To Shield the Queen (25 page)

He had meant to distract me from the past but instead, he threw it into relief. In an instant I saw clearly all that I would lose if I went with him. My own land, my own faith. Elizabeth. And it mattered.

As day strengthened beyond the medieval lancet windows, I turned to him and looked into his eyes, holding back from the temptation to let them bewitch me, but striving to make mine limpid and loving so as to bewitch him. “Matthew, I think I should say . . . I am your wife now and I know it is better that I look forward and not back. I will try to be a good wife to you. I should like to be part of a family. It sounds quite wonderful.”

“Ursula, sweeting . . . ”

It was so difficult to go on gazing into his eyes that I turned over and settled down with my back against his belly, curved into his body, close and warm but not, now, face to face. He put his arm over me. “I think I’ll be glad when we’re there,” I said. “I’m a little frightened, Matthew. Shouldn’t we be prepared to go soon—or at short notice? If what you are doing is found out . . . ” I let the sentence trail away.

“It won’t be. But if it was, we could get away, don’t worry. If we couldn’t risk the main ports, there are such things as Catholic fishermen. I know where to turn for help.”

I produced a convincing chuckle. “We’d be hard put to it to get Dale to the coast in a hurry. She really is a terrible rider. She bumps in the saddle like a sack of cabbages.”

“You have such a salty turn of phrase, darling. And now we are lying like two spoons fitted together,” he said drowsily. “You are my little saltspoon.”

“Of course he can. Why not?” said Matthew. “Never mind about Dale now. There’s something else we should be doing . . . ”

He rolled me gently over again and I yielded to him. My own deception sickened me and yet, looking back, I note that in those strange, brief, bittersweet days of my marriage, I did not again succumb to headache or nausea. It seemed that my deepest self, the part that ultimately gives or withholds consent concerning all vital decisions, the part that sometimes drives people to martyrdom, had made its choice.

• • •

“We make progress, sir, madam,” said Roger Brockley, bringing Speckle up to the paddock fence to talk to us as Matthew and I paused on our way back from our morning ride round the Withysham home farm. “It was well done, madam, to put her on a better horse; lazy ones like the Snail may be safe, but they’re tiring. She does better astride too; she feels firmer in the saddle that way. Generally speaking, I don’t care for the sight of women in breeches, but on Dale, they’re quite pleasing. Don’t sag!” he added, raising his voice so that Dale, who was riding in a circle at a slow jog, could hear him. “The mare won’t obey you if you slouch!”

“By all means,” said Matthew, amused. “I’ll stay here!” I dismounted, handed my reins to Matthew and went round to the gate. Brockley, calling to Dale to pull up, joined me and we set off across the grass towards her.

“Not a very good excuse, but the best I could think of,” Brockley said. “Dale told me that you want to speak to me privately.”

“I do. It’s time we planned our move.”

I had had to be cautious. Despite my diplomatic assertion, on that first morning, that I had accepted the situation, I knew that Matthew was watching me not only with love but also with vigilance. I had to make that vigilance relax. Therefore, I had deliberately let myself form a routine. Each morning, after prayers and breakfast, I went to the kitchen to give orders for the day, and since then, except for the one Sunday I had so far spent at Withysham, when we went to church, Matthew at my request took me out riding. I needed the air and exercise, I told him. Next week, I had said, I would ask him to come with me to Westwater and then, if he was agreeable, we would fetch Meg. “I won’t visit her meanwhile; it could unsettle her. She is used to her quiet life with Bridget.”

I hoped it sounded convincing, as though I had completely given in. I also hoped I hadn’t overdone it. It was a balancing act.

After the daily ride, I would study household accounts with Mr. Malton, the steward, and after dinner, Dale and I would sew, or else I would practise music on the spinet, with instruction from the young music master. In the evening I would play at chess or draughts with Matthew, until supper. Then we went to bed, and the night had its own secret magic.

The treacherous thought slid snakelike into my mind that it would be easy, so easy. All I would have to do was surrender to this routine of pleasant days and luminous nights. All I would have to do was nothing. Brockley was glancing at me. I suspected that he half-expected me to change my mind and stay.

“Tomorrow, if the weather allows,” I said. “Is Dale ready?”

“Near enough,” Brockley said. “Putting her astride has done wonders, but the trouble with the stirrup leather is real enough. I pray to heaven, madam, that our scheme works.”

I had been able to give instructions openly about Dale’s new mount and her new breeches but other matters were more difficult, which was why I had needed, somehow, to arrange this private conference today. We had indeed laid a scheme but only in rapid undertones across Bay Star’s withers when he brought her round to the door for me each morning. In such conditions, polished conspiracy was difficult.

“If we fail,” I said, “I doubt we’ll get a second chance.”

“There’s no other way out, either,” Brockley added. “I’ve seen every yard of the walls by now. I did have an idea about starting a fire . . . ”

“Did you? So did I.”

