Court of Conspiracy (24 page)

“Who else?”

“Do not forget the terms of the late King’s will. You have not taken into account that this could all be part of a plot against the Lady Mary herself.”

“Now I am confused,” Luke said, running his fingers through his hair.

“Then think on this. Should the King die and the Lady Mary be found guilty of his murder, who is next in line to the throne?”

“The Princess Elizabeth.” Luke said slowly.

“Aye,” Dufay said, turning back to Pippa. “And do not forget that she is married to Robert Dudley, son of the Duke of Northumberland and grandson of Henry VII’s most rapacious minister. The Dudleys are an ambitious family. It would not surprise me if this is all part of a Dudley plot to put Elizabeth on the throne with Robert Dudley as King.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

As he left Dufay’s house, Luke pondered the Elemagus’s words. The last thing he needed was another complication to this already tangled plot. It was a wonder King Henry IX managed to climb out of bed each morning. Not only did the Catholics want him dead, it was also possible that the Merchant Adventurers had decided a new, sympathetic monarch would be in their interests. Now it looked equally feasible that Robert Dudley and the Puritan faction might have ambitions to put Princess Elizabeth on the throne. Then again, it could be anybody settling a score against the regime.

It was beyond argument that Henry VIII had made plenty of enemies by the time he died. Participants in the Pilgrimage of Grace were mostly dead too, but sons might feel beholden to revenge themselves on Great Harry’s whelp. To mount the series of attacks on the King took money and resources. The quality of Bell’s gloves was evidence of that. If their adversary was willing to pay Bell so handsomely, how much was he paying the other conspirators, especially those with close access to Henry? It was only by the mercy of God that the King was still alive.

Thinking about God, Luke bent his footsteps to the church at Hampton where Goodwife Pitt had been found. He had what he needed in his scrip to test his theory of diablerie. His thoughts, though, were concentrated on Pippa. She had never said her aunt and uncle lived in Norfolk, only that her parents did. It was Luke himself who had made the error. Her reasons for giving a false name rang true, as indeed they must under the influence of the
veritas
spell. It was only when he came close to the church that he felt a great weight had fallen from his mind. Pippa was not a liar or a spy. She had simply fallen in love with a dissembling wretch, but had seen sense and put an end to the relationship. Peveril was out of their lives. Luke’s shoulders sagged in relief.

With a lighter heart, he laughed and patted Joss before lifting the keeper on the gate. As he entered the churchyard, he became aware that all here was silent. He knew, immersed as he had been in his thoughts on his walk from the Elemagus’s house, he had passed many people going about their business. Some had been carting loads of chopped wood to be stacked up ready for the winter; others had been carrying empty baskets on their way to market or full ones on their way back.

But here, just inside the churchyard gate, all was still. He swung round and looked back toward the distant palace. There were people in evidence, but none were close by. As he turned back to the church, he noticed that no insects buzzed or birds sang here, something that disturbed him more than the lack of people. He examined nearby trees, but not only was no birdsong audible, there were no birds visible, crows included.

He walked with Joss at his heels once around the church. The only thing to draw his eyes was the bare heaped patch of soil, the last resting place for Gethin’s mother. After some moments, he knelt at the side of the grave and said prayers for the repose of her soul. He added heartfelt prayers for the repose of Gethin’s soul, but believed the boy, being innocent and so foully murdered, already rested in paradise.

Part of him knew he was only putting off the moment when he had to go inside the church. He must see for himself just where the poor woman had met her end and try to reconcile what he had seen in his trance with Bertila’s account.

He stood up, set his shoulders and walked back round to the huge west door. Signaling to Joss that she should stay outside, he prepared to meet whatever was waiting for him. Luke opened the door and stepped into the gloom of the church.

* * *

Pippa tried so very hard not to cry. Had Master Dufay shouted and railed at her, she would have felt enough indignation to keep the tears at bay. As it was, he seemed to be looking into her very soul, and she could see from the expression on his face that he was troubled more than angry.

“I am sorry for what I did,” she said at last. “I had no idea that using a different name could put me in harm’s way.”

