Assassin

by Lady Grace Cavendish

  “And did you find out the purchaser?” the Queen demanded grimly.

  “Why, Your Majesty, that’s why I had to hurry myself and tell you,” Mrs. Bea replied. “Please believe me when I say I would never do nothing to hurt you, Your Grace, never in all the world.”

  “I know that, Bea,” said the Queen softly, because Mrs. Bea looked very upset and was twisting her hands round about each other.

  “Well, but … it’s a terrible thing, Your Majesty,” Mrs. Bea went on. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard it. In fact, I told the man he was a liar, which annoyed him….”

  The Queen tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair of state and Mrs. Bea collected up her thoughts. “He told me that a skinny serving man bought the darkwort from him. He was wrapped up in a cloak. But when he took out his purse to pay, the cloak slipped open—enough for the apothecary to recognize the servant’s livery. It was Lord Worthy’s,” Mrs. Bea finished dramatically.

  There was a stunned silence.

  The Queen broke it. “Impossible!” she shouted. “Besides,” she added, “Lady Grace and that good wench Ellie searched all the Court chambers for evidence of darkwort—including Lord Worthy’s—and found none.”

  “That’s true, Mrs. Bea,” I confirmed. “We found no yellow powder anywhere—”

  At this, my Uncle Cavendish started. “But Grace,” he said urgently, “darkwort powder … it is not yellow, my dear, it is green.”

  I stood there open-mouthed.

  Mrs. Bea nodded vigorously at me. “Yes, my love—pure darkwort is green. It’s the mixing with wine that turns it yellow and makes it stain such that not even ten-day-old urine will shift it.”

  Ellie and I had found green powder in Lord Worthy’s chamber. And I had seen green staining on his cuff. Heart thudding, I told the Queen.

  Her Majesty became as still as a statue, her face hard like marble. “Mr. Hatton!” she roared.

  One of her Gentlemen put his head round a door. I caught a glimpse of Ellie on the other side, trying not to be noticed so she wouldn’t get sent away and miss everything. I was sure now that Masou must be eavesdropping as well.

  “Send for my Lord Worthy to come to the Presence Chamber at once!” the Queen commanded.

  Mr. Hatton disappeared at a run. We stood awkwardly and waited—me, Mrs. Bea, and Uncle Cavendish. My hands were clenched and my mind was racing. Yes, it fitted … But why had he done it? Why would Lord Worthy want to poison Sir Gerald—his own nephew? It just didn’t make sense.

  At last Mr. Hatton returned and announced my Lord Worthy, who looked tired and strained.

  “My lord,” said the Queen formally, “I have it on good authority that one of your servants purchased darkwort recently. And that it was seen in your chamber.”

  Lord Worthy turned pale, his eyelids fluttering. For a moment he couldn’t speak. Then he croaked, “Your Majesty?”

  “Darkwort, my lord!” the Queen rapped out. “You deny it?”

  “Of a certainty, I do, Your Majesty. It is out of all reason. How dare anyone put forth such foul lies … that I, Lord Worthy, should have dealings with such terrible poison … what villainous mischief…” By now Lord Worthy was gabbling.

  “Your Majesty, may I ask Lord Worthy a question?” I put in hesitantly.

  The Queen nodded.

  Lord Worthy looked at me. “What? What are you doing here? This is no business for a Maid of Honour.”

  “She has made it her business, my lord,” the Queen snapped, “and so have I!”

  “My lord, I believe that you have a green stain that may be darkwort on your shirt-cuff. Would you please show us?” I asked nervously.

  Lord Worthy’s face became closed and haughty. He lifted both his hands. “By all means. See? There is no darkwort staining on my cuffs.”

  My heart sank. Lord Worthy must have changed into a clean shirt—the evidence was now lost in the wash.

  Just then there was a timid knock on the door.

  “What is it? We are busy!” the Queen bellowed.

  Ellie sidled awkwardly into the room, curtsying and bobbing her head like a pigeon. “Ahem …,” she began. “I couldn’t help overhearing, earlier … And I thought I should confess that, as I’ve been … otherwise occupied, as you might say … I’m runnin’ a bit behind on me laundry duties….” With that, Ellie brought out from behind her back a rather grimy-looking man’s shirt.

