The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(37)

The household assembled in the park lodge a mile down the valley. A quick tally revealed only two servants missing, and there was still hope they might have fled into the hills and yet be found safe. However there was no food, and despite the chill of a March morning no one wanted to start a fire in the hearth.

“Send everyone home to their families,” Coby told the steward. “I ought to take my son to London. His father should not hear the news from strangers.”

“Of course, my lady.”

“And set some of the men to round up the horses. The coach may be beyond saving, but we can still ride.”

“Aye, my lady.” He made his obeisance and shuffled away.

She was still wearing her boy’s garb, of course, having lent her gown to Susanna. She had her jewellery box and some money, and they could clean themselves up at the first inn they came to. The important thing was to be on their way to London as soon as the horses could be found.

Whilst they waited, she took Sandy aside.

“What on Earth happened back there?” she whispered. “Did you see Frogmore?”

He grinned slyly. “I took him into the dreamlands and left him there.”

“You what? Where is he now?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’ve never done it before. He might come out of his own accord, like a pea is expelled from the ripe pod. Or he might die there, or dissolve into nothing. In truth, I care not.”

He smiled down at Kit. The boy had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion despite his terrifying night, and now lay curled on a pile of sacking.

“Still, why Frogmore?” Coby said, trying not to think about what Sandy had just said. “I thought he was our friend.”

“He was there at the capture of Selby, was he not?”

“Yes, but… You think Selby got into his mind, made him do this?”

“He must have done. Him, or one of the other renegades.”

She shivered, thinking of how she had let the man into her home even though she had not entirely trusted him or his companions. “We have to warn Mal. If Frogmore could be turned traitor, more of the Huntsmen may do likewise.”

“I agree. We should never have allied ourselves with them. Their hatred makes them weak.”

Coby left him to watch over Kit. If hatred makes the Huntsmen weak, then our love for one another makes us strong. Strong enough to defeat them – and the guisers? She shook her head. Her feelings for Sandy bordered on fear, not love. Was he really any better than them, if he could send a man into oblivion without a second thought? She did not like to think ill of him, for Mal’s sake, but she would be glad when Sandy was no longer her responsibility.





CHAPTER X



Mal stared at the sheet of paper on the desk before him, as if by sheer force of will he could make Selby’s confession resolve itself to a list of the actual guisers instead of accusing half the court. Either the guilty were named alongside the innocent, or their names had been wilfully omitted, but there were so many on each side that neither approach looked fruitful. He slammed his fist down on the table, making the ink-bottle jump. Damn Selby! And damn Shawe, for being so elusive.

The alchemist had not been seen for many months, at least not by anyone within Mal’s circle of acquaintance. Most likely he was hidden away at the home of his patron the Earl of Northumberland, but gaining entrance to Syon House would not be easy. Of Mal’s acquaintances at court, Sir Walter Raleigh was wintering in Cornwall after being wounded in the Irish expedition last year, and whilst the Earl of Essex was related through marriage to Northumberland, the two men had little in do with one another. No, Mal’s chief hope lay in Blaise Grey who, as a neighbour of Northumberland’s, might reasonably be invited to dine with him at some point.

Unfortunately that plan rather required Mal to spend time with his new employer, something neither of them would take pleasure in. It could not be postponed any longer, however. He put Selby’s confession aside, took down his cloak and hat and set off for the Strand at a brisk walk.



At Suffolk House he was shown upstairs to a grand parlour with a gilded and painted ceiling. Lady Frances Grey and her mother-in-law, the Dowager Duchess of Suffolk, sat either side of the great marble hearth, a clutter of sewing baskets around their feet.

“Sir Maliverny! What a lovely surprise!”

Mal bowed as Lady Frances rose to greet him. “The pleasure is all mine, my lady.”

“And how is that fine son of yours?”

“I left him in very good health, my lady.”

“You must bring him to court soon,” the dowager duchess said, “and your wife too. Blaise could do with a reminder of where his family duty lies.”

“Of course, my lady,” Mal replied with another bow.

Lady Frances cleared her throat. “If you came to see my husband, sir, I’m afraid he isn’t here today. Affairs of state take up so much of his time.”

Disappointment warred with relief in Mal’s breast, and an idea came to him. Perhaps his journey needn’t be wasted after all. He took Lady Frances by the elbow and guided her towards the window, out of earshot of the old duchess.

“In truth it is you I came to see, my lady,” he said in a low voice.