The Tudor Secret

by C. W. Gortner

  “Circumstances change.” She sighed. “Your father can’t force further concessions at this juncture. There’s too much at stake. Elizabeth should never have come to London. By doing so, she’s put our feet to the flames. If she takes it into her head to petition the council to see her brother, or, God forbid, demand it of us in public…” She paused, the unspoken consequences of this calamitous possibility hovering between them.

  Then she said, “Your father needs time, Robert. If he’s decided it’s best to not approach her yet, you must trust in his judgment. He never does anything without a purpose.”

  As she spoke, I saw her eyes lift a fraction, past Robert to the curtain. My blood froze in my veins when I spied the coiled malice in her gaze. It made me think of how she’d looked when she’d brought me before the duchess of Suffolk, and I knew in that instant she was lying, right through her teeth. She misled her own son.

  “He hasn’t forsaken you,” she continued, softly now. “He simply thinks it wiser to attend to Mary first. After all, who can predict what she’ll do? You say she has no money or support, but someone at court is obviously feeding her information, and the Spanish ambassador has money, if she needs it. The situation is too precarious. She must be disposed of, before she does us some irreparable damage.”

  My belly knotted. Why was she mixing lies with truth? Why would she want Robert sent away from here, from Elizabeth? What could she possibly hope to gain from having her most capable son, the one with an intimate link to the princess, gone at a time of peril for the family?

  Robert was staring at his mother as if he’d never seen her before. It was clear that he too sensed the betrayal but was at a loss as to how to decipher it. His hesitation cut like a blade between them before he let out a derisive chuckle.

  “The only damage Mary can do is to make an ass of herself. She should have been married off years ago—to a Lutheran who’d beat some sense into that obstinate Catholic head of hers.”

  “Be that as it may,” countered Lady Dudley, “you must admit she does represent a hindrance. She’s free to roam the countryside and rouse sympathy. The rabble loves a lost cause. I for one would sleep easier knowing she’s in the Tower. A day or two of hard riding, a few hours of unpleasantness, and it will be done. Then you can return to court and Elizabeth. Surely, she won’t spoil in the meantime.”

  I observed the conflicting emotions on Robert’s face as his mother spoke and wasn’t surprised when at length he nodded, albeit in poor humor, and muttered, “Of course not. She’s stubborn as a mule, that one, just like her sister. She’ll stay put until all her questions are satisfied. I suppose that if I must see Mary to prison in order to get that idiot council to heed reason, then I will. I’ll bring her in chains to London.”

  Lady Dudley inclined her head. “I am relieved to hear it. I will go tell your father. He’s deliberating with Lord Arundel. They’ll want to send trustworthy men with you, naturally. Once the preparations are done, you’ll be informed. Why not rest till then? You look tired.” The hand she set on his cheek should have invoked tenderness. It did not.

  “You are our most gifted child,” she murmured. “Patience. Your time will come.”

  Then she turned and, with a swish of skirts, departed the room.

  As soon as the door shut Robert grabbed one of the candlesticks and flung it against the wall. Plaster sprayed. In the ensuing silence, his panting was like a cornered beast’s.

  Fighting back the sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, I passed a hand quickly through my hair, ruffling it, undid my jerkin laces, and emerged blinking from behind the curtain. He whirled about. “You! You were here? You … you heard?”

  “Given the situation,” I said, “I thought it best if I remained out of sight, my lord.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Fuck you, you eavesdropping dog.”

  I dropped my gaze. “Forgive me but I was so tired. All that free wine last night, the ride here … I fell asleep on my lord’s bed. I beg your forgiveness. It won’t happen again.”

  He eyed me. Then he strode to me and struck me hard, across the face. I rocked back on my heels. He stared at me for a long moment. Then he said tersely, “Asleep, were you? You’d best learn to hold your wine then. Or drink less.” He paused again.

