The Siren Queen: An Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's (32 page)

I didn’t mention the shock that had emerged from the jumble of figures—the appalling, unbelievable, sight of Matthew’s name. But that day I asked Cecil to send for Hugh. I had tried several times to put the news into a letter, but somehow it felt wrong to tell it that way. I needed to do it face-to-face. If I could not go to Hugh, then please, I said, let him come to me.

Cecil did not move against Edmund Dean at once. He reminded me of a stalking cat, waiting to pounce. “If it’s true that Dean was responsible for killing Gale and Walt,” he said, “then those are details in a much larger pattern. As I said, I don’t want to tear the council to pieces. Bring Dean in too soon, and the whole plot may be shown up while it’s still active, which would destroy too many people who are better
not
destroyed. If this nasty scheme doesn’t exist anymore when we arrest Dean, he won’t be able to do nearly so much damage.”

He had called me to his study to talk to me. He was at his desk; I was restlessly pacing. “But murder can’t be hushed up,” I protested.

“I know, but the threat of being executed for treason instead of merely homicide could stop Dean from talking too freely in court. It’s the eighth of July now. The verdict on Norfolk’s lawsuit will be known in two days’ time,” said Cecil. “You’ve worked on Norfolk too—you were out of order there, but the result may be good. He’s looking worried, while Leicester’s going about with a permanent frown. I think your interview with him is working too, like yeast in bread dough. We’ll let it mature. Meanwhile, I’ve sent for Hugh as you asked, and I shall have George Hillman and whatever correspondence he is carrying intercepted when he gets back to London. Then we’ll know where Moray stands in the matter.

“My eyes and ears in Scotland,” he added, “have reported to me that Moray’s feet are getting very cold indeed. He’s shuffling them. He doesn’t think the other Scottish lords will agree to Mary’s restoration. We shall see,” said Cecil, as his light blue eyes lit with a grim smile.

I said: “Gladys . . . ”

Cecil sighed. “I have made inquiries. Statements have been taken from the physicians and vicars of your two homes and from the Reverend Fleet at Faldene. She cursed Dr. Fleet, did she not?”

“Yes.” I looked at him fearfully.

“Dr. Fleet has lost his young wife, to an ague of a kind more common in winter than in summer. He attributes her death to Gladys’s curse. She may, as it were, replace Julius as the person
whose death Gladys encompassed by witchcraft. There have also been a couple of unexpected deaths among the villagers at Hawkswood and apparently, they were people that Gladys had favored with her—ill-wishing.”

“No. Oh
no
!”

“I’m sorry. We’ll do our best but don’t hope too much.”

“I’ve seen her. I visited her. I was allowed to take her some comforts: blankets and food. She’s . . . ”

I couldn’t go on. I had seen prison cells in the Tower, but this dank, smelly dungeon in Marshalsea Prison was worse. I found Gladys shut in with a crowd of others, all filthy, the pitiful and the genuinely evil herded together, witches and pickpockets, street women and murderers. I hardly recognized the shriveled, pining thing that Gladys had become. She clutched at me with hands like claws, begging me to give her hope, to promise her that the worst wouldn’t happen, that she would soon be free, swearing desperately that she would never pretend to curse anyone again. On my return to Cecil’s house, I locked myself in my room, all alone, and cried for hours. After that I had had to decide what to tell my daughter.

“I wish,” I said with passion, “that I could send Meg back to Hawkswood and the care of Mistress Jester.”

“She may be needed when Dean is finally arrested. What have you told her about Gladys?”

“I lied a little, about my visit. I said that Gladys seemed well and that I thought she didn’t fully understand her danger. But I can’t deny to Meg that Gladys
is
in danger. I’ve warned her. She wept,” I said. “But . . . ”

“Natural enough, but you were right to prepare her. False hope is rarely a good idea. She’ll come through, you know. Even if Gladys doesn’t.”

“I know. Sometime during this last summer,” I said, “she ceased to be a child. I only realized it after the change had taken place.”

“The time comes,” Cecil said. “It’s always a surprise. But sometimes it’s brought on by circumstances, sooner than nature intended.”

“I know,” I said. I added: “Thank you for sending for Hugh. I badly want to talk to him.”

“You have really decided to tell him about Matthew?”

