Beneath the Cloak and Dagger

[NessaCary]

The scullery maid hadn't required a bribe, or even too much needling, to give away the duke's agenda. A few moments of idle chatter and Veronica had not only his whereabouts for the next week or so but also what he looked like, what he wore, what he ate and on and on. If she wasn't mistaken, and she rarely was, the girl was head over heels for Veronica's mark.

At least, she mused to herself, I may get to enjoy myself. Of course, the little trollop may only have harbored such feels because of his undoubtably deep pockets. Probably better if that were the case.

It didn't do to allow one's self to get too distracted on assignment. That was the first lesson her father taught her. She thanked the maid, noting her growing reluctance to talk about the duke the more inquisitive the foreigner became. Inwardly, she smiled, always happy to be reminded that she was someone to be envied--especially when it came to men.

At twenty-three, Veronica had been running messages, stalling carriages, poisoning minor threats and all other manner of espionage for her father since she's been knee-high. Most men wouldn't have asked such things of their only daughter, but her father put kingdom before family, love, and himself. Not only did he train his little darling to kill, he sent her to Venice to live among the courtesans in order to learn the more subtle art of seduction.

And that's what she planned to put into practice this day. By the time the duke began the hunt, she was in place for her roles as an enticing damsel in distress. She'd found an ideal location past some brambles near the river and she waded in. She'd worn a simple chestnut gown with the required trappings. The corset pushed her ample breasts up seductively but the remains of the riding jacket from which she'd torn the buttons and tossed to the shore created the illusion of propriety stolen by nature. The skirt was jagged and she'd tugged pieces of her long hair from the careful plaits she'd woven it into earlier. She knew that her wet, lithe body would work its magic.

When the sounds of the hunt neared, she slapped her horse and he whinnied, tearing off toward the noble party with his saddle hanging loosely from his back. The trap set, Veronica had nothing to do but wait.

 

[LeChatNoir]

Sir Geoffrey Stapleton was nervous. He was always nervous as the 15th of May approached, though by rights he should have been joyous, because it was on the 15th of May that his life had changed forever. By most measures, the change had been for the better, but the entire situation still felt vaguely uncomfortable to Stapleton.

Twenty years earlier, as a rather callow lad of sixteen, he had joined up with the King’s army. At the time, he saw it as a way to escape village life, and in that he had been absolutely correct. What he had failed to understand was that army life was, in many ways, significantly worse than village life. In his home village of Mile End, he had been the son of the publican and the nephew and apprentice of the blacksmith. His father, Edward Stapleton, kept the Stag and Arms at the village crossroads and a constant stream of interesting people came and went from its bar and public room. His uncle, Reginald Poole, had been a blacksmith for thirty years before accepting his nephew as his apprentice, and ran a very tough but well-regarded forge. Unfortunately, to a youth growing up in the village pub and hearing stories from travelers far and wide, Mile End seemed like a dreadfully boring place. Even the charms of Molly Fletcher seemed to pale after a while, and at sixteen, Geoffrey had run off to join the county muster for the latest of the King’s interminable wars.

For the first time, luck seemed to be working on his side. Given his years spent at the forge, he was stronger and healthier than a lot of the other peasants, and was therefore noticed and given more training with arms, becoming particularly proficient with sword and arquebus, and being promoted to corporal. Most of the peasants were grouped together in formation, given little more than a pike and a steel cap. Needless to say, they died in droves in the fields. Better armed, stronger, and better equipped, Geoffrey survived, though he grew sick at heart from the wholesale slaughter and wanted nothing more than to survive long enough to return home to Mile End and go straight back to the forge and to Molly Fletcher. The spring campaign season eventually bogged down in the inevitable spring mud, as it had done for centuries. There was only time for one last fight against the French before the season came to a close, on the 15th of May at a place called Carrigues, a village since lost to time. The fight itself was short and sharp, and ultimately unimportant. The only important event to come out of the battle happened near the end. Young Geoffrey Stapleton had led a group of pikemen around the right flank to take a narrow lane, with peasant cottages on either side. Hearing a shout in what sounded like English from one of the huts, Geoffrey had burst inside, only to find two enemy soldiers guarding a captured Englishman. A confused fight in tight quarters had ensued, but Geoffrey’s strength and energy had served him well and he emerged victorious. The now-rescued Englishman, who had been utterly convinced that he would be lucky indeed to escape with just a long spell of imprisonment before he was ransomed, turned out to be Sir John Howard, the son of the Duke of Norfolk, and he was quite grateful for the rescue.

The gratitude of one of the most powerful nobles of England can be profound and wide-ranging. The gratitude of John Howard was no exception. Upon the army’s return to England, Geoffrey Stapleton found that his life had changed significantly. His new benefactor insisted on Stapleton being immediately knighted, and once the right people were contacted and the right papers signed, Geoffrey Stapleton of Mile End, Essex found himself Sir Geoffrey Stapleton, Baronet, with a small estate alongside the River Wensum in Norfolk.

Stapleton, not a stupid lad, saw that this new situation was radically different from anything he was used to, and resolved to tackle it with the resolve that had been sorely lacking in his previous life. He hired a tutor to teach him to read and write, and found a competent steward to administer the estate, though he had enough business knowledge from growing up in the pub to assist in the management. Geoffrey also continued to practice with arms, reckoning that they had won him this estate, and who knew when they might be necessary again. For several years, he occasionally accompanied Howard to court, but increasingly became involved in the management of his own lands, managing to turn them from little more than an afterthought into a profitable, though never wealthy, fief.

