“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Frances said impatiently, “I’ll go and fetch you the ten pounds, and then let’s have done with this money business. There are urgent matters to discuss.” She hurried out, saying, “Listen to your father.”
Christopher could have struck her. He held his tongue until she was gone. “Justine—”
“You understand, don’t you? This means so much to me. I may have failed Mary, but I mean to see justice done for Alice.”
He managed to say, “And so you shall.” Make Mary queen . . . then I will be safe. “But not just yet. I come with a far more important mission for you. You alone hold the key to success.”
He had her attention now. “Success? At what?”
“Peace for Mary. She has fought well, but she knows she has lost. All she wants now is to retire with honor. She wants to give up her Scottish crown, to surrender all claim to any royal privileges. Yes, you heard me aright, Justine. She wants to abdicate.”
The room was so quiet Christopher could hear the workmen far across the courtyard heave a load clattering into their wagon.
Justine looked fascinated, yet wary. “She signed Lord Moray’s abdication paper once, then renounced it.”
“They held a knife to her throat when she signed then. This time, she will abdicate of her own free will. She wants to leave England unburdened of all royal cares and live as a private person in France.”
A smile lit her face. “This is wonderful! It’s what I’ve wanted. It’s best for everyone.”
“But difficult to bring about. The process requires delicate diplomacy. Mary will not write openly to Elizabeth to offer abdication, partly for fear of further weakening her position, partly in anxiety about the reaction of her own supporters. Word of it might inflame them to take up arms while they can still call her queen. She has no wish to ignite a civil war in England. She will not even send Lord Herries to Elizabeth with this offer, lest tongues wag at his coming to court and word gets out. Once Mary has quietly retired to France, her supporters will have no choice but to accept the fait accompli. So, who can she send to Elizabeth with this extraordinary offer? A common porter or footman? No, Elizabeth would not take the word of a menial. It must be someone who stands high enough with her that she will give ear and believe. A person such as your guardian.”
“Lord Thornleigh!”
“And you are the one with the credibility to convey the matter to him, for the very reason that made him recall you in disfavor. Because he knows you love Mary.”
The wonder of it seemed to strike her with the force of a revelation. Her smile became radiant. “Father . . .” She threw her arms around his neck. “How they have misjudged you. They would call you peacemaker, if only they knew!”
22
Justine’s Gift
In her eagerness, Justine stood up in the wherry as it reached the Westminster wharf. She could hardly wait to get out. “Whoa, mistress,” the boatman at the oars warned. Justine almost lost her footing in the river’s chop.
“I’m fine. Put in there.” She pointed to a space opening up among the crowd of tilt boats and wherries taking on passengers and landing them. Her boatman expertly sculled the craft up to the wharf, a noisy stage of jostling lawyers and clerks, gentlemen and common petitioners, all with business at Westminster Hall, the hub of England’s law courts. Men hailing wherries to take them back to the city shouted “Oars! Eastward, ho!” Below the wharf, along the riverbank, poor folk were scavenging fish. The tide, now at its ebb, had flooded so high it had left hundreds of fish flopping on the mudbanks, gasping, reeking, and people were scooping them into baskets.
Westminster Hall’s massive bulk ran parallel to the river, and from the water stairs Justine looked up at its walls, which rose before her like a cliff. The snow had stopped and in the cold blue sky the sun shone, emblazoning victory over the fast-departing clouds. Justine hardly felt the cold. Her father’s words had kindled an energy in her as irresistible as the sunshine. He had given her a gift—Mary’s astounding offer to abdicate. Now she had the power to pass along that gift. Her father had said to take it to Lord Thornleigh, but that was not why Justine had come to Westminster. There was another way to get Mary’s message to Elizabeth.
It came with a risk. She shouldn’t even be out, should be sitting contritely in Lord Thornleigh’s house accepting her disgrace. But she didn’t feel she had done anything wrong, and this was a chance to vindicate herself. Excitement bubbled up in her. Her mission brought sunshine for everyone.
