The Tudor Secret

by C. W. Gortner

  Cecil didn’t acknowledge anyone. In his unadorned hooded cloak and flat velvet cap, he could have been any one of the numerous clerks looking for their shifts to end. Indeed, any of said clerks could have been other than what they appeared. I scanned the ward. For a heart-stopping moment I thought I glimpsed a slim figure pause to mark us. When I focused, however, there was no one there.

  The hair on the back of my neck prickled. It couldn’t possibly have been Stokes; he’d be with the duchess on her way to her country manor, seeking to put as much distance between her hapless daughter Jane and herself as she could. I must be more tired than I’d thought. I was letting fatigue get the best of me. And I was beginning to think I must be mad to have insisted on this errand. Impregnable walls closed in around me; under my feet unraveled miles of pits and dungeons, where men suffered the most agonizing of torments. Death on the scaffold was considered a mercy compared to the array of devices inflicted on those imprisoned here, some of which were so horrific many never made it to the scaffold.

  Fear rooted in the pit of my stomach. I concentrated on keeping my expression impassive when we were detained again at the keep’s entrance. Once more Cecil parlayed his credentials and astonishing recollection for first names and familial details, not to mention a discreet use of coin, to earn us admittance.

  Inside, torches on the walls gurgled flame. The hall we traversed was damp, cold; the sun never penetrated here. We climbed a turnpike staircase to a second floor roofed in timber, where two stern-faced yeomen in uniform, with snub-nosed dags at their belts, stopped us.

  “Master Cecil, I regret to say no one is allowed in,” a burly fellow informed us, though not without an apologetic note in his voice. Did Cecil know every guard of import in the Tower?

  Evidently, for Cecil smiled. “Ah, yes, Tom. I was told the lords had ordered the lady confined for her own protection.” He removed Mary’s letter to the council from his pocket, the broken seal showing. “However, this man brings news from Lady Mary. I don’t think we should interfere with Tudor family business, do you?” His tone was light, almost amiable. “We might soon find ourselves having to explain our own rather insignificant roles in this unfortunate affair, and I for one would prefer to say I did what was right. Besides, he needs only a moment. ”

  Good guard Tom didn’t need to be told twice. Motioning brusquely to the other, he had the door unlocked. I waited for Cecil to move forward. Instead he stepped aside. “I actually do have some papers to fetch,” he told me. “You’ve a few minutes. That is all.”

  I stepped inside.

  Though small, the room was not unpleasant; it looked like any lady’s bower, hung with tapestries, fresh rushes strewn on the plank-wood flooring. She sat in a chair positioned at the casement window, which offered a circumscribed view of the city.

  Without looking around Jane Grey said, “I’m not hungry, and I am not going to sign anything, so put whatever you have on the table and go.”

  “My lady.” I bowed low. She stood, her anxiety showing in her quick movement. She wore a fustian gown, her ginger-colored hair loose over her thin shoulders. In the gloom of the chamber, where premature dusk already began to settle, she seemed tiny, a child in adult garb.

  Her voice caught in her throat. “I … I know you.”

  “Yes, my lady. I am Squire Prescott. We met at Whitehall. I am honored you remember.”

  “Whitehall,” she repeated, and I saw her shudder. “That horrible place…”

  I wanted to take her in my arms and hold her close. She looked as if she hadn’t known an hour of peace in years, as if nothing except tragedy would ever touch her again.

  “I’ve little time,” I told her, and I took a step closer. “I’ve come to tell you not to despair.” I removed Mary’s second letter from within my cloak. “Her Majesty sends you this.”

  She recoiled, as if she’d been struck. “Her Majesty? Is it over, then?”

  “It will be soon. By tonight, the council must declare for her; they can do nothing else. The duke’s army has deserted him. It is a matter of time before he surrenders or is captured.”

  She gnawed at her lip, glancing at the letter in my hand. “God knows in His Wisdom, I never desired this,” she said. “The duke and his wife, my parents and the council … they forced this on me. They made me marry Guilford and do their bidding. Thus shall I tell Mary, if she ever finds it in her heart to forgive me.”