And now, once again, the 15th of May had come around. Twenty years before, he had been sneaking around a corner, his pikemen behind him, scared out of his wits, suffering from the belly flux (along with at least half of the rest of the army), and wondering if he’d live to see this afternoon, let alone tomorrow. Now, he was a lord (albeit a fairly minor lord), the master of a small castle and a much-improved fief, the local hand of the king’s justice, and still never quite sure if his lot had improved or not. Certainly, life out here was a lot more complicated than life in the village had ever been, but perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.

The morning of May 15th found John Howard, now Duke of Norfolk in his own right, and Stapleton out hunting, riding at the head of a small party of huntsmen, assorted other minor nobles, and a couple of prominent merchants from the local town who were hoping to curry favor with the Duke and their local lord. Even approaching forty, Stapleton was still a vigorous man. His shoulders and chest were broad from their days spent in the forge and on the battlefield, and his dark hair was long and rich, shot through with veins of silver where age was starting to show. He wore a short beard, as was the fashion, and was dressed in hunting attire – tough trousers, a leather vest over a green shirt, and mud-spattered thigh-length leather boots. He carried a broad-bladed boar spear as well as a long hunting knife, and he and Howard fully expected to spear tonight’s dinner in the next couple of hours.

Suddenly, Stapleton drew rein. His hearing, always sensitive, picked out an odd splashing sound from up ahead, and suddenly a riderless horse burst out of a thicket and galloped towards them. Stapleton maneuvered his own horse to intercept it, and was able to reach out and grab the animal’s bridle, bringing it to a halt. He and the Duke exchanged glances, Howard hefting his own boar spear significantly. The weapons were unwieldy against people, who tended not to charge quite so obligingly as boars, but could inflict terrible wounds if used correctly, and would be sufficient to defend themselves if the noise ahead was caused by a few bandits.

Stapleton walked his mount forward, towards the creek that he knew was up ahead, its banks no doubt swollen by the recent rains. It would be tricky for anyone not familiar with the area to cross safely, and was undoubtedly the source of the splashing he’d heard a moment before.

 

[NessaCary]

Veronica O'Donnelly waded back into the water until it covered her and then allowed her dress to become entangled in the brush. She hooked her ankle around the branch of a fallen tree and clung to a boulder. The sounds of hounds braying and the clatter of horses and tack preceded the hunt itself. As the dogs rounded the bend, she screamed and began splashing.

Before the nobles arrived, the courtiers and falconers rushed forward, spurred forward by the screams. The foremost of the liveried hunters abandoned his bow and rushed into the water, and then the next. Once they reached her, the paused, unsure what to do.

"Milady," the falconer said awkwardly, slipping a hand under her arms and holding her head above water. Veronica allowed her weight to sag into him and he tried to pull her out. The other man was quick to reach down and begin to tug at her dress, until it was free.

"My apologies," He murmered under his breath, picking her up under her thighs and handing her to the falconer.

The man's face flushed crimson as his hands touched the bare skin of her leg. She ignored their speaking and allowed fat crocodile tears to roll down her face. She took a heaving, gasping breath and threw her arms around the falconer and began to stammer an explanation as he carried her to the bank.

"A-a-nd poor Streiff was shaken and he attempted to l-l-leap o-over the river..." she continued to babble as the falconer set her down. He seemed unsure of what to do from there as the young woman out of the water bordered on indecent. The light fabric was tight and wet over her breasts and her skirt was torn so high that the bottoms of her thighs were visible.

She stood shivering, wet lashes downcast, and let her tale trail off as she looked up to meet the eyes of her target. There were a few mounted nobles and she couldn't be sure which was her target. Her eyes met those of the man near the front, older, distinguished...perfect.

 

[LeChatNoir]

Stapleton watched in evident surprise as his falconer and one of the hunters half dragged, half carried a bedraggled young woman from the swollen stream. Her dress, already snug across her ample young bosom, was now totally soaked through, and clung to her figure without the slightest regard for modesty. He had to admit to himself that it was quite a figure, from the long strands of wet hair that had escaped their bondage from her braids to the creamy thighs and well-turned calves that were teasingly revealed by the rents in her skirts. Almost before he knew what he was doing, he found himself sliding from the back of his roan gelding still holding the reins to the escaped horse and striding towards the unlikely pair of girl and falconer, the hunter having released her to the other man and headed back for safer territory away from the nobility.

“I say, miss, are you quite alright?” he asked, his voice deep and low. “You seem to have had quite a morning. I assume that this horse is yours?” He regarded her for a moment, trying to recall if he’d seen her around the villages or the castle, but he was certain that he would have remembered someone who looked like her. There was something about her that held the eye, even soaking wet and shivering. Perhaps especially soaking wet and shivering, given what it did to her body. Turning towards another of the hunters, he gave a quick order. “Ralf, bring the girl a blanket. It’s not warm out, and she’s obviously cold.” Ralf dashed away just as the Duke of Norfolk rode up to see what the commotion was about.

“Well, Stapleton, leave it to you to find the prettiest girl for twenty miles!” The Duke seemed more amused than anything, if slightly put out by the interruption in his hunt. “Is she one of your people, or a traveler making her way through your lands? Not that there’s much to see here, Sir Geoff, no offense. I think my father gave you the cheapest piece of land in his entire duchy, though you’ve somehow manage to make it sit up and sing.”

 

[NessaCary]

At the Duke's words, Veronica allowed a blush to color her face. Other than the tinge of blue on her lips, it was the only color on her face. In a show of modesty, she lowered her wet lashes as Sir Stapleton handed her Talat's reins. Without waiting for Ralf to retrieve the blanket, she pulled off her own horse's blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. It did little to clover the bare skin of her legs but that could only work to her advantage.

