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

foot to the back of the stables.

Even at that pace, he covered the ground almost as quickly as Catherine could pass through the house. She left her room and quickly descended the wooden stairs. The hall was quiet, the fire burnt down, the dim light picking out the sleepers who were all laid near it to gather the last of its warmth. Lifting her skirts, she silently trod across the hall and then dashed quickly to the pitch-dark entrance to the stables.

 

†

 

He waited, listening, silencing his mare with a calming hand. Tying her reins to the soaked wood, he dropped to his knees and disappeared inside Assingham. Still low, he waited, his eyes adjusting to the blackness. Knowing then where to go he moved swiftly and with a purpose to deliver the message to the keeping of the woodwork.

Catherine felt sure the man had left. His mission complete, she told herself he was unlikely to wait around. Cautiously she moved into the space running in front of the stalls and looked down nervously at the planking forming the door to the empty stall.

Was there another message? Yes! Even in the dark, the whiteness of the paper when it fell to her feet was unmistakable. Snatching it from the floor it disappeared inside of the folds of her dress. Hastily replacing the panel, Catherine headed directly for her room. Neither the sleepers in the hall nor the dogs arrayed with them heeded her as she alighted the stairs.

The small square of parchment looked much like the previous one. It bore something akin to a seal but the impression was again blurred and gave no hint as to the crest or letters. The short flat blade hovered over the parchment. She had lifted the seal on the previous one without breaking it.

Could she manage it again? The edge of the knife went under the soft wax. The last had sprung apart from the paper whole and intact with little persuasion but this one was firmly attached. A different angle with the knife failed also to persuade it to free itself. Her attempts had damaged the seal and little curls of red showed where the knife had scored the moulded wax. It was obvious to anyone now that it had been tampered with.

The sealing wax on her desk was a markedly different colour from that attached to the letter, but… Catherine smiled. Taking the candle from the pewter holder and cleaning the debris of wax from its circular dish, she scraped the seal from the parchment into it.

The square of parchment when unfolded revealed an even briefer message than the last one. It stated simply:

 

Three nights hence.

 

Carefully she held the pewter dish near the fire’s dying flames; the wax returned to a liquid that could be poured back onto the parchment where the original seal had been.

Catherine watched the blob of red begin to solidify before taking her ring and pressing it lightly into the wax, turning it so as to remove any impression of the crest. The seal, she had to admit, was not as substantial as its predecessor. Much of the wax had remained in the bottom of the candleholder, coating it in a dull red veneer, but the impression was like the previous one, indistinct and unclear.

The courtyard was lit by a dim and uncertain light heralding the coming of the dawn when Catherine returned the parchment to its hiding place. Small fingers pushed a stem of straw into the wood of the door; she would know now if the planking had been removed. Catherine slept well into the morning until she was woken by Martha enquiring after her health. Further investigation revealed the note gone.

A day later, upon employing the same tactics, Catherine found another short note, which read:

 

Our hearts are heavy.

 

Catherine was mystified.

 

†

 

Jack threw a saddle up onto the back of the horse, leaning under it he retrieved the girth strap. He recognised the polished boots that he could see approaching across the courtyard. “I told you Assingham was too much of a risk.” He said when his brother had come to stand close to the horse.

Richard, one hand idly smoothing the Arab’s mane, fixed a hard stare on his brother. Jack noted that amongst the rings he wore was the one he had given to Dan. “Why do I get the feeling I am not going to like this? Go on, tell me what happened.”

“What happened, my oh-so-well-planned brother, is that a lady who, I will remind you, had been dissuaded from visiting her stables, is not only still frequenting them but was, in fact, occupying one of the stalls when I paid a visit last night.”

“Ah!”

“What do you mean? ‘Ah!’?” Jack stood and faced Richard.

“Well, I think we can fairly assume Lady Cate was not on a midnight stroll, but by all accounts, we should make our move soon. She may know something is going on but not what. I doubt the pretty lady can read, let alone make any headway with the code. Her father’s away. I can see no real problems. Next time you go, find a diversion,” Richard finished pleasantly.

“A diversion? Like what exactly?” Jack enquired.

“I leave it to your imagination,” Richard smiled. “I slipped with a lit torch in the stables. Now it’s your turn.”

“Thanks, thank you very much,” Jack’s words were laden with sarcasm. Richard turned to leave, but Jack stopped him. “Richard?”

“Yes,” Richard was mildly curious at the other’s tone.

They were in the middle of the yard, and somehow this didn’t seem the right place.

