The Traitor's Daughter (24 page)

“Who told you that?”

“No one,” Isabel scoffed, “and everyone. Voices in the wind. The recusants whisper it with glee. Loyalists whisper it in fear.”

So, no evidence,
Kate thought. Rumors were not news. She said, again pretending innocence, “But, dear Aunt, these things have nothing to do with me.”

“They
do.
Because of your marriage. That taints you and leaves you suspect. You know it does. Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“I ask again, why did you not accompany your husband to Sussex?”

“There were matters to see to in London. I am searching out a house for us.” She knew how thin her fabrication sounded.

But it seemed to spark hope in her aunt. “If you have abandoned your marriage, Kate, it is no more than wisdom.”

Kate's thoughts were a dark web.
Had
she forsaken Owen over Robert? No, Owen had forsaken
her!

Isabel rose. They stood face-to-face. “You love him. I see that. You want to be loyal to him. But allow me, as someone who has had your welfare at heart since the day you were born, to warn you before it is too late. Sometimes we have to make hard choices. Choices that go beyond ourselves and what we want. Sometimes a higher loyalty is necessary, Kate. For the good of all. For England.”

She had to bite back words of self-defense. She needed no sermon about loyalty! How like Father her aunt sounded. And how alone she felt against their drumming demands.

Kate did not get to see her Uncle Carlos and cousin Nicolas. Harkness's summons from Sheffield came two days later. She pretended the note was a message from Owen calling her home. Her aunt looked anxious. Her cousins were surprised and disappointed that the visit had been so short. Kate gave no further explanation, even in the face of Isabel's clear concern. They saw her off, waving good-bye from the courtyard as she and Soames rode out. There were tears from Anne.

Kate was sorry to leave them, but glad this meant her mission would soon be over. She quickly covered the eight miles to Sheffield, feeling none of the fear of her first approach to the city. In fact, she was eager to get there. Get it over with. Even the weather seemed to urge her on. Sunshine from a blue sky warmed her as she crossed the Lady's Bridge. She considered what the letters she was on her way to collect might contain, and a quiet excitement stirred in her. If Mary had written to her friends in Paris encouraging invasion, Elizabeth's councillors could proclaim that, make public her deadly scheming. That would turn many once sympathetic hearts against her. The breakthrough could devastate Mary's support at home and thus force Elizabeth's enemies abroad to abort an invasion. It could bring peace and stability back to England—
and to me.

The ponds shone in the sunshine. Bulrushes nodded in the breeze. Kate watched a heron rise from the shore, its broad wings beating, lifting it into the blue on a journey no human being could take. Filling her lungs with the cool autumn air, Kate realized she was looking forward to her own journey south. She was fulfilling her duty to Elizabeth, to England. In the welter of her personal worries, that felt good.

“Mistress Durant, you travel swiftly,” said Harkness. “We did not expect you for hours.” The cutler's front room was again deserted, no sign even of Timms.

Kate heard men's voices in the far workroom. “We, my lord?” Could it be his accomplices? If so, she wished she could see their faces. More information for Matthew.

“Our friends,” he said cryptically.

Her curiosity leapt. Mary Stuart was less than two miles away, and Matthew knew—everyone knew—that her followers, especially the youngbloods among them, itched to free her. Attempts in the past had been either discovered early or repulsed by Shrewsbury's men. Might they now be going to try again? Who were they? She had to know. It might be the only chance she would get.

“Excellent,” she said, “I shall extend to them our London friend's good wishes.” And before he could stop her she went through the arch into the smaller workroom.

“Wait,” he demanded. “We are not ready for you.”

She ignored him.

“Wait!”

The workroom was deserted, but the voices led her to a closed door. A storeroom? She opened it. The voices fell silent as she walked in. Four men seated in a circle turned to her. Three were strangers. The fourth was not. He gaped at her.

Kate's breath stopped.

The fourth was Robert.

