The Assassin's Wife (44 page)

“Is the prince sick?” I leapt from the bed grabbing clothes.

Her bosom heaved with the effort of running. “That foreign woman’s confessed to practising witchcraft. She’s to be burned for it.”

“Burned—”

Dickon stood up on the bed shouting for attention.

“A foreign woman, you say?”
 

Jane Collins picked up Dickon, jogging him in her arms while I clapped on my garments, clammy hands fumbling with strings and laces. My stomach lurched at the vivid memory of Mara.

“She roamed the fair all morning. It’s a wonder tha didn’t see her. They arrested her in Sheriff Hutton. She’s a beggar or traveller of some kind. She accosted folk in the market and outside the tavern, saying she could read the future. Old Walt says she’s confessed to conjuring spirits.”

Panicked by Jane’s stammering tale, I dressed a chuckling Dickon with some difficulty.

“Walt says women who dabble in black arts should be burned. Oh Nan, does tha still have them cards?”

When I opened my mouth to speak no sound came.

“Lady Anne’s not allus careful about what she says.” Jane’s broad features twisted into a grimace. “I tried to warn thee several times, lass. When little Lord Ned were sick with fever—Remember how we sat up wi’ him night after night? When thou were brewing that coltsfoot remedy, Lady Anne told me tha’d cast her fortune with cards. She said he couldn’t die because tha’ said he’d a long and happy life.”

“I didn’t say that.”
 

“But tha did tell her fortune?”

“A long time ago before the prince was born—when we were at Dowgate together.” Guiltily, I recalled the many times since I’d read the cards. “I only told her she’d bear a living baby boy.”

“And the cards?”
 

For the first time I noticed tears in Jane’s eyes.

“Hidden away. But they’re nothing. An old woman gave them to me—The one who taught me how to use the herbs for healing draughts. I meant no harm.”

“Tha mun destroy them! Oh Nan, dost tha know what danger tha’s in? When Emma came back from the May Fair and mentioned Bishop Stillington, I knew it mun come to this. Tha art playing a dangerous game and if the Duke should find out—”

These words twisted like a knife in my belly. Everyone knew about the Duke’s piety, his abhorrence of ungodly practices. Hadn’t Miles warned me often enough? I could expect no mercy there. And what of Miles himself? During his long absence I trusted in Lady Anne’s protection, wallowing in ignorance like a pig being fattened for the butcher’s knife.

“The whole country’s gone mad with talk of witchcraft. The Duke of Clarence accused that serving woman—Ankaret summat— And now Walt’s ranting about the Bible’s commands for burning witches. Oh Nan, I wouldn’t want to see thee—”
 

Tears drowned the rest. Ignoring Dickon’s fretful wail, I clasped her to me. She held me with the ferocity of a mother animal protecting her cub. For a moment I yielded to the comfort of this embrace. But nothing could assuage my terrible premonition, relentless and annihilating as the fog on the moors.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Although not an enclosed order, the White Brothers of Jervaulx kept silence for much of the day, and received few guests save passing pilgrims. Strict rules governed visits. Badly frightened by the prospect of a witch trial, I determined to see Brother Brian without delay. Seeking Lady Anne’s assistance, I found her in the solar reading a letter with Meg Huddleston and Grace Pullen in attendance.
 

“Of course you must visit your old priest,” she said. “Don’t look so worried, Nan. Doesn’t she look serious?” She flashed her waiting women a teasing smile. “I’ll write to the Abbot on your behalf. He won’t refuse.” She giggled conspiratorially, evidently in a good humour, and I couldn’t help glancing at the letter in her hand.

“Perhaps Master Forrest will be home soon.” She arched her brows mischievously. “And perhaps our dear brother, George of Clarence, has done us a great service after all.” Laughing, she hid the letter in her sleeve and skipped away.
 

