Besides, if his wife had it in her to kill, he might find the like courage. Since he had followed Amy into the woods and listened to her calmly discuss murdering Queen Mary with a government agent, he didn’t know who was capable of what anymore.
***
Amy watched Bess direct her mistress of the wardrobe to pack the bodices she had selected. The countess herself had in her hands a bodice covered in a lattice of red and gold threads. It would be slimming on her, Amy thought. ‘Be sure you get the right sleeves, mind,’ Bess barked. Her voice was always forthright, even when she was being kindly.
The countess seemed to remember that Amy was in the room. She reached down and grasped at her pomander, her brow knitting in remembrance. ‘Of course – yes – what’s your name again, girl?’
‘Amy Cole, my lady.’
‘It’s Mrs Cole, now. You’ll be my needlewoman – my seamstress.’ Amy beamed. ‘Take that daft grin off your face. You’ve never been to Court before, I take it? No, of course you haven’t. Well, you’ve been in a duke’s household. And an earl’s. You know how not to disgrace yourself.’ Amy bowed her head. ‘That’s better. My woman will tell you how to behave on the road. Now, you might borrow one dress of suitable quality. I won’t have the Court think I keep my women in rags, no I won’t.’ She nodded at the unsmiling wardrobe mistress.
Amy’s choice was limited by what the mistress would allow her. She selected a plain russet gown with rose-coloured sleeves. She had no idea if it was a fashionable thing or not, but it looked similar to what some of Queen Mary’s women wore. When she had made her selection, Bess looked it over. ‘Fine taste you have, my girl.’
‘I like the sleeves, my lady. If I could sew up sleeves like this, I’d –’
‘Very good. You can’t wear this to travel. That old thing will have to do for the road. We can make you look like a woman before we reach Windsor. Right, be off with you. Go, and see to … see to it that the small things are packed. Tablecloths, anything we’ll need on the road. You’re no idiot – make yourself useful.’
Amy curtsied and left Bess’s chambers. London, she thought. Well, not really London – Windsor. That was better. It was far enough away from the filthy streets and lousy people of the city. It was far enough away from Tutbury. Idly, she wondered if Queen Mary would ever see London. Elizabeth couldn’t keep her a prisoner forever – even keeping her with the Shrewsburys since January had caused too many problems, too much illness.
She would also be leaving Jack. They had been leading separate lives, but she would have to tell him she was going south. He would be safe at Tutbury, she hoped. Under Heydon’s influence, it was true, but nowhere near Elizabeth. There could be no heroics in the evil old castle. She decided to seek him out and found him leaving the earl’s apartments. He looked surprised to see her. Then a smile crossed his face, his eyes brightening. They cooled.
‘Wife.’
‘Husband.’
‘What ails you?’
‘I thought I should tell you – I’m going south. With the countess. To Court.’
‘What?’ Jack’s brow creased, his mouth falling open. ‘But so am …’
‘The countess is going to see the queen. To beg all of this to stop.’
As if on cue, one of Huntingdon’s soldiers sauntered towards them. ‘What is this, whisperin’ in corridors?’ he asked, a sneer on his leathery face. ‘Move along or I’ll report you to the earl.’
‘I am speaking to my husband,’ Amy said, lifting her chin. ‘Does your master take such an interest in husbands and wives just talking.’
‘If they’re discussin’ treason. Plottin’. You’re right he’ll take an interest, girl.’
‘Treason!’ laughed Amy. ‘I was discussing my wardrobe, if you must know. Have you ever spoken to a woman? Or do they all take one look at your bollock-purse face and run away?’
‘You little slut. I’ll report you for that, see if I don’t.’ The soldier turned and disappeared.
‘You shouldn’t have said that, Amy. You’re making enemies of them.’
‘To the devil with them. Quick, before he comes back with someone: I just … I wanted to say goodbye to you, Jack.’
‘When are you going?’
