The Accusation Read online

  "Henry's presence is already arranged," Charles smiled. "Your own would be a good deal more than simply unorthodox."

  Katherine sighed, and her breasts swelled. "Can I say something even more shocking? You see, I thought if we pretended we were about to marry, then your cousin would be pushed into even more urgent action." She blushed, and bit her lip. "I mean, heirs being possible, and such matters. He might be deprived of his inheritance. Would such a lie be terrible?"

  He laughed, and enjoyed the blushes. "Not at all. It would be delightful," Charles said. "Do you like playing games, my Katherine?"

  Blushing again, she shook her head, then smiled and nodded. "Yes, I do. And it would be so horrible being left at home doing nothing, my lord, while you rode off on an adventure."

  "You had better call me Charles," He grinned up at her. "and get some rest, since we leave tomorrow. As soon as the dawn is complete I shall send for the sheriff and his idiot assistants. But there is still one man missing, hopefully not caught half way down a chimney. He would certainly cause the fire to smoke."

  Katherine giggled and hurried upstairs to tell Fortune.

  The fourteenth man and the sheriff arrived at the same moment. The man lay dead beside the laundry, having tipped over a huge cauldron of boiling water, swamped and burned. Mistress Mums waved her pitchfork, which she seemed unwilling to lose. "Bad luck comes to them as deserves it," she declared, though Charles wondered if she had been the one to aid the fall of the cauldron.

  The sheriff nodded, sniffed, and surveyed the bloodshed with disapproval. "Murderous oafs," he grumbled, "tisn't just the heretics should be burned at the stake."

  "Some died. But quickly," Charles said.

  Bodies were removed, the doctor came to treat the injured, the two sheriff's assistants questioned anyone sufficiently alive, and the sheriff sat down with Charles.

  "My lord, it's a terrible business. And clearly you should never have been under suspicion. The trouble is, my lord, we've not the slightest clue. You say you have no enemies?"

  "But I imagine James Willis had many."

  "Ah." With something he was qualified to speak about, Sheriff Mason sat comfortably and tented his fingers. "That was a nasty business, my lord. Very nasty. But I understand Master Willis was a man of secretive threats and conspiracies. He has caused the death of many, those accused of heresy as well as those accused of treason, such as yourself, my lord, and quite wrongly of course. But the murder has puzzled me for some time, since Master Willis was butchered in a small lodging beside the Thames, and was beheaded, the same death that he brought to others." The sheriff tapped his fingertips on his short blond beard. "But he made no attempt to hide his crime, this wicked killer, for he left blood and axe lying in the middle of the floor, stripped the corpse for some strange reason, threw his clothes into the river, and the head itself, which was surely sure to be found."

  "Are murderers usually less fanciful, sir?"

  "What I say, my lord, is there's always a reason for everything. And carrying a headless body from the river up to Muggle Street is not what I'd call an easy task."

  "A sack. A cart. Wrapped in oilcloth, bound, and tied to the back of a horse. I cannot see that as being impossible. A little odd, perhaps."

  "And then," the sheriff was now enjoying himself, "to hang this corpse in your barn, my lord. I see no gain. And without the head to keep the rope tied, and the feet from the ground, it needed to be wound several times tightly around the neck. The knots were not those the hangman uses, and the body, rude and crude in its nakedness, remained unidentified for some time."

  "The motive, I imagine," Charles suggested. "And to incriminate me. The naked body? Perhaps to shock. Perhaps to antagonise James Willis before his death. To strip and abuse him, to embarrass him, or to teach him humility."

  "If Master Willis was stripped before death," said the sheriff, nodding vigorously, "then made to bend naked, his head to the block, it must indeed have been to humiliate and prolong his agony." Sheriff Mason rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. "Very likely, my lord, very likely. But many questions remain."

  Charles yawned, and stood. "And I shall leave you to answer them, Master Sheriff. It has been a long and sleepless night for me, and for my household. I trust you will inform me of your discoveries, when you make them."

  He was asleep within the hour. But it was Katherine, not James Willis that he was thinking of, and the supposed marriage, which seemed more attractive by the hour.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “He seems a particularly kind gentleman," said Fortune, her own memories vivid in her mind. "Pretending marriage with such a nice person, and a grand lord at that, seems like a lovely idea."

