The Assassin's Wife (59 page)

“Mother, this is Mistress Forrest of whom I spoke yesterday. She can be depended on to oversee the prince’s health. And I’ve appointed Anne Idley Mistress of the Nursery so you’ve no need to worry while I’m away.” The elder of the two nodded. “Mistress Collins is too old to take responsibility,” the duchess said. “My husband advised Anne Idley as a suitable replacement. The Collins woman frets over-much—”

“She was worried about Emma running off with Jack Green—”

“Then she’s more foolish than I thought. Master Green turns the heads of all the young wenches—These serving girls are just dizzy butterflies. Mistress Collins will be happier in retirement.”
 

How could she dismiss years of loyal service so callously? I clenched my fists and opened my mouth to protest, but she continued without noticing. “Ned’s too delicate for an arduous journey. I rely on
your skill
to care for him, Nan.”
 

“Your Grace,” I took a breath. Daringly, I brushed aside the implication of her words. “I would esteem it a great favour if I might accompany you to London.”

She shook her head. “Impossible.” Her eyes gleamed hard as agate now. “Though I value your loyalty and discretion, I can’t take you this time. My son’s safety is too important.”

“My husband—”

“Will be well rewarded for his service to mine,” she answered swiftly. She executed another imperious flick of her jewelled fingers. “I’ll need you later. In the meantime, let my boy play with yours and continue their studies. Ned cherishes Dickon’s companionship.” She looked at me pointedly. “It’ll prove worthwhile for Dickon to have Ned’s patronage in the future. I’ve told Master Metcalf the riding lessons may continue, providing you consider the prince in good health.” She took my hand. Through the hot, dry fingers I sensed the extraordinary strength of her will. Her pretty, pointed face flushed, animated to the point of exhilaration. “Extraordinary times are upon us.” She drew me further away, halting before a brightly painted wall, where she pointed out maidens frolicking with nimble unicorns on green meadows spangled with flowers. I pretended interest in the pictures while she whispered in my ear, leaning so close I smelled the scent of vervain she favoured. “Didn’t you tell me I would one day wear a crown? How proud my father would have been when that moment comes to pass!”

The import of this unguarded speech appalled me. But when I opened my mouth to speak, she placed a finger on her lips to signify a secret, her eyes dancing with merriment.

“Say nothing.” She twisted the large, pear-shaped pearl hanging from her leather and gold hip-belt, as if considering some great matter. “Let’s see how events shape our destinies.” Her eyes grew grave but they challenged my disbelief. “I promise you, Nan, you’ll not lose by our long friendship.”

In that instant I recalled how her cunning father had manipulated the claimants to the crown. I recognised the same blaze of naked ambition I’d seen in Warwick’s face as he rode through the streets of London. Anne Neville anticipated the coronation with such triumph, I trembled for Elizabeth Wydeville’s boys.

“What do your think about this Henry Tudor?” She peered down into the courtyard as if searching for someone.

“I know little of him, Your Grace.” I answered, puzzled by this abrupt change.
 

“People speak of him constantly. They say he waits in Brittany gathering forces to return to England. Will he ever become king?” The cruel, unexpected squeeze she gave my wrist made me wince. “Don’t pretend you can’t tell me. Before we leave for London I’d have you give me an answer.” Flicking a glance at her mother bent over her tapestry she smiled mischievously. “My husband plans a great progress in the north after the coronation—through York, Lincoln and Nottingham—”
 

I cried out so sharply she sprang away as if confronted by an evil spirit.
 

“What is it?” She crossed herself, her face bleached white.
 

“Nottingham.” I shook with dread, aware of her mother and the other lady now on their feet, faces also blanched in shock. “Oh my lady, don’t go to Nottingham.”

“Why should I avoid Nottingham?”

The chamber door burst open.

“Your Grace—” A flushed Meg Huddleston trembled on the threshold. “A messenger from London desires to speak to you. He’s waiting in the Hall. He says it’s urgent.”

Without another word the duchess swept from the room.

