A Queen's Traitor

by Sam Burnell

  “You’re not Lizbet, just follow what Lucy says and hopefully the fever will break.” Richard directed.

  “I hope so, for my sake. I’ll not be looking after him for long if it doesn’t,” Lizbet sounded morose.

  “You are all heart,” Richard accused.

  “Well it’s true,” Lizbet replied reproachfully, “and you had better not be going blaming me if he dies neither, it’ll be nothing I’ve done. He’s in a bad state, what happened to him?”

  “I’m not sure, yet,” replied Richard. “I’ll not hold you to account Lizbet, but see to his comfort with some kindness.”

  Lizbet knew he meant this and smiled. “You can trust me.”

  They both knew that a fever like the one raging through Jack’s body and the sound coming from his chest when he breathed was enough to put him in the ground. Marshalsea might win out even yet.

  The room was dark and smelt now of herbs tinged with the slightly sickly aroma of some concoction Lucy Sharp had instructed Lizbet to give him. A cup of it stood still on the table next to Jack. Richard picked it up and sniffed deeply; aqua vitae there was but something else as well. He tipped the cup and recognised the laudanum in the mixture.

  Jack was asleep, well maybe not asleep after drinking Lucy Sharp’s remedy, but blessedly unaware nevertheless. The only injuries that were more than superficial were around his wrists where the manacles had ripped away the flesh. Jack coughed and Richard held his own breath as he listened to the rasping rattle within the other man.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he laid his hand on Jack’s shoulder. It seemed a long time since that final day at Burton. Jack had tried to keep him safe, and he’d heard later from Jamie how Jack had frustrated their pursuit. He knew Jack had been to see their father and it was likely that he laid here now as a result of that.

  He squeezed Jack’s shoulder. “Sleep well.”

  †

  Ronan cursed under his breath. He’d already incurred his master, Robert Fitzwarren’s wrath once this week when he’d had to tell him of the theft from the stables of the Arab. Now he was going to have to report that Catherine was gone. He’d waited two days before he broke the news, hoping the stupid girl would appear. In the end she hadn’t been found, and he had little choice but to tell Robert. It was a small lie, but he told Robert that she’d not been seen since the morning; he had servants looking for her, but as yet there was no news.

  Ronan had received another belt round the head for his carelessness, and he had to stand and silently endure one of Robert’s screaming rages. Every servant in the house made themselves scarce when they heard Fitzwarren’s angry voice. Ronan’s delay in telling him about Catherine meant Robert did not connect the disappearance of the horse and the girl. His father, also fearing Robert’s rage, had kept his own counsel about his visit from Richard and the loss of most of his portable wealth from his own rooms.

  †

  “I’m not in charge of the household here anymore, Richard, I don’t know if I can help,” Kate apologised. “I might be able to say she is my niece. I don’t suppose they would turn down one more pair of free hands in the kitchen.”

  “If you could, I would be grateful,” Richard’s eyes met Kate’s. “I indeed owe the girl my life as it happens.”

  Kate quickly reached for paper and pen. “This is my sister’s name, and her daughter is about the right age, she is called Eugene. Send me a letter tomorrow that she is coming to visit and I will tell Travers that she’ll be joining me for a few weeks. Once she’s here it’s not likely they will see to send her away again, and if anyone checks the names will be right. My sister lives in Chester so there’s no risk of anyone meeting her.”

  Richard smiled, “Kate, as always, I am indebted to you.”

  “Any other news?” She asked, handing him the folded paper.

  “Fairfax still has not decided on a firm date. As soon as I know more I will let you know,” Richard supplied.

  “They still intend to go ahead with it then; Elizabeth is totally against it,” Kate was shaking her head. “As am I.”

  “They do indeed. It is a poor plan, and I fear it will be poorly executed as well. Be assured, though, I will ensure Elizabeth’s safety.” Richard replied.

  “Renard, the Spanish Ambassador has been in touch again, and Phillip has ensured that Elizabeth will take part in all the main Christmas celebrations at Court. One cannot tell whether they feel secure that Mary will deliver an heir, or whether they are keeping Elizabeth close as they fear Mary’s ability.” Kate concluded.

