A Love for All Time (40 page)

“He seems a kind man,” said Aidan, not knowing what else she should say.

The eunuch’s eyes rolled up in his head for a moment. He was a coffee-colored man and his whole face expressed its astonishment at her apparent stupidity. Then with a mild snort of derision he went about the business of preparing the room for Aidan to sleep. From a cubicle built into the wall he drew forth a mattress, and unrolled it. Next came a coverlet of medium weight for the night could be cool. On a tiny low table next to the mattress he placed a goblet of fruit juice and a small plate of sticky, sweet candy of a gummy consistency. “You will be comfortable now, lady,” the eunuch said. “I will awaken you in the morning. Do not be tempted to stir from the room in the night for the dey looses his hunting cats within the harem at midnight, and they are trained to attack whatever moves in the darkness.” With a bow he left her.

It had not occurred to her to leave her small cubicle, but she was glad that the eunuch had imparted that little piece of information. How clever, she thought, of the dey to use his animals as guards, and far more effective. They could not be bribed or cajoled like humans could be, and even if one attempted to lure them with meat one would have to find them first. It was more likely you could be attacked before that happened. It was obvious that Meg would not be returned that night, and so there was nothing else to do but settle down and go to sleep.

Lying down Aidan thought back over the last few weeks. How could she and Conn have been so entangled in such a plot? She should have refused Lord Burghley’s request that she tell Cavan she was penniless. She should have obeyed her husband, and not seen the wretch again. She should have gone home to
Pearroc Royal,
but then Lord Burghley’s request had seemed such a simple one, and who could have imagined Cavan FitzGerald would have acted as he had. Certainly not Aidan.

She sighed deeply. Surely with her disappearance they would have realized that Cavan FitzGerald had indeed involved Conn even as Lord Burghley had suspected. Had they released her husband, and was he all right? Osman had said he would not prevent her being sent to the sultan, but he had also promised to tell Skye where she was. Would he keep that promise, or on reflection would he decide not to for whatever reason? She had never heard Skye mention him, but then there was much she didn’t know about her beautiful sister-in-law. Aidan fell into a troubled sleep.

C
onn St. Michael had learned of his wife’s disappearance from her faithful tiring woman. When Aidan had not come home to Greenwood that evening Mag had wasted no time in hurrying back to the Tower of London, and demanding to see her master. The guards were not wont to allow her in at this late hour for she was no one of importance, but Mag with a boldness that surprised even herself had said, “If ye’ll not let me see Lord Bliss, I want to see the governor of this place, and ye’d better step lively, my lads, for the information I bring is of vital importance to her majesty’s safety!”

The captain of the guard was called, and Mag calmly repeated her speech to him. The captain leaned over and smelt her breath, but there was no wine or ale upon it, and so he reasoned that she must be sober. “If yer wasting my time, woman, I’ll see yer put in the stocks for a month!” he threatened. “I’ll not be made a fool of before Sir John.”

“Then take me to Lord Bliss,” said Mag, “and let him decide the importance of my information.”

Thinking it over the captain of the guard decided that this was the better course to follow for if the woman was lying her master would have her punished, and the captain would not look silly before his superior. “Very well,” he grudgingly allowed, “ye can see yer master,” and he ordered one of his men to escort Mag to Conn’s cell.

They found Conn dicing with his guards who were delighted for the interruption for they were losing, much to their discomfort. “What is it, Mag?” said Conn arising from the floor where he had been seated.

“Her ladyship ain’t come home, my lord. She went to the Swan, and she ain’t come back since.”

“The Swan!” Conn was instantly alert. “Why did she go to the Swan, Mag? Surely she didn’t go to see Master FitzGerald? Why did you let her do such a foolish thing?”

“It weren’t me, yer lordship, ’twas that man of the queen’s, Lord Burghley.’Twas he who sent my lady to Master FitzGerald, and now she’s not come home!” Mag began to sob, covering her face with her worn hands.

Conn gritted his teeth in frustration. He had to be patient for Mag’s story at this point made absolutely no sense whatsoever. “Get Mag a chair, Cluny,” he snapped at his serving man, and when Cluny had complied, he gently seated Aidan’s tiring woman, and said in what he hoped passed for a calm voice, “Now, Mag. I want ye to tell me exactly what happened when ye left here this afternoon. Begin at the beginning, and leave nothing out.”

Mag snuffled a bit, and then she slowly, as if she were very carefully remembering, began to speak.

The clever old fox, thought Conn, as Mag concluded her story. Basically it was a sound plan, but it had been a dangerous thing to do with his wife, something, of course, that William Cecil would not have deeply considered. Lord Burghley’s main interest was the queen’s welfare. “How did Aidan get to the Swan?” he asked Mag.

“Lord Burghley sent her in his own coach. It was supposed to wait, and bring her safely back to Greenwood, but she never came home.” Mag began to blubber again. “She never came home, my lord!”

“Bring me parchment, pen, and ink, Cluny,” said Conn. “When I have sent a message to Lord Burghley ye will deliver it, and then take Mag safely back to Greenwood before returning here.” He turned to Mag to offer her some small comfort. “We’ll find her, Mag, and don’t you fret. Master FitzGerald wouldn’t harm her. He’s a greedy bugger, but I don’t believe there is any serious malice in him.”

Lord Burghley had been settling down for the night when Conn’s message was brought to him. With a sigh he called for his coachman to be sent for, and Lady Burghley with a knowing smile departed for her own bed. “I told ye to wait for Lady Bliss,” said William Cecil without any preamble as his coachman entered his study.

“A gentleman comes out of the inn, and says to me that her ladyship was staying to have supper with her cousin, and that I was to have the evening free. I thought that was a funny thing to say to me as the lady weren’t my mistress, but I just thanks the gentleman, and comes home, my lord.”