16

Castle of Grain

W
hen Kate was fourteen she'd seen a man killed in a brawl, stabbed through the throat with a sword. When the assailant pulled out the blade, blood gushed from the gash in the victim's throat and bubbled over his lips, but he remained on his feet, rigid, in shock. An onlooker said in a hushed voice, “Dead man standing.” Only when he was kicked did he fall, dead.

That was how Kate felt, seeing Robert. Stabbed. In shock. Still standing.

Robert looked just as stunned. They stared at each other. Kate's mind had frozen. It was as if a blade, rammed through her, pinioned her.

She had interrupted four men talking. All looked up at her now from their stools. One, black-bearded, gaudily dressed in a crimson doublet, scowled at her. “Who's this?”

“The courier,” Harkness said, coming in behind her. “She brought the London delivery. She's come back for the return pouch.”

“Ah,” said Blackbeard, appraising her with new interest.

Harkness said testily to Kate, “I told you, we are not ready for you. Our contact at the manor cannot bring the pouch until this evening.”

Kate heard him as though clods of earth clogged her ears. She struggled to understand what was happening.

“You'll stay the night,” he went on, “and leave first thing in the morning.”

They looked at her, expecting acknowledgment. But Kate's mind had seized.

Blackbeard said to the others, as though losing patience with her, “All right, let's carry on. Timms, show her where she can stay.”

Timms, the big cutler, rose from his stool. “Storeroom, mistress. This way.”

“I'll show her,” Robert blurted.

Kate flinched. If part of her fantasized he was some imposter, hearing his voice snapped that thread of illusion. It was Robert's voice, though tight, choked. The other men looked at him, mildly startled by his tone.

“Very well,” Blackbeard told him brusquely. “Go.” He motioned to Timms to sit, then turned his attention to a map spread out on a barrelhead.

“We'll see you at dinner, mistress,” said Harkness, pulling up a stool to the map.

She made herself speak. “Thank you.” The words hurt, like splinters in her throat.

She followed Robert out, her limbs as numb as a sleepwalker's. Her thoughts thrashed in this wide-awake nightmare.
He's one of them....

She walked sightlessly behind him across the workroom. He glanced back, agitated, and laid a finger to his lips to tell her not to speak. The warning was unnecessary. Kate was so shattered she could not have uttered a single word.
Owen was right. . . .

At the far side of the room Robert opened a door. The storeroom was small. Its single window, high up, was glazed with rough glass so thick the sunshine was weak as moonlight. There was no furniture. Bulging burlap sacks stacked haphazardly to waist height lined the walls. They gave off a dusty, earthy smell.

Robert closed the door. They were alone.

“Kate . . .” His voice was a hoarse whisper of wonderment. “Dear God, is it true? You're the courier for Castelnau?”

She swallowed. He could not know about Castelnau unless he was in Mary's camp. That was the final kick.
Dead man, falling.
“Yes,” she managed, though her tongue felt encased in clay. “And you”—she had to swallow again—“you're with us?”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other. Kate was looking at a stranger. His face was as pale as a midday moon.
Does he suspect me?

He let out a strangled laugh. “Now I understand! All those sharp questions you put to me. Why did I mislead the councillors? you asked. Why did I go to Petworth? you asked. Now it all makes sense. You were probing me, trying to see if I was on the same side as you—the
right
side!” Clumsily, he embraced her. “Oh, Kate!”

She felt him tremble. She was trembling, too, overwhelmed with relief that he had accepted her . . . and a swamp of horror running below her relief. He had lied to her. Gulled her.
He is the enemy.
Enduring his embrace, she stood as still as a post.

He let her go, gazing at her again in amazement. “Kate . . . I praise God. It's incredible! You and I, soldiers in the same righteous cause!”

A fierce light shone in his eyes. A look of profound affection. Kate felt queasy. She forced a smile, feeling it must look like the grin of a corpse.

Her legs felt suddenly weak. She feared they might give way. Give
her
away. “I . . . need to sit.” She looked around. Nothing but heaped sacks.

