The King's Bishop (36 page)

Alfred and Rufus followed cautiously.

‘I thought he swore he would go straight to Windsor Castle,’ Alfred said.

Owen glowered at the river mist. ‘Clear night and misty morning. What is God’s purpose in that, I wonder?’ And what had possessed Owen to leave Ned with Matthew last night? ‘I was a fool to trust him.’ And a fool to leave him.

‘Where might he run, Captain?’ Rufus asked. ‘Surely we cannot expect him in Windsor town, enjoying a brew at the tavern.’

Owen rubbed the scar beneath his patch wearily. ‘Where indeed? Not away from trouble. We cannot hope for that.’ Windsor. Ned had vowed to go to Windsor. But castle or town? ‘Does Mistress Alice Perrers live at court or elsewhere at present, Rufus?’

‘Both. At the castle her rooms are near His Grace’s.
In the town she has a house on the river. You can see it from the bridge.’

A house on the river. Ned would know the house from Mary. In Windsor town. ‘The Lord means to confound me,’ Owen growled. ‘Come, men. We must ride as fast we can to Mistress Perrers’s house. There is a ferry before the bridge, eh?’

‘You’re thinking he would not trust the bridge-keeper to let him pass?’

Owen nodded. ‘To the ferry, Captain Rufus.’

Shortly before dawn, a castle guard escorted Brother Michaelo to Archbishop Thoresby’s quarters. Adam, nonplussed by the odd procession, woke his master for instructions.

‘Michaelo is here?’ Thoresby muttered, rubbing his eyes. ‘That is as it should be. Why wake me in the middle of the night?’

‘Forgive me, Your Grace. But he comes with an armed escort. He wished them to follow him back into town. To Mistress Perrers’s house.’

By now Thoresby was reasonably awake. Michaelo and Alice Perrers? ‘Did he wish them to arrest her, Adam?’

Adam shrugged.

Well, there would be no more sleep this night. ‘Get me dressed, dammit, boy. But first tell them I am coming.’

There was a commotion in the parlour as Thoresby awaited Adam’s assistance, and Michaelo poked in his head. ‘Might I dress you, Your Grace, while we talk?’

‘You?’ Michaelo had always considered it beneath his station to dress Thoresby. ‘No. Adam shall do it. But stay here and tell me what’s ado. I understand you
wished for an armed guard to escort you to the bed of the King’s whore.’

‘I wished to
save
her, Your Grace, not
ravish
her.’

‘Who
is
ravishing her, then?’

Michaelo stepped into the room, followed by Adam, followed by the guard.

‘Remain just outside the door, if you will,’ Thoresby barked to the guard. ‘But do not hesitate to break down the door if I cry out.’

The guard’s look was one of alarm as he slipped out.

Thoresby nodded to Adam to prepare his clothes. ‘Now, Michaelo, quickly and without drama.’

Michaelo took a seat, impatiently smoothed out the damp hem of his habit. ‘Captain Archer and company are yet across the Thames, perhaps even now discovering that Captain Townley and I are gone. I was wakeful last night. A curse under which I suffer, as you know—’ At Thoresby’s glare, Michaelo nodded. ‘Forgive me for wandering, Your Grace. I happened to be in the inn yard when Captain Townley slipped to the stables, retrieved something, I do not know what, and then made his way to a ferryman, waking him to demand passage at once across to Windsor town.’

‘Indeed? Why did he not cross by the bridge?’

‘I doubt he trusted his right of passage, Your Grace.’

‘And you followed him?’ Thoresby had a delightful image of Michaelo hanging to the edge of the ferry, being dragged through the muddy river water. But he did not look wet, though the journey had certainly taken its toll. ‘Did you offer to pay your share if invited to accompany him?’

Michaelo sniffed. ‘I did not. I had no worries about the bridge guard.’

Thoresby stared at his secretary in amazement. ‘You rode alone? At night? You?’

Michaelo shrugged. ‘I waited for Townley on the other side and followed him to the house of Mistress Perrers. He is quite convinced that she is the cause of his troubles. I believe he means to kill her. So I hurried to the castle to enlist the aid of guards to come to her assistance. Instead they led me to you like a naughty child who must be punished for being abroad at night.’

