The Doublet Affair (Ursula Blanchard Mysteries) (7 page)

All the same, the giving of one’s word does count for something, whether you want it to, or not. To keep up my pretence of co-operation, I had said to Cecil that I would go to Lockhill and search Leonard Mason’s correspondence, and the mere fact that I had said it had a peculiar effect on me. I dithered.

I didn’t speak of my secret intentions to Brockley and Dale. They both knew that I intended to join Matthew and that the Queen had said I could go in May. Now, just as if this still held, I found myself explaining my mission to Lockhill to them, and of
course impressing secrecy on them. Anyone would think, I said to myself crossly, that I actually
meant
to go to Lockhill.

Cecil had instructed me to write two letters: one to the Masons, accepting their invitation and setting a date for my arrival there, and one to Matthew, telling him that I couldn’t come until May.

“I’ll find messengers,” Cecil said.

I didn’t write the letter to Matthew, but I penned the one to Lockhill, setting the date of my arrival there for the following week, Thursday January 20, which left me with time in hand to make my own preparations. Cecil accepted it, because it gave time for my letter to reach Lockhill, and he himself wished to make some arrangements for my escort on the journey.

Now, I said to myself, I must see about getting a passage to France. Yet I still did nothing.

Two main tasks faced me: one was to visit Thamesbank and gather Meg up; the other was to get Brockley to find me a ship. I wanted Brockley and Dale to come with me, and this would mean extra expense. I had more money than I used to have, but I still couldn’t afford to charter a ship. Unless Brockley could find a captain who was actually bound for the Loire, we might have to land somewhere else and travel overland on hired horses.

It seemed not only very difficult, but also terrifying, as though I were standing on a cliff edge and trying to summon up the courage to jump. It meant abandoning the shelter of the court and going forth into the world with no official permission. What if I were caught? I was haunted by visions of prison cells, here
or in France. Almost equally alarming in a different way was the prospect of being simply brought back and kept at the court, but with my credit gone. I did not know what to do.

Two days passed. I had dined with Cecil on Tuesday, and it was Friday before I found the will to act. I lived through a hard morning with Elizabeth and the other ladies, practising a complex new dance, accompanying the Queen to an audience, trying to sound normal, and worrying, worrying. I was free after dinner, and as Dale and I made our way back to my little cubicle, I decided that I must speak to her and to Brockley at once. I must think about Meg, too. If I told the Hendersons that the Queen had asked me to bring Meg to court, I might be able to remove her from Thamesbank without arousing curiosity . . .

I went into my cubicle, and a letter from Matthew was lying on my bed. Kat Ashley hadn’t been needed this time, to work out who the letter was for, because the name on it was Mistress Ursula Blanchard.

Dale saw it at the same moment. “Ma’am! Look!”

“I know!” I snatched the letter up, tearing the paper away from the seal, and sat down on the bed to read it. It seemed to have been written in a hurry. My name, in Matthew’s distinctive script, was written clearly, but the seal was faint, as if the wax hadn’t been soft enough, and the writing inside was straggly.

My very dear Ursula,

I have seized a chance to come to England. I must keep out of sight, as I am a hunted man in your country, but I am not far away from you. A boat will
await you at the river gate of Whitehall Palace, every morning at eight for the next few days. When you can, slip away and board it. The boatman will bring you to me. We will think of a way to fetch your little girl, if you wish. Then we will travel to France together. I have to ask you to leave your servants behind for the time being. Too large a party might attract attention.

In haste, and with love,

Matthew.

I turned to Dale, and knew by her face that my joy showed in my eyes. “Matthew’s here. He’s in England. He could be maybe not a mile away!”

I leapt up and went to the window, looking out across the Whitehall maze of buildings as though I were a mariner at sea, peering for a sight of land; as though by gazing outwards and concentrating hard, I could detect Matthew, find him with my spirit as a pigeon finds its loft.

It was like a miracle. I had no need, after all, to find my way to my husband through a hostile world. He had come to find me. Moving from the window, I held the letter out to Dale. “Read it if you like.”

Dale was literate. She scanned the letter almost as quickly as I had. “Oh, ma’am! How wonderful for you. You’re going? Without the Queen’s permission?”

