Chapter Eight
Market day was fast approaching, and Maddy was still undecided as to how much to tell Nicholas Ryder about Musgrave. Or indeed if she should tell him anything. If he knew about the man, it would complicate their dealings. He may think she was not up to the task of handling an additional person who might be at Lanercost for his own nefarious reasons. And to be honest, she did not want Ryder to know of her past relationship with Musgrave, did not want to be forced to explain it. She was ashamed.
The weather also concerned her. It was still bitterly cold, and she dreaded going on foot to Brampton. To her surprise, at supper the night before market day, Lady Dacre offered her a priory mount to ride. “It is too cold to walk,” she said. “You must ride one of our horses.”
“Thank you, madam. That is most kind of you.”
Sipping her wine, she nodded in acknowledgment. “Christopher, it is time we visited the tenants. And we must stop at Naworth afterward to check on matters there.”
Musgrave, whom Maddy had managed to avoid other than at meals, looked up at that. Apparently, he was as surprised as she was to hear the lady talk about this in their presence. Christopher said, by way of explanation, “Naworth Castle is the home of the Catholic Dacres. Our cousin Leonard resided there until his late, unfortunate participation in the raid at Hell Beck. Now we don’t know where he resides.” He barked a cynical laugh, earsplitting in the small chamber.
Lady Dacre glared at him, and he was silent. They finished the meal talking of nothing more important than the weather, a horse that had gone lame, and the repairs to the roof of one of the outbuildings. Maddy looked up once to find Musgrave’s steely gaze upon her. Would he follow her tomorrow? Set upon her on a lonely stretch of road? If so, he could easily overpower her.
If he revealed the truth about her and her brother, Lady Dacre would have no choice but to cast her out of the priory. And then she would be forced to throw herself on Nicholas Ryder’s mercy.
…
When Madeleine Vernon arrived for her first visit, around midday, Nicholas and his nephew were dashing about the hall swinging wooden sticks at each other. Nicholas glimpsed her out of the corner of one eye. “Touché, Sir Mouse! You have me.” There was a moment’s silence, and a servant announced her.
“Sir, Mistress Vernon is here to see you.” Only then did Nicholas turn toward her.
“That is enough swordplay for now,” he said to Daniel. The lass appeared stiff and restrained. If he did not do something to ease her discomfort, they would accomplish little this day. He approached, bowed, and said, “Well met, Mistress Vernon.”
“Sir,” she said, curtsying.
His nephew stepped forward and Nicholas placed a hand on his shoulder. “Make your bow, Daniel.”
Solemnly, he did so, and to Nicholas’s surprise, Mistress Vernon bent down and held out her hand. “How now, Master Daniel? I am pleased to make the acquaintance of such a fine swordsman.” He grasped her hand, a big smile breaking out, and nodded.
Nicholas failed to hold back his own grin. So his ward was not immune to the charms of a pretty lass. “Now run and find Margery.” When Daniel hesitated, his uncle grasped him gently by the shoulders and turned him around, pointing him in the right direction. He watched the boy walk away. “My nephew. He is my ward.” He made no further explanation, as it was none of her concern.
He led the lass to a small chamber off one end of the hall, his personal domain. It was neither drawing room nor study, but a bit of each. A fire was burning in the hearth, and Nicholas motioned her to a settle placed in front of it. After removing her cloak, she moved to the hearth to warm herself. A small oak writing table sat at an angle to the settle, and he situated himself there after gathering papers, quill, and ink jar.
“Do be seated, mistress. What news do you have for me?” He dipped his quill into the ink jar and waited, his gaze on his papers rather than on her.
Silence.
He raised his head at length and was shocked to see that she looked stricken. Almost pained. God’s breath, it should not fall to him to lift her spirits. He softened his voice. “Pray, sit down, mistress.” Perhaps matters at the priory were not progressing as he’d hoped. “Is something amiss? Are you having difficulties with your assignment?”
She stared at him for a moment, the pained look waning. “No. Where should I begin?”
“Anywhere. But leave nothing out. I need not only facts but impressions as well.”
Seated now, she paused to collect her thoughts. “Lady Dacre. She’s a bit of an enigma. She seems highly intelligent, yet she does not read or write. She understands the complex legal problems surrounding her stepson’s suit and dictates letters regarding these with nary a pause for breath.”
Nicholas interrupted. “Do you think the suit has any bearing on…what we are concerned with?”