“There was never any doubt of that,” I said.

The verdict on Norfolk’s lawsuit went in Norfolk’s favor and he came to see Cecil, full of earnest gratitude. Then, at last, George Hillman came back from Scotland. On the same day, Hugh arrived.

 • • • 

“I have things to tell you,” I said to Hugh as soon as we were alone in our chamber.

“Cecil’s told me how you uncovered the real extent of the danger. I congratulate you. Meg appears to be taking after you.”

“Meg has astounded me. Thank you for bringing Sybil, by the way. She’s healthy company for Meg. They’re reading Latin together now. But there’s something else, Hugh. Something that is very difficult for me to tell you.”

“And that is?”

I swallowed. “I found this out, as well, when I was deciphering those letters. Cecil has left it to me to tell you or not. I felt I must. But it’s all right, Hugh. Apparently it’s been made all right. We really are man and wife, according to the law.”

Hugh’s brows rose. “We really are . . . ? Ursula, what on earth are you talking about?”

I had lain awake at night, choosing the words with which to break this news. Broken it must be; between me and Hugh there could be no lies, no secrets. He had to know, even if putting it into words felt as though grappling hooks were dragging at my entrails. But the words . . .

The plainest, the simplest, seemed best. “My second husband, Matthew de la Roche, is still alive,” I said.

“What?” Hugh looked as though he thought his hearing was faulty.

“Matthew’s still alive,” I repeated. “He didn’t die of the plague. The letters that said he had were forgeries. Forgeries were sent to him, as well. He thinks that
I’m
dead. But our marriage
is sound, so Cecil tells me. The queen has annuled my union with Matthew. She is head of the Anglican Church in England and she did it on the grounds that I wasn’t married to Matthew by the Anglican rite but by a priest who had no business to conduct such a ceremony in this country, and because I was forced into it. She has declared our marriage lawful.”

He said nothing for a moment. I sat quiet, waiting and afraid. Then he turned to me again and he was smiling. “My very dear Ursula. It doesn’t come as a surprise.”

“You mean you . . . you
knew
?”

Hugh shook his head. “No, though I was very startled just now to realize that you did! I suspected, that’s all. You are valuable to the queen and to Cecil and then there’s your kinship to Elizabeth. Once they got you out of France and back to England, they must have been tempted to think of a way to keep you here. De la Roche’s death was so very convenient, was it not? However, since we now know for certain . . . ”

We had been in the window seat. Abruptly, he stood up and roamed about. Then he came back and stood beside me, looking out of the window. Without turning to me to me, he said: “What will you do now, Ursula? When all this is over, I mean. When you have done your duty by Cecil, borne witness as I suppose you may have to do, and seen Gladys through to whatever the outcome of this horrible business may be. Will you stay with me, or will you repudiate the annulment and go back to De la Roche. I know you loved him. Do you still?”

He spoke very calmly, very reasonably, but between us, there was an invisible thread like an overtaut lutestring. Every word we spoke made it quiver, giving off a sound too high for the physical ear to hear, but heard, felt, all the same, by the senses of the mind, which are not limited as are those of the body.

With equal calm, I said: “I believe he has remarried, and has a son.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“It does in a way. If I went back to him, I would wreck that marriage as well as our own. I’ve had time to think about it. I don’t believe I could go back. It’s true I loved him . . . ”

For a dreadful moment, much as when his name first
emerged from the cipher, Matthew’s memory rushed in on me. It was as though he were there. I could see his dark, diamond-shaped eyes under their dramatic brows—his wide shoulders and long chin; I could see his smile, feel his body against mine. I remembered the smell of him; a sharp, spicy mixture of leather and sweat and cinnamon, from an exotic soap that he liked to use. The room spun, giddily.

Hugh turned at last and looked at me. I thought he was reading my mind. The dizziness faded, and with it, so did Matthew’s troublesome phantom.

“I really did love him,” I said, and if my voice shook, it was only a little. “And perhaps,” I said steadily, “I still do, but I wasn’t truly happy with him. I left him once, as you know. I never had any
peace
with Matthew. I was never happy in France, and I don’t want Meg to be brought up there. She wouldn’t want to go, anyway; I know she wouldn’t. She’s best off with you and me. And besides all that . . . ”

I didn’t wish to talk of that confinement that had nearly killed me and which my son had not survived. But there was no need. There were other things to say.

