The Doublet Affair (Ursula Blanchard Mysteries) by Fiona Buckley Page B

letter to reach Lockhill, and he himself wished to make some arrangements for my escort on the journey.
    Now, I said to myself, I must see about getting a passage to France. Yet I still did nothing.
    Two main tasks faced me: one was to visit Thamesbank and gather Meg up; the other was to get Brockley to find me a ship. I wanted Brockley and Dale to come with me, and this would mean extra expense. I had more money than I used to have, but I still couldn’t afford to charter a ship. Unless Brockley could find a captain who was actually bound for the Loire, we might have to land somewhere else and travel overland on hired horses.
    It seemed not only very difficult, but also terrifying, as though I were standing on a cliff edge and trying to summon up the courage to jump. It meant abandoning the shelter of the court and going forth into the world with no official permission. What if I were caught? I was haunted by visions of prison cells, hereor in France. Almost equally alarming in a different way was the prospect of being simply brought back and kept at the court, but with my credit gone. I did not know what to do.
    Two days passed. I had dined with Cecil on Tuesday, and it was Friday before I found the will to act. I lived through a hard morning with Elizabeth and the other ladies, practising a complex new dance, accompanying the Queen to an audience, trying to sound normal, and worrying, worrying. I was free after dinner, and as Dale and I made our way back to my little cubicle, I decided that I must speak to her and to Brockley at once. I must think about Meg, too. If I told the Hendersons that the Queen had asked me to bring Meg to court, I might be able to remove her from Thamesbank without arousing curiosity . . .
    I went into my cubicle, and a letter from Matthew was lying on my bed. Kat Ashley hadn’t been needed this time, to work out who the letter was for, because the name on it was Mistress Ursula Blanchard.
    Dale saw it at the same moment. “Ma’am! Look!”
    “I know!” I snatched the letter up, tearing the paper away from the seal, and sat down on the bed to read it. It seemed to have been written in a hurry. My name, in Matthew’s distinctive script, was written clearly, but the seal was faint, as if the wax hadn’t been soft enough, and the writing inside was straggly.
    My very dear Ursula,
    I have seized a chance to come to England. I must keep out of sight, as I am a hunted man in your country, but I am not far away from you. A boat willawait you at the river gate of Whitehall Palace, every morning at eight for the next few days. When you can, slip away and board it. The boatman will bring you to me. We will think of a way to fetch your little girl, if you wish. Then we will travel to France together. I have to ask you to leave your servants behind for the time being. Too large a party might attract attention.
    In haste, and with love,
    Matthew.
    I turned to Dale, and knew by her face that my joy showed in my eyes. “Matthew’s here. He’s in England. He could be maybe not a mile away!”
    I leapt up and went to the window, looking out across the Whitehall maze of buildings as though I were a mariner at sea, peering for a sight of land; as though by gazing outwards and concentrating hard, I could detect Matthew, find him with my spirit as a pigeon finds its loft.
    It was like a miracle. I had no need, after all, to find my way to my husband through a hostile world. He had come to find me. Moving from the window, I held the letter out to Dale. “Read it if you like.”
    Dale was literate. She scanned the letter almost as quickly as I had. “Oh, ma’am! How wonderful for you. You’re going? Without the Queen’s permission?”
    “Yes, of course! Matthew’s come for me!”
    “I’m glad for you, ma’am. Only . . .” She hesitated. “I don’t quite like you going without me and Brockley.”
    “No, nor do I.” For a moment I felt dampened.“But it seems it can’t be helped,” I said. “I