The King's Daughter (41 page)

He smiled ruefully. “There may be precious little that one man can do to halt this tide of evil. Be that as it may, I have pledged myself to effect whatever small good I can. I hope to bring peace between our families, the Grenvilles and Thornleighs. Religion was the spark that razed the happiness of both our homes. Both families have suffered in the tragedy. Both still suffer from the wounds. I want most deeply to halt these ravages, to begin the healing.” He took a step closer to her. “Sadly, fever took your father before I could help him. But, mistress, I can still help
you.
Will you allow me?” He paused for an answer. “If not,” he added with a self-deprecating smile, “you consign a man to failure. And I sense you are too tenderhearted a lady to commit so uncharitable an act.”

Isabel looked down at her hands in her lap, feeling torn by suspicion. Sydenham seemed all benevolence, but he came from the enemy. “You are most kind, sir, but I do not see how you can help me.”

“Mistress, I know that your mother has removed to the Continent, to join your brother there. I am certain that you wish to be reunited with them. But I suspect—pardon my bluntness, but harsh times call for harsh words—I suspect your resources have run low. And, well … you are so alone.”

“Not alone. I have a good man helping me.”

Sydenham let this pass. “Grave trouble is brewing in England,” he said, “with Wyatt’s rebels rampaging in Kent and threatening to advance on London itself. I would consider it an honor if you would allow me to cover the expense of sending you away from this scene of personal grief and impending conflict, and of reuniting you with your mother and brother. I have friends among the Flemish captains whose ships are moored in the estuary. A word from me and any one of them will guarantee you a passage complete with every luxury and security. And once across the Channel, you will be furnished with an escort at my expense to ensure your safe arrival at your family’s door. Will you let me arrange this?”

For a moment, Isabel was tempted. Not tempted to leave England, of course, but to accept Sydenham’s money, something she was sorely in need of. But an inner voice still warned against the man who was betrothed to Frances Grenville. “I thank you for your offer, sir, but—” She broke off at the sound of boots tramping in the hall.

The door swung open. A soldier in a breastplate strode in while two men-at-arms stood in the doorway. The charnel house caretaker leaned in between the men-at-arms. “That’s her!” he cried, pointing.

Isabel jumped up from her chair with a gasp.

“Sergeant!” Sydenham said in outrage. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Pardon me, Sir Edward,” the sergeant said, “but I must remove this woman for questioning. Her father is wanted for treason.”

“Her father is dead. Did they not inform you at the prison?”

“He is not dead, sir.”

“I tell you, Richard Thornleigh died this morning of jail fever.”

“No, sir, he did not. He only feigned death to escape. In the Queen’s name, I am leading a manhunt to recover him.”

Isabel tried to control her pounding heart. Her enemies had discovered her father’s ruse! And were after him as a traitor! She saw that the blood had drained from Sydenham’s face.

The sergeant reached for her. “And this woman may know where he is hiding.”

“I know nothing, sir!” she protested as he grabbed her arm. “Please!”

“Wait, Sergeant,” Sydenham said. “This innocent lady is still distracted at the news of her father’s death. I believe she has no knowledge whatever of his whereabouts.” He leaned in close to say, very low, “Give me a few moments alone with her, man. I believe I can clear this up in no time. A kind word with ladies, eh? What do you say?”

The sergeant looked doubtful. “I am responsible for the traitor.”

“As you know,” Sydenham said with new firmness, “the Queen has made me a lieutenant in the city’s defense, under Lord Howard. Are you questioning my authority?”

Still frowning, but sobered, the sergeant gave a brusque nod. “Five minutes, Sir Edward. My men and I will wait outside the door.”

The soldiers retreated. The door closed. Sydenham and Isabel were alone.

He flashed her a fierce look.
“Do
you know where he is?”

Isabel hesitated. Apart from his smooth talk of conciliation, what reason did she really have to trust him? Besides, in truth she knew nothing. “No,” she said.

He looked at her with such intensity, she felt he was almost looking through her. It was chilling. He shook his head like a man suddenly waking. “Forgive me, mistress, I hardly know where I am. Such extraordinary news! It is most wonderful, is it not?”