  “She already has. Her Majesty knows how grievously you’ve been used.”

  Her voice was as firm as the hand she held up. “Pray, do not seek to lighten my burden. I’ve committed treason. There is no other remedy than to suffer the punishment. I will not shirk my duty, not even for my life.”

  I felt tears perilously close. I extended the letter to her. “Her Majesty won’t let you suffer anything. As soon as she’s seen to the true culprits in this affair, she will release you. You will go home, my lady, back to your studies and your books.”

  “My books…” Her voice caught, and I couldn’t resist anymore. I strode to her, engulfed her in my arms. She sagged against my chest. Though she didn’t utter a sound, I felt her weep.

  Ebbing light slanted through the window. In that moment, I wanted to tell her everything I had discovered, so that she would know she was not alone, so that she would always find in me an uncle who cared for her.

  But the words stuck in my throat. I could never tell her the truth; it was too dangerous. It would only darken the terrible burden she already carried. Though I might one day come to understand why the Dudleys had done what they had, I knew in that instant that I would never forgive them for the devastation they had wrought on this fifteen-year-old girl.

  She drew back. She was composed, the wetness on her cheeks fading as she took the crushed letter from me and slipped it into her gown pocket. “I’ll read it later,” she said, and she was about to say something else when she was interrupted by the sudden disquieting toll of bells.

  “You must leave,” she said. “You cannot be found here. It wouldn’t bode well for you.”

  “My lady,” I said to her, “if you ever find need of me you have only to send word.”

  She smiled. “Not even you can save me from the path God has ordained.”

  I bowed again, went to the door. I glanced over my shoulder. She had returned to her vigil at the window, twilight gathering itself about her.

  Cecil rose from a stool in the passage. Thanking Tom, who locked the door once more, he took me by the arm. “I was about to come in after you. Did you hear the bells? We must leave at once. In an hour at most, the gates shall close in Mary’s name. This will be her prison.”

  I shook his hand away. “God speed, then. I still have unfinished business.”

  He stared at me. “No. I know what you’re thinking, and it is madness. She is not a prisoner. She’s free to move about, tell anyone she pleases that you are alive and well.”

  “She won’t. She’s too busy trying to save her precious son. Besides, there was never any proof. Alice is dead. I’m no longer a threat, if indeed I ever was.”

  “Be that as it may,” he said, and for the first time since we’d met I sensed genuine concern in his voice. “Would you put your life in her hands? Think before you do this. I will not be held responsible for whatever may befall you.”

  “I never expected you to. I’ve asked Peregrine to wait for me in the fields outside the city with our horses. If I’m not there by nightfall, he’s to go to Hatfield. You can meet him and ride off to be with your family. But I must stay. She has something I need.”

  Cecil’s jaw tensed under his beard. He stood silent for a long moment before he drew his cloak about him and tightened his hold on his valise. “May you find what you seek,” he said tersely, and he went down the staircase without a backward glance.

  I resisted the claw of fear in my belly. Turning to meet the guards’ curious stares, I said, “If one of you might indicate the way to Lord Guilford’s room…?” />
  The yeoman Tom said, “I’ll take you to him.”

  Chapter Thirty

  I climbed worn stone flags to the uppermost story, Tom ahead of me. Despite my icy bravura, I dreaded the upcoming moment more than I’d admit.

  We came to a narrow door. As Tom spoke with the guards there, I almost turned and fled. I could still catch up with Cecil, who was another kind of monster, yes, but one I’d prefer to deal with any day. I could meet Peregrine in the fields; by tonight I could be with Kate and Elizabeth in the safety of the princess’s manor. I could live out the rest of my days in ignorance and most likely be the better for it. Whatever lay beyond that door would only bring me more suffering.

  Even as I thought this, my fingers strayed to the inner pocket in my cloak, seeking the almost intangible object I’d secreted there. The feel of it strengthened my faltering resolve. I had to do this, for Mistress Alice, if nothing else.