“Really, madam? I think this is better.” He was glancing at me again and I turned my head to look at him directly. Once more, his gaze was intent. “You’re sure about this? It is a harsh choice for you. No lady should have to do what you’re doing.”

“I know, but I’m sure,” I said, with steel in my voice.

“You need higher boots,” I said. “Brockley! Come here. Can you lend Dale some boots high enough to protect her? These stop below the bruising.” I let my voice carry to Matthew, waiting by the fence.

“Well, I could—but she’ll have to stuff the toes. They’ll be bigger all ways, as it were.” Brockley, too, spoke clearly. In a lower voice, he added, “I’ll have them for her tomorrow. The plan is settled, then?”

“It is. You’ve put on a wonderful performance this morning, Brockley. What a good strolling player you’d make!”

Brockley looked quite shocked. “I can’t say the life of a wandering mummer appeals to me, madam. It’s too chancy.”

“I’m glad you feel like that,” I told him, “because, to be frank, I’m glad you’re here! Till tomorrow, then.”

I went back to Matthew. “A simple matter enough. All that Dale needs are longer boots with wool in the toes!”

“With Malton and the estate books. I am getting to understand them, gradually. Then, in the afternoon, Dale and I will start making me a gown from the material you’ve given me.”

“Ah yes, my wedding gift.” Two days after our wedding, Matthew had brought me a beautiful roll of rose-pink satin, which had been lying unused in a chest belonging to his mother. He would give me many much better gifts in time to come, he said, but meanwhile, if I would like this . . .

He looked at me with affection. “I shall like to see you in the finished gown. I only wish my mother could have been here to see it.”

Matthew wouldn’t see it, either. I tried not to think of that.

I worried about the weather. If it turned wet, it would look odd to persist with Dale’s riding lessons, but the next day, though grey, was dry and looked as though it would brighten later on. The clouds were high, not lying mistily on the downs as they did when rain really threatened. We breakfasted, as usual, in a small parlour; Matthew went in for more privacy than my aunt and uncle did. The room was like many at Cumnor, with its stone walls and the pointed arches to its windows, and there was the same smell of stone about it, but the atmosphere was different. Withysham was differently positioned and its windows must have been differently angled, too, for it was not shadowy but caught the morning or evening sun in nearly every room.

It had also harboured murderers. I must not forget that.

“The same as yesterday, madam. He wants me to sit up better, just as you said, and to practise getting a horse going when I want to and stopping when I want to.”

I waited for Matthew to say that he didn’t object but he did not speak. “I’ll stop and enquire after your progress, as usual, anyway,” I said, casually, afraid of arousing suspicion and praying that I wasn’t going to fall at the very first obstacle. Under my boned bodice, against my heart, I could feel the weight of the bag of gold sovereigns and silver crowns, part of Dudley’s last payment, which I had retrieved from my personal chest that morning. I had taken a last look round the bedchamber, to make my farewell to its remembered images of love. It had been a mistake. I had fled the room as if from an enemy.

“Oh, join the lesson if you wish. You ought to give Malton a morning off,” Matthew said. “You take him from his other duties and he says how can he leave you alone with the account books, when you ask so many questions?”

A breath of sheer relief went silently out of me. “Oh dear. I’m sorry. Very well, I’ll give him a rest.” I laughed. “I’ve probably learned quite enough for the time being. By the way, I’ve noticed that we’re rather extravagant with household candles, but I suppose the big dining chamber needs a great many . . . ” Chatting idly about things that didn’t matter, I led the conversation away from Dale and her riding lessons.

“No! I want you to put him into a canter straight from a standstill and then stop him before he gets level with that fencepost there. Now, try again. Get him ready. Tighten the reins and sit down well.
Now
. . . oh no, let me show you . . . ”

“You know, I don’t think Brockley is always a perfect teacher,” I said to Matthew in critical tones. “She can’t follow what it is he’s trying to demonstrate. I’m sure I could do better. Well, I said I might join in for a while. I think I will. I’ll see you at dinner, then.”

“Of course. Don’t overtire yourself,” said Matthew, quite unsuspiciously, and opened the paddock gate for me. I took Bay Star in and he closed the gate and then leaned across it for a kiss. “Saltspoon!” he whispered.

I smiled into his eyes, but my own eyes stung as he rode off towards the stableyard. I sat for a moment, watching him go from me, before I turned to join my servants. My friends. My fellow conspirators.

We looked gravely at each other. “We’d better not waste time,” said Brockley.

“I have to ask this,” I said. “Are you two willing to take the risk? If we fail, I shall of course say that you were only obeying my orders. I’ll protect you if I can, but Master de la Roche may well be very angry.”

“Let’s just go,” said Dale in a jittery voice. She tightened her reins and the brown mare threw up her head.