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

sure you would rather sample the pleasures of the house before you leave?”

Richard lifted her hand from her lap and kissed the back of it. “I thought I was.”

Nonny laughed, pulling her hand away as she rose from the seat next to him. “Come with me, I have someone for you to meet.”

Richard inclined his head in acceptance and allowed her to lead him from the room, arm linked though his they walked through the house and up the stairs wrapped in the heady embrace of her perfume. Nonny stopped outside a door, slipping her arm from his she knocked, smiling at him as she pressed the unlocked door open. “I will leave you, come and find me before you go.”

“Indeed, I will,” he said as she turned and departed in a rustle of silks. Raising his hand to the door he pressed it further open and stepped across the threshold into the dimly lit interior.

There was one occupant, arms folded, leaning against the fire place his profile illuminated by the glow from the flames. “I was wondering if I was to be kept waiting all night,” said Thomas Wyatt.

 

†

 

The night was cool and the hour late by the time Richard left The Angel to walk back to the rented rooms above the inn. As he crossed Bank Street a familiar sight caught his eye and he realised that his mind had been so preoccupied he had been walking with no real sense of direction. His steps had taken him to the street in London where his father’s house was. Light glittered through the diamond glass panes in the upper windows. It was likely then that his father was resident, when he was away the house ran on a small staff and the candles would not be wasted in lighting the rooms on the upper floors.

Was Robert there?

Richard set his feet in the opposite direction, away from the house. Now was not the time for that confrontation. No matter how much he wanted to settle that score, it was a personal one and there was little to gain from it. Robert could wait.

An hour later he arrived back at the inn and found Jack walking towards him down the darkened corridor leading to his room.

“You are late back?” Jack said as he approached.

Jack came to stand a few feet in front of him, and Richard saw his expression suddenly change. “What?” Richard said, his brow furrowing.

“Nothing,” Jack replied, his nose wrinkling, “you smell like one of the gutter whores in Houndgate.”

“Hardly,” Richard laughed, “if this is what you think you smell like when you’ve been there, then you’ve a nose worse than a tanner’s.”

Jack scowled at his brother. “Where have you been? I thought we were supposed to be keeping out of sight?”

We are, and I have been out of sight,” Richard replied, making to pass his brother.

Jack stepped sideways to block his exit, placing a hand on Richard’s chest to stop him. “It’s one rule for you and another for everyone else isn’t it?”

Richard’s gaze dropped to the hand Jack had placed on him before returning it to Jack’s face. His voice was stony when he spoke. “No Jack. There are just one set of rules, and they are the ones I set. So abide by them.”

Jack dropped his hand back to his side and stood still while Richard pushed passed him and entered his room, leaving Jack alone with the heady scent of lavender and musk.

 

†

 

That Harry wanted to meet his cousin, and in the near future, was proved correct when a note in the hand of Jack’s former master was delivered to Dan where he waited, propping up the wall of the customs house. Jack did not know of the message’s arrival. Having promised to keep out of sight, he was doing just that whilst exploring the dubious charms of the landlord’s most prized asset, Molly. The girl had a promise from Jack that he was hoping to fulfil with Richard’s success. He held little doubt that he would not bend Harry to his will.

Evening air chilled the warm exhaled breath, clouding it in front of the man as he stood leaning against the wall of the customs house on the bank of the Thames. That this was a poor district, lifeless during the night apart from those of nocturnal, villainous tendencies, had not escaped Richard’s attention when he had selected the area. During the daylight hours, it thronged with the business of loading and unloading, haggling and arguing, yelling, bartering, and all the commercial activities associated with the ends of seafaring voyages. Now they had all departed from the scene. The area was studded with low-quality ale houses, frequented by the unfortunate, the unwitting, and the lawless, eager to relieve the insensible sailor of more than the cost of his ale. But near the customs house there were no such establishments; the scene was still, broken only by the occasional bark and angry growl of dogs foraging for the last few scraps that had been ground under foot during the daylight.

Harry left his comrades and most of his self-confidence tethered with his horse. His courage decreasing step-by-step, he walked to meet the man who threatened his liberty.

Richard had used his surname only in the note, and Harry quite reasonably believed he was being summoned by Robert for his sin of ambition. What Richard was unaware of was that, for once, Harry was acting at his father’s behest, and not at Robert’s; the latter was no part of a plot for the crown. Harry’s greatest fear was not a discovery by the opponents of Northumberland, but by Robert, whose wrath he feared more than anything else that could be brought to bear against him. Harry’s overwhelming dread of the meeting was increased by the forlorn and dangerous stage selected by Richard.

