Page 28 of Lord of Deception

Chapter Twenty-Two

“You seem a little dull this night, Mistress Barchard. I hope naught ails you.” Richard Avery scanned her face.

He must never discover she’d been weeping. “Ah, ’tis nothing. I’m a little weary, I suppose, what with the additional company from London, and the preparations to remove to Norfolk.”

“I hope you haven’t put yourself out too much on our account. But as for Norfolk, why, ’tis meant to be a pleasure, not a burden. You’ll find the sea air most reviving.”

Alys stared at her cards, trying to concentrate on the game. After the gamut of emotions she’d experienced today, all she wanted was the security of her chamber. She had a great deal of thinking to do, which could only be accomplished in private. But Kate had insisted she join the company downstairs.

Richard leaned closer. “Seeing you with so wan a face has me worried I’m out of favor.”

“Oh, nay, indeed not. Please do not take it so.” He mustn’t know she now held him in the deep distrust after what Kit had said. Which of the two men was in earnest, and which the liar? Which one had the most to hide? It was hard not to start suspecting everybody, even Hannah Shawcross and the servants.

Time to move the subject away from herself. “Have you heard any news from London lately? It takes such a long time for it to permeate here.”

“You surprise me. Did you not garner any when you went to the market? That’s the usual place for picking up the latest tales.”

She failed to prevent a flush—she’d been much distracted while at market.

“Ah, I see you blush! No doubt your eyes were enslaved by all the lovely gewgaws and fairings on sale. I cannot blame any young lady for that. Did you buy any pretty trinkets for yourself?”

Her color deepened still further. She’d not been given any money to spend upon herself—only what was needed to buy the ribbons for Kate. It was Kit who’d paid for everything. To think she’d accepted his generosity so blithely, little knowing what harm he was about to do to her and her family name.

“Again, I can see that you did.” Avery chuckled. “Was there any particular news you might have been interested in? I could, perhaps, bring you up to date.”

Now was her chance to test him. “I should like to know what goes on at court. I also wonder how fares Queen Mary. It amazes me that one monarch can imprison another, and escape revenge for so long.”

Avery’s blue eyes narrowed. “Neither queen is getting any younger. One at least has an heir, but what is to happen when Elizabeth dies?”

“Is she in poor health then?”

“Not that I’ve heard, but should Elizabeth die without naming an heir, we risk descending into chaos, as when Jane Grey was elevated to the throne at the same time as Mary Tudor. That was before your day, I know, and my own, but ’tis a very dangerous time for any kingdom. Destabilization allows the rise of factions, who’ll battle it out amongst themselves until the whole land is reduced to wrack and ruin. But I should not speak to a lady of such things—you’ll be bored.”

“Nay, I want to understand. Do you think Elizabeth should name Mary her successor?”

“I know not what she might want personally—her actions are initiated by her advisors. Would it be any great harm if Mary were to succeed Gloriana?”

“I feel too ignorant to venture an opinion on the subject.” Alys attempted a simper, copying the sort of expression Kate often used. “Only gentlemen like you can expound on such an idea.”

Avery seemed pleased with her answer. She breathed a sigh of relief. He’d said nothing incriminating—indeed, he seemed, rather, to be questioning her loyalty. But at the same time, he’d not said anything against Mary becoming England’s queen, despite her Spanish connections. She decided it was time to change the subject to more mundane topics, such as the forthcoming visit to Norfolk.

As the summer downpour pounded incessantly against the windows, they ruminated on what state the roads would be in and whether their journey would be affected. Then they resumed play.

Alys was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate on the cards. Could Avery’s criticism of the queen be considered seditious? Could Kate, shallow, demanding, boastful Kate, be part of a plot to destroy Elizabeth and put Mary on the throne? To be a traitor, to contrive meetings with fellow conspirators without any of her household suspecting a thing, required nerve, and the ability to dissemble. And very likely, the collusion of her husband. There had been rumors circulating about him, but they’d died with the man. No one had ever pointed the finger at Kate.

If only she hadn’t been so dismissive of Kit. Her mind hummed with questions only he could answer, and the rock on which her certainties were built was starting to crumble. She was desperate to return to her room, to think things through in peace and quiet. Then tomorrow, she’d be up with the lark, and see if Kit was still here.

At last, yawns spread about the room and, one by one, everyone sought their chambers. Alys went to bed but remained awake, listening to the subdued noises of the servants as they put the house to bed, and the steady descent of the rain. Suddenly, the room was illuminated by a brilliant flash of light. As the red ghosts of objects swam before her eyes, a massive blast of thunder assaulted her ears. The wind had brought the storm circling back—they weren’t free of it yet. Ruefully, she spared a thought for Kit, damp and shivering in his hut—and hoped the roof would hold up to the relentless beating of the rain.

She eyed the empty hearth—a fire would not be unwelcome. Extravagant, but comforting. She was too enervated by the storm and the events of the day to sleep anyway. Slipping out of bed, she piled kindling in the middle of the hearth and was just on the point of striking a spark from her tinder box when she heard a terrific rushing noise. Something struck the wall of the house with such force, the whole building shook. A great crashing sound came up from below.

“What is it? What’s happened?” She rushed out into the passageway. Tousled heads were peering out down the corridor, and a male voice was calling for lights. The air felt very damp and cold, and an odd splashing sound could be heard.

Sir Thomas, a cloak thrown over his nightgown, leaned over the banister, staring into the hall below. “Bring more light!”

A couple of servants scampered downstairs. There was a second of silence, followed by a loud splashing, and cries and shrieks of alarm. New voices rose from below, and the stairs were overrun with damp, frightened kitchen wenches and pot boys, their nightclothes clinging and wet.

Alys caught one by the arm as she scuttled past. “Bessie! What’s happened?”

“Oh, my lady! We were nearly drownded! I was just dozing off in front of the kitchen fire, and then the last trump sounded. Terrible, it was. We must get to the roof, high as we can.”

Alarmed by the woman’s frantic gabbling, Alys pushed her way to the top of the stairs and stood next to Sir Thomas, staring down. The sight revealed by his lantern made her heart stand still.

The entire hall was a swirling mass of water, with ripples and waves glittering in the faint candlelight. Small objects bobbed about like ships at sea and crunched and crashed against the walls.

Selwood Manor was flooded!