‘So this Ultor took over straight away after Mortimer’s arrest?’
‘Yes, I’m sure he made a pact with Mortimer. Should Mortimer fall, his mantle would fall on Ultor’s shoulders. But this is all speculation. So far we have no proof that Bess Knowles’s death had any connection with her boyfriend’s murder. She was pregnant. The Coroner said the death was due to natural causes.’
‘Still, it’s a coincidence. You’ll have to keep a good eye on your patch. Get some spies out there, people you can trust, someone who can talk to everyone and not arouse suspicion.’
‘I’ve got just the right person.’
‘Good. Who is he? One of your servants?’
‘No, a girl.’
‘Good God, man, are you mad? Look here, Peverell, this is a serious matter. We’re talking about high politics, not a church outing. Whatever made you think that a girl could be any use at all in espionage?’
‘She’s intelligent, well informed, independently minded. Gets around on her own horse, is liked by everyone, and no one suspects her. She’s already investigating something that I admit is a bit far-fetched, but she thinks it’s important and she might be right. After all, we have to keep an open mind if we’re to find Ultor before the King comes.’
‘I agree with you about that, Peverell, but a girl!’ He looked keenly at Nicholas. ‘I suppose she’s in love with you; and by God, you’re in love with her, aren’t you? This is no time for romance, Peverell. You’ll get nowhere with all this airy-fairy romantic nonsense. You always were too soft for your own good. Wake up, man. We’re talking about the King’s life here.’
‘Love doesn’t come into it, Sir Ralph. I like her, and she goes everywhere and reports to me. That’s all.’
‘Well, what is she investigating at the moment?’
‘She wants to know why an old lady who’s never done anyone any harm should suddenly be suspected of witchcraft.’
Southampton laughed derisively and slapped Nicholas on the back. ‘Sometimes, Peverell, you drive me mad. You live right up in the clouds. Witches are two a penny. Apart from putting the old curse on someone, I’ve never known them to dabble in treason. Unless they put a curse on the King, of course, then we’d string them up.’
‘She’s done nothing. She’s more of a local healer than a witch.’
‘Then tell that girl of yours to stop wasting time on her. I say, Peverell, is she pretty?’
‘I suppose she is, but that’s not the point. She’s as sharp as any man.’
‘Well, good luck to you. If you’re going to have a female spy it’s just as well if she’s pretty. No trouble in getting people to talk if you’ve got a pretty face. However, I think I’ll place my bet on the Sheriff if we’re going to find this Ultor. Wenches are all very well in their place but best kept away from politics. Now, if you’ve eaten sufficient, let’s go through the security arrangements for the King’s visit. You know you’ll have to increase the number of guards on your house?’
‘The King’s sending down some of his yeomen.’
‘Thank God for that. They, at least, can be trusted. Don’t let anyone get near the King whom you don’t know. Treat all strangers with suspicion. You can rest assured that no harm will come to the King when he’s under my protection. I can’t say the same when he’s with you. Now let’s get down to business. I’ve got a chart over there with all the King’s movements mapped out on it. As far as I’m concerned he’s not going to take one step outside proscribed limits. If I were you, I’d do the same.’
‘I’ve just told you, my Lord, he wants to go hunting.’
‘Then you must try to dissuade him, Peverell. Remember William Rufus.’
* * *
Jane arrived at Peverell Manor only to be told by Geoffrey that Nicholas had long been gone.
‘Can I ask where he’s gone to?’
‘You can ask, but I can’t tell you. More than my life’s worth. Let’s just say that he headed west.’
Then she remembered he’d said he had to see the Earl of Southampton. Well, she thought, there was nothing for it, she’d have to conduct her own investigations. Someone wanted Agnes out of the way and was setting about it in a devious way. But she was going to find him whether Nicholas helped her or not.
Chapter Eighteen
It was still raining when Jane arrived at Abigail Butcher’s house. She lived in a tiny, timber-framed house, its walls made of a daub of clay and dung mixed with straw and twigs. A pig was rooting around in the piles of rubbish which littered the yard, and she scuttled off grunting and squealing when she saw Melissa. Jane tied her horse to a tree and went into the yard. The rickety front door was open and she peered into the dark interior where a woman was crouched in front of a smouldering log fire, stirring the contents of an iron pot. She looked up when Jane knocked and smiled. Jane was well known to her. The Butchers were one of the few really poor families in the village and Jane often dropped in a batch of eggs or some honey when she went past.
The wind was blowing the smoke back through the hole in the roof, and Jane could only just see the two boys and the girl, sitting on the damp mud floor watching the pot with hungry eyes, like three cats. Two chickens, perched on the wooden bed head, started up in surprise as she went in and flew out of the front door, squawking angrily. The children jumped up to welcome her. They were polite children, as Abigail was strict with them, and they tried not to look too eagerly at the pots of honey she’d brought with her. Jane hugged them all, and gave the eldest boy one of the pots.
‘Here, Simon, go and share this with your brother and sister.’
Simon took the pot and they rushed to the table where they greedily scooped out the honey with their fingers, licking up every drop.
‘Don’t eat it all,’ said their mother. ‘Save some to put on your gruel when it’s ready.’
They grinned across at her and went on eating. Jane went over the fire and looked closely at Abigail, who was still weak from childbirth. She was a young woman, still in her twenties, but already the strain of bearing four children in five years was beginning to show in her tired, worn face. Her long hair hung in lank strands round her face and her torn brown dress was mud-stained and hardly covered her body. However, she was pleased to see Jane and told her to bring up a stool and dry herself off.
‘The fire’s got the sulks today,’ Abigail said, giving it a poke. ‘It takes a long time to get the food cooked. It’s good of you to come, Mistress Warrener. Just take a look at those three with the honey.’
Jane waved across at the children. ‘How are you, Abigail? Are you getting a bit stronger after Daniel’s birth?’
‘Ah, the poor darling. He was just a wee bit of a thing. Didn’t really know who we were or where he was. But the Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.’
‘You’re not angry about his death?’
‘Angry? Lord, Mistress, why should I be angry? These things happen; and it’s best that it turned out the way it did. How could I cope with a child with a twisted body? He’ll be up in Heaven now, with a beautiful straight body and a fine pair of wings on him. He was fair, you know; not like my three darlings over there. Daniel was meant to be an angel.’
‘You don’t blame the midwife who delivered him?’
‘Oh no, she’s not to blame. He was a bit upside down when he was inside me and we had a struggle to get him out. But Mistress Agatha was very clever and Agnes Myles was very helpful too with her potions. At one stage, when the pains were real bad, she gave me something to drink which knocked me out. The next thing I remember Daniel was born. He’s happy now, and that’s an end to it. Some wicked people are saying that Agnes put a curse on him, but I don’t believe that. She loves babies and has never harmed anyone. No, God wanted Daniel for his own.’