  Giggling slightly, Katherine said, "I really disliked him once. But he's not arrogant really. Perhaps I was just shy when I was a child, so I was a bit frightened of lords in velvets and brocades." Embarrassed, she mumbled, "And just the thought of all that strange stuff which comes with a husband. I mean, you were really married. And of course you loved him. But I suppose I could fall in love with someone one day. There's no one left to arrange a marriage for me, which I wouldn't like anyway, and besides, I don't have a penny. No one would want me."

  "Unless they were so rich, your dowry wouldn't matter."

  "Did you like being married, Fortune?"

  "Oh, very, very much," Fortune assured her.

  "Even the touching?" Katherine blushed.

  "Some men," said Fortune carefully, her blushes deeper than Katherine's, "touch - better - than others. And cuddling, of course, that's so comforting, and - well - it's nice when you get used to it."

  Katherine doubted it. "And, if you don't mind me asking, what are they like - to touch. I mean, it's all muscle and bumps and lumps and strength. Are they horrid to touch? Is the skin all rough? Are they - ugly? The sticky bits and the big unnatural muscles? And I've heard they have hair all over them. Does it tickle or is it scratchy? The idea isn't nice at all."

  It required a deep breath before answering. "I never saw John naked. He always wore something. It was his religion. But he was smooth and the hair was just over his chest, and I rather liked it. Fortune stared down at her fingers in her lap, twisting and interlocking nervously. "But I did once - twice - see another man naked. I thought him beautiful. And the muscles were like power beneath silk. It was very - arousing."

  Unable to imagine herself aroused, Katherine sank back. "I shouldn't be asking you these things, but there's no one else. And I keep thinking about it. I mean, I've seen men piss in the street. I just looked away and hurried in the opposite direction. It all seemed disgusting. Is it?"

  She thought a moment and then Fortune said, "Not if you like the person. If you're in love, then it's wonderful."

  "Those sticky bit's?"

  "They aren't actually sticky."

  Katherine stood in a hurry and turned towards the window. "Perhaps I will never marry."

  "Then you will miss a great deal," said Fortune.

  They left the following morning, a cavalcade of six with a guard leading, Charles and Katherine, Fortune and Henry, and finally the rear-guard. It was a bright and sunny day in late September and the autumn colours were luminous. In spite of the basking sunshine, everyone wore a waterproof cape, for no one trusted the weather. The small farmsteads behind the hedgerows had taken advantage, however, and an interesting selection of household linen was spread to dry on every bush. Yet the lane was muddy. Soon there were mud splatters on bright white sheets, and spots of brown on tablecloths.

  The trees had not yet shed their leaves and a wild fluttering scarlet, crimson, golden and russet beauty gleamed above their heads. But it was not a long journey. Master Piers Baldwin, distantly related to the Earl of Chilham, lived in a respectable house overlooking the green in the village of Hammersmith, where three smithies boarded the other side of the green, and the rhythmic thrum of the hammers could certainly be heard.

  It was Henry Dayford who quickly d
ismounted and knocked loudly on the small wooden door. A woman answered, bustling out and curtseying at the grand guests.

  "His lordship the Earl of Chilham is here to see his cousin, Master Piers Baldwin," Henry announced, and looked down his nose.

  "My master is in, sir," the woman said in a rush. "Come in, come in, he will be delighted I'm sure." And she stood aside for everyone to push past.

  Piers Baldwin was not as anyone had expected. Tall, but with a padded coat, he was not a timid dresser. Shining dark curls rested against the collar of his bright pink doublet, lace at the neck, blue satin ribbons and over-sized codpiece. "My darlings," he proclaimed, arms outstretched, "I don't know any of you, but you are most welcome." He clapped his hands. "Edith, my dear, beer, wine, anything you can find, and honey cakes for our guests." He then hopped forwards, grinned widely, and added, "Now then, I wonder who you all are,"

  Smiling faintly, Charles introduced himself and his supposed fiancé. The guards had remained outside with the horses, and both Henry and Fortune, stayed quietly by the door. Charles continued, "My future bride and I were in the neighbourhood and I thought to take advantage and make your acquaintance. I was probably little more than five years old the last time."