She had been inside Westminster Hall before, and the vastness of the place always awed her with its lofty hammer-beam roof echoing the din of people milling through its humming honeycomb of shops and stalls, and its crowded passages leading to courtrooms and offices and the House of Commons in St. Stephen’s Chapel. She passed a rookery of black-robed lawyers conferring outside the Court of Queen’s Bench. Soldiers of the palace guard patrolled. Judges ambled, trailed by clerks. Pie sellers and booksellers hawked their wares. Today the place was busier than ever with more officials, lawyers, clerks, retainers, and hangers-on, because the commissioners in the inquiry about Mary had reconvened here, joined by the lords of Elizabeth’s entire council.
“The inquiry? In the Painted Chamber,” an elderly clerk told Justine when she stopped him to ask the way. He pointed up a crowded staircase. “Fireworks there today,” he added cryptically as he shuffled on.
Up she went, shouldering through the crowd on the stairs, and was directed to a closed double door where packs of men shouted and argued and pages scurried about with messages. She stopped a freckle-faced page about to go in with an armful of papers. “Do you know Will Croft? Sir William Cecil’s assistant?”
“Master Croft, mistress? Aye, he’s here every day.”
She gave him her name and a penny and sent him in to seek Will. Waiting, giddily impatient, she was aware of the men’s inquisitive glances. It tickled her. If only they knew the news she carried! Her heart thumped when the door opened and Will came out, scanning the crowd, looking for her. She pushed through to him. “Will!”
Astonishment flooded his face. “I thought I’d misheard the boy. What are you—”
“Not here.” People were watching them. “Can you come outside?”
“No, Sir William’s speaking. I must get back.” His bewilderment at seeing her was clear, and so was his discomfort.
It rocked her. Would he never forgive her? Was she mad to have come? No, she thought, taking courage, this is my chance to make everything right. “Then I’ll be quick.”
She took his arm and led him to the edge of the packed staircase. The area was jammed, and raucous with so many people talking, some calling down to others on the lower floor, but between the stair railing and a pillar they found a pocket of privacy. As she let go his arm he caught her hand and held it tightly as though to help him get his bearings at seeing her. At his warm grip she felt blood fire her cheeks, remembering his room in York and the thrill of their lovemaking. She saw that he felt it, too, even in his bewilderment. It made him more flustered and he let go her hand. That she had stolen the letters—her crime, as he saw it—hung between them like a noxious vapor. Justine was torn between shame and a burning urge to defend herself. “I’m glad, at least, Sir William hasn’t held it against you,” she said, hoping they could meet on this common ground. “Being connected to me, I mean.”
His pained look told her she was wrong, though he said nothing. She suddenly imagined what must have happened. Cecil, furious, threatening to discharge him. Lord Thornleigh coming to his defense. Will now working harder than ever to prove himself. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I never thought it would hurt you.”
“Why did you do it?” His voice was almost a plea, and in it she heard his deep need to understand. “Why undermine Elizabeth?”
“I thought I was helping Elizabeth. Helping everyone. If Mary could fight the letters, I thought she could save herself from ruin and Elizabeth would let her go
to France with dignity. Problem solved. It might have been misguided, even foolish, but it was not disloyal.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Actually, it’s not foolish. But why not explain your reasoning to me? We could have discussed it. Did you think you couldn’t trust me?”
She almost smiled. “Will, you live by the law. It’s like a living thing to you, something to be protected. That’s why you’re such a fine advocate. Discuss it? Truly, would you ever have let me copy the letters?”
He didn’t hesitate. “No.”
It took her aback. She had hoped to raise a grudging glimmer of a smile, some acknowledgment that she had been right not to take him into her confidence, but there was none. She saw that he was miserably torn, loving her but struggling to accept what she had done. She felt a clutch of despair. Would they never get back the sweet harmony they had once shared?
“Master Croft!” A page reached Will and handed him a docket of papers. “From my lord Admiral Clinton. For Sir William Cecil.” He flipped open the portable desk on a strap around his neck. “Will you sign, sir?”
