The Queen's Secret

by Victoria Lamb

  Clad in a floor-length hooded cloak that hid an intricately embroidered nightgown, its hem peeping out from beneath the dark woollen folds, the Queen walked in silence along the path under the lime trees again, shooting occasional glances over her shoulder at her women.

  Her face was more flushed and agitated than Lucy had seen it before, except perhaps when she had been screaming for the lord Leicester the evening of their barge ride. But her voice was low and urgent this time, almost a whisper.

  ‘I cannot trust them, you understand, not a single one of my women, or I should never have summoned you like this. When my dearest Kat was alive … but now, I cannot be sure. Times have changed since I was first queen. You, though, can have no secrets to conceal, Lucy Morgan, my blackbird, my lovely song thrush.’

  Unexpectedly the Queen halted, and whirled in a rich rustle of material to fix Lucy with a sudden, terrifying stare.

  ‘Has anyone come at you these past few weeks? Asked questions about me? Given you gold or jewellery, perhaps, to carry them word of what I do or say?’

  ‘No, Your Majesty,’ Lucy replied, though to her dismay she heard her voice shake – more from fear of what such questions might mean than from any hidden guilt. She tried to suppress the memory of Leicester throwing his gold chain about her neck and asking her to report back to him whatever Her Majesty said or did, for she was sure his motive was love, not intrigue. Luckily the Queen did not appear to have noticed.

  ‘I had to ask.’ The Queen began to walk again, biting her lip. ‘Even after all these years, there are still those in this country who would seek to harm me, to topple me from my throne. It is imperative that I keep my private affairs secret and give such men no weapon to be used against me. You understand? Not a word of what I say here must pass your lips. Not even on your deathbed, though it might cost you your life under torture to stay silent. You understand?’

  Lucy nodded, feeling a rush of pride at the Queen’s faith in her discretion, even as her knees weakened at the word ‘torture’.

  ‘You must know that I have a special place in my heart for Lord Leicester. It is no great secret.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Then you will understand why I must ask you to spy on him for me. And on Lady Essex too.’ The Queen jerked to a halt again, her eyes flashing under the shadowy hood. Her tone became accusing. ‘Tell me truthfully now, has Leicester asked you to carry messages to the Countess of Essex?’

  Lucy did not dare to lie. ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  ‘To what purpose?’

  ‘I …’ She twisted her hands, then let them fall to her sides, knowing that any attempt to protect the Earl of Leicester would be futile. The Queen had her own spies, she must want only confirmation of her own part in the deception. ‘Forgive me, Your Majesty. I cannot say what was in that message.’

  ‘I thought you could read.’

  ‘I can, Your Majesty. My guardian saw to my tutoring as a child. But the letter the Lord Leicester gave me was sealed.’

  The Queen stared. ‘You did not think to open it?’

  ‘I am no spy, Your Majesty. I would not open any letter not directed to me.’

  ‘Highly commendable.’ But the sharp flicker of her gaze over Lucy’s face showed how unconvinced the Queen was by this explanation. ‘But you think they met?’

  Struggling against her desire to stay silent, Lucy glanced beyond the Queen to the small knot of women huddled near the gate. To betray a trust would be an unspeakable act of treachery. Yet to refuse to answer the Queen would be treason, surely?

  ‘The Earl of Leicester asked me to carry a letter to the countess, Your Majesty, and that is all. I do not know what was in it. I took no letter back to his lordship from the countess, and I never saw them together.’

  ‘Not once?’

  ‘Never, Your Majesty.’

  ‘You swear this on your life?’

  ‘I … I swear it on my life,’ she managed, nodding, and at last the Queen seemed satisfied, turning away and so not seeing how Lucy’s hands wrenched at each other in anguish.

  It was not a lie, she told herself feverishly. But she had not admitted the whole affair to the Queen. She knew, after all, even if she had not seen it with her own eyes, that the two must be lovers. There could be no other explanation for their secretive behaviour.

  Elizabeth sat on a bench at the end of the walk, and gestured Lucy to join her. Although her cheeks were still pale under the hooded cloak, she seemed calmer now. The light was growing stronger, and the early mist that had swirled about her ankles on entering the garden had begun to melt away.