  Piers cackled with high pitched amusement. "Five? Yes, perhaps, my lord. Dare I suggest I was the same age? I hope I have changed a little. Matured, perhaps? Or perhaps not."

  Pulling off her riding gloves, Katherine found a small chair, and collapsed into it. "I travel so little," she sighed, "and am all aches and pains now." Smiling, "But it's such a pleasure to meet one of Charles' relations. He has so few."

  Charles, accepting the chair that his cousin indicated, asked, "How many more do we have, do you know, cousin? None at all? You must surely be my heir, even though we are little more than strangers. You must therefore be an honoured guest at my wedding ceremony."

  Piers circled the room, almost dancing and clearly relishing the appearance of guests. "Gracious me, my lord, I should dearly love to come. One day, might I have the honour to be a Godfather? I adore babies. But unmarried myself, and not so experienced with the ladies, I'm afraid, well, I doubt I shall marry. But to hold the delicacy and fragile beauty of a precious little infant - I would adore that possibility."

  Having struggled in with jugs, cups, platters and armfuls of biscuits, the housekeeper Edith quickly laid out the wealth of warmly perfumed offerings. "They smell lovely," Katherine murmured.

  "Oh, she's a wonderful cook," Piers chortled, "and looks after me like a mother. What more could I ask? But no babies, my lords, no babies. I shall fade sadly and slowly alone, I fear."

  "Not if I fade first," Charles said, eyes narrowed. "I have a comfortable living to pass on, I believe."

  "But my lord," Piers squeaked, "you must have children to follow you." He thought a moment. "Besides, I deny being your heir, sir. It cannot be. You have other cousins more closely related."

  He shook his head. "I cannot think of any still living," Charles answered. "Poor Bernard was executed more than a year past."

  Piers blanched. "Did I know this? Oh, heaven help me, I think I did not. I knew Bernard, a little but enough, and was most fond of him. We played chess when I was younger. Dear Bernard. What did the poor boy do to antagonise his queen?"

  "Probably nothing," murmured Charles. "There are those at court who pass false tales, I understand. They invent conspiracies and cause slander, perhaps to make themselves more important."

  "Yes, yes, I am aware of such vindictive and cruel lies." Finally Piers sat, stretching out two thin legs, perfectly formed and hugged into fine crimson hose. "I cannot bear to think about such a thing. Your dearest Mama too. Forgive me for mentioning such a tragic affair, but I was sure she had never conspired with anyone in her life."

  "She didn't."

  "A tragedy," Katherine interspersed, "and the same occurred with my mother. And she was no dabbler in underground conspiracies or double-crossing her friends. She never plotted with anyone except to find out what the household wanted for dinner."

  Seemingly moved, Piers wiped his eyes. "We must talk of happier things, my lady, but unhappily for me, I am quite sure I am not your lordship's heir." He sniggered, and put his fingers to his mouth. "Had any such thought come to mind, I would have visited your lordship more often, to discover the state of your health."

  Charles allowed himself to smile. "So who else would there be, I wonder?"

  "Oh, Aunty Glum," suggested Piers, "or Uncle Hamburg, who lives across the Northern Ocean in some German state or other. And he may have half a dozen children."

  "He may, but he is a relation only by marriage, not by blood, and therefore is no relation at all."

  "Cousin Paul. Ten years old, and a brat."

  Smiling, Charles denied the brat. "I believe you are the closer relative, sir. But no matter. I shall order my solicitor to work out the relevant family affiliations. In the meantime, I shall attempt to sire the children you hope to meet, and then my inheritance will concern no one else. And you have my word, you will be a Godfather."

  The visit continued, the discussion ranged, they ate, they drank, and they compared interests. "Chess, I adore it," Piers said waving to an elaborate set sitting grandly on a table in one shadowed corner. "And a little trade, I confess. Some years I make a fine living, ferrying carved chess pieces from Italy and France, and returning with wool, ready for dying and the loom."

