The Doublet Affair (Ursula Blanchard Mysteries) (15 page)

I slept.

I
wasted little time the next morning on making excuses. At breakfast, I simply announced that I had decided to visit my daughter Meg anyway and would be away for a few days.

“Oh dear,” said Ann. “Will you be coming back, Mrs. Blanchard? I’ve been so thankful to have you. Jane showed me some of her embroidery yesterday and you’ve done wonders with her already.”

“But of course Mrs. Blanchard must visit her daughter if she wishes,” said Leonard Mason severely. “And she must not be pressed to come back against her will.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking her to come back against her will, but I’ll certainly be glad to see her if she wants to come,” said Ann, quite sharply, making me wonder if she wasn’t perhaps a stronger character than she usually seemed.

“I intend to return, and quite soon,” I said. “I’ll set tasks for the girls before I go and ask Pen to see that they are carried out. Pen is old enough to take responsibility now. It will be good for her.”

“I can’t understand,” remarked Crichton, “why, since I believe you are here in order to rest from your court duties, Mrs. Blanchard, you are not staying with the Hendersons, with your daughter.”

I had wondered whether anyone would think of asking that. “One cannot impose,” I said. “The Hendersons have shown great kindness in fostering Meg, and there is little I can do in return. Here, at least, I can help teach the children. Call it pride, if you will. Also, it is best for Meg not to grow used to my company for long periods at a time. She will so rarely be able to have it.”

“Oh, how sad it is that you have no proper home in which to rear your daughter yourself!” Ann exclaimed.

“No doubt Mrs. Blanchard finds compensations in the interest and freedom of court life,” said Mason in a frigid voice. I would be glad to be away from that coldness for a while, I thought.

I took Brockley and Dale, Dale initially riding Mouse, the brown gelding which Rob had lent her and had left at Lockhill for her to use if necessary. We took small amounts of clothing, in saddlebags, and no packhorse, and we travelled post, changing horses at Maidenhead. We reached Thamesbank easily that same afternoon.

Mattie and Rob were pleased, if surprised, to see me and I found Meg in splendid health, playing with the Henderson children in their big nursery, under the eye of the Henderson nurse and Meg’s nurse, Bridget. My daughter ran to me excitedly when I entered the room and then, remembering her manners, stopped short just as she reached me and curtsied. I scooped her up
for a hug. “My lovely girl.” Never had I wished so much that I could be simply a mother visiting her child.

But I was here on darker business, whether I liked it or not. Mattie Henderson left me in the nursery, saying I should join her in the parlour when I was ready, and for an hour I played with Meg, asked about her lessons and heard her sing a song she had been learning. But at last, perforce, I had to return to my hosts. Promising to return at bedtime and hear her say her prayers, I kissed her and then went to the parlour where the Hendersons awaited me, with Dale. Mulled wine and a filling dish of eels in a herb sauce were brought in for myself and Dale, and Rob Henderson, sitting relaxed on a settle and watching us, asked the question I expected.

“Something to report?”

“No, not that. But I am anxious to find something out,” I said. “Two things, in fact. To begin with, I sent word to Cecil a few days ago, saying I thought someone at Lockhill might be suspicious of me and asking if anyone at this end could have been . . . indiscreet.”

“Or acting as an informer?” enquired Rob.

“Exactly. Has Cecil made enquiries, do you know?”

“Oh, yes,” Rob said. “I would have told you, before many minutes had passed. You’ve forestalled me. The enquiries have been made and the results were interesting—but not very useful, I’m afraid.”

“Really? How do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Rob, “that we think there was an informer in Cecil’s household. You’ve met him. I believe he collected you from the court the last time
you dined there. Cecil thought of him at once. A well-spoken youth called Paul Fenn. His father is dead now, but he was known to be a Catholic sympathiser.”

“Paul Fenn!” I remembered him well: the thick fair hair under the dashing cap; the mixture of respect and complete self-confidence; the handsome young face; the beautiful teeth, and the one front tooth that overlapped its neighbour.

“We think so,” Rob said. “Cecil began by questioning other members of his household about Fenn’s movements at certain times. The very first thing to emerge was that Fenn had been seen walking in the street with a Dr. Ignatius Wilkins. Lady Mildred’s maid knew Wilkins by sight because she was with her mistress when the Cecils met Wilkins in a merchant’s warehouse. It appears that Sir William has certain suspicions about Wilkins.”

