“Aye,” she murmured, thinking of Nicholas. “Unfortunately.”
Shakespeare glanced over his shoulder. “Lady, you are gently born, and should not be here. Good Deb, the landlady, is a decent sort who’ll not take advantage of your bad fortune, but there are plenty around here who would. Do not bandy such a thing about, it you can help it. But a lady like you shouldn’t be alone in London. Have you no friends? No one among the nobles to come to help?”
“His brother—Geoffrey. But he’s in Kent—or he was. I think he’s at the Rose and Quill tavern—my servant went to fetch him. I was there in the Tower, too, till yesterday.”
“Sweet Jesu,” Shakespeare breathed. “What did they think you’d done?”
She shrugged. “They let me go. It’s Nicholas who’s in danger.”
“And you love this Nicholas?” He leaned forward, speaking softly, but his words caught her by surprise.
“Why—” She gave a little laugh. “What makes you say so?”
It was his turn to shrug. “The look in your eyes when you speak of him, perhaps. Forgive me. I have been told much that I should not speak of things which are only shadows in the eyes of others.”
“You see too well, perhaps.”
It was his turn to flush and drop his eyes. “You flatter me, lady.”
Oh, no, I don’t, she thought. If only you knew. “I don’t mean to. It was only an observation.”
“You’re very kind.” He leaned forward again and whispered conspiratorially, “But of what is he accused? What do they say he did?”
“He was arrested for bringing in plans for the invasion of England by Spain. But—he had no part in the plot, he thought he was working for the government… He believed he was helping—oh,” she said in frustration. “No one will believe this.”
Shakespeare frowned. “I will believe it, if you tell me, lady. What exactly has happened?”
Touched by his air of genuine sympathy, Olivia haltingly recounted the story of their trip to Calais, their encounter with the Spaniard, and their subsequent arrest in Dover. “They took me to the Tower, too, but they released me almost at once. And I am very grateful to you, sir, for this was the second time I’ve been attacked.”
“Twice? Since yesterday?” Shakespeare leaned forward with a frown. “In truth, lady, the streets are rough, but twice?” He shook his head and sighed. “Lady, has it occurred to you that someone wants you dead?”
“Me?” Olivia sat back with a troubled stare.
Shakespeare shrugged. “I was here last night when your boy brought you here. And believe me, you didn’t look as though you’d anything worth stealing, save perhaps your clothes. Could it be that someone seeks to take advantage of your state, and is trying to lure you away from this inn?”
Startled at the suggestion, Olivia gazed once more out the window. She knew there was a lively trade in used clothing in sixteenth-century London, but the thought that she could be attacked for the very clothes on her back had never occurred to her. Suddenly the streets outside the window appeared far more menacing than she had ever considered they might be. She remembered Nicholas’s words at the inn that first night in Dover, when he’d essentially stood guard while her bath had been prepared.
That night seemed so long ago now, even as she realized there were very good reasons men went about armed in broad daylight. Still, her mind veered away from the possibility that someone could be deliberately trying to kill her. “I see that I was foolish to venture out by myself, Master Will. But why would I have been set free?”
Shakespeare spread his hands in an expansive gesture and shrugged. “Methinks this mire goes deeper than you have yet to fathom, lady. ‘Twould seem to me that if this is truly a plot against your Nicholas, the one who plots against him has realized the danger that you are. You cannot be allowed to testify to the truth of the matter, and thus you were released, and yet, you cannot be allowed to live. Lady, forgive me if I alarm you, but I think you are in the most desperate danger until your cousin arrives.”
Olivia sat back, as the truth of Shakespeare’s words struck home.
“And let’s hope he arrives post—posthaste, lady. Such a place as this is no place for a lady. As well you’ve come to learn.” Their eyes met in a long, significant look.
With a troubled sigh, Olivia looked away. The afternoon light was nearly gone. They were not the only ones in the room any more. Two roughly dressed men had come in and appropriated a seat on the other side of the fireplace. They eyed her with speculative interest, and Olivia was glad that she was no longer alone, if only temporarily.
