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

as both an area for communal grazing and as the marketplace.

It had been with cold humour that Richard had found out that Robert Hastley, the previous owner of Burton, and apparently loyal to Mary, had been feeding information to Northumberland’s supporters. When he had realised the folly of his actions, Hastley had fled to Scotland, leaving Mary free to give one traitor’s property to another of the same kind. Richard had not shared this information with Jack.

There remained a small staff at the Manor house. When Jack dismounted in the courtyard he was met by a fat man and a priest. Jack had bid Mat ride ahead by a day and inform the inhabitants of his pending arrival, and he saw him too, accompanying the overweight retainer. Jack looked around the confines of the walled courtyard, his eyes taking in the defences, maintenance, and structure of the heavy curtain wall.

“I am Guy Thomas. I used to be Robert Hastley’s cofferer. I am now…” The man paused, unsure now he faced Jack, who he erroneously assumed to be the new master of Burton. “…At your service,” he completed, bowing stiffly, the top half of his body pivoting with difficulty around the unyielding bulk of his ample girth.

Guy saw that Jack was fairly well dressed, a soldier by the looks of him, tall with sun-bleached blond hair, his manner hinting at the power that beat beneath the surface. Guy’s throat and mouth were dry, his eyes flicking uneasily over the group of armed men at Jack’s back.

“You have books of account?” Jack enquired.

“Of course,” stammered Guy.

“Good man, show me the property and then we can have a look at them over a beer?” Jack said, smiling and clapping Guy on the arm. “Have someone stable these horses will you and show my men around?”

Guy motioned for the two men cowering in the doorway to comply.

Jack made to follow him, but the priest stepped in. “A word if I may,” he ventured. Jack cast his eyes over the man of God who stood in his way. Although ageing, he had an active air about him. Jack had little time for the clergy. It was, after all, they who had cursed him, but this man looked like he might have had to work for his living, unlike the fat religious upholders he despised. There was also something strangely familiar about him.

“Of course,” Jack said amiably, regarding the priest with a slightly puzzled expression. “But perhaps after I have looked around.”

The priest seemed to be in no hurry. “I will wait if that is acceptable.”

Jack raised his hand in assent and followed Guy in.

The courtyard contained only two exits, one through the main gate by which they had just entered, and another up wide steps that led into the main body of the Manor. Jack followed Guy up these and through wooden doors, directly into the main hall. It was not large; the main features were a fireplace along one wall and a dais at the far end. Jack looking up at the eastern wall and found the remains of a decrepit minstrel’s gallery. The remaining exit from the hall led into a corridor which, Guy informed him, went to the kitchens. He followed Guy up narrow spiral stairs to the next level.

The first room was clearly awaiting the return of its master. Books lay on the table, clothes still hung over a chair, and the remains of the last fire still lay black in the grate. It was obviously the room occupied by Robert Hastley and his wife. The next was a similar layout, the furnishing simpler, and the bedchamber contained three beds. Again the room seemed to be sadly awaiting the return of the children who would never come back. The third room was where Guy kept his books and Robert had obviously used it for conducting his business. The final chamber on this floor had been converted into a family chapel, the ornaments of prayer still stood on the altar.

Jack spent most of the day poring over the books, asking questions and receiving answers from Guy. When he looked up to stretch his aching back he saw from the window that the light of the day was disappearing fast, but he felt at last in a position to inform Richard of what he had at Burton. He rubbed his tired eyes.

“Can I assume that my services will still be required?” Guy ventured nervously.

“Ah, Guy, there is a question,” said Jack fishing inside his jacket for a document. “Here, this is from your new master.”

Guy took the document and read the short words from Richard Fitzwarren, authorising Jack to act on his behalf.

“It does say that in his absence that you are to act for him,” Guy said, laying down the page.

“Does it indeed?” Jack was tired; he knew exactly what it said, having stood over Richard as he penned it, pleased with the trust placed in him.

“Am I to assume he will often be absent? I know little of this man. Perhaps he has lands elsewhere?” Guy ventured. His confidence growing, he tried to find out a little about Robert Hastley’s replacement.

“What he does, Guy, is his own business. However, since I appear to be in charge at the moment, consider yourself hired. How much did Hastley pay you again?” Jack had seen the amount penned in the books and recalled it instantly.

“Ten a year,” Guy answered.

Right answer, thought Jack. It had been a minor test of the man’s honesty.

“Can I assume that ten would still be acceptable?” Jack enquired, his tone making it plain that there would be no bartering.

“Yes, sir.” Guy had a genuine smile on his face.

“Oh damn!” Jack exclaimed. “I forgot. I need an inventory of all the stores. Can you do that for me by the morning? I’ve ten men down there; they’ll riot if the beer runs out. I take it there is enough for a day or so?”

