The Assassin's Wife (57 page)

“I know that.” I grabbed at his arm. “I told you the priest visited me in the city—I made no secret of it.”

“Aye, but did you know your priest enjoyed a secret relationship with a young monk at St John’s Priory?”

“He visited Alan Palmer—a lad from my village.” I shouted with exasperation, forcing Miles to confront me. “What nasty insinuations has Jack Green been nourishing now? And to what purpose?”

Miles shook his head with impatience. “Stillington showed particular interest in the priest’s weakness, Jack said. The church condemns trafficking between men.”

“So Jack Green used this hearsay to fuel the torture of an old man?” Tears of rage choked my voice. “What warped pleasure can he extract from such perverse pastimes? Or was it just a means to strike at me?”

Miles folded me in his arms and kissed the tears from my eyes. “Jack Green won’t harm you, I’ll see to that. But you must stay away from Jervaulx. I care for nothing except to have you safe. It would be foolish to annoy the duke now we have his special protection.”

Reluctantly I yielded to his counsel, but the implications of the duke’s protection nagged at my peace like toothache.

Chapter Seventy-One

All over Coverdale bells rang, their dark sonorous notes echoing through the hills, making the whole valley vibrate.

“What’s happening?” Dickon started up from the stream where he’d been searching for trout. “Why are the bells ringing?”

Miles raised his head as if sniffing the air for clues.

“Something’s wrong.” I gathered up the discarded cloaks, the April day having proved warmer than expected. “We should go back to the castle.”

Miles cast me a warning look. Ever since Pontefract he’d grown wary of anything that smacked of prophecy. He rose stiffly, hoisting the fishing pole over his shoulder. “Put your shoes on, Dickon. We’ve a good walk ahead of us.”

At Coverham closed doors menaced us with their silence.

“What’s happened?” Miles shouted to a lone villager by a gate.

“Don’t tha know?” The elderly man scanned our faces in disbelief, his lips quivering. “King Edward’s dead.” He crossed himself. “Messenger brought news from London.”
 

It seemed in that moment the false sunlight faded and the air chilled. I pulled my cloak around me, watching slate-rimmed clouds scudding across the heavens. As Miles stooped to pick up Dickon, I noticed threads of silver among his unruly black hair. A grim sense of our mortality struck me like a fist.

“We must hurry.” Miles glanced up. “It’ll rain soon.”

Our eyes locked for a moment. I knew then that this day marked the end of our comfort. There’d be no more walks upon the moors; no more days spent together as a family; no more sweet privacy. Panting over the uneven landscape, even Dickon seemed subdued. Neither of us dared ask what would happen now peace had been destroyed by one untimely death.

At Middleham mourning had already begun. The guards stood sombre, the streets empty of life. We cheated the rain but a fretting messenger waited.

“His Grace requires your service, Master Forrest.” An impatient lad in page’s livery stood by our door.

Dickon, eying this messenger, demanded in a loud voice, “Will Ned be king now?”

The page’s eyes took on an incredulous stare.
 

“Why, no,” I said. I snatched Dickon’s hand. “The king’s son, Prince Edward, will take the crown. He’s the heir to the throne, not our Lord Ned.” I laughed to cover my embarrassment. “Lord Ned is the prince’s cousin,” I explained to Dickon. “Like us, he’ll swear his fealty to the new king. If he’s strong enough to travel, he’ll probably go to the coronation.” I hustled the puzzled child inside.

Grim-faced Miles followed. “This bodes ill.” Alarmed by the ominous resignation in his eyes, I watched him brush his hair savagely. He ruffled Dickon’s curls. “Look after your mother.” Snatching up his cloak, he kissed me hard on the mouth and fled in a moment.

“Master Green said Lord Ned would be king one day and I might be his trusty henchman.” Dickon stared after Miles. “Where’s dada going?”
 

“Master Green was teasing you.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “If anything happened to Prince Edward, his younger brother would be king. Ned may be made an earl someday, but he’ll never be a king.”

