The Siren Queen: An Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's by Fiona Buckley
Authors: Fiona Buckley
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housekeeper, caught hold of her shoulders, and shook her hard. She stopped shrieking, pointed at the pathetic thing on the wall, and then collapsed.
Hugh and Conley picked her up. Hugh said to me: “Come with us. Bring Dale. She’ll need women with her when she comes to. Conley and I must come back here.”
Out in the passage, Dale was clinging to Brockley. The pupils of her protuberant eyes were huge and dark, and her pockmarks stood out as they always did when she was ill or upset. Nevertheless, she pulled herself together at the sight of the unconscious Mistress Dalton and became practical. She came to me when I called to her and between us all we got the housekeeper through the crowd of appalled servants and safely to her suite. Norfolk followed, bringing up the rear. Hugh and Conley laid her on her bed and Conley went for some wine. By the time he was back, Mistress Dalton had come around and was trying to sit up. I took the goblet from Conley and held it while she drank. “That thing !” she said, “That . . . that . . . !”
“Drink some more wine,” I said firmly.
“Such wickedness!” Outrage was taking over from shock. “Such . . . such contempt! To treat a poor dead lad so! He wasn’t a bad lad, for all his pert ways. He worked hard, except that he crept off to see his wench now and then when he shouldn’t . . . and the poor lass is there in her father’s tavern, still thinking Walt’s alive and going to marry her and . . . ”
“You just walked in and there he was—like that?” The duke was standing at the foot of the bed. “Can you answer questions, Mistress Dalton? We must know all that you can tell us.”
“Conley wanted him,” said Mistress Dalton, “but we couldn’t find him and Conley had to attend in the parlor. I thought I’d take a few minutes to look for him myself and I went through the passages, in and out of the rooms, and then I went into that room and I saw . . . I saw . . . !”
“Have you any idea when this could have happened—or who might have done it?”
“No, sir, I haven’t; how could I? I’ve been busy here and there; so much to do, with everything so disturbed; the aldermen and the justice here needing their dinner, and the linen still to be counted after the wash. That poor boy. I never thought to see such a thing in this world. It was like a picture of hell, except that it was real! I’ll never forget it till the day I die. Some more wine, Mistress Stannard, please !”
“Better get her tipsy,” said Norfolk. “It’s the kindest thing to do.”
• • •
When we left Mistress Dalton’s room, Norfolk was fastidiously brushing invisible grime off his pale blue doublet and muttering that he was sure it smelt and that in the normal way he never never entered the servants’ quarters. Brockley, however, had more serious matters on his mind.
It was indeed Brockley who, with the mixture of perfect deference and perfect determination that was so peculiarly his own, moved the four of us out of Norfolk’s house before nightfall and into the Sign of the Green Dragon in the nearby street of Bishopsgate.
“I am sorry to press you, madam,” he said, “but Fran is terrified. She has done her best to help you and Mistress Dalton, but if she has to spend tonight under this roof, she will not close her eyes and by tomorrow she will be exhausted and very likely ill. I must ask you and Master Stannard, please, to allow me to take her to a hostelry at once and stay there with her. Master Conley,” said Brockley, with unsmiling humor, “has kindly sent one of his surviving scullions to make inquiries on my behalf. He reports that the Green Dragon has room for us. I realize that we must all stay in London for the inquests, and if you and Master Stannard feel you should stay in Howard House yourselves, we can return early each morning to carry out our usual duties but . . . ”
The four of us had once more foregathered in our
Hugh and Conley picked her up. Hugh said to me: “Come with us. Bring Dale. She’ll need women with her when she comes to. Conley and I must come back here.”
Out in the passage, Dale was clinging to Brockley. The pupils of her protuberant eyes were huge and dark, and her pockmarks stood out as they always did when she was ill or upset. Nevertheless, she pulled herself together at the sight of the unconscious Mistress Dalton and became practical. She came to me when I called to her and between us all we got the housekeeper through the crowd of appalled servants and safely to her suite. Norfolk followed, bringing up the rear. Hugh and Conley laid her on her bed and Conley went for some wine. By the time he was back, Mistress Dalton had come around and was trying to sit up. I took the goblet from Conley and held it while she drank. “That thing !” she said, “That . . . that . . . !”
“Drink some more wine,” I said firmly.
“Such wickedness!” Outrage was taking over from shock. “Such . . . such contempt! To treat a poor dead lad so! He wasn’t a bad lad, for all his pert ways. He worked hard, except that he crept off to see his wench now and then when he shouldn’t . . . and the poor lass is there in her father’s tavern, still thinking Walt’s alive and going to marry her and . . . ”
“You just walked in and there he was—like that?” The duke was standing at the foot of the bed. “Can you answer questions, Mistress Dalton? We must know all that you can tell us.”
“Conley wanted him,” said Mistress Dalton, “but we couldn’t find him and Conley had to attend in the parlor. I thought I’d take a few minutes to look for him myself and I went through the passages, in and out of the rooms, and then I went into that room and I saw . . . I saw . . . !”
“Have you any idea when this could have happened—or who might have done it?”
“No, sir, I haven’t; how could I? I’ve been busy here and there; so much to do, with everything so disturbed; the aldermen and the justice here needing their dinner, and the linen still to be counted after the wash. That poor boy. I never thought to see such a thing in this world. It was like a picture of hell, except that it was real! I’ll never forget it till the day I die. Some more wine, Mistress Stannard, please !”
“Better get her tipsy,” said Norfolk. “It’s the kindest thing to do.”
• • •
When we left Mistress Dalton’s room, Norfolk was fastidiously brushing invisible grime off his pale blue doublet and muttering that he was sure it smelt and that in the normal way he never never entered the servants’ quarters. Brockley, however, had more serious matters on his mind.
It was indeed Brockley who, with the mixture of perfect deference and perfect determination that was so peculiarly his own, moved the four of us out of Norfolk’s house before nightfall and into the Sign of the Green Dragon in the nearby street of Bishopsgate.
“I am sorry to press you, madam,” he said, “but Fran is terrified. She has done her best to help you and Mistress Dalton, but if she has to spend tonight under this roof, she will not close her eyes and by tomorrow she will be exhausted and very likely ill. I must ask you and Master Stannard, please, to allow me to take her to a hostelry at once and stay there with her. Master Conley,” said Brockley, with unsmiling humor, “has kindly sent one of his surviving scullions to make inquiries on my behalf. He reports that the Green Dragon has room for us. I realize that we must all stay in London for the inquests, and if you and Master Stannard feel you should stay in Howard House yourselves, we can return early each morning to carry out our usual duties but . . . ”
The four of us had once more foregathered in our
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