  “Probably both,” laughed Richard. “Only God can know the outcome. We will have to wait until May is here to find out the answers.”

  “It seems a painfully long time in coming,” Kate grumbled. “Elizabeth’s nerves are raw with it, and another five months will make her no better.”

  “I wish I could offer you some hope, but they would be but empty words I am afraid,” Richard sympathised.

  “Yes, and we have all had enough of empty words over the last few years,” Kate agreed. “We shall trust in God and hope he gives us the strength to walk tall.”

  “You always walk tall,” Richard drew her so close she felt his breath on her skin.

  Kate blushed and pulled away. “Send me the letter tomorrow and I will gladly take care of your lady.”

  So Catherine went from servant in the Fitzwarren household to servant in another. There was little she could do, and Richard assured her it would be safer and, he hoped, a temporary solution only. Catherine didn’t believe him but faced with few other choices she agreed.

  “Yeeouch,” Lizbet let out a screech; Richard had a tight hold of her. “What’s that bloody well for? Let go you’re hurting me.”

  Richard released her, “Sit down.”

  “Bloody won’t,” Lizbet rubbed the bruised flesh on her arm.

  “Sit down, I’m not asking,” Richard commanded.

  Richard had sat back down at the table and she slid onto the bench opposite him eyeing him warily. They were in the crowded inn beneath Richard’s rented rooms.

  “What do I pay you for?” he asked conversationally.

  Lizbet was careful. “To look after him upstairs. I was just getting myself a bit of supper, Sir, Lucy is with him now.” Then she added, lowering her voice, “An’ I’m doing you a good job, he’s…”

  Richard held a hand up to silence her. “Indeed, I’ve no complaints, if I did you would know about them,” he said coldly.

  Lizbet wisely kept her mouth shut and waited.

  “So, who do you work for now?” he asked.

  Lizbet was unsure where this was going, “You,” she replied.

  “Yes, and do I pay enough? I would venture that in fact, you are better paid than when you were in your previous trade,” Richard surmised.

  Lizbet’s eyes narrowed; what he said was true. “Aye, Master, I can’t complain.”

  “However it seems you do complain,” Richard sounded angry.

  “I’ve said nowt to anyone Master, an’ I’ll take to task any who says that I have and …”

  Richard held up his hand, stilling her words again. “It’s not your voice Lizbet, it’s not your words. But that man over there in the green jacket no longer has coin in his pockets, does he?”

  Lizbet’s face turned scarlet.

  “Put it back. Now. Without him knowing and then come back here.” It wasn’t a request, it was an order, and Lizbet knew it.

  It was easy enough. Richard quashed a smile as he watched Lizbet bump into him, exchange a few words, and slide the coins back where she had found them. Lizbet sidled back over and took her place on the bench again.

  Richard, smiling, held his hand out across the table. “Give me your hand, I’m going to read your fortune.”

  Lizbet nervously held her hand out and he took it in both of his as a palm reader would. His brow furrowed, he silently concentrated on her palm, his fingers tracing the lines that lay there.

  “We
ll, it seems,” his eyes held hers, “that your lifeline is tied to mine. If you keep me happy then I will endeavour to keep you so as well.”

  Richard abruptly turned her hand palm down on the table, his own covering it and holding it still.

  “Did you know that each of your fingers has three bones, and, if you use them against me to fill your pockets again I’ll break them all.”

  Lizbet dropped her gaze from his first. “Sorry Master, old habits.”

  “Old habits,” he agreed, then smiling he turned her palm over again and studied it carefully. “Here…” he traced a line, “is life and it’s a long life. Look how far the line goes beyond the base of the thumb, and see these four lines that intersect it, here, here, here and here,” Richard pointed to each one. “These are your children, and all will grow to be healthy and strong. You will marry,” he paused and twisted her hand to the light, “twice. Your first marriage dies out, see the line here, but your second runs well and he will be the one to give you your sons. Now money.” Richard bent his head closer to her hand. “Well I am surprised.” His eyes met hers. “You’ll have silks, stockings, and petticoats a plenty.”