Harry saw the man leaning, as the message had told he would be, against the customs house wall, and still, as he approached, he expected to meet and face Robert. The other did not know that Harry’s fear was temporarily misplaced.

A cart, the remains of a smashed barrel its only contents, the staves twisted by some careless impact, cast sharp ragged shadows in the moonlight across the wall. Richard stood among the contorted darkened lines, his form broken and difficult to discern in their camouflage. It was not until he was close that Harry began to wonder who stood in front of him. Dark dress was not Robert’s style, whose definitive characteristic was flamboyance. In two more steps, he also realised that this man would fit easily within Robert’s frame. Now Harry believed he faced a messenger from the man he feared and his confidence took an upturn, the dread of the meeting lifting slightly, such was his fear of Robert Fitzwarren. Richard didn’t speak. It had been a while, so he gave the other time for recognition to fully dawn and watched as, in all its revealing colours, it lit and then settled on Harry’s puffy, well-fed face.

“You…” was all Harry could say when he finally regained the use of his tongue. Richard chose still not to speak, but smiled malevolently at his proposed benefactor.

“So you’re back. Robert will be pleased about that. Is this what you do now, sneak about in darkened corners amongst the slime and filth, eh?” Harry’s confidence increased; he had no great fear of Richard.

“If you would so describe your company,” Richard’s voice was light, his words mocking.

“I know what you want, but I have satisfaction in knowing you’ll not live to spend it,” Harry spat back.

“So, it may be true,” Richard mused. “Who can tell? However, I am proposing a lavish funeral and require funds to provide for it, so…”

“I have your money.” Such had been Harry’s fear of Richard’s brother; he had come prepared. He tossed the sack of coins on the ground in the space between them.

“Such bad grace, Harry. I shall trust your honour and count this at my leisure later.”

“I hope to be present when Robert finds you; your head will be severed from your body, have no fear of it,” Harry threatened. For Harry, the meeting had gone on long enough already.

“I have little fear of death, Harry, do you?” Richard took a quick step forward to bring him within inches of Harry’s face. “Give my brother a message, will you, when you tell him of our…‘chance encounter’? Tell him that when we meet, I shall take more than his remaining ear.”

Harry kept his eyes on Richard until he judged himself a safe distance from his aggressor, then he turned on his heel and strode from the docks. Richard waited until he was out of sight before walking to the quay, the money disappearing inside his coat. Dropping suddenly to his knees, Richard swung himself easily over the edge, his weight on a hemp rope tied to the mooring bollard above. He dropped down until his feet landed softly in the small, rocking boat moored at the rope’s end.

“Well, he’s right mad now, isn’t he, and he’ll be back off to your brother, Robert, fair sharp,” Dan commented as Richard seated himself.

“I am counting on it, Dan,” Richard smiled.

“One of these days that brain of yours will be spread all over the ground. That’s where you’re going to end up if you keep trying to play like this,” Dan growled. Thick veined hands grasped the oars and began to propel the boat back down the river.

“You worry too much, Dan. It’s inevitable that Harry will tell Robert of our encounter. He hopes already to offset the loss he has made tonight, and more, with the blood that runs through my veins. That’s why he was so eager to part with this,” Richard tapped the bag of coins inside his jacket. “Knowing his greed and offering the possibility of catching me was part of the bargain I placed. Even now, I have no doubt Harry has men riding to all the escapes he thinks I might take, hoping to waylay me as I run to spend his gold. But Dan…I have no intention of being caught.”

“Aye, that’s as may be tonight, but there’ll be other nights, mark it.” Dan drove the oars hard into the black, silken surface of the water, exercising his annoyance by moving the boat a pace faster through the current.

†

 

Harry sat astride his horse as two men rode back to pull up next to him. The nearest shook his head. “No sign, Sir. From what you say he could be living in there.” The man cast a glance back over his shoulder to the docklands.

Harry’s mind had already cast Richard Fitzwarren in the mould of low life; he could visualise him sneaking amongst the dirt and filth. “Tomorrow, get down here and find out where he is. There’s a purse for the man who brings me news of his whereabouts. Make that known amongst the others. I will have him!” Harry barked. Surrounded by his own men he felt sure of himself once more, and so he turned his horse back in the direction of comforts so alien to the present setting and yet so necessary to Harry: goose feather pillows, malmsey, and raging fires.

The men searched most earnestly the following day, spurred by the promised reward. However, enquiries amongst the lowest levels of London society brought scant information regarding the man whom Harry’s men sought.

 

†

 

He stood alone in the long hall, as was his