A Queen's Spy by - (black authors fiction .TXT) 📖

Go and make sure they have not squandered what you gave them and are languishing in penury.”

“When?” Jack pocketed the coins quickly out of sight.

“Well, now would seem as good a time as any, wouldn’t it? This village is well on the road you need to take,” Richard said. He took out the bundle of letters, which he had been planning to deliver himself, but something made him change his mind. “These,” he slid the package across the table to Jack, “need to be delivered in two days. You will meet a man here by the name of Ashley who’ll have letters for me. Please, Jack, don’t lose these; our future depends on them.”

“Don’t worry. Two days time you say? I’ll be here,” Jack said, accepting the bundle.

Richard told him what the messenger looked like, hoping that Jack wouldn’t let him down. The letters Jack would collect were coming from London, from some of Seymour’s old contacts. One in particular was well placed in Northumberland’s household, and any news from that quarter was not only interesting, but could be valuable as well.

 

 

Chapter Seven

Bedfordshire – June 1553

 

†

 

The main doors to Hazeldene’s hall stood open with sweet, fresh air being drawn into the house’s welcome embrace. Richard leant on the cool stone frame, arms crossed in front of him, and looked out across the yard. He was watching Byrne’s wife, Judith. Colourful, careless, and expensive, she skipped across the yard to a horse being held by Dan. A second woman descended from it, a little unsteadily.

The new arrival was Catherine de Bernay, aged thirteen, daughter to Peter de Bernay, owner of the manor at Assingham just two miles away. The girl still lacked the proportions of a woman’s figure and was all elbows, knees, and knuckles, with not a spare scrap of flesh on her. Dresses hung from two bony boy’s shoulders and seemed to hardly touch the body again except to expose a jutting hip. The whole unhappy appearance was worsened by her unnatural height, and there was little in the way of pleasant features to alleviate it.

The two women, arms linked, made their way across the yard to the steps. Richard stepped back into the shadow of the arch and neither of the approaching women saw him as they ascended the stairs.

“You must come…” Judith was pleading, her attention on her companion and not on the man she was about to walk into. “Oh! You gave me such a fright!” Judith’s eyes devoured Richard’s face, her manners temporarily forgotten. “Catherine, forgive me. This is Edward’s cousin, Richard.” Judith placed upon him what she hoped was her most charming and winning smile. Catherine smiled politely into the unsmiling face and found herself turning quite red under the unfriendly gaze he turned on her.

“Ladies.” Richard bowed most flamboyantly before descending the steps from the hall. A mild look of disappointment crossed Judith’s childish face at his departure. When she returned her attention to her companion, her face and voice had lost its animation. The slight smile Richard had fixed on Judith dropped forgotten from his face as he walked down the steps.

While the lady of the house entertained her friend, one of Richard’s men slipped unobserved into the Byrne family chapel. Robby had been there before, and although he had taken nothing the first time, the pull of the silver plate was more than he could bear. He took only one item, stowing it away beneath his jacket. There were another eight on the shelf above the altar. No one would notice that once there had been nine.

 

†

 

Harry leant forward across the table, eyes pig-like in their intensity and sparkling with anticipation. A podgy fat-slicked hand held a partially consumed chicken leg.

“You found him! By God, tell me where.”

The master’s enthusiasm was marked by both of the men who stood before him.

It was Hal who spoke, his voice holding a ring of pride in their success. “I told Spratty here we’d find him, and we did. Wasn’t easy like, Sir, and we’ve had a right run around I can tell you, but we did find him for you.”

Harry’s impatience burst from his greased lips. “Tell me, man! You’ll be paid, have no fear. Now tell me where!”

Hal cast a glance at Spratty who was examining his boots and looked unlikely to supply his master with the information in the face of Harry’s temper. Hal was forced to continue relating what Betsy, erstwhile landlady of the White Horse, had told them.

Harry looked perplexed, his small eyes narrowing further. “Where is he now, then?” his fat jowls wagged as he demanded. “Did he live?”

“Yes, Sir. He stopped at the White Horse two days and then went north.

We tracked him though, me and Spratty did, and he’s with Lord Byrne at his Manor Hazeldene near…”

Harry cut off the stumbling Hal. “Byrne… Byrne…” Harry seemed to be considering the name, rolling it maliciously off his tongue. Hal and Spratty were temporarily forgotten.

 

†

 

Deliberately, and with care, the wrappings were removed from the paper. Dry and cracked with age, it had survived so long; to wreak its destruction now with carelessness was not the reader’s intention. The document inside, entrusted to a priest so long ago, refused to be pressed flat, and the reader had to review the words along each angled section of the paper. It was a deposition, forced from William Fitzwarren by his conscience and a well-meaning little priest, documentary evidence that he vowed to set right the wrong he had perpetrated on himself, his wife, and his son.