  "I have not played chess in a year," Charles told him, "but once enjoyed the game. I imagine you are more of a master than I am, sir, but I would be delighted if you visit me in Kent, stay for as long as you wish, and play chess each night until you tire of my lack of expertise."

  It was on the way home again that Charles, riding close to Katherine's side, said, "I was quite sure it was Piers. But now I am sure it is not. What do you think, my bride to be?"

  She shook her head while pulling up the fur lined hood of her cape, for it had started to splatter a light drizzle into the beginnings of the twilight. "I don't think so. Unless he is very, very, very clever."

  "Undoubtedly better at chess."

  They were back home, when Fortune said, "I managed to speak with Edith at some length, my lord. Evidently she adores her master, treats him as her son, plays chess with him even though she never wins, and says he never leaves the house except to sail with a man she called Captain Edmund Neville. Spending the summer months at sea around the Italian coast. Edith declared her master was a friend more than anything else, quite undemanding, comfortably wealthy, with a glorious sense of humour but few friends."

  "I do not see him," decided Charles, "as a man who orders the slaughter of strangers."

  "Which leaves," murmured Katherine, "Uncle Hamburg or one of his many German children, Aunty Glum, or Cousin Paul."

  Charles brushed the damp hair from his forehead, and turned to retire to his bedchamber, took the first step up the stairs, and said, "Cousin Paul is a by-blow and cannot inherit. Aunty Glum does not exist. Uncle Hamburg is less closely related than Piers, being a long-dead aunt's brother in law. And so perhaps the motive behind everything is altogether a different one."

  Frowning, nodding, Katherine said, "But can we trust our opinions of your cousin Piers, my lord? He spoke many times of how comfortable he is. Was that on purpose? And he was insistent on denying his position as your heir. Was that to make himself sound innocent? He seemed charming but a little stupid. Could that have been preteens? Chess is not an easy game. Is this man more intelligent than we realise?"

  "Possible. Plausible," murmured Charles. "Although I assure you, I am by far the most intelligent in the family." His smile widened. "I might even beat him at chess one day." He began to wander up the stairs, but turned again. "Nor am I easily duped and I would hope that my reading of his character was roughly accurate."

  Katherine watched the long legs mount the stairs, and wondered what he would look like naked, whether he would be rough or soft to touch, and how a man's bodil
y hair might cover his parts. She also wondered at some length what it must feel like to be aroused.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Discussing the situation with his valet, Charles lay out on the bed, one knee bent and his hands clasped behind his head. He spoke into the deepening shadows, but one guttering candle still flickered its flame up across the ceiling beams. Charles said, "Harry, Piers Baldwin may be innocent. How did you like the man?"

  It was, however, Clovis who answered. “I bin to the docks, m'lor', and talked to that Cap'n Neville. Done talked about yer cousin, how he liked the fellow, good at sea, capital tradin' and all that. Makes a fair living, them two, and reckons he's honest. Not one fer the ladies, but polite to all.”

  "Which is an excellent recommendation, my lord," nodded Henry, "since the men had no way to know you were coming, nor had reason to cook up a story. I do not claim to be a judge of any sort, my lord, but I found your cousin Piers to be a man of charm and trust."

  Charles sighed. "I am running out of those to blame."

  The last candle had been snuffed and absolute darkness flooded the chamber. The bed was thick curtained, the window shuttered, the fire unlit, and the annex, where both Henry and Clovis slept on pallets, echoed only with the faint snoring grunts of dreaming tiredness. Charles also slept, lost in contemplation and thinking of his life at risk, of his unexpected cousin, and principally of Katherine, who had not yet agreed to call him Charles.

  The footsteps were so quiet, they remained unheard until the small man was almost at the bed.

  Eyelids barely lifting, Charles was disturbed, his dream changing from Katherine to assassination. Through the blackness he saw a wide hand, stubby fingers, grasping the opening to the bed-drapes, and smelled sweat. Within that blink, he was suddenly very much awake. Rolling aside with the first sudden impulse, he missed the plunge of the knife, which sprang through the darkness and thrust into the abandoned bolster. The man wrenched it out and sprang towards Charles, but he had left the bed and silently skirted the curtained darkness, appearing at the back of the assassin, grabbing both his arms from behind.