"You have my deepest gratitude," she murmured demurely. And only then did she allow herself to meet the eyes of the mark. They were a steely gray with a hint of laugh lines around the eyes. While they were wide now, she had now doubt that his glare would easily cow lesser men.

And perhaps even men with better breeding.

Now her eyes found the Duke of Norfolk. The man whose life she'd come to end. Jovial as he seemed, he was pushing hard for another invasion of her homeland, Eire. Support behind the imperialist policy was growing with the religious fervor of the time. Young Howard may not be pious himself but he wasn't above using those that were to quash the rebellious Catholics to the North.

"I was travelling to stay with my Uncle at the University. I was about to settle in for the night when poor Talat became spooked and well, you saw how I ended up."

 

[LeChatNoir]

The burly knight regarded the young woman with a mixture of paternal concern and suspicion. It was a little too convenient that here she was, traveling to the University along his roads just when Norfolk happened to be here. Not to mention the fact that she somehow managed to spill herself into the stream right in their path. On the other hand, she was obviously young, obviously cold, and obviously soaking wet. And maybe she was exactly what she seemed – a young woman on her way to stay with her uncle, with the misfortune to have a high-strung horse during the spring rains. He sighed, shaking his head. Too many years, too many plots, and too many friends and enemies both dead. He could take the girl at face value, at least for the moment.

A compact gesture brought Ralf running up with another blanket, which he awkwardly draped over the girl’s already-covered shoulders. “Here, this should help,” the young man stammered, obviously a bit overwhelmed by the girl. Stapleton waved him away, an exasperated expression on his bearded face. “Go and tell Jon Steward that we’ll have another mouth to feed at table, tonight.” The baronet turned back to the girl. “What’s your name, lass? I’m Sir Geoffrey Stapleton, and these are my lands.” He glanced pointedly at Norfolk, willing him to silence as to his own identity. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to accompany us back to my castle. It’s rather modest, but it’s the only civilization for ten miles, and you’re obviously in no shape for further travel today.”

“If you don’t mind,” Stapleton said to the Duke, “I’ll send a few of my men on ahead to see if they can shoot us some dinner. I’m afraid that the safety and health of the young woman takes precedence – if we don’t get her out of those wet clothes, she’ll catch her death of cold before the week’s out.” He knew that Norfolk had already mentally had her out of those wet clothes some time ago, and he would have to confess that he’d done the same on first seeing her.

 

[NessaCary]

Veronica tightened the blankets around her and painted an expression of distress on her face. "Oh, no! I simply couldn't impose in that way, Sir Stapleton." She tugged lightly on Talat's reins and made as if she was getting ready to mount. "Surely there's an inn nearby where I could purchase clothing and sleep by a warm fire."

His suspicion came off so strongly, she could nearly smell it. Howard, on the other hand, had an entirely different kind of aura. She very much doubted the clergy would be too impressed with the way he was eyeing her. Perhaps, she though, I'd do better to go for the kill directly. I could almost certainly get into his bed tonight.

But, no. Her father had taught her much better than that. The more removed you are from the kill, the better. Howard was the target and Stapleton, the mark. If she did her job well enough, Stapleton may even defend her if she stuck around long enough after his friend was dead. It was better to leave with a good reputation. The worse she left things, the less she would be able to accomplish in the future. So she'd stick with the knight but she'd have to make it a more drawn out affair than initially planned.

"And my name is Maria," she met his eyes again and smiled shyly. "Maria McClaren of Kinneil House." She attempted a curtsey, lifting the horse blanket rather than the shreds of her skirt.

 

[LeChatNoir]

The knight chuckled good-naturedly at her attempt at a curtsey. “Well, Maria McClaren, you’re lucky we were out hunting this morning. It would have been a long, cold walk to the castle. The nearest inn is even farther away, so you’d likely have frozen before you made it anywhere close. It’s not all that cold out, but the way you’re dressed wouldn’t give you much protection, particularly sopping wet.”

He chivalrously offered to help her into the saddle, then swung up onto his own horse and led the group back towards home. Norfolk elected to remain with the hunters, to see if he could spare something of the day’s entertainment. Sir Geoffrey found himself hoping that, if nothing else, the Duke would kill something and therefore come back in a good mood. His Grace had a bad temper, for all that he was generally a decent lord, for all that he had some blind spots regarding the Irish and Catholicism in general. Stapleton was not particularly religious, though like all Englishmen of the time, he made public allegiance to the Church of England. When at home, he tended to occupy himself with actual work, rather than religious activities.

After an hour or two of riding, the party approached the modest castle that Stapleton called home. Over the years, a village had grown up outside the gates, and now there was a small town living in the shadow of its stony protector. “And now, Miss McClaren, you are welcome to Riverwatch, my home. I’m afraid that it’s rather full up of guests at the moment, so we will have to see what we can find you by way of rooms. Do you have some dry clothing that you can change into? If not, I think that the cook may have a daughter about your size, perhaps we can persuade her to part with a few items until yours dry out.”

 

[NessaCary]

That evening, she found herself dining with the duke and baronet as she knew she would. The men sat on either end of the long table and she sat between them on the long edge of the table. Apparently the hunt hadn't been successful. The cook had prepared cornish hens with some sort of fruit glaze and potatoes.

"I certainly hope that I didn't scare all of the game away, Duke." She commented lightly, sipping her wine. "Though, Sir Stapleton's cook has proved her merit once again."

The Duke's eyes followed her glass to her chest and his lips quirked at the cleavage spilling out of her dress. The cook's daughter was not quite her size, as Stapleton had guessed, but a bit smaller. Not too small to fit into, but small enough that her stomach and chest were clearly defined.

