The Queen's Secret

by Victoria Lamb

  For a moment Elizabeth was alone, unsure where she was or who was at her elbow. An old panic flared inside her.

  ‘Hold my hand, Your Majesty,’ Robert murmured in that easy, familiar way he had.

  It was almost like the first days of her reign, Robert’s knowledge and experience on hand to bolster her nervous faltering as she groped her way towards monarchy. But she was no longer that young woman ruling over a court of eyes in the shadows, needing her friend’s counsel and companionship at every step.

  Chin held high, she ignored his gesture and swept on towards the safety of her apartments, smiling and nodding at the crowd on either side.

  ‘God bless the Virgin Queen!’ someone shouted with mocking emphasis. The crowd laughed, some a little uneasily, others with undisguised scorn.

  Elizabeth bit her lip fiercely, but shook her head at Robert’s hasty, furious gesture. The commoners would have their jokes, just as they had joked about her father’s tendency to dispatch his wives when they displeased him, and about her sister’s ‘pregnancies’ that had always come to nothing. Yet the vulgar joke still stung, and she looked at the crowd of people more carefully, searching for open disloyalty, for those who would dare laugh in her face.

  ‘Majesty.’ Robert’s hand came under her arm as he guided her into an echoing passageway beneath an ornate stone entrance. He was angry, she could hear it in his voice. ‘I am sorry. My men will—’

  ‘Your men will do nothing. It was nothing.’

  Waving away his help, she began to ascend the staircase. Robert led the way, feathered cap in hand, his expression unreadable in the flickering light thrown by bracketed torches set into the walls. Once again she remembered entering the Tower of London via the damp, gloomy portal of Traitors’ Gate, and once again she fixed her eyes straight ahead, gripping the jewelled skirt of her gown in one locked fist so that it would not drag against the floor.

  The heavy wooden door at the head of the stairs stood open. Servants in blue livery bowed almost double on either side as she entered. Her ladies scampered behind them in a rustle of silk and taffeta, Lettice hidden somewhere among them. The richly furnished rooms of the state apartments, lit by a mass of candles reflected in the glass of each tall window, stretched like a glittering prison in front of her. Elizabeth strode to the window and stripped off her gloves, resting her palms on the smooth curved stone. Behind her, her ladies-in-waiting exclaimed in delight as they explored what would be their home for the next three weeks.

  ‘I have made some alterations since your last visit to Kenilworth, Your Majesty. Your own rooms are still on this floor, but your ladies will sleep below you in very comfortable apartments.’ Several of her ladies giggled behind her back, and Elizabeth guessed that Robert must be smiling at them in his charming way, those dark eyes shining. ‘If there is anything amiss, or if that which you desire is not to hand, I or any of my household will be glad to serve you.’

  ‘We thank you, my lord Leicester. Now you and your servants may leave us.’

  She did not glance back over her shoulder as Robert bowed and removed himself without another word.

  Her knees almost gave way at the sound of the door closing behind him, but she stayed erect, grasping the stone windowsill with her bare hands. It was like some ancient shrine at which she must pray for more strength, for greater patience, as the brilliant cascade of fireworks continued to flash over the lake.

  I shall not bend. I am a queen. I shall not share him with another woman.

  Seven

  LUCY RAN BACK DOWN the smoky alley between the outer wall of the castle and the rickety houses, holding up her skirts to avoid tripping over them. She paused, breathless, at the far end. Smoke from the last of the fireworks lay acrid on the air. Two more alleyways faced her, both equally narrow and steeped in foggy darkness, warm with the stench of pigs and chickens, and pots slung hastily over the fire.

  Once again she cursed the flimsy strap on her shoe, which had broken as she and Catherine had walked towards their lodgings in the Brays. Catherine had gone on ahead, and by the time Lucy had tied up her shoe with the string from her purse, the alley was empty and she had little choice but to retrace her steps.