“It is too soon to know. I’ve learned the matter has caused some awkwardness between Christopher Dacre and his brother, William. That is why she needed somebody else to help with her correspondence.”
He nodded. “Tell me how you pass the days.”
She related her daily routine to him. It sounded as if the Dacre woman was a creature of habit. “Unfortunately, my chamber is in the tower rather than the vicarage. Another complication is that Lady Dacre never ventures out, or at least she has not during this cold spell. The men are frequently gone. If only they would all be away at the same time.”
“Is that likely to happen?”
“She told her son recently that they must visit Naworth Castle. I assume they mean to take what they can haul away before it is all confiscated. I was surprised that she mentioned this in my presence—and Thomas Vine’s as well.”
“And I am surprised the queen’s agents have not been there already. What do you make of Dacre?”
Mistress Vernon raised her hands, palms up, in a timeless gesture of perplexity. “He is always courteous to me. My first day there, he escorted me around the property and gave me a proper tour. He knows much about the history of the place. When I had an opening, I told him it was my impression that he and his stepmother did not approve of the recent rebellion.”
“And?”
“He was vague and evasive. He said something about northerners liking to keep their own counsel, and that there were certain practices and laws that did not suit them. And then, unfortunately, we arrived at the forge, and I could probe no further. He introduced me to the smith, and that was the end of that.”
“Hmm.” On the whole, disappointing, even though it was what he’d expected in the first week. He set his quill down and was surprised when she spoke.
“A moment, sir. I am not finished.”
He waved a hand. “Forgive me. Continue.”
“Two things. One you may already know. I overheard snatches of a private conversation between Vine and Christopher Dacre. Vine’s voice was raised, and he said something like, ‘The Scots could capture and kill you.’ Dacre then said they needed a leader, one of the earls, and Ferniehurst was sheltering him. I think the earl he was referring to must be Westmoreland. It sounded like Dacre was forming a plan to bring the earl back.” She broke off for a moment, then said, “Perhaps ‘plan’ is too strong a word. When I heard steps approaching the door, I made a hasty departure.”
“We knew of Westmoreland’s whereabouts. But this is more specific evidence that they are hoping to regroup and reignite the citizens to rise again. We suspected as much. And Dacre is involved in that somehow. Well done, mistress.” He jotted a note on a piece of foolscap and glanced up at her. Her face was flushed with pleasure, enhancing her natural beauty. Had his compliment pleased her so much? At least that pained look had not returned.
“Perhaps he’s only sympathetic to their cause. He seems so mild mannered and harmless.”
“Make no assumptions about any of them, and above all, do not trust them. Report everything and let us decide what is significant.” He knew he sounded like a stern schoolmaster, but to protect herself and safeguard the mission, she must remain vigilant.
She nodded. “What’s in it for the Scots? Why do they benefit from conspiring in this? Elizabeth isn’t their queen.”
“But Mary Stewart is. Or was. The Scots over the border share mutual goals with our English rebels.”
“They want to restore Mary to the Scottish throne?”
He nodded. “Aye. But it goes further than that. They want her cleared of her first husband’s murder. Some would see her wed to the Duke of Norfolk.”
“And I suppose they would love to return to the old religion.”
“Of course. What they desire most, however, is to have Mary named as Elizabeth’s successor.”
A soft knock sounded, and a servant carrying a tray entered. She set it down on the desk and withdrew. “I thought you might like some spiced wine and a small meal,” Nicholas said.
Madeleine’s smile lit up her face, and a cold place within him warmed. “Indeed, I would. It is most kind of you.” He handed her a pewter cup and she drank deeply.
He waited until she’d set her tankard down. “What of Master Vine? Have you learned anything useful about him?”
She pushed a lock of hair back, away from her face. That single gesture entranced him, drawing attention, as it did, to the delicate bones of her face and her lovely eyes. Hold, man. This is a business meeting.
Her eyes darted to a spot behind his shoulder. Odd, since she’d been facing him squarely throughout her reporting. “No. He appears to be Dacre’s friend, but he goes off by himself for long periods. Other than the one conversation I happened to overhear, I am not aware of them plotting or planning anything. No sudden breaking off a conversation when I walk into the room, no huddled conferring. At least not in my presence.”
“I still think he is lying about being from London.”
“Aye. I don’t trust him. He…I was forced to step in and help the servant girl I told you about.”