Will slipped the docket under his arm, dipped the quill in ink, and scrawled his signature. The page hurried away, closing his desk. Will said to Justine, indicating the docket, “I have to get back.”
“No, wait.” She was bursting to tell him. “I’ve come with news. Please wait.”
“Justine, I can’t, Sir William needs me. Tempers are boiling in there. Mary’s commissioners have withdrawn to protest Elizabeth not giving her an audience, and Elizabeth has sent word that Mary has one last chance to defend herself against the charges. And that’s not all. Elizabeth summoned all her councilors to this final session, but two earls have not come, Northumberland and Westmorland, powerful lords of the North. That worries Sir William. Especially since we’re on the brink of war with Spain.”
“War?” She was horrified. “Is it that bad?”
“Sir William has put Ambassador de Spes under house arrest. We learned that he’s been urging his king to help Mary take Elizabeth’s throne by force.” He gave Justine a probing look, almost suspicious. “You don’t know anything about that, do you?”
His look chilled her. “No.”
He winced as though ashamed his own misgivings. “Of course not. Sorry.” He glanced toward the inquiry chamber doors. “I must go.” He looked pained at leaving her, but started for the doors.
“Will, there’s a solution. I’ve heard from Mary.”
He stopped and turned. Men jostled past him. “What?”
“I bring an extraordinary offer from her. You must hear it.” She beckoned him back to the quiet space behind the pillar. The moment he stood face-to-face with her she whispered, “She wants to abdicate.”
He blinked in shock. Then frowned, disbelieving. Justine was ready for that. She tugged from her sleeve a thin scroll the length of her hand. Her father had given it to her. “Read,” she said.
He unfurled the scroll. She waited, happily impatient, and so grateful to her father. When everyone else had mistrusted her—Lord and Lady Thornleigh, and Will, too—her father had entrusted this crucial mission to her. She felt she was only beginning to know him, and it saddened her that he would soon be gone. He would leave for France with Mary, and likely Justine would never see him again. It seemed cruel—just when she was proud, for the first time, of being his daughter. But she chided herself for that selfish thought. In England he was in danger; in France he would be safe.
Will looked up from reading, wide-eyed. Justine knew what Mary had written:
I authorize the bearer to convey my message of amity to my dear cousin Elizabeth and an invitation to meet with my envoy on an issue of grave importance to both our realms. I pray you, give ear to this bearer. Marie R.
“Yes,” she said quietly, eagerly. “The issue is her abdication.” He was stone still with amazement. “Good Lord.”
Jubilant, she took the scroll from him before he dropped it. “She makes three conditions. First and most vital, this invitation must be accepted before the inquiry brings down its conclusion.”
He pulled himself together. “That may be only a matter of days.”
“Then the meeting must be arranged immediately.”
He said evenly, trying to mask the astonishment that still gripped him, “Seems a reasonable quid pro quo.”
“Master Croft!” Another page was calling him as though in search, his voice thin beyond the milling men. Will didn’t budge. “And the other two conditions?”
“That Elizabeth herself meet with Mary’s envoy, Lord Herries. There is no time for protracted negotiations with some lord sent in Elizabeth’s place. And finally, that the meeting take place in secret, because neither queen can risk the negotiation failing in public. I suggest Kilburn Manor, Sir Adam’s home in Chelsea. I’ll be glad to arrange the details with Lady Frances.” Justine considered it brilliant of her father to have thought of this location. “It is neutral ground, away from court,” she explained, “acceptable to Elizabeth because she holds Sir Adam in such high esteem, and acceptable to Mary because of her trust in me.”
“Her trust in you,” he repeated in wonder. He was utterly still, staring at her, dumbfounded.
Justine plowed on. “Lady Frances is willing, and she will be discreet. No one else will know of the meeting.”
“Master Croft!” the searching page sang out. Justine saw him catch sight of Will and thread through the crowd toward them.
There was no time to lose. “Will, go in and take this,” she said, quickly rolling up the scroll. She held it up for him. “Give the news to Sir William.”