Olivia hesitated as Meggie, the girl who had served her last night, entered the common room to light the tapers on the walls and the candles in the center of each table. “You’re right, Master Shakespeare. But Geoffrey and Nicholas are very close. I know he’ll come as quickly as he can.”
“And he’s in Kent?”
“Yes. Hopefully, he’s at the Rose, and if not, he will come no later than tomorrow.”
“Will ye have a cup of cider, lady?” Meggie’s broad face was flushed from the heat of the cook fire in the kitchen.
“I will, thank you. Will you join me, Master Shakespeare?” she asked, wondering a little at her own boldness.
“If I might have the honor of your name, lady.” He grinned back, his deep-set eyes alight with humor and something else—something as flattering as it was unexpected. He was attracted to her.
She felt herself blush. “My name is Olivia.”
“Lady Talcott?”
She hesitated and glanced up at Meg. Her stolid face bore no hint of impatience, but Olivia paused before answering. She knew instinctively that the reason the landlady treated her so well was because she believed Olivia to be part of a noble family. She glanced involuntarily at the kitchen door. If the goodwill of the lady of the establishment depended upon the belief that she was a “Lady,” she didn’t want to destroy the illusion. Still, she couldn’t lie. “Two ciders, Meg, please.”
When the girl had gone, she looked at Shakespeare.
“I’m not Lady Talcott, Master Shakespeare. My name is Lindsley—Olivia Lindsley. But—”
“Your secret is safe from good Deb with me.” He patted her hand. “I’ll take it to the grave if necessary.”
“Oh,” she breathed, as Meg returned, carrying two tankards. “Let’s not speak of graves, Master Shakespeare. I have the uncomfortable feeling I’m standing far too close to my own.”
CHAPTER 15
A CURVED SICKLE of a moon hung high above the dark walls of the Tower of London, a sight that reminded Nicholas all too well of Death’s scythe. He flexed his shoulders and paced in frustration. He might as well have been entombed alive, for all the attention the guards paid him. They’d opened his door once all day—to bring him the day’s rations of stale bread, moldy cheese, and water, silently setting the items on the table beside that damnable confession. Otherwise they ignored him, refusing to acknowledge his demands for a messenger to send to Lord Leicester or an opportunity to talk to Walsingham himself.
On the rude table in the center of the room lay the parchment confession. He’d read it—and had to restrain himself from tearing it to pieces. He understood perfectly why they wanted him to sign it. His estates would automatically revert directly to the Crown, and Geoffrey would never inherit either title or lands. The Talcott line would effectively end. If he refused, and was posthumously found not guilty, the title would pass to Geoffrey and the line would continue. So much for all his hopes of restoration, he thought bitterly.
He rubbed his hands together. The stones were cold, and his shirt was thin. The parchment lay on the table, silent, mocking. A swift, sure death, or one in agony? It seemed to taunt. And what about Olivia? Where was she and what had they done with her? Was she condemned to die as well?
The door shrieked open on rusting hinges, and he spun around. Christopher Warren stood in the door.
“Thank you, jailer. I’ll take
the lantern,” Warren said. He walked into the room and set the lantern on the table. The sputtering light threw up huge shadows and cast a weird orange glow on Warren’s face. “Well, Talcott?”
“Go to the devil.”
“You refuse to sign?” Warren shrugged. “I thought as much. It matters not to me.” He picked up the lantern and the parchment.
“I’ll see you in hell, Warren.”
“You’ll see me on the scaffold first.” He turned as if to leave, and Nicholas forced himself to stand rigid. “Where’s Olivia?”
“Ol—? Ah, your leman? A tasty tempting morsel, if ever there was one, Talcott. We all enjoyed her. And then put her out on the streets where she belongs.” He dodged out of the room just as Nicholas rushed for his throat.
