Chapter Five
Maddy made her way back to the drawing room. The men had returned to their chessboard, but she could feel Musgrave’s eyes on her. She ignored him. Cold to the bone and annoyed that she hadn’t been shown her chamber or given an opportunity to refresh herself, she addressed Lady Dacre, probably too brusquely. “Pray, madam, where is my trunk? I would like to have my short cloak to put around my shoulders.”
She looked taken aback. “My dear girl, how thoughtless of me.” Hurrying to the door, she summoned a servant.
The woman, whose name was Edith, appeared almost immediately, and Lady Dacre directed her to escort Maddy to her chamber. “Your belongings have already been placed there,” she said. “You will please tell me if you are lacking anything.”
“Thank you, my lady. Shall I return here?”
“Yes, for a short time. I know you must be tired, but I think it would be wise for us to talk about your duties before we retire.”
She curtsied and followed Edith. To her surprise, her chamber was not in the vicarage. In fact, reaching it meant exiting the building and entering the hall through a side door, traversing its length, and finally entering the tower. The kitchen was on the ground floor, and she could see the potboy, still hard at work. A kitchen maid was sweeping up. They climbed a stairway to the rooms above. Edith opened a door, walked in, and lit a candle for Maddy from the one she held.
“I’ll wait for you in the passageway, mistress.”
Maddy breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the windows were glazed and a fire was burning in the hearth. Spying on Lady Dacre, finding an opportunity to look through her letters, would be difficult at this far remove. She sifted through her trunk and pulled out her short cloak, then looked under the bed for a chamber pot. God be thanked, she found one, and after using it, poured water from a ewer into the bowl on the washing stand and washed her hands.
Back in the passageway she noticed there were two other chambers. “Is anybody else staying up here, Edith?”
“No, mistress. Only you.”
Lady Dacre’s head bobbed up when Maddy returned to the drawing room, and she thought the older woman must have dozed off. The two men were nowhere in sight. She invited Maddy to sit across from her in one of the chairs before the fire. “I am sorry you must stay in the tower, Mistress Madeleine. Because Master Vine is visiting, there is no spare chamber for you here.” Since the vicarage seemed spacious, Maddy wondered if her location wasn’t due to her status in the household rather than the lack of available rooms.
Since Maddy could not say how relieved she was to know that Musgrave’s chamber was nowhere near hers, she merely said, “It will suit me well. Chambers above the kitchens are always the warmest.”
Smiling, Lady Dacre picked up a leather-bound volume from a side table and handed it to Maddy. At first glance, she thought it was a Book of Hours, although a very austere one. “Open it,” she said. Maddy did so and was shocked to see she was holding a Bible. She must have gasped, because the other woman chuckled. “Have you never seen one?”
“Of course, but only in a priest’s hands.” Roman Catholics did not own Bibles. Few people did. She turned the pages with the utmost care. There was no decoration, no illumination of any kind, not even for the names of the books, and it was in English.
After she’d had a chance to leaf through it for a few moments, Lady Dacre said, “I do not read, beyond a few words. I never learned, and I’m too old to start now.”
“You would like me to read to you from the Bible.”
“Yes. Not now, the hour is too late. We will begin tomorrow. I enjoy poetry, too.”
“My cousin told me you may need my help with your correspondence.”
“Christopher has been assisting me with that task, but I know he finds it odious. Since much of it concerns a lawsuit one of my other stepsons has filed against me, it is awkward for him. You do not need to know the details; I only need you to read the letters to me and record my replies.”
Maddy nodded and Lady Dacre went on. “I am an early riser.”
“So am I, my lady.”
“Good. I say my prayers in my chamber, and you may do the same. Afterward, I break my fast in the small dining room where we supped tonight. You may join me there. I am a needlewoman, Mistress Madeleine, and I spend much of the morning stitching.”
“I take great pleasure in needlework as well.”
“I will want you to read to me while I’m sewing,” she said, “but I will also allow you time for your own stitching.”