“I believe so,” Guy replied.

“Good, otherwise you’ll find me lynched in the yard,” Jack said good-humouredly. “Shall we continue in the morning?”

Guy's head bobbed in agreement and the pair made their way downstairs to the hall where he found his men had been amply supplied with beer already, and then he spied the priest, still waiting.

Jack had forgotten him. “Forgive me. You wanted to talk. Please sit. I’ll stand if you don’t mind; I’ve been stooped over a desk too long.”

The priest sat; glad at last to take the weight off his feet. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Those words gained him Jack’s full attention and his clear blue eyes roamed over the seated man. “I can’t quite place you.” Jack said slowly.

“Oderint dum metuant,” the priest said, his face splitting into a grin.

“You!” Jack exclaimed shaking his head. “That was a night I do remember. You put my brother in a foul mood.”

“I don’t think it was me who did that. How is he anyway?” Jamie enquired, his manner friendly.

“Not here, I’m sure you’ll be saddened to hear. So what are you doing in Burton?” Jack asked, dropping into a seat opposite Jamie. Elbows planted on the table, he regarded the priest with a steady blue gaze.

“Burton? This is my parish,” Jamie supplied.

“We met in Dieppe?” Jack responded, “That is a long way from here.”

“We are both a long way from there, aren’t we?” Jamie said, leaning forward. “I was on a pilgrimage to St Trophimus’ Church in Eschau, St Sophia is interred there.” Jamie crossed himself as he spoke the saint’s name.

“I’d not thought we would ever meet again,” Jack said, and then smiling added, “If I remember correctly, I owe you for a jug of ale.”

“You do remember correctly, and I’ll gladly accept your hospitality,” Jamie said quickly.

Jack, shaking his head and smiling at the priest’s presumptuousness, obtained from one of the servants a full brown earthenware jug. It was set upon the table between them and cups followed a few moments later.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Jack asked. His throat dry, the first cupful of ale disappeared in two quick swallows and he was already reaching for the jug to refill the cup.

“I know nothing of Fitzwarren,” said the priest, “and I would like to know your intentions so I can convey them to the village. They are worried by such change, and know not how you lean.”

“Lean?” echoed Jack, confused.

“Yes, Robert Hastley was a Catholic and most of the village hereabouts is too,” the priest said, as if that supplied sufficient explanation.

Jack took another drink. “Ah, religion,” he said.

“Well?” the priest asked.

“Sorry, I am a little tired. I care not and I think I can say with some certainty that my brother will care little either. As long as the rents get paid, do as you please,” Jack said.

The priest looked relieved.

Jack continued, “I am sorry you had to wait so long to know that.”

Jamie nodded. “It looks like you are faring much better than when we last met,” he said, raising his cup and gesturing around the hall.

“It’s my brother’s, not mine,” Jack supplied. “He’s not here yet, and I am in charge.”

“Seems he is doing well for himself.” Jamie sipped from the cup, and then added, “You, on the other hand, don’t look much altered from the last time we met.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jack said, his voice a little too loud.

“Exactly that, you don’t look like you own Burton,” Jamie said bluntly.

“Well, I don’t, this is my brother’s, as I told you,” Jack said defensively.

Jamie sighed, “Well you don’t even much look like his steward either. Martin, the blacksmith’s simple son, looks better dressed than you do.”

Jack slammed his cup down into onto the table, bruising the wood. Before he could pull his hand away Jamie had fastened a bony hand around his wrist. Shaking his head and smiling he said, “I see you’ve also still not managed to tame your temper.”

“My temper was fine, until I met you again,” Jack replied through gritted teeth. He managed to resist ripping his hand from Jamie’s grasp.

Jamie released his grip and smiled. “The Lord will have a reason for our paths to have crossed again. I think we should both wait and find out what that reason is.” Then conspiratorially he added, “I can tell you lots about Burton that you’ll not get from Guy.”

“Like what?” Jack said, still sounding annoyed.

“Oh. like how Guy’s cousins have had preferential rental rates for years,” Jamie said, “and how the beer supplied by Smythe, Guy’s wife’s brother, is watered down so he can charge more per keg.”

Jack’s eyebrows raised and he was silent for a moment. Then reaching for the jug he refilled Jamie’s cup. “So tell me, then, everything you know about Burton. Maybe the Lord did indeed make our paths cross for a reason.”

The jug was emptied and refilled four more times before Jamie left and Jack returned to the company of his own men.

†

 

Elizabeth was still resident at her London house, Durham Place, having been in the city to take part in Mary’s coronation procession. Her position had in recent times been elevated from one of minor royalty to the heir to the throne.

But Elizabeth recognised it for the hollow sham it was. Mary would marry as soon as she could, of that Elizabeth had