I took a deep breath. “I understand.”
“Good. For now, you will continue to attend Lord Robert. Watch everything he says and does. You will be advised of how to report your information when the time comes, as well as any changes in our plans.” From his stack of ledgers he took a folder. He opened it before me. “Herein is a scaled map of Greenwich. Memorize it. I’m not certain when, but I believe that at some time during the festivities for Guilford and Lady Jane’s wedding, the duke will make his move. Before he does, we must get the princess away.”
I nodded and leaned in, surveying the map as Cecil explained my assignment.
Chapter Eleven
I left the Thames-side manor in a daze. The sounds and sights of the city assaulted me, reminding me I was late for my appointment with Robert. I quickened my pace. Cecil had assured me the palace wasn’t too far away. He even offered an escort, which I politely refused. The less I saw of Walsingham and his rough men, the better.
The sun drew random fingers of light over the river. An oppressive humidity hung in the air. The day promised to be sweltering, once the freshness of the morning dissipated, and merchants and vendors were already hurrying about their business.
No one seemed to mark me as I passed, and still I pulled my cap lower on my brow. I was all too aware of the badge on my sleeve, announcing my affiliation, and it required strength of will not to rip it off. I’d have to learn to conceal my revulsion for the Dudleys if I was to convince Robert of my continuing devotion.
A spy: I was going to spy for Master Cecil, to help Princess Elizabeth. It wasn’t a role I could ever have envisioned for myself, even in my wildest moments. Only yesterday I had been riding into London, a callow lad pondering how best to adapt to my new post. One day later, I was returning to my master with treachery in my heart. I found it difficult to sort out my feelings about my own duplicity, until I thought of that frightened young woman standing alone in a corridor in her wine-spattered gown.
What is it you want of me, my gallant squire?
I had traversed several crowded, noisy blocks when I realized I was being followed. Once or twice, I caught a glimpse of the shadow behind me and had to resist the impulse to wheel about to confront it. I set my hand on my dagger, now at my hip. With a taut smile I continued, avoiding the dense undergrowth and trees of the hunting park. Rounding into King Street, which passed under a gateway through Whitehall, I paused to adjust my cap. When I felt the shadow draw close, I said, “Some fool courts a knife in his belly.”
A stricken pause followed. I glanced over my shoulder. “Why are you dodging me?” I asked, and flush-faced Peregrine replied, “You … because you needed my protection.”
“I see. So you witnessed the attack.” I hooked my hands in my belt. “You might have called for help. Or, better yet, gone and fetched some. Or didn’t I pay you enough?”
“I was going to, at first,” he said in a rush, “but I decided to follow you instead, in case they hit you over the head and threw you in the river. I used to fish out corpses for a living. You’re lucky I did, too, because I wasn’t alone.”
“Oh?” I raised my eyes to scan the vicinity. “Someone fished out corpses with you?”
“No.” He sidled up to me, his voice lowering to an urgent whisper. “Someone else is following you. I saw him come out of the trees in the park after you were taken. He crept around the manor while you were inside, peeking in windows and—Ouch!” Peregrine yelped as I grabbed him by his jerkin, thrusting him into a side alley.
He struggled. I clamped a hand to his mouth. “Be still, coxcomb. Whoever you saw back there could be watching at this very moment. Do you want us both to end up in the river?”
His eyes widened. Removing my hand, keeping one eye on the alley’s entrance, I said, “Do you know who he is?”
He nodded, and wormed out from inside his jerkin a pocket dagger. I had to grin. I’d had one just like it when I was a boy, good for slicing apples and hunting squirrel. “Does he know you?”
“No. Or, at least, not by name. He came to the stables a few days ago, but I didn’t attend him. He had two horses stalled. He’s wearing a hood and cloak today, but I recognized him. When he left the stables, he kicked one of the yard mutts. It was just wagging its tail, hoping to be petted, and he kicked it.” Peregrine grimaced. “I hate anyone who kicks a dog.”
