Air of Treason, An: A Sir Robert Carey Mystery (Sir Robert Carey Mysteries) Read Online Free
Author: P. F. Chisholm
Tags: _MARKED
to avoid the no doubt thoroughly overwhelmed village of Rycote. Lord Norris was entertaining Her Majesty for a few days while she prepared to descend on the university city itself.
They followed the muddy track across pasture covered in molehills until they crested a hill and looked down into the valley of Rycote.
Carey could see at once that not all of the Court was there. He supposed some of them must still be packing up at Sudley or unpacking at Woodstock and a lot of them would have gone straight on to Oxford to grab the best camping and sleeping places. That suited him.
Carey was sure that his father’s household would be setting up in one of the colleges. He could probably have found out where if he’d bothered to ask, but he didn’t want to have to explain to anyone why he had bolted from London on Friday morning. Firstly he had to find his own lord, Robert Devereaux, Earl of Essex, who would certainly be in Rycote Manor and as close to the Queen’s majesty as he could get. Therefore, to find his lord, all he had to do was find the Queen.
Carey stared down at the swollen village, frowning with worry. He had deliberately escaped from his parents, particularly his mother, leaving the best of his men, Sergeant Henry Dodd, behind him in a very ticklish situation. On Friday morning he had faked a large hawking expedition after redeeming his Court suit from pawn at Snr Gomes’ shop. The plan had worked brilliantly and he had been away from the falconers and beaters and dogs by an hour after dawn on Friday, thundering along at a messenger’s pace as he had done so often before, changing horses regularly. He enjoyed doing that, loved the sense of distance destroyed by his horse’s legs. Even having to keep to a slower pace because of the pack pony, he’d made good enough time to get to Oxford by evening.
However he had, no doubt, severely annoyed his father and infuriated his mother, quite apart from leaving Dodd in the lurch. He had done it because he had put together in his mind what had really been going on with the sale of Cornish lands and the Jesuit priest. And it had made a picture that appalled him.
The clue that had given him the whole plot had been that code name “Icarus.” If he was right about who Icarus really was…if…That was why he was here.
Unfortunately, he didn’t think the Earl would want to hear what he had to say, and if he did listen would probably be extremely angry as well. Carey sighed. And that would mean the Queen would be angry with him and so he’d have very little chance of coming away with his warrant or his fee. Particularly not the fee.
Carey scowled at his horse’s ears and pulled again at his regrown goatee as they carried on down the winding road to the village.
There had been a whole host of excellent reasons why he had grabbed at the chance to become deputy warden of the West March under his brother-in-law, Lord Scrope. One reason could be summed up as the problem of the Earl of Essex.
Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, was his second cousin via the scandalous and outrageous Lettice Knollys, the earl’s mother and his Aunt Katherine’s daughter. Carey was related to an awful lot of the Queen’s Court where the ties of blood were both useful and dangerous. With Robert Devereux it wasn’t just about family.
He had liked and admired the man. He still did. There was something about him. But what was it? Time and again the Earl had done something, said something so outrageously stupid or hotheaded that Carey had been on the verge of turning his back on his cousin. Always in the past he had kept faith with the man. But it was becoming more and more difficult.
Take the summer of 1591 for instance. The Earl of Essex had insisted on taking men to France to help the King of Navarre win the throne of France. Carey, up to his eyes in debt again, had gone with him, the first time since the Armada that he had gone to war.
There in the pinched, muddy, and ugly campaign with
They followed the muddy track across pasture covered in molehills until they crested a hill and looked down into the valley of Rycote.
Carey could see at once that not all of the Court was there. He supposed some of them must still be packing up at Sudley or unpacking at Woodstock and a lot of them would have gone straight on to Oxford to grab the best camping and sleeping places. That suited him.
Carey was sure that his father’s household would be setting up in one of the colleges. He could probably have found out where if he’d bothered to ask, but he didn’t want to have to explain to anyone why he had bolted from London on Friday morning. Firstly he had to find his own lord, Robert Devereaux, Earl of Essex, who would certainly be in Rycote Manor and as close to the Queen’s majesty as he could get. Therefore, to find his lord, all he had to do was find the Queen.
Carey stared down at the swollen village, frowning with worry. He had deliberately escaped from his parents, particularly his mother, leaving the best of his men, Sergeant Henry Dodd, behind him in a very ticklish situation. On Friday morning he had faked a large hawking expedition after redeeming his Court suit from pawn at Snr Gomes’ shop. The plan had worked brilliantly and he had been away from the falconers and beaters and dogs by an hour after dawn on Friday, thundering along at a messenger’s pace as he had done so often before, changing horses regularly. He enjoyed doing that, loved the sense of distance destroyed by his horse’s legs. Even having to keep to a slower pace because of the pack pony, he’d made good enough time to get to Oxford by evening.
However he had, no doubt, severely annoyed his father and infuriated his mother, quite apart from leaving Dodd in the lurch. He had done it because he had put together in his mind what had really been going on with the sale of Cornish lands and the Jesuit priest. And it had made a picture that appalled him.
The clue that had given him the whole plot had been that code name “Icarus.” If he was right about who Icarus really was…if…That was why he was here.
Unfortunately, he didn’t think the Earl would want to hear what he had to say, and if he did listen would probably be extremely angry as well. Carey sighed. And that would mean the Queen would be angry with him and so he’d have very little chance of coming away with his warrant or his fee. Particularly not the fee.
Carey scowled at his horse’s ears and pulled again at his regrown goatee as they carried on down the winding road to the village.
There had been a whole host of excellent reasons why he had grabbed at the chance to become deputy warden of the West March under his brother-in-law, Lord Scrope. One reason could be summed up as the problem of the Earl of Essex.
Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, was his second cousin via the scandalous and outrageous Lettice Knollys, the earl’s mother and his Aunt Katherine’s daughter. Carey was related to an awful lot of the Queen’s Court where the ties of blood were both useful and dangerous. With Robert Devereux it wasn’t just about family.
He had liked and admired the man. He still did. There was something about him. But what was it? Time and again the Earl had done something, said something so outrageously stupid or hotheaded that Carey had been on the verge of turning his back on his cousin. Always in the past he had kept faith with the man. But it was becoming more and more difficult.
Take the summer of 1591 for instance. The Earl of Essex had insisted on taking men to France to help the King of Navarre win the throne of France. Carey, up to his eyes in debt again, had gone with him, the first time since the Armada that he had gone to war.
There in the pinched, muddy, and ugly campaign with
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