The Doublet Affair (Ursula Blanchard Mysteries) (38 page)

She held out the pan. She must have been carrying it instinctively so that it would not spill its contents, and the sweepings from Crichton’s floor were still there: dust, what looked like marchpane crumbs, and several little twigs, bearing small, green, needle-like leaves.

“I think it’s from a yew tree,” said Ann. “Crichton was making a fuss about the topiary the other day. I suppose he tried clipping it himself and brought this in with him, caught in his clothes, perhaps. I don’t like finding it in the house, I must say. It’s poisonous. One of the home farm cows got into our garden last year, and died in convulsions after browsing on a yew tree. Cattle have no sense.”

“Yew twigs?” I said. “Ann, that day when Crichton made a fuss about the topiary and upset Edwin Logan . . . Crichton was angry with the boys, wasn’t he? He went out in a temper?”

“Yes. Why?” Ann was puzzled.

“I came back from a journey late that afternoon,” I
said. “You said—I believe—that you had just seen Dr. Crichton in the yew garden. Had he only just left the house?”

“Oh, no,” said Ann. “He stormed out much earlier. I don’t know where he was in between. Does it matter?”

“Crichton taught archery to the boys,” I said slowly, “but I don’t think I ever watched him. Did he shoot well?”

“Certainly, though not so well with the bad thumb that Leonard’s hammer gave him. Ursula, what is all this about?”

It was about Crichton, alerted by Wylie’s message, deliberately provoking the boys into rudeness which would give him an excuse to abandon them. It was about Crichton, making his stealthy way, bow in hand, using the cover of bank and spinney and boundary hedge, to lie in wait for me on my return. And, fortunately, being unable to shoot straight because Leonard Mason had such a poor aim with a hammer. We had lingered on the way, discussing what Brockley should do when he got back to Windsor. The angry and frustrated Crichton had had time to return to Lockhill and make a show of his presence there, striding round the yew garden and annoying young Logan.

That wasn’t all he’d done, either.

“Ann,” I said. “All this is very dreadful, but take heart. Leonard is coming to London, but he will return to you safely. I am already sure that your husband is innocent—and I think you have just found one more piece of evidence in his favour.” I knew now who had tried to poison me.

• • •

Before I left Lockhill, I enquired into just one more thing. I went to the arrow chests in the long room and examined their contents. In one, I found the simple shafts with plain points which the boys used in their archery practice, but in the other, I found a bundle of very different shafts, a reminder of the days, not so long ago, before army commanders began to prefer firearms to longbows. These deadly-looking arrows had the ugly, barbed heads which had so nearly killed me and Brockley and Dale as we returned to Lockhill from Windsor.

Odd to think that all three of us probably owed our lives to Mason’s mad theories of gliding on the wind, and Crichton’s blackened thumbnail.

And poignant to realise that I also owed mine to Matthew. It was because I was expecting him that night that I had not drunk that posset with its poisonous dose of yew extract.

“A
n excellent outcome,” Cecil said. “The mischief never even began. It seems that the purchases made by Crichton and Wilkins—the carpet and the tapestries—were experiments, using genuine money, to see which merchants examine high-value coins carefully, and which just check the amount and then send them straight to the bank. Paige was among the careless ones. His Genoese bankers have politely requested him to be more thorough in future.”

“We are grateful to you, Ursula,” Elizabeth said.

We were in the furthest bay of a gallery in Elizabeth’s private rooms at Hampton Court. Other people were nearby but not within earshot. The Queen had placed herself in a window seat, hands folded in her elegant lap. Her dress was dove-coloured satin embroidered with black. In fact, it was a form of mourning, for one of her favourite ladies, Jane Seymour, had died not long ago. Elizabeth had given her a state funeral. I had missed it and was very sorry, for I too had liked Jane. But if today there was no sign of the mischievous feline being who had subtly gibed
at Dudley and to whom Barnabas Mew had presented his music box, it was not on Jane’s account. This grave, withdrawn air was because Elizabeth had once more been the target of conspiracy. All her defences were in place.

“We have been shocked by Mew’s revelations,” she said, “but also mightily thankful because the danger has gone by and not touched us. Our reward will be generous, Ursula.”

I said, “Did Mew have to be . . . forced to speak?”

“Dear, tender-hearted Ursula,” said Elizabeth. “No. It wasn’t necessary.”