“Me, too.” I took off my cap, wiped cold sweat from my brow. Our mystery man hadn’t accosted us, though the alleyway, snaking as it did to a dead end littered with refuse, presented the ideal spot for an ambush. Either he wasn’t willing to reveal himself or he wasn’t yet ready to risk a confrontation. Neither offered consolation.
I opened my pouch to ladle coins into Peregrine’s palm. “Listen closely. I can’t afford to play right now, much as I’d like to. I assume your work can be neglected, seeing as you followed me here, so can you find out where he goes without getting into trouble?”
“I’ve been tiptoeing around him all morning. I’ll find out everything you need to know. Trust me. I can be sly as a snake when I want to.”
“Oh, I’m sure. Here’s what we’ll do.” I explained quickly, then clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder and hauled him back to the street, where I threw him from my side.
“And don’t let me see the likes of you again! Next time, I’ll feed you to my pigs, you thieving knave!”
Peregrine scampered off. Several passersby paused to wag their heads at this evidence of roguery in their midst. I searched my doublet in visible anger, slapped on my cap, and tramped onward, scowling like a man who’s narrowly escaped having his hard-earned wages filched.
I was relieved to reach Whitehall. The main courtyard was full of servants and chamberlains, and I discreetly asked one for directions to the Dudley chamber.
Despite my determination to help the princess and despite Cecil’s explicit trust, I hadn’t been convinced I could look Lord Robert in the face and not give myself away. It was one thing to despise him for using me, quite another to know I had to show an impenetrable front to keep him from achieving his ends. And knowing I was being followed had only added fear to my already extreme case of nerves. If whoever it was had discovered my meeting with Cecil, I thought it safe to assume the intent was not benevolent. Not only was Elizabeth’s safety and that of her sister, Princess Mary, at stake, but my own life could hinge on my ability to complete this task. All I needed to do for the moment, I kept telling myself, was to convince Robert his cause was not lost, only delayed by feminine caprice. As for what came after, given recent events, I thought it best not to look too far ahead.
Inhaling a deep breath, I threw open the chamber door, my excuse ready on my lips.
The room was empty. Only the stripped bed frame and scarred central table remained. On this table were thrown my saddlebag and cloak.
“Finally,” a voice said from behind me. I spun about.
Resplendent in scarlet brocade, his slashed breeches cut short to reveal his muscular thighs and to enhance the protruding splendor of his curled and patterned codpiece, Lord Robert Dudley swaggered into the room.
I bowed low. “My lord, forgive my tardiness. I got lost and—”
“No, no.” He waved a gloved hand, perfuming the air with a distinct scent of musk. “Your first night at court, all that free wine and food, a wench or two—how could you resist?”
His grin was brazen, displaying strong teeth. Not a pleasant grin, but appealing all the same. Much as I hated to admit it, I could see why women responded to him. The grin also indicated to my relief that he wasn’t inclined to see me grovel.
He arched a brow. “You missed the packing, however, not to mention my good news.”
“My lord?” Of course. That was why he looked so smug. He had news.
His dusky eyes glittered. “Yes. I’ve received word from my father that Her Grace has decided to stay to celebrate Guilford’s nuptials. It seems she can’t resist me. And I owe it all to you.” He let out a guffa
w, slinging an arm about my shoulders. “Who could have guessed you had such a sweet tongue? We should consider sending you abroad as an ambassador.”
I forced out a grin. “Indeed, my lord. Thus may you take heed of how to woo a lady.”
“Bah!” He thumped my back. “You are a live one, I’ll grant you, but you’ve a ways to go before you’re fit to woo anything other than a tavern slut. I, on the other hand, will soon pay suit to a princess of the blood royal.”
Naturally, he assumed the princess was going to Greenwich because of her interest in him. But at least I had something to report to Cecil. By Robert’s own admission, he confirmed his intent. I could scarcely look at his face, thinking that under that enviable facade lay the soul of a villain.
“Does my lord think she’ll…?” I let my insinuation linger.