Nicholas hit the door as it slammed shut in his face. Damn the bastard to the hottest pit of hell. He pounded on the door with both fists, until his rage was spent and he slumped, exhausted, against the heavy door. Olivia, where was she? What had they done to her? He imagined her hurt, bleeding and abused, lost and alone on the savage streets of London. Pray God Jack had reached Geoffrey. He trusted his brother would do all he could to set him free, but what about Olivia? Friendless, she was at the mercy of every cutthroat, rapist, and thief. They’d steal her clothes off her back, if given half the chance.
He slid to the floor and buried his face in his hands, shutting his eyes against the awful picture. This was all his fault. He should never have agreed to take Warren’s bait. He saw now, so clearly, how he’d walked willingly into the trap. And he’d taken Olivia with him—intelligent, gentle, beautiful Olivia, whom he’d come to love as much as he desired. If only he could see her one more time, he’d throw himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness with his last breath, if necessary.
He dragged himself up, flexing his aching hands. The knuckles were raw and bleeding from his assault on the door, but he paid them no heed. He wrapped his hands around the bars of his window and stared out at the silent moon. As God is my witness, he prayed, as God is my witness, I’ll get out of here and I’ll see Warren flayed alive, with my own hands if necessary, if he’s harmed one hair of Olivia’s head. Just one.
The insistent knocking roused Olivia from her uneasy sleep. Her dreams were darkened by images of Nicholas in chains, faces leering out of the shadows, and rats that swarmed up and down the walls. She sat up, rubbing her temples. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Livvie!” Alison burst into the room in a swirl of russet cloth. She was across the narrow room in two strides and hugged Olivia fiercely. “Are you okay? Please tell me you’re all right. They didn’t hurt you in any way, did they? Did they?”
Olivia stifled a squeak of pain as Alison crushed her bruised body. She sagged with relief against her friend. “Oh, God, Allie, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. I’m fine—really, I’m okay,” she said again, as Alison drew back with a dubious expression. “I could use a bath….”
“Yeah, who couldn’t?” Alison wrinkled her nose. “But what’s this about you being attacked? The lady downstairs said you’d been attacked by some ruffian. What happened?”
“Well, I—I guess you could say I was set upon by… I’m really not sure. He ran off like a common cutthroat, but I’m beginning to think it has something to do with this mess, too. But really, physically, I’m fine. Just a bit bruised. Is Geoffrey downstairs?”
“He’s gone to the Tower, to see if they’ll let him see Nicholas. And Miles Coddington’s gone to Leicester House with a letter from Dr. Dee—you know, the Queen’s—”
“Yes, her astrologer.”
“And personal physician. He wrote a letter on Nicholas’s behalf as soon as he heard about what happened, but no one is sure where the Queen is, you see.”
“She’s on her summer progress.”
“Yes,” Alison said. “You knew that?”
Olivia shrugged. “I know too damn much. Allie, this whole thing is my fault.”
“Your fault?” Alison wrapped one arm around her and would have squeezed again except for Olivia’s wince. “What in the name of God are you talking about? How could any of this be your fault? And how did you get hurt? What happened to you?”
Olivia ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got all night. Tell me everything that happened.”
Olivia took a deep breath, then plunged into the story. “Everything went as we expected until we met the Spaniard. And then it turned out that whoever this Warren had gotten his information from had either not known or neglected to tell him that the woman who was supposed to show up was one of the ladies-in-waiting to Mary, Queen of Scots, and had been with her when she was executed. And the Spaniard was supposed to get details of her death from this woman—sort of as a trade, I guess. Well, if I hadn’t been there, Nicholas wouldn’t have gotten the plans, because—”
“Oh, no, Olivia, you knew all about it, didn’t you?”
“Well, enough to convince him to hand over the plans.” She buried her face in her hands and her hair spilled over her shoulders. “It’s my fault, Allie. He’s going to die as traitor, and it’s all my fault.”