‘Tomorrow. Early.’ She did not like the look on his face. She could not read it. On impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. ‘I love you, Jack Cole.’ Before he could answer, she went off in the same direction the soldier had gone. But worry went with her. When she had told him she was going to Court, he had been about to say, ‘so am I.’
***
‘No, no, no!’ Heydon said, running a hand through his hair before replacing his cap. Jack wondered if the document was still hidden in it. ‘Stop her. Stop the whole thing.’
‘I can’t,’ said Jack. His friend had taken the news of Amy’s departure badly. He didn’t know why.
‘It’s another … another complication. I don’t like it. And … I’m sorry to say this, Jack, but I don’t trust that wife of yours.’
‘I do,’ said Jack, his voice low. Despite what he had heard in the park – perhaps because of it – he wanted nothing more than for there to be a great distance between Amy and Queen Mary. Especially if Heydon's stories of the northern rising were true. But he had not told his friend about what he had seen. Privately he suspected that if he revealed that Amy had been a spy, Heydon might arrange for something to happen to her.
‘Then you’re a fool. You cannot trust her until she becomes of our faith. Until then she’s steeped in heresy, wife or no wife. Tell her she can’t go. Better yet, we must stop the countess from going south. We need no more complications.’
‘I can’t see how we can stop a countess from doing as she pleases,’ said Jack. He picked up a pillow and buffed it, just for something to do. The rest of the household was at dinner, leaving them alone in the dormitory, and he felt his own stomach mewl.
‘I …’ Again, Heydon removed his cap and rubbed his head. ‘Very well, let them go. Yes, God has given us this challenge and we must rise to face it. In fact, we might make it work for us. You wondered how we might find license to go south. You shall say your wife has forgotten something – something of the countess’s. And some papers – I’ll say some papers have been neglected. A weak excuse. Huntingdon will have none of it. But he can’t stop us if I can convince old Shrewsbury we must go. Right … right … I’m going to find something to eat.’
Heydon disappeared. Jack let his own belly growl. Why was he so intent on preventing Amy reaching Court? Might he know something of what she had been doing, of her contact with the hard-faced English spy? If he did, he certainly wouldn’t want her under the same roof as Cecil and his crew.
He decided he was going to stop telling Heydon things. It only seemed to result in the man fraying further and further. And nothing seemed to dissuade him from the project he had set them.
***
Amy pulled on her travelling cloak and tied it tight at the neck. She wished she had a mirror. It wasn’t that she had taken any special care over her appearance – other than her hair, which Alice had gamely curled and pinned under cap – but she felt lighter and happier knowing that she would be leaving Tutbury. She wanted to know if it showed. More, she could barely wait to see herself at Court, in her new dress, looking like a woman instead of a scrubby-faced boy.
She eased a basket up on her arm, her cutlery and some little bits of food covered by a napkin. Then she picked her way through her fellow servants. Most of them were either sleeping or sitting up, rubbing sleep from their eyes. It was still full dark outside, the candles that burned all night low.
The dormitory opened onto a wooden staircase – a rickety, temporary thing – that passed by the men’s sleeping chamber. As she passed it, she thought about Jack. He would still be sleeping. She offered up a silent prayer – a wish – that he would be safe in her absence. Her previous wishes seemed to have gone unfulfilled, but there was no harm in trying.
<
br /> As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she thought she could hear the sounds of grooms in the yard. Above that, a woman’s voice reared. It could only be Bess. She strained to make out what was being said. So trained were her ears on the sounds drifting in from outside that she did not hear the padded footsteps coming up behind her.
Something thumped on the back of her neck. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened, working stupidly. She did not fall. ‘Wha’?’
The heavy thing, whatever it was, rose and fell again, and this time she folded to the ground, darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision. It overtook her sight entirely and her mind rose up to meet it.
5
The scuffling of the countess’ stable grooms had woken Jack as they’d grunted and cursed and pulled on furs and leathers. Not that he had really been sleeping – dozing, more like. The problem was that without privacy secrets never felt safe. You might talk in your sleep. You had nowhere to be alone to think things through. Jack had been wondering if he could kill her. If he could kill her and maybe get away with it and if she would haunt him afterwards.
