The Fugitive Queen (19 page)

I was soon interrupted, however. Meg came to me there and after one look at my daughter's small scared face, I decided that I would let Pen wait.

As Dale slipped tactfully away, I took Meg in my arms and said: “It's all right. You're perfectly safe here, and they didn't want you for Fernthorpe, anyway. They set you free—remember?”

“I was only dancing because Pen said I ought to think of something else. I didn't really feel like dancing! When I heard that man's voice and knew why that place seemed so familiar, I thought my knees would turn to water. When we got home, I just wanted to hide in my bed and cry, only Pen wouldn't let me. Oh,
Mother.
”

“She probably did you a service.” Meg had only been an
excuse, but Pen had helped her even if it was by accident. “Darling, there is nothing for you to fear. And we've learned something. We know who killed Harry and we know what kind of people the Thwaites really are.” Meg managed a watery smile and I gave her another hug. “You're here with me,” I said, “and that's where you're staying.”

“We didn't mean any harm, by dancing, Mother.”

“Of course you didn't. It's a skill you need to practice.”

“But it displeased you—everyone saw it.”

“It wasn't the dancing that displeased me,” I said. “It was something quite different. I daresay I shall arrange more dancing, now that I know we can have music. I wish I'd thought to pack my own lute. Now, find Mistress Jester and occupy yourself sensibly until supper. I must talk to Pen.”

“Oh, she wants to talk to
you,
Mother. She wouldn't stay in her room. She's waiting to come in. I raced her to get to you first.”

“Indeed?” I said. “Then tell her that I'm ready to give audience!”

Pen must have been just outside, for she virtually passed Meg in the doorway. I greeted her by standing in the middle of the room, and waiting, with a stern face, for her to approach. But if I were trying to convey the idea that she ought to have something on her conscience, I failed. She came eagerly up to me, bobbed a mere sketch of a curtsy and exclaimed: “Oh, Mistress Stannard, what an amazing day this has been! That dreadful business at Fernthorpe—but now, something so splendid has happened! You'll never guess what it is!”

“I have a strong suspicion,” I said, “that it doesn't need much guesswork. However, just in case I'm wrong, you'd better tell me.”

“It's Master Littleton—Tobias! Oh, Mistress Stannard, he is such a kind, interesting young man! We talked at Bolton, you know, when we went to look at the mews, and when we were leaving, he said he hoped we would soon meet again. Mistress Stannard, he's so well educated! He can speak and write Latin and Italian, and he likes the same poetry that I do. And he dances beautifully! He wants to offer for my hand! Oh, Mistress Stannard,
it would be a perfect match, wouldn't it? My mother would approve, because Tobias says he's Catholic, though he makes no parade of it because he is working for Sir Francis Knollys. And Sir Francis is a courtier and we would go to court eventually, as part of his household. I expect I would be received back at court once I was married, wouldn't I?”

“Stop!” I said. “All this is happening far too quickly. Littleton had no business to make advances to you without obtaining my permission first. I shall have a few things to say to that gentleman.”

“But, Mistress Stannard, we couldn't help it—it just overtook us! It began at Bolton, just tentatively, as it were, but Tobias wrote to my brother George about having met me and liked me, and George wrote back saying that he was agreeable to the match . . .”

“Did he now?” I said sharply. I remembered Ann Mason's words in her letter to me. She had said that she and George were not altogether in agreement concerning the kind of bridegroom his sister should take. She had also remarked that by the terms of her husband's will, she and not George had been made Pen's guardian.

Oblivious to my tone, Pen was rushing eagerly on. “Then today, on the way back from Fernthorpe, we rode side by side and talked further, and now we've danced together and . . .”

“You've gone too far and too fast for my liking. Pen, I saw you with him in the hall when you were dancing, and you were also seen to be kissing him openly. Your mother wouldn't approve of that! Sit down!” I sat down myself, on the edge of the bed and Pen came to sit beside me.