“Yes, of course! Matthew’s come for me!”

“I’m glad for you, ma’am. Only . . .” She hesitated. “I don’t quite like you going without me and Brockley.”

“No, nor do I.” For a moment I felt dampened.
“But it seems it can’t be helped,” I said. “I will tell Brockley to find a way to get the two of you to France. Dale, I want you to put a bundle of clothes together for me: linen, some toilet things, something I can carry easily, but it must have all the essentials. Unless the weather is impossible tomorrow morning—as long as it isn’t snowing or raining in bucketfuls—I will go then. I’m not on duty first thing, anyway. Oh, Dale!”

• • •

I was transformed with excitement. Throughout the rest of the day, I still strove to appear normal, but more than once the other ladies gave me odd looks and I knew that my secret exultation was showing on my face.

It was slightly dampened when I spoke to Brockley, who said that he was surprised that Master de la Roche was not willing for me to bring my servants. “A gentleman of your husband’s type and standing, madam, usually expects his wife to be properly attended. I shall come with you to see you safe into his company, at least. I must say, I wish that his letter had said where he actually was.”

“He couldn’t do that, Brockley. What if the letter went astray and the wrong person read it?”

“Who brought it, madam? Have you enquired?”

“Yes.” I had, but the result meant very little. “A young man, moderately tall, that’s all the gatekeeper could say. I don’t think it was Matthew himself, though. He’s
very
tall!”

I was glad to get away to bed that night, although sleep did not come for hours. When I woke next day, the weather was cold and grey but dry, and there was
nothing to hinder my departure, except that my inside suddenly clenched up with nerves and I had to go three times to the privy. I began to fear that I wouldn’t get myself to the river gate on time at eight, and I didn’t know how long Matthew’s boat would wait for me. In the event, I was a few minutes late, but the boat was there, a small one, with a solitary oarsman in it, muffled up against the cold, I hurried past the guard and down to the landing stage with Dale behind me, carrying my bundle, and Brockley striding at my side. The boatman saw us and stepped out on to the stage.

“Mistress de la Roche?”

“Yes. And you are . . . ?”

“An acquaintance of your husband.” He glanced at Dale and Brockley. “I have orders to bring only you, madam. No one else.”

“I must attend Mistress Bl—de la Roche until she is with her husband,” Brockley said. “Then I’ll take my leave.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but my orders are firm.” The boatman was unrelenting. “No one is to know where Master de la Roche is. I am to bring his wife to him and no one else. Would you care to step into the boat, madam?”

“Now, listen—” Brockley began, but I stopped him.

“Brockley, it’s all right. I’m going to Matthew.” I turned to the boatman. “How long will it take us to reach him? Will you at least tell me that?”

“Not long, madam, a matter of a half-hour, maybe, upstream.”

“Very well.” I turned to my servants. “I just want to get there. You come to France as soon as you can. Let
me just vanish.” I took my bundle from Dale and kissed her, and clasped Brockley’s hand. “We’ll be together again soon.” I could see Brockley simmering, and longing to restrain me by force, but he didn’t, of course. I smiled at them, and let the boatman hand me into his craft.

I sat down, bundle on lap, and stepping in after me, the boatman took his own seat, loosed the painter and picked up his oars. We drew away from the landing stage. I waved merrily to Dale and Brockley. Then we were in midstream and turning upriver, towards Richmond. I looked back at the bank but Brockley and Dale had disappeared.

It was as though, since the moment I found the letter, I had been moving rapidly, surging with eagerness, willing time away. Now, for the first time since then, I sat still, in the midst of the dark, chilly river, alone with the stranger who had forbidden Brockley to come with me, and at that point, when it was just too late, my misgivings began.

In restrospect, I think I already had them, but I hadn’t wanted to pay attention. Something had nudged uneasily at my mind when I saw how the handwriting straggled, but I wanted to be with Matthew so much that I had muffled my instinctive doubts as thoroughly as my boatman had muffled his person.