  My heart leaped. “Is that whose I think it is, Ellie?” I asked. “My Lord Worthy’s?”

  Ellie nodded, with a respectful curtsy.

  “This is preposterous!” burst out Lord Worthy.

  “Am I to be accused by a maid and a servant?” But by now his complexion was almost grey.

  “My lord, please be quiet,” said the Queen in a very frightening voice.

  The mood was extremely heavy. It even silenced the songbirds. None of them so much as peeped.

  Still bobbing, Ellie came closer and held out the sleeves of the shirt for all to see.

  One shirt-cuff was stained with green.

  “Well, my lord?” the Queen demanded.

  “Hmph …,” said Lord Worthy. “Spinach from yesterday’s dinner.”

  Mrs. Bea shook her head solemnly. “I’d stake my life on that not being spinach,” she said. She went to the table and brought the wine jug, then dripped a little onto the cuff. The red of the wine spread over the green—becoming edged with yellow as it did so.

  “Darkwort, Your Majesty,” she said firmly.

  “Am I to be accused by a witch now?” Lord Worthy blustered. “Where is your sworn justice, Your Majesty?”

  “Darkwort,” my Uncle Cavendish confirmed. “No doubt about it.”

  “Have a care, my Lord Worthy,” warned the Queen, standing up. “You have served me faithfully and I had thought you my friend.” Her voice was rising. “Either you stop lying to me now—immediately!—and tell me exactly and truthfully what has happened, or I will put you in the Tower, by God, and have you examined by Mr. Rackmaster Norton. Do you understand, my lord?” The last words were at a full-throated roar.

  Everyone winced at the thought of Rackmaster Norton.

  Lord Worthy stared at her and then something seemed to melt or crumble inside him. He got down stiffly onto his knees and bowed his head. Into the silence we heard his voice whisper, “Yes. It is darkwort.”

  I couldn’t breathe. Could he … ? Had he … ?

  “Your own nephew, Lord Worthy?” said the Queen.

  “No!” Lord Worthy exclaimed. “That was never the intention…” He sighed, then continued, his voice flat and dull. “The darkwort was intended for Lord Robert … and the blame for Sir Charles….

  “It was clear my Lady Grace favoured Lord Robert—and that she also made time for Sir Charles. But I could not possibly allow her to marry anyone except my nephew. So I put the darkwort into Lord Robert’s wine at the ball, and intended to put the remains of the powder amongst Sir Charles’s belongings. All would have been well…” Lord Worthy put his face into his hands. “But then Gerald had to go and make a fool of himself at the ball, and you insisted he drink from Lord Robert’s own cup. I was horrified, but how could I tell him to go against Your Majesty’s orders?”

  Lord Worthy laughed. A horrible, hollow, defeated sound. “Imagine my shock when the alarm was raised that poor Gerald had been stabbed, not poisoned—and moreover, that Lord Robert had done the deed!”

  He turned his gaze on me, his eyes burning. “Of course, with a stabbing, rather than a poisoning, being recorded, I refrained from planting the remaining darkwort in Sir Charles’s chamber….”

  Feeling very sad about the whole mess, I looked away.

  “But Lord Worthy,” said the Queen, “why was it so imperative that Lady Grace marry your nephew?”

  “So that neither she, nor anyone else, would find out …,” Lord Worthy whispered brokenly.

  “Find out what?” The Queen’s tone of voice was steely and cold. I think she
knew what was coming next, though I didn’t.

  “That Lady Grace has no estates, no fortune at all.”

  I felt as if somebody had stabbed me in the stomach. I couldn’t even gasp. My guardian, Lord Worthy, was supposed to be my friend and my helper!

  “Explain!” the Queen snapped.

  “When I was appointed guardian to Lady Grace a year ago, I was in some debt,” Lord Worthy began. “So I took the opportunity to mortgage Lady Grace’s estate. But my financial situation grew worse rather than better. Within months, the moneylenders foreclosed and Lady Grace’s estate was lost.

  “It was unthinkable for either Lord Robert or Sir Charles to marry Lady Grace and discover this,” Lord Worthy continued. “Only Gerald could be trusted not to disgrace me….” He hung his head.