Conscious of the stares and fearing questions, I dropped a swift curtsy and slipped by a puzzled Meg, out into the corridor. Nottingham had summoned a great black cloud about the duchess. I saw her standing on the battlements of the great castle, wind whipping her unbound hair across her face. She wept and cursed, her nails raking empty space. And the duke knelt, arms wrapped about her knees, his shoulders shaking with grief.
 

Leaning against my chamber door, I realised I still held the cloth-of-gold. Though I could never wear such costly fabric, the gift symbolised a talisman of the Gloucesters’ favour. I clutched it to me like a shield.

Chapter Seventy-Four

With the Gloucesters gone and Jane Collins no longer in the nursery, Emma grew disturbingly truculent. Anne Idley showed no interest in my presence but chastised the girl like an impatient abbess. Of Lady Anne’s ladies, only Alice and Genevieve remained at Middleham—but there was no comfort in their company, for they either complained about their exclusion or giggled incessantly.
 

Whenever Dickon and the prince studied with their tutor I roamed the castle, restless and tormented. Since no one would speak of the old priest, it was time to solve the mystery. Knowing I wouldn’t be missed, I pulled a cloak over my head and fled towards Jervaulx.

How grim and silent the monastery brooded in the early morning. Against an eerie, ochre skyline, the sepulchral buildings rebuked me for intrusion. I felt a stranger, unwelcome, lonely.

“Mistress Forrest?”

Recognizing the tiny figure of Brother Ignatius, I requested a meeting with the Abbot. “The matter’s a private one,” I said, eager to dispel any attempt at questions. “I’d be grateful if you’d take me to him.”

The Abbot’s house astounded me with its plain, sparse furnishings. Though clearly disturbed, he greeted me with perfunctory courtesy.

“An unexpected visit, Mistress Forrest,” he said. He blinked like an owl caught in sunlight. “With poor Brother Brian dead these three months—” He crossed himself. “I can’t think what brings you here.” He gestured to a bench.

“That business with Stillington—”

A grimace distorted the florid features. He pressed a finger to his plump lips. “Some things are best kept silent.”

For an instant I imagined I was back at Norwich and listening to Eleanor’s sister.

“But because of me, Brother Brian was put to the torture.” My voice wavered, stricken by memories of the kindly priest.

The Abbot squirmed. “No! no! I’m grieved such wicked rumours should’ve come to your ears.” His eyes blinked furiously. “Brother Brian took a bad fall, nothing else. The shock of it was too great for one of his years.”

The fleshy face assumed an expression of genuine distress, but I knew how cleverly these churchmen could dissemble. Stillington had promised Eleanor assistance once.
 

“But the fall didn’t kill him?”

My question goaded, kindling a spark of pure terror in the myopic eyes.

“He was sick. He’d been ailing for some time, you understand. And Brother Silas was overwrought. His words were perhaps hasty, over-critical. Master Green was always so careful of the old ones.”

“Master Green found Brother Brian?”

“Yes, yes—at the foot of the bell tower. He tried to save him.”

The Abbot’s face quivered, cheeks puce-coloured. Tiny beads of sweat pimpled his upper lip.
 

Coward!
my mind shrieked, outraged by this weak deception.
You know Jack Green hastened the priest to his death.
Even Brother Silas finally saw through his sycophantic pupil. I rose at once. A pair of yellow eyes mocked me yet. Stillington had sealed the Abbot’s lips. No one would tell me the truth now.
 

“Are you sure you’re ready to return to Middleham? Would you take some refreshment?” The Abbot quivered by my elbow peering anxiously. I stood stony-faced, unreadable.

“The walk will clear my thoughts.” I strode to the door before he could prevent me. Clenching my teeth, I forced my features into a bland smile. “Please don’t trouble anyone. You’ve answered all my questions, Father. Thank you.”