  I held my breath, my face smarting. It was a plausible excuse, if not a very convincing one, but it did save him embarrassment, and he might just be arrogant enough to assume I’d barely understood what had been said. After all, he’d never rated my intelligence highly, and I’d never expressed an ambition beyond serving his family. But there was the possibility that if he decided I posed a liability, he would kill me. I could only pray he actually saw me as a dog that would never turn on the hand that fed it.

  To my relief, Robert kicked the candlestick aside and stalked to the table. “To the devil with my father. Just when I had matters in hand. I’m beginning to think he deliberately wants to thwart me. First he sends me off to the Tower on some stupid errand while he invites her to court, and now, once again, he’s found a reason to delay his promise.”

  I made a sympathetic sound, trying to piece together what I’d learned.

  First of all, the much-vaunted Dudley familial unity appeared to be crumbling. Lady Dudley had said her husband no longer confided in her, though she’d always been his mainstay, the iron behind his silk. Whatever plans the duke had in store for Elizabeth now excluded Robert, despite the repeated mention of a promise made to him. I could hazard a guess as to what this promise had entailed.

  Moreover, Lady Dudley had mentioned the Suffolks, the new in-laws to the Dudleys. Could it be they, as royal kin, were opposed to this royal union for Guilford? Jane Grey was a grandniece of Henry the Eighth’s: She had Tudor blood in her veins through her mother, the daughter of King Henry’s younger sister. That might explain why the duke had elected to send Robert after Mary. Putting the heir to the throne in the Tower would prove a persuasive counter to the Suffolks’ objections. Or was there an even more sinister motive to these machinations?

  I wanted to delve deeper, particularly where the Suffolks were concerned. They had an important role here. The duchess, in particular, was someone whose intentions I needed to discover. Elizabeth’s safety, and my own, could depend on it. But a servant who hadn’t overheard anything shouldn’t ask clarifying questions.

  I finally ventured to say, “Initiative like my lord’s should be appreciated.”

  It was a tepid attempt, but like most people with a hurt to avenge, Robert seized on it. “Yes, you’d think it should. But my father apparently thinks otherwise. And my mother—God’s teeth, I know well the only one she’s ever cared about is Guilford. She’d see the rest of us dead in an instant if it came to his life or ours.”

  I let the moment pass. “I’ve heard it said mothers love their children equally, regardless.”

  “Did yours,” he retorted, “when she left you to die in that cottage by our castle?”

  The question was rhetorical; it didn’t require an answer. I stood silent as he went on.

  “She doesn’t give a fig about me. Guilford’s always been her favorite because he’s the one she can control. She pushed to see him wed to Jane Grey. Father said she even went up against Jane’s mother when the duchess refused to consider it, citing that her daughter had the blood of kings in her veins, while we were upstarts with only the king’s favor to commend us. Somehow, she got the duchess to change her mind. Knowing my mother, she probably put a knife to that old cunt’s throat.”

  His words jolted me to my sinews. A knife at the duchess’s throat: Suddenly I felt as if I were snared in a dark tangled web, where I had no chance of escape.

  Robert undid his doublet, threw it onto the bench. “Well, foul on her! Foul on all of them, I say. I’ve my own plans now, and I’m not about to give them up just because she says I must. Let her go after Mary herself if she thinks that papist is a threat. I’m not some lackey to be ordered about at will.” He scoured the
room. “Is there nothing to drink in this godforsaken hole?”

  “I’ll fetch wine, my lord.” I went immediately to the door. I had no idea where to find it, but at least I could take some time to compose my reeling thoughts.

  Robert stopped me. “No, forget the wine. Help me undress. No use muddling my wits. I’m going to find a way to see Elizabeth, whether my father approves or not. I’ll see her and get her consent, and once I do, he’ll have to agree. He can do nothing else.”

  I divested Robert of his breeches, chemise, and boots. From his saddlebag, I extracted a cloth and dried the sweat from his torso.

  “They’ll have no idea of what hit them,” he expounded. “Guilford and my mother, especially: I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when I tell them the news.” He guffawed, spread his legs as I untied his points and peeled off his hose. “What? Have you nothing to say?”

  Folding his undergarments and setting them on the coffer, I said, “I’m content to serve as my lord deems best.”

