“And what if Urswick’s boat hasn’t anchored yet?”
“Keep a watch on the cliff top until I get back.” Nicholas swung his leg to the stirrup and mounted. “Urswick would recognise me, so if the boat comes while I’m away, you’re better without me.” He looked down at his uncle. “That’s a nasty gash on your leg, sir, and needs cauterizing.”
“It needs nothing of the kind,” snorted Jerrid. No more than a scratch. You’ll have no rival for your own scars, my boy. Get off, then, and follow your suspicions. Harry, Rob and I will stay and watch the coast.”
His horse was not bred for speed, but it was strong and dogged over rough terrain. Nicholas knew exactly the path a man would take for the north, and eventually Northumberland. And he knew where to cut across the fields, and head the other man off. Within moments he had outpaced David, and was gone from both sight and sound.
Chapter Thirty-Four
While waiting for Avice and Martha to accompany them into London, Emeline walked with Sysabel, silently remembering another rendezvous in the same place, love making in the rain, and willow shaded passion. They skirted the herb plot with its perfumes of sweet thyme, and followed the clipped hedges down to the placid swell of the Thames. No pier stood close to the house, and no wherries crossed at that point, so no splash of busy oars interrupted them. Only a swan, dipping, fishing and resurfacing caused eddies amongst the little bubbles of escaping fish. The brown waters were patterned with floating debris but this was too far upriver for the raker’s tipped deposits, or the wail of hunting gulls. Emeline gazed out to the far bank.
“I’m sorry we upset you yesterday, Sissy, talking of Adrian that way,” sighed Emeline. “It must be particularly hard for you to talk about, since I imagine you miss Peter very much.”
Sysabel stared down at her toes. “I do,” she said. “It’s kind of you – most understanding – even though you must feel the same about him yourself.”
“Although Papa’s death was hurtful, I can’t claim to miss him.” Emeline shook her head. “Peter’s death was equally evil of course, but I never really knew him well.”
“You did,” blinked Sysabel. She looked up but paused, staring at her companion. “That is, forgive me, I don’t mean to be rude. But being affianced –”
“We never were.” Emeline began walking slowly back towards the house. “The negotiations were never finalised. Of course, I thought him handsome and charming, but we met only a few times. Perhaps I was a little infatuated, but that was only a juvenile dream. Now I’m married to a man I love.”
“I see.” Sysabel sniffed. “So you think my dreams are juvenile.”
With a deep breath, “No, Sissy dear, I understand from Avice that you went far beyond the juvenile. Should I not mention it? But we are all friends together, and I would never criticise. Nor will I ever tell my mother or your aunt.”
The tears which Sysabel had been resisting now overflowed. “As long as you say nothing,” she whispered, “perhaps it’s a relief. And I know about you too, because Peter told me, so you’ve no need to try and hide it from me. I shall tell no one of course, not even Avice if you prefer. But Peter explained everything. Was that disloyal of him? But you see, we were so very much in love. He was resisting his father’s attempts to make him marry you. He always promised to marry me, and had already written to the Vatican for a dispensation, since we are cousins.” She gulped. “When he died – it was the end of my world.”
Emeline stiffened. “Peter told you he’d bedded me?”
“He told me everything – always,” Sysabel murmured. “He felt so terribly guilty about such unfaithfulness, but he said – well, I’ll say no more.”
“Perhaps,” suggested Emeline with controlled fury, “he told you I had encouraged him and he couldn’t resist or it would have been rude? In fact, he probably told you I undressed and then jumped on top of him?”
“I’m glad you don’t mind admitting it,” Sysabel said shyly. “We shouldn’t have secrets between us, you and me and Avice. We need to support each other in such terrible times.”
“I’ll go and see if Avice is ready yet,” Emeline said in a hurry. “It’s too – well, we’ll talk about this again later.”
It was back in the bedchamber and the sun glazed window looked out on the paths where Emeline had recently walked and talked with Sysabel. Now gazing crossly at her sister, Emeline said. “Aren’t you even properly dressed yet? I need to get out. I need to walk, very fast, and I hope it rains.”
“I’m not ready because it’s still early,” complained Avice. “So what did the silly girl say to upset you?”
“She admitted what she’d done. Then she told me what Peter told her about me – and it’s disgusting. So I told the stupid girl that Peter was a liar and a cheat. She didn’t believe me.”
“You should have slapped her.”
“I wish I could have slapped Peter.”
Avice giggled. “Then she’d think you probably killed him.”
“I’m beginning to wish I had.” Emeline, arms crossed tight, was hugging herself and feeling more than self-protective. “Nicholas hinted – told me a few things – about Peter and the lies he used to tell. And you know his awful scar. That was an arrow at really close range, and Peter did it on purpose.”
“No point getting all upset with Peter now,” sniffed Avice. “After all, at the time you did think you were in love with him, and you used to talk on and on about him as if he ought to be sainted, just like silly Sissy does. If Nicholas had told you about the arrow back then, you’d have believed Peter too, and thought it was Nicholas who was lying. And when Peter died – well –”
Emeline slumped, dejected. “And now I despise myself so much. But I was young and horribly ignorant, and flattered by his attention. I believed every stupid word he said, and he said lots.”
“But presumably,” Avice, having already dismissed Petronella’s dutiful attentions, was attempting to do her own hair, “he never told you he got his baby cousin pregnant and had to arrange to get rid of the baby in secret in some horrid back street? But you should find out if Sissy told Adrian.”
“Because if Adrian knew, then he’d have killed Peter?” Emeline pushed Avice onto the little stool in front of the garderobe mirror, and helped with the hairpins. “For that and the inheritance too? And then perhaps – so disgusted with Peter’s immorality – and then discovering Papa – but isn’t it all very, very farfetched?”
“Adrian didn’t come back last night. His precious sister he cares so much about is here, but he’s disappeared.”
“So of course he’s off murdering four or five other people?”
“You’d better hope not,” said Avice. “Since your Nicholas is certainly next on his list.”
St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Eastminster, was only a short walk from the city gate and could hardly be missed even by those who were not familiar with London’s interweaving streets. The massive wooden steeple brushed the clouds and its echoing bell called the city’s faithful to their morning prayers. Martha walked ahead beside Emeline, Avice and Sysabel followed through the crowds. Petronella, awed, crept behind, curtsying reverentially to the alabaster saints within and the shadow of the high altar beyond. The noise increased. As the priest spoke, so did a multitude of others. A young lawyer was conducting business below a mural of the banishing of the moneylenders from the temple, and a young woman to the left of the great nave was selling stitched crosses for the vastly exaggerated price of a penny each. Two beggars wearing their Tom o’ Bedlam badges sat in a side chapel, hands outstretched.