Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (68 page)

"The man you should be seeking revenge against is this Hartwell Barclay,"

Sir Raymond snorted derisively. "Hartwell Barclay? Good Lord, why on earth should I worry about that butt?"
"Because if he hadn't tried to rape Lily Christian, she would not have run away from Highcross. She would have remained safely out of your path. There would never have been a puppet show or two botched attempts on her life which have resulted in Valentine Whitelaw becoming suspicious."

"Damned Whitelaws, always interfering, sticking their noses where they shouldn't."

"Due to that interference, Lily Christian still lives. Valentine Whitelaw pulled her from the pool before she drowned."

"How the devil did he track them down so quickly?
Took
me days of following them, spending cold, wet nights huddling beneath my cloak. Did stay in an inn a couple of nights, knew I'd catch up with them the next day."

"Simon Whitelaw visited Highcross and discovered Lily and the others had fled. He knew they might try to reach their old nursemaid in Warwickshire. That is why Valentine Whitelaw was a step ahead of you this time, my friend."

"One of these days, he and I will have that reckoning," Sir Raymond Valchamps vowed. "He has cheated me of the prize too often."

"If you live that long. I fear this is one predicament that you will not be able to bluff your way out of, Raymond," the man advised him. "You were seen by Lily Christian before you attempted to murder her. You were seen at the gypsy camp when a girl, wearing Lily Christian's gown, was murdered, and for the last several days you have been mysteriously absent from London. Supposedly visiting your estates near where the attack against Lily Christian took place."

"Circumstantial evidence. No one can prove anything against me," Sir Raymond responded, almost convincing himself that he had nothing to fear. "No one can prove anything," he repeated softly, vowing to be more careful in future.

"Of course, there is the puppet. Ugly thing," the man said.

Sir Raymond shifted in his seat. "The puppet?"

"Yes, the one of the witch, with the one blue eye and one brown eye. Took me quite by surprise, I must say. Odd, it wasn't destroyed in the fire you set. It is now in Valentine Whitelaw's possession. You have mocked the fates far too often, Raymond."

"Well, even I can find a bit of humor in that. By God, that is rich!" Sir Raymond said, laughing uncontrollably. "The jest is on me!"

The man smiled.

"Of course, what the devil does a child's puppet prove? Everyone knows the girl has met me. I'm not easily forgotten. A cruel, childish prank, that's what it is. The girl made the puppet to frighten her sister and brother. It means nothing. If that is Valentine Whitelaw's evidence, then I shan't even bother to show up at the trial. A waste of time. There is no proof. He'll be a laughingstock."

"And the fable you told me about? The story of the evil witch who so fits your description and is plott
ing to assassinate the queen?"

"You have said it yourself:
a fable. Am I to be executed because of a puppet show? 'Sdeath, but t
hings have not gotten that bad
for Catholics yet that I would be tired for treason on that proof alone. Lord, but I would indeed become a martyr for the cause."

" 'Twas a story obviously told to the children by Sir Basil Whitelaw, one of the queen's advisers, who happened to be in Hispaniola, and most likely at her bidding," Sir Raymond's inquisitor pointed out. "It is obvious that his friendship with Geoffrey Christian served as a cover for his spying activities. Do you not wonder that Walsingham and Lord Burghley might begin to have doubts? How very inconvenient for them that he should die before returning to England to report, and how very unfortunate if one begins to suspect that he knew something."

"Again, I say there is no proof. You are worried needlessly. Perhaps I will no longer be the queen's favorite because of these
unfounded
rumors casting suspicion on my good name, and I may even have to flee to France for a while rather than spend my days in the Tower, but that will not be for long."

"You and I will meet our deaths, Raymond, because we will be tried and convicted on very damning proof. Basil Whitelaw's journal."

Sir Raymond Valchamps paled slightly. "Journal?"

"Yes, the one he was taking notes in while visiting Santo Domingo. 'Tis obvious he saw us, or he would never have told the children that fable. He knew. He knew everything. Somehow he learned even more of our plans, or being the intelligent man he was, he guessed what we were about. He was far smarter than we, my friend. Whatever the case, he wrote down everything he saw while visiting Santo Domingo. Lord knows what else is in that damning journal of his. Basil Whitelaw was a very conscientious man, and he took his duties very seriously. I am certain, had I access to that journal, that I would discover both of our names inscribed neatly there."

"I seem to recall you mentioning, after Valentine Whitelaw had rescued the brats, that there was a journal, but that it had been destroyed with Basil Whitelaw when he died."

"Yes, I did."

"So?"

"So the girl lied."

Sir Raymond Valchamps got slowly to his feet. "She lied? Lily Christian lied?"
"Yes. The journal Basil Whitelaw kept of his travels and of his life on that island he was so cruelly abandoned on was not destroyed. Lily Christian solemnly promised Basil Whitelaw that she would hide his journal and keep its existence a secret. My God, the man was on his deathbed and all he could worry about was that journal. Makes one wonder what information could be so very important that Basil Whitelaw would be so concerned about its safety. Lily Christian kept her vow to him and hid the journal, and she never spoke of it to anyone. And now it is just waiting to be found and brought back to England. After so many years of believing ourselves safe, Raymond, the truth is about to be revealed. Basil Whitelaw has indeed had his revenge against us. As Geoffrey Christian has as well. He at least died quickly and with honor, while you and I have been hiding all of these years. Can you hear his laughter, Raymond?"

"You seem very well informed. How do you know all of this?"