  “Five minutes.” Tom handed me his weapon. “Be careful. She’s rabid as a dog, that one.”

  He unbolted and pulled open the door. Shoving the pistol in my belt, I stepped inside.

  A large leather coffer was in the middle of the room, heaped with clothing. Upon the floor were piled papers and books. Two figures labored in a corner, hauling a wooden chest from the wall. Near-identical shades of fair hair mingled damply, the lean bodies under sweat-stained clothing molded of the same rib and bone.

  At the sound of the door opening, she reared around to face the intruder. At her side Guilford likewise looked up. He froze.

  “It’s about time you deigned to—” she began. She stiffened. “Who are you? How dare you intrude on us!” She meant to sound commanding, but her voice was strained, her appearance so unlike the impeccable unforgiving matron I’d always known that I couldn’t formulate a word.

  Then I remembered. I had a beard. I wore a cap.

  I removed the cap. “I thought you’d recognize me, of all people, my lady.”

  Guilford yelped. Hissing breath through her bared teeth, Lady Dudley stalked to me, her unbound hair showing streaks of silver, framing her gaunt, infuriated features.

  “You. You are supposed to be dead.”

  I met her empty eyes. I could see now that she was ill. She’d been ill for years, both in mind and spirit. She’d kept it hidden under her glacial facade, against which nothing had seemed to penetrate, but all the while it had consumed her, her husband’s betrayal after years of dutiful marriage exposing the raw, desperate creature she had become. Faced with abandonment after a lifetime of self-sacrifice, she had lashed out with all the cunning at her disposal. Lethal as she was, in the final say she had acted out of unbearable grief. And grief was something I understood, even if the realization brought no comfort.

  “I’m glad to disappoint you,” I said.

  Her mouth twisted. “You always did enjoy making a nuisance out of yourself.” She reached up a hand in a phantom echo of her previous elegance, pushed back tendrils of hair from her brow. “How tedious. I’d thought myself well rid of you by now.”

  “Oh, you will be—as soon as you answer my questions.”

  She paused. Behind her Guilford cried, “You—you stay away from us!”

  “Be quiet.” She did not take her gaze from me. “Let him ask whatever he likes. It costs us nothing to hear him waste his breath.”

  I flipped back my cloak, revealing Tom’s dag. Her eyes widened. “I may not be the best shot,” I said, “but in such a small room I’m bound to hit something. Or someone.”

  She stepped before me. “Leave my son alone. He knows nothing. Ask your miserable questions and be gone. I’ve more pressing matters to attend to.”

  For once she spoke the truth. When the bells had begun to toll, she’d been in the middle of packing valuables. Like Jane, she understood what those bells signified; she knew the end approached. So she and Guilford had started dragging that coffer to the door in a futile attempt to block it, to gain time before they were both officially declared prisoners. She knew the council would soon come to put him under arrest—Guilford, her most beloved child, the only one she’d ever cared for. Her hunger for revenge was equaled only by her feral devotion to the one soul she had molded entirely to her will.

  She was human, after all. She could love. And hate.

  “You cannot save him,” I told her. “Those bells ring for Queen Mary. You’ve lost. Guilford Dudley will never wear a crown. In fact, he’ll be lucky to keep his head.”

  “I’ll tear you to pieces, bloody cur,” snarled Guilford.

  Lady Dudley’s laugh was a blade ripping through skin. “You’re still not nearly as clever as you think. I never wanted a crown for him. It’s my husband who will lose his head for this, not Guilford. I will save him, even if I have to beg for his life on my knees. Mary is a woman; she knows what loss is. She will understand that no child should pay for his father’s crimes.”

  She took a step closer to me, her breath acrid. “But you—you have lost everything. Mistress Alice is dead, and you’ll get nothing more from me. You don’t exist. You never did.”

  I took her measure. “I know about Master Shelton.”

  She went utterly still.