  ‘Sirs? Masters?’ There were two men ahead of her, carrying a long, battered wooden chest between them. From the blue of their liveried coats, she knew they must be the Earl of Leicester’s men. ‘Beg pardon, but I … I’m lost. I’m with the entertainers’ troupe. Do you know where I might find Master Payne?’

  One of the men eyed her face and then her low-cut gown with a look she found disturbing. ‘One of the court entertainers, are you? And what is it you do for those fine ladies and gentlemen, my black beauty?’

  The other, an older man with a grizzled beard, laid down his end of the chest with a disapproving grunt. ‘Now, Simon Talley, that’s quite enough from you.’ He wiped his hands on his apron and considered her. The night was warm and airless, and the sound of stamping feet, whistling and a fiddler’s rough tune drifted across from makeshift tents under the castle walls. ‘Master Payne, is it? He’ll be busy housing the Queen’s servants tonight.’

  ‘That’s why I need to speak to him. I was following my friend in search of our lodgings. But my shoe broke and I fell behind.’

  ‘No need to distress yourself.’ The older man smiled, showing broken teeth. ‘Did you come down from the outer court? You’d best go back and find a place to sleep. It’s a maze in here, with all these tents and what have you, so watch you don’t get lost again. Take that lane. Then head through the gate and across the tiltyard. You’ll find Master Payne at his station on the bridge. And if any of the guards ask what your business is, tell them old John Tatter sent you. That’ll shut them up.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Calmer now, she followed the old man’s instructions and found her way back towards the tall, brooding shadow she guessed to be the inner keep of the castle. The place was still noisy and bustling, despite the lateness of the hour. Passing to and fro between the inner and outer courts, the Queen’s servants and Leicester’s men lugged bags, trunks and furniture from the unloading carts. Men of office tramped past her in the dark, arguing fiercely, an ancient servant bent almost double behind, laden with books and papers, a secretary’s bag slung over his shoulder. Two men lumbered along with a high-backed leather chair. A dog ran barking up the slope and disappeared over the bridge into the inner court, followed a moment later by a heavy young boy in a velvet cap, red-faced, whistling and calling in vain.

  Some of the other entertainers were still arriving, loud and colourful in their outrageous costumes, carrying trained animals and exotic birds in cages, looking for a place to set up their tents and hammocks. These were not travelling with the Queen’s progress, so had to bribe their way into a place in the castle grounds. Lucy watched as fat purses changed hands on the gate without any attempt at concealment. From their loud discussions, impossible not to overhear, the guards were guiding some of these travellers down to the camp at the Brays. Others were forced to seek their own shelter in the village, or even in the open countryside beyond, depending on their standing with Leicester.

  Lucy’s attention was caught by one man who seemed unable to come to an arrangement with the guards. Forgetting for a moment that she was supposed to be seeking Master Payne, she stood still, startled by his strangeness. The man was followed by a bear on a stout chain. In a dark robe, rough cap and sturdy black boots, armed with a thick stick, the traveller was arguing with the guards for a place to pitch his tent against the castle wall. He seemed to speak English only haltingly, and kept jerking on the bear’s chain.

  His bear was black and shaggy, its fur unkempt and missing in patches, its claws almost within reach of the guards. Whenever the creature reared up, which the man often urged it to do with the use of a long stick, one of the guards would level his pike at it and angrily shout an oath.

  Eventually, some filthy piece of paper was produced, which the guard pored over d
ubiously, then shrugged and handed it to his captain. It had the required effect, for soon the man bowed and turned his snarling bear in the direction the guard had pointed. Whatever the paper contained, Lucy had the impression that the guards had allowed the bear-tamer a place near the walls more out of fear than because he belonged there.

  So absorbed was she by this exchange, she did not at first notice the large man who came climbing the sloping path towards her, his cloak thrown back over a broad shoulder, his cap set at an angle, his black beard thick as any sailor’s.

  ‘How now, Mistress Morgan?’ the man remarked, halting before her with a flourish of his cap. ‘Why, you’ve grown so tall, I wouldn’t have known you.’

  She gave a little cry of astonishment and delight, and threw herself into his arms. ‘Master Goodluck!’