"It's a shame," Howard commented drly, "that the dear cook's daughter is so petite. I suppose, then, that since your luggage was swept down river you'll have to stay here until the seamstress has had time to equip you with at least one or two things to wear. You can't possibly show up to see your Uncle in that."

Again, she allowed herself to blush, and looked down at her food.

"I couldn't possibly impose for so long. Tomorrow, I can send word to my Uncle and he'll surely send me the funds for a stay at the inn and supplies for the rest of the journey."

Howard simply harrumphed around his fowl.

 

[LeChatNoir]

The baronet, for all that his demense was among the poorest in the duchy, set a good table. His cook, in addition to having a rather pretty daughter, was known for some distance as a near-genius, and Stapleton was always free with his claret and wine. As he sat at the high table opposite the Duke of Norfolk, he took a deep draught of said claret from his goblet and watched Norfolk eyeball the girl’s breasts. Not that he could really blame the duke, as her dress was scandalously tight across the bosom – Cook’s daughter hadn’t been an exact duplicate, size-wise – but surely decorum had some boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. Sighing, he took another drink.

“So, Miss McClaren,” Stapleton asked, “you mention an uncle at the University? Why are you heading to him? Are your own parents unwell, perhaps? You do know that even if you send him a message this very evening, he’ll probably not receive it for several days. His own reply will take as long, assuming he’s as diligent as can be, so you had probably better prepare yourself for a stay of a week or so here at Riverwatch. I confess that I do not know your background, or your own skills.” The knight stroked his short beard. “Perhaps you would like to temporarily join my household, while you are here? I’m sure that my steward can find something useful for you to do, and I am more than willing to pay you for any talents you may have.”

Turning back to the duke, he added, “That seems to be very close to your own schedule, your Grace. Are you still planning on leaving Tuesday next?” The duke nodded his assent around a mouthful of potatoes.

Sir Geoffrey wrenched a leg from one of the fowl with a strong hand. “So, Maria, what talents might you have? I confess that I don’t recognize the name of your house. Are you from somewhere here in Norfolk?” He made a conscious effort to speak to her eyes, not her cleavage.

 

[NessaCary]

If Veronica noticed the innuendo behind the Duke's query, Maria did not. And so, Maria smiled sweetly at him.

"I can sew." She paused a moment and swallowed before moving on.

"My parents..." She answered the first question with eyes averted. "My mother was a seamstress. She died giving birth to me and my father was a spice trader. We lived in Bo'ness, I did the mending and sewing at Kinneil House while he was away and in return, they took responsibility for me in my father's absence. The Viscount treated me as one of his own."

She paused to take a delicate bite of the roasted yams and wiped her mouth. Blinking a few times, she smiled politely at first the Duke and then the Baronet.

"I would have liked very much to have stayed but my inheritance is contingent upon my guardianship. My uncle insisted."

The cover that her and her father had discussed was designed to further push the damsel in distress idea. Stapleton was no fool and it would be apparent to him what her invented uncle intended. Should Maria McClaren never get married, he would control whatever fortune her imagined father had accumulated for all of his life. Having a young girl sequestered away in the country would be enough to at least delay any sort of matches, and a clever man would make sure her dowry and other...assets, would be kept secret.

A moment of silence followed in which the girl twirled her fork, seemingly lost in thought. When she looked up finally, the men appeared to be having a wordless conversation across the table.

"Your offer is very generous, sir. And I'd be honored to accept your hospitality on the condition that I work. Should you already have a seamstress, I would be happy to assist in anyway you see fit. My father also saw to it that I was able to assist with sums and affairs of business and the household, though, as a woman, that may not be my place."

 

[LeChatNoir]

A frown creased Stapleton’s brow as he listened to the young woman talk about her background. Certainly a shame to have lost one’s mother so early, but then to be at the mercy of this unnamed uncle for her inheritance, and to be stuck away at the University, surrounded mostly by the clergy must have made for a very sheltered upbringing. No wonder the girl said that she knew her sums, there would have been very little else for her to do. “That’s quite an unfortunate tale. What age do you have to attain before you come into your full inheritance? Or did your father set it up so that your governance lasts until your marriage?”

The knight, given his own humble upbringing, had no objections to a woman who knew sums or business accounts, but he still wasn’t completely convinced by the young woman sitting at his table. “My steward takes care of my household accounts, Maria, and I have to admit that I’m loath to allow someone I’ve only met today by fishing her out of a stream access to all of my household information. However, there may be some ways that you’re able to assist him. I will ask him tomorrow morning. I’m certain, though, that any household can always use someone who is good with a needle and thread. Molly Barker does most of our sewing, but since I do not have a wife or daughters, she could probably use both company and assistance.”

Having finished his meal, Stapleton leaned back in his chair, goblet of claret still in his hand. He glanced across the table at Norfolk, who had likewise finished, and finished a great deal of his wine, as well. The man was growing soft with that easy life of a duke, stouter and more florid in the face than Sir Geoffrey remembered from earlier visits. May 15th, come around again, and this one with a new mystery in the form of Maria McClaren. At least they kept life interesting

 

[NessaCary]

They finished their meal and Veronica found it hard not to be herself as the two gentlemen bantered. She knew that if not for her presence, they would be relaxed and easy. They would become more comfortable, she hoped, after a few days. Perhaps she shouldn't have played the innocent damsel in distress. The man crusading for Protestant values was clearly a mantel worn by the Duke only in the public forum.

Quite frankly, it had been to long since Veronica had been able to be herself. Though she attempted to smother her sentimentality, she found herself gossiping with Molly the next morning. The freckled seamstress was rather sharp and all the banter that had been missing at the dinner table the night before was quickly compensated for in the morning. Miss Barker was indeed relieved to have the company and the help.