“I'm not a gorgon,” I said. “In fact, I feel at the moment like nothing more than a very tired Mistress Stannard. I want your happiness. I am not here to stand in your way. But there
is
such a thing as checking a suitor's credentials. Your mother made it clear to me what manner of man she wished you to marry and I'm not sure that she'd choose Master Littleton. He has no property for one thing. And,” I added, holding up a hand to stop Pen from interrupting, “there is such a thing as indiscreet behavior. What you were doing when I arrived was sadly indiscreet.”

Pen's mouth drooped. “You are so young,” I told her. “I'll talk to Littleton. He will stay here overnight, I think; it would be best for Mistress Seton to rest until tomorrow and then I have decided that we should both ride back to Bolton with them.”

“Both?”

“Yes. It would be natural for me to ask Sir Francis Knollys's opinion of Tobias and I need an excuse to go to Bolton again as I still have to talk with Mary Stuart. The falconry gave me no chance. I want you to come because I want you under my eye. Pen, you are entitled to know this. While I was at Fernthorpe, Master Will Thwaite asked me formally for your hand, for Andrew . . .”

“What?” Pen whitened. “But . . . Mistress Stannard . . .”

“It's all right! Good God! There's no question whatsoever of an alliance with them, even if you liked the look of Andrew . . .”

“I don't!”

“Just as well. They're criminals and I intend to send Brockley to Fritton again to report what we have learned to Constable Toft. Perhaps he'll pay attention this time. Meanwhile, though, I think there's something very odd about this whole business. I can't understand why they're so eager for an alliance with us. That's another reason why I want to watch over you. You will be in Tobias's company on the journey to Bolton but there's to be no more talk of love until you have permission. Go along to your room, now. Read something improving!”

I sent her away, looking downcast, which I regretted, although I knew I was right to be firm with her. I secretly admitted to myself that I envied Pen's easy, youthful abandonment to passion. I had been like that, when I ran off with Gerald. But I had been lucky in my man. At Tyesdale, I felt that we were surrounded by unknown quantities and it is more alarming to be responsible for someone else than for oneself.

Before supper, I wrote a letter to Constable Toft and then called the Brockleys to me. However, when I told Brockley that I wished him to deliver it, his face at once became doubtful. “What is it?” I asked.

“Madam, if this is an order, I'll do your bidding. But I think it may be unwise just yet.”

“Explain yourself, Brockley.”

“Toft is a stupid and obstinate man, and what have we to tell him? Will he believe—or even listen to—the testimony of a child like Meg? She will tell him she recognizes Will Thwaite but she never actually saw his face. Apart from Meg, the only evidence we have that the Thwaites were concerned in Harry's death is the fact that they have a sword that looks like his. But such swords are not uncommon. I think,” said Brockley, “that we need to find Harry's body. If it's on Fernthorpe land, that might make a difference. Toft would have to take notice of that. We should ride over that land and search, if we can.”

I fumed, but Brockley was talking sense. I had no confidence in Toft, either. Something else had also occurred to me. I now told Brockley and Dale, in detail, everything that the Thwaites had said to me concerning a possible marriage between Andrew and Pen, both during the visit they had made to Tyesdale, and at Fernthorpe.

Before I had quite finished, Brockley was clearing his throat and obviously longing to speak. I paused inquiringly.

“Madam, it's clear to me that Master Thwaite not only wants a wife for his son, he also wants a well-dowered wife. Now, the morning you left the Grimsdale farm, if you recall, the farmer wasn't pleased that we were leaving Mistress Pen behind. And the Grimsdale sons were out before us that morning—and out the previous evening, after supper.”

“And you think they may have told the Thwaites that a likely prospect for Andrew was in the district? Sybil wondered the same thing. She thought the Grimsdales might have sold news of us for money.”

“They may well have done! But they're so eager to marry Andrew Thwaite to our Pen, that what
I'm
wondering is—did they try to cut a corner by grabbing her before we even got here, only they grabbed the wrong girl? If you remember, we thought Master Grimsdale resented Pen being left behind because they were short of provender but perhaps it was because he knew that his sons had gone to tell the Thwaites she was on the road and he couldn't let them know that she wasn't. Dear God, what a risk we
took, leaving her there! Just as well Tom and I were both there with her and that Dick Dodd joined us. It's my belief that on the day of the attack, the Thwaites just snatched the only young girl we had with us—Meg—and it wasn't till they got to Fernthorpe and had a good look at her that they realized she couldn't be Mistress Pen. I daresay the Grimsdales had told them how old Mistress Pen is.”