He didn’t move. “Why bring this to me? Why not to Lord Thornleigh?”
“So you can reap the glory.” Her heart swelled with the pleasure of bestowing the gift. She was so keyed up she found it hard to keep her voice low. “No one in London, no one in this whole realm, has the power you now hold, Will. A diplomatic triumph. Tell Sir William, and he shall praise you as the man who relieved Elizabeth of the burden of Mary, the man who delivered peace.” She urged the scroll on him. “There will be little he can deny you.”
A look of awe came over Will’s face. He took the scroll. His eyes were shining. “How skilful you’ve been . . . and I didn’t see it until now. I thought Mary had turned you onto a path away from Elizabeth, away from accord. But no, you just took a different route to get there. You made a friend of Mary, won her trust . . . and look at what you’ve achieved.” He gave a quick laugh of delight. “My Lord, Justine, what an astute diplomat you’ve proved.”
Her heart sang with vindication. “You see? As loyal as even you could hope.”
His look turned sober. “Can you ever forgive me?” He sounded almost choked with shame. “Reporting you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I felt I had to, or . . .” He struggled to find the words. “Or what’s it all for? All the striving to protect Elizabeth and build a strong England. It seemed essential, but . . . I hated informing on you.” He took her hand and held it tight. “I swear, if I could choose again, duty or you, I would choose you.”
“Never mind.” Tears of joy pricked her eyes. “You did what you had to. It’s over.”
He kissed her.
She pulled back. People could see! Though she was so happy she wanted to hold him and kiss him forever. “Go in. Tell Sir William.”
“Yes.” He grinned. “Yes, I will. And then, come with me to see my mother.”
“What?”
“I want to marry you, Justine. I want everyone to know it. Come with me to my mother’s house and we’ll finally get her blessing and then post the banns. We’ll go as soon as I’ve given this message to Sir William. Wait here. All right?”
She hesitated. Meet his mother who was so set against her? But Will’s eager look gave her courage. She nodded.
“Good.” He kissed her again. “How I love you,” he said. And then he was gone.
As soon as she was alone in the crowd her misgivings ru
shed back. Will believed that his mother’s opposition to her was a general objection to his marrying at all, since he still had his way to make in the world, but Justine knew the real reason. She was a Grenville. Will still didn’t know that. She had avoided telling him the truth for so long its significance had slipped to the back of her mind. And now that she did think of it, did it really matter anymore? They loved each other and nothing could change that now. It occurred to her that maybe his mother did not know the true depth of their love. If she did, surely she would reconsider and give them her blessing. Suddenly, meeting her seemed a positive step. Daunting, perhaps, but Justine longed to get her approval.
Lost in these thoughts, she was startled when the door swung open and Sir William Cecil marched out. The crowd parted with a hush to let him pass, the Queen’s most trusted adviser. Will was at Cecil’s side. Justine craned to see past the press of bodies as Cecil and Will hurried down the stairs, vanishing in the throng. What was happening? She pushed her way to the railing and was looking down to catch a last glimpse of Will when a page reached her and handed her a note. Will’s handwriting—the scrawl showed his haste. It said he and Cecil were going to Whitehall to see Her Majesty and he would call on her at the Thornleighs’ house first thing in the morning to take her to see his mother.
So her news had lit a fire! This was good. Yet she felt a stab of disappointment. Newly eager to meet Will’s mother, she would now have to wait until tomorrow. She was so proud of him, though; it appeared he had become indispensible to Cecil.
She started down the stairs, then stopped at a sudden thought. Why not visit his mother herself? Alone with the lady she might win her over. Once, the prospect would have made her cower, but this day had wrought such wondrous things: the resolution of the two queens’ standoff, the joyful reunion with Will, his leap forward in Cecil’s esteem, all of which would bring Justine back into the Thornleighs’ good graces. Why should she not try for one more marvel?
She went east into London, buoyed by hope.
Barbara Kyle - [Thornleigh 05] Page 33