"Oh, heavens!" She'd said upon first seeing the guest. "Perhaps our first order of business ought ta' letting out that dress a yours."

Veronica's smile was genuine. When they'd let out her dress, mended the tears in the nobility's clothing, patched the holes in the servants', and finished all they could without measurements on new garments Veronica offered to help with the laundry. Her clothes were fresh and set out to dry and that was how Stapleton found her that afternoon. She and Molly were giggling like children Maria recounted her accident. It was highly embellished, of course, given that it hadn't actually happened at all. When the knight came up, it was just in time to witness Maria throwing herself on the ground with her legs in the air and shrieking while Molly slapped her knee in mirth.

 

[LeChatNoir]

Sir Geoff had gone to bed that night with a bit of a headache. The wine hadn’t caused it, though he’d had enough that he couldn’t have complained if it had, but rather Maria McClaren caused it. She was proving to be a dilemma, and Stapleton had historically only had one solution for dilemmas –he’d killed them, often at Norfolk’s command. Once he had returned from the wars and been rewarded, he had turned out to have quite a talent for palace intrigue – the behind-the-scenes wars constantly being fought between royal favorites, royal children, and associated hangers-on. Stapleton had, he thought completely correctly, grateful for his rise, and so had associated himself with the Howard family and the Duchy of Norfolk. This had been a turbulent time, with the deaths of several monarchs, changes in religion, and political infighting of a viciousness not seen since the Wars of the Roses.

McClaren was causing him problems. He wanted to trust her, to believe her story, but there was something about it that niggled at his brain, that wouldn’t let him sleep easily. Perhaps it was something about her rescue – so he played that scene over and over again in his mind. No, that wasn’t it. Perhaps it was something about her manner – that was closer, but it still wasn’t right. Finally, sleep claimed him, and when he awoke the next morning, he felt greatly refreshed if not particularly inspired by whatever dreams he may have had.

Setting out, after a decent breakfast of eggs and ham, he found the source of his problems deep in girl-talk with Molly Barker. In fact, as he rounded the corner into the sewing room where Molly preferred to work, he caught a glimpse of Maria sprawled on the floor in a most unladylike fashion, apparently re-enacting the accident which led to her dunking and subsequent rescue by his huntsmen. A grin on his face, the baronet leaned against the doorjamb and watched for a few moments, his heavy arms crossed across his broad chest. “And exactly where is the part where my poor falconer was torn between whether to save his dignity, and therefore let you drown, or drown his dignity, and therefore touch your bare thighs?” he asked, his tone bantering.

 

[NessaCary]

Molly 's jaw fell in mock-horror before she smirked at her master and the stranger. Maria, for her part, allowed a blush but rose to the challenge in Stapleton's eyes. Standing up, she smoothed her skirt primly and leaned casually against the manor wall. She bit her lip slowly, tugging it into her mouth and releasing it slowly before licking her lips.

"The poor dear," she grinned and looked thoughtful. "I'll have to find a way to make it up to him, I'm sure." She let the thought stand a moment, allowing the knight to imagine the ways she could make it up to him. "Perhaps a new jacket..."

They spoke amicably for a few minutes, and the knight invited both young women to formal dinner that evening. Commoners would never be allowed such rights if the duchy followed the more formal protocol of the more prestigious houses. Molly was thrilled and after Stapleton left, Maria assured the seamstress she'd help her get ready.

They finished the rest of their work quickly and Maria kept her word. She rimmed the freckled girl's eyes in kohl and lengthened her lashes, evened her complexion with powder and piled her curls artfully on top of her head. Molly looked fantastic and Maria kept her own look understated. No cosmetics and a simple plait in her long auburn hair. Now that her borrowed dresses were taken out, they fit snugly but appropriately. She completely intended to take the opportunity to observe quietly.

With Molly all trussed up, there were appreciative noises of appreciation when they entered the room. Veronica couldn't hide her smug smile as they took their seats. The reason they had been invited was clear. A passing caravan of nobles had apparently decided to stop and it seemed the menfolk thought a feminine presence would brighten the meal.

They were halfway through dinner when a messenger slipped in and began a hushed conversation with the man who had been introduced as Duke Eddington. Veronica noted the exchange, leaning forward to try and read their partially obscured lips. When the messenger looked up, they locked eyes momentarily and Veronica's heart stopped.

She knew him...intimately. Her wine goblet hit the floor and shattered.

 

[LeChatNoir]

Stapleton grinned as the girl bantered right back at him. This Maria had some life in her, and that flirtatious nip of her lower lip…he began to suspect that the girl had a very good idea of exactly what that gesture did to most men – himself included. A dinner invitation seemed a small price to pay for genuine amusement, and so he extended one to both Maria and Molly. Molly had dined in the great hall before, but it had been quite a while since that honor had been bestowed on her, and she reacted with appropriate excitement.

Leaving the two young women to their work, the baronet went about his own tasks. A word to a smith here, a quick demonstration of a sword parry to a guard there – Stapleton had a reputation as a hands-on lord, and his people loved him for it. He wasn’t afraid to help a goodwife catch a runaway goose, but he also wasn’t afraid to strap on a shield and have a tilt with one of his men-at-arms or argue the calculation of his household budget with Jon Steward. Somehow, despite his willingness to get his hands dirty, he maintained an air of control and command, and his subjects would have walked through a wall for him, had he but ordered it.

The night’s dinner was made a bit more interesting by the presence of Duke Eddington of Cornwall, and by Molly Barker’s new appearance. The worthy Duke was on a tour of eastern England, his own duchy being tucked away in the far southwest, and the Duke of Norfolk and Stapleton were more than happy to host his very small party of retainers. Eddington was good company, despite his almost indecipherable accent, and the wine and claret flowed freely again. Molly drank two glasses to most other people’s one, and was therefore quite the entertainment as the evening progressed.