“Surely,” Dufay answered in a gentle tone, “it was obvious that the vows you took would be so much less because you took them in a name not your own. Did you not understand that?”

“In truth, no. From the moment I ran away from the Messingham’s, I was no longer Pippa Gardiner, but Pippa Garrod. I cannot understand why it should make such a difference. I had chosen a new name.”

“But you were presented to God at your baptism as Philippa Gardiner. Had you married, your name would have been changed before God. And yet you took your elemancer vows before Him, using a name not acknowledged by God. You are fortunate we discovered this—otherwise, had you proceeded further in your studies, your soul would have been forfeit. As it is, you have been open to the
malus nocte
. I can smell that you have been in contact with it. Luke is of the opinion that your cousin may be using dark powers to gain influence or worse.”

“Nothing Cecily or my aunt and uncle did would surprise me, sir. What should I do now?”

“I have vestments here. We must initiate you again in your true name. Let us do that without delay. I have much work on hand and cannot afford to leave my studies, but this is urgent and I must make time. We will need Hera and Ajax to reinforce your new vows and eradicate all trace of the false ones.” He fell silent for a moment, his head up like a fox sniffing the air, his eyes closed as if he had just detected a thought and needed to pin it down. “I will finish up my current research whilst you prepare yourself with prayers and clean clothes. Be ready in an hour,” he said, turning toward his room.

“And afterwards?”

“You may stay with me as my housekeeper or return to Master Ballard.”

Pippa looked round the room. She was still in awe of the Elemagus, but his house was so much more comfortable than the cramped quarters Luke occupied. She curtsied. “I thank you for your generosity and help, sir. If it please you, I shall stay here.”

Dufay nodded and hurried through the door.

* * *

When his eyes had accustomed themselves to the dim light, Luke stepped down onto the floor. His first thought as his feet hit the stone slabs was a grim realization that the interior was identical to that he had seen in his trance when he was questioning Goodwife Corbet. All senses alert, he walked up the aisle toward the altar. Halfway he stopped as if he had hit an invisible wall. He had seen horses shy at certain obstacles, but this was the first time he knew how they felt. It was not so much that he had physically collided with something, so much as his feet refusing to take another step forward.

He took a few steps backward, studying the building. It was as if some invisible force had put up a barrier. He put his arm out in front of him and found that his hand felt as if he had thrust it into a pail of ice. Yet when he pulled his arm back and examined his hand, it seemed much as usual, apart from the receding cold.

He tried walking forward again and once more found that his feet would not obey his command. Anger combined with fear. He could feel it surging up around the back of his head, almost as if it were going to shoot out from his hair like a stream of arrows in the midst of battle. Through the discomfort, he could hear Roland Dufay’s voice urging him to use the power of his intent to punch a hole in the invisible wall and walk through it. Just as he was going to attempt it, the voice cautioned him to be calm and steadfast when he performed the spell, not angry and fearful. “It will turn your anger against you, otherwise,” the voice warned.

Without pausing, Luke swung round and walked out into the churchyard. He needed germander to sweat the anger and fear from him and lavender to calm his mind and concentrate his thoughts. Joss reared to her feet when he appeared. The fur on her back rose as she looked at him. He motioned to her to stay and turned to survey the churchyard.

Searching among the graves he knew he would find lavender easily enough, but it took him a while to spot the germander in a corner. He was halfway to it when his eyes registered a plant, very nearly dead, that looked as if it had tried to seed itself and failed. But this was no seedling. He knew those dull purple flowers tinged with green and the berries, although the two should not appear at the same time. Belladonna. Deadly nightshade. Luke frowned. It liked chalky soils and shade. It would not grow here. So, it must have been dropped here.

Making sure that he touched neither flowers nor berries, Luke bent down and picked it up, his face grim. In an instant, the entire plant powdered into dust and a sudden breeze scattered it to the four winds. He was left looking down at the ground in confusion, unable to stop the thrill of fear that ran through him. This could be nothing else but a manifestation of the
malus nocte
. The enemy had killed Gethin using judicial means. No such crime could be brought home to his mother, so black sorcery had been invoked to deal with her. The proof had been in his hands until a few seconds ago. The belladonna flowers bloomed correctly for July but the berries that were so toxic to humans did not appear until September.

