To Shield the Queen by Fiona Buckley Page B

had been monastic property. There is no mistaking ecclesiastical architecture. Cumnor had two storeys, built round a secluded courtyard, and there were still cloisters along one side. Doorways, windows, all had the distinctive pointed arch, the shape that spoke of prayer and incense.
“It reminds me of Withysham, the old abbey near Faldene,” I said to John Wilton. “Your sister told me she had heard that Withysham was going to be repaired and used as a house, just like this. It’s odd to think of old monasteries being put in order to be used as country homes.”
    “This could do with being put in order, although it’s a home already, mistress,” said John, eyeing it without enthusiasm.
    He was right. Of course, it wasn’t a near-ruin as Withysham had been, the last time I saw it, with lengths of broken-down wall and weeds everywhere. Nevertheless, it was neglected. Grass had sprung up between the cobbles in the courtyard and several slates were missing from the roof. The walls were heavy with ivy, in urgent need of trimming.
    A pair of lurcher dogs ran out barking to greet us, and geese cackled in the courtyard, but we were already dismounting before any of the human inhabitants appeared, and when they did, it was unhurriedly, as though no one were much interested.
    A couple of grooms were the first to present themselves. They came through an archway and went to help John and Martin hold the horses. Then a short dark man in a dull, dark suit emerged from a doorway in the cloistered side of the house, to greet Thomas Blount and Arthur Robsart by name, and announce himself to me as Anthony Forster, Treasurer of the Household.
“You will be Mrs. Blanchard, of course. We are expecting you. You are very welcome.” He didn’t sound over-delighted to see me.
    Master Blount said irritably, “Where on earth is everyone? Are all your servants asleep, Forster?”
    “They are over in the church, Master Blount. We gave them leave to attend a wedding. One of our maids is marrying a fellow from Abingdon. We couldn’t be sure when you would arrive. Ah, Mrs. Blanchard, let me present my sister-in-law, Mrs. Odingsell . . . ”
    A dignified lady with chilly grey eyes had followed Master Forster out. Thomas Blount and Arthur Robsart bowed to her and I curtsied. From yet another doorway came a large lady with iron-grey hair crimped into waves in front of an exotic crimson velvet cap and the rest of her swathed in a voluminous loose dress of magenta satin. She wandered out yawning as though she had just been woken from an afternoon rest, and asked what the to-do was about.
    When I had been explained to her, by Forster and Blount together, she remarked, “Oh yes, we had a letter.” I had been wondering if this were Mrs. Forster, but she now informed me that she was Mrs. Owen, evidently thinking that this should impress me. It didn’t, because I had never heard of Mrs. Owen (or Mrs. Odingsell, come to that). Dudley had not thought to give me the fine detail of how the house was organised and I hadn’t thought to question either Thomas Blount or Arthur Robsart. However, the velvet cap and the magenta satin didn’t suggest a housekeeper, so to be on the safe side, I curtsied to her as well. This seemed to meet with approval.
    The two ladies withdrew into the house, through their different doors, and in a mild flurry of saddlebags being unstrapped and horses being led away, Dale and I were parted from our travelling companions. I glanced, puzzled, at the retreating forms of Blount and Arthur as they went off towards Forster’s doorway. Forster smiled at me. His eyes had a twinkle, but they were too knowing to be attractive.
“They are to have rooms in my wing. Because of her poor health, Lady Dudley rarely accommodates guests in her own wing. They will wash and change and then come to see her. But you will be part of her household and I am taking you and your maid to her straight away.”
    As he led us towards a third entrance,