  Lizbet held his gaze. “And you are a lying bastard,” she pulled her hand back.

  “Not about the broken bones,” came the reply, and Lizbet believed him.

  †

  The noise was finally too much. Damn Lizbet, where the hell was the woman? Richard opened the door to Jack’s room, formerly his own, and the volume of his brother’s cries increased. Hell, if he kept this up people were going to think there was a murder in progress.

  On the table was a pitcher of wine next to the bottles and pots Lucy Sharp had brought. Pulling the first stopper from a pot revealed a buttery cream. He pushed the lid home again and opened another. In the third he found what he was looking for: the drink Lucy had brought for him to quieten his ravings. Locating a cup, he slopped half the brown liquid into it. He wrinkled his nose against the fumes; the familiar acrid smell told him he had the right bottle.

  “Jack, Jack.” Richard sat on the edge of the bed, cup in hand. Where Jack was, he could only guess at. The noise was terrible. Sometimes there was a word but generally without any context. Jack was laid flat, naked beneath the sheet, swaddled in Lucy’s wrappings. Richard was unsure where to grasp him to sit him up.

  “For God’s sake, Jack, help me?” His arm under the other’s shoulders, he hoisted him a degree and jammed pillows behind him. Satisfied at last with the angle, he planted a firm hand on Jack’s head to hold him still and lifted the cup to his blistered lips.

  “No!” Lizbet screeched. Taking in the scene, she cannoned into him. The cup bounced off the bed frame, the contents splattering over the wall. The blow to the side of Lizbet’s head sent her across the room, slamming her painfully against the door.

  “You bastard, that’ll kill him,” she spat at him, eyes blazing, readying herself for the next assault.

  “It’s what you give him,” Richard retorted grabbing the dwale and holding it in her face.

  “A spoonful only, neat and it’d kill a cow in five minutes, you fool,” Lizbet raised herself back up and eyed him warily.

  “You should have told me,” Richard retaliated, slamming down the earthenware bottle.

  “I just did,” Lizbet opened the door behind her, preparing her escape.

  There came a scream from the bed; Lizbet jumped.

  “Give him what he needs,” Richard said. Lizbet stood transfixed. “Now,” Richard commanded, roughly grabbing her arm and pushing her towards Jack before he left the room.

  Lizbet swore under her breath as she eased the drink past Jack’s dry and bleeding lips. She sat back and watched. Even before the cup was finished he’d calmed and within a few more moments he was, again, asleep.

  Lizbet left him alone and, opening the door, she found Richard watching her. “You should have told me,” he repeated again, his cold grey eyes holding hers.

  “Well I hardly thought you’d be tending him now, did I?” she replied, her anger barely contained, her eye on the door to the stairs. Her face still stung and she had no intention of taking another beating.

  “Neither did I, that’s why I am paying you. Where were you?” Richard demanded.

  “Lucy had some salve prepared; she asked me to collect it,” Lizbet said defensively, and it was indeed true. “I was not gone for long.”

  “Why didn’t she bring it?” Richard said; she could tell from his tone he didn’t trust her.

  “She had another to see this morning, she’s coming this evening she said.” Lizbet still watched her employer warily, her left eye now surrounded by a purple spreading stain where he had hit her.

  “Don’t leave him again,” Richard pushed himself up from the table and left, leaving Lizbet staring after his retreating back.

  “Aye you bastard, I’ll do that,” and she spat in his direction.

  †

  Lizbet watched Jack’s chest, her own breath held as she waited to see if the prone man would breathe again. There was, eventually, an almost imperceptible rise, and Lizbet let out her own breath loudly.

  “I can’t stand this anymore, do you hear me?” Lizbet scolded. “Me stuck in here with you, watching your every breath, and wondering if I should be sending for Lucy Sharp or a priest.”

  She had spent nearly a week with him. At the start he’d been troublesome, shouting, delirious, throwing the blankets off. He’d quietened down after a day or so, and Lizbet had been thankful until Lucy told her that his body was preparing to die, that the stillness that was upon him was the start of the veil of death. Lizbet had lost her temper then with Lucy. Richard had stormed in from the other room commanding them to still their tongues, and reluctantly they called a truce.