  ‘I had the most horrible dream this morning, just before first light. It was only a dream but it felt like truth, like a premonition. Do you believe in such mysteries?’ Staring down at her hands, lying still and white in her lap, the Queen did not wait for an answer but continued, speaking almost to herself. ‘In the dream, I was in prison again, back in the Tower – I was imprisoned there as a girl, did you know? I had been deposed and my throne seized. I lay on the floor, face down on the filthy stone, too weak even to stand and confront my accusers. I had no champion left, no one to fight for my cause. They had all turned their faces away from me. I had to lie there and await my execution as the false Queen of England.’

  ‘It could not happen!’ Lucy burst out, forgetting for a moment to be quiet and respectful. ‘You are the rightful heir. Who would dare seize the throne from the lawful daughter of King Henry?’

  Queen Elizabeth’s gaze lifted, a flash of anger in those eyes, and Lucy realized that she was looking directly at the Countess of Essex, a tall, cloaked figure waiting with the other ladies. ‘There are some,’ she explained slowly, ‘who feel the legality of my birth to be still in doubt and their own claim to the throne as strong as mine. You are too young and innocent, my songbird, to understand the greed and envy of the court, and how swiftly a prince may lose his crown through courtly guile and trickery. Yet trust me when I say that it can happen overnight – especially if that prince is deaf to the whispers and manoeuvres of the ambitious.’

  ‘Your Majesty, there is no one at your court who does not love and honour you as their true queen. You have many loyal followers who would never allow such a calamity to happen,’ Lucy declared hotly.

  ‘And my dream? This premonition?’

  ‘Don’t listen to it, I beg you. I’ve had nightmares too, when I’ve eaten too much or the moon is full, and they mean nothing.’ She cast about for some comfort to offer the Queen, whose face seemed so downcast. ‘Master Goodluck says a bad dream is nothing but a bad dinner that returns to haunt the eater.’

  The Queen laughed at that and pinched her cheek. ‘In truth, your guardian seems a very wise and learned man.’

  Lucy blushed, and looked away as she remembered her earlier lie. What would Master Goodluck say if he knew what she had just done, how she had protected his lordship rather than tell the Queen the truth? She felt sure he would be very angry, and consider her a traitor to the throne.

  ‘Come now,’ the Queen said, rising to her feet and shaking out her cloak with a wry smile, ‘it is dawn. The cock is crowing. The castle will soon be awake and here I am, still in my nightgown and cloak, like a child caught out of bed. You too had better return and dress yourself. For we have another busy day of entertainments ahead, and the delight of your voice may be required again once I have breakfasted. But promise me one thing before you go, Lucy Morgan. For I felt a kinship with you as soon as you spoke before the court of your mother’s death and your lonely upbringing, and I know you will want to help me because of this. Next time his lordship hands you a letter to bear to the Countess of Essex, or indeed to any other lady of the court, you must bring it to me instead.’

  Lucy stared, unable to speak properly. ‘Your Majesty?’

  ‘And you shall be well rewarded. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘yes, Your Majesty.’

  The light around them had grow
n stronger, almost blinding now as it winked off the white marble fountain at the centre of the Privy Garden. It was indeed late, and unseemly for a young maid like herself to be standing about in only a cloak, with her hair all undressed and her face untended. Yet long after the Queen had swept away down the herb-scented path towards her ladies-in-waiting, Lucy found she still could not move, her legs unsteady and her whole body shaking as if with a fever.

  Carry Lord Robert’s messages direct to the Queen instead of to the Countess of Essex?

  She felt sick and it hurt her chest to breathe. She had had no choice but to agree; Elizabeth was the Queen and Lucy was nothing, a mere servant of the court.

  How could she obey both, and yet betray neither?

