The Traitor's Daughter (30 page)

Once past the straggling troop she and Owen and Robert spurred their horses into a fast trot. Robert fell back just enough to ride alongside her and he threw her a look of misery. “Thank you,” he said, his voice raw with furious frustration, but his thanks sincere.

Kate said nothing. She wanted no more words with him. By his abominable “mission” he had cut himself off from her. He had severed the bonds of the childhood love she had once thought were unbreakable, had befouled that love with his monstrous intent. Well, she had thwarted his intent. And once he was sailing to Portugal her debt to him—her guilt at having once abandoned him—would be discharged.

She was done with her brother forever.

The beggar sitting slumped on the steps of the Merchant Taylors Hall looked up as the three of them approached. Kate caught his eye. She saw that his right ear was mutilated, a red-raw, shriveled thing. Pity for him flashed through her. She slipped a sixpence from her purse and tossed it to him as she rode past. For luck. She felt a twinge at the childish practice.
Old habits die hard.

The beggar watched her go, ignoring the coin that rolled by his boot.

21

Tower Hill

K
ate and Robert and Owen rode fast in the deepening dusk and turned east off Bishopsgate Street onto Fenchurch Street. Their horses' pounding hooves matched the pounding of Kate's heart as she kept up with the men. Owen had set this headlong pace and zigzagging route to keep Robert believing their fiction that the Queen's men were after him. Robert was riding for his life.

With buildings rising on either side of her Kate felt she was riding down a dark canyon. Obstacles squeezed the way: a wagon, pedestrians, an oxcart, a water conduit, a plodding donkey. She dodged them narrowly as the three of them cantered down Mark Lane. Owen glanced back to make sure she was keeping up and she thought she saw him smile, though the darkness made it hard to see his face clearly. East again they turned and cantered along Hart Street. In a gap between houses Kate glimpsed the tower of All Hallows Barking church at Tower Street. Birds flying over it were black specks against the rising full moon. Just ten minutes more of this punishing pace, she told herself, and they would reach the river. At Galley Wharf a wherry would take Robert to the flotilla of merchant ships lying at anchor off the Tower of London. The
Nancy Willoughby,
bound for Portugal, would carry him away.

And then, finally, this long day would be over.

They were approaching Seething Lane, about to turn south, when they came up behind a lumbering carriage and had to draw rein. The sedate vehicle painted blue and gold rattled along at a leisurely pace, its progress causing congestion. Carriages were a rarity in England so people stopped to look. Apprentices rolling beer barrels down a wagon's ramp, housewives carrying supper home from cookhouses, boys and beggars, gentlemen and servant girls—all paused to peer at the vehicle as though it might contain the Queen herself. Torches flanked the liveried coachman. Dogs barked at the flames.

Kate watched Owen turn his mount toward the gutter to skirt the congestion. Robert followed, kicking his horse, desperately eager to get on. Kate coaxed her mare after them and edged past the rear of the carriage. She was an arm's length from it when it came to a halt and the door swung open in front of her. A man stepped out, his back to her. He handed out a woman who lifted her hood against the snowflakes as she turned to Kate.

Kate flinched. It was Marie de Castelnau, the ambassador's wife.

“Mistress Lyon!” she said, beaming. “I
told
Michel it was you.”

The man turned. The ambassador! He looked equally startled to see Kate, but quickly guarded himself. “Mistress Lyon,” he murmured in greeting.

Kate stammered, “Madame . . . Monsieur . . .”

“What a delightful surprise,” said the lady. “Are you joining us for supper?”

“Supper?” Distracted, Kate was watching Owen, who had halted, observing her with a questioning look that said:
What's happening?
Robert looked horrified, as though he feared this was an ambush.

The French couple did not notice them. “Yes, with the Lumleys.” Marie gestured to an imposing house behind a stone wall.

“Oh. No, I'm not.” Kate was trying to think. She could not let Castelnau see that she was with Robert and Owen!

“Ah, too bad,” said Marie. “It has been so long since I've seen you.”

Castelnau turned to the coachman and said, “Bring in the wine, Henri.” His wife glanced at him and Kate snatched the moment to gesture frantically to Owen to move on, mouthing:
Go!
Owen did not know who these people were, but he could not miss her urgency in that one unspoken word. He nodded, turned his horse's head, and broke into a trot. Robert quickly followed, clearly anxious to be out of here.