“He was only too anxious to tell us all he knew.” Cecil, dignified in a formal blue gown, showed a grim amusement. “And how much he despised Dr. Wilkins. Wilkins was the only one who really believed in the plan. Mew says that Wilkins was sure that any scheme carried out on Mary Stuart’s behalf was a plot in accordance with the will of God and therefore bound to succeed. Mew thinks he’s a fool, though Wilkins was quite careful, in his way: when the plan went into action, he said that they must all make their purchases under fake names. He also meant to arrange for some of the buying to be done through intermediaries, and he intended to use a false name for dealing with them, too. He financed Mew and told him to buy the base metals, but Mew had to present all his invoices for inspection. He did it through Crichton—hence the one that was found in Crichton’s doublet.”

“Crichton was an untidy man,” I said. “I expect he left it there by mistake.”

“No doubt,” said Cecil. “To make their false coins they needed both base and precious metals. The treasure your husband had collected included money enough to buy the base metal, and also plate and the like, which they melted down to get the gold and silver. But when they tried to use the precious metals in some of the coins and melted those down too . . .”

Cecil’s smile startled me. It so closely resembled a leer. “It didn’t give a good yield,” he said. “Most of it was bad money from the fifteen-forties. Except that it was struck in an official mint, it was practically counterfeit coin anyway!”

“King Henry’s groat,” said Elizabeth. “Cecil has shown his keepsake at the council table, Ursula. One should not speak ill of one’s parents, but my father was . . . not always wise.”

“The plan would have done little harm, but it might have done some.” Cecil was grave again. “Well, Mew will suffer the rigours of the knife. Perhaps that will discourage other would-be plotters. It may also discourage people from changing sides as he did. The word for such a man, Ursula, is a doublet. Quite a coincidence, seeing that a blackwork doublet had a part in all this too.”

“He was blackmailed into it,” I said. “I almost feel sorry for him.”

“He wouldn’t have been blackmailed if he hadn’t stolen that design from Mason,” Cecil said relentlessly. “He’s a poor, shabby little man, I’m afraid. Good quality agents are as rare as pigs with wings.”

“Now, Cecil,” said Elizabeth solemnly, “that is not
courteous to Mistress Blanchard!” Her eyes, just for a moment, danced.

Cecil said, “Mistress Blanchard is an admirable exception. Nor does she resemble any kind of pig. Your pardon, Ursula.”

“Granted,” I said, with gravity to match his. “You told me never to trust coincidences,” I said, “and I didn’t. When Mew turned up at Lockhill, it made me suspicious at once. There was one real coincidence, though, was there not? When you happened to be in Bernard Paige’s warehouse while Dr. Wilkins was buying that carpet?”

“Yes. They do happen sometimes,” Cecil said. “If I had known that Mew was still calling at Lockhill,” he added, “we wouldn’t have sent you there. Would we, ma’am?”

“We might.” The Queen’s eyes were serious again. “We needed someone there, and it had to be a woman. Ursula was an obvious choice.”

There was a pause, then Elizabeth said, “The musical box that Mr. Mew gave us,” she added, “has been broken up. The gold and the moonstones have gone into our treasury and the mechanism has been smashed. The sight and sound of it alike offend us.”

I inclined my head. I had given Meg her box—why deprive the child of her toy?—but I thought it better not to tell Elizabeth that.

“I believe,” said Cecil, “that Leonard Mason has given up any idea of trying to construct an engine that flies. We live in a splendid age for new ideas, but some of them turn out to be unworkable. Besides, he has been heavily fined for hearing illegal masses. He will
have to pay more attention to his land, if he is to keep out of debt.”

“It will be hard on Ann,” I said with regret.

“At least,” said Elizabeth dryly, “her husband didn’t break his neck in his wretched airborne engine. And he isn’t in the Tower awaiting execution for treason, as Mew is. It is a pity that two of his fellow conspirators got away, even though one of them is dear to you, Ursula. You have decided against going to France now?”

“Mr. de la Roche was not actually a conspirator, ma’am,” said Cecil. “Though Wilkins was.”

“That’s true,” I said, “but no, I shall not now go to France. I . . . might no longer be welcome.”

“No, perhaps not.” Elizabeth considered me with, I thought, compassion. “But you have a home here at court. Remember that. In time, the thought may heal you.”