“I have had both peace and happiness with you,” I said. “I’d like to keep them and I don’t think one can go back, in any case. If I did, I would pine to be back with you! Matthew is . . . ” The words
yesterday’s stale bread
came, shockingly, into my mind. They were too brutal to utter aloud. I acknowledged the truth of them in silence. Then I said: “I choose to stay with you. If you want me.”

Hugh said: “Since I did have suspicions about De la Roche’s death, I took precautions. In my will, Ursula, I have left everything to you but I have not named you as my wife. My will calls you
The lady known as Mistress Ursula Stannard, formerly known as Madame de la Roche, formerly known as Ursula Blanchard.
I have made you safe for life, my little bear. The will is valid even if our marriage is not.”

“But it is!”

And this time my voice didn’t shake, but was warm and steady, and I was in his arms when the page came, with the summons from Sir William Cecil.

The page led us to Cecil’s study, where we found Cecil, Walsingham, and George Hillman all awaiting us. It was some time since I had seen Hillman, and now it struck me all over again, what a pleasant young man he was. His face was anxious, though. He was sunburnt from his traveling, but beneath the brown skin, he was pale, and as we came in, he was saying, in desperately earnest tones, that he could only swear that he had had no idea, no idea at all, of what he was carrying, and that Signor Ridolfi hadn’t dictated the letters to him, only given them to him sealed, and told him where to take them.

The transcriptions of the letters were laid out on the desk, crowding it somewhat, since it was already laden with Cecil’s handsome silver and ebony writing set, a pile of writing paper, a stack of document boxes, several massive books, and a small, pretty silver box, which looked somewhat out of place amid so much gravitas.

Hillman was now explaining that his cousin Julius had worked for Ridolfi. “I never thought there was any harm in taking his post over. My family are loyal subjects of Queen Elizabeth. I never dreamed . . . ”

“I repeat—no one thinks you did,” Cecil said soothingly, obviously reiterating part of a conversation that had taken place before we arrived. “Please calm yourself. Ah. Master Stannard, and Mistress Stannard. Enter, and be seated.”

Cecil was at his desk, Hillman and Walsingham were standing. I noticed however, that cushions had been placed on the window seat and that there were extra stools in the study, as though more people were expected. Hugh and I took upholstered stools close to the desk. Walsingham was now doing the talking.

“Your cousin,” he said to Hillman, “was more than a loyal subject; he was secretly a useful servant to the crown. We believe he was killed when he was bringing—or was believed to be bringing—letters to us, which he considered to be treasonous. You have now taken on his work as secretary and courier to Ridolfi and we have been considering whether we should ask you to don your kinsman’s other mantle as well, and serve us as an informant, as Julius did.”

Hillman looked horrified. “Sir Francis! I couldn’t do it! I’m a plain man. I can’t dissemble. I would be suspected, caught out . . . ”

“Once more, calm yourself,” said Cecil. “No one is going to force you against your will. You have answered our questions and your answers have satisfied us. We’re keeping you here for quite another reason. Ah. Here is Mistress Meg.”

The page, who had gone out, now reappeared, escorting Meg and Sybil. Sybil was visibly puzzled and Meg looked shy. I glanced at Cecil in surprise. “Why has Meg been summoned?”

“We may need her,” said Cecil quietly. He nodded to the page. “Your third errand,” he said. “Fetch him now.”

“Fetch whom?” Hugh inquired.

“Edmund Dean,” said Cecil.

 • • • 

Meg went red and then white. Unconsciously, she moved closer to Sybil. I indicated that the two of them should take the window seat. I did this instinctively, because it was well away from the door, and when Dean came in, he wouldn’t be close to Meg. “Has Dean been arrested?” I asked.

“Not yet,” said Cecil. “He has had a courteous invitation to visit me at my home, as he may be able to do me a service. The invitation didn’t enlarge further. I didn’t want him brought here
under armed escort, just in case we have it wrong. That would embarrass us both.”

“Is the armed escort available if wanted?” Hugh asked acutely.

Cecil’s gave his grim smile. “Oh yes.”

Dean came in briskly, very much the efficient young secretary with a career ahead of him, and a determination to prove himself fit for it.