“Do you know Baron Lumley?” Marie was asking.

Kate collected herself. “No,” she answered as pleasantly as she could. “Is this his house?”

“His London house, yes. He is from the north. The greatest coal owner among the English aristocracy, I am told.”

From the corner of her eye Kate watched Owen and Robert canter on. She would catch up with them.

Marie was looking at her, faintly anxious. “Where are you going at this time of night, my dear, all alone?”

Castelnau eyed Kate soberly, waiting for the answer.

 

“South here!” Owen pointed down Seething Lane and he and Robert cantered into the turn. He had to raise his voice above the pounding of their horses' hooves.

Robert threw a nervous look back over his shoulder. “But why did she stop? Who was that?”

Was he anxious about his sister? Owen wondered. No, more likely about his own skin. “Not sure,” he said. “Someone she could not ignore.”

But Owen
was
anxious about her. He didn't like leaving her alone with night closing in. Londoners locked their doors against the thieves and felons who would be slinking out from their daytime haunts. Business men heading home in the dark often had their sturdy apprentices accompany them armed with clubs.

Felons, he thought with a glance at Kate's brother riding beside him. Robert Thornleigh was working for the enemy. It would be easy to rid the world of him.
Turn him off,
as Owen's underworld acquaintances would put it. Any of the night-dark alleys they were riding past would do. Matthew would commend him, might even reward him. But Owen knew he could not do it. Kate had asked him to get her brother safely away, and her trust was a thing more precious than gold.

They were almost at Tower Street, a wider thoroughfare. The tower of All Hallows Barking church rose dead ahead. The Thames was so near Owen could smell the fishy reek of river mud. To his left stretched the dark wasteland of Tower Hill. Beyond it rose the massive precincts of the Tower of London. The moon skulking behind it was bright enough to etch the bare trees and bramble thickets of Tower Hill and the gallows that stood upon the mound. Snowflakes eddied around the gibbet.

Hoofbeats rumbled behind them. Owen glanced back in surprise. Horsemen, perhaps a half-dozen, were galloping down Seething Lane toward them.

“Oh God!” Robert gasped. “They're after me!” He whipped his mount in panic and galloped for Tower Hill.

“No, not that way!” Owen called after him. The fool! The horsemen were likely a pack of the night watch chasing a thief, or maybe a merchant's guards riding to join his ship. But Robert was too panicked to stop. Cursing him, Owen cantered after him along Barking Lane.

The horsemen turned onto Barking Lane, too. Owen glanced back, startled to see them coming, and gaining on him. He caught up with Robert at the base of Tower Hill. They had to slow at the edge of a black hollow fretted with brambles. Robert savagely yanked his horse's reins to turn it south, but the frightened animal whinnied and shied and staggered toward Owen.

“Thornleigh!” A shout from the horsemen.

Confusion raced through Owen. He turned his horse to face the oncoming men. Five of them. Moonlight lit up their grim faces. Owen's heart thumped. He knew the ginger-bearded leader, one of Northumberland's armed retainers. Hooper was his name. He and the four men with him reached Owen and Robert in a rumble of hooves and jangle of harness, and surrounded them.

The scruffy man beside Hooper turned his head. It was the beggar from the steps of the Merchant Taylors Hall. Owen saw the mutilated ear and his stomach lurched.
Burkitt
. . . Dressed so raggedly, his face down as they'd passed him, his identity had not registered with Owen. The truth now flared over him like a flash of Kate's coin. Northumberland must have posted Burkitt to spy on Kate's father's house. Seeing Robert ride away with her and Owen, he must have hustled off with the information to Hooper.

“Hooper!” Robert cried in amazed relief. “Thank God it's you! But what the devil, man, you turned my blood cold! Why—” He didn't finish, casting a frightened look back the way they'd come. “Never mind. No time. Let me through! We cannot stop!”

He made to break through the circle, but Hooper snatched his horse's bridle, halting him. “Question is, Thornleigh, what are
you
doing? It's east you should be heading. We've got everything ready. A fast horse waiting for you at Kingston.”