  Twenty-nine

  BEAR-BAITING WAS HORRIBLE, and Lucy wished she had not stayed to see it. The Queen called out to the castle steward to allow the dogs into the arena, and after that no sound could be heard but the barking and yelping of the hounds and the furious roaring of bears. From her position at the side of the dais, Lucy could see how the bears had been chained to stakes that ran down the centre of the tiltyard so they could not escape. At the signal from the steward, the slavering hounds were let loose on them. The dogs leapt up at the bears, and were knocked back by blows from their great paws. The tethered animals roared at their attackers, rearing up on their hind legs, almost twice the height of a man. Cuffed dogs flew backwards from the posts, yelping in pain, some of them bleeding, others quicker and able to rush in under a bear’s paws, attacking an undefended hind leg with their vicious jaws. The crowd called out and stamped their feet, some of them having bet on particular bears. Through all this, the bear-tamers stood at a distance, their sticks ready to strike any bear that seemed to be flagging, their hoarse voices exhorting the animals to ‘Fight! Fight!’

  Lucy covered her face with her hands. She felt sorry for the poor bears, unable to escape their attackers. Some of them even had their claws filed down so they could not fight off the dogs properly.

  The Italian and his bear were not there, she noticed with an odd sense of relief. But perhaps because his animal was a dancing bear, a performer, it was not forced to fight. It would not have been fair to see a dancing bear torn to pieces by these half-starved hounds, however frightening the bear had seemed when it charged her in the outer court.

  Lucy pushed to the back of the crowd, her hands clapped over her ears, and waited there until the bear-baiting seemed to be over.

  The sun beat down on her head. It was intolerably hot in the white, sandy enclosure of the tiltyard; no wonder the Queen and her chief courtiers had chosen to watch today’s entertainments from beneath the cool shade of a canopy.

  Three of the bears lay dead on the sandy ground, still chained to their stakes. A few others looked badly hurt; their owners stood over them, shouting and striking them with sticks, attempting to get them back on their feet. One brownish bear seemed to have survived with only a few crimson gashes to its vast belly. Several dogs lay dead or dying near where it had been staked and Lucy witnessed a heated altercation between the bear’s master and the furious owner of one of the dogs. He seemed to be claiming that the bear’s claws had not been properly clipped before the contest.

  Belatedly, Lucy realized that the Queen had already risen and left the arena. Now the crowd of commoners had begun to follow the court back inside the castle walls and Lucy found herself being jostled forward by the force of people pressing towards the tiltyard gate. She cried out, trying to fight her way back to the safety of the dais, but no one was listening.

  Then a hand plucked at her sleeve, dragging her aside out of the crush of people.

  ‘Lucy!’

  It was the Countess of Essex, her pretty face flushed and nervous. She drew Lucy against the wall of the tiltyard and whispered in her ear. To Lucy’s surprise, Lady Essex spoke with a frank, soft-voiced intimacy – as though they were sisters or close friends, not noblewoman and servant.

  ‘Will you come with me tonight, Lucy?’ The countess’s smile seemed forced, her gaze restless. ‘I have a plan, if you are willing to help me. Bring a hooded cloak for me and tell the guards I am your friend. They would let a servant out of the inner court. But I dare not walk out alone, not so late at night, not beyond the state apartments. If I were to be caught—’

  ‘Go with you?’ Lucy repeated stupidly, still in a daze. She looked about, suddenly afraid again, but no one was listening; they were standing alone under the wall of the tiltyard, the passing crowd too noisy to overhear their whispers. ‘To meet Lord Leicester, you mean?’

  The countess nodded, watching her. ‘And wait for me in the stables until we have …’ She hesitated. ‘Until we are finished.’

  ‘Wait on my own?’

  ‘It will not be above an hour, I swear it.’ She squeezed Lucy’s hand, her muttered words frantic. ‘Please, say you will help me. I cannot do this alone.’ Her gaze searched the crowd as though looking for someone in particular. ‘They watch us every minute of every day. Even to speak to you like this is dangerous.’

  ‘Perhaps you should not visit his lordship then,’ Lucy dared to suggest, and saw a flash of anger in the countess’s eyes, swiftly hidden. She thought of the Queen’s request that she should spy on these two lovers, and knew she could not go through with it, could not betray them. But perhaps she could steer them away from the danger of discovery. She might not be the only one the Queen had asked to watch and listen. ‘You could write a letter. A letter without any names would be safe enough.’