“Did this gentleman’s speech sound of Ireland?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“God’s nightshirt!” swore Lord Burghley using a favorite oath of the queen’s. What had the villain done? “Yer dismissed,” he said to the coachman with a wave of his hand.

“I hopes I didn’t do wrong, my lord,” said the coachman.

“Nay, Jeffers, ye but did as ye were told which is the best trait in a good servant.”

The coachman left the room, and Lord Burghley was shouting for his secretary, an overworked little man who hurried into the room. “Send some men-at-arms to the Swan, by the river, and find out if Master Cavan FitzGerald is still there. If he isn’t then find out who was with him, and if there was a lady with them. Hurry!”

The men wearing Lord Burghley’s badge were respectfully greeted by the landlord at the Swan. “Yes, indeed! Master FitzGerald is indeed a guest of this establishment. He and his friend have rooms on this very floor, in the rear, for they wished quiet. Aye, a lady came calling earlier, and they are still here.” The landlord led Lord Burghley’s men down the narrow corridor to the rooms that Cavan had taken, and he knocked upon the door, but there was no answer. After a moment or two the door was opened to reveal the empty rooms. Lord Burghley’s men departed back to their master, there to tell him that Cavan FitzGerald, and another gentleman, a foreigner who claimed to be French although the landlord thought he had the look of Spain about him, had disappeared from the Swan along with Lady Bliss.

Lord Burghley was puzzled. What had happened to Lady Bliss? Men-at-arms were dispatched back to the Swan, and its surrounding neighborhood. No one had seen the three, or at least remembered seeing the three. An alley went from the rear courtyard of the inn down to the river, and it was concluded that this had been their route of exit from the Swan. From the muddy riverbank they had probably hailed a passing werryman, but where had they gone from there? Lord Burghley’s men spread out, questioning every boatman that they could find upon the river, but there were so many of them. It would take a miracle to find the one who had picked up three passengers at that exact spot, and taken to who knows where.

William Cecil, Lord Burghley, was certain of one thing now. Lord Bliss had not been involved in any plot against the queen. In fact he was certain there had been no real plot at all for other than the butcher and his two sons, Walsingham’s agents had found no one else involved, nor had there even been the hint of a Spanish plot against Elizabeth. One interesting thing had turned up, however. The ex-Spanish agent, now imprisoned in the Tower, had been sent a tun of wine. As he had received nothing since the day of his imprisonment the tun had been examined, and a note found within a small earthenware ball that floated within the keg. It read:

It did not make a great deal of sense to Lord Burghley, but Walsingham informed him that obviously Antonio de Guaras had a brother, who was now in England. It appeared that this Miguel de Guaras might be involved with Cavan FitzGerald, but what the real purpose behind their actions might be he would not know until he had them both within his custody. An arrest warrant had already been issued for Cavan FitzGerald. Now a second warrant was signed to seek out the Spaniard. Conn was released from the Tower, and returned to Greenwood to find that Skye and Adam had arrived from
Queen’s Malvern.

“I know that I’m forbidden London and the court,” said Skye to her brother when he questioned her presence, “but the court is with the queen on her progress, and Chiswick is not London. I want to speak to Lord Burghley. You and Adam fetch him to me.”

“Fetch William Cecil to ye?” Conn was angry and incredulous all at once. “Just like that, Skye? Bring me William Cecil! I never want to see that man again! It is thanks to him that I have lost my wife! My darling Aidan who was the best thing that ever happened to me! My wife, and my expected child! They are both gone!”

Skye’s face puckered with sympathy for her youngest brother. She had never seen him look so vulnerable in his entire life. Poor Conn, she thought. The Handsomest Man at Court had fallen in love, and now that love had been taken from him, and his world was crashing about him. She caught his big hands in her slender ones. “Listen to me, Conn! No one in this family can deal better with Lord Burghley than I can. I cannot go to London, nor can I chase after him if he leaves to rejoin the queen which he will undoubtedly do very shortly. His presence here will not ensure Aidan’s return, and ye know which way his loyalties lie. He may not have even told ye all the truth of this matter, but he will tell me!”

He looked at her. She was his beautiful and incredibly wise and competent big sister. There had never been a woman like Skye in this world. His handsome face crumbled, and he wept unashamedly. “Help me, Skye! Help me find my Aidan!”

Skye cradled her brother against her bosom, and stroked his hair all the while making soothing noises to him as if he had been a child. “There, Conn, my sweet baby brother! There, my love. We’ll find yer Aidan, I promise ye. We’ll find her.”

Strangely William Cecil was not surprised to find Skye so close to London as Chiswick-on-the-Strand. At Conn and Adam’s request he came readily, grumbling. “Not that I can tell Lady de Marisco anything more than I have already told ye, my lord Bliss. However I know yer sister well, and she will worry this matter like a terrier unless I speak with her.”

Arriving at Greenwood, Skye’s London house, he noted that country living was obviously agreeing with her. She had put on just the faintest bit of weight, but it was enormously becoming to her. Like his mistress, the queen, Lady de Marisco, was always slender to the point of emaciation in his estimation. A woman should have some meat on her bones. With a courtly bow he took her hand up, and kissed it. It was not something he did for all women for Frenchified manners did not appeal to him, but her hands, like the queen’s, were so beautiful. She was wearing a deep blue silk gown trimmed in dainty, handmade lace, and her haunting damask rose fragrance brought back memories of other encounters. “Madame, ye look well. It is obvious that the queen made the right choice for ye in sending ye to
Queen’s Malvern
.”

“I miss the sea,” Skye said which was not so much truth, but she enjoyed being arbitrary in this instance. “Will ye be seated, my lord?” He sat. “Wine? The day is quite warm.”