“Ha, so do I!” With a burst of energy he heaved sacks off a pile, reducing the pile to just two. “Here, before you fall.” Taking her elbow, he guided her to sit down on the makeshift seat, the sacks rising on either side.

She hesitated. “What's in these?”

“Grain.”

She sat stiffly. He flopped down, too, grinning. “I daresay I'm as much of a shock to you as you are to me!”

They sat side by side, snug in this notch between the walls of grain.
Like children playing soldiers in a castle,
she thought—a thought so distressing it reamed her heart.

“How long . . . ?” she began, but had to swallow again, force down her queasiness. “How long have you been part of this?”

“Oh, forever,” he said joyfully. “Mother is wise.”

Mother?
That shook her so deeply it took a moment before she could speak. “So . . . that story you told me in the clerk's room . . . that you came home to get away from Mother. I should have known you didn't mean it.”

He smiled, and in his self-satisfaction she saw a trace of the boy he once was, preening at how he'd fooled old Master Prowse at their lessons.

“And your physic work in Lewes?” she asked. “That was all a cover?”

He nodded, then said eagerly, as though to reassure her, “But I'm a good doctor. I like helping people.”

The warmth in his voice rocked her. This was the brother she had protected as a child! The brother she had loved!

He took her hand and squeezed it. “Now, together, we're going to help all of England. Dear sister. How long have
you
been involved?”

Tell your cover story. Don't let him see the truth.
“I'm rather new to it, I'm afraid,” she managed. “I could do nothing while I lived with Father.”

“Of course. Poor Kate. That must have been hard. What changed, then?”

“I married Owen Lyon.”

He gave a small gasp, as though realizing that this fact should have been obvious. “Of course! You have been in disgrace with Father because of your husband. He went to prison for his faith. Yet it never occurred to me that he had brought you to our cause.”

“Yes . . .” she stammered. “Owen's courage gave me courage.”

“How wonderful. I would like to meet him.”

Kate smoothed her skirt to avoid his eyes. Tears scratched her throat.
If only I had listened to Owen!

She felt Robert's eyes on her, felt his curious wonder. “How did Castelnau recruit you?”

He didn't. I went to him.
“Through his wife, Marie. We're friends.”

“Ah!”

Her mind felt split by an axe. Yet she knew she had to make the most of this moment. Had to find out what she could about Robert's cabal. What were they planning? Who was their leader? “Robert, Castelnau told me to be absolutely sure about my contacts. Do you really trust those men?”

“Oh yes. On my life.”

“But why are there so many? It can't have taken five men to smuggle one packet of letters in to Her Majesty.” She used this title for Mary as Matthew had tutored her. Mary's followers did not acknowledge her deposed status.

“Their mission goes beyond that.”

Does it, by God?
“Who are they? That man with the black beard—”

“That's Captain Fortescue.”

Kate stifled a gasp. Fortescue—the name she had decrypted in the letter from Morgan. A Cambridge-educated priest now returned from Paris. Owen had told Matthew he'd seen Fortescue at Arundel Castle . . . and the Earl of Arundel was a close friend of the Earl of Northumberland! Kate hardly knew how she managed to keep a calm face. She coughed to cover her turmoil. “Dust,” she explained, waving absently at the air.

“It's barley,” he said with a nod at the sacks. He patted the one they were sitting on. “I'll pull down a few to make you a bed. It's hardly one of Grandmother's feather mattresses, but I daresay you'll find it soft enough for one night. I'll bring you a blanket.”

“Robert, what is the group's mission?”

He looked eager to speak, but checked himself. “Sorry, I'm sworn to secrecy. But don't worry, they're all good men, proven men.”

“Is Fortescue your leader?”

“Actually, he's just taken over from
me.
”

This was
Robert's
conspiracy? The horror swarmed over her again.
Owen was right!
“Taken over? Why? Are you leaving?”

