Prophecy - Страница 17

‘When hempe is spun, England’s done,’ she croaks into my face, so that I have to reel back from her stinking breath. ‘Take heed, sir. The signs are all about us.’ She points one trembling, crooked finger to the sky, then releases me and scuttles back into the crowd.

I stare after her, puzzling over her words, when another figure wrapped in a thin cloak approaches and guiltily I regret my generosity; here they come already, and I don’t have enough coins to part with them all. But this woman sidles up to me, reaching inside her clothes, and from the depths of her hood whispers my name in an educated voice.

‘Abigail!’

‘Shh. We must not be seen. Walk with me into the passage for a moment.’

We step into the shadow of the tower archway; immediately the deep chill of damp stone settles on my skin. The passage through the tower is not wide and we are jostled and shoved, with the occasional curse, as we huddle at one side. Abigail keeps her hood pulled up around her face.

‘They have the wrong man,’ she whispers, without preamble. ‘I didn’t know who else to tell.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because Sir Edward Bellamy tried to court me once, and we laughed about it — I mean, Cecily and I. It was cruel of us, but he is such a poor figure of a man. No woman would want him, for all his lands, unless she were past caring.’ She rubs self-consciously at her throat as she says this. ‘But Sir Edward is a gentleman and does not deserve to have this pinned on him. He was not her secret sweetheart, I would swear to it.’

‘But her lover was not necessarily her killer. It need only have been someone who knew she had a tryst that evening. The lover could have been one of Sir Edward’s friends, perhaps?’

The bottom half of her face is visible below the hood; she chews her lip doubtfully.

‘I just do not believe he could kill anyone, or be party to it. He is so mild-mannered.’

‘Quiet men have murdered before.’

She shakes her head decisively.

‘It doesn’t feel right. He sold Cecily his old clothes so she could disguise herself as a boy — that much I believe. But I think the palace guard were just glad to make an easy arrest so the queen will think they are doing their job. Anyway, I did not ask you here for that. There is something else.’

She beckons me closer and from inside her cloak draws out a little velvet bag tied at the top with ribbon.

‘Lady Seaton went through Cecily’s things to give her father when he came.’ She speaks so low that her face is almost touching mine to make herself heard. Her breath is warm on my cheek. ‘But I suspected she was looking for something that might give away Cecily’s affair. She found nothing. She didn’t know about the cushion.’

‘What cushion?’

‘It was one of Cecily’s most beloved things — a little cushion that she embroidered as a child. A bible text, flowers, you know the sort of thing. She kept it on her bed — I thought it was just a sentimental keepsake, for when she was homesick, but one day she showed me how she would unpick the seam and hide her secret gifts inside the cushion cover.’

She holds out the bag; I weigh it in my hand. It is light and chinks softly as I move it.

‘These are the presents from her admirer, everything she had sewn inside the cushion. I don’t know what use they may be — I can see no clue in them, but perhaps you might find something. Especially since everyone seems determined to find Sir Edward guilty — it would be a terrible thing if he were to take the punishment for it.’ She tugs at my sleeve, and there is something childlike in the gesture. ‘There is a design on the ring, an emblem. It is not the Bellamy arms, though it is no one’s I recognise. But you could give it to Lord Burghley — he might know.’

‘He might. Have you told anyone else about these things?’

She bites her lip and looks away, but then she shakes her head firmly. Again I have the sense that she is holding something back.

‘I almost did when they arrested Sir Edward, but I could not approach Lord Burghley myself. Besides, I remembered what you said. If the killer is someone inside the court, he might know that Cecily was my friend, might he not? So he might think she had told me her secrets and want to stop my mouth too?’ She raises her face to me and in the dim light I see how pale she is, how her lips are trembling, though she tries to fight it.

‘You are brave to have brought me Cecily’s things — thank you. I have no doubt that they will be invaluable.’ I place my hands on her small shoulders to reassure her. ‘As for the danger, I think it more likely that this killer, if it is not Sir Edward, will be glad to let another man take the blame and remain in the shadows. Why would he risk drawing attention to himself with another attack when he has the chance to get away with murder?’

