The Master of Winterbourne

His face was shadowed, but suddenly she knew she was looking into his eyes, and he into hers. If in the moonlight she could discern his white shirt, then equally he could see her nightshift. Even as she thought it the figure opposite melted back into the darkness of the room, breaking the spell.

*

By mid-morning the next day there was still no sign of Robert. The thought of the hidden casket was like a sore tooth, nagging at Henrietta however hard she tried to divert herself with a basket of mending. She told herself the loose board was of little consequence to Matthew, that there was no danger he would investigate it further. With her own guilty knowledge she'd been very conscious of the hollowness when the stool had struck the board, but there was no reason to believe the others had even noticed.

Where was Robert? In her agitation her needle slipped and a tiny bead of blood fell on to the fine lace collar she was darning. With an exasperated sigh Henrietta tossed the work into her sewing basket and left the small parlour she and her aunt used as their retreat. She'd hidden herself away to avoid seeing Matthew – so heavily did the worry about the priest's hole weigh on her that she was convinced he'd be able to read the guilty secret in her face.

As she crossed the hall on her way to the kitchens the thought struck home that she was feeling guilty. But that was ridiculous, she was acting as a loyal servant of the King, obeying her brother's last request to her, a sacred trust. But everything was complicated now, things that had once seemed clear-cut were blurred. Matthew was master here now and her husband-to-be; on both counts she owed him her loyalty.

Henrietta stopped in the middle of the empty room as an idea came suddenly to her mind. Her brother was dead, the King was in exile. No one had come for the papers in three years, so why not take them up now to her chamber and burn them? It would be so easy. She'd have nothing to hide from Matthew, no secret to take to her marriage. He'd said he didn't care what she thought so long as she kept her views to herself. It would be the best plan, safest for Robert and A1ice too…

Kneeling in the window embrasure, she cradled the casket in her hands for a long moment before opening it, wrestling with her conscience. James hadn't made her promise not to look, she told herself. How could she judge if it was safe to burn the contents? The lid creaked back, revealing a mass of folded parchment and in the dim light she could see it comprised a long list of names.

Hurriedly she dropped the lid. She must not read it. To do so would give her knowledge she might unwittingly betray. And to burn it would be cowardly and a betrayal of everything her father and brothers had died for. Her conscience was no matter compared to this. If she had to begin her marriage with a lie, was that not a small thing compared to the sacrifices the others had made?

She thrust the casket back on to its ledge in the dark hole, sparing a shudder of sympathy for the hunted priests who had crouched in its musty depths all those years ago. The board dropped back with a thud and she pulled the edge of the rug back to cover the knot-hole, smoothing the fringe down carefully with hands that shook.

Henrietta unlocked the parlour door and walked quickly to the door leading on to the kitchen passage. She would find Alice, see if there was any news of Robert. The kitchen was in its normal state of bustle with preparations for the noonday meal well under way. She stopped in the doorway out of long habit and critically surveyed the scene.

At the sight of her mistress Letty put down her paring knife and burst into vociferous complaint. ‘That useless boy's been gone this past hour! And Cook's calling for the carp, blaming me that he's so long away. I'll tan his hide for him when he gets back. Off birds’-nesting, I'll be bound, idle little good-for-nothing.’

‘Well, send young David after him,’ Henrietta suggested to stem the flow. ‘He's only sweeping out the bakehouse.’

‘What? And have two boys off and away, up to no good? You know what they say, Mistress, if you want a job done, a boy's worth half a man, but two boys is worth half a boy.’

‘Tell Cook to do without the carp, then, and see Sim gets a beating when he returns. I have no time to trouble with this now. Where is Alice?’

Letty looked truculent and muttered something about ‘gossiping in the yard’.

When she stepped out into the arcade that ran the length of the kitchen side of the yard, Henrietta saw Alice standing close to Robert in the gateway. They were deep in low-voiced talk and Henrietta guessed from Robert's grave expression that Alice was giving him the message about the casket.

She stood and watched them, oblivious to the noise from the hot kitchen at her back. When Alice stopped talking Robert looked thoughtful, then reached to stroke her cheek with a tenderness that brought a lump to Henrietta's throat. There was no doubting he was deeply in love with her, and she with him. With growing concern Henrietta noticed the gentle swell beneath Alice's apron; they must be wed, and soon, before malicious gossip started.

There was a clatter of iron-shod feet on the cobbles and Sim scuttled through the gateway, three fat carp swinging from a stick in his hand, his stockings and breeches mud-splattered. Alice had obviously heard that the delinquent was late for she cuffed him as he passed. ‘And mind you get those fish to Cook this minute!’ she called after him as the skinny urchin ducked past Henrietta and into the kitchen. ‘Mistress! Robert's back as you see. I've told him about that little job wants doing inside.’

Henrietta walked across the cobbles to meet them at the pump in the centre of the yard, a safe distance from eavesdroppers in the kitchen or dairy.

‘Don't worry about that board, Mistress,’ Robert said soothingly. ‘I'll have that fixed down so it won't trouble anyone, and as for that other matter,’ his sharp grey eyes scanned the yard behind her, ‘no doubt there are those in Oxford who will know what's to be done.’

‘I was thinking perhaps we should move the casket, destroy it maybe.’ Henrietta suggested.

‘No!' Robert was vehement. ‘We don't know what it may contain. This is dangerous, Mistress. Something's afoot; there are whisperings abroad, wild rumours about His Majesty. I dare say no more…’ He looked up quickly and called out over Henriet

ta's shoulder, ‘Good morning, sir!’

Henrietta spun round to find Matthew approaching across the yard. She was certain some hint of what they'd been saying must show on her face and hid her confusion by dropping a slight curtsy. 'Good morning. I trust you slept well?’

‘Eventually.’ His voice was as warm as the sun on the cobbles and Henrietta felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. So he had seen her at the window. She had promised to marry this man, share his bed. What that meant was only just becoming real to her. Alice was looking at her with speculation in her wide blue eyes and Henrietta shot her a warning glance before turning back to Matthew.

‘Have you met my… your steward, Robert Weldon, Sir Matthew?’

‘Sir.’ Robert gave Matthew a stiff bow. ‘I must apologise for being away when you arrived.’

‘Master Weldon.' Matthew was equally punctilious, acknowledging the steward's status in the household. ‘No need to apologise for doing your duty. A matter of a careless carpenter, I understand.’

So that was what Matthew had been doing this morning – investigating the estate, the Home Farm. Henrietta took a steadying breath; it was going to be hard hiding anything from the new master.

‘Yes, sir. It will delay the barn roof repairs, but I've found a good man to finish the work who can start tomorrow. I'll get him to fix that creaking board Mistress Wynter tells me of first.’