“Oblige me?” He played with the fringe of his gauntlets. “How could she not? She may be a princess, but she’s also Nan Boleyn’s daughter. And Nan always had an eye for the gentlemen. But, like her mother, she’ll make me wait. It’s the Boleyn way. She’ll make me beg before I am deemed worthy, just as Nan did to Henry. No matter. It gives us all the more time to bait my snare.”
I detested him in that instant, overcome by the urge to wipe that insufferable superiority off his face. Instead, I found considerable pleasure in removing the ring from my doublet. I extended it. “I certainly hope so, my lord, because she wouldn’t take this from me.”
His self-indulgent expression froze. He stared at the ring in my palm. “Did she say why?” he asked in a flat voice.
“She said you thought too much of yourself. Or too little of her.” I realized I shouldn’t be saying this. I was supposed to encourage his delusions, not crush them. But I couldn’t help myself. Lord Robert Dudley deserved to be yanked down a notch or two.
His jaw clenched. For a moment, I thought he would knock my hand aside. Then he gave a terse laugh. “Well, well. So, she refused my token. Of course, she did. The royal virgin—always presuming on her chastity. It’s her favorite role. We’ll let her have her fun for now, eh?”
The icy mirth in his tone crept down my spine. Then he gestured magnanimously, all charm and ease once more. “Keep the ring. I’ll put a finer one on her finger yet.”
Cuffing my shoulder, he sauntered to the door. “Gather up your things. We’re going to Greenwich, but not by barge. Leave the river to weaklings and women. We’ll ride our steeds over good English soil, like comrades and friends.”
Friends. He thought we were friends now, accomplices in a sordid game of deceit. I bowed, turning to the table. “My lord,” I said in a low voice.
He chuckled. “That’s right, I forgot. I’ll leave you to change. Don’t take too long.” He paused. “Come to think of it, you always were particular as a maiden when it came to undressing,” he mused, and my heart leapt against my ribs. He shrugged. “It’s not as if you’ve anything I haven’t seen before.”
He strolled out, closing the door behind him. I waited until I was certain he wouldn’t return before I furtively divested myself of my rumpled new doublet and good shoes.
I stood in chemise and hose. I had to look. Hooking my hand in my hose, I lowered it to my groin. The large maroon discoloration spilled across my left hip, its edges like wilted petals.
It had been there since birth. Though not uncommon, such blemishes were often dubbed “demon bites” or “Lucifer’s pawprints” by the ignorant and superstitious. I’d learned early to conceal it from prying eyes, particularly those of the Dudley boys, who’d have tormented me all the more. Never had any of them seen me naked.
Mistress Alice had said it was a rose left by the kiss of an angel while I was still in the womb. A fanciful tale, which I’d almost believed. But as I matured, it had been the touch of a real woman, like the maid at the castle who introduced me to pleasure and eased its stigma, that taught me that not everyone was as sensitive to its significance as I was.
La marque de la rose …
I shuddered, yanking up my hose and reaching for my leather jerkin. Rolling up the doublets, I stuffed them into my saddlebag. I’d not told Cecil, not yet, but I would. As soon as I fulfilled my obligations I would ask him to help me discover the truth of my birth, no matter the cost. For now, being Robert Dudley’s new friend was a fine enough start. A friend was trusted, relied upon, confided in—someone we turn to in times of need. And wherever Robert went, there his new friend would be, like a shadow.
I had no doubt that the shadow trailing me wouldn’t be far behind.
GREENWICH
Chapter Twelve
Greenwich Palace materialized in a multitude of turrets and pointed blue slate rooftops, fronted by the southeastern swath of the Thames. From the slope where Robert and I halted to rest our mounts, I thought it a more graceful sight than Whitehall’s colossal sprawl, a secluded palace nestled amid woodlands, removed from the grit and chaos of London. It was difficult to conceive of any menace lurking there. Yet Cecil believed it was in Greenwich that the duke had sequestered the king, and here he would make his move against Elizabeth.
“She was born in Greenwich,” Robert said, breaking into my thoughts. “September 7, 1533.” He chuckled. “It was quite the occasion. King Henry had been striding about for months, crashing heads, and cutting off not a few, declaring to all who cared to listen that his beloved queen would bear him a son. But when Anne Boleyn took to her bed, all she brought mewling into the world was, as Henry himself put it, ‘a worthless daughter.’ ”
I glanced at him. “A beautiful place to be born, my lord. She must be fond of it.”
