Chapter Nine
Lady Dacre had lent Maddy a smart little palfrey, Eve, to ride to Brampton. Wrapped in her hooded travel cloak, her feet booted, Maddy stayed relatively warm even in the waning light. She’d strapped the dirk about her waist, but God be thanked, there was no sign of Musgrave. She yearned to be safely inside the walls of the priory. If the knave confronted her there, at least she wouldn’t be on a lonely, isolated road.
There had been a slight thaw the past week, and in some places the ground was visible. Alongside the road, snow lay in deep, curving drifts. Now, as the day waned, the trees cast long, spidery shadows against the stark white. The sky, indeed, it seemed the very air, was the color of pewter. Maddy had always loved the quality of the light in winter. Despite her eagerness to be back at Lanercost, it was good to have some time to ponder her visit with Nicholas Ryder.
Upon her arrival, Maddy had thought it was going to be a disaster. She’d looked forward to this day. Though she had told herself not to think of Ryder as her friend, plainly she had not heeded her own counsel. In vain she had waited for a few words of kindness before they settled down to business. How fare you, or are they being kind to you? They had never come, and yet the day had turned out to be the best she’d experienced in a long while.
Why?
In large part, it was because of Daniel. The child was a delight. A mystery as well. Why did he not speak? Was it a physical deformity? Perhaps his tongue did not work as it should. When he laughed, though, she could not see anything wrong with it. He was a very loving—and lovable—child. Ryder seemed to be completely under his spell. Intriguing to learn that he had a caring, patient side. A side she hadn’t seen before.
And, unexpectedly, Maddy had enjoyed her exchange with Ryder.
When he’d expressed concern for her safety, she had searched his face. She could not doubt his sincerity. But when she’d professed her sympathy for Lady Dacre, he’d threatened her. Indirect though it was, his words had conveyed the fact that if she weren’t at Lanercost spying, she would be back in a cell at Carlisle Castle awaiting her fate. If Daniel hadn’t entered the room, she would have challenged him on it.
And the man was too perceptive for her peace of mind. He’d guessed she was keeping something from him. Fortunately, he had accepted her recounting of the Cath episode without probing further regarding Musgrave. It had irritated her that he seemed concerned for her well-being, yet he was the one who had placed her in this position.
They hit an icy patch and Eve slipped, nearly tossing her to the ground. She must pay closer attention. Taking a firmer hold on the reins, for a time she kept all thoughts of Ryder at bay.
But gradually, her mind found its way back to him. In the coming week, when she thought of Ryder at all, she must remember the brutal way he had told her that Ann’s head had been split open by a lance. How carelessly he had informed her that she would be hanged if she didn’t cooperate with him. She would recall the contemptuous look in his eyes as he’d accused her of worrying more about her status as a servant in the home of her in-laws than of the fate of her friends. She would remember the judgmental look when he’d implied that she hadn’t mourned her brother properly. That was the real Nicholas Ryder. Not this paragon of fatherhood she’d seen today. Not the person who seemed genuinely concerned about her safety.
Aye, she would do well to remember exactly what that meant. It was in his best interest to keep her safe. If something happened to her, he would be left without an informant. Then perhaps he would be in trouble. He reported to somebody, possibly to William Cecil, the Secretary of State, himself. If something awful were to befall Maddy, he would be forced to find another way to obtain the information she was now supplying. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that this was the only reason he was the least bit concerned about her welfare.
By the time she rode over the wooden bridge that crossed the river Irthing, twilight had fallen, and she was tired and chilled to the bone. But she had managed to banish Ryder from her thoughts.
Maddy stopped by the kitchen with her basket, which contained at least a half dozen cheese tarts. Perhaps Cook would like to serve them with supper. She had been cool to her ever since the episode with Cath, so Maddy had no idea how her offering would be received.