“Wonderful, sir?” she asked, incredulous. Wonderful that her father was being hunted down like a dog?

“Why, to learn that your father lives.”

“Yes …” she said, catching herself. “Wonderful, most certainly.” She hugged herself, unable to hide her anguish. “But the Queen’s men will find him. They will bring him in, and then they will …” She could not finish—it was too horrible. A traitor’s death, prescribed by law, was public castration and disembowelment.

“Then we must see that they do
not
find him,” Sydenham said evenly. “We must find him first.”

“We?”

“Mistress Thornleigh,” he said with feeling, “I told you I want to help you. I thought that all I had to offer you was passage out of England. But now I can do so much more, for you and for your father. I can help you both to safety.”

“Good God, how?”

“I have agents. Clever agents. I will send them out to search. When they find your father, I’ll get you both aboard a Flemish galley. You’ll be halfway across the Channel before the Queen’s men realize he’s gone.”

Isabel stared in disbelief. “You would do this? For us?”

“Most willingly. I know Thornleigh presents no real danger to Her Majesty. There are enough
proven
traitors for her to deal with. However, I cannot mount a private search without your assistance. You know your father better than anyone. You must tell me every place he may have gone, every friend who might give him succor, every hole where he might try to hide. That is the only way we can reach him before the Queen’s men do.”

“But … the sergeant is taking me into custody!”

Sydenham waved a hand impatiently. “You will not be taken. Leave that to me. Let’s you and I just agree to work together and find your father. All right?”

She blinked at him, trying to think. Could she use his help to send her father away, then stay herself to help Wyatt?

“Do
accept my offer,” he said, almost pleading.

There was a scraping at the door. The sergeant, coming back. Sydenham fixed his eyes on Isabel and his tone became implacable. “Mistress, make no mistake, you are in need of my protection.”

The door latch lifted. Isabel gnawed her lip. There was no time to think!

“Quickly,” Sydenham urged. “Will you let me help you?”

The door swung open. Isabel looked back at Sydenham. “Yes!” she whispered.

The sergeant strode in. Sydenham faced him squarely. “Sergeant, it is just as I told you. This lady has no knowledge whatever of where the traitor may have gone to ground.”

“All the same, sir, I must take—”

“Have you any evidence to make an arrest?”

“Well, no sir, but she—”

“Then I suggest you stop harassing her and begin your search. Recover the traitor. That is where the Queen’s interest lies.”

The sergeant frowned, unsure.

“Meanwhile,” Sydenham added evenly, “this lady will be a guest in my home. I will personally vouchsafe her good behavior. If that presents a problem for you,” he challenged, looking the soldier in the eye, “I suggest you take it up with Lord Howard. Good day to you, Sergeant.”

The sergeant looked unwilling to force the issue. “Very good, Sir Edward,” he said, and added with the barest threat in his voice, “I’ll know where to find her, at any rate.” He turned and beckoned his men. They followed him out, and their boots clomped down the stairs.

Isabel stared at Sydenham, struck by the display of power he had just wielded. She finally found her voice. “Thank you,” she said.

He bowed graciously.

“But, sir, as for my coming to your house—”

“I do apologize, but you saw that it was necessary to satisfy that beef-headed soldier. I only hope,” he went on amiably, “that the comforts of my home will in some small way make up for the encroachment upon your liberty.” His smile was disarming. “And after all, mistress, this rough soldier’s billet is no place for a lady.”

He held out his arm to her. “Shall we go? I’ll send a servant to collect your belongings and settle your account.”

As they went downstairs together Isabel’s mind was in turmoil. What about Carlos, waiting in the stable? She must speak with him, explain all this. And then? Was this the last time she would see him?

Sydenham hustled her through the common room where the cock fight was still in progress, then out the front door. In the courtyard Isabel stopped, saying, “Wait. I must go to the stable.” She started across the cobbled yard.

Sydenham hurried after her, grabbing her arm to stop her. “My house is nearby. There is no need for your horse. I’ll send a servant back to fetch it.”

“But I must see someone first.”

“The Spaniard?”

Her mouth fell open. Did this man know
everything
about her? “I cannot leave without speaking to him.” She shrugged off his hand and started for the stable.

