A Queen's Spy, - [best books under 200 pages .txt] 📗

with the exception of me, is happy.”

“But…”

“Before you confront him he does it with my blessing,” Richard said firmly.

“Why?” Catherine was exasperated.

“That I cannot say,” Richard said receiving the bottle back.

“Is it something to do with Elizabeth?” Catherine used the scrap of information that Dan had given her.

“Who told you that?” Richard’s answer was confirmation enough.

“That I cannot say,” she mocked him, “but they will take you to the gallows.”

“I do not think they intend for me to live long enough to swing from a rope,” Richard said bluntly. “We will have to see.”

She took the bottle back again and drank.

“Did I hurt you?” asked the voice quietly from the dark.

“Which time?” Catherine answered quickly.

“I am a wretch in a cell. Forgive me if you can,” Richard replied.

“I was hoping to have the opportunity to get even,” Catherine voice was bitter.

He appeared not to have heard her. “Go to my room when you can. Lift the stone in the grate, you’ll see a hole in it, use the poker to move it, take what you find there and give them to Jack,” he said. “I hope he will have some use for them. There wasn’t time earlier.”

 

 

Chapter Twenty-three

 

†

 

 

Catherine entered Richard’s room nervously. Closing the door quietly behind her, she set the latch back into place quietly and hoped no one had seen her entry. She turned to view, for the first time, the interior. Scantily furnished, for Richard had hardly ever been at Burton, it contained a bed, desk, and two sets of shelves. Everything was in disarray; the room had been searched, it seemed.

A book lay on the floor next to the bed, discarded there as the thieves had looked for better loot. Catherine leant over and retrieved the volume, though she was unable to discern its contents as the language within was French. The pages were laid out in the fashion of poetry, and with more care than had been used to put it on the floor she placed the book back on the table.

There hadn’t been a fire in the grate for some while, but it was still filled with ash and part burnt wood. Catherine used her hands to push the debris out of the grate and onto the hearth. The cracks in the stone flagging beneath were visible, as was the hole he had told her about. The edge of the poker fitted neatly and provided the tool to lift the stone.

Anything beneath would surely be burnt she thought. The heat would easily penetrate the slab. But no, the stone fitted well and below was a deep shaft, probably originally leading to the floor below. At full arm’s stretch, she felt in the darkness. On a ledge in the shaft her fingers ran over something that felt like leather, and next to it her fingers touched something icy cold, her inquisitive hands pressed over its sharpened surface. Wrapping her hands around the palm-sized object, and moving carefully so not to drop it to the bottom of the shaft, she lifted it out into the light.

Despite the cover of dust, Catherine stared wide-eyed at the jewelled cross she held, the chain still hanging beneath in the darkness. Without hesitation, she pulled it over her head before reaching back again for the other object she had felt on the stone shelf in the blackness.

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

Jack heard the noise as he passed the door to Richard’s room. Who was in there? Squaring his shoulders he lifted the latch silently and let the door swung quietly open.

Catherine!

The filthy figure kneeling near the hearth could be no other. He watched as soot-blackened hands dropped a stone back into place and began to shovel the debris back into the fire. What the hell was she doing here? The question was the herald of the answer, which exploded on its heels. She had done this! She had finally succeeded and taken her revenge against his brother. Richard had been right.

His hand behind him, Jack quietly closed the door. The latch clicked loudly, metal on metal as it dropped back into place.

“Jack! You gave me a fright.” The dirty face smiled up at him from where she was still kneeling near the grate.

“What were you doing?” Jack asked, his face set hard, blue eyes blazing with anger.

“Richard told me to get…”

You bitch.

Catherine hesitated, she seemed suddenly unsure and the smile had dropped from her face. “I was…”

Roughly, he took hold of her arm, hauling her to her feet. “What have you done?”

Catherine stood in front of him, her hands holding something out.

“Here, Jack. Please take it. What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Catherine was holding something out towards him, her voice pleading with him.

“And this?” A fist grabbed the cross, gouging the chain into her skin. He jerked it so hard that she stumbled to her knees before him.

“I found it with the papers,” Catherine’s voice was almost a scream as her hands fought to pull the chain from her neck. “Please, Jack. Please…”

Suddenly Jack let her go. Catherine dropped to the floor, as she did he flipped the chain over her head, retrieving the cross.

“Jack… what are you doing?” Catherine cried, tears cutting streaks through the soot on her face.

“Why?” His words were agonisingly hoarse. “Why did you set the dogs on him?”