Black and white. That was how Bertila had described Goodwife Pitt’s face. So it would be, for ingestion of belladonna berries would dilate the black pupils of her eyes. He surmised that she had felt mortally sick and made for a place of sanctuary, the church. She had probably vomited on her way, which would account for the smell Bertila described, and which would make her skin dank and her face twist in pain. The white clammy skin and the black eyes.

She would have been followed to the church, the final blow administered as she knelt and prayed. It all fitted. The only questions to answer were who had administered that blow, and who had ordered it? What was not in doubt was that diabolical magic had been used.

Luke set his teeth. If they wanted a fight, they could have one. He grasped the leaves and flowers from the germander and heated them in his hands. With a depth of concentration new to him, he breathed in the pure white energy. Within a few moments, his skin grew hot and black sweat poured from him. He waited until the sweat ran clear before walking to the nearby pump and washing himself clean.

On his way back into the church, he gathered several heads of lavender, crushing them and breathing in the fragrance. A calm assertive energy replaced the fear and aggression he had felt. He walked down the aisle, intent on making it to the altar, on driving his legs forward until he reached it. Finding himself on the chancel step, he took a few minutes to send out feelers, but knew that the church and its immediate environs were empty. This in itself was strange because, apart from the usual services, many people visited the church for private prayer at some point in the day. His lips compressed into a thin line.

Without further ado, he took from his scrip a horn and poured powder from it into the palm of his right hand. He closed his eyes and went back to his vision. Aye, it, whatever it had been, had come from the right of the altar. He strode to a small door in the south wall and then walked backward, scattering powder on the floor in front of him as he went, until he had covered the area from the south transept to the northern edge of the rood screen.

Being careful not to retrace his steps and disturb the powder, he dropped his shoulders, raised his hands and chanted the manifesting incantation. Then he stared at the dust and waited. Aye, here they came. Luke watched as giant paw prints appeared close to the south door, walking toward him, as if some huge invisible dog approached. He heard the rattle at the door and guessed that Joss was trying to get to him. She must sense danger. The steps quickened their pace as they came closer, and he swallowed, trying to remember that this was merely a manifestation in the dust and not an invisible creature menacing him. He could not help the small sigh of relief as the prints stopped level with the edge of the rood screen just a few inches away.

He knew that the dust would last only a few moments, so he bent down to examine the prints more closely. It was then that he noticed a glint of gold in the fastnesses of the dark wood of the screen. Diverted, he bent closer and discovered a wisp of silky threads in purple and gold. With immense care, he eased the thread from the wood, folded it and put it in his scrip. When he bent down again to examine the paw prints, they had all vanished.

He made his way out of the church to a rapturous welcome from his greyspring. They were apart so rarely that both felt a significant degree of discomfort on those occasions of enforced separation. He had noticed before that when they were reunited, she would nip his arm, as if to demonstrate her disapproval, and she did this several times. He laughed and hugged her. They were a team, and now he had accepted that he really was up against the sunderers, she was an invaluable weapon in his armory.

He walked back toward the palace. What had he learned? That it was more than possible somebody close to the King was steeped in the
malus nocte
, because none but the nobility were permitted to wear purple or gold. What he needed now was to try and find who had been wearing the garment from which the thread had come. Initially, he had hoped that once he had identified the culprit, Queen Anne would permit him to return to his quiet life. Now that he was in the thick of the investigation, he found the thrill of putting pieces of the puzzle together very heady. Even taking into account the dangers he faced, he felt alive for the first time since Giles had died. Did he want to return to the dull tedium of his former existence? He shook his head. He had no time now to ponder on his own feelings and motives. He had to find out where this thread had come from, and there was only one person he could think of to help him. With more than a few misgivings, he knew he had to talk to Gwenette Paige.