The stable door burst open. Carlos was pushed outside so violently he staggered for balance, blood trickling from his lower lip. Isabel froze. Three men stomped after him, and she realized they were the rough-faced ones she’d seen earlier in the inn.

When Carlos saw Sydenham, shock swept his face. “You.” Then, in a roar, “My land!” He lunged at Sydenham, his hand instinctively swiping for his sword. But the sword had been taken away, and Carlos was grappled from behind by two of the three men and wrestled to his knees, his arms twisted up behind his back. The third man, the bald one, whipped out a dagger and held it to Carlos’s throat, then looked back at Sydenham as though for instructions. It was clear they were his henchmen.

“No!” Isabel cried. She lurched toward Carlos. Sydenham restrained her. “Tell them to let him go!” she said. “He is with
me!
”

Sydenham shook his head sadly. “I had hoped to spare you this distress. The fact is, mistress, it’s from this man above all that you need protection.”

“You are misinformed, sir. This man has shown me nothing but loyalty. Now tell your—”

“He is Carlos Valverde, a Spanish mercenary, correct? And he has cravenly ensnared your trust.”

“Que diablos!”
Carlos cried. He was wildly trying to struggle to his feet but the two henchmen held him on his knees. Sydenham nodded to the bald man, who lifted his booted foot and plowed it into Carlos’s belly. Carlos grunted in pain and doubled over. Isabel gasped and cried, “No!” The bald man cracked his knee up into Carlos’s face. Carlos’s head snapped back, blood gushing from his nose.

“Stop!” Isabel screamed.

Sydenham took hold of her more firmly. “What do you really know of this brute? Of the murders he’s committed?”

Carlos’s groans of pain made her frantic, but she struggled to stay calm, to make Sydenham understand. Only he could call off his men. “I know he has done some reckless things,” she said. “Sometimes, killing can be justified.”

“Find justification for this if you can. The Spaniard has been hired to kill your father.”

A cold stone dropped to the pit of Isabel’s stomach.

Sydenham sighed heavily. “Five days ago,” he explained, “I went to Colchester jail to see what might be done for your father. I arrived too late. Thornleigh had just been transferred to London. And there had been a riot in which most of the prisoners had escaped, including Valverde. But I did speak to the sheriff. He told me that the previous night Valverde had made an attempt on your father’s life. The assault was foiled, and in the ensuing disturbance both Valverde and your father were chained in the dungeon. In the morning, your father was taken to London. Then the riot occurred and there was great disorder in the aftermath. However, the sheriff was able to ascertain, from statements drawn from some recaptured prisoners, that Valverde’s assault on Thornleigh had been paid for. That’s right, mistress. He is an assassin, hired to murder your father.”

Isabel slowly turned to Carlos. His head, fallen forward, lolled between the legs of the henchmen who held him on his knees. The cobbles before him were speckled red with the blood dripping from his nose.

“Iss-bel!”

She turned toward the high, singing voice. The child, Lizzy, had romped out of the inn, but she stopped suddenly and stared at Carlos, her eyes wide. With a glance at Isabel she seemed to realize that Isabel was not in the mood to play, and ran back inside.

Sydenham went on. “Which brings me to the real reason I feel so personally implicated in this tragedy, mistress. It pains me more than I can say to have to tell you this, but …” He took a bracing breath. “I have come to the disturbing conclusion that the order for the assassination came from Lady Maud Grenville. She sent her servant to the jail to commission Valverde. You see, she is quite unbalanced by the death of her husband. You experienced it yourself that day in the graveyard—the irrational depth of her enmity. And I can think of no other person who would wish your father dead. Can you?”

Isabel was staring at Carlos.

Sydenham said, very quietly, “This man has been using you in the hope of reaching your father, to murder him. This is the man you must fear.”

Her voice struggled out feebly. “No. He … we …”

“Dear lady,” Sydenham said, gently taking her hand, “if you are trying to convince yourself that this brute has undergone some miraculous change of heart, it will only bring you more grief. He is pledged to murder. For profit. Whatever you have been able to pay him, Lady Grenville will have promised him tenfold. Besides, I know how it is with mercenaries. They never change sides in a confrontation. It is a kind of honor with them. Indeed, it is their only honor.”