“Good even, Mistress Derby. Something smells wonderful.” A joint of beef was roasting on a spit in the hearth, fat crackling as it dripped onto the fire. The potboy stood sentinel nearby, ready to turn it. Maddy had noticed the priory did not observe the usual strictures of the Lenten season, eating as much meat as they pleased. The cook did not acknowledge her comment.
“Mistress.” She barely inclined her head. Tendrils of hair, damp from perspiration, peeked out of her cap. It struck her that perhaps Cook was the one who had informed on her. Musgrave could easily have persuaded her, more likely bribed her, to let him know when anything occurred that might be of interest to him.
“I visited the market on the way home. I thought you might like these cheese tarts for our supper.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You think I can’t prepare a proper meal, mistress?”
Her rudeness shocked Maddy. “Certainly not. I have been in residence here long enough to know you’re an excellent cook. The stall was closing, and the tarts looked very tempting. They sold them to me at a bargain price. If you do not want them, I’ll pass them out to the servants.” As Maddy made for the stairway to her chamber, the cook spoke.
“I’ll take them. Warmed up, they’ll be a nice addition to the supper.” Maddy walked back over and handed her the basket, and she began placing the tarts on the long wooden worktable. When she’d finished, she handed Maddy the volume Nicholas Ryder had given her. “You’ll be wanting this.”
“Aye.” Maddy waved the book at her and said, “From the bookseller’s stall.” After tossing the volume into the empty basket, she fled. Mistress Derby did not thank her, but then she hadn’t expected her to. Convinced the woman was Musgrave’s spy, Maddy would be wary of her from now on.
…
On the whole, Mistress Vernon’s first visit had gone well. She had discovered more useful information than expected. At supper, Nicholas reported her findings to his father, who was not impressed.
Francis Ryder quaffed his ale before commenting. “She’ll need to do better than that, Nick. Most of this we already knew, or at the very least, suspected.”
“Perhaps. She has been at the priory for less than a full week, you recall. Norfolk’s missive is significant. Why would he be writing to Lady Jane Dacre?”
The elder Ryder drew his bushy brows together. “Significant it may be, but we don’t yet know its contents, and we may never. Norfolk could be writing to her for any number of reasons. He’s a wily bastard.”
Nicholas swallowed a bite of quail. “She will find the letter, I assure you. The lass has pluck and no end of determination.”
Francis Ryder cocked his head at his son. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you may be developing an interest there. Be careful. She may end up a casualty of this.”
Not if I can help it. “I am well aware of the strictures placed on such familiarities by the queen and William Cecil,” Nicholas said, with barely contained rancor.
“With good reason. Lust can distort judgment, cause otherwise intelligent men to throw reason out the window. The wench can’t be your whore, Nick.”
Nicholas rose so swiftly, he knocked his empty tankard over. “That is the last thing she is. I must see Daniel before he goes to sleep. I give you good night, Father.” Nicholas threw his napkin on the table and strode from the room before Francis Ryder could say another word.
God’s wounds, sometimes he hated the man.
Margery was with Daniel. Bedtime was still difficult for the lad, and either he or Margery stayed with the boy until he slept. Occasionally, this was impossible, and Nicholas imagined Daniel cried himself to sleep on those nights.
“What ho, Daniel! Still awake? Were you waiting for me?” Nicholas nodded to Margery, and she left the room.
He lowered himself to the side of the bed. “Would you like a pony ride tomorrow? Perhaps it will be a bit warmer.”
Daniel nodded enthusiastically.
“I will be speaking to your tutor in the morning. Will I receive a good report?” The boy dipped his head once again, if less enthusiastically. Nicholas chuckled and ruffled the lad’s hair. “Give me a kiss, then. It’s time you were asleep.”
Daniel made no move to kiss his uncle, and Nicholas waited patiently. He’d learned over the past year that sometimes the boy had to think about how to communicate. At length, Daniel arose from his bed and stood on the cold floor, imitating, Nicholas realized at last, a lass. By smiling, wiggling his fingers alongside his head, and hugging himself.