  ‘Careful. I bruise easily.’

  She laughed and leaned comfortably against his vast chest, wishing that a little of his strength could somehow pass into her own weary body. Master Goodluck was like a bear himself, a great black bear whose sharp claws would never hurt her. She had hoped secretly that her guardian might come to Kenilworth with his travelling troupe of players and acrobats. Before she had gone to court, he had always been there to offer advice or teach her new tricks. But his visits had become less frequent since she had won herself a place at court as a singer and dancer for the Queen. In fact, she’d almost begun to fear that Goodluck had forgotten her.

  ‘I missed you, Goodluck.’

  ‘And I missed you, dearest heart.’ His humorous gaze swept the outer court, lingering for a moment on the foreigner and his black bear, which was now rolling on its back, exciting no little interest in the crowd that had gathered. ‘But where are you lodged? Here within the castle walls?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ She frowned, not wishing to admit her own foolishness. ‘I lost my friend, and was told to come back here and speak to a Master Payne. Do you know him?’

  ‘No, but don’t fret. I’ll help you find him and your lodgings for tonight. But not until we’ve had a chance to talk. By Mary, you’re so tall now, woman, I barely recognized you.’ He stuck his cap back on his head and slipped an arm about her waist. ‘Shall we walk?’

  The bear and its owner had finally disappeared back through the gatehouse, but there was still a steady stream of passing servants in the outer court, and harassed-looking gentlemen with their ladies. Under the trees, a troupe of acrobats in green livery were practising their tumbles, and everywhere was a great hum of activity. Even though the sun had finally set, there could be no privacy while light spilled from every window in the halls of the inner court, though at least there was no Mistress Hibbert here to watch her every step. Now only Mistress Longley remained to guard the women servants of the court. A plump and easy-natured woman, she lacked Mistress Hibbert’s dedication to making the lives of her charges a misery.

  ‘Are there gardens here, do you think?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Indeed.’ Goodluck smiled. ‘Though the best are for the Queen’s private use. I came to Kenilworth a few years ago and have always thought it one of the best private homes in the country. But much of this is new.’ He indicated the elegant stone buildings at their back. One of Leicester’s guards walked past, and Goodluck drew the hood of his cloak over his head with characteristic caution. ‘Come under the walls here, where it’s quiet and we can talk undisturbed.’

  Between the new-built stables and the ancient lookout tower, between shored-up buttresses crowded against the outer defences, they found an alcove cut into the reddish sandstone walls.

  Goodluck drew a flask from the folds of his cloak and held it out to her. ‘Shall we drink to Her Majesty’s health?’

  Lucy took a sip and choked. She felt her cheeks redden and her throat sting at the fiery liquid.

  ‘You’ll get me into trouble.’

  ‘Too true. You shouldn’t be keeping such company, my little innocent, or some might suggest you would not long remain so.’

  Goodluck slipped an arm about her waist, drawing her possessively near. He threw back his hood, revealing the full glory of his dark beard again. There had never been a time when she had not known Goodluck, and his mysterious comings and goings had been a constant theme of her childhood. Yet she knew almost nothing about him, beyond his name and the certainty that he would never cause her harm.

  ‘You’re not afraid to be alone with me, Lucy?’ he asked, half teasingly.

  ‘Not a bit.’

  ‘You break my heart. But it’s good to see you again. It must be getting on for a year since I was last in London.’

  ‘More than that. Were you abroad?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that. But I shouldn’t have left you alone so long, I know. You’re well, Lucy?’ he asked, observing her from under thick black brows. ‘It was a creditable thing to get – and keep – a place at court. But you’re not smiling. Are you not happy there?’

  She hesitated, glancing cautiously about the castle walls, but they seemed safe from eavesdroppers. ‘You remember when I was still a child, Master Goodluck, and could sing and dance whenever I wished, and take pleasure in my skill? At court, we are not so free. There’s always work to be done, cleaning or mending or sewing, and we cannot refuse it. I must keep a guard on my tongue too, for fear of drawing attention to myself. And there’s another thing,’ she added. ‘We are watched.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘The women, yes. We live surrounded by rules. And they seem far stricter with me than the others. Even looking the wrong way at a man can earn me a whipping.’

