Candace Robb - King's Bishop

She attempted a smile, with modest results. ‘Ned, my love. Are you certain that Daniel’s death was truly an accident?’

Ned fell back on to the pillows with a groan. That again! ‘You know I did not do it!’

‘No, no, please, Ned, what I mean is — well, do you believe it was an accident?’ She leaned over him, her hair caressing him. Her eyes did not smile now, nor did they weep. She was quite serious.

Ned wearied of Daniel, even in death. He put a hand over his eyes. ‘ I don’t know, Mary. They said he drowned. They accused me of murder. That is all I know for certain.’

Mary lay down facing him, propping her head up on one elbow. ‘Why would it have occurred to them to accuse you? Why did they not assume at once that it had been an accident? Folk drown all the time.’

‘It was because of our argument in the hall. I threatened him. Meaning naught by it, I swear. But I did threaten him — with the daggers.’

‘I have heard no talk of knife wounds,’ Mary said, ‘nor wounds of any sort.’ She grew quiet.

Ned stole a peek at Mary. She was biting her lip, deep in thought. ‘What is it?’

‘He did drown, didn’t he?’

‘I did not see his body.’ Ned stroked her hair, kissed her forehead. ‘Why does it worry you so?’

‘I — ’ Mary looked confused.

Immediately suspicious, Ned grabbed her shoulders. ‘What was between you?’

‘Nothing! For the love of God, Ned, I am fearful because if he was murdered, whoever did it might be in the castle. And I am in the castle. And when you leave, I’ve no one to protect me. No one to run to if I’m frightened.’

Ned pulled her to him, hugged her hard. ‘You have nothing to fear, Mary. You are in the King’s court, under Mistress Alice’s protection. You will be quite safe.’

Alice Perrers returned from an exhausting morning with the ailing Queen to find her bed unmade, her chamber not yet aired.

The elegant Mistresses Cecily and Isabeau sat near the window using the daylight for their embroidery.

‘Where is Mary?’ Alice demanded of them.

Mistress Cecily rolled her eyes. ‘Whimpering on her bed … my lady.’ Cecily always paused on the last two words. It rankled her to serve Alice, who was of lesser birth than she. But as the King’s mistress, mother of his bastard son, Alice must be treated with respect. It was the King himself who had insisted on Alice’s serving women calling her ‘lady’.

‘On her bed? At midday?’

Cecily and Isabeau dropped their eyes to their embroidery, tittering at poor Mary’s misfortune. Their needles did not move. Alice had no doubt they had sat there all the while in their elegant silk gowns and gossiped.

‘Mary is worth ten of you, you lazy ornaments!’ Alice hissed as she left the room. What had Queen Phillippa been thinking when she’d asked Alice to take them into her chambers?

Mary was different. She had been Alice’s choice, an orphan like herself, only two years younger. Alice trusted Mary, understood her lot in life. Ned Townley had upset the balance. He had been warned to stay away, but the damnable man had kept returning, swearing his undying love, turning Mary’s pretty head.

Well, if one considered a handsome man with pretty speech an ideal knight, Ned was that, and more. Lancaster would never have trained him as a spy if he were not brave and cunning. But he was a nobody. And would ever be a nobody. His sort never acquired property. Never advanced in rank beyond captain. Already it was plain that what little money Ned made he squandered on clothes. It was true he had an eye for colour and fabric, but clothes did not appreciate in value. Mary deserved better. Mary required better.

Alice found Mary sitting in a dark, airless room. She threw open the shutters. ‘For pity’s sake, Mary, how can you breathe?’

Mary blinked, then held her hands before her eyes to shield them from the sudden light. ‘Forgive me, mistress.’

Alice knelt down, lifted Mary’s face towards the light, pushing her hair back from her face. ‘ Mon Dieu , what a pitiful sight!’ Mary’s lovely face was swollen and red, her eyes bloodshot. ‘Enough of this, Mary! I will stand no more. You must put your knife-thrower out of your mind. I have plans for you.’

Mary twisted out of Alice’s grasp. ‘I shall wed no one but Ned.’

Alice sat back on her heels. ‘You little fool. You do not understand your fortune. I know what it is to be an orphan. I know the uncertainty.’ Her parents had died of the plague the year Alice was born. Until her uncles had devised the plan to educate her and call in favours to establish her at court, she had been brought up by a merchant and his wife, whose own children oft reminded Alice of her temporary status in their home. Alice knew all about uncertainty. She took Mary’s hands in hers. Cold hands. The child was not eating. ‘Trust me, Mary. I want what is best for you. And I can give it to you.’

‘Then help me be with Ned. He loves me and I love him, Mistress Alice. He will take care of me.’

Alice dropped Mary’s hands, rose. ‘For pity’s sake, think , Mary. He has no money but that given him by Lancaster. No house, no land, no name.’

Mary sat up straight, chin jutting forward. ‘Townley is a fine name.’

Heavens but the child’s heart was loyal. Most inconvenient. ‘You are not so simple as that, Mary. You know what I mean. The name brings nothing with it.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘No, not now. And why should you? But you will care soon enough — when the babes come. They must be fed, clothed, kept warm and safe.’

Mary folded her arms across her chest. ‘I shall marry no one but Ned.’

Alice shook her head at the girl’s stubbornness. ‘We shall see about that.’

‘You would treat me as your uncles treated you? You would make me a whore?’

Alice slapped Mary’s face. ‘You do not win an argument with insults. Now get to your chores. I cannot abide slothfulness.’

A whore. Did Mary hear nothing? Alice meant to find a good husband for Mary, not a royal lover.

It was early evening, a time Mary saved for chores that required either thought or space, as Cecily and Isabeau accompanied Mistress Alice to the great hall for supper. The silence of this time of day was a particular blessing. Cecily and Isabeau could not abide silence; they filled any room they inhabited with incessant chatter and the rustle of their lovely clothes as they paced, fidgeted, rearranged, fussed. Ned had often kept Mary company during these quiet hours while she completed her chores, entertaining her with tales of his life of action. Mary must not think of that now, for thoughts of Ned churned up the sea of emotion she was trying to ignore while she finished her work.

Tonight Mary was rearranging Mistress Alice’s gowns and shifts in the wide, shallow chest that allowed the gowns to be laid flat. The contents had shifted when the chest had been moved a few days before. Mary shook out the shifts and shawls, folded them with care and stacked them on a bench; then, one at a time, she lifted the gowns of softest wool, silk, and velvet out of the chest and arranged them on Mistress Alice’s bed. Then one by one she returned the gowns to the chest, lovingly smoothing them with her hands. On top she placed the folded linens, shawls, and stockings.

All the while Mary had been thinking about her plan. Now she knelt down and prayed for courage. It was a brief prayer. She must not dally, else Mistress Alice might return before she was away.

Mary gathered some clothes and sundries and put them in a leather pack. She moved quickly with an efficiency born of Mistress Alice’s frequent impulsive decisions to leave court and move to her house in town. For protection, Mary took the knife Ned had given her, an elegant weapon with an ivory hilt that arched into the neck of a swan. She tucked the knife into her girdle; she wanted it quick to hand in case of trouble. Tonight she was travelling only the length of the King’s castle, but it was dark, and Daniel’s death was on her mind. Best to have a weapon handy.