Chapter Fifteen
Thornhill Manor
“You asked my opinion, my lord. I gave it.”
Perhaps that was true, but it wasn’t what Cambridge wanted to hear.
He was in his hall, yet again, with wine—yet again—because the man was a glutton but dared anyone to say it.
To him, he simply enjoyed his food and drink and he enjoyed it constantly.
It gave him pleasure. Not much gave him pleasure these days.
Including his subjects.
Everald de Beaumont was close to being cuffed.
“You are telling me that your daughter is refusing my wish?” Cambridge said. “That is a very dangerous suggestion, Everald. Would you care to rephrase that?”
Everald probably should. He was coming to the end of the time period when the medicine he took kept him on a even keel.
He could feel the pins and needles in his feet and hands, a sure sign that it was starting to wear off.
Soon enough, his entire body would shake and he would become sick to his stomach.
The sweating and the itching would begin.
He wasn’t entirely thrilled about that, knowing what was coming, so his response to Cambridge needed to be something that would placate the man so he would allow him his medicine. Everald had it in his saddlebags.
He simply had to get to it.
But Cambridge wasn’t giving him permission to leave the hall.
“She would never refuse your wish, my lord,” he said.
“But, as I said before, she is not a spy or an assassin. She is a delicate woman. She has no business being an assassin or trying to seduce men close to the king. She simply doesn’t know how.
She’s likely to get herself thrown in the vault, or worse. ”
“Or what worse?”
“Killed.”
Cambridge grunted unhappily, toying with his gold cup, the one with the semiprecious stones in it, the one that was made from lead, with a gold coating, and the lead was slowly leaching into his wine every time he drank it.
It was like a cup of death, something that he’d been drinking from ever since it was given to him by a French duc.
A French duc with ties to people Cambridge had wronged, so the truth was that the lead in his wine was slowly damaging his brain.
But that was a story for another time.
In any case, at this moment, he was grossly unhappy with Everald’s honesty when he asked the man if his daughter was capable of carrying out such dangerous orders. Everald didn’t seem to think so, which enraged Cambridge.
He didn’t like it when his plans did not proceed as he hoped.
“Are you saying she lacks courage or that she lacks skill?” he asked. “Be plain, man.”
“She lacks skill,” Everald said. “My lord, my years as a knight would make me perfect for this task. If I were a woman. But I am not and I cannot teach my daughter what she needs to know in a day. It would take time. If you send her in to do this, then you are sending a babe into a lion’s den. Edward’s men will eat her alive.”
Cambridge still wasn’t pleased with what he was hearing. “You had time with her this morning,” he pointed out. “Time alone to tell her what needed to be done. Were you not convincing enough?”
Everald was starting to shake as the drug steadily wore off. “You have more power over her than I do, my lord,” he said. “I can only impress upon her what needs to be done. Beyond that, your word bears more weight. If she will not listen to you, what makes you think she will listen to me?”
“Because you are her father.”
“And you are her liege. Mayhap we should speak to her together?” Everald said. “She has returned from the dressmaker. She is up in her chamber.”
“Then go to her and tell her that she must do this.”
“She will not listen, my lord.”
Rather than explode, Cambridge simply sat back in his chair and stared at Everald in a manner that suggested the man was completely worthless. Everald could feel it, but he was feeling his need for the drug more. He could no longer deny it.
“May I be excused, my lord?” he said. “I must tend to… personal matters.”
Cambridge didn’t really care what he meant.
It could have been anything. He waved the man away, disgusted with the turn of the conversation.
Everald was supposed to convince his daughter to do the right thing, but Everald didn’t think she was capable.
Perhaps, deep down, Cambridge didn’t think so either.
But he was at least hoping Everald would be able to convince his daughter that it would be in everyone’s best interests for her to cooperate.
But she wouldn’t.
Couldn’t.
Like her father, that made her absolutely worthless to him. Not that she’d ever been worth much other than for making him look good, because very few men had a Jewel, so perhaps it was his fault for expecting too much from her.
Perhaps he needed to rethink his strategy.
If she couldn’t seduce a guard so that she could get close to the king, then perhaps there was another way to get her close to the king.
Technically, the Seven Jewels of London belonged to the king and it was the king who decided where they went and to whom they belonged.
It had been Henry who gifted Cleodora to Cambridge, and it had been Henry’s father who had originally formed the Seven Jewels of London as political pawns.
What man would turn down one of the seven most beautiful women in all the world?
Cambridge certainly hadn’t. He had taken her and taken her gladly because he knew the political prestige that went along with such a gift.
The king could give, but the king could also take away.
… take away?
Cambridge didn’t have the power to give Cleodora to another man, so even if she was worthless to him, he had to hold on to her unless he gave her back to the crown.