Maddy’s face heated. “Aye, that is kind of you, madam.” So far, her employer had exhibited no lightheartedness or sense of humor. The days would be long indeed if she was always so serious. Maddy pictured herself nodding off while reading a Bible story out loud.
“After dinner, which is served midday, I rest for two hours. Some days I will have work for you to complete during that time; other days, you may do what you like. When I awake, I work on my correspondence. I will, of course, require your assistance for that.”
Nothing she had said seemed to require a response from Maddy, so she remained silent. “We sup around six of the clock, and in the evenings I like to sew, if there is sufficient light. Sometimes I play cards with my son and his friend.”
Maddy stifled a yawn.
“Enough for now,” Lady Dacre said. “I am tired, and I can see that you are, too.”
In the passage, they both lit candles and went their separate ways. When Maddy stepped outside into the cold, a blast of wind laden with stinging snow blew in her face and extinguished the candle. She would have to feel her way through the hall. Hurrying inside, Maddy wondered if Ryder had arrived in Brampton yet. The weather would slow his progress.
The large expanse of the hall was dark as ink, and she doubted the single candle would have been much help. She wanted to run, to reach the stairway quickly, but she couldn’t see well enough. Suddenly, a figure stepped out of the shadows, and Maddy froze. It took only a moment to realize who it was. Musgrave. He towered over her. Before she could speak, he reached for her hand. “Let me guide you to your chamber, Madeleine,” he said, in that low, seductive voice of his. “’Tis difficult to see in the creeping darkness.”
Outraged, she pulled her hand behind her back. “Mistress Vernon, to you. And I am not letting you anywhere near my chamber.” Her voice was pathetically shaky.
“It would be easier to talk in private. And wiser.”
“Say now whatever it is you came to say. There is no one about.”
“I could force you there, Madeleine.”
“Aye, you could. But what will Lady Dacre say when I tell her?”
He sighed and looked away. When he turned back, he seemed resigned. “What are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same thing of you. Thomas Vine, indeed.”
He grabbed Maddy’s arm and dug his fingers in.
“Lady Dacre desired a companion and secretary. I needed employment,” she almost squealed.
His grip eased.
“She does not know about your brother.”
So he’d heard. “No.”
“Who is Ryder?”
This was tricky. Maddy wished she’d had time to think about what to say before he confronted her. “A distant cousin,” she said. “He learned of my predicament.”
“If Lady Dacre knew about your brother, she would probably rid herself of you faster than King Henry shed his wives. She’s angry about the rebellion.”
“I worked that out on my own. And what if she learns of your duplicity? Why are you calling yourself Thomas Vine?”
“That is none of your concern. And if you dare to reveal my identity, I’ll tell her what a lying little whore you are.”
“I can see you have not changed. Not that I would have expected you to, if I’d given you a moment’s thought.” Even though Maddy knew what he was—a thief and probably a murderer—his words still stung. She’d fallen under his spell at one time, had even childishly thought he loved her. There was one thing in her favor, though. Musgrave did not appear to know about her involvement in the Dacre raid. God be thanked for that, at least.
“Go about your work as a companion, and I will attend to my own affairs. See that you stay out of my business.”
She nodded and started forward, wondering exactly what that business could be. Maddy had nothing more to say to him. For a moment, she thought he intended to block her way, but he stepped aside. It seemed to take forever to get to her chamber. Her legs were trembling so hard she collapsed onto the bed, pausing only to set the candleholder down. Was she in danger of being accosted by him every time she passed through the hall?
A servant had recently been in to add another log to the fire. When she felt strong enough, Maddy stood before the hearth and undressed down to her smock. Unlacing a bodice without help was difficult, but she managed. She’d done it before. She threw the cloak back around her shoulders and retrieved the coffer Ryder had insisted she bring with her. Since nothing inside truly belonged to her, Maddy wasn’t sure why it drew her. The key was in the lock; she turned it and lifted the lid.