Nicholas watched, laughing. “I see. A big smile, long hair, a loving nature. You are referring to our guest, Mistress Vernon, are you not?”
Daniel nodded.
“Did you like her?” The boy’s grin was so wide, his answer was not in doubt. After Madeleine had gone, Nicholas realized how good she’d been with Daniel. She had such an easy manner with him. Real and true. His nephew had sensed that, as children do.
Daniel set his hands on his hips and glared at his uncle. Then he mimicked kissing somebody, afterward putting his arms up in a question.
Nicholas got it. “You’re asking why I did not kiss her goodbye. Because I am not a little lad, but a grown man. And we are not well acquainted. Come now, to bed with you.”
Reluctantly, Daniel climbed back into bed, hugged Nicholas around the neck, and kissed him soundly.
“Good night, dear boy,” he said.
As he sat, waiting for his nephew to fall asleep, Nicholas weighed matters. All things considered, he wished he had kissed Madeleine Vernon. If the opportunity presented itself again, he would. But how could he stop at only a kiss?
…
During supper, Maddy realized Ryder had been correct about her mistress taking little interest in her. She made no inquiries regarding her day. Maddy thanked her again for providing her with a mount, and the talk then turned to which day she and Christopher would visit tenants. They were to go two days hence. Maddy said nothing, certain that if they wanted her to attend them on their mission, one of them would say so.
“I have business in Carlisle tomorrow,” Musgrave said. “I shall take my leave early and return late the following day.” She could not help wondering what business he could have there, if indeed he had any, but she was more concerned that Nicholas might be there and they could accidentally meet. She supposed Ryder could invent a reason for his presence, but it might be better if he were warned. That meant she would have to write him a note and place it under the loose stone at the foot of the Lanercost Cross.
“A pity,” Lady Dacre said. “Sussex dines with us tomorrow.”
“So Christopher told me,” Musgrave replied.
Holy Blessed Virgin. Sussex, Lord President of the Council of the North. He had presided when Maddy appeared before the council to plead for Robert’s life. An astute man, he would recognize her before he took the first bite of game. He’d reveal all to Lady Dacre, and she would be forced to put an end to Maddy’s service here. She should have told her employer about Robert from the beginning. Now that she knew the woman, she believed Lady Dacre would have been sympathetic. But to learn from Sussex that she’d been lying—she doubted she’d countenance her staying on. Could Maddy plead a headache? An unsettled stomach? Whatever it was, she would need to invent a plausible reason why she could not be present.
During the remainder of the meal, Maddy considered why the Earl of Sussex would be calling on the Dacres. She could not imagine what business he would have here, unless they were old friends. One thing came clear, however. Musgrave must have a reason for wishing to avoid an encounter with the man, which was why he was absenting himself.
After supper, Lady Dacre and the men played primero while Maddy embroidered in the dim light, straining her eyes to distinguish one color from another. At length, she tucked away her silks and canvas and fetched the volume Ryder had plucked from his bookshelf for her basket. Drawing a candle close, she opened the book. It was the poetry of Sir Thomas Wyatt.
Weary and hoping Lady Dacre would call an end to the evening soon, Maddy read only a few poems. They proved to be charming and whimsical, and best of all, made her chuckle. Did Ryder enjoy these poems, or did the volume belong to one of his parents? Or to Daniel’s mother, perhaps. It was difficult to imagine Ryder with a sense of humor, although she’d caught glimpses of it here and there. She envisioned him at his home in Brampton and wondered what he and Daniel were doing. Perhaps he was reading the boy a story. Settling him for the night.
So deeply absorbed was she, Lady Dacre apparently had to speak twice before Maddy heard her. “Madeleine! Attend!”
She jumped to her feet. “Pray forgive me, my lady. I was caught up in my reading.”
She glanced at the book. “What is it?”
“Sir Thomas Wyatt. I purchased it at the bookstall today. I’ve never read his poetry.”
“He’s reputed to be quite the wit. Will you assist me in my chamber? Edith suffers from a gastric complaint. I sent her to bed.”
