Page 37 of Lord of Mistrust

He could feel Sir Mortimer’s eyes upon him and turned to face the man.

“The lady had set out on her own account to find her mother, she told me. After that, she was determined to find you.” It was Sir Mortimer who should feel guilty, abandoning the woman he’d brought to child-bed, and subsequently her daughter. If it hadn’t been for the generosity of the Emmersons in taking her in… Robert narrowed his eyes at Sir Mortimer. Mayhap he’d known all along where Chloe was being brought up—had colluded in it, even. Yet he refused to visit or publicly acknowledge her.

Well, that was his loss. And when he’d paid his debt to Sir Mortimer, and the man no longer had him in his pocket, he’d tell him exactly what he thought of him.

Sir Mortimer said nothing, but his brows came together, his expression growing more inimical by the minute. Robert must remember he was on treacherous ground.

Walsingham glanced at the report again. “Setting aside the unfortunate involvement of Mistress Emmerson, there is the question of your extremely… er… destructive foray into the old fulling mill. Was it necessary to enact such slaughter? The information we might have obtained from these blackguards would have been invaluable.”

“I’m aware of that, Sir Francis, and truly regret the loss of life. In my defense, I was operating alone and with little time left to me. With none to watch my back, I had to disable the ruffians as speedily as possible, lest any harm come to Sir Mortimer’s daughter.”

“So, you felt you had no other choice? I’d so hate to think you dashed in there like any youngblood, with a death or glory attitude. I cannot tolerate foolish bravado amongst my operatives.”

Robert inclined his head at Walsingham. “I assure you—I did not act irrationally. And we still have Master Harris in custody. There’s also the man with the torn ear—has he been captured or interrogated yet?”

“Thereby hangs a tale. I could not find that you ever opened your dispatch, or that our enemies had time to do so either. I understand it did leave your hands for a short while, thanks to Master Harris?”

The pointed stares of both men were becoming distinctly unnerving. Robert lifted his chin.

“I regret that it did leave my hands, sir.” What was coming next? Hopefully, nothing further to do with Chloe.

“The dispatch implicates a certain Lord Brooke in a plot to free Mary Queen of the Scots from Tixall Manor in Staffordshire. ’Tis a clear successor to the Babington plot, and equally as dangerous to the realm. The farrier local to the mill where Mistress Emmerson was held recalls dealing with a foreign-sounding fellow who claimed to be from Staffordshire. He remembered him, he says, because he had a torn ear and—though dressed as a servant—he rode a fine horse. The animal bore a crested shield on its harness, which he didn’t recognize. But he was able to describe it. It turns out to be Lord Brooke’s armorial device.”

Lord Brooke, Lord Brooke. Where had he heard that name before? Robert shook his head. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met the man.”

“Well, it’s my intention that you shall do so soon. Sir Mortimer, would you like to take over at this point?”

Sir Mortimer coughed, and—for the first time since the meeting began—looked uneasy. “I know not if she has told you so, Sir Robert, but Lord Brooke has shown an inclination toward my daughter. Very occasionally, I meet with her uncle to ensure he has sufficient funds to keep her comfortable. That’s how I discovered this association with Brooke.” He took a deep draft from the tankard at his elbow before continuing. “I now find myself in a delicate position. Before I discovered Lord Brooke was under suspicion, I would have given my wholehearted support to the match. Now, of course, there’s no question of a betrothal to Chloe. Yet if I forbid, or rather, instruct Matthew Emmerson to forbid it, Lord Brooke will want to know why. We cannot afford to have anything startle the man. He’ll be on his guard after the massacre at the mill, and any change in Chloe’s family’s demeanor toward him will give him pause for thought. I’ve discussed this with Sir Francis, and we feel Brooke should be closely watched, so we may learn his habits, note those with whom he has regular contact, and keep track of his movements. At the same time, he must be made to feel at his ease.”

Robert pressed his lips together. He had a fair idea where this conversation was going, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

“What Sir Mortimer is leading up to, Sir Robert, is that I have a new commission for you. You are to keep a watchful eye on both Lord Brooke and Mistress Emmerson. On the one hand, you must ensure no harm comes to her. On the other, you must learn everything you can of Lord Brooke.”

Robert ran a hand over his aching arm. Perfect. He was supposed to see Chloe and Lord Brooke together and not intervene. He’d have to suffer Lord Brooke’s courtship of her, encourage it even—yet be unable to explain to her the reason why.

He just couldn’t do it. “I regret, sirs, that I have to decline your offer. I have an injured arm, and need to take my ease—I had thought to return to my manor in Berkshire.” This last was a falsehood—he’d intended to rest up at his London house and see as much as he could of the delectable Chloe.

Sir Mortimer’s bushy eyebrows came together. “May I remind you, Sir Robert—that manor in Berkshire is largely mortgaged to me.”

Robert’s head shot up, and he glared back, his pride stung. “I do not forget it, sir. I’m endeavoring to honor my debt to you through the tasks I perform for Sir Francis.”

“That debt will be written off if you agree to do this.”

Robert stared at Walsingham, then at Sir Mortimer. His debt would be written off? Temptation, indeed! Would it really be so difficult to watch Lord Brooke making calf’s eyes at Chloe, and not strangle the man?

“My deepest apologies, sirs, but I need time to consider my answer. I’m weary, and my arm pains me.”

“Dammit, sirrah, there’s no time to lose.” Sir Mortimer no longer looked uncomfortable. He was not, as Robert had already discovered, a man to be crossed.

Robert leaned forward, touching a hand to his brow. His forehead felt hot as a blacksmith’s fire. “Forgive me. I think I need something to drink and some vittles. When I’m feeling more myself, I shall give you my answer.”

He stood, intending to find a serving wench and order some refreshment, but his body no longer knew which direction was upright. His knees buckled, and he collapsed back into his chair.

Then darkness overtook him.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A week had passed and Robert hadn’t called upon Chloe. He’d thus been spared the ignominy of not being welcomed, but she couldn’t understand why he hadn’t made the attempt.