“But—but won’t there be a trial? Won’t they at least listen to him? Get his side of the story? We can all be witnesses.”
Olivia shook her head. “Elizabethan justice is fairly medieval. Nicholas was caught red-handed with the plans. I don’t know if they’ll bother with a trial. I guess in theory there ought to be one, but it isn’t like in America. Under English common law, they assume you’re guilty until you’re proved innocent—not the other way around. And if you look at it from that point of view—”
“Well, what about this Warren? Where’s that little weasel? He’s the one who set Nicholas up.”
“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s behind the attacks on me. The last thing he’d want is for me to corroborate Nicholas’s story.” She described the events of the day. “I was lucky Master Will happened along.”
“Good God. What a mess. Geoffrey was right.” She shook her head and plopped beside Olivia on the bed. “Well, the good news is Dee thinks he found a way for us to get home.”
Olivia raised her head and stared at her friend. “And you think it will work?”
“It damn well better.” Alison paused. “You might not believe this, Liv, but he’s from the future, too.”
“What?” Olivia stared at Alison in disbelief. “From our time?”
“No. From our future. Over a hundred years ahead of us. And in his time, they’ve perfected the technique, apparently—”
“Do you think there’re more people from the future, then?”
“You mean here?” Alison waved a dismissive hand. “You know, Liv, I guess that could be. But you know what? I really don’t care. I just want to go home.”
Home. The word echoed in her mind. Olivia wrapped her arms around herself and stared out the tiny window. A tiny smidgen of sky was all that was visible between the buildings. “Aye,” she murmured. “Home.”
Alison gave a short laugh. “Geez, you even sound like them now. How long have you been here?”
“Since last night. Jack found this place—it’s not the best inn, but the landlady’s sweet.” She looked at Alison. “You’ll never guess who saved me this afternoon.”
“Who?”
“Shakespeare.”
“Huh?”
“William Shakespeare. He’s really very nice.”
Alison’s eyes were two round blue saucers. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. No one is ever going to believe us, you know that? We might as well say we were kidnapped by drug lords or something.”
“We don’t have to worry about that yet, do we?”
“No. Not for another two weeks.”
Olivia drew a deep breath. “Allie, I don’t want to go back if Nicholas is still imprisoned.”
“What? You have to go back. The next time you can go back won’t be for another f
orty years almost. Don’t be ridiculous, Liv. Of course you have to go back.”
Olivia turned away. “You have to go back, Allie. I don’t know that I do.”
“Livvie, you’re upset.”
“I love him. I don’t want to leave him in prison.”
There was a long silence as Alison stared at her in shock. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Olivia nodded.
Alison slowly shook her head. “I—I just don’t believe you’d want to stay—”
Olivia spread her hands. “Well, not permanently. I just don’t want to leave without knowing what happens—”
“You can look up what happens. Didn’t you see what happens when you looked at the records? You were reading them right before we came back. Don’t you remember?”
“Don’t you think it’s all changed now?”
“Liv, if we don’t go back in two weeks, we won’t be able to go back for almost thirty-eight years. We could die in that time!”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t go back, Allie. I just don’t want to go back yet.”
“Me go back without you? How could I—” Alison broke off. “Liv, you’re just upset. You’ve been through a terrible experience. This whole thing has just been an awful experience for both of us. We’ll all put our heads together and do the best we can to get Nicholas released and this whole awful mess resolved, and then—” She became silent. “And then I guess we’ll see.” Alison patted Olivia’s hand, and in her blue eyes Olivia read a troubled sort of acceptance. “I—I guess I sort of understand how you feel.”
“You do?”
“Well, not about staying here.” Alison waved a dismissive hand. “I think the first thing I’m going to do when I get home is take a three day shower. But I guess I understand about Nicholas.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
Alison shrugged and looked sheepish. “Geoffrey’s really sweet.”
At that, despite everything, Olivia burst out laughing. “He’s sweet? That’s a real change of heart!”
Love's Labyrinth Page 22