  He laughed. “Brash courage, Prescott—that’s what it takes to survive this cesspit we call life. Not that you would know.” He turned naked to the bedchamber. “Do as you like this afternoon. Just make sure you’re back in time to dress me for tonight. And don’t you get lost this time. I’ll need to look my best.”

  “My lord.” On sudden impulse, I reached to my jerkin. The die was cast. It would not do to have her messenger return to inquire why Lord Robert had failed to reply. “I found this on the table when I first came in.” I extended the paper. “Forgive me. I forgot I had it.”

  Robert snatched it from my fingers. “Clever boy. It wouldn’t do for my mother to have seen this. It’s a good thing you took a nap when you did.” He tore the letter open. Triumph flooded his face. “What did I tell you? She can’t resist me! She says she’ll see me tonight, in the old pavilion, no less. She has a macabre sense of humor, our Bess. It’s said her mother spent her last night of freedom in that pavilion, waiting in vain for Henry to come to her.”

  “Then, it is good news?” There was a vile taste in my mouth.

  “Good news? It’s the best bloody news I’ve had yet. Don’t stand there like a simpleton. Fetch the ink and paper from my bag. I must send an answer before she changes her mind.”

  He scrawled his reply, sanding it and sealing the paper with his signet. “Deliver this to her. She arrived hours ago, demanding apartments overlooking the garden. Take the corridor to the ward, cross to the stairs, and climb them to the gallery. You won’t see her in person. She has a penchant for afternoon naps. Her women should be about, though, including that morsel Kate Stafford, who has her trust.” He guffawed. “Whatever you do, don’t give it to the dragon Ashley. She hates me as if I were Lucifer himself.”

  I slid the paper into my jerkin. “I’ll do my best, my lord.”

  He gave me a cruel smile. “See that you do. For if all goes as planned, you could soon be squire to the next king of England.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  As soon as I got out of the room and ran down the hallway, I turned a corner and stopped to examine the seal on Lord Robert’s reply. I cursed. The wax was still wet. I’d destroy the paper if I tried to undo it. Thinking I could tarry until it dried sufficiently, I moved into the ward.

  I reminded myself not to act precipitously. Anything I did could turn against me. Still, I couldn’t deliver Robert’s reply and simply wait for whatever happened next. The hunt had begun. If I was right, Elizabeth would become the first of the two royal sisters to end up in the Tower, especially when Robert learned she’d never consent to a plot that hinged on both her siblings’ deaths. I desperately wanted to see Cecil, but I had no idea of how to reach the secretary, nor had he offered, which didn’t say much for my fledgling skills as a spy.

  I would have to warn Elizabeth myself, while I delivered the letter.

  Which meant I had to somehow see her in person.

  I crossed the ward and entered a short passage leading to the stairs Robert had mentioned. I turned my attention back to the seal, about to worry it a bit when a sudden movement caught my eye. For a second I couldn’t move. Then I bent to my boot and took my dagger from its sheath. I shifted toward a nearby doorway. The door was ajar. I’d seen a figure slip past it.

  I inched forth, my dagger in my fist. I drew short stifled breaths through my nose, but even this sounded too loud to my ears. Whoever waited for me could at this moment be drawing a far more lethal weapon than the blade I brandished, readying to cleave my skull the moment I inched over the threshold. Or perhaps it wasn’t my death he sought. He had stalked me through the streets of London and not taken me when he’d had the chance. He had come to Greenwich, presumably after me. Now he was lurking in this room.

  I came to a halt. Cold sweat beaded my brow; as a drop slid down my temple I found to my horror that I couldn’t take the final step that would bring me inside. I couldn’t reach out and throw the door open, announcing my presence.

  Coward. Get in there. Face the bastard and be done with it.

  I reached out, every finger stretched taut. I grazed wood. With a simultaneous uplifting of my blade and savage push at the door, I leapt into the room, a half cry on my lips.

  A skeletal man stood there, dressed in black.

  I exhaled in fury. “Christ. I could have killed you.”

