s asking for thee, and he’s in no mood for sluggards.”

“What’s happened?” I hoisted a gurgling Dickon on to my hip.

Walt’s eyes slid over me with unconcealed contempt. He treated his own wife with churlish indifference and made no attempt at courtesy towards others of a species he considered both inferior and intractable.

“Thou’d best make ready to travel.” He addressed his remark solely to Miles.
 

“Back to Barnard?” Miles picked up his discarded jerkin. His muscles tensed. “Is there rioting in the north again?”

“Nay,” growled Walt. His impatient lolloping gait carried him away from us. He shouted over his shoulder. “I reckon he means thee to go with him to London to sort out summat with Clarence.”

“Clarence?”
 

Miles’s question conveyed surprise. I strained to hear the answer, but Walt created a fair distance between us. Carrying Dickon, I soon trailed behind. The child called out to his father although Miles paid no heed. By the time we reached our apartments, Dickon set up a fearful howling. While I bathed him, told tales I’d had from my father and sang old lullabies, he waged a desperate struggle in my arms until a fretful sleep finally overwhelmed him.

“What’s happening?” I flung myself upon Miles as soon as he opened the door.

“I’ll need some clothes.” He thrust me aside impatiently. “Walt’s right. The Duke wants me to leave with him for London at first light.”

“But why? He hates going to Westminster.”

“I know. Only a serious matter would lure him away from Middleham in such a hurry—”

“But why does he need you? You’re his Keeper of the Wardrobe, not—”

Memories of other secret undertakings rose up alarmingly— the brawl in which Dawkins, the so-called spy, had been killed at Barnard and Lucy’s terrible words: “It’s what he’s hired to do.”

I knelt beside Miles at the cedar-wood chest where he kept his garments. He raised the lid, filling the room with the scent of lavender.

“His brother’s the cause.” He waved a dismissive hand at the scarlet doublet I held up. “It seems he’s accused the queen of murdering his wife.”

“What!”
 

I dropped a jerkin. My sudden yelp woke Dickon. Before I could ask more, I must soothe the child.

Dickon finally yielded to our combined efforts to quiet him. Afterward we shared a cheerless meal brought to our chamber by a sullen serving-man. In the mellow candle-light Miles brooded, his swarthy features wolfish in the red-glow of the fire.

Spurred into nervous action, I gathered up discarded dishes. “What does the duke want you to do in London? Clarence is nothing to us. Surely the king will deal with him?”
 

Miles leaned back against the settle staring at me with stoat-like intensity. At once my festering unease burst into full-blown fear. A spare figure with wispy brown hair knelt at an altar. A bird squawked and an ominous shadow raised a fist—I reeled at the sudden flood of violent images filling my head.
 

“What are these secret errands all about? What is it Gloucester wants from you?”

“You ask too many questions, Nan. Be content to stay in ignorance like other women.” Menace lurked in this mild delivery.

“I can’t live with secrets! People are saying terrible things about you—What am I to believe?”

The blue eyes flashed a warning, but I ignored the danger. My ears rang with the frightful sound of crushed bone, the grunt and thud of a falling body. “Ever since we heard those riders this afternoon and Walt came to spoil everything I can’t rest. Why won’t you tell me about the duke and these mysterious errands? If it were for some good purpose you’d surely—”

“You’re too clever for your own good.” Miles leapt forward snatching my face in so fierce a grip I cried out and the images fled. “Do you think the Duke’s favour comes cheap?” He took a sweeping glance around the opulent wood-panelled chamber hung with rich tapestries, and then with deliberate violence dashed the platters to the floor with his other hand. “Do you think we live like this for nothing? Don’t pretend you know nothing of my obligations to the Duke.”

The pressure on my jaw grew so strong I feared the bone would break. “Lady Anne—” I endeavoured to say in spite of the pain.

Miles released his hold, laughing without humour. The coldness in his eyes terrified.

“Lady Anne may hold you in some regard but she doesn’t control the reins of power. Gloucester puts a high price on loyalty and rewards those who do his bidding. After Barnet I swore I wouldn’t stay a common soldier and sell my life cheaply for any man. As you say, dear wife, Gloucester doesn’t have his brother’s easy nature, but his ambition burns brighter and will lead him far.”

“It’ll lead you into danger.” I nursed my bruised jaw and eyed him boldly.

“No venture is without risk. I decided long ago I’d make myself his henchman so I might share some of the spoils he’ll surely reap.”

“Loyalty’s an admirable virtue. Isn’t it the Duke’s own device: Loyalty binds me?” I bent to pick up the battered pewter dishes, thankful Dickon hadn’t woken. “It may earn a man honour and respect in the eyes of his fellows, but—”

“But it demands unswerving obedience,” Miles finished for me.
 

I couldn’t answer. I set the platters down. For what seemed an eternity, we crouched in uncomfortable silence.
 

“You’re no fool, Nan,” Miles said at last. “You must have guessed.”

His penetrating stare unnerved me.

“I heard talk at Barnard. They said Gloucester held you in high esteem. And Jane Collins always says you’re the Duke’s man.” I glanced at my hands. For a moment I thought them bathed in blood. Resolutely I looked up into the unflinching blue eyes. “But what does that mean, Miles?”

“It means I must do everything he asks of me. I’m bound by my allegiance.”

“Anything
he asks of you?”
 

Miles shrugged. “It’s no hardship to ask a few questions or stop the mouths of a few knaves. Soldiers can’t afford to be squeamish.”

I thought again of Dawkins on the tavern steps with his skull crushed, and then of poor, mad King Henry murdered in the Tower. “But you’re not a soldier now.”

“Don’t trouble yourself with men’s matters,” he said. He pulled me close. “I don’t like it when you grow fanciful.” His hands began the slow purposeful caresses that were always a prelude to rough love-making. “A woman should be soft and tender when her husband’s about to set out on a dangerous journey. She should think only of his comfort.”

He kissed me long and hard. “Tell me, what shall I bring you back from London?” A smile curved his lips, cruel as a blade.

* * * * *

He left at dawn. Peering down into the narrow, shadow-blurred courtyard I saw the duke mount his favourite stallion while Miles and others lurked in attendance. With a heavy heart, I watched the hooded figures turn like a snare of conspirators towards the gate. It marked the end of any certainty or quiet.
 

During the endless, nervous weeks which followed I nibbled on unsatisfactory snippets of news gleaned from passing travellers. I joined a knot of women in the market listening to a glib-tongued peddler.

“The Duke of Clarence’s caused a mighty quarrel in the royal family. He blames a household servant for his wife’s death. This wench once worked for Queen Elizabeth, so the queen accuses Clarence of insulting her. Will the king intervene? Oh, it’s a very sordid matter, ladies. There’s even talk of sorcery—”

But in the twilight of the nursery, Jane Collins spoke of Clarence with some sympathy. “That poor man’s been fair demented since his wife’s death. Lady Isabelle were never strong and that last babe killed her. Nothing to do with servants and poison— That Wydeville wench has allus been a vicious piece of work.” She gave me a sharp look. “I’ve no high opinion of a wench without compassion so don’t stare at me like that, Nan. Did tha never mind the tale of the Desmond boys?”