To her astonishment, her brother’s dirk was resting on the top. The one that had been confiscated the night of the raid, in its scabbard. A sheet of foolscap was wrapped around it and secured with a string. She read the message: Mistress Vernon, in the event you need to defend yourself, you should have possession of your weapon. It was signed NR. No wasted words there. Throwing the note on the fire, Maddy watched it catch, curl, and burn to ashes. He’d taken a foolish risk, with both the dirk and the note. Anybody could have searched the unlocked coffer during the evening.
Her door did not have a lock—it would have been quite unusual if it had. Maddy was too exhausted to worry overmuch about it. She shoved the dirk under her pillow. In the morning, she would lock it in the coffer and tuck the key into a pocket sewn into her skirts.
…
Each time he returned home after an assignment, Nicholas had to reaccustom himself to life in Brampton. To hearing his father’s endless barrage of criticism about how he was handling a prisoner. This time would be no different. Now, though, he had his nephew, Daniel, to distract him and buoy his spirits. Outside Francis Ryder’s library, Nicholas kneeled in front of the lad and said, “You know you cannot come with me when I talk to your grandfather. Find Margery. She will be good company for you until I am free.” Margery was a housemaid with whom Daniel had formed a special bond, and Nicholas trusted her absolutely. For a moment, it looked as though the lad might cry—his uncle had only just arrived home, after all—but in the end, he blinked away the tears and ran off.
Getting to his feet, Nicholas watched for a moment. At odd times, he felt a tightness in his chest, an overwhelming sadness for Daniel. He followed Nicholas about, from his study to his chamber, from the kitchens to the stables. He was always at his heels. Daniel’s favorite place was the glass house adjacent to the kitchens. After a visit to the botanic gardens in London, Nicholas had begun importing roses from the New World. Now he’d progressed to growing them himself, an enterprise his father thought completely useless.
Nicholas spoke an endless stream of words to the small lad, but, sadly, Daniel never answered. He hadn’t uttered a word since his father’s death. A bright child, he clearly understood all that was being said. His lack of speech had nothing to do with his intelligence. Before Richard died, the boy had been articulate for his age, and in a typical childlike way, had not had any hesitance about expressing himself. But it was as if, when he’d lost his father, his words had been taken away from him, too.
Nicholas knocked on the door of Francis Ryder’s inner sanctum and entered without waiting for permission.
“Coddling that boy again, are you?”
“Good morrow, Father,” he said, ignoring the comment about Daniel.
“Is the Vernon wench in place?”
Nicholas glanced at the map pinned to the wall behind the desk. It was crude—he’d drawn it himself—and represented the clans over the border. He’d drawn Xs with a quill to show the suspected location of the rebels.
Pulling his eyes away, he said, “She is. I supped with them before taking my leave.”
“Ah. Who else was present?”
“As we thought, Christopher Dacre. And a fellow who was introduced as a ‘friend,’ one Thomas Vine from London.”
“Vine, eh? Never heard of him.”
Nicholas shrugged. “It could be an alias. I did not like the look of him. We should delve into his background.”
“Indeed. I’ll send a messenger to London. What did this Vine have to say for himself?”
“He knew about the queen’s intent to send her army on raids into Scotland to find the rebels, whom he condemned as fools. Neither Lady Dacre nor her son had much to say about the rebellion, although she took the part of the Scots queen as regards to her child being separated from her.”
“How do you think the girl will get on?”
“Well enough. She seemed at ease during the meal, although she was quiet. She spoke only when someone asked her a question.” Fleetingly, he recalled Madeleine Vernon’s blue-green eyes and the look of vulnerability reflected in their depths when he took his leave. He hadn’t wanted to part from her, but Nicholas could not afford to think of her as anything other than his spy. To successfully complete this mission and his service to the queen, he must focus on the task at hand. A satisfactory end to this business would ensure his freedom, and that was his ultimate goal. His fears had eased about her situation at Lanercost Priory. Apart from Vine’s presence, it was a relatively safe situation, and they should soon learn more about the man.