  Walsingham returned my stare. “I doubt it. Shut that door. I’d rather we weren’t seen.”

  I closed the door with a kick of my heel. He was the last person I’d expected to see.

  The slight tilt to his lips might have passed for a smile. “I’m here for your report.”

  “Report? What report?”

  “For our mutual employer, of course. Unless you’ve returned your dubious loyalties to that pack of scheming traitors who reared you.”

  I returned his stare. “I don’t answer to you.”

  “Oh? I believe you do. Indeed, our employer has entrusted me with your welfare. Henceforth, you take your instructions from me.” He paused, with marked intent. “That means that whatever you have to report, you will report directly to me.”

  In the starkness of the chamber he looked taller and so gaunt the light seemed to pierce his skin and skim the angles of his cadaverous face. His eyes were sunken, black and dull as cinders, the eyes of a man who has seen and done things I could not imagine.

  I made myself sheathe my dagger. I didn’t trust him. He had an air of immorality about him, a corruption he wore like a second skin. He was probably capable of doing anything to suit his purpose, without thinking about it twice. But he still had to answer to Cecil, and in my current straits, I had to oblige him. To a point.

  With my other hand still clenched about Robert’s note, I said: “I only just arrived. I have nothing to report.”

  “You’re lying.” His stare bore into me. “I do not relish the antics of callow boys, nor am I in favor of employing them. But I will accommodate our employer’s misguided trust in you, for now. Therefore, I’ll ask once more. What do you have to report?”

  I debated, prolonging the moment just enough to see his jaw edge. Then, with deliberate reluctance, I opened my hand to reveal the crushed missive. “Well, there is this.”

  He took it from me. He had peculiarly feminine hands, soft and white and no doubt icy to the touch. He slid a long nail under the seal. With expert precision, he unglued it from the paper. After reading the missive he refolded it, pressing the damp seal back in place.

  “An ideal place for a rendezvous,” he said, handing the paper to me. “Secluded, unfrequented, yet close to a postern gate. Her Grace plays this game well.”

  The note of chill admiration in his otherwise passionless voice surprised me. “You approve? But I thought…” I paused. I didn’t know what I thought. I had been instructed to retain Robert’s confidence, to listen and report, and to facilitate, if instructed, the princess’s escape. I suddenly realized no one had hired me to think, and I felt exactly like w
hat he had called me—a callow fool, my strings yanked by some unseen puppeteer.

  Walsingham regarded me. “Did you think we had days in which to fine-tune our plan? Proof enough of how unsuitable you are. In matters such as these, success depends on initiative. It is something an experienced intelligencer would understand.”

  “Look here,” I replied, and I couldn’t ease an infuriating tremor from my voice. “I didn’t ask to get involved in this. You forced me into it, remember? Neither you nor Cecil gave me a choice. If I hadn’t agreed to help, no doubt I’d be at the bottom of the river by now.”

  “We always have a choice. You just took the one that you think will give you the most advantage, as does every man. Anything else you care to remonstrate about?”

  Again, he took me off guard. I couldn’t think of anyone I’d less prefer to give my information to. But withholding wouldn’t help Elizabeth.

  “I overheard Lady Dudley and Lord Robert talking.” I kept my tone impersonal. “His lordship will send Lord Robert to capture the Lady Mary. He also refused Robert’s request to see Her Grace and present what my master calls his ‘proposal.’ You should tell Cecil the duke may have another purpose in mind for her than the one we think.”

  I paused. Walsingham remained expressionless.

  “It stands to reason it must be something he doesn’t want his son to know about,” I added. “Why else would he send Robert away?”

  Walsingham did not speak.

  “Did you hear me? Whatever the duke plans, it can’t be good for the princess. You just said success depends on initiative. Here’s our chance. We should get Her Grace as far from here, and from the Dudleys, as soon as we can.”

  Had I not known better, I’d have thought he couldn’t have cared less. Then I detected a surreptitious gleam in his hooded eyes, a near indiscernible tightening of his mouth. What I had relayed was important. He didn’t want me to know it.