Outside in the sunlight, the high call of a hawk startled me. In the infirmary gardens the herbs bloomed green and lush. How long ago had I stood in this place, overjoyed to have found Brother Brian again? My throat ached with unshed tears. Through a blur, a young monk stepped from behind a yew hedge into my path. I recognised him instantly. The soft eyes with their viridian core had gazed up at me from out the scrying bowl.
 

“I’m Brother Jude. May I speak to you?”

“I think you’ve something for me.” I laid a gentle hand upon his white sleeve.

“Let’s walk together in the herb garden.” His singular eyes darted a warning for Brother Ignatius lingered by the infirmary door. Jude drew me towards the well-loved plot and we surveyed the neat rows with their fragrant leaves and flowers like old friends who need no speech to understand each other. Vividly I recalled how Brother Brian strolled here and called me “daughter.” Inhaling the scent of lavender became too poignant a memory. I wept.

“I like to think of Brother Brian tending the plants here before his last illness.” Brother Jude’s words, warm with compassion, soothed and comforted. He touched my arm. “I believe you know Master Green from Middleham?”
 

“Jack Green had something to do with this?” Controlling my tears, I gave my suspicions voice.
 

“He spent time in our infirmary learning from Brother Silas skills in herbal preparations.” The unique eyes stared deep into my own. “The duke procured him a dispensation from the Abbot. Master Green flattered Silas with a thousand questions concerning the secrets of his pharmacopoeia. To me he seemed a slippery fellow, though his lies were plausible enough.”

“I tried to warn Brother Brian about his treachery.”
 

“The Book of Leviticus is very specific concerning the relationships between men.” Jude’s eyes now fixed upon some distant point, a delicate flush staining his cheeks. “Bishop Stillington was fond of quoting it. His visits made Brother Brian the object of much speculation. Ugly rumours about his past circulated. Some said he had unnatural relations with young men in his parish when he was a village priest. In the light of this the Abbot instructed him to spend his days in the infirmary. It was here he suddenly took ill.”

My mind reeled with the memory of Alan Palmer’s white face—the scene I’d unwittingly witnessed at St John’s. “What do you mean?”
 

“He was poisoned.”
 

“Poisoned!”

“He fell into deepest melancholy after Bishop Stillington’s last visit. Because he wouldn’t eat, Brother Silas insisted on preparing special possets for him. Three days before his death, I found him in the latrines wracked with belly-cramps, vomiting profusely. Brother Silas was frightened. He said the symptoms suggested the ingestion of aconite.”
 

“Jack Green!”
 

“The poison didn’t kill him,” Jude said swiftly. “It was the fall. But what induced him to climb the bell tower? Our Abbot says these old ones are sometimes seized with strange fancies.” He looked at me expectantly.

“My husband mentioned a novice named Edwin who spoke to Master Green—” I looked back in the same expectant manner.

The flush in Brother Jude’s cheeks deepened. “Edwin’s repented of his indiscretion. But whether Master Green had anything to do with Brother Brian’s fall, I can’t be certain.” His voice cracked with emotion. “He helped us carry Brian to the infirmary. Brian’s wrists snapped as he reached out to save himself and one of his legs was broken. Worst of all his face— twisted into a black agony like the image of Our Lord on the Cross. To me this suggested something more sinister than a stumble.”

“Was he conscious?”

“Yes, and in great pain— though he made no complaint. Our Lord Abbot counselled silence. He says nothing must bring the abbey into disrepute.”
 

“But Master Green hasn’t been seen since.” I clenched my jaw. Understanding hardened my words.
 

Jude glanced nervously toward the infirmary. “Since I read the contents of the journal I found hidden among Brian’s manuscripts in the library, I’ve grown more and more convinced he was the victim of foul play.” He fumbled in his sleeve. “I think you should have it.”

Swiftly, I hid the vellum-wrapped bundle in the folds of my gown.
 

“I sat with Brian in his final hours.” Jude plucked a sprig of rosemary. “He spoke of you many times.” The extraordinary eyes brimmed with tears. “He craved your forgiveness for his cowardice. He loved you very much. No one could condemn such love. And I truly believe he was received into the kingdom of heaven at the last.”