“She is. She even had her own apartments as a babe, at Queen Anne’s insistence. Anne wanted her daughter close to her, regardless of how Henry felt.” Robert straightened in his saddle. “I wonder if she’s arrived yet. It would be just like her to keep us waiting.”
I hoped she did. The longer she delayed, the more time I’d have to appraise the situation. Cecil had said it was likely Edward had been lodged in the palace itself, perhaps in the so-called Secret Lodgings, a series of guarded chambers connected to a long gallery, designed to afford the monarch privacy and seclusion. The more I found out about Edward’s exact whereabouts, the more Cecil might discern about the duke’s impending plans. I also had to join up with Peregrine and find out who was following me and why.
“Let us be off,” cried Robert. “Last one there has to feed the horses.”
With a spirited laugh, he set spurs to his bay. Cinnabar leapt at my nudge, reveling in the opportunity to display prowess. Habituated to long daily rides outside Dudley Castle, my roan was not used to too many hours in the stable. With the wind against my face and Cinnabar’s flanks propelling me forth, I surrendered to the moment, reminded of the days when I’d rode bareback in the fields as a boy, feeling for a brief time as though I hadn’t a care in the world.
* * *
The palace sprang up before me, faced in red brick riddled with plaster grotesques, octagonal chimneys emitting roast smoke and knot gardens breathing a confection of perfumes from herbs and perennials. Waving his hand imperiously, using his horse as a wedge, Robert steered us through the courtiers amassed outside the main gatehouse. We rode past a ward into a cobblestone courtyard, around which were assembled edifices painted in Tudor green and white.
Grooms led lathered horses into these stables, while noblemen in leather cloaks peeled off gauntlets as they stalked into the palace.
Robert leapt from his saddle. Unhooking his bags, he said, “I won the wager. You see to the horses. I’ve a room off the inner court. Wait for me there. I have to report to my father.” He strode off, leaving me with the horses panting in my ears, oblivious that I’d curbed Cinnabar’s enthusiasm so I might deliberately lag behind.
I led the horses into a stable. Harried grooms were accommodating a multitude of roans, geldings, and palfreys, divesting them of saddles, brushing them down, and stabling them with armloads of fresh oats and hay.
/> None took notice of another servant among them. I recognized the duke’s own sleek Barbary in a far stall removed from the others, beside an exit gate with a view of a vast hunting park. I brought the horses to it. Like his son, Northumberland had disdained travel by river. I couldn’t say I blamed them: I was not enamored of running water myself, a childhood fear I had never fully conquered.
I clicked my tongue at the Barbary, who pricked its ears as I stabled Robert’s steed and Cinnabar nearby. “Enjoy it,” I told Cinnabar. “There’s no predicting where we might lodge next.” He nuzzled me, grateful for the run.
A liveried groom approached. “Will you be requiring feed?”
I nodded, reaching into my jerkin for a coin. “Yes, please, and—” I stopped. Stared. “Where in God’s name did you get that green coat? Or should I say, steal it?”
Peregrine grinned. “I borrowed it. These Greenwich stable grooms are so easily bribed. They’d strip naked for the mere glint of gold.”
“Is that so?” I returned to the horses, lowering my voice. “Did you find him?”
Taking my cue, Peregrine busied himself spreading hay on the floor. “Yes. He’s here.”
I paused. “In the palace?”
“Yes. After I left you, I followed him to a tavern where he’d tethered his horse. He didn’t even stop for a drink. He took to the road and got caught up in the servant transport from Whitehall, which gave me time to hop a cart. He rode beside us but stayed apart, as if he smelled better, though there were ale and songs aplenty. When he arrived, he went to the queen’s apartments. The guards didn’t check his papers at the gatehouse. He must have distinction.”
“The queen’s apartments?” I frowned. “His Majesty isn’t married.”
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