I looked away, out of the windows to where early summer had turned the grass and trees to vivid green and birds were flying here and there, gathering food for their nestlings. Matthew would live. I had that at least to hold on to. He would live: he would breathe the air and see the sky. Sun, moon, stars: when they shone on me, I could think; well, he can see them too. For his sake I could even accept the thought that the hateful Wilkins would also live. Only pathetic, cringing little Barnabas Mew would die.

Brisk, masculine footsteps approached. Robin Dudley, splendid in dark red with peacock slashings and gold embroidery, was making his way along the gallery, bold and disrespectful as usual, calling to someone
over his shoulder, telling a page to run ahead and announce him to the Queen, and throwing a compliment to a maid of honour.

Elizabeth, hearing his voice, lifted her own. “We are here, Robin! Come and join us!”

Dudley stroke into the window bay, saw that the Queen had company, and halted. He bowed to her and then stood up straight and searched her face intently.

“My dear Robin,” said Queen Elizabeth, dismissing the fate of traitors from her mind without noticeable effort. “How very good to see you.”

“And good to see you, Your Majesty. I half feared you might have run off to Austria already, to marry the Archduke,” said Dudley.

Early that morning, in the presence of Robin Dudley, Elizabeth had granted an audience to de Quadra, and hinted that a marriage alliance with the Austrian Archduke, a relative of King Philip, was something that she might be brought to consider. De Quadra clearly didn’t know whether to take her seriously or not, and we had all gazed fascinated at Dudley’s dark and handsome face, because to smile broadly and scowl ferociously at one and the same time is a remarkable feat and we were wondering how he did it.

“Not at all,” said Elizabeth calmly, giving nothing away. “Such matters can hardly be decided so quickly. Here, as you see, are Mistress Blanchard and my good Sir William. Let us send for our musicians, and have some dancing.”

• • •

I obtained permission next day to visit my daughter. I walked with her in the garden at Thamesbank, amid
the roses and the topiary and the flowering trees, and thought, hard.

When I returned to the court, I sent a note to Cecil.

• • •

“It can be arranged,” Cecil said, “if I think it appropriate.” I was standing before his desk while he remained seated. His light blue eyes regarded me penetratingly. “But I would like to know why you want to see Barnabas Mew. You never asked to see your Uncle Herbert when he was in the Tower.”

“He wouldn’t have wanted to see me.”

“Do you really imagine that
Mew
will want to see you?”

“No, but that is just it. I suppose I want to say that I pity his fate, and tell him that I will pray for him.”

“You could pray for him anyway,” Cecil pointed out.

“I know, but still, may I see him?”

“You would find it a harrowing experience. Have you really told me why you are so anxious for it?”

“I think,” I said huskily, “that if I am to continue to work for you, I should fully understand what I am doing. I can’t bring myself to attend the execution, but please allow me to see this man before his last day dawns.”

I could see that Cecil was still suspicious, but at length he said, “I will allow you five minutes. No more.”

• • •

Cecil escorted me to the Tower himself. He introduced me to the Lord Lieutenant, repeating his orders that I should have only five minutes in Mew’s cell. “I will go with her and remain close at hand. I understand
the man is not thought dangerous, but he has cause to regard Mistress Blanchard with . . . a degree of dislike,” said Cecil in his driest voice. “The turnkey should be nearby, too.”

“So shall I be, since the visitor is a lady,” said the Lieutenant of the Tower, gazing down at me. He was a tall man and I did not reach his shoulder. I could see that he, too, was puzzled by my request. “And the gentleman gaoler will also be with us. The man is chained, of course. We can remain in the doorway, Sir William.”

The Lieutenant had a modern and comfortable house within the Tower walls. He lived in luxury, from the fragrant rushes on the floor to the embroidered wallhangings, to the silver dishes and goblets in which we were served on arrival with ginger-flavoured cakes and white wine. The basement cells of the Tower of London were quite a contrast.

A frightening contrast. The steps which lead down to them are a warning of what lies ahead. A turnkey, a short man with a strutting walk, led the way, followed by the dignified figure of the gentleman gaoler in his scarlet uniform, with myself, Cecil and the lieutenant behind. There were a few thin slit windows at first, admitting bright streaks of daylight, but as the steps went below ground level, the only light came from a few flambeaux, thrust into wall sconces. Our misshapen shadows prowled on the walls. It was cold and our footsteps echoed. So did the clank of the heavy keys attached to the gaoler’s belt. He remarked over his shoulder that these cells down here weren’t used that much.