Meg Huddleston darted a sly look at Grace which made me feel uncomfortable. Since the rumours of witchcraft at Middleham Fair, I noticed more of these covert looks, and a storm of whispers in the bower chamber. But perhaps a strange mixture of guilt and imagination provoked these feelings? Meg, in particular, delighted in stirring dangerous tittle-tattle. Eyes sparkling with mischief she drew attention to my skill at making remedies from curious plants, hinting about strange country crafts and pretending fear of my powers.
 

“Is it true you saw a witch at the Fair?”
 

Seeing Grace hide a smirk behind her sleeve, I forced a smile. Linking an arm in Meg’s, I drew her with me to the settle.

“Do you know,” I said, adopting such a friendly manner she was plainly startled. “I was there all day with the little nursery-maid but we missed all the excitement. Is it true she’s a foreign woman?”
 

My feigned ignorance clearly surprised her but she retained her composure.

“I believe so. But there are so many rumours it’s difficult to know what to think.” Flashing Grace an appeal for rescue she rose gracefully. “Forgive me, Nan, but we have an appointment with Master Giacomo concerning music lessons.”

Alone in the solar, I sat haunted by memories of Mara. Suppose the woman arrested at the Fair was one of the Rom I knew? In spite of the brilliant May sunshine, I shuddered. Perhaps Brother Brian could supply an answer to this mystery.

* * * * *

Strolling among the abbey herb gardens with my erstwhile priest some days later, I recalled Lady Anne’s unexpected behaviour. Thanks to her, the Abbot granted Brother Brian the quiet hours for private prayer and spiritual readings till Vespers to spend with me. Sister Ursula of the grudging, gargoyle face would never have approved this dispensation.

The aromatic scent of flowers wafted on the breeze; bees hummed lazy lullabies amongst the carefully tended plants; birds chirruped in the leaves—but my thoughts ran restless, goaded by fears of discovery and denouncement.
 

“Stillington came to Jervaulx some three or four months ago,” said the priest, when we were out of earshot of the infirmary building. His voice trembled, tightened by extreme anxiety. “He acquired my letters to you of a Sister Absalom at Norwich. Discovering you’d escaped from the convent, he sent his people searching for you—but without success. By the time he reached the abbey a fume of ill-temper shook him. He questioned me about your present whereabouts several times.” Fear lurked in his eyes. “What is it he seeks of you so urgently?”
 

Twisting my fingers in a fever of apprehension, I surveyed the dusty tracks beside the neatly planted rows of lavender. How should I answer? To reveal my secret would burden him. Yet he was the one person I trusted.

“I met Stillington at Westminster.” I halted, weighing each word carefully. “It was when Dame Eleanor pressed her petition to King Edward. I believe he suspected something irregular in their relationship—When you were at St John’s I told you about her infatuation, if you remember—”

The mention of the priory clearly stirred a different memory. Anguish flickered in the priest’s eyes.
 

“I do recall it.” Pausing as if to consider the matter deeper he sighed and shook his head. “But how can this be of interest to the bishop—unless—” A sudden stab of understanding seemed to pierce him. “Is this then the reason for his recent association with Clarence?”
 

“Clarence?”

“There’s some tale about Clarence questioning the validity of the king’s marriage—”

“Then Stillington
has
told him!”
 

My sharp cry startled the priest. He drew me to a bench. Several novice monks tending the gardens stared in our direction.

“What is it, Nan? I’m thinking you have something heavy on your mind—something you need to tell me.”

How well the priest knew me. Wistfully, I smiled up at him. Like the little girl who’d travelled with him to London all those years ago, I put a trusting hand in his.

“King Edward promised Eleanor Butler marriage,” I said. “I witnessed his pledge.”

The priest’s eyes widened.

“Only I and Brother Thomas—Dame Eleanor’s chaplain—knew of it. I don’t know what became of Brother Thomas, although Eleanor’s scullion said Stillington’s man took him away—and me, Stillington locked up in the Norwich convent, as you know. He seemed very anxious then to scotch any gossip. My escape must have shocked him. Once he sought my silence, but now he seeks me out to further a different purpose. No doubt Clarence promised him great honours if he attains the crown.” I squeezed Brother Brian’s tremulous hand. “It’s a secret I’ve guarded a long time. And now I’ve placed you in grave danger by sharing it. Forgive me.”