“Nothing, nothing that can’t wait until you get back.” Jack watched as Richard threw himself into the saddle and set the horse towards the gate.

Jack could feel eyes upon him. Turning, it was with relief that he found the inquisitive gaze came from the yellow eyes of the cat, watching him on the edge of a saddle rack.

 

 

Chapter Ten

 

†

 

Catherine was sitting in the hall after darkness fell, promising herself one final look in the stables before retiring. She had to admit that if her visits became any more frequent it would begin to look extremely odd indeed. John had already given her a queer sideways look when he caught her crossing the courtyard for the third time that evening.

She had just got to her feet when she heard shouting and screeching coming from outside. Running from the hall, she found the kitchen boy standing in front of the open hen house door, surrounded by feathers, which were escaping from within. As she watched, a cat, fat tabby and with its tail in the air, left the hen house, running straight between the boy’s legs and then past Catherine, so close she felt it brush against her skirts.

“How the devil did that beggar get in there?” John yelled as the lively animal made a neat escape round the back of the kitchens.

John followed, pitchfork in hand. “It’s fenced off – he’ll not get out now.”

His confidence was misplaced. The newly constructed fence, which had been built to protect the chickens from predators, showed a wide breach. Some hundred yards on the other side the cat could be seen in the moonlight, making for the safety of the woods.

“How on earth did that happen?” John stabbed the fork into the ground and advanced towards the fence. “That post has been pulled out. A bloody cat didn’t do that!”

On the other side of the broken fence they could see the cat making its final bound for the safety of the woods, a large prize in its mouth.

“Someone has broken the fence down, that’s the only way that crafty bugger could have got in here.” John had retrieved the post that had been pulled free, his eyes scanning the mud for further traces of the culprit, muttering under his breath, “Who’d want to do such a thing?”

The kitchen boy retrieved three dead hens. Carrying them by the feet, a twitching wing protruding from the mass of untidy feathers, he took them to the kitchen.

“We’ve lost some good layers there. That fence was fine this morning when I brought the feed round. I’ve no idea how that happened. I need to tell Gavin, someone is to blame for it and I’ll have to get it fixed, or we'll end up with foxes in here and we’ll have no hens left at all.” John came up beside Catherine, as if to reassure her, but she was not listening.

Walking back across the courtyard she turned towards the stables, leaving a bemused John behind the kitchens to effect hasty repairs. Inside the stable block it was too dark to see if the straw was still in place, and she reprimanded herself for not having the foresight to collect a light from the hall first. In the dark, she had the eerie feeling of being watched, but she barely hesitated before dropping to her knees and pulling her knife from her waistband. Inserting it into the crack between the planking by feel, the wood slipped through her fingers, dropping to the hardened earth with a clatter, but it was followed by no paper, no tell-tale white square. Catherine felt on the floor in front of her skirts for the parchment but found nothing. The message was gone.

Replacing the board, she realised exactly when it had been taken. It had been quickly removed, unnoticed by anyone, whilst a cat was wreaking havoc in the hen house. “Our hearts are heavy” had to mean something to someone – but what? Rubbing her hands down the front of her skirts to remove the dirt from them, she returned to her room with an angry look on her face.

 

†

 

The invite to attend Hazeldene for a meal with Edward and Judith in a few days time arrived at midday for Catherine and her mother, delivered by the blond stable hand Catherine had seen at Hazeldene before. Anne bid him go to the kitchens whilst she penned a reply.

“I don’t want to go, mama.” Catherine bleated.

“Why not?” Her mother asked, exasperated. “I thought you were becoming friends with Judith.”

“She doesn’t like me; she was horrible last time I went. Please don’t make me go.” Catherine pleaded. She had no intention of being absent from Assingham any evening in the near future.

“Alright, we won’t go if you are so set against it. I myself would rather not either, Edward is rather tiresome and Judith never stops talking about herself – I can think of better ways to spend an evening,” Anne conceded. She penned a reply and gave it to the callused hand of Hazeldene's man.

 

†

 

Jack was taking his time on the return journey from Assingham, Anne de Bernay's note tucked inside his doublet. The reins were slack in his hands, and the mare stepped on quietly following the track. Jack stared ahead unseeing.

That Robby had suggested he should take his brother's place did not surprise him. After he had been caught stealing he had plenty of reasons to want rid of the Master, and Jack was fairly sure that after this current venture was completed Robby would find himself needing a new employer. That Richard hadn't rid himself of the man was only because it was expedient not to.

Jack tapped his fingers idly against the pommel.

Could he take his brother's place?      

He had