  I felt sick and my stomach was whirling. Lord Worthy had stolen the inheritance my parents left me and then tried to get me to marry his nephew to cover it up? I could not believe it. Nor could Mary and Lady Sarah. They were staring at me, and Mary had tears of sympathy in her eyes. Suddenly their faces seemed to spin like a cartwheel in front of me….

  Mrs. Bea caught my arm. “Sit down, my dear.”

  I sat down with a bump on a cushion and she pushed my head down. Some of the spinning in my stomach faded. Had I nearly fainted? How disgustingly like Lady Sarah! I gulped twice and sipped some of the wine Mrs. Bea brought me.

  “Please, Your Majesty, I beg you, I had to do it, I couldn’t let anyone find out, I—” Lord Worthy’s voice had taken on a pathetic whining note.

  “You had to try and poison my Lord Robert so you could hide your robbery from Lady Grace?” snapped the Queen.“You had to, my lord?”

  “I…”

  “You did not have to.” The Queen shook her head. “You could have come to me when you first found yourself in financial difficulties, and I would have helped you. The money you needed could have come to you openly and honestly. There was no need of more murder in the Court.”

  “Please, Your Majesty…”

  “Mr. Hatton, call the Gentlemen of the Guard. My Lord Worthy is to be committed to the Tower on charges of murder, corruption, falsehood, and endangering my life.”

  The Gentlemen of the Guard arrived and took Lord Worthy away, looking puzzled and frightened.

  I was still sitting sideways on a cushion, waiting for my head to stop spinning.

  Suddenly I started to cry, which was very embarrassing and I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it. It had all been such a shock.

  Ellie came running over and put her arms round me. Mary Shelton was there, too, putting a clean handkerchief into my hand so I could blow my nose.

  I thought of another awful thing and my stomach gave a swoop. “Your Grace, now I’m not rich any more, do I have to leave you?” I asked, feeling as if my heart would break again.

  The Queen came to me in a rustle of damask and pulled me to her, crushing my cheek against a jewel on her bodice. “Of course not, Grace! You are my dearest god-daughter and Maid of Honour. You shall stay at Court as long as you like.”

  “Well then, at least you can marry your Lord Robert now,” said Mrs. Bea in a sprightly there-there voice.

  “I shall not,” I sniffled. “He only wants my money. Besides, I’ve decided he’s an idiot.”

  The Queen smiled. “I do believe I agree with you,” she said.

  That cheered me up so much that I kissed her on the cheek. “So I do not have to marry?”

  “No, Grace, not for now,” the Queen replied.

  “Though in due course, perhaps you will wish to….”

  In all the commotion, Masou had slipped into the room, too. “And if anyone does propose marriage to you now, it will surely be for love, not money,” he said. “Mayhap it is a blessing that you are no longer rich, Lady Grace!”

  “Precisely,” said the Queen. “Well put, Masou.”

  She smiled at us all, and it’s true what they say about the Queen, her smile is like magic. It makes you feel warm and safe.

  She clasped my hand to hers. “Lady Grace, I owe you a great debt of gratitude for all your work these past few days,” she said. “Here you are, only a Maid of Honour and not yet of age. Yet, with the help of your good friends here, you have saved Sir Charles’s life, unearthed the wickedness of his brother, and discovered the poisoner of Sir Gerald. There are many men in my employ who have done far less and with less difficulty in their path. Be sure I shall make a good grant to you and find a more worthy guardian to take care of it.”

  I nodded. “I could help you if there were any more mysteries at Court, too,” I whispered.

  The Queen laughed. The she whispered back in my ear, “You shall be my first Lady Pursuivant. Let wrongdoers beware!”

  I was thrilled! A pursuivant is someone who pursues wrongdoers for the Crown, though most pursuivants mainly pursue spies and assassins. It was all so exciting!

  “But have a care, Grace,” warned the Queen with a tiny frown. “I still expect my Maid of Honour to behave as befits her blood. I will have no more wild trips down the river at night … unless absolutely necessary….”

  “No, Your Majesty,” I said meekly.