“What was the outcome?” Nicholas busied himself laying out the food while she finished the story. Cheese tarts, apples and pears, and a whole salmon. He handed her a trencher with a generous portion of everything, then resumed his seat and watched her.
“The cook assigned the girl other duties.” Another flickering of her eyes. She was either lying or giving him partial truths.
“You’re not telling me everything. What are you leaving out?”
Now she looked directly at him. “He was quite angry with me. Somebody informed him of my involvement.”
“Madeleine. Do not make me beg for information. Vine’s actions could be important. I cannot believe he let the matter lie without seeking revenge on you.”
A rosy color bloomed on her cheeks. Was it because he’d called her by her Christian name or because the subject was embarrassing?
“He threatened me, told me to keep out of his business.”
Ryder sighed. “Precisely what was the threat?”
In an irritated voice she said, “Since I prevented him from having Cath, the servant girl, he thought he might have me instead.”
There was silence while Nicholas took this in. She should not have to worry about that cur’s unwelcome advances. The situation was dangerous and could ultimately compromise their goals. But why was she irritated with him? He rubbed his beard and sprang to his feet. “I mistrusted him from the first. What did you do?”
“I told him he wouldn’t dare, that I’d tell Lady Dacre.”
“That’s not enough to stop a man like him.” He stood now with his hands on his hips, looking at her in frustration. “Perhaps I should intervene.”
She shook her head vigorously. “Pray do not, sir. How would it look if, at the first possible opportunity, I ran off to you and told tales on them? Because he is a guest in their household, it would shame them. Even anger them. I can deal with Master Vine on my own.”
She was mistaken about that. “Can you? You, a wee lass, and he a behemoth?”
A smile tugged at her lovely mouth. “I would not exactly call him that. He is a large man, but I have my dirk. I sleep with it under my pillow. Besides, I am just beginning to find information that may be useful to you. Do you wish to give up on that so soon?”
“You haven’t revealed much that persuades me your services there are required. We could find some other way.”
“Oh, by God’s light, pray sit down and calm yourself. Drink. Eat. I have more to tell you, but let us refresh ourselves first.”
…
He looked taken aback that she had spoken to him in such a way. Indeed, Maddy shocked herself. Never had she been so bold with him. How would he react? To her surprise, he abruptly sat and shoved a piece of salmon into his mouth, washing it down with a long draught of wine. “Sit here.” He motioned to her to share the small table with him. She did so but would have preferred to hold her trencher on her lap and keep a safe distance from him.
Her status had risen; she was allowed a knife. She cut into the cheese tart, breathing in the heady aroma. Whatever wine had been used in the recipe smelled of quince and something earthy. “I haven’t thanked you for returning my dagger. I feel safer with it.”
He grunted. “Vine could wrest it away from you before you even had a chance to wield it.”
Not when he’s three sheets in the wind.
She shrugged. “Maybe.” They ate in silence for a time. When she’d had her fill, Maddy laid the knife across the trencher and said, “One day while I was assisting Lady Dacre with her correspondence, I accidentally found a letter from the Duke of Norfolk. I had only a moment to look upon it, because she recognized what it was and screamed at me to put it down. She dismissed me immediately and warned me never to look at any documents again without her permission.”
Ryder had gone quite still. He finished chewing and set down his own knife. “Were you able to discern the subject of the letter?”
“No. As I said, I merely glanced at it before Lady Dacre realized what I was looking at.”
Agitated once again, he shoved back his chair and got to his feet. “God’s wounds. We must know what’s in that letter! Do you think—?”
“I’ve been doing nothing but thinking about how to lay my hands on it. My best chance will be when she and her stepson ride off to Naworth. But I doubt Vine will accompany them, although it is possible he’ll be off on one of his own mysterious ventures. Also, I have the servants to contend with. I must not be caught by one of them.”
“How did you come across it in the first place? And if she does not read, how did she recognize it?”
Maddy related the story of Lady Dacre’s stacks of papers and her embroidery silk system. And how she’d picked up one of the stacks when the letter, right on the top, had fairly jumped out at her. “A few days later, I offered to help her sort her papers. She told me she keeps important documents locked in a coffer and the key on her person.”
Ryder began pacing. “That will make it tricky.” Finally, he flung himself back into his chair and rubbed at his beard. She nearly smiled, having noticed this was a habit of his when he was puzzling over something.
“One thing is in my favor, however. Her papers are extremely unorganized. She has stacks of them all over her chamber, even on her bed. If I had to guess, I would say she’s not yet done anything about locking up the letter.”