“Of course.” Before they left the room, Maddy overheard Dacre and Musgrave making plans to meet by the stables in a few minutes. Thank heaven they would be gone when she attempted to place her message at the base of the cross.
After helping her mistress remove her bodice, slashed petticoat, and kirtle, Maddy bent down to unroll her hose. She turned back the bed clothing while the lady performed her ablutions, pushing a few stacks of documents aside first. Lady Dacre climbed the set of steps at the side of her bed and crawled under the covers. “Will you move the warming pan over, Madeleine?”
She slid the pan, heavy with hot coals, to one side. “May I do anything else for you, madam?”
“You must dine in your chamber tomorrow, Madeleine. The earl wishes to discuss a private matter with me and my son.”
Maddy prayed her voice would not give away her profound sense of relief. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll ask Mistress Derby for a tray.” A candle flickered next to the bed. The gold cross the lady always wore caught the light and reflected it back. Maybe someday she would explain why this particular piece was so dear to her.
“Sleep well, my lady,” Maddy said, closing the door.
She hurried to her chamber, a candle lighting the way. Once there, she gathered foolscap, quill, and ink jar and commenced her note to Ryder, keeping it short and concise:
8 March
Thomas Vine will be in Carlisle for a few days. Be on your guard.
She hesitated a moment before adding another line:
Sussex dines here tomorrow.
She did not sign it. In the time required to don her warm cloak, boots, and gloves, the ink had dried. Maddy folded the missive and tucked it into her sleeve, called to Useless, and cautiously proceeded down the stairs. The potboy and scullery maid had finished their work and, she hoped, had found their beds. All was quiet as she walked—without a candle this time—through the hall and out the door, the little dog padding along beside her.
In seconds, the cold air wrapped itself around her. The outline of the Lanercost Cross reared up into the night sky, and she made her way toward it, hindered by the snow. Comically, Useless kept sinking into the drifts beside the path. In the end, she picked her up and held her in her arms the rest of the way.
Maddy lowered the pup to the ground and began scooping snow away from the foot of the cross. Then she examined each stone until she finally located the loose one. But when she tried to lift it, it wouldn’t budge. Perhaps the bottom of it was frozen to the earth. She leaned back on her haunches in frustration, and that was when she heard something. The unmistakable sound of boots crunching through the snow and coming her way. Heart racing, she glanced around for Useless, afraid the dog would bark. She was nearby, and Maddy snatched her up and hurried toward the church, the only place to hide. There was no time to gain entrance; she would have to huddle in the shadowy recesses of one of the side doors. She hoped the huge bulk of the church would cast enough of a shadow that the visitor would not be able to discern either her or her footprints.
He drew nearer. Who could it be? As far as Maddy knew, Dacre and Musgrave were gone, and the laborers, such as the smith and stable lads, did not live on the property. She crushed Useless against her chest, and by some miracle, the creature made no sound. The footsteps stopped. Maddy could see the mysterious figure plainly, though it was too dark to identify him in his hooded cloak. He’d halted at the cross and hunkered down, and before long she heard the sound of stones scraping against each other. He grunted with the effort of lifting the loose one out of the way. This man must be Ryder’s go-between. Since he would not find her note, Ryder wouldn’t see it.
Should she step out and give him the missive? She couldn’t risk it. It could be Musgrave, it could be anyone. She simply could not take the chance. After a moment, the man replaced the stone. He got to his feet and hastened back the way he’d come.
Maddy debated what to do, at last deciding to place the note under the stone. Ryder would eventually receive the message and know that she’d at least tried to warn him. She was able to pry the stone up high enough to slip the note underneath without too much trouble, thanks to the efforts of the hooded stranger. Worried that someone might notice the exposed stones, she spread some of the snow she’d removed earlier back over them.
Maddy carried Useless back to her chamber, feeling all the while as though somebody were watching. She shivered, and not only from the cold.