The Doublet Affair (Ursula Blanchard Mysteries) by Fiona Buckley Read Free Book Online

memorably, in the household of Leonard and Ann Mason, of Lockhill.
    What a bitter misfortune, I thought, that in this unpleasant context, I should come upon the names of people I knew and liked, under whose roof I had slept. I could see them before my mind’s eye.
    Scholarly, intellectual Leonard had in some ways reminded me of Cecil. They were the same general type, although Cecil had a wife who could match his intellect, and his happy marriage had kept him human. Ann Mason, with not enough servants and too many children; housewifely Ann, who was in awe of her husband without in the least understanding him; poor Ann had a harassing time of it with Leonard, and he in turn had fled to his translations and his books on science as a way of escaping the noise and confusion.
    It was a chaotic household, but it was united in its fashion. If Leonard Mason were caught dabbling in treason, Ann and the children would suffer wretchedly, from grief as well as disgrace, and short though my acquaintance with them had been, I now discovered that I minded.
    I stared at the letter again. De Quadra hadn’t been the tempter, it seemed. De Quadra’s correspondentwas merely informing the bishop of something that would interest him. This plot, if there was one, did not have its roots in Spain, but in France. Just now, the name of Mary Stuart had undoubtedly been brought into the conversation with intent. Pretty, charming, greedy Mary Stuart believed that she ought to be Queen of England as well as Scotland, and had had herself declared so by the heralds who cleared the way for her when she went to chapel. Cecil was right. This could be dangerous. I could only pray that the writer of this letter, whoever he was, was completely mistaken.
    Whoever he was. The name at the foot, which had been copied in a neat and characterless hand, was Jackdaw. It meant nothing to me whatsoever.
    “Is Jackdaw a spy’s professional name?” I asked Cecil. “Who is he? Do you know?”

CHAPTER 4
King Henry’s Groat
    C ecil was a spare, well-made man who usually looked younger than his forty or so years, but his light blue eyes were not young. They were tired and experienced. “Oh yes, I know his identity,” he said. “His real name is Jack Dawson. Or perhaps I should say it was Jack Dawson. He’s dead.”
    “Dead?” I queried.
    The knowledgeable eyes became bleak. “He was an agent working for de Quadra. Jackdaw was a codename, yes. We knew all about him, courtesy of Señor Borghese again! His base was in Windsor, and he worked, ostensibly, as a pedlar with a regular round, but he was always willing to go out of his way to carry letters—he provided a messenger service, as it were. Heaven knows how many people have had their confidential letters quietly inspected by Jackdaw!”
    “What . . . happened to him?” I asked.
    “He lodged with an elderly widow on the outskirts of Windsor, and kept a rowing boat for use on the river. Early in January, he set out one evening, after dark, to visit a young woman on the other side of theriver. There was an accident. Next day, the boat was found overturned, floating, and Jackdaw’s body was discovered up against a landing stage downstream, near Kingston.” He stopped, and there was a silence.
    “Drowned?” I ventured.
    “It’s hard to say. The body had been much bumped about. One side of the skull was dented in.” Cecil showed signs of discomfort. I guessed that he did not much like discussing such matters with women. “The landing stage could have done it,” he said. “Or perhaps not.”
    I studied the letter once more. “He says he believes that he has found traces of a scheme to assist the cause and ambitions of Mary Stuart. He then goes on to say, ‘I cannot yet be sure whose brain has hatched the scheme or in what it consists, but I shall soon go again to the Masons at Lockhill and will attempt to discover more.’ Sir William, I can hardly credit—”
    “That this could concern the Masons whom