Philippa Carr - Lion Triumphant

To please my mother I tried to listen and as a result certain things she said remained with me.

“There’s everything here in the ground, Catharine. There’s life and there’s death. There’s things to cure and things to kill. There’s things to make you lively and things to make you sleep.”

To make you sleep. There was poppy juice, I knew. That could make you sleep.

I thought: Someone is trying to unnerve me. Who was it who came into my room? Where in this house is there a gray shroud. Who wore it to stand at my door?

Why should I, who had fought Jake Pennlyon and sometimes been the victor, why should I be gradually growing into a lethargic, frightened woman?

I was going to find out.

I was sure that someone was tampering with my food. Romilly and Jake would work together. Did they talk together of how they would rid themselves of me? Did Romilly picture herself the mistress of this house? Were they impatiently asking each other: “How long must it be?”

Felipe had never talked to me of his desire to see an end of Isabella. Yet Isabella had died and the day she died the household had gone to the auto-da-fé and neither I nor Felipe was at the Hacienda.

Jake was away. Was he deliberately away? Did he, when he returned, hope to find me dead … say, at the bottom of a staircase?

Who would throw me down? Who had thrown Isabella? The man Edmundo had done it. He had confessed. But he had done it for Felipe and that was Felipe’s guilt. Who would do it for Jake? Jake was surely a man who would do such things for himself. Would he creep into the house by stealth when he was supposed to be far away? Would he come to my room and drag me to the top of the staircase and hurl me down? Would he strangle me first? It could be done, I had heard, with a damp cloth pressed over the mouth. That was what was said to have been done to Isabella.

I must regain my former strength and courage. I must first find out what was changing me into a feeble, defenseless creature.

I was no longer Jake’s wildcat; I was his tame mouse—frightened and caught in a trap. I was a woman who allowed others to plan her death while she waited inactive.

No more, I said.

I would never drink anything in my room. That would mean that my food could not be tampered with, for if I ate at table I would take from the dish which everyone partook of.

That was the first step. I did this and it was amazing how much better I felt.

There at the head of the table I sat—since Jake was away. Romilly was present, sly, eyes downcast. It was small wonder that she dared not look at me.

Linnet was delighted.

“You are getting better, Mother,” she said.

For three days my strength returned. I laughed at myself. I even laughed at the idea of Jake’s wishing to marry Romilly. How could she hold his affections? He would tire in a week of her meekness. I was for Jake as Jake was for me.

It had taken more than twenty years and threats of murder for me to realize this.

Then strange things began to happen again. I looked for a cloak in my wardrobe and could not find it. I sent for Jennet; she could not be found.

“That woman is useless,” I stormed.

I went into the garden and there I found her among the herbs and lettuces we grew for salads.

I said: “I sent for you.”

“Why, Mistress,” she said, “I was here, you see.”

“I cannot find my green cloak. Where is it?”

“Why, ’twas there but this morning, Mistress. I saw it when I was putting your clothes away.”

“Well, ’tis not there now.”

“Then where can it be to, Mistress?”

I went back to my room and she came with me.

She opened the wardrobe door and there was my cloak.

“’Twere here all the time, Mistress.”

“It was not,” I said.

“But, Mistress, ’tis there just as I hung it.”

“It was not there ten minutes ago.”

She shook her head with a disbelief she dared not utter.

This was constantly happening. I would miss something, question its disappearance and then find it miraculously in its place.

The household was beginning to notice and Linnet was distressed.

I often went down to the hut where we had hidden Roberto. Ever since he had ridden away that morning I had been anxious about him. I had heard nothing. What was happening to him? I hoped that he was not involved in anything that would bring him to trouble.

He was young and impetuous. What match would he be against men such as Walsingham?

I would creep into the hut and look around and assure myself that he was not hiding somewhere.

There was so much talk now of plots and the Spanish menace that my anxieties had grown concerning him. I would not have been surprised at any time to find him there.

But I was feeling better. If it had not been for the apothecary’s evidence I would have told myself my fears were the result of my foolish imaginings. I was certain now that Jake had had no hand in any plot against me. Romilly must have poisoned the ale and the soup. She must have sent me to Mary Lee’s cottage all those years ago? Had Jake ever told her how I had evaded him long ago? Had she thought to murder me in such a way as could never be traced to her?

And then Jake had gone away and was lost to all for all those years. I was out of danger then. Had Romilly made the wax image of me? Then how did it come to be in Jake’s pocket? Had she put it there—why?

Now Jake was back; Romilly’s and his son was growing up. Jake wanted a legitimate son; she had borne him one; she had proved she could do so. She could give him his legitimate son … if I were out of the way.

It fitted.

I tried to work out what had happened. I had taken the whole of the soup and I had had a comparatively mild attack afterward. So whoever did it either did not wish to kill me or did not understand what quantity was needed to bring about the desired effect. The same may have applied to the ale. But who could want to make me ill and yet not kill me?

Romilly! She knew of the effects of these plants but did not know the extent of their deadliness. What could I do about Romilly? Send her to my mother. Send a potential murderess to my mother! I could not do that. And what of Penn? She would not go without him and Jake would not let him go.

I must lay my own traps. Thinking thus, I wandered down to the hut. There was no sign of anyone there. The relief was great, for I could not imagine what would happen if Jake discovered Roberto in hiding.

I stood for a few moments in the hut recalling those anxious times and when I went to the door I found that I could not open it. I pushed with all my might and could not budge it.

I’m locked in, I thought, and I felt the hair rise from my head.

For what purpose? Here I was some distance from the house. If I called no one would hear me. Strange things had been happening to me and now someone had locked me in this hut. What was to happen to me now?

I looked up at the window high in the wall through which Roberto was to have escaped into the bushes had he been surprised. I did not see how I could reach it. Then I should have to break it and jump through.

I turned back to the door and hammered on it. There was no response.

I leaned against the wall.

“What is happening to me?” I asked myself.

There was a key to this hut. Manuela had found it hanging inside. She had said that we would lock Roberto in and no one would be able to disturb him. Then if the Queen’s men came for him he was to jump through the window.

I went to the hook on the wall. The key was not there. Someone had seen me enter this hut often. Someone had taken the key and locked me in.

But why? For what purpose?

Was there someone lurking outside now waiting to come in and kill me?