I sat beside him on the cart, cross-legged, and played at cards with him, then dice, then listened while he read aloud to me from a long poem by Ovid which he had borrowed from my father’s library of books, translating smoothly from the Latin as he read.
We slept at a rough tavern on the first night, too tired to do more than close our eyes, but on the second day had not been riding many hours before we came in sight of the narrow, smoking chimneys at Hatfield House. With the sun hidden behind clouds, the great house looked shadowy and a little sinister. The windows on the west side were all shuttered against the daylight, like a row of blinkered eyes. The entrance yawned dark at the centre, shrouded in ivy.
I shivered, studying it as we approached. I had never seen the place look so grim and unwelcoming.
‘Look, I can see the house plainly now!’ William exclaimed, driving the cart. He turned and grinned back at me. ‘We are nearly there, little sister. Still thirsty?’ We had finished the last of our meagre supplies the night before and had not thought to ask the tavern keeper for more on our departure that morning.
‘My throat is a little dry,’ I admitted, then looked across at Alejandro, who had fallen asleep in the chill sunshine, wrapped in travelling furs.
His face looked beautiful as an angel’s now that the lines of pain had been straightened out, his body relaxed as he slept, one arm slung over my mother’s chest of magickal instruments – which I had insisted on bringing away with me – his short dark hair ruffled by the breeze.
I had been examining my mother’s ring on this last leg of the journey, for I was still curious to know its purpose. So far we had no word from Master Dee about it, and the only way I could think of discovering its use would be to wear it.
Now the ring glinted in the sunlight, inviting me.
I slipped it onto my finger and held it up, admiring the way it caught the light. At once I felt more awake, stronger somehow, as though I had just drunk one of Richard’s healing draughts. And my finger began to tingle, growing almost hot.
I frowned, turning the ring on my finger. The heat was not uncomfortable nor unpleasant. Indeed, it was rather like the tingling itch I felt in my fingertips when the power descended upon me. But this heat seemed to be trickling back along my hand and wrist, up my arm and into my shoulder bones, spreading warmly towards my heart . . .
Richard kicked his horse into a trot, riding past with a quick glance down at Alejandro, and I hurriedly slipped my glove back on, concealing the ring.
‘Best wake your sleeping prince,’ he told me, unsmiling. ‘See, they have heard the horses.’
Sure enough, the entrance door had been thrown open, and I recognized Alice at once, standing out on the path with her hands on her hips. The maid’s face creased into a broad smile at the sight of William, then she waved at us, calling something back into the house.
A moment later, a taller figure joined Alice on the path. Only it was not the Lady Elizabeth as I had expected. It was the dark, sombre figure of Kat Ashley, staring at us from beneath her old-fashioned French hood.
‘Don’t fret,’ Alejandro murmured beside me. When I turned, surprised to see him awake, he managed a reassuring smile. ‘You will not be turned away this time. It was Mistress Ashley herself who bade me ride for you.’
‘Mistress Ashley was behind this summons?’ I was amazed, for she was the one who had ordered my dismissal upon her arrival at Hatfield. ‘But it was she who called me a witch and sent me home to my father’s house.’
He yawned, stretching as he stirred from his bed of furs. I tried not to stare at the perfection of his body, not even the humble clothes my brother had lent him able to disguise his muscular strength.
‘That was before the Lady Elizabeth had special need of you. Things have changed now.’
I frowned, wondering what he meant.
Alejandro threw back the furs as we approached the house. When William had drawn the cart to a halt, he stood, holding onto the swaying side of the cart, and I recognized a certain bold recklessness in his expression. He did not wish the princess, or any of her ladies, to think him weak. However much it cost him to pretend he was not injured.
He jumped down without waiting for William’s offered hand, then turned to help me.
‘Meg,’ he murmured, and caught me by the waist, lifting me easily down onto the path. He frowned, his hands slipping to my hips and lingering there a moment, disapproval in his face. ‘You have lost weight.’
‘I’m just growing taller,’ I joked.
‘You should not let yourself become too thin,’ he insisted, then smiled into my eyes, the warmth of his smile filling my heart. ‘Thank you for keeping me company on the journey. And do not allow Mistress Ashley to intimidate you. You have the power here, not her.’