  Then she smiled again, and clasped me, and sent me to my chamber while Mrs. Bea made me a hot posset to help me sleep (which I haven’t drunk yet and it’s gone cold). Mary Shelton brought it for me and gave me some of her delicious almond bisket bread. I never realized before how kind she is. And even Lady Sarah is being less trying than usual. I feel very strange about being poor all of a sudden, but I had to stop again. It was Sir Charles and Dr. Cavendish come to visit me.

  Sir Charles was looking, and smelling, much better—he was clean and had shaved and his black eye had ointment on it. “Lady Grace,” he said, “is it true what I hear of how Lord Worthy wasted your estates?”

  I nodded a little dolefully. “But the Queen will help me and she said she would never send me away.”

  “My dear Lady Greensleeves,” said Sir Charles, “were you aware that when there has been a murder, all the murderer’s money and property goes to the nearest relative of the victim?”

  I nodded. Yes, I’d heard that. But why did that concern me?

  “Well,” Sir Charles continued, “I am Sir Gerald’s heir. His father was my mother’s cousin. Which means that I shall inherit Lord Worthy’s estates.”

  I stared. I was really too tired to follow this. “You?”

  “Yes,” Sir Charles confirmed. “And Lord Worthy’s estates are, I am sure, worth more than yours ever were—despite his being a poor manager of his affairs. I, however, am not and I am already wealthy enough for my needs.” He took a deep breath. “I shall see my lawyer tomorrow and when all the necessary paperwork has been done, I shall make all I get from Lord Worthy over to you, in recompense for what Lord Worthy misused.”

  “You will?” I gasped.

  He nodded, looking very bright-eyed.

  “But why?” I burst out.

  Sir Charles smiled fondly at me. “My dear, I know you do not love me, yet for justice’s sake you saved my very life. How can I do other than see you do not lose by it?”

  So there it is. Sir Charles Amesbury will give me Lord Worthy’s estates and even redeem what he can of my own lands. And he said he would petition the Queen to be my guardian and keep good care of them. So from being poor as a church mouse, I am rich again!

  Maybe one day I shall marry—but it will be for love. My mother always said she loved my father and it was the best of marriages, though it was cut short.

  For now? I remain Lady Grace Cavendish, Maid of Honour—and secret Lady Pursuivant! I know that my mother would be proud of that. And I cannot think of anything that could make me happier!

  addled— confused, muddled, spoiled

  agrimony— an herb

  aiglet— the metal tip of a lace on a garment, which you thread through holes

  Allah— the Muslim name for God

  apothecary— an Elizabeth
an chemist

  aqua vitae— brandy

  Bedlam— the major asylum for the insane in London during Elizabethan times—the name came from the Hospital of St. Mary of Bethlehem

  bezoar stone— a hard, stonelike object from a goat’s stomach, used by Elizabethans (unsuccessfully) to cure poisoning

  birch— to beat (birch twigs were often used)

  blackwork— black embroidery on white linen

  Board of Green Cloth— the main administrative body for the Court. It dealt with an inquest if anyone died within one mile of the Queen’s person.

  bodice— the top part of a woman’s dress

  borage— an herb

  Boy King— King Edward VI, Elizabeth’s brother, who died young

  brocade— a rich, gold-embroidered fabric

  bum— bottom

  bumroll— a sausage-shaped piece of padding worn round the hips to make them look bigger

  canions— showy fabric leggings, a little like shorts, worn by men

  casket— a small decorative box

  cinnabar— a red compound of mercury and sulfur, used as red coloring for lips, cheeks, painting, etc.

  City Fathers— the rulers of the City of London

  close-stool— a portable toilet comprising a seat with a hole in it on top of a box with a chamber pot inside

  cloth of estate— a kind of awning that went over the Queen’s chair to indicate that she was the monarch

  cloth of silver/gold— cloth woven from silk thread that had been wrapped in fine gold or silver wire

  commoner— anyone who did not hold the rank of gentleman or higher and therefore did not have a coat of arms

  crayfish— a shellfish a little like a lobster but smaller

  damask— a beautiful, self-patterned silk cloth woven in Flanders. It originally came from Damascus—hence the name.

  daybooke— a book in which you would record your sins each day so that you could pray about them. The idea of keeping a diary or journal grew out of this. Grace uses her daybooke as a journal.

  djinni— an Arabic word for a mischievous spirit—also known as a djinn or genie