Stapleton made the rounds of the tables, as a host should, and was engaging the Duke of Cornwall in conversation about hunting hounds when one of the Duke’s retainers approached with a message. Not wanting to pry into their private conversation, Sir Geoffrey glanced around the room, his eyes lighting on Maria. Her long, red hair was gathered in a simple braid, and she seemed to have gone to some lengths to let Molly be the one to shine, tonight. That was quite considerate of her, Stapleton thought, his eyes traveling up and down her body for a moment or three. Quite an attractive girl…but wait, what? He saw her stare at the Duke’s retainer, who gasped audibly. At the same time, Maria’s (very expensive) glass goblet hit the floor with a noise that seemed as loud as a shot. Stapleton began to rise to his feet as the retainer screamed, “You murdering slut! Grab her! She killed the Earl of Landingham!”

 

[NessaCary]

It was split second decisions like these for which Veronica O'Donnelly had been trained. The lessons in acting and artifice, philosophy, stealth, and combat. She allowed the shock of being discovered to show on her face, feigning the bewilderment of the innocent. Blinking rapidly, she allowed tears to form and began to shake softly. As much as she wanted to survey the reactions of the other members of the table--she focused instead on the performance. She'd dropped the goblet and it was simply too late to play it off like the valet was mad. Until she'd gauged the others, it was best to put herself on the offensive.

The questions rolled in and she began to sob, clinging to Molly's dress. Eddington loudly demanded an explanation and Veronica chose not to interrupt him until he was nearly halfway through the true story. She'd slipped cleanly away, of course, and the murder had been blamed on a stable boy with a grudge.

"And that bitch slipped out of bed that very night...she was gone in the morning, I swear, and that's about when the Earl was rightly found dead in his bedroom."

Sniffling, Maria lifted her head from Molly's gown, and said, shakily but quite clearly.

"You nasty liar!" He attempted to continue his story a moment or two more and she cut him off, demanding attention by the softness of her voice rather than screaming.

"Henry of Lambeth," his eyes softened when she said his name for just a moment. "I am not, nor have I ever been, in the employ of Landingham. It's a matter of public record. Most certainly, I've never met him. You--you, however, I have met and it was absolutely not under the circumstances you're inventing. M-my virtue..." she allowed her voice to break and Molly stopped looking from her to the man in bewilderment and turned a gaze of ire instead to the new arrival. "is intact, no thanks to your efforts."

Fortunately for Veronica, he looked angry rather than confused. Probably, he'd loved her and that was to her advantage. The emotion lent credence to her story.

She turned to Stapleton, tears in her eyes still. "This man worked for my father very briefly before leaving Scotland. Not a soul on the mainland would hire him after he was banished...he tried...he tried to..." She swallowed. "He attempted to sully my reputation, to say the least."

"Lying bitch!" Henry screamed, "Whore of Satan, I'll see you burn in hell."

She averted her gaze. Henry had been in Scotland, she knew, and that too would play in her favor. They believed it, she knew, all of them including Eddington. Except Stapleton--suspicion turned those grey eyes that had been lit like silver this afternoon hard and cold. The assassination would simply have to happen tonight. Come dawn, the shrewd knight would certainly have had time to let that suspicion grow.

 

[LeChatNoir]

The evening had started out with such promise, Stapleton thought. Cook had gotten the beef to just the right degree of medium rare, the wine was particularly good, and Maria and Molly had both looked quite lovely. The presence of his old friend Norfolk had been icing on a very nice cake, and even the appearance of Duke Eddington of Cornwall hadn’t been too much of an imposition – plus, the man himself was very entertaining. However, the mood had definitely taken a turn for the worse with Duke Eddington’s retainer’s accusation.

Henry of Lambeth’s angry, and seemingly jilted, accusation of murder seemed initially farfetched. The young Scot offered no proof of his claims, only that Maria had lain with him for a while, and then disappeared just as Landingham was found dead in his own bedroom. An interesting coincidence, to be sure, but for now, there was not any reliable evidence that it was anything more than that However, there was nothing to disprove it, either.

Maria’s reaction could well have been genuine. The tears, the breathy denial, her own counter-accusation of attempted rape at worst, and at the least cruel and ungentlemanly behavior, all were completely believable and the sort of behavior she alleged was sadly not uncommon. If it were true, Henry of Lambeth was the worst sort of young nobleman, a kind unfortunately not in short supply. If it were not true, however, then Maria was an accomplished actress, a masterful liar, and a very, very dangerous woman. Stapleton was inclined to believe her, but for one thing – the oh-so-convenient nature of their meeting, and her sad and compelling story of the overbearing uncle who kept her locked away from the world. Something about that still rang false, but again, no proof existed either way.

The baronet looked from one to the other, eyes calculating and probing, as if trying to burn the truth out of them with the intensity of his gaze. At last he shrugged his heavy shoulders and turned to where Norfolk and Cornwall sat at the high table. “Your Graces, I fear that I cannot determine the truth of the matter at this point. The girl’s story is believable, though I cannot speak to the character of Henry of Lambeth. On the other hand, Henry’s story, while strange in the extreme, is certainly possible. I think that the only resolution is to keep both of them separate tonight, and then for everyone to go his or her own way in the morning. In the meantime, I will speak with each of them privately, and acquire as much detail as possible in an attempt to ferret out the truth of what happened. I would caution you all, on the chance that Henry’s story is true, to look to your own safety tonight.”

Cornwall and Norfolk both nodded, and Norfolk beckoned his liegeman closer, and whispered some words into the baronet’s ear. Stapleton nodded slowly, and bowed. “Aye, your Grace.”