I found him a piece of marchpane. While he sat chewing the sticky sweetmeat I flung logs on the fire. “If you’re good, I’m sure Ned will choose you for service in his household one day.” I turned to plant a kiss upon the tip of his nose, smiling with a heartiness I didn’t feel.

“But Master Green said Prince Edward and Prince Richard couldn’t rule the land because they were base-born.” His eyes shone bright with innocence but his face assumed a serious expression as if quoting a lesson carefully taught. “Mama, will our Duke be king? Master Green said the Duke will reward everyone who’s loyal to him now. Are we loyal, Mama? I’d like to be rewarded.”

“Master Green should be very careful what he says.” My heart thumped with a mixture of fear and suppressed rage. “Such words are dangerous. Do you understand what a traitor is?”

Dickon frowned. “A bad person?”
 

“A very bad person.” I wrapped him in my arms. “One who may be hanged.”

He snuggled close as if considering this explanation, licking the last sweetness from his lips. “Will Master Green be hanged?” His grubby face shone with childish simplicity.

“He may if he speaks treason.” But I knew Jack Green was far too clever to be caught. “Come now, it’s time to wash your face and then we’ll play knuckle-bones together.”

Long after the child slept, Miles crept into the chamber. He stood by the hearth, his face grave. “The king’s been dead above a week. The Wydevilles have sent to Ludlow for their prince. I’m to ride to London tomorrow.”

“Why?” I looked up from the little shirt I was stitching to steady my shaking hands.
 

“Gloucester suspects some mischief.” He crouched before the fire chewing at his thumbnail. “They’re saying the king went fishing, took cold, and ate too heartily at dinner.” He faced me then, his eyes bleak. “Apparently he was taken ill on Good Friday.”
 

“Poison?” I had a distinct image of wily Jack Green grinding something in a mortar while Brother Silas’ back was turned. Miles shrugged, but one eyebrow lifted questioningly. His eyes burned.
 

“Surely not?” I uttered an involuntary laugh. “That’s the kind of tale Maud Attemore might spin.” I stuttered nervously, eager to dismiss my intuition as fantasy.
 

“But it’s hard to believe someone so strong and vigorous could die suddenly.” Miles narrowed his eyes. “Don’t pretend you believe these lies about catching a chill, Nan. You’re no good at dissembling.”

“He certainly wasn’t sick when I saw him at Westminster.” I recalled the huge, laughing figure in the scarlet doublet and how we’d jested about him.

“And he never ailed till now. This’ll throw the lords into confusion. A child on the throne means trouble.” Miles’ expression became vicious, his tone iron-hard. “Think of addle-witted Henry. He was a babe when he inherited the crown and much good that did us.”

Dropping my sewing on my lap, I stared into the flames, allowing my mind to recapture the melancholy lad of my visions. “They say the Prince of Wales is a scholarly boy.”
 

Miles’ scornful laugh growled in his throat. “Scholarly or not,” he jabbed a finger for emphasis, “he’ll be a puppet in the hands of the Wydevilles if we allow it.”

“How can we prevent it?” I thought of Stillington holding up Antony Wydeville’s severed head. “We’ve no say in the management of the kingdom.”

In the firelight Miles’ face assumed a wolfish leer. “Gloucester’s named Protector. Some of us from the north are to go ahead to the capital and await instructions. The Duke intends to meet up with the Ludlow entourage. Hastings told him the Wydevilles plan an early coronation. I’ll be lodging at Potter’s house until needed.”
 

“And so it begins. Don’t you remember what I told you at Pontefract?”

Miles stormed toward me and, seizing me by the shoulders, dragged me to my feet. “Never speak your witch-craft at me, for I’ll not listen to it.” Spittle flecked his lips. “If we remember where our duty lies we stand to profit by this calamity. Hastings’ man told us, when Potter heard the news he said, ‘Then my master, the Duke of Gloucester, will be king!’ He must know something more than we do.”