He lay awhile staring up towards the ceiling, listening to the sound of water eating at stone. The candlelight didn’t penetrate up there. It was a pleasant oasis of darkness. He closed his eyes and tried to think of whatever it was he’d been dreaming of. It came close and then swam away again just as his mind grasped at it. He lay instead and listened to the sounds of men and boys getting ready and leaving. He couldn’t see them, but his mind filled in the blanks. They were getting ready to take Amy away. Similar scenes would be playing out on the floor above him, up above the shadowy ceiling.
Eventually he gave up on another half-hour of sleep and sat up. Looking around the room, he tried to spot Heydon’s berth. In the dim light he could say it, but there was no tell-tale bump. Perhaps he had been unable to sleep and had tried it on the floor of the office room. But then, surely, he would have taken the blankets with him. The wild thought struck that perhaps Heydon had decided to join the countess’s people, where he might keep an eye on events. He might have realised that Jack was unfit to be an assassin and decided to do the job himself.
That idea was shattered by his friend’s appearance. He slid easily into the room and wound his way between the berths that littered the floor. He was still in a nightshirt, a fur cape over his shoulders. Probably returning from the privy. Jack lay back down before he could see him.
Eventually the time came when everyone seemed to rise as one – there were no bells to wake them, yet each man’s body seemed tuned to the same rhythm. Jack lost no time in dressing, keeping his scarred back to the wall as always, and then made for Heydon.
‘Good morrow. Did the countess get off?’
‘I would guess so,’ yawned Heydon. ‘Been dead to the world the whole night, mate. It does a gentleman no good to rise at this hour.’
‘When … when are we setting off?’
‘I’ll speak to the earl after dinner today. No need to rush matters. Me, I’m going to lie down awhile longer.’
‘Did you not get enough sleep last night?’
‘There’s not any such thing as enough sleep.’ Heydon rolled over and pulled the blankets up and over his head.
Jack left the dormitory and opened a window on the landing above the staircase. Pearly morning light streamed in through the shutter, carrying the season’s frosty breath. As he blinked away the pain of the sudden light, he saw that the train of the countess’s attendants hadn’t left yet. Instead, there seemed to be some kind of hurried conference going on. Men and women were running backwards and forwards from the doorway that lay a floor beneath him to the troupe of travellers. He couldn’t see if Amy was amongst the latter or the former.
Forgotten something, shrugged Jack, turning away. Even in a great household nothing ever really ran to schedule. He went back to the dormitory. There was no sense in going down right away, not if the countess’s grooms were still at work down there. Besides, someone sometimes brought in little cakes of bread from the bakehouse to provide a breakfast for the servants.
***
Amy woke not knowing what had happened or where she was. She tried to sit. Fell back. A dull ache throbbed in the back of her neck, in time with her heartbeat. Each pulse of blood brought a shuddering wave of pain through her body. As the unreality started to subside, panic struck.
She was late.
And then worse, it dawned on her that someone had struck her down. Her hands flew down to her dress, her cloak. No, she was still dressed. Her travelling cap was still tied securely under her chin, her hair pinned neatly under it. She reached out and felt around the floor, her fingers touching the basket of food. She paused to let a jolt of pain pass through and out. Where was she?
She looked around and sat up, forcing it this time. Her head struck something, and she yelped. Wherever she was it was small – confined. Breathing deeply and slowly, she moved onto her hands and knees and felt her way forwards. She didn’t get far, her hand brushing wood. A door. She was in some kind of closet. With horror she realised that it was the little one that Jack had taken her into months before to make love, before workmen had converted the lodge into dormitories. The door slid open with a push, the wood scraping on flagstones. Light spilled in, making her wince.
The staircase. She had been stuffed into the tiny closet at the foot of the staircase she’d been descending. Someone had knocked her out and concealed her. But how long for? She tried to think, to make sense of it. She had heard somewhere that if someone were knocked out it should only last a few minutes. Any longer and they would die, or come back abnormal, their wits addled. She had no idea if it was true, but she chose to believe it; even remembering it meant that her mind was working well enough.