  ‘No, I must see him. I must speak to Robert in person.’

  ‘But the danger—’

  ‘You do not understand!’ The countess looked half insane, her cheeks suddenly blotchy with heat. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I have no choice in the matter. Not any longer. I have received a letter from my husband in Ireland. It was delivered to me only a few moments ago. The courier brought sealed letters from Lord Essex for the Queen and some of her councillors too. I’m afraid what may be in them. I must speak to Lord Leicester tonight, and somewhere we cannot be overheard.’

  Lucy felt almost sorry for the lady, seeing the genuine fear in her face. Although she could not condone what Lady Essex had done, she knew such arrangements were common at court. And his lordship was a handsome man, and charming too. The countess must be very much in love with Lord Leicester, to countenance committing the sin of adultery. Though perhaps it had not gone so far yet between them?

  ‘Please, will you help me?’ Lady Essex begged her once more, and Lucy, looking into the woman’s flushed, terrified face, could see no way out.

  Reluctantly, she nodded, and agreed to meet her ladyship on the stairs below the state apartments later that night, with a hooded cloak. Lady Essex would bring a bribe for the guard, in case that should prove necessary.

  When the countess had gone, Lucy stood a moment in the heat of the afternoon sun. Her hands were trembling. She wished she had not agreed to something so dangerous. Leaving the inner court at midnight, waiting alone in the dark stables, no one there to protect her. Goodluck would be furious if he knew the risk she was about to take. But seeing Lady Essex so very afraid, how could she have refused?

  She turned back towards the gate, and bumped into a boy. He had the freckled, sunburned face of a commoner, and a triangular patch on his tunic where the cheap material had torn and been mended. But what caught her attention were his eyes. They were red-rimmed and damp, and from the streak of dirt along his cheek she guessed he had been trying to wipe away tears.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Lucy asked gently. The boy tried to run past her, but she caught him by the shoulders and turned him to face her. ‘Hey, not so fast! What is it? Are you lost?’

  He stared up at her without speaking, his dark eyes still swimming, his lip trembling, and she knew he was trying to decide whether or not to trust her.

  ‘What’s your name, little brother?’

  ‘I’m not your brother,’ he managed in
a whisper, wrenching free of her hands.

  She realized then that he could have run away at any second, but stayed to stare at her, taking in the richly dark skin of her hands and face, her coarse black hair. She watched, half expecting to see fear or distrust in his face – that was the usual reaction from commoners who had never seen a Moor – but instead the boy looked her over in unconcealed admiration, his dark eyes intent and his tears forgotten.

  ‘But my name is Will,’ he continued, and a slight flush entered his cheeks. ‘Will Shakespeare.’

  ‘Well, Master Shakespeare, my name is Lucy Morgan. And please don’t run away, I’d like to talk to you for a moment. If you don’t mind, of course. But what are you doing wandering about here on your own? Do you live in the village, perhaps?’

  He shook his head. His accent was countrified, but not as thickly rural as she had imagined it would be. Perhaps the boy came from a good family. Though a family, she thought, glancing at his patched tunic, that had fallen on hard times. ‘My father brought me here to see the Queen. We live in Stratford.’

  ‘Is Stratford a long way from here?’

  ‘Far enough. We left before dawn, but it still took most of the morning to get here. We have a good cart, but the horse is slow.’ He was frowning now, his head on one side. ‘Do you not know Warwickshire?’

  ‘Not a bit,’ she admitted cheerfully. ‘I am from London.’

  ‘London?’

  There was a touch of awe in his tone, which amused her, and a little longing too. No doubt life in Warwickshire could be dull at times for a boy with a restless mind. His gaze dropped over her once again. Daringly, he touched her hand, brushing her knuckles and up towards her wrist.

  ‘So why do you have black skin?’

  ‘Because my parents were Moors,’ she explained carefully. ‘They came from a burning hot country called Africa, many thousands of miles away over the sea. That is why I have dark skin. But I was born in London.’

  He thought about that for a moment, then his face cleared. ‘So you are English. I heard one of the men say you are a dancer,’ he added, thrusting his hands behind his back and not meeting her eyes. ‘Is that true?’