Thoresby was alarmed. ‘My cloak, Adam.’ He took Michaelo’s arm. ‘Did you tell the guards your story?’

Michaelo shook his head. ‘Of course not. They need not know our business. I merely said I needed an armed escort to accompany me to the home of Mistress Perrers.’

‘They have wasted much time. Come.’

Adam opened the door just in time for the Archbishop and his secretary to sweep through.

The maidservant who opened the door to Ned recognised him at once. ‘Master Townley! Oh dear. Oh. Did you not know about poor Mary? She is –’ she wrung her hands – ‘not here.’

‘I know, Agnes. I know all about what has happened here.’ Ned clenched his hands, fighting for calm. The river mist swam round him in the open doorway, permeated the house. ‘I want to see your mistress.’

Agnes clutched the shawl beneath her chin. ‘’Tis but the middle of the night. I cannot wake her.’

‘You need do naught but stand back from the door. I shall wake her.’
Wake her so she knows death is near
.

‘
You
wake her? You shall not!’ Agnes set down her lamp with a clatter and rushed to close the door against the intruder.

Ned pushed; Agnes stumbled backwards. ‘Sit and behave, Agnes, and no harm will come to you.’

Whimpering, Agnes sank down on a bench near the door.

Ned grabbed the lamp and peered round the room. Little to see in the dim light, but there was no need. He saw it all in his mind, Mary sitting by the hearth, bent over her sewing… ‘Mistress Perrers sleeps up in the solar?’

‘Aye.’ Agnes sniffled. ‘With little John. You must not hurt little John.’

Would Mary have borne a raven-haired son
? ‘The child sleeps in the same room?’

‘A partition separates the nurse and John from my mistress.’

It was enough information. Ned climbed the open, ladderlike stairs awkwardly, his wounded leg dragging behind the other. Another thing for which to curse Perrers. At the top, Ned came face to face with the mistress.

‘Down the stairs,’ Alice hissed, a knife flashing a warning. ‘I will not have you frightening the boy.’

Armed though she was, Ned was taken aback by how young and vulnerable Alice Perrers seemed without her courtly trappings. Still, while he backed down the stairs he looked for a perch for the light so he might draw both his daggers. He had reached his goal and would have his revenge.

The ferryman cursed as he was once again wakened from a deep sleep by his equally cranky wife. ‘You see to them, woman. I cannot go till I’ve had me sleep. It matters nowt
who
they be.’

‘They be King’s men, Colm. They want to know who you ferried tonight. And they say you must ferry
them straightaway, else the King will have your head!’

‘He’s got everything else, why not that?’ Colm grumbled, but he pulled himself out of bed, rising to find a stranger in his doorway. ‘King’s man? A one-eyed rogue?’ Colm spat on the floor.

Owen lifted Colm up by the cloth of his shift. ‘You shall row us across as soon as you are clothed, and you will be silent all the way, Ferryman,’ he said. ‘The man you ferried over earlier may be murdering one of the Queen’s ladies at this very moment.’

Alice ordered Agnes to stoke the fire. It now burned smokily. Even so, it produced some warmth. Yet Alice still clutched a length of cloth round her shoulders, much as Agnes had done. Her hair, pulled back from her face by an embroidered cap, tumbled in brown waves down her back. Not as beautiful as Mary’s raven hair. But the King’s bitch looked young with her hair down. Young, but never innocent. The cat eyes were far from innocent.

‘I understand why you blame me, Ned,’ Alice was saying. ‘But I, too, am the victim of Sir William.’

‘Why were Wyndesore’s men after me?’

A thin eyebrow raised. So calm. ‘Captain Archer has said nothing?’

What was this? Owen knew the cause and had not said? ‘What are you talking about?’

‘My secret marriage. Poor Mary and Daniel were witnesses. I have no proof, but—’

‘You married Wyndesore?’

A modest lowering of the lashes, a brief nod. ‘But the King would call it treason to speak of it.’

Did he believe it? ‘What had I to do with it?’

Alice shrugged. ‘Mary might have confided in you?’

Ned closed his eyes, wiped sweat from his brow. ‘And Don Ambrose?’