  “Archibald Shelton,” I went on, “your devoted steward. I know he was the one who shot at me that night in Greenwich. I thought he displayed rather poor aim for a man considered an expert marksman during the Scottish wars. But now I know he wasn’t really trying to kill me. He was trying to spare me when he aimed at the wall. The ball just happened to ricochet.”

  “Fool,” she spat. “Shelton took the gun, yes, but it was dark. He couldn’t see. Had there been better light he would killed you. He despises you for everything you’ve done.”

  “Oh, I don’t believe that,” I said, and then I paused, suddenly realizing what had eluded me. “But you didn’t know, did you? He never told you. You never knew he was the one Mistress Alice had confided in. You only knew someone else had been told, someone who could reveal who I was if you ever harmed me or her—as eventually you did when you killed Mistress Alice. Master Shelton thought she’d died on the way to the fair; he believed the lie you told, just as I did, but then he came into the king’s room that night with your sons and he saw her. He knew how far you had gone. You thought he’d do anything to serve you, but in truth his ultimate loyalty lay in protecting me—the son of his former master, Charles of Suffolk.”

  She threw herself at me, keening like an animal. Her attack threw me off balance. As I fended her nails from my face, the door flung open and the guards charged in. They grabbed hold of her, hauled her off me as she flailed and screamed obscenities.

  “No!” I yelled. “Wait. Leave her. I have to…”

  It was too late. Two of the guards dragged her away, her shrieks rebounding against the walls. I knew then, as I’d known little else, that it would be a long time before I stopped hearing that unearthly sound in my nightmares.

  The echo faded to silence. Tom stood on the threshold. “It’s time you left. They’re shutting the gates by the council’s order. You don’t want to spend the night in here.”

  I nodded numbly, moving toward the door, when I heard a muffled sob. I looked over my shoulder. Guilford sat crumpled on the floor, his face in his hands. I tried to feel some compassion. It saddened me that all I could muster was disgust.

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  Guilford raised tear-filled eyes. “Who?” he quavered.

  “Master Shelton. Where is he?”

  Fresh tears choked Guilford’s voice. “He—he went to fetch our horses.”

  Wheeling about, I bolted from the room.

  * * *

  Night had fallen. In the bailey, torches exuded smoky light, limning the stone walls. Bells rang out in discordant spontaneity, as more than one local pastor took to his steeple in an excess of joy. Outside the Tower walls, all of London had emerged in celebration for their rightful queen, while inside, pandemonium erupted, as those still loyal to the duke
recognized their folly and sought to escape, even as ramparts were manned and gates bolted shut.

  Rushing down the stairs out of the keep, I came to a halt. My heart pounded in my ears. I could scarcely draw breath as I scanned the crowded bailey for that figure I’d seen earlier, which I now knew had not been a figment of my overwrought imagination.

  It had been Master Shelton in a black cloak. Master Shelton: who’d been abetting Lady Dudley and Guilford in their escape and saw Cecil and me going into the keep. He had to be near. Lady Dudley was expecting him, and he wouldn’t abandon her until he determined there was nothing more he could do. Master Shelton was nothing if not reliable; he fulfilled his duty, no matter what.

  But I now knew he had been doing something more. He had served Charles of Suffolk before he came to the Dudley household, and Mistress Alice must have known him from that time; unbeknownst to Lady Dudley, she’d entrusted him with the truth of my birth. I knew he had mourned my mother, brought the piece of her broken jewel to Mary Tudor. I knew he had spared my life at Greenwich. What I did not know was how deep his bond with my mother ran, if he was in fact the very reason she had hid her pregnancy. I had called myself Suffolk’s son to disarm Lady Dudley, but deep inside something was still missing, an elusive key I did not possess, which, if found, would unlock the final secret.

  He held that key. Only he could tell me if he was my father.

  * * *

  I cursed, peering into a flickering darkness in which cloaked figures rushed about like shades. I’d never find him in this mess. I should give up, make my escape while I still could, before they locked the gates and I was trapped inside.

  I started to turn toward where the majority of those in the bailey headed. As I did, I caught sight of a shadow at the wall opposite me, where the night crept thick as ink.