Read Online Air of Treason, An: A Sir Robert Carey Mystery (Sir Robert Carey Mysteries) by P. F. Chisholm - Free Book Online Page A

Carey said and on that thought, he remembered why he had been so anxious to see Essex. His stomach tightened. He had important information for the Earl about some investments of his and what Carey thought had really been going on. Unfortunately the news was very bad and Carey had been the Queen’s messenger of bad news often enough that he was nervous about it.
    “I heard about you being in some scandalous brawl in the Fleet Prison,” said Essex. “What the devil have you been up to? Is it true you gave Mr. Vice Chamberlain Heneage a bloody nose?”
    “It is, my lord,” Carey said and told him an edited version of the last few weeks of activity. Some of it made Essex tip his head back and shake the church rafters with his bellow of laughter. John Tovey jumped like a startled cat at the noise.
    “But it was the matter that happened later which brought me here, my lord,” he added. “I wanted to talk to you about some lands you’ve bought in Cornwall…”
    Essex’s face suddenly shut down, switching from a handsome boy’s face to something quite masklike.
    “I don’t own any lands in Cornwall.”
    “You don’t?” Carey was shocked. He had been so certain that the code word Icarus meant the Earl of Essex.
    “No. There was a man called Jackson hawking them about a few months ago—recusant lands with gold in ’em, he said—but I don’t own any.”
    “That’s wonderful news, my lord,” Carey said, smiling with relief. “You were absolutely right not to buy. I was very concerned because the whole thing was a lay to coney-catch…people at Court.” He had been on the verge of explaining his theory as to who had set the lay and why, but something stopped him. Essex wasn’t looking at him and his arm was not heavy across his shoulders anymore.
    “Hmm, shocking,” said Essex vaguely. “Well, I didn’t.”
    Alternatively, Essex had indeed bought the lands but had heard rumours already about their worthlessness and was lying about it in hopes of selling them on. Carey studied his face. Most courtiers, like Carey, shaved or trimmed their beards short to a goatee or a Spanish-style spade-shape. Essex, blessed with a luxuriant bush of red curls, grew it as nature wished and combed and oiled it every day. It left less of his face to read. For all his easy manner, Essex was a true courtier. Carey couldn’t be certain if he was lying or not.
    “I’m sure plenty of men at Court have been caught by Jackson’s Papist lay, but not me,” Essex added.
    He had to do it. He had to warn Essex of the real source of the trouble, if only because his own fortunes were still bound up with Essex’s.
    “Perhaps Sir Robert Cecil will be disappointed,” Carey said very quietly, in case any of the other clerks working away at the desks by candlelight as the light faded had been paid to listen.
    Essex’s blue gaze felt like a blow on the head, but then he looked at the boarded higher windows of the church.
    “Yes, he always is, poor crookback.”
    Carey said nothing. Essex had been Burghley’s ward as a boy and had grown up with Burghley’s second son, Robert, who had suffered from rickets as a child. It had never been very likely that they would be friends.
    “So,” boomed Essex, “what are you here for, Sir Robert?”
    Carey paused before he answered because he wanted Essex to help with the Queen’s impossible order. “I’m hoping for my fee for the deputy wardenship,” he explained, “but Her Majesty wants me to do something else first.”
    Essex grunted sympathetically enough and allowed himself to be drawn outside the church walls and into the watery dregs of afternoon. Clouds were marching up from the west in great armies which didn’t bode well for the dancing later.
    He explained the whole circumstance and Essex shook his head.
    “Jesu, rather you than me,” he said. “That’s a nasty matter.”
    “Did your stepfather ever tell you anything about it?”
    Essex shook his head vigorously. “No,