Geoffrey Condit (16 page)

    Peter’s lips were hard lines.  His hands shook when he laid the letters on his desk.  “First class forgeries.  I wonder what she was going to do with them?”  He tapped the polished desk top.  “Thank you for bringing these letters.”

    “I am sorry ... ” Catharine began.

    “Don’t be sorry.   You were following your heart and discovered your head.  There is nothing wrong with the heart in most cases, but in the circles I must move, hearts are used as reefs to wreck the innocent.  I fear you were meant to find theses papers.”

    “Why?” she asked, stricken.

    A thunderous knock and the front door was flung open.  Peter and Catharine swung around just as the Duke of Buckingham strode in, and snatched the two letters off the desk.  He glanced down at the papers and smiled in triumph.  “Traitor. Caught you in the act.  For this you will pay with your life.”

    “Your Grace.  My wife found these at Lady Stanley’s,”  Peter said.

    “An unlikely story.  Inventive.  But Lord Stanley is an officer of the Crown.  Hardly convincing.”  Buckingham leaned against the door frame, breathing deeply and gloating.

    “How did you know to come here at this exact moment?”  Peter asked.

    Catharine blanched.   Jesus wept!  What have I done?  “I saw Lady Stanley’s courier passed us on our ride into London.”

    Peter gave a bitter smile.  “Carefully set up.  Your Grace and Lady Stanley are a pair.  You deserve each other.  Who else have you ruined together?”

    “You slander the wife of a Crown official.  Careful, my lord.”

    “You can’t convict on forgeries,” Catharine choked out.

    “Who says these are forgeries, Lady Trobridge?”  Buckingham walked over to the desk, took a letter of Peter’s, and placed it next to the two letters he’d taken.  “Take a look.  The writing is identical, right down to the signature.”

    It was.  Stunned, Catharine said, “This cannot be.”  She turned to her husband.  “How?”

    “I don’t know.  I do know I didn’t do this,” Peter said.

    Buckingham smiled, and tucked the papers in his doublet.  “Perhaps you don’t know your husband as well as you might, Lady Trobridge.  He is a man of wide experience with many political contacts and interests.  You have been seduced and taken in by him.  The King will forgive you.  He will seek a new husband for you after the trial and execution.  He may confiscate your wealth, but I think he will keep your lands and you together, and transfer them to a trusted favorite.”   His shiny pitted face smiled with triumph, eyes lit with glee.

    “But Peter saved Richard’s life at Tewkesbury.”

    “People change, Lady Catharine.  Treason is a common vice among the mighty.  And there is none more mighty than your husband.”  He laughed.  “Does she make an obedient wife, Lord Trobridge?”

    “No, she does not.  She is willful, headstrong, and inventive.”

    “She will learn,” Buckingham said, voice low and deadly.

    “What do you mean, Your Grace?”  Catharine stared at both of them, a horror growing within.

    “He means, after my execution, to ask the King to set aside his wife.  He will marry you, Catharine.”

    “No, this cannot be. You are married, and have a son.”  The horror crawled into her heart, chilling the life there.

    “My wife is a Woodville, a liability to me.  Woodville’s have been rats around the Throne for all of Edward’s reign.  They stole the State Treasury, and Richard will brook  insolence no longer.  It is open season on Woodville’s.”  He sneered.  “This time you’ll get a real wedding ring instead of a worked horseshoe nail.”

    “You have a wife and a son.  How can you do this?”

    “Because, dear wife, of ambition.”  Peter stirred, turned to the window, composed.  “This man’s appetite for power is boundless.  Government without scruples.  He practices a form of anarchy as old as man.”  The cold rage in Peter’s eyes made Catharine shrink.

    She whirled on the duke.  “You will not get away with this,” she cried, unshed tears filling her eyes.

    “I fear he will,”  Peter said.

    “Touching interchange.”  The duke smiled.  “But we must end this farce.  Come in, Sergeant.”

    A hard faced retainer entered, standing warily to one side.  “My lord?”