  Pouring wine into a cup, Lizbet started the long and tedious process of getting Lucy’s concoctions into Jack. He could no longer drink; all she could do now was pour small amounts onto his lips and hope some of it made it into his mouth and that he’d not choke. Lizbet’s nose wrinkled as she pulled the stopper from the dwale; for something that cost as much as it did, Lizbet thought Lucy could at least make it smell nice. It gave off noxious fumes that caught in the back of your throat. Lucy reached for the spoon then looked at the man on the bed.

  “I’m not so sure you need this anymore, laddie,” Lizbet smiled. She might as well get something worth having out of this. Pushing the stopper home, she dropped the bottle into her pocket and resolved to ask Lucy to prepare more when she came that evening, if the poor beggar still lived.

  Three long, painful hours passed and Lizbet was sure he had died. There was total silence in the room. The man’s body was pale and bathed in a sheen of fine sweat and the small tell-tale movements that would betray his breathing had stopped.

  “You miserable bastard, you could have lasted at least a few more days. I’ve done me best for you…” Lizbet groaned. Well, Lucy had warned her he was likely to die, at least she’d be getting seven days good money. Then a thought occurred to Lizbet. It was late, she could just as well sit in here until tomorrow, no-one would know, and then she’d get another days pay for her pains. Another hour passed before she heard Lucy Sharp letting herself noisily into the room. Lizbet held up a finger to bid her be quiet and quickly closed the door behind her.

  “Be quiet Lucy, he’s dead, but let’s keep that to ourselves for another day, eh?” Lizbet suggested quickly.

  Lucy looked between the man on the bed and Lizbet. “Until the morning only, mind. After that you’ll not get away with it,” Lucy warned quietly.

  “Aye well, that’s another day, and you can make up another bottle of dwale as well and charge him for it,” Lizbet smiled, glad Lucy was agreeing with her plan.

  “What did you do with the bottle I already brung? If you gave it all to him then no bloody wonder he’s breathed his last,” Lucy hissed, her eyes wide.

  “I spilt it. Just bring another bottle and come early tomorrow,” Lizbet repli
ed, a little too quickly.

  Lucy eyed Lizbet, clearly she didn’t believe her. “Until the morning only, mind you.”

  “Just till then. Come on Lucy what harm is there in it?” Lizbet smiled.

  “None that’ll touch him anymore that’s for sure,” Lucy looked at the man on the bed. “Right lass I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Lizbet found the night a long one. She had blankets in the corner of the room but found herself unable to lie down and close her eyes in the presence of a corpse. Her conscience was pricked as well by not getting him a priest to help with his passing. Jack dead, in the dark, was altogether different from Jack alive. When Lucy came in the morning, ending Lizbet’s lonely vigil, she was relieved to have another living presence in the room with her.

  “Right lass, here’s the dwale you wanted and I’ll put that on his bill,” Lucy’s voice was loud enough for Richard in the other room to hear, then she put down another small earthenware bottle beside all the other medicines Lizbet had on hand. Then quietly for Lizbet’s ears only, “Right I’ll leave you soon, but you must tell him in an hour or so lass or he’ll know by looking at him you’ve led him a dance.”

  “Are you sure? It’s cold in here, I’ve not had the fire on, maybe another day…” Lizbet ventured hopefully.

  Lucy was exasperated, her hands on her broad hips. “In a few hours he’ll be as stiff as a board, woman, and he’ll stay like that for a day and a half. You’ll not be telling anyone then that he’s just died on you, will you?” Lucy moved passed Lizbet and, leaning down, grasped Jack’s jaw pulling his mouth open. “It’s not set in yet, it starts with the neck and the jaw, but once it gets hold it spreads really fast. The man you are working for is no fool Lizbet, I can see the bruises on your face, lass. Are you looking to get some more?”

  “Alright, I’ll leave it for an hour then after you are gone, and I’ll tell him,” Lizbet conceded, folding her arms and looking particularly unhappy about it.