“I didn’t! I came to warn him.” Catherine told him quickly how she had met Dan in Lincoln. “Why don’t you believe me, or is it that you have truly deserted him? You were in Lincoln and I saw you in the hall, Jack, with those men, and Alan is here as well. It was you, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t have cast you in the role of Judas.”

“I saw this. I don’t know who to trust,” Jack stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, “and that comes from one who is himself the traitor.”

“No, Jack, no.” Catherine got from her knees and went to sit on the edge of the bed near him. “Richard told me you are not a traitor and that you do this at his bidding.”

Jack looked up, half a dark smile on his face. “Did I?” He held the cross up before sliding the chain over his head and dropping the cold metal beneath his shirt. “I saw this and…God, what have I done?”

Jack rose from his seat and the cross swung back to lightly pat his chest as he stood. He had given it to Richard during their time in France when their funds were gone. Richard had told him plainly that he would redeem it, to trust him. Jack’s temper had been ignited as his rich and noble brother attempted to deprive his bastard sibling of one of the two items of value he possessed. He had told him as much and the argument had ended when he flung the cross in Richard’s face. But here it was. Jack ran his hands through his already untidy hair.

“I don’t understand why he sat there and waited for them to take him,” Catherine said, reviving his attention.

“Don’t you?” Jack said bitterly. “They have connected him with Elizabeth and he thought they came to arrest him as a traitor. Richard thought he would go to London, be tried and condemned as such. If he left and ran he would have still been branded a traitor and Elizabeth would have been tainted by his deeds. If he was tried and managed to resist confession he could have done as Wyatt did and, with his words from the scaffold making it clear his actions were his own, try to keep the lady safe.” Jack lifted his eyes to consider her. “You don’t look like you believe me. Why?”

“Oh, I believe you. I am just surprised. I cannot comprehend why a man like Richard would sacrifice himself like that,” Catherine said.

“What do you mean by ‘a man like Richard’ exactly?” Jack asked, although he knew fairly well what she would say.

“I saw him in the hall, the way he looked, what they did, and I felt sorry for him. But Jack, you know what he is like better than anyone. In whatever he does, he is acting for himself.” In a rush, the floodgates holding back all the resentment she had felt for this man, and bottled up, came rushing forth. “What you tell me he is doing is so at odds with all else he has done. I would have attributed him with many things, but a conscience? To die a martyr? No, I can’t believe this. There has to be more to it, Jack. He rarely speaks the truth. Are you sure this time you are right? Richard is more apt to watch others suffer than to suffer himself.” Catherine had moved to sit opposite him in the only chair in the room.

Jack shook his head.

“You don’t agree with me, do you?” Catherine asked, looking at Jack’s saddened face in the firelight. “What about when he sided with Northumberland, a paid mercenary, and everyone at Assingham was murdered?”

“It was not Richard; it was Geoffrey, Byrne’s son. He was bored from waiting so took some of his men and attacked. Richard beat him half to death. Geoffrey’s father thought Richard was set to kill his son. He has tried to tell you this,” Jack supplied.

“And my father? He was killed as well, don’t forget that,” Catherine retorted.

Jack shook his head. “But not by Richard, not by us. He rode into a group of armed men as Northumberland tried to take Mary. You can hardly blame Richard for that, can you?” Jack reasoned.

“It could have been his men who killed my father. He’s never denied it. He was on Northumberland’s side then,” Catherine said hotly.

“Stop! Believe me, it wasn’t us. Richard and his men all left Assingham and went straight to Framlingham without incident, while I took you to the Abbey,” Jack said, his voice weary.

“But I can’t… he’s…” Catherine trailed off, trying to think of more evidence to support her argument.

“Stop, Catherine, please. I know how you feel. I told you a long time ago that he acts; that you shouldn’t believe what you see. He does nothing himself to make you feel any different. He’s told me before that you needed someone to blame, and he was happy to take that blame, he thought it might have helped you.” Jack looked up and his blue eyes met hers. “I think you should forgive him.”

“I believe you, but…” her words trailed off. “How long do you think they will keep him here before he goes to London?”

“I’m not sure, and there is a chance that they intend to take him south,” Jack’s voice was serious.

“But you said he would be tried for treason,” Catherine sounded confused.

“No, I said Richard believed they would try him as a traitor. If he did not believe that, he wouldn’t have let them imprison him below. He’s got connections, lots of them, I can’t even begin to guess at who they are and he never talks about it. Perhaps he believes that if they take him to London they will save him. Gods bones, I don’t know what’s happening, and I can’t think!” Jack’s voice was filled with anguish and he