  ‘They beat you?’ Goodluck’s generous, bearded smile did not falter but she heard the anger in his voice.

  ‘Not often. I try to be careful.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He pinched her chin. ‘Though with your mother’s looks, I’m not surprised to hear you are watched constantly.’

  ‘You loved my mother, didn’t you?’

  She had not meant to ask but could not help herself, pouncing on the idea like a hungry bird on a seed. Indeed, there was no one else she could ask about her history, since both her real parents were dead. As she lay dying, her mother had begged Goodluck to look after her baby if it survived. True to his word, he had carried Lucy to his sister’s house when she was only a few days old, or so the story went, for he was too often away from home to bring up a child himself. There, she had been taught her trade, for they were a family of entertainers, and she the very youngest of them all, happiest on her hands instead of her feet and gifted from an early age with the voice of a songbird.

  ‘Yes, I loved her, for the short time that I knew her.’ His smile dimmed, and he glanced down at her curious face. ‘Though we would not have suited. Your mother was a wilful, headstrong piece. Just like her daughter.’

  Lucy pretended to pull away in a huff, but laughed when Goodluck’s strong hands caught her, one arm soon drawing her back to his side. ‘Lucky for you that I am not your father,’ he murmured in her ear, his beard tickling her throat. ‘For I would make a most stern and cruel parent, and keep you locked up night and day.’

  ‘Then I give thanks that you’re my good friend and not my father.’

  She stiffened, frowning at the sight of Tom Black leading a skittish and sidling piebald into the stables. Tom was stroking the horse’s muzzle and whispering in its ear, no doubt seeking to soothe the animal’s fears amid all the noise and chaos of the outer court. She stared at him, admiring his broad chest in the plain white shirt and leather jerkin, the muscular turn of his thighs. It was a rare thing to see a man with skin black as her own, and to find one so far from London was strange and wonderful.

  ‘It’s bad enough to be under the eye of Mistress Hibbert,’ she added, trying not to blush and give her thoughts away. ‘Her smiles are sour as lemons. If she could get away with chaining us to the wall, I promise you she would.’

  Goodluck had followed her gaze, and his eyes narrowed as Tom disappeared into the huge double-storeyed sta
ble block. ‘Mistress Hibbert sounds like a woman after my own heart. Yet where is she, this great scourge of the entertainers? For here you are, a young girl dashing about a strange castle and falling into bad company, and no stout matron in sight to scold you and send you to bed.’

  ‘Oh,’ she replied airily, ‘we left old Hibbert sick in London. And Mistress Longley lets us younger girls run wild.’

  ‘Not too wild, I hope.’

  ‘Are you jealous?’

  ‘I wish I had time to be jealous. My head’s too full of other matters to worry about the comings and goings of pretty young things like yourself.’

  She twisted around and looked up into his bearded, weather-beaten face, curious and more than a little concerned. She had known for years that Master Goodluck had a reputation in certain circles as a spy, and it worried her to think of her comfortable old guardian engaged in such a dangerous business, especially when she could not be entirely certain whether he was spying for or against the Queen. She had seen the bloody remains of too many spiked and staring heads on London Bridge to shrug off the possibility that Goodluck might get himself arrested.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ she asked. ‘Do you carry news from abroad to the Queen’s advisers?’

  ‘Oh, so those dark eyes of yours see more than just goodly young men.’ Goodluck shook his head at her questioning look, and took another swig from his flask. ‘My work is no great matter for discussion, trust me. My only advice would be to beware of Italians. And that must suffice for now.’

  There was a grim look to his eyes that Lucy had never seen before, a heaviness that made her wish to smooth those lines away. But she knew he would resent such a sisterly gesture, so she pretended not to have noticed. Instead she allowed him to pull her back into his arms.