“A proper young woman, then,” his father said, “who knows her place. Lady Dacre will appreciate that. Does she have the resolve to carry out her instructions? That is what we should be concerned about.”
“I believe so, but she is, of course, an unwilling participant in this endeavor. How far she can be trusted, I do not yet know.”
His father banged a fist down on the desk. “Did you give her the ultimatum, as you were instructed to do?”
“I did,” Nicholas said evenly. “I told you that at the castle.” In the last year, he had found that the most effective reaction to his father’s bursts of temper was to remain calm. “Mistress Vernon expressed an interest in remaining alive.”
“Then she has every reason to do as you bid.”
“So it would seem. She will come here on market days to make her reports. I do not expect her to find out much of anything helpful this first week.”
Fingers steepled, his father looked thoughtful.
What now?
“I do not care for the unexpected presence of this Thomas Vine at the priory. We expected there might be a guest present, but not a suspicious one. It would behoove us to keep watch on that situation.”
Nicholas’s annoyance grew. “Meaning what?”
“I want you to pay a visit to Mistress Vernon in the next few days. Clandestinely, of course. Find out how she’s faring and what she’s learned of this Vine character.”
That was the last thing Nicholas wanted. He was Madeleine’s spymaster, the man controlling her every move. He felt drawn to her in a way that gave the lie to that relationship, and further contact would only intensify his feelings. Any dallying with the spies under one’s command was strictly forbidden by Cecil, the queen’s chief councilor. “It is too soon, Father,” he protested. “She won’t know anything yet.”
Francis Ryder leaned across his desk. “It matters not how you arrange it, but I want it done.”
In no mood for an argument, Nicholas nodded. “I should go and find Daniel, if there’s nothing more.”
“That boy could talk if he wanted to,” the old man said. “One of these days he’ll speak, if he knows what’s good for him.”
“He will talk again in his own good time. The physician said we must not press him.”
Impatiently, his father waved a hand through the air, which Nicholas considered a dismissal. He left his parent to his papers, dispatches, and maps.
It was yet too cold for Daniel to play outside, although Nicholas often led him about on his pony, even in the coldest weather, for the benefit of some fresh air for them both. He knew Margery would not have ventured out, so he headed for the glass house, trusting that Daniel would find him there. His plants no doubt had been sorely neglected during the weeks he’d spent at the castle.
He puttered about, watering, pruning, cutting away dead foliage, and thinking about Mistress Madeleine Vernon in a desultory way. She was an interesting creature. She had borne her imprisonment stoically, and once she had agreed to work for him, hadn’t expressed any trepidation or hesitance. He admired her for that. He was having difficulty dismissing her image from his mind. The glorious hair. The entrancing blue-green eyes…
Give over, man.
He dragged a barrel over and swept the detritus of his work into it. And then he heard a giggle, which he pretended not to notice. It was a game he often played with Daniel, his favorite. “Hmm. I wonder what that noise was. There must be a mouse in here. I shall have to call the mole catcher.” Another partially stifled laugh. Nicholas rolled the barrel back to its place and turned to walk down the other side of the workbench. “Where could that diminutive, hairy pest be hiding?”
Daniel’s small arse protruded from under a low shelf. “Ah! There’s the mouse! Fie, away to the fields with you, Sir Mouse!” He pounced on him, gathering his squirming little body into his arms. Every time they played this game, he expected the lad to beg for mercy, but he never had. Nor did he now. Nicholas made as if to open the door and cast him out. Daniel stopped laughing and shook his head vigorously. The game was finished.
“What shall we do now, young Master Mouse?” Daniel shook his head, then swept into a bow. Odd that Nicholas understood him through his gestures and expressions. “You wish to be called ‘Sir Mouse?’ Are you a knight, Sir Mouse? Shall we do a bit of jousting?” A smile and nod from Daniel, and they were off riding their imaginary destriers.
For the remainder of the evening, Nicholas pondered ways to secretly visit Madeleine Vernon, until at last he concocted a viable plan.