The Traitor's Daughter. Joanna Makepeace

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СКАЧАТЬ correspondence with the Earl of Suffolk, the late King’s nephew. He had refused to surrender himself, but had allowed himself to be lured from the safety of his castle and on to one of King Henry’s ships in Calais harbour by the promise of safe conduct. He was then captured and taken to the Tower of London and, later, unceremoniously executed. After his death it had been announced that he had confessed to the murder of the Princes, King Edward’s young sons, who had disappeared from the Tower, on the order of their uncle. This slur upon the honour of the dead King Richard had naturally angered many of the late King’s former supporters. A little shiver ran through Philippa’s body, for she suspected that her father knew more about the fate of those young princes than he would ever divulge, not even to his closest family. Was this the reason why King Henry hated him so much and wished to have him in England directly in his power? She knew, only too well, that in the dungeons of the Tower men could be forced to divulge their closest-held secrets. If the King could hold the Earl’s wife and child as hostages, would not her father come to their help and surrender himself, as Tyrell had done? The secret of their journey to Gretton must be kept at all costs.

      Her thoughts ranged to her friends, Richard and Anne Allard, who had been her companions four years ago when she had gone to Westminster to serve King Henry’s queen, Elizabeth of York. They had all been forced to flee together from England when Richard had involved himself in trying to help the young Earl of Warwick, who had been a prisoner in the Tower. Philippa sighed deeply as she remembered how that unfortunate young man had been executed with another pretender to the throne, Perkin Warbeck. Richard and Anne had been pardoned and returned to England. Philippa would have dearly liked to see them while she was here but knew that would be dangerous for all of them.

      Peter appeared to be taking his time, she thought, and rose to go to the door and unbar it. After moments her eyes became accustomed to the darkness and she could see that the courtyard appeared to be deserted and she could see in the distance the dim glow of candlelight in the windows of the inn. Surely it would not have taken the innkeeper so long to provide Peter with a flagon of ale and bread and cheese? He would not linger, she knew, being always concerned for the safety of his charges. Philippa turned and looked anxiously towards her mother, who had sat up the moment she had heard her daughter stirring.

      “What is it? Can you hear someone coming?”

      “No, it is just that it is taking Peter rather a long time.”

      “Has it? I must have dozed.” Cressida frowned. “It is unlike Peter to delay.”

      “I think I should go and look for him.”

      “Philippa, no. He warned us—”

      “I know all that, but I don’t think we have a choice. I fear something might have happened to him.”

      Cressida rose and joined Philippa at the stable door. Together they peered anxiously into the dark courtyard.

      “It is indeed very strange that he hasn’t returned before now. Had it been anyone else but Peter…” Cressida shook her head worriedly. “He is not the man to allow himself to be drawn into some gambling ploy.”

      “He would never leave us unprotected for so long. Something must have happened to him.”

      The Countess shook her head again and bit her lip doubtfully.

      “Mother, I must go back to the inn and ask after him.”

      “I do not like that idea at all.”

      “I don’t myself, but if anything has happened to Peter we have to know about it, even—” Philippa broke off abruptly, averting her face so that her mother should not see how very alarmed she was “—even if we cannot do much about it.”

      She dared not put into words the fear that harm could have come to their squire and, if it had done, what they could possibly do without him as escort.

      “You stay here by the door and keep watch.” Philippa put up her cloak hood and drew its comforting warmth about her. “I shall not be gone for more than a moment or two. The landlord is bound to know what has occurred. It may be that Peter heard of some suitable mounts for hire or purchase and thought it imperative to go immediately to find out about them.”

      “At this late hour?”

      “I know that it seems unlikely, but it is the only reason why he might have left us for so long.” Gently Philippa shook off her mother’s detaining hand upon her wrist. “Do not be anxious. I shall come back immediately and will not allow myself to be drawn into talk with any of the men in the tap room. At all events, most of them do not appear to be able to talk English.” She made a little wry twist of the lips in her attempt to humour her distraught mother.

      Reluctantly Cressida released her and stood back as Philippa pushed the heavy stable door further open and, with but one reassuring glance behind her, stepped out into the yard. It seemed very black, but she could not take the lanthorn and leave her mother in darkness and she could just make out her way ahead by the flickering light of the candles within the inn building.

      She was about halfway across when she heard some slight movement. She stopped dead still and listened, but her frightened heartbeats sounded so loud within her breast that she knew any other sounds would be drowned out by them. Reproving herself for cowardice, she crept forward cautiously. She was not wont to be so foolish. The sound could easily have been made by a night-prowling cat. She could hear the noise of talk now from the inn and she stopped again, calling upon her courage to enter the tap room alone. The outright impudence of the customers’ curiosity when they had first arrived made her hesitate. As Peter had said, the travellers had certainly not been welcomed. So intent on her determination to proceed was she that she went sprawling suddenly across something directly in her path. The breath was shaken out of her and she stifled a sudden cry, recovered herself and turned to stare down at the body of the man who was lying senseless, his head in a puddle. Her eyes had become more used to the darkness now, though it was a moonless night, and, as she crouched to examine the injured man, she knew instantly that it was Peter Fairley.

      He made no sound as she carefully explored his clothing, wet with the damp mist, and she gave a little gasp of fear and pity as her fingers, when lifting his head, discovered some fluid more sticky. The wound was bleeding copiously. No wonder he was unconscious and made no answer to her softly uttered urging to answer her. Had he stumbled and fallen in the darkness? Like her he carried no lanthorn and it was just possible, but Peter was a cautious man and he would have waited before proceeding to cross, allowing his night vision to develop. Unless he too had stumbled across some obstacle in his path, it was unlikely. Terror struck her forcibly as she thought he must have been deliberately struck down, but by whom—and why? Surely it had been obvious to everyone in the tap room that they were not wealthy travellers—yet Peter had made it known that he was carrying a considerable amount of coin in order to hire or buy horses for their journey. To men living in poverty that would have been invitation enough to attack and rob him. She half stood up after her efforts to rouse him had failed and looked round apprehensively. Peter was a big man. She could not lift or drag him to the stable, but dare she call for assistance from the men in the inn?

      As she stood for moments, irresolute, she was taken totally by surprise as brutal hands suddenly pulled her backwards and caught her wrists in a cruel grasp, thus freeing one of her attacker’s hands to clasp over her mouth before she could draw breath to call out.

      “Softly there, my little beauty,” a voice, speaking in English, though with a singsong lilt she had come to identify as that of a Welshman, whispered in her ear. “There’s no call for you to be making a scene and, like as not, you’ll not end up as your servant there if you’re wise.”

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