To Ruin A Queen: An Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's Court by Fiona Buckley Page B

was illuminating. “There was a time,” said Sir Philip, “when the Mortimer family truly had power to that extent. I am a justice of the peace now, of course. It goes with the lordship of Vetch Castle. But the Mortimers once were much much more.” Twisting in his seat, he pointed to a coat of arms on the wall nearby. It showed the vetch plant, proper, as on the servers’ tabards, its reddish-purple flowers and rounded green leaves, on a field vert.
    “Those are the arms of the Vetch family. The Mortimers had a coat of arms too although my branch has never claimed it. But I intend to do so before long. One of my forebears—Roger Mortimer, his name was—was the lover of Edward II’s queen and for a while he was king in all but name.” He let out a nostalgic sigh. “In those times,” he said, “the Mortimers were mighty Marcher barons and had the power of life and death over their serfs. Those were our great days. I have read of the deeds and the eminence of my forebears and sometimes I think that as a Mortimer, it should be my duty and pleasure to rebuild the greatness of our family. I long so to do and I believe that one day I shall.”
    I saw my chance. “But how?”
    He gave me a challenging glance from those oddly set greenish-blue eyes. “Ah. Well, that remains to be seen.” He smiled knowingly. “But one day, you will see.”
    Here it was again, the theme that had come up at yesterday’s supper, although once more he had stopped short of detail. I felt extremely disturbed and I knew that Rob, Mattie, and Lady Thomasine all felt the same. I could feel their unease. I would have pressed on in the hope that even sober, he might be coaxed into indiscretion, but Rob and Mattie were so very disconcerted that they inadvertently spoiled my plans by beginning at once to talk of something else. Lady Thomasine then turned to Rafe, and asked if he would play his lute for us after dinner. The conversation dissolved into commonplaces and escaped from me.
    But I was quite certain now that Lady Thomasine’s worries were not misplaced. Beneath the surface of this pretentious household, beneath the outdated rituals and the absurdity, was a serious and alarming undercurrent. I wondered if Philip Mortimer were quite normal. At the very least, I thought, he was living in a world of daydreams in which he had begun to believe.
    One way and another, that dinner was an odd, uncomfortable business. The culminating discomfort came at the end, when Rafe duly played and sang for us and managed to embarrass me yet again, more publicly than when he had shown me over to Lady Thomasine’s room.
    “Rafe must sing us something he has written himself,” Lady Thomasine said. “My son is no musician,” she added regretfully. “Are you, Philip? But Rafe has the gift, and we have had him well taught by Gareth, our musician.” The gray-bearded harper, who was nowseated just below the dais, bowed at the sound of his name. “Gareth shall play for us tomorrow,” said Lady Thomasine. “But now, Rafe, if you please … ?”
    Rafe obliged without any modest disclaimers and proved to be skilled. He sang a ballad about a noble knight who ventured into a dark cave full of sharp rocks and patches of mud, and there found a splendid sword with a scabbard of gold and a jeweled hilt, which shone through the darkness and the dirt.
The ruby shone amidst the mire
With pure and undiminished fire;
The gold all damascened remained
Amid the murk, unharmed, unstained …

    Which was all quite harmless and charming, but that was before he reached the last verse, where, unfortunately, there was a risqué twist that likened the sword to a woman whose charms were improved after nightfall.
    “Whose shining eyes, whose pearly limbs,” sang Rafe, “are beauty darkness never dims, but all the more enchant, invite, when encircled by the night …” And as he sang, he smiled boldly at his audience, and winked naughtily at me. I turned pink and saw Sir Philip