“No, no! I had to abandon the plan. Now let me go! They're after me!”

“Who is?” Hooper scowled in puzzlement, but held firm to Robert's bridle. “And what about you, Lyon? You're supposed to be at Whitehall delivering His Lordship's gift. What are you doing here with Thornleigh?”

“He's saving my life, you idiot!” Robert snapped. “They're coming! Walsingham's men!”

Alarm flitted over Hooper's face. “Who told you that?”

“Lyon did. And my sister. They heard!”

Hooper frowned, looking at Owen. “Whom did you hear, Lyon?”

Owen had to think fast. He would stick to what Kate had said. No other lie was possible. “Walsingham himself. At Lady Thornleigh's house. Lord Burghley was there. Walsingham came and told him they were about to make arrests and he named names. Thornleigh was one.” He was talking quickly. His best bet was bluster. “Now let us pass! There's a ship at Galley Wharf that'll take him to safety. Come on, Thornleigh.”

Robert ordered Hooper, “Yes,
move,
you blockhead!”

Hooper ignored Robert and kicked his horse a bold step forward to block Owen's escape. “Not so fast.”

Owen looked him in the eye. “Do you want Thornleigh's arrest on your head? Don't risk it. His Lordship would carve out your liver and eat it.”

Hooper's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You heard Walsingham say this? Today?”

Robert cursed in frustration. “Are you deaf, man? Of course today!”

Hooper's gaze had not left Owen. “Walsingham's in Canterbury. Rode there yesterday. And Lord Burghley fell sick with a flux last night at his home in Cheshunt. Hasn't left his bed all day.”

There was silence. Owen heard his own pulse throbbing at his temples.

Robert was staring at him, his face blank with bewilderment. “Lyon? What does this mean? Kate heard something . . . didn't she?”

Owen's tongue felt thick in his throat. He would not implicate Kate. It would do no good in any case. Her story lay in shreds.

Burkitt, the beggar-spy, spoke up from the encircling pack, his tone full of suspicion. “Lyon's the one that turned over Rankin last month. In His Lordship's hall, remember?”

Rankin, the porter, Owen realized. Matthew's double-dealing agent. The one Northumberland had drowned.

Hooper looked irritated at the interruption. “What's Rankin got to do with it?”

“His Lordship had his things searched, remember?” said Burkitt. “ 'Cause Lyon said to look. They found a purse of coins and a letter, and that's what sealed his death.” He glared at Owen. “I always wondered why Lyon said to search his things.”

They were all watching him, all suspicious now. “So he did,” said Hooper. “How did you know Rankin would have that letter, Lyon?”

“An educated guess,” Owen answered steadily. “I look out for His Lordship's interests with vigilance.”

“Or maybe with a reward in mind. Walsingham's gold. Is that whom you're working for?”

“I serve His Lordship the Earl of Northumberland, same as you. And,” he added, making it a threat, “you know he values me. If you value your own hide you won't interfere in matters you don't understand.”

“I know this much. You're a lying bastard.”

Owen knew that glint in the man's eyes. Like a dog that smells blood. He looked for a way to bolt. But now they were all alert for any move from him.

“Lies!” Robert cried. His eyes bored into Owen's in fury. His face darkened, the darkness of hatred. “All lies—” The words seemed to choke him. “No one is coming after me. You lured me. You and Kate. I can't believe it . . . my own
sister
—” His voice broke.

“No, I made her say all that. I knew you'd listen to her. I convinced her we had to get you out of the country for all our sakes. For His Lordship, for all of us.” He looked at the other men, hoping to coax them to his side. “I wanted Thornleigh out because he's not up to the job. He's a fool, a hothead. He's going to make a slip and get us all arrested.”

“What was your plan?” Robert's voice was strangled, his face white with rage. “Get me into the shadows of the wharf and cut my throat?”

“No. There
is
a ship.” Owen appealed to the others. “That's the truth, my friends, so help me God. Captain Halter of the
Nancy Willoughby.
He's expecting Thornleigh. His ship's bound for Funchal. Portugal. Thornleigh will be out of the way there. Safer for us all.”

He looked from face to face, into the eyes of men he had lived with for almost a month, willing them to believe him.