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She breathed past the flush in her cheeks. “Alyce,” she called at the top of the grand staircase. “Catherine? Nick?” Barking came from her bedroom, but no one came running out. She went inside where everything was neat except for feathers strewn everywhere. The dogs had destroyed a pillow. Probably in retaliation for being left behind.
“The two of you cause such mischief,” she said. “Off,” she commanded, pushing them down. “We need some manner lessons before you grow too big to control.”
They ran past her and out the door. She’d ask the children to clean up the feathers. At least they seemed to have let the dogs out to relieve themselves.
“I swear, I’m not planning to poison the queen or anyone.” Simmons’s voice trembled slightly, but he stood tall before Greer. The dogs rushed forward, jumping around him, barking at Greer. It looked like they were trying to protect the elderly man.
Simmons’s hand went out to brush one of the dog’s heads while he stared, wide-eyed at Greer.
“Of course you’re not,” Lucy called above the barking and cast a frown toward Greer. “Come!” she called, slapping her leg to get the dogs’ attention. She led them out back to get some of their playfulness out.
She strode back into the front room where the impasse continued. “We overheard you talking with Mistress Wakefield last eve at Whitehall,” Greer said. “You mentioned catching the queen when she’s vulnerable at Twelfth Night.”
“Not to harm her,” Simmons said. He worked his hands before him, and sweat marked his brow even though the house was cold without a fire in the main room. “We but want to petition her.”
“Which is what I’ve already explained to Master Buchanan,” Lucy said.
“I but need to hear it from him.”
“Mistress Wakefield, and another, along with Richard and myself…” Simmons rubbed his mouth. “We have plans to pool our resources to buy the old Channing Abbey. Then we can become landowners instead of simple merchants and servants. ’Tis reaching above our breeding, at least for me, but ’tis possible. And certainly not criminal.”
Simmons looked to Lucy. “I have given your mother and Cranfield House thirty years of service. If I want to have a place of my own before I die, I must do so now.”
“Who is the fourth man?” Greer asked.
“Jasper Lintel,” Simmons said. “Come from Ireland.”
“What does he do now?” Greer asked.
“A server at a tavern, I believe.” Simmons clasped his hands nervously. “I’m afraid I haven’t asked much about him, only about his money. He spends time on London Bridge, so he may work there.”
“Mistress Wakefield said he works at the Bear’s Inn or Tavern,” Lucy said.
“Oh,” Simmons said, tugging on one ear. “That’s right, Jasper did say that.”
Greer’s stare was intense as he judged the man’s answers. “You had no dealings with Agatha Cranfield’s associates?” Greer asked.
“Not at all,” Simmons said, standing straight. “I am a loyal Englishman, faithful to the crown and my queen.”
After a long moment, Greer nodded. “Thank ye, Goodman Simmons.”
They walked outside to the back where the dogs ran around the chicken coop, and the roosters squawked inside.
Simmons held his fingers to his thin lips and blew a sharp whistle. The dogs ran right toward him.
“If you can train them to mind people, I’ll pay you extra for your efforts,” Lucy said.
“I will endeavor to make them behave, Lady Lucy,” Simmons said, pushing the dogs inside the house. “Come along, mongrels.”
She and Greer walked down St. Martin’s Street. “I need to fetch something at the apothecary on the bridge while we are there,” she said. “It’ll be open despite Christmastide.”
“Why do ye not go to one of the shops we passed on Bucklerbury Lane? It seems all the apothecaries are there.”
“I don’t approve of how they display the poor animals, dead and stuffed above their doors. Jars of piglets and unborn goats. Master Wendel doesn’t deal in exotics. My mother always brought Cordelia and me to his shop for our soaps.” Agatha Cranfield had also tried every cure Master Wendel could think of to treat Lucy’s stubborn marks.
Lucy walked on, stopping to purchase several small mincemeat pies, sweet buns, and treats for the children. She had some gifts for them hidden away at Cranfield House for New Year’s the next day.
“Do you give gifts at the New Year in Scotland?” she asked and handed him a small mincemeat pie.