    “Lord Trobridge is under arrest for High Treason.  We will escort him to the Tower of London.”

    “Very good, Your Grace.”

    “His lands and goods cannot be touched until after he is found guilty at an open trial.”  Harry Barristar entered the chamber.

    The duke’s face went red.  “I don’t need you to tell me, Harry.”

    “You asked me to keep you appraised of the legal aspect of the situation, Your Grace.”  Harry’s face betrayed nothing, but his eyes wondered everywhere, avoiding Peter and Catharine.

    “I know,” the duke said.  “Tis a pity though.”  He brushed a fine tapestry with his hand.

    The sergeant brought out a length of rope to bind Peter’s hand.  “Idiot,” the duke exploded, striking out.  “This is a great lord!”  The man staggered back from the duke’s blow, falling to the floor.  When he stood, his face showed no emotion, but his eyes glittered with hate.  Blood ran onto his sleeve and Catharine handed him a napkin.

    “My lady,”  the soldier bowed, and held the cloth to his face. 

    “We must go.”  The duke walked out of the chamber,  Barristar followed.  The sergeant waited for Peter.

    Catharine went to her husband, a desperate need ruling her.  She felt his rage and anguish.  “This is not done,”  she said.  “We are not done.”  Standing on tiptoes, Catharine caught him, kissed his surprised lips.

    “My lord,”  the sergeant said, clearing his throat.  “The Lord Constable is not a patient man.”

    Peter broke free.  “Be strong,”  he said, then bowed his head to her ear.  “Do as Anthony and Jacob bid.”

    Catharine watched as the blurred image of Peter’s straight back disappear through the arched door.  Betrayed, she thought.  I betrayed him.

    How long the thought dominated her mind she could not tell.  Dazed, she sat on the settle, and stared at the fire in the hearth.  Anthony Will, Hugh Addisson, and Jacob McBride appeared before her. “It is my fault,” she said.

    “No, Lady Catharine,” Anthony replied. “You did not betray him, but you and your natural sympathies were cruelly used.”

    She sat up, and dried her eyes.  “I must do something  to help him.”

    “Peter spoke of this possibility, my lady.” Jacob said. his heavy features creased with concern.  “Even now his portable wealth is being gathered and made ready to sail.”

    “I cannot leave him to die in the Tower,” she said.

    “After our raid to save the princes, security there has been tripled.”  Hugh shook his shaggy head.  “We canna get in.”

    “There must be another way.”  Catharine looked to her stewards.

    “The only way is to prove his innocence, my lady,”  Anthony said.  “Considering the evidence, the future doesn’t look promising.”

    “I will not believe that,” she said, and rose to pace.  The men made room, and exchanged glances.  “What about Sir James Caxton?” she asked.

    “Caxton must go by the evidence,” Jacob said.  “Unless something startling comes to light, I see no hope.  We must act on what we have.”

    “I will find out how the letters were forged,” Catharine said.

    “I hope we do,”  Anthony said. “Ask and we will do your bidding in this matter.”

    “I need to think,”  Catharine said.  “Anthony, make ready as Peter instructed you.  Jacob, secure the trading operations for transfer to Burge.  For now I cannot leave.  Our people need me to provide for a stable household.  Leave me to think gentlemen.”  They bowed and left.

    Every avenue of investigation led back to the two letters sitting before her on the desk.  Her father’s letter from Lady Stanley’s, and the one she’d taken from Robin Nesbit’s own desk.   The handwriting  was similar, letters shaped the same.  There was no mistake - they were written in the same hand.  Her fists tightened, and she swept both offending papers  from the desk.  The conniving degenerated.  They’d planned the whole thing from the start.  Everything.  I’ve been a pawn since the marriage.  He married me to Peter, his target.  He enlisted Lady’s Stanley’s help, and used Robin Nesbit’s unholy talents with the pen.  The letters implicating Peter were planted where she’d found them.  Then the courier had warned the duke.  Mother Mary, she’d played the fool.