My eyes widened at this dangerous suggestion. But I could not ask him to elaborate; Mistress Ashley was already upon us.
She took my arm in a claw-like grip, shooting a grim look at Alejandro as she pulled me towards the house. ‘Why has it taken you so many days to answer her ladyship’s summons? Was the urgency of the request not made clear enough to you? We had almost given up all hope of you arriving at all!’
‘Forgive me,’ I answered her, more sharply than was entirely polite, ‘but Alejandro was injured on his return to Lytton Park, and we could not—’
‘Injured?’ She had stopped dead on the path, staring back at Alejandro. Her hand dropped from my sleeve. ‘What nonsense is this girl speaking?’
‘A mere scrape,’ Alejandro told her smoothly. ‘Nothing more. You must forgive my slow progress, Mistress Ashley.’
‘Señor de Castillo might have died if we had not stayed a few days to tend him properly,’ I corrected him, ignoring the warning look in his eyes. ‘You should be grateful we are here at all.’
‘Indeed?’ she countered, her tone haughty.
I could not help glaring at Mistress Ashley, even though it was rude. The first and only time we had met, the princess’s former governess had wasted no time in turning Elizabeth against me and bidding me leave Hatfield for ever. Now she was treating me like the lowliest of serving girls.
‘When I left, Mistress Ashley,’ I said coldly, ‘you accused me of witchcraft and told me I could never return while you were in residence. What can possibly be amiss that I am summoned back with such urgency?’
Her mouth tightened with fury. ‘I have not changed my opinion of you one iota, witch girl. Do not be deceived by this summons. But my mistress is in dire need of your skills. She is unwell and has been worsening every day since I sent Señor de Castillo to fetch you.’ As we turned towards the entrance, Mistress Ashley glanced up at the gloomy house. Something akin to fear flickered in her face. ‘No more talk now; you must be taken to my mistress with all speed.’
I followed her inside, managing a brief smile for Alice as I passed. Her bright eyes were so eagerly studying my brother that I was left in no doubt of her affection for him. That was one good thing to come out of this strange summons, at any rate.
Inside the walls of Hatfield House, I drew my cloak more tightly about my shoulders. The great house felt colder and damper than when I left Hatfield in the late autumn, and although a fire was smouldering resentfully in the huge grate in the hall, filling the place with smoke, it was making little impact on the chilly air.
Indeed the only hot thing was my finger, still encased in my sheepskin glove, which seemed to be pumping warmth around my body. Perhaps the ring’s purpose was to keep you warm in a snowstorm, I thought, and had to conceal my grin.
‘Her ladyship is still abed?’ I asked in a whisper. The shadowy interior felt oddly hushed, more like a crypt than a house, and I did not like to speak too loudly.
‘The Lady Elizabeth has not left her chamber in days.’
‘But what ails her? Is she sick?’
Mistress Ashley looked at me sourly, her skirts gathered in one hand, breathing hard as she climbed the stairs. ‘Señor de Castillo did no
t tell you?’ She made a rough noise of contempt. ‘Her ladyship is not sick, you foolish girl. She is bewitched.’
An old fear gripped my heart and I stared at the woman, barely able to speak, the hated name burning in my mind.
‘By . . . by Marcus Dent?’
She frowned then, looking back at me. ‘Who?’
I stared, then realized my mistake. She knew nothing of my enemy, and this was unlikely to be his handiwork anyway. Marcus Dent could not have penetrated the magickal defences about Hatfield House and its grounds. Or could he?
‘Nobody,’ I said swiftly. ‘It does not matter.’
Kat Ashley raised her thin brows but said nothing. I could not see her face clearly, for she had not brought a candle. But I sensed that she loathed me and wished me anywhere but there. Simply because I was a witch, I presumed.
Reaching the top of the stairs, she swept along the landing ahead of me in her black weeds, never missing her footing despite the darkness. I followed her wearily, studying the back of her head with acute dislike. Mistress Ashley was a shadow among shadows, a black crow in the house of the dead. She had banished me from here once, and