“So they turned Meg out to take her chance on the moors in the mist! And what kind of folk would do that?” Dale's blue eyes were fairly bulging with horror.

“How they must all have cursed,” I said. “I suppose then they decided that Pen was too well protected and to go about things in a more decent fashion!”

“But why should they be so wild to marry her to Andrew?” Dale was puzzled. “Tyesdale's her dowry, but it's not much of a place, to my mind.”

“That's exactly what I'm asking myself,” I said. “It doesn't make sense. I've been thinking the same as you, Brockley—I mean that they mistook Meg for Pen. But for a place like Tyesdale, kidnapping the girl is going to ridiculous extremes.” I passed a hand across my forehead. I had a slight headache and hoped that I wasn't about to follow Seton's unhappy example and develop a migraine. “Very well, Brockley. First of all, I have to go to Bolton to see Sir Francis about Tobias and, I hope, to see Mary Stuart, and Pen will come with me. I want both of you with me as well. When we return, we will try to find Harry's grave.”

But before we left for Bolton, I thought, I really must talk to Tobias Littleton.

 • • • 

I interviewed him after supper, in the parlor, and came to the point without wasting time.

“Master Littleton, I gather that you have been making advances to my ward, Penelope Mason. Is that correct?”

Master Littleton, of course, was still in the clothes he had been wearing all day, in which he had hawked and danced. He had had a doublet with him and had put it on for supper but on
his own admission it had been pushed into a saddlebag along with a water bottle and some cold chicken. It was creased and looked as though both the chicken and the water bottle had oozed. He had joked about it at supper, saying that he had undertaken to be a human larder, and this was what came of it, and I had caught Pen looking at him adoringly, as though this were the very height of wit.

“Mistress Pen,” he said now, “is a most delightful girl. I have to admit that I am smitten. I have perhaps overstepped the mark but I have been in touch with her brother and . . .”

“As her guardian I principally represent her mother, whose views are not the same as those of George Mason. If you have actually spoken to Pen of marriage without first speaking to me, then you have indeed overstepped the mark.
Have
you spoken to her thus?”

“Yes, Mistress Stannard.” He grinned at me. The sun and wind had worked on his clerk's indoor face, giving him bronzed cheekbones and a peeling nose. The effect was to make him both more handsome and more endearing. “But I did propose marriage,” he said frankly. “I wasn't trifling. Matrimony is an honorable estate, or so we are told.”

“And Pen is attractive to you?”

“Very much so.”

“And Tyesdale? Tyesdale is her dowry, as you probably realize. I assume you are taking that into account.”

“Do you mean am I proposing marriage to Mistress Mason in order to get my hands on her property, or am I proposing marriage to her in spite of the fact that her property needs a deal of work to be done on it?”

“I have no idea how you view it,” I said. “Do you see it as an asset or a liability? Which?”

“An asset. It has great potential,” said Tobias, “and both Mistress Pen and I are young. We can make something of it. Mistress Stannard, I cannot afford to marry a girl with no dower, but I am not looking for riches on a platter. I admit that on my side, I have no property and that my elder brother will inherit Father's business. However, Father has already made over some money to me
and has made further provision for me in his will; I am not quite penniless and I have expectations. I also have a good position with Sir Francis Knollys.”

I was beginning to soften, though I was careful not to show it so soon. This was just as well, because his next words startled me.

“I know Tyesdale a little, as it happens. I think that Magnus has had a difficult job, left alone here to take all the decisions and never sure if he was doing the right thing or not. I would be more helpful to him. I came to know Tyesdale through visiting him here. He's my cousin. He too was at school with me and George Mason. I could work with him.”

“I . . . did not know that,” I said, disconcerted, and instinctively scanning Tobias's features for some resemblance to Whitely. There was a faint one; they both had the same indeterminate-colored eyes. Otherwise, they were a contrast. Tobias was by no means nondescript.