“So the sooner you can undertake the search, the better.”
She drank the last few sips of her wine, then set the glass down. “Lady Dacre has been kind to me. I believe this problem with her stepson—William, not Christopher—has worn her down. I dislike spying on her.”
Ryder’s expression grew hard. “But you like it better than the alternative.”
Maddy had time only to scowl at him before the door opened. In walked the little boy, Ryder’s ward.
“Daniel, what have I told you about interrupting me when I have a visitor?” The child hung his head but did not leave. “Come here,” Ryder said, his tone softening. When Daniel was close enough, Ryder hauled him up onto his lap and jiggled his knee. That brought a smile to the lad’s face. “Are we done, mistress?”
“Aye.” She had no desire to leave, despite the implied threat in his last words. Seeing Nicholas Ryder with his nephew gave her an entirely different impression of the man. “Master Daniel, do you read? What is your favorite story?”
He shook his head. She once again wondered why he didn’t speak, but decided it was best not to ask. Maddy didn’t want to embarrass the boy—and Ryder had chosen not to tell her.
“He has but six years. But he has recently started with a tutor, so it won’t be long. For now, he must put up with his uncle reading to him, eh lad? Tell—show Mistress Vernon your favorite story.” The boy hesitated, clearly shy of performing before a stranger.
Maddy leaned forward. “Pray do, Master Daniel. I see the sun is lowering and I must soon depart. Won’t you show me before I take my leave?”
He slid off his uncle’s knee and walked over to the open space near the door. Then he motioned to Ryder, who said, “Oh, no. You must do this alone.”
When Daniel glared at him, arms akimbo, Ryder relented and said, “Very well. It won’t be the first time I’ve made an ass of myself.” He walked over and lifted Daniel by grasping him around his upper chest. Then he hurled him, gently, to the ground. After this, Ryder pretended to lock Daniel up. As soon as he did so, he returned, got down on all fours, and made a great, roaring noise.
Maddy clapped with delight when she recognized the story. Daniel in the lion’s den! How perfect. The little boy and the lion feinted a few times, and then Daniel crouched down and seemingly made a friend of the great cat, who now meowed like a kitten and rubbed his head against the child’s legs. Daniel, while trying to remain true to his character, couldn’t help laughing, nor could Maddy. When the enactment was over, she said, “Well done, Daniel. I understand why that is your favorite story. Might you slay a real lion someday?”
He seemed to think seriously about this. Then, quite solemnly, he nodded. “I do not doubt it,” she said. Glancing out the window, Maddy saw that the sun was already low in the winter sky. “I must go. And I haven’t left any time for the market.”
“Where is your basket?” Ryder asked. Before she could even look around, Daniel had found it and now held it out toward his uncle. “Take the rest of these cheese tarts. You can say you bought them at the market. What else can I give you?” Daniel gestured toward the bookshelf. “Good idea.” He grabbed a volume and set it in the basket.
“Does the market have a bookseller’s stall?”
“Aye.” Ryder grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, his hands lingering, and she felt his breath at the back of her neck. Flustered, she stepped away. The two men, big and little, walked her to the door. A stable lad brought her horse around, and suddenly, Ryder held up a hand.
“One moment. Have you no groom or lad who accompanied you here?”
“Nay, sir. Why should I?”
When he spoke, she heard exasperation in his voice. “Because you should not be traveling these roads by yourself. It is not safe. I’ll escort you home.” He turned back to the house. Maddy grabbed his arm, stopping him.
“Do not concern yourself. No harm will come to me. It is not a very long ride, after all. Next time I’ll talk to Lady Dacre about an escort.”
He studied her, his eyes troubled. “As you say, then. But I mislike it.”
Maddy had stepped forward, ready to mount, when she felt a little hand grasping her skirts. It was Daniel, gesturing at her.
“He wants to kiss you,” Ryder said. “Do you mind?”
Did she mind? When she craved the touch of someone who cared for her, how could she mind? Rather, she welcomed it. She crouched down, and Daniel put his arms about her neck and kissed her soundly on the cheek. She did the same for him. Tears pricked her eyes. She needed to be off before she embarrassed herself.
Maddy and Ryder made their farewells. She did not want to look at him for fear he would notice her moist eyes. “Pray, give me a boost up.” He did, and she walked her mount through the garth and out toward the road, glancing back once. Ryder had lifted Daniel into his arms. They waved to her, and she waved back.