Those were always the rules with the Seven Jewels of London, so it occurred to Cambridge that Cleodora could get next to the king were he to give her back to him.
Perhaps that was a better opportunity.
Finishing off his wine, he summoned Langford, who was never far away.
Langford already had a new pitcher of wine in hand and made sure to fill the archbishop’s cup before a word was even spoken.
That was the relationship those two had, something symbiotic and comfortable.
Cambridge knew that Langford was the one man in this world that he could truly trust.
“Langford, if I ask you a question, will you give me a perfectly honest answer?” he said. “No matter if you feel it would upset me. I value your honesty.”
Langford set the pitcher down. “I will always give you an honest answer, my lord,” he said. “What is it?”
Cambridge sat back in his chair, scratching his cheek in a thoughtful gesture. It was a habit with him, scratching his cheek when he was mulling something over. Langford await patiently while Cambridge formulated his thoughts.
“You are aware of my intention to use my Pearl against Edward,” he muttered.
Langford nodded. “I am, my lord.”
“Her father thinks that she has not the skill to do it,” Cambridge said. “Personally, I do not think she has the courage. She is a worthless little chit. Pretty to look at, but of no use to anyone.”
“Forgive me, my lord, but a Jewel is not meant to be used as an assassin,” Langford said. “She is not trained for it.”
“That is what her father says.”
“My apologies for agreeing with him.”
Cambridge couldn’t accept that. “But it would be so simple,” he said. “I have thought on a way to get her close to the king that would not involve her seducing his guard.”
“What is that, my lord?”
“Give her back to him.”
Langford cocked his head in confusion. “My lord?”
Cambridge waved an impatient hand. “The Pearl was a gift to me from Henry,” he said. “It is understood that when a man receives a Jewel that he cannot give her to anyone else. If he ever grows tired of her, he must return her to the king. They are royal pawns, to be used only by the king.”
Langford nodded. “I have heard that, my lord,” he said. “So you would give her back to him?”
“Aye,” Cambridge said. “Give her back to Edward, but send her with my reliquary ring full of poison. All she need do is put it in his wine. There is nothing more.”
Langford was starting to follow his train of thought. “Your reliquary ring,” he repeated. “As I recall, the ring has a secret compartment in it with a bone chip from St. Peter.”
“It is the bone chip of a pig,” Cambridge said frankly.
“I simply tell everyone it is from St. Peter. Toss the bone chip into the rubbish heap and fill the compartment with hemlock or arsenic. Go to the apothecary for it and take the strongest he has. The Pearl will wear the ring when I give her to Edward, and when she sups with him, she will slip the poison into his wine. That way, the deed is accomplished without much effort.”
Langford’s eyebrows lifted. “You do realize that she will probably be caught and executed,” he said. “Once she administers the poison, what is she supposed to do? Run away?”
Cambridge shook his head. “I do not care what she does or where she goes,” he said. “I only care up until the moment she administers the poison.”
“Since you returned her, everyone will know her orders came from you.”
Cambridge brushed him off. “They will have to prove it and they cannot,” he said.
“I will say that she stole my ring and poisoned him of her own accord. But have de Baume eliminate the apothecary so the man cannot bear witness against you or any of my servants. For my part, I will return to Oakington Castle and remain there while a new king takes the throne. That will be Edward’s son, also Edward, who is a known weakling.
He will not be any trouble, I am certain. Not like his father.”
He had his mind made up. Langford could see that.
He seemed to think this was all a perfectly viable plan when the truth was that it smacked of madness and desperation.
Cambridge was having a tantrum, and the fact that Edward would thwart his plans to rule his lands and his family’s lands like his own private kingdom was a reason to kill the man.
To Cambridge, there were no wider-reaching implications.
He only knew what he wanted, when he wanted it.
“Then I should go now,” Langford said. “There is much to do and little time to do it. With your permission, my lord?”
Cambridge waved him on. “Go,” he said. “Make all of the arrangements, Langford. I trust you to do exactly as I wish. There will be an excellent reward for you when this is finished.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
With that, Langford slipped from the hall, heading back into the structure of Thornhill, back to his suite of chambers.
Back to a part of the house where anyone other than him and one other servant was forbidden to visit.
He moved with focus and a purpose, as he usually did when carrying out Cambridge’s orders, but in this case, the mission was grave.
The results would be deadly. Cambridge had given him questionable orders before, but not like this.
This was different.
Slipping from Thornhill without a mount, for mounts could be identified, he covered up in a heavy oiled cloak, making his way toward the section of London where the apothecaries held their shops.
The area that smelled like death and mercury.
But before he made it to the shop, he had a detour to make.
Little did he know that he was being followed.