"I've just come from Riverhurst, where yesterday evening I and several other privileged individuals
-
-all trusted friends of Valentine Whitelaw-
-
were privy to some rather startling information concerning you. All highly confidential, of course. Naturally, Valentine Whitelaw is at Whitehall this very minute informing Burghley of those suspicions you have been so contemptuous of. We were all properly shocked. No word will leak out concerning this, however, since Valentine Whitelaw wishes to catch the conspirators before they can escape the net he is spreading."

Sir Raymond Valchamps sat brooding, thinking of all of them sitting there at Riverhurst listening to Valentine Whitelaw's damning words. He could see them all. Valentine Whitelaw, with his host and hostess, Sir William and Lady Elspeth, and their guests
-
-Thomas Sandrick, George Hargraves, Sir Rodger Penmorley, Sir Charles Denning, and others, perhaps even Walter Raleigh, for he'd become very good friends with certain people of late.

Sir Raymond sat back down. "Whitelaw will be sailing, won't he? He's going back to that island to find the journal. What are we going to do? There is no hope of keeping our identities secret now," he said, glancing toward the window as if he could already hear the sound of the queen's guard banging at his door. "We will have to flee. Damn, they are probably already watching my house. You took a chance coming here. Walsingham has spies all over London."

"Valentine Whitelaw sails with the tide on the morrow. But you needn't worry, at least not yet," the man said.

"Not worry? A fine reassurance coming from you. I'm surprised you spared the time to come and warn me. Or that you found the courage. I am a marked man, but you, you are still safe. At least," Sir Raymond added with a cruel twist to his mouth, "until I'm under torture. Then your name will come screaming from my lips."

"I said I have taken care of the matter."

"You?" Sir Raymond asked incredulously. "Well, I am reassured. What did you do, pray for us?"

"No," the man said quietly, "I sent word to Don Pedro Villasandro."

"My God! You what?"

"This very morning, I wrote a letter to the Spanish ambassador, explaining the seriousness of the situation, without mentioning names, of course, and asked that he would forward my letter to Don Pedro," he explained.

Sir Raymond stared at the man as if he were mad. "Don Pedro can sail into hell as far as I'm concerned, and I suspect he feels the same sentiments about us. Why on earth contact him? He's not even in England that I know. What good will it do to inform him? I'd do better trying to flee England aboard a fishing boat stinking of salmon. Of course, by the time Don Pedro arrives, he might be able to collect the various parts of my body after I've been drawn and quartered. Might be difficult getting my head down from Traitor's Gate, but I'm sure he'll manage. At least I might get a hero's burial on the Continent, having died for my beliefs. However, if that is your idea of escaping Elizabeth's wrath, then no thank you."

"Have you forgotten that it was while aboard Don Pedro's ship that we sank Geoffrey Christian's ship? Don Pedro knows where the island is, Raymond. I've sent word to him that he must get there in time to stop Valentine Whitelaw. Oh, I do not believe that he would sail just because we are in danger, but I do know that he hates Valentine Whitelaw as much as we hated Geoffrey Christian. They are two of a kind, and our Spanish captain would not hesitate to get
rid
of this enemy of his the same way he did the last one. He will sail to that island, and he will sink the
Madrigal.
Don Pedro is very capable at setting traps for his enemies. He will sail. He will not be able to resist the challenge I have given him, nor the opportunity of surprising his enemy. Don Pedro is a man who likes to have the odds in his favor before he acts."

"What if he fails?" Sir Raymond asked.

"We must have faith that he will not fail."

"That may satisfy you, but it hardly sets my mind at rest."

"We can do nothing else. I am an Englishman. I could never live on the Continent in exile. My life is in England. I have never known as much happiness as I know now. And if I were to flee today out of fear that Don Pedro might fail, how could I possibly explain my absence? Whether Whitelaw returns or not, my life would be ruined. I can do
nothing
but await my fate. It is out of my hands now. I've had to act to protect us all. I do regret what may happen because of my actions, but I had no
other
choice."

"On the Continent you would at least be alive. But I can see that you are determined to become that martyr. I, on the other hand, shall be preparing for my escape should Valentine Whitelaw return to England with that journal."

"Oh, I am no martyr, Raymond. I have no wish to die. So let us both pray that Don Pedro does not fail. For he is the only one now who can save us. He is the only one who knows where the island is
.
A special messenger has already been sent to Madrid with my letter, and within the week, Don Pedro Villasandro will be sailing for the Indies."

Sir Raymond Valchamps smiled. "And in the meantime I am going to settle the score with Lily Christian. Because of her, the life I've come to enjoy is finished. She owes me. I will see her dead before I leave England," Sir Raymond promised.

"I do not think you need worry about Lily Christian. For now, at least, she has escaped us. She is sailing with Valentine Whitelaw."

Sir Raymond stared at his friend in disbelief, then his shrill laughter filled the room.

Come unto these yellow sands,

And then take hands:

Curtsied when you have, and kiss'd-
-

The wild waves whist-
-

Foot it featly here and there.

Shakespeare

Chapter Twenty-Five

F
rom the deck
of the
Madrigal,
the island seemed quiet, basking peacefully in the late afternoon sun. Fluffy white clouds drifted over the low hills of pine and palmetto that seemed little changed since last Lily had viewed them. The gleaming crescent of sand ringing the bay was untouched except for the foaming surf spreading across its smooth surface.

The lone pine still stood sentry at the tip of the rocky headland, and Lily
wondered
how many times she'd sat beneath
its
sheltering boughs and stared out to sea, hoping to spy the white flag bearing the red cross of St. George. Lily glanced upward, past the tall, swaying masts to see the flag fluttering in the gentle breeze that caressed the isle that had been her home, and where she had known such happiness and sadness.