‘Officiated.’

Ned shook his head. ‘No matter. You handed Mary over to Wyndesore, that’s enough for me to know.’

‘I did not plan for her to have aught to do with him.’

‘Oh, aye, you planned to marry her off to someone better than me. She told me. But Wyndesore got to her first.’

‘I meant to help Mary. Ensure that she had a good life.’

‘Then why did you choose her as witness? You might have chosen Cecily or Isabeau as witness.’

‘Sir William chose her, not I.’

‘Stinking cow.’ Ned took a step towards Alice. She flashed her knife. He reached out and knocked it from her hand, enjoying the expression of alarm on her face. ‘Who murdered Mary?’

Alice pulled tight her shawl, a protective gesture, shook her head. ‘Some of Sir William’s men, or men for hire. I swear I do not know.’

‘I do not believe you, Mistress Perrers.’ Ned began to toss his daggers from hand to hand.

Thoresby ordered the two guards who accompanied them to stand on either side of the door, out of sight but not of earshot. He would pretend he and Michaelo had come without escort.

A weeping maidservant opened the door. Thinking the worst, Thoresby pushed past her into the room.

‘My lord Archbishop, are you come to rescue me?’ Alice asked sweetly. She sat on a bench near the hearth. Ned stood behind her, one dagger to her throat, the other to her breast. Her arms appeared to be pinned at her side by a length of cloth.

Thoresby regretted the drama of his entrance. How did one reason with a cut-throat when it was plain one knew precisely what he meant to do? Why should Ned believe Thoresby would give him clemency? How could he possibly guess Thoresby would thank him for the murder of the common upstart? Or would he? Damn the woman, her soft brown hair undone, the gauzy shift. ‘Forgive me, Mistress Perrers, but it is Ned Townley I would save.’

‘Me?’

‘I swore to Captain Archer that I would give you such protection as I was able, allow time to investigate the matter. But I warn you, Townley, should you commit any violence on Mistress Perrers, the King will have your head, no matter your reason, no matter my argument.’

‘He means to have it—’ Ned stopped as Thoresby raised a hand to silence him.

‘If my secretary speaks true, you have Bardolph and Crofter, the very men you claim can prove your innocence. Save your martyrdom for another time, a nobler cause. Mistress Perrers is not worth your life.’

Ned’s eyes suddenly moved to the door. ‘Your secretary? So it was Michaelo betrayed me?’

Michaelo stepped into the house. ‘I followed you from the inn.’

Alice shifted slightly, gave a little cry as the dagger grazed her neck. ‘Sweet Heaven, if you mean to slit my throat, do it and be done with me!’

The prick had drawn blood. Ned glanced at it, grinned. ‘Not long now, Mary,’ he whispered.

Thoresby must think how to dissuade Townley from injuring Alice. It was difficult, once tempted, he knew.

‘God bless you for your effort on my behalf, Brother
Michaelo,’ Alice said, ‘though it may yet come to naught. Could Agnes bring a cloth and see to my throat?’

Thoresby stared at Alice. The woman was remarkably calm.

Once over the Thames, Rufus had led Owen and company straight to Alice Perrers’s house, where they found guards standing watch. Owen identified himself as Thoresby’s captain.

‘The Lord Chancellor is within, Captain Archer,’ the guard whispered, ‘and his secretary.’

‘And Mistress Perrers?’

‘Aye. Captain Townley with her. He is in a murderous rage.’

‘Why are you not inside?’

‘His Grace ordered us to stay without and listen for his call. He has not called.’

‘Townley has a skill with daggers,’ the other guard said. ‘If we were to rush in, he would use them, I’ve no doubt.’

‘Is there a rear door?’

‘Aye. By the kitchen.’

‘Any others?’

‘Nay.’

‘Alfred. Come with me. Rufus, choose two men to guard the back.’

Alfred and Owen moved round the house to the back. As they drew close to a shuttered window, a woman’s tearful voice cried, ‘The mistress is bleeding! Lord have mercy on us sinners! Help her!’

The back door, hung so that the cook did not struggle with it, swung easily inward. Owen and Alfred entered the house silently.