Grasping the doorframe, she eased herself upwards, letting her head hang. She shuffled forwards, out into the courtyard. Before she had got far, a voice screeched in her ear, slicing into her brain. ‘She’s here, the drowsy sluggard!’ Someone grasped her by the elbow and propelled her forward. She let them.
‘Where the hell have you been, girl?’ asked Bess, already astride a horse. Reluctantly, Amy looked up. ‘What happened to you? Are you unwell?’
‘Sorry, m’lady.’ She could hear her own voice, thick and furred.
‘We were set to leave without you. You weren’t in your chamber.’
‘Trying to catch one last sleep with her husband, I shouldn’t wonder,’ sniffed another voice. Amy let her eyes languidly fall on the mounted woman beside Bess. It was one of her gentlewomen. She couldn’t remember the name. Knew it but couldn’t remember. Bess chortled.
‘Was that the way of it?’ Then, leaning down, she frowned. ‘Yet … I don’t think so. Can you ride, girl?’
Amy was sure that she couldn’t, at least not well. Not for a while yet. But she had no choice – not if she wanted to go. With effort, she said, ‘yes, my lady. If … a groom … can help me up.’ An obliging boy stepped forward and hoisted her, making her head pound and spots of colour and light obscure her sight. She lurched forward and held on the bridle. Anger welled in her at the sight she must make, and she used it. ‘I’ll ride, my lady. I’ll ride to Court this day if it pleases you.’
‘You see,’ said Bess, challenge in her voice as she turned to her companion. ‘I told you the imp had spirit enough in her.’
‘But perhaps could use a clock.’ Amy didn’t dare give any sauce to the scornful gentlewoman, but she shot her a look of defiance. Before they could move off, someone grabbed the bridle, tearing it from her grasp.
‘This one hasn’t been searched.’ She looked down and saw a soldier.
‘Let go of my horse, you lard-bloated ass,’ she hissed. Then she glanced round, eyes wide, at Bess.
‘Good girl.’
‘My lady,’ protested the soldier, redness colouring his broad cheeks, ‘I … this strumpet must be searched.’
‘Lay hands on my girl and I’ll report you to the queen. Th
e proper queen, mind you, Queen Elizabeth.’ The soldier stepped back, as though the bridle had turned red hot. He spat off to his side and growled up at Amy. ‘Ride on,’ cried Bess. They did.
The ride was torture, but she let the pain that grew in her legs and buttocks distract her from the throb in her head. She let her pace, too, keep up with the hoofbeats of the party.
Someone had wanted to stop her from going. She thought of Jack, but she thought – no, she knew – that he would never hurt her. Whoever it was could have killed her, but evidently didn’t want to go that far. Her dead body, after all, would bring any number of problems. So who? And why? From Heydon to Huntingdon, she considered who might benefit from stopping her reaching Court. It had to be someone who could move about the household.
Well, she decided, they had failed. But that didn’t mean they might not try again. And the road to Windsor was a long one.
***
‘Old Shrewsbury says we can go,’ said Heydon. He was not smiling. In fact, he seemed filled with restless energy. He had dressed down, wearing the rough buckram clothing of a domestic servant. ‘Now. As soon as we can. Get moving.’ He slung a cloak at Jack. ‘It’s one of my own. Put it on.’
‘But – what did you say to him?’
‘I’m to reach the countess with letters of introduction to some folk at Court. New friends she hopes to make in her husband’s name.’
‘And he thinks I’m needed for that?’
‘No. I said I needed a man good with horses. Too many dangers on the roads. Get moving, will you.’
Jack threw down the brush he was holding. The countess had left the day before. Ever since, Heydon had been in fits of manic irritation, complaining endlessly about plans going awry and muttering darkly about complications. ‘It’s true, too,’ Heydon went on. ‘There’ll be soldiers on the road. Informers abroad too.’
A Dangerous Trade: An Elizabethan Spy Thriller Page 19