‘I suppose that would depend upon why he killed Cecily in the first place,’ she says, sensibly. ‘I mean, a man might kill a woman because she is with child and he doesn’t want to marry her — you hear such stories. There was a great deal of that kind of talk at first around court. But that spectacle he made of her body —‘ she shudders — ‘makes me think it must be something else. What if he killed her because she knew something she should not? He would want to silence her friends then, sir, would he not, in case she had shared confidences?’

Looking down at her earnest face, I begin to think that I have underestimated Abigail Morley. These have been my own thoughts; I have even wondered about Lady Seaton, whether her defensive manner on the night of the murder was all to do with the fear of salacious gossip, or whether it masked another motive. I squeeze the girl’s shoulders gently.

‘Why do you say that? Did Cecily give you reason to think she was guarding dangerous secrets?’

‘It was only that —‘ she hesitates, glances around — ‘since she met this man, she had begun to talk a lot of prophecies.’

‘What kind of prophecies?’

‘Oh, you know the kind of thing, they’re two a penny — that the queen’s days are numbered, that England will be destroyed. You hear such stuff on every street.’

‘I heard one just now, I think, from an old crone. “When hempe is spun, England’s done.”’

Abigail nods enthusiastically.

‘That is a favourite among the servants. You know what it means, of course?’ She drops her voice. ‘It’s the Tudor line. Hempe stands for Henry, Edward, Mary and Philip, and Elizabeth. The old granddams quote it to predict England’s downfall when the last Tudor dies. Cecily knew them all.’

‘But she only showed an interest in such things recently?’

‘This past month or so. I wondered what ideas this man had been putting in her head. I would tell her, “Cecily, some of these things you’re saying could be treason!” She just laughed at that, as if she didn’t care, and told me everyone was talking of it.’

‘Did she mention religion? Or who she thought should take the throne instead?’

‘No, nothing like that. It was more of a personal resentment,’ Abigail adds, then claps a hand to her mouth. ‘I don’t know if I should tell you this.’

‘Abigail.’ I look her directly in the eyes. ‘It would be as well to tell me anything that might help. Why did she resent the queen?’

‘When Cecily first came up to court, last year,’ she whispers, drawing in closer to me as a group of boys in the garb of apprentices elbow their way past, ‘she had a sweetheart from home, some gentleman’s son she’d known since she was a child. He got himself to London in the hope of seeing her, but when Lady Seaton heard of it she told the queen and they had him turned away. Cecily was forbidden even to write to him. He wasn’t high-born, you see. She forgot him quickly enough, but she didn’t forget her resentment of the queen for it. And she was afraid the queen might interfere with this new man as well.’ Her eyes flit from side to side. ‘For being too high-born for her.’

I cannot help but laugh at this.

‘I had no idea love was so minutely calibrated. Must you all measure your husbands’ status so carefully?’

She giggles, sounding for a moment light-hearted.

‘I may not choose my husband for love, but I shall make damned sure I choose my lover carefully. What? Would you look so shocked?’ she adds, in response to my expression, which makes her giggle all the more. ‘No need to be such a prude, even if you were once a monk.’

‘Are you going to stand there blocking the way all day, then?’ grumbles a heavy-set man in a coarse smock as he lumbers past, knocking Abigail hard enough that she stumbles into my arms as I try to stop her falling. Startled, she regains her balance and brushes herself down as we look at one another, then quickly glance away.

‘I should probably —‘ she says, gesturing back towards the palace wall.

‘Yes. But take care, Abigail. Make sure you do not go about the palace alone. Someone at court knows who killed Cecily and why, and you are right — he may be watching you. Be wary about who you trust.’

‘It is hard to know who to trust at court after this.’ She laughs, a nervous, high-pitched sound, her fingers twisting at the strings of her cloak. ‘I mean, how do I even know that I can trust you?’

‘You can trust me, Abigail. I have no pledge to give except my word.’ Gripping her shoulders a little tighter, I make her look into my eyes. She searches them with her pale green gaze, and eventually she nods.