“Be careful, Miles.” I stroked his face, noting with dismay the glitter of excitement in his eyes. “Men have had their tongues cut out for speaking such treason.”

He thrust me from him snarling with laughter. “Can you say that to me? Your words almost had you burned, or have you forgotten?”

“I warn you only
because
of that,” I said. “I’ve learned my lesson well. But will you follow Gloucester blindly?” I seized his arms, forcing him to confront me, and daring to oppose him with a passion which shocked both of us. “There’s no witchcraft in a woman’s love for her husband, but there
is
danger in speaking out against the queen and her family. She’s a ruthless enemy and never forgets an injury. You know what she did to—”

“The Wydeville witch has had her day,” said Miles. “She’ll shortly see what it is to spurn the old nobility.” He squatted before the fire as if seeking some message in its heart while I gathered up my scattered needlework, my throat aching with tears of frustration.
 

“What’s become of Jack Green?”

“I don’t know. I’ve not seen him in days. Why?”

“Mistress Collins has been asking after him.” A sudden impression of Jack slipping a vial into his doublet made me nauseous. I swallowed hard, resting a hand on the settle for support. “It’s just—Emma’s gone missing.”

Chapter Seventy-Two

Miles’ sudden departure provoked a storm of speculation. Throughout the following weeks, the duchess treated me with particular favour, sending me upon various personal errands, showering me with little gifts and inviting me to sit next to her. What did she know of Miles’ errand? I anguished over this special preferment, conscious of her ladies now looking at me with pity in their eyes. I felt like an animal being prepared for sacrifice.
 

Stifled by the tense atmosphere of the bower-chamber, I begged to go into Middleham on the pretext of visiting Elizabeth Metcalf. “She’s been sick with the quinsy,” I lied. “I promised her husband I’d look in on her.”
 

“A generous gesture, Nan. And one I approve whole-heartedly. Take her some honey from our kitchens and get one of the wenches to accompany you. It’ll be busy today with the market.” Lady Anne smiled so sweetly, I wondered if she’d seen through my poor deception. “Commend me to her. No doubt Master Rob will be at home?”

This last question produced a tremor of sniggers and sly glances amongst the ladies. The duchess smiled archly at Meg Huddleston.
 

I took the honey but no companion, being anxious to avoid sparking further gossip. Fortunately I found plump Elizabeth among the rowdy muddle of the market. She panted for breath with the exertion of pushing through crowds, but still had enough energy to examine the heaped vegetables on a stall with careful scrutiny. “These onions are going rotten.” Her vehemence wiped the smile from the astonished stall-holder’s face. “And I never saw such withered turnips.”
 

She turned to me. “I hope you’ve not bought owt of this knave.” Her wind-chapped jowls quivered with indignation.
 

“No, I was on my way to see you.” I dragged her away. “I told Lady Anne you’d been sick. She sent you this honey.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “I never thought you capable of such tricks—but the honey’s most welcome. I suppose you’re anxious for news. Rob’s back from London. I believe he’s a message for you.”

All the way back to her house in Castle Street, she gossiped without pause. “Jane Collins talks of retiring—says she’s too old for tending children now and plans to settle in Sheriff Hutton—she’s some cousins there—And what about that pretty little nursery wench running off to meet some rogue in the village last week? Jane was out of her mind with worry. She says the lass came back very late and refused to say a word, but she’s been sly and sullen ever since. She’s an idea that knave Green’s behind it. Sally Glover says he’s led several maids astray.” She looked at me speculatively but I’d no appetite for tittle-tattle. “Did you know the coronation’s been postponed until June?” She puffed and panted through the muddy streets, her face turning the colour of her crimson kirtle. “I daresay Lady Anne’s had wind of it but she’s a devious one—just like her father. The Wydeville queen’s refusing to come out of the Sanctuary. They say she took all her jewels and treasure with her. She’s demanded our duke releases her brother, Antony before—”