He smiled slyly. “Just to London. I have a new mission.” She waited, hoping for more. But it was clear he had said all he would about it. “As for Lord Henry,” he added brightly, “he runs the letter delivery into Sheffield Manor.”

“Lord who?”

“Harkness. That's his alias. He's Lord Henry Alward, from up north. His father is the Marquis of Craddock.”

This was even more surprising. The Marquis of Craddock was not a known Catholic recusant. Quite the opposite—Kate recalled Matthew mentioning that Craddock had spoken in support of Queen Elizabeth's religious settlement. He was a committed Protestant.

Robert, seeing her confusion, said with contempt, “His father found it politic to conform.”

“But Lord Henry obviously does not.”

“He pretends to, for our purposes. His bloodline gives him the privilege of access to Sheffield Manor, you see. His father has long enjoyed a friendship with the Earl of Shrewsbury, who has the keeping of Her Majesty, so Lord Henry is a welcome visitor.”

Clever, she thought. “And once he is inside they actually let him see Her Majesty?”

“No, that is too much to hope for. But there is a loyal maid in her retinue whose acquaintance he has cultivated. That's how the letters you brought made their way to Her Majesty.”

Kate could not help being impressed. “Goodness, this is all still so new to me. Hidden loyalties. Secret missions. Alias names. My head is spinning.”

He grinned. “Indeed,
Mistress Durant.
”

She managed a smile, almost genuine. But then a new thought made her wary. “Do they know who
you
are?”

“They do now, since I moved into Father's house. We knew I could best serve Her Majesty as the trusted son of Baron Thornleigh.”

Moved in . . . thanks to me!
Misery roiled in her. She had enabled Robert's return into Father's affection.
Infiltration by the enemy
. . .

“Oh, Kate, it's so good to have you with us.” His voice was warm, intimate. “All those years without you. I missed you so much.” He smiled. “But that's all changed now. Wonderfully changed!” With his longer legs, and the seat so low, he had drawn up his knees and settled his forearms across them, relaxed in her presence. “I'll tell you something,” he said quietly. “It's been strange being back with Father. I had thought I hated him. Abandoned, never hearing a word from him all those years. But now that I've been back, it's . . . well, different somehow. He's been so happy having me home. That banquet he threw for me. He's not a bad man, really. I think you feel the same, in spite of how he's treated you. He's just been caught up in Elizabeth's evil policies. But once things change in England, once the true faith is restored and proper order established, I think we can bring Father round. In any case, when that great day comes I mean to do my best to protect him from retribution. You can help, too. They'll listen to two of us.”

Kate was holding her breath.
The true faith restored? Retribution?

He looked deeply into her eyes, his expression fervent. “I dream of that day, Kate. Dream about the future—a lasting, peaceful future for us all.” His cheeks went pink and he added shyly, “I might even marry.”

His trust in her rocked Kate. His unshakable affection. She could not manage her somersaulting emotions. Being her brother's confidante was too much.

“Goodness,” she said, feigning a sudden thought. She got to her feet. “I'd forgotten about Soames.”

“Who?”

“Grandmother's servant. He's waiting outside. I'd better tell him we're staying the night.”

“Good, have him bring in your things.” Robert got up, too. “And I'll go and tell my friends who you really are.”

Her heart kicked.
He knows?
A heartbeat later, at his delighted smile, she realized what he meant: telling his fellow conspirators that she was his sister. She would much prefer to maintain her anonymity, but she saw that he had made up his mind. Besides, this group's superiors, whoever they were, probably knew already, since Castelnau had no doubt got their approval for his choice of courier. They would have accepted her exactly as she and Matthew and Owen had wanted, as the wife of a Catholic sympathizer disgraced in the eyes of her father.

Leaving Robert, she crossed the front room in a daze of distress. She stepped outside into the dazzle of sunshine. Everything looked disorientingly normal. The dry bracken rustled in the breeze. A heron swooped across the pond and alighted on the far shore. Soames sat on a tree stump beside the tethered horses, his eyes closed, arms crossed, enjoying the sunshine.