“Yes, he has. He told me so.”

“It also appears,” said Rob, “that some of the correspondence between Lady Mildred and the Masons, arranging for you to go there, was left about on various occasions. Of course, it said nothing of your real mission to Lockhill, but if Fenn saw it and was impolite enough to read it, he might have wondered why Lady Mildred was taking great care to imply that the Cecils didn’t know you well, when, of course, they do.”

“Members of Cecil’s household would know that I was on visiting terms in Canon Row,” I agreed. I began to think aloud. “If the letters contradicted that, it would certainly look odd. And if Fenn somehow had knowledge of a conspiracy in Lockhill—or was even part of it—and if he spoke of this to Wilkins, and
Wilkins is part of it too . . . What did Fenn himself say? I take it he was questioned?”

“No,” said Rob. “That’s why I said that the enquiries haven’t been very useful. He’s disappeared. We assume that he heard that his fellow servants were being asked about him. When Cecil sent for him, he couldn’t be found. The quarry has escaped and taken his knowledge with him.”

“Which leaves us no further on,” I said. “And I’ve so far failed to examine Mason’s papers. Well, well. All mystery and no solution; that’s how it seems. But I do have one other idea, though I can’t be sure that it will be any use. That’s the other reason why I’m here, Rob: I need your help. I believe a certain untruth has been told and I want to know by whom and why. What I need is . . .”

• • •

There was a mist on the Thames. From the centre of the river, the banks were mere shadowy outlines, and grey moisture had beaded thickly on our clothes and on the fair hair showing beneath Rob Henderson’s hat. The cold was intense. Although we wore thick cloaks and gloves and fleece-lined boots, our noses were mauve and I could hardly feel my feet.

The Hendersons’ barge had a tiny cabin amidships, and in sheer mercy to Dale, I had sent her to shelter there, and sent Brockley with her. Rob and I, however, remained outside. The rowers’ oars dipped and swung in unison, and Rob glanced round at them, making sure that he couldn’t be overheard, before remarking, “I hope I did right to arrange this. Cecil could have had Bernard Paige interrogated.”

“I doubt if Paige is guilty of anything,” I said “and besides, it’s all so vague as yet. In any case, it might get known, if he were questioned. We mustn’t scare the game away.”

“Is that a pun?” Rob asked, surprising me. “You don’t want to scare the game, you say. Do you look on all this as in some measure—a game? An amusement?”

“Of course not!” I said, and then wondered if there wasn’t some truth in it. There was a part of me which did enjoy the hunt. Would I, could I, ever, really, be the Ursula I wanted to be, Matthew’s wife and Meg’s mother?

Kingston lay behind us, and as we passed Richmond Palace we began to feel the silent power of the ebbtide. I could make out the vague outline of the palace on the right bank, and the flicker of candlelight in some of the windows. In such weather, candles were as necessary by day as by night.

“I’m just doing what I have undertaken to do,” I said. “I’m doing it for the Queen. I only wish I were doing it more competently. At the moment,” I said, “I feel as though I’m sailing into a mist, in more senses than one!”

• • •

It is a long journey by river from Hampton to London Bridge. We slid past Whitehall, and there, too, candlelight glinted through the fog. The place wasn’t empty just because the Queen wasn’t in residence: it was being cleaned. An army of maids and scullions with brooms and buckets was busy in there. There were also supervisors and guards, sanitary engineers
emptying out the cesspits, clerks to issue wages to everyone and query the bills of the sanitary engineers, and cooks to cater for them all.

After the palace, came the backs of the big houses along the Strand, with private jetties jutting into the water. We glided on past Westminster Abbey, going more slowly and bearing to port, taking care, for there was traffic on the river now. A lighter carrying livestock was waiting to go upstream when the tide turned, and assorted vessels were moored at the banks. Tall timber buildings appeared.

We came to rest beside a massive landing stage, under the bows of a merchant ship already berthed there. The tide was well down, and the supports of the stage, dripping wet and green with weed, stood skeletally clear of the water. Wooden steps, also wet but clear of weed, led upwards.