You never quite got up the courage though, did you? Richard mused. His father’s signature was unmistakable, the last letters snaking their way under the seal, which almost, but not quite, obscured the all-important date. He had known of its existence, known what it spoke of, but proof of that act had been beyond him until now. Richard’s smile broadened at the irony of it. To him it was worthless; only pain could be wrought from its revelations. Was that his purpose? he wondered. Did he simply dress it up in some other guise simply to salve his own conscience? Maybe.

Richard threw himself on the bed and stared unseeing at the canopy. Was this how Jack felt? Was he falling prey to what he so despised in his brother? No! A hand balled into a fist, paper cracked. No! Your sin will not damn me.

 

†

 

It was not until spring changed to early summer that two letters arrived from Peter de Bernay: one for Gavin, erstwhile keeper of Assingham in its master's absence, and another for Anne, its lady. Her daughter came in hard on the heels of the messenger.

“Mama, it’s from father, is there a letter for us?” Catherine asked.

“Yes,” Anne said, turning away from her daughter as she tried to read the words over her arm. “A minute child, let me read.” She walked away, leaving Catherine with the messenger, pacing as she read the brief words. Peter hoped she and their daughter were in good health and that all was well at Assingham. Several badly formed halting sentences spoke of his wish to return. However, he stressed that his duty was owed to the Lady Mary and so he was unable to predict his return. He promised to write soon and closed with “your husband.”

Anne whipped the hardly used sheet over, hoping perhaps for more on the back and found nothing save her name. Reversing it again, she reread the brief correspondence.

“Mama, can I see? When is he coming home?” Catherine said, coming close and trying again to view the letter.

“Here child.” Anne passed the page to Catherine who devoured the few lines.

“Oh mama, why doesn’t he come home? It’s been months! He promised me a new pony, you know I have outgrown Clover. He promised,” Catherine complained.

“I think your father has more on his mind than ponies, Catherine,” Anne scolded.

Catherine stomped from the hall. To cheer her melancholy spirits, Catherine took her mare, Clover, and the pair trotted out in the bright May sun.

 

†

 

“My Lady Catherine, good day to you.”

Catherine recognised the approaching rider, Edward's cousin. Last time they had met, his unfriendly gaze had made her face burn; and her skin flushed red again at the memory of it.

“What a pleasant surprise.” Catherine’s response was automatic, though she sounded far from pleasantly surprised. “And what brings you to Assingham?” Catherine was in no mood for company and hoped he didn’t stop long.

“A pleasant day, nothing else. It seemed a pity to waste it inside, so I decided a ride abroad was in order. You were of the same mind?” Richard enquired conversationally.

Catherine almost told him of the unwanted news but thought the better of it; the man was a stranger, and not one she was sure she liked. “Yes, I was, and Clover,” she patted the neck of the pony affectionately, “needed the exercise.” The height of Richard’s Arab dwarfed her own pony and she found she had to look up a long way to meet those unfriendly eyes.

Their mounts came to a slow and mutual halt, busying themselves catching mouthfuls of lush summer grass from the rich green line of foliage that attended the stream.

“Shall you have time to visit Hazeldene again while I am there? Judith bid me to ask you if I should see you,” Richard enquired, sounding distracted.

“I’m sure I will, Judith is teaching me needlepoint,” Catherine remarked absently. He’ll go in a minute, she thought. He has as much interest in me and Assingham as I have in him. “If you will excuse me...” Catherine tugged none too gently on Clover’s reins but the animal would have none of it and stood solid, straining its head towards the unfinished meal. “Clover, move!” she said sharply. When the horse still ignored her, she resorted to jerking on the reins and pleading with it. “Clover! Please, Clover, please…”

Richard's grey eyes were alive with amusement. Catherine tried again but the stubborn animal refused to obey. Embarrassment and frustration finally got the upper hand and tears welled up unwanted in her eyes, threatening at the slightest sharp movement to spill forth in tell-tale tracks down her cheeks.

“Catherine, I think…” Richard ventured.

“I care not what you think, Sir! I wish you to leave my father’s land.” She stared him full in the face, and cursed herself silently, for now, he could plainly see her wet lashes and the rosy bloom of embarrassment and anger upon her face.

“Good day to you, Lady Catherine.” With exaggerated ease, he turned his horse away from the grass. Bringing it to a halt again he regarded her silently for a moment before adding, in a deceptively casual manner, “Do not turn your child's temper on me, Catherine, for it's not my fault you cannot control your horse.” With that final remark, he spurred his mount on and disappeared into the trees on the far side of the stream.

Catherine waited until the horse’s haunches had disappeared into the wood before rubbing a sleeve across her dripping nose and cheeks. Clover, unmoved by the encounter, continued to tug vivid green clumps from the stream bank. “You, my dear animal, have a lot to answer for.” Dropping from the saddle, she stared into one liquid brown eye. “You could at least look sorry for what you’ve done.”

 

†

 

Jack made his return the following day. Richard was away and he found Dan eating with Robby and