    Now she knew why the letters implicating Peter had looked so similar to the ones before her now.  Why hadn’t she noticed in time to save Peter?  The whole thing  was so simple.  They’d let her natural prejudices take their course, prompted her in the right direction, and she’d followed every turn in their road to perfection.  Jesus God, they must think me the fool.

    She picked up the papers, straightened her gown, dried her tears, and fixed her hair.  She called her stewards to her and explained her suspicions, leaving nothing out.

    “These are clever and evil people,”  Anthony said.  “What do you want us to do?”

    “We need to know the whereabouts of Robin Nesbit.  He is the key.”  She explained about St. Anne’s.   “Do not go near the man, or let him become suspicious.  Keep our agents at a distance.  He must suspect nothing.  They used him in this plot to kill our good lord.  Now we will use him to set Peter free.”  Anthony hurried away.

    “Jacob, when we lure Robin from his nest of sin, I need you and your people to do an errand,”  Catharine said, and explained.  After Jacob left, Catharine turned to  Hugh.  “Saddle some horses.  We’re going to pay a visit to Sir James Caxton.”

    “I can do nothing without more evidence, Lady Catharine.”  Sir James Caxton’s compact body wandered restlessly around the wainscoted study.  “The letters speak for themselves.  My hands are tied.”  Real anguish edged his voice.

    “If I do bring more evidence, can you stop a trial?”

    “It depends on what you give me,” he said.  “The Lord Constable will not want to make a fool of himself.  But he has enormous power, and has shown he isn’t afraid to use it.  With a great name like Trevor committing treason, the case will be heard by a royal commission.”

    “If the King seats a royal commission, will there be any doubt of the outcome?”  Catharine held her breath.

    Caxton shook his head.  “Not unless evidence of a remarkable nature comes forward.”

    “How soon before a royal commission will be seated?”  She turned to warm her hands before the fire in the stone hearth.  Catharine swallowed  and schooled her face.

    “The King is in progress in the north.  After her returns.”

    “That might be a month or more.”  She turned back to face the compact man.  “Am I right?”

    “True.  What are you getting at, Lady Catharine?”  He stopped before his friend’s wife.

    “Do you think Peter will survive that long in the Tower, considering who controls it?”  She saw astonishment take his face and alarm set in.

    “To outright murder a man of Peter’s stature ... ”

    “I am talking about poison,”  Catharine said, and saw Caxton freeze at the thought.  “Many people sicken and die in prison. Often it is convenient for the jailor.”

    “Lord Peter is a State Prisoner.”

    “But who is the jailor, and what are his feelings toward my husband?”

    “I see your point, Lady Catharine.”  Caxton’s face went from alarm to worry.

    “Why not arrange for him to have his own cook or be fed directly from the table of Sir Robert Brackenbury,  the Constable of the Tower?  He is  fair, though he cannot be sympathetic.”

    “Wise thought.  It can be done.  It will be done.  Sir Robert’s table it is.”

    “Good.  I do not want to lose my husband.”  She hesitated, wondering if she should confide the extent of the duke and Lady Stanley’s plot.  She said with care.  “I have good reason to believe we will catch the forger.  He may be protected by mighty people.”

    “There is none mightier than the King and his servants.”

    “That is my fear and my hope.  Do you know the names of active forgers in the city?”

    “Three men, but two are no longer in business.  We’ve heard rumors of a man who operates in central London, near St. Paul’s, but we haven’t been able to locate him.”

    “I wish I could be of more help,” he said,  “Peter is like a son to me.”

    “You could do one more service,” Catharine said.  “Visit His Grace of Buckingham, and explain your concern and the King’s concern for Peter’s continued good health.  At the very least visit the Tower daily to insure Peter is kept safe.”  She struggled to control her face, to hide the terror she felt.  “You know there is no one the duke hates more.  Peter thwarted him with the princes, and even got the Attorney General to drop the investigation over the illegal warehouse seizure.  The man must be half-crazy with gloating at having Peter in his clutches.  We must leave no stone unturned to safeguard his life.  I will bring you the evidence .”