The boatman seemed to have a powerful build, but it was difficult to tell because he was so enswathed in garments: cloak, boots, hat, and even a dark blue scarf across his lower face. Even in this weather, I thought, such clothing must be far too hot for comfortable rowing, and surely it was hindering his movements. I tried
to say something of the kind, lightly, but he merely grunted in answer and rowed steadily on.

Time passed. My oarsman was clearly not the talkative type. I looked again at the dark river, rippling under a fretful breeze, and at the banks which here consisted of empty meadows, and thought,
I am travelling into the unknown.
The Thames was like the Styx, the river of Greek legend which the dead must cross to reach the hereafter. There was a ferryman in the legend: Charon. My silent, anonymous companion would do very well for Charon. He was so extremely silent and anonymous that he made me uncomfortable.

“Surely we’ve been going for more than half an hour?” I said.

“We’re almost there.” I got a sentence out of him that time. He looked over his shoulder, towards a grassy bluff jutting from the north bank, and changed course. Beyond the bluff there were signs of habitation: a house in the distance, and several boathouses by the water. We were making for them. A moment later, we were alongside another landing stage and my escort was tossing the painter round a bollard. “Here we are, madam. Out you come.”

He handed me out. The nearest boathouse, one of the largest, was firmly shut and there was no sign of life. My Charon, however, led me round the side of it on a wooden walkway which brought us to the landward door. I saw with disquiet that although it had probably once had a lock, the lock had been hacked out, and a piece of timber nailed over the place where it had been. Two stout new bolts had been fitted to the
door instead, top and bottom. He undid them. “In here, madam.”

I looked across the fields, noticing how far away the one house was. The place was very lonely and no one seemed to be about. I didn’t want to enter the boathouse, but Charon seized my arm and pushed me, quite roughly. I found myself inside, willy nilly.

“Watch your step now,” he said.

The warning was necessary because the interior of the boathouse was very dark, with only a narrow walkway round the sides. The rest was water, on which lay a sizeable barge. I hesitated, still trying to resist, but Charon propelled me onwards for a yard or two and then stopped above a ladder which led down to the barge.

“You go down there. You’ll feel safer on the barge. I shan’t come with you. Turn round and go down backwards. Go on!”

His manner had unquestionably changed. It was no longer respectful. Badly frightened now, I twisted round to look at him. “Where’s Matthew de la Roche?” I demanded.

“You’re going to see him, right enough. Down that ladder with you. Go on, now. Nothing to be afraid of.”

But there was. There was Charon. I looked at the muffled-up face, with the scarf which covered it from the bridge of the nose downwards, and the overshadowing hat beneath which his eyes too were almost hidden, and all I wanted to do was back away. Suddenly afraid that he might actually pick me up and carry me down, or worse still, pick me up and throw me down, possibly into the water instead of the barge, I accepted
the alternative of the ladder. I crept down backwards and stood on the barge, looking up at him.

“But where
is
Matthew? He’s not . . . ?”

For an awful, panic-stricken moment, I thought that Matthew might be dead, and that some hideous jest had been played on me, and I had been brought here to see his body, but the flat-bottomed barge was innocent of any such horrors. A quick glance round it showed me that instead, it was provided with a brazier and a tinderbox and some rugs.

“No,” said Charon from above me, divining what I hadn’t actually said. “He’s alive. Don’t you worry about that. You’re in safe hands. No one’s going to hurt you. Personally, I’d be in favour of knocking you out and dumping you in the river, but I’m not the man in charge.”

“What?”

“You just stop there. There’s heat, rugs, and you’ll find food and water in that locker under the seat behind you. You just make yourself comfy till you’re fetched.” He walked away towards the door. Outraged and much alarmed, I shouted incoherent protests after him but he took no notice. He left the boathouse, and I heard the bolts shoot home.

I scrambled up the ladder again, and ran perilously along the narrow walkway to hammer on the door and shout. There was no answer. Pausing, I heard sounds on the landing stage outside, to the right of the big river doors at the other end of the boathouse, where the barge would go out when in use. Someone was getting into a boat. I heard the plash of receding oars, and Charon was gone.

Uselessly, I pounded on the door again and shouted for help on and off for quite a long time before I gave up and went back to the barge.