“Peter was a saint,” screeched Sysabel. “Truly a saint. And when I think what he had to put up with – a brainless coward for a brother, a mean and spiteful uncle, a fool for an aunt – and a drunken sot for a father.”
The earl quivered. “Lizzie, if you don’t take this spoiled brat away this instance, I shall personally give her the thrashing she deserves.”
“Impossible to give the girl what she deserves,” sighed the Lady Elizabeth. “Since we have neither stocks nor gibbet to hand.”
“If anyone lays a hand on me,” Sysabel shrieked, “I shall spit – I shall kick – I shall never speak to anyone ever again.”
“What a mercy that would be,” sighed her ladyship.
The baroness interrupted. “Should any one feel in the need of a placid moment or two, I have ordered wine. And it is, of course, approaching dinner time –”
But she herself was interrupted. Nicholas wandered into the little parlour, nodding sympathetically to the hovering landlord. Avice scuttled in behind her brother-in-law as he closed the door rather loudly behind the landlord’s departure. He then faced the small group in the parlour. “What the devil’s happening now?” he demanded. “Can no one in this hostelry even lie sick in peace? And is there not even a drop to drink?”
The baroness sniggered slightly. “I have this moment ordered wine, my lord.”
“Excellent,” Nicholas heaved himself into the nearest empty chair. “And does anyone wish to inquire how my wife is doing?”
“Simple sniffles. Chills,” dismissed the earl. “Meanwhile your uncle risks far more than a common cold, he risks being knocked out and your damned silly niece risks a thrashing. And I’ve no need of you, wretched boy, to interfere. I can battle my own arguments without your pointless impertinence.”
Jerrid grinned at Nicholas from the other end of the table. “Nice to see you, m’boy. Hope your lady’s feeling better?”
“Fine – so far.” Nicholas looked around the room and a temporary silence sank like unstoked ashes. “I presume my dear cousin hasn’t yet returned?”
The earl shook his head. “Just as well. Hardly need another nit witted relative to tell me what I already know to be rubbish.”
Sysabel sat hurriedly, squeezing up beside Avice on the bench. She mumbled, “Everybody’s horrible,” to her lap.
Nicholas nodded to her. “A vile family, as we all recognise, child.” He paused a moment, then said, “So tell me, Sissy, about your brother’s friend. This Christopher Urswick. Do you know the man?”
Sysabel looked up, surprised, and shook her curls. The earl, however, demanded immediately. “Who? I know that name. No friend of Adrian’s, I’d be bound.”
Glad to contradict her uncle without fear of argument, Sysabel said at once, “Oh yes he is. He’s a very nice gentleman who helped save me from swamps and thieves. Didn’t he, Avice? He was here with Adrian three days ago, but then he had to go and catch a boat leaving on the next tide. That’s why Adrian had to go away again after he’d booked us all into this hostelry.”
The silence lengthened. Eventually the earl looked to his son. “Is this true? Have you any idea, boy, who this Urswick is? Well, naturally you’d have no idea of the politics – enemies of the state – traitors –”
“I know exactly who Christopher Urswick is,” Nicholas regarded his father with some impatience. “Especially since I’ve been chasing him for the past week.” He turned to Jerrid. “Can you believe it, uncle? The man we’ve been attempting to locate and arrest, was here the day before we arrived, and was in company with my own cousin.”
The earl, bewildered, stared around. The baroness, equally confused, took her daughter’s hand. “I never met the man, but I’ve heard of his courage. Is he a criminal? How is that possible?”
“Quite easily, madam,” Jerrid unwound himself from his chair and stood, glaring at his brother. “But it means we’ve a traitor in the family.”
Sysabel screamed and fell backwards onto the Lady Elizabeth’s lap, who squeaked and immediately pushed her off. “I have no idea,” the lady said faintly, “what is going on. But everyone – absolutely everyone – is clearly mad.”
“Probably true, aunt,” nodded Nicholas. “But the facts remain clear. My Uncle Jerrid and I, along with a parcel of my men, have been down here for almost two weeks on the king’s nosiness. Amongst other things, we were searching for a traitor, name of Christopher Urswick, who was bringing a letter from the Tudor exile to the Earl of Northumberland. Urswick is known to us, and has been working for the enemy for some years. We managed to intercept the letter, but the man himself eluded us. It’s always been assumed he had helpful contacts over here, but who helped him this time was unclear. His men killed one of mine, and I’ll not forgive that. Now I know who to blame.”
Jerrid nodded. “It’s been damned hard work, but the king’s business is the king’s business, and he trusts us. It’s serious or we’d not have been sent. But to fail because of my own nephew –”
“We didn’t fail.” Nicholas stared at his father, who stared back, white faced and open mouthed. “We succeeded in taking the letter before it reached its destination, and that was the principal aim.” He smiled suddenly. “So what shocks you more, Father dearest? Adrian’s duplicity? Or the fact that I work in secret for the king?”
“I knew Peter –”
“Peter never did.” Nicholas was still smiling, the slant of his facial scar curling as he smiled, though his eyes remained cold. “Oh, he went off cheerfully shouting gallantry during the Scottish skirmishes. Never achieved much, but he was willing enough. Meanwhile I was sent behind the wall into Berwick.”
The earl spluttered, “The siege? Impossible.”
Jerrid answered him. “Your younger son and I have been acting under the king’s orders for the past five years, Symond. Peter didn’t know. Nicholas couldn’t tell you. For one thing, the work was usually secret. For another, we didn’t trust you. Oh, not because of treachery of course. Just stupidity. And we trusted Peter even less.”
The small scream was muffled as the baroness marched across to Sysabel and shook her into silence. The silence was interrupted by the landlord, serving wine. Everyone exhaled in relief and the clatter of cups replaced the furious tension. “Off with you,” the earl pushed the landlord from the room. “We’ll serve ourselves.”
Nicholas was already serving everyone. “My lady?”
“Most certainly,” said the baroness thankfully, accepting the overfull cup.
“Me too,” begged Avice. “I’m completely exhausted and I don’t know what anyone is talking about. And I wish I could go and talk to Emma instead.”
“You can’t,” Nicholas told her. “Drink up. Your mother will explain everything to you later.”
The baroness sighed. “Doubtful,” she said, but was ignored.
Nicholas turned back to his father. “Your opinion of me never mattered,” he said quietly. “But it was always wrong. And as his father, you’re naturally entitled to your opinion of Peter, but that was always wrong too.” He shook his head, but he was no longer smiling. “I doubt you believe me, and that doesn’t matter either. The important matter at hand is that of Adrian.”
The earl drank noisily and banged his cup down on the table. “The rest – whether lies or exaggeration, I need time to consider. But Adrian and Urswick! When’s he due back?”
The Lady Elizabeth said calmly, “Later today. And since you failed to arrest this Mister Urswick, perhaps you’d better arrest young Adrian instead.”