 

[NessaCary]

The knight spoke with Lambeth first. Veronica knew exactly what the man would be telling him, as it was the truth. It had been her very first assignment, and she now knew better than to use a man and then disappear immediately. Either tie off the loose ends of stay long enough for leaving to look natural. She'd done neither. The dopey retainer had been an easy target. The moment she arrived in town, he'd helped her seek employ at Earl's estate. A romantic relationship soon ensued as he could easily meet her needs. He knew the castle, the help, schedules and provided shelter and a buffer between her and the rest of the servants and the nobles. The night in question, she had meant to get him good and drunk and leave him with the murder weapon in hand. His proposal had completely thrown her off guard, however, and things got sloppy.

While Lambeth and Stapleton, she sat quietly in the main room. Cook had fixed a wonderful pudding and Norfolk insisted it not be put to waste. The Duke eyed her speculatively as they ate, or in Maria's place, spun the pudding on her spoon. Finally, he meekly apologized for what had happened to her. She smiled wanly and inclined her head in acknowledgment. His eyes showed only sympathy, wonder, and the same salacious desire that had been there from her entrance.

What felt like hours later, Stapleton returned to the great hall. His face was grim and he looked expectantly at her. She rose, curtseyed to the rest of the table awkwardly and took his proffered hand, following him into the corridor with downcast eyes. Her story was straight, she'd had time to solidify the details.

 

[LeChatNoir]

By the time Stapleton had finished with Lambeth, it was getting late. The young man had spun quite a tale, involving a beautiful young woman who had basically seduced him, used him for his information, secured a place in the Earl’s household with his assistance, then fled under cover of darkness before the Earl’s body was discovered. The tough part was, it could have been true. Maria, or whatever her name she was using at the time she’d encountered Lambeth, could in fact be a cold-hearted assassin hell-bent on causing havoc in his own household. The parallels could not be overlooked.

On the other hand, if she had told the truth in her initial denials, Lambeth had every reason to lie. However, he had given Stapleton one very useful, and very personal, piece of information. Whether or not it turned out to be useful was another question, but Stapleton was now ready to speak with Maria. He made his way from the tower room where Adam was now resting under guard to the main hall, his booted feet ringing on the flagstones. He caught Maria’s eye, and beckoned her to meet him. Thinking that a gentlemanly approach might serve his purpose, and mindful of the fact that she might, after all, turn out to be an innocent and wealthy young heiress, he offered her his hand and led her down the corridor to a waiting, unused room.

Upon entering, he gestured for her to sit in the lone chair, and closed the door firmly behind them. “Miss McClaren, I do apologize for the difficult situation we are all in. Please be assured that my only hope is to get to the bottom of this quandary as quickly as possible, so that we may all go about our lives.” He leaned against the heavy door, his arms crossed over his chest. “Miss McClaren, you stated that Adam of Lambeth was guilty of very crass behavior towards your person. I do not wish to pry into your personal affairs, but I fear that I must in order to make a full and accurate accounting of this incident to my own lord. Therefore, I must ask you how far Adam of Lambeth progressed in his assault upon your virtue.”

 

[NessaCary]

How far Henry had progressed in his assault?

She certainly hadn't expected such frankness. Her answer was, naturally, already prepared. Where Veronica was well-versed and comfortable discussing such matters, Maria would be meek. The blush that colored her cheeks was by now a familiar feeling and she opened her mouth to speak, choking on the words. Maria found herself unable to speak and meet the knight's eyes at the same time. Not when discussing something like this.

"As I said," she began, smoothing her hands over her dress. Her nerves about getting caught were helpful, playing them off as the nerves of an innocent young woman. "My father had originally hired him to do his accounts and manage his business while he was abroad. An aunt lived with both Henry and I before I was sent to stay with the Viscount. We were both awake late one night, as I was assisting him with the accounts. Dear Aunt Lucilla was sound asleep..." She allowed herself another tear. "There was a moment when our hands touched. It wasn't the first, we'd even stolen a kiss or two before. Tonight though, his hands ventured where the shouldn't. I protested and he ignored my protests. He did not...consummate his desire." Another tear and a harsh inhale. "When Lucilla awoke to my screams, my corset was loose and my shift torn but no 'real damage' had been done."

She swallowed and looked up at him with wetted eyelashes. His silence throughout her story had unnerved her and she found herself unwilling to meet his eyes. Something felt wrong. The urge to bite her lip or turn and run swelled in her stomach and she had to battle to stay rooted in her seat. She doubted he'd mistake her avoidance of eye contact as shame but to meet his eyes would be too bold. Doubt. It tasted like bile in the back of her throat and she choked it down.

 

[LeChatNoir]

The knight slowly shook his head. “Oh, Maria, Maria, Maria. Do you really think that I would ask you a question like that without a way to know if you’re telling the truth? You know that I’ve already spoken to Adam of Lambeth.” Stapleton pushed himself away from the door and closed half the distance between him and the seated girl, his arms still folded over his chest, his eyes as hard as iron as he regarded her.

“I can discover whether or not you are telling the truth about you and Adam quite easily. The problem is that knowing the truth about that does not entirely answer the other question, which is whether or not you had anything to do with the death of the Earl of Landingham…And, of course, what you’re doing here, in my home.” A scowl crossed the baronet’s face as he contemplated that for a moment more. “If it is proven that you have abused my hospitality in order to commit an act of murder in my home, girl, you will wish you had never been born, that I promise you.”