Rob put his hands round his mouth and halloo’d, and figures appeared at the top of the steps. “Master Robert Henderson and Mistress Blanchard and party!” Rob shouted.

One of the vague figures on the stage called for the painter to be thrown up, and another, with a more authoritative voice, bade us make our way up the steps, and to take care with our footing. Dale and Brockley came out of the cabin and we all climbed up to the landing stage.

A big, auburn-bearded man announced himself volubly as Bernard Paige, in person: what a cold, abominable day this was; come in, come in, that way, along the landing stage and through the door straight ahead; rowers in at that door to the left, please.

Paige was clad in a thick mulberry velvet gown with three heavy gold chains across his chest, and a mulberry velvet cap with a huge emerald brooch in it. The door through which he whisked us led to a warm reception room in one of the tall riverside houses, and only when we were out of the weather did he allow Henderson to introduce us. He offered us seats and called for wine for everyone. I had beckoned Dale and Brockley to come with us and not go in by the rowers’ entrance, and goblets were provided for them, too.

“You must all be cold,” Paige declared. “You’ve come a long way on the river, and in this chill mist! Make yourselves at home!”

The reception room had a coal fire, candles, numerous padded stools and settles, tapestried walls. The tray the manservant brought held chased silver goblets, with wine in a matching flagon and cakes on a matching dish. Our host poured the wine himself and told the manservant to take charge of our outdoor cloaks.

Rob sat down beside me and I said into his ear, “I wonder if he gives all his customers this kind of welcome? I know I’m pretending to be rich, but most of his customers are. Anyone would think from this that I was Queen Elizabeth in disguise!”

“If he thought that, the landing stage would be covered in blue carpet! No. The man I sent to make the appointment didn’t only say you were wealthy, he also stressed that I am a friend of the Cecils. I expect the name of Cecil worked most of the magic.”

Paige, settling himself in a carved armchair, raised
his own goblet. “To your very good health, my friends. And as soon as you’re warmed through and refreshed,” he added, “we will go through to the warehouse where I have my best merchandise on display. Meanwhile, tell me precisely what you are looking for.”

Smoothly, I said, “I have more than one errand. To begin with, I require a few lengths of damask to make gowns for my daughter and myself. These, I hope to choose today. But I am also considering a much bigger purchase. I am shortly to lease a property and will need some new furnishings. I shall not actually buy anything until the lease is signed, but I want to see what is available. I should like, Master Paige, to examine some tapestries.”

• • •

Cecil had said that Paige virtually lectured people about his wares, and Cecil was right. While we ate and drank, our host held forth with enthusiasm on his merchandise. He had damasks and brocades from Florence, Venice, the Levant. Did we know that not all silk, these days, came from the East? The Sicilians had a silk industry second to none. As to tapestries, did I wish to commission new designs or buy readymades? For new designs, he could make arrangements for me with the best workshops in Flanders or Italy, but if I cared to look at his unrivalled stock of readymades . . .

Getting a word in with some difficulty, I said, “Commissioning new work takes up so much time,” and tried to look as though time, and not a severe shortage of gold, were the reason why I wasn’t ordering custom-made wallhangings by the furlong. “I am
quite prepared,” I said, “to purchase readymades of good quality. I think—”

Master Paige, aglow at the prospect of a major sale, broke in to assure me that I had come to the right place. Nothing in his warehouse was of any quality but the best. What had I in mind? Narrative designs? Some pleasing verdures, all leaves and greenery, perhaps, for the bedchambers?

“Narrative designs,” I said firmly, interrupting in my turn. “I have recently seen a couple of very fine narrative tapestries, copies of—”

“But you must see for yourself. Have you finished your wine? Then come through to my display room,” Master Paige exclaimed. “Come!”

The room to which he led us, by way of a creaking wooden passage and a low door, was startling. It was as wide and lofty as a church and as colourful as a rainbow. It had a fireplace and a row of high windows, and a set of wide doors which presumably gave on to the river and were the entrance through which newly arrived goods could be winched up from ships. Otherwise, the walls were largely hidden by shelves packed with fabrics in all the colours God ever invented, and with whole façades of tapestries and carpets, some of them partly furled on rollers, some fully displayed.