Withdrawing my hand, I bent my head like a penitent. Around us the birdsong continued to flow harmoniously, the soft breeze fanned the trees, the insects droned. All remained the same. Yet in a single moment I had destroyed the old monk’s peace entirely.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Nan.” His low, melodious voice proved comforting. “Haven’t we shared our troubles through the years? And once again I’m after fearing for your safety. But where can I hide you now?”

“No need,” I answered. I met his troubled gaze without blinking. “Stillington will find me soon enough. But first he’ll wait for the opportunity that suits him best.” I laughed suddenly, recalling the prelate’s shrewd, predatory eyes. The discordant sound startled Brother Brian. He touched my hand, his gaunt face twisted with anxiety. I shook my head. “Don’t worry. I’m valuable to Stillington now. Though once he desired to stop my tongue, now he may require me to speak out. All depends on Clarence and the king. They say at Middleham the queen’s angry and the king will do anything to soothe her. And even Lady Anne—Oh, these royal cousins are devious in their desires. Your presence is my greatest comfort. All we can do is wait.”

I rose as if to continue our walk, my confidence too fragile a disguise to pursue conversation. Nor dare I mention the witchcraft arrest or the cards. Instead, I spoke of Lady Anne and how she’d brought me to Middleham, of Dickon, and the little Gloucester prince. Yet all the time my mind ran upon Miles and his secret errand in the city. What scheme had Gloucester devised concerning his reckless brother, Clarence? Could it be Lady Anne pursued her own ambitious purposes? Miles was wrong about her influence. She knew well how to manipulate her husband. I reeled at the magnitude of my own suspicions.

“The light’s fading.” Brother Brian drew my attention to the dappled shadows gathering round us like curious watchers. “You’ve a long walk back to the castle.”

By a honeysuckle hedge, its sultry fragrance heavy and languorous in the evening heat, we faced each other uneasily.

“Will I see you again?”
 

“Of course.” He laid a resolute hand on my arm. “In the meantime I shall pray for your safety.”

The bells tolled for Vespers. Looking back, I saw one of the young novices engage Brother Brian in conversation—a delicate looking lad with pale blonde hair. For a moment as the setting sun flickered through the leaves, I thought him Alan Palmer.

Chapter Fifty-Six

The priest and I met infrequently—a situation which troubled us—sometimes on market days when it proved difficult to speak freely and occasionally at the abbey where too many listeners lurked. So we wrote to one another instead. Letters at least enabled us to share something of our concerns.

One warm afternoon the following month the clatter of horse-hooves mingled with hearty cries of welcome drew me from the latest letter I was penning. Peering through the casement, I glimpsed the Duke of Gloucester dismounting from his huge grey stallion and spotted Miles among his entourage. Rubbing ink from my fingers, I flew down the steps out into the courtyard. By the time I got there Gloucester had gone. I pushed my way through a mass of people clustered about the horses, heedless of the grinning men-folk.

“Well, lass, have you missed me?” Miles seized me in his arms and kissed me. His teeth drew blood.
 

Someone snorted disapprovingly and I noted the grind of Walt’s surly muttering. Behind Miles I spied a youthful face painted with an insolent grin.

“See to the horses, Jack.” Miles turned towards its owner. “Walt’ll show you where. I’ve business to attend to with my wife.” The low laugh and sly wink amused the watchers and their answering sniggers and coarse jests made my face burn like a brand. Grinning wider as he returned the wink, the bold-faced lad took the horses. Something vaguely familiar in the angles of his face disconcerted me, but Miles urged me indoors. All the way up the stairs to our chambers his mouth worried at my neck. Between kisses and muttered endearments his eager hands fumbled at my breasts.