He watched her face for a short time, letting the impact of that last statement sink in. “Shall I tell you what Adam of Lambeth told me?” He took another step towards her chair. “He told me of a mole in a particular spot on your body. I don’t think that it’s anywhere that would show with a loosened corset or a torn shift, not unless you mean a lot more by ‘loosened’ than I would. Would you care to guess where he said this little spot lies, Maria? Or whatever your name may be? Because, once you tell me, we’re going to check to see if it’s there or not. If you’re very convincing, I may let Molly or one of the other ladies of my household do the looking, but if you’re not very convincing, I’m going to do the looking myself. And, if I do let one of the ladies do the looking and something happens to her?”

He paused.

“Do I really need to explain what’s going to happen, should you injure a member of my household?”

“Now, it may be that we do the looking, it isn’t there, and then we know that Adam of Lambeth is a liar and not to be trusted. But for some reason, I think I’m going to find it right where he said it was.”

 

[NessaCary]

Of course! The little weasel had told them about her mole. She had never figured him to be so clever. After all, he'd been pliant enough for her to easily use. The flush she'd grown accustomed to wearing as Maria was not coy innocence but anger as she finally met the baronet's eyes. That was a man she was unlikely to underestimate.

"Milord, I'll do whatever you deem necessary to resolve this matter," her voice was even. "Though, I would very much prefer that a lady look."

It took half an hour to settle on the arrangements. Molly, perhaps, would lie for her but that was unlikely and Stapleton had insisted that both Molly and cook were to examine her upper thighs and the intimate area that Lambeth had mentioned. A servant was sent to fetch them and Stapleton's eyes bored into her the entire time. She was not trusted to be left alone for a single moment. She was surprised when Norfolk returned with them. He and Stapleton waited in the back of the room politely as Molly and cook were filled in.

"Oh goodness!" Molly exclaimed, blushing. "That's so...so...indecent. Maria would never kill anyone, anyway! She's clumsier than a three-legged dog."

Cook snorted, gruffly. "Won't 'urt ta check. Let's just be dun with it, then."

Veronica had covered her thumb with powder from her face and wetted it discreetly while Stapleton was explaining. A screen was set up and she sat behind it with the other women and pulled her skirts up revealing her simple chemise, which she pulled up also. Her sex was bare and neatly trimmed and the mole on her inner thigh directly below it was obscured by her thumb.

"Move yer hand, then, lass," Cook said gruffly. Veronica did, smearing the light concealer over it. The shadow of her leg combined with the makeup did the trick nicely, neither woman was about to stick their head between her thighs. After a beat, Cook left the screen with a shy Molly trailing.

"Ain't no mole, milord."

Veronica contained her sigh of relief and dropped her skirts. Her eyes were overbright with triumph as she met Stapleton's. Norfolk raised a brow and made a tsk-ing sound. Though she didn't think he suspected her, she could tell all the activity amused him.

"Geoff, I daresay that since the matter is so serious, one of the men ought to check. After all, this is a matter of life and death and certainly the words of two uneducated, though beautiful, women are not enough." He smiled at the ladies, throwing in a wink so as not to offend them.

 

[LeChatNoir]

The duke and the baronet stood near the door as Cook and Molly conducted their admittedly brief examination. Stapleton tried to keep his mind open as he watched and waited, and only paid half-attention to Norfolk’s off-color jokes and commentary in his ear. Preconceived notions of who was telling the truth and who was lying would only get in the way of finding out whether or not he was actually harboring a dangerous potential assassin in his own household. He had no desire to meet Landingham’s fate, or to have anyone who was a guest in his home end up dead.

His ears pricked up a bit as Cook instructed Maria to move her hand away from, he assumed, her sex. Not surprising that she would want to cover up, but how convenient that her modesty allowed her to cover the area in question. The actual inspection of the area went very quickly, but he could imagine that this was rather uncomfortable duty for both Cook and Molly, though Cook at least had raised three daughters of her own, and therefore couldn’t be completely ill at ease when faced with the female body.

When Cook announced that there was no mole, he nodded slowly, then thanked and dismissed the two women as Norfolk, true to form, suggested that he or Stapleton ought to do the looking themselves. He glanced over at Maria before answering, just in time to catch her look. Was it relief? No, he didn’t think it was. It looked more like victory than vindication.

“My lord,” Sir Geoffrey replied, “of course, you do have the right to conduct your own inspection. You are my liege lord, and your word is my command. However, perhaps I could spare you this sort of indignity and do the inspection myself, if you really want one done. Should she be artfully concealing something, after all, it’s far more likely that you are her target than me. I’m just an old knight, not one of the most powerful Dukes of the Realm. I’d hate to leave you alone with her and,” he winked, “have her produce a knife from somewhere and gut you right here on my own floor.”

“Besides, your Grace, if we left her alone with you, we’ll be having to do this investigation all over again after she says that you tried to besmirch her virtue. Of course, I know you. You’d be guilty.”

 

[NessaCary]

An indignant noise escaped Veronica's lips as she heard their conversation. She took a steadying breath and looked between the two men looking at her. Norfolk clearly wanted nothing other than the chance to fuck her. If Stapelton would just leave the two of them alone, she'd dispatch of him and she'd be gone by the time the rest of the household caught on. The clever baronet had clearly already realized that.

"Milords," she said, letting exasperation color her tone, "perhaps we should just have me parade around the town completely uncovered. Surely, someone will spot the mark I supposedly have. Or perhaps we could tie me up toss me in the river and if I sink, we'll know I'm innocent." She raised an eyebrow, acting as though now that her innocence seemed secure, she knew it to be so. Maria would.

Norfolk chuckled good-naturedly and shook his head. "Darling, we all know you'd sink. It has been demonstrated clearly enough. I assure you, however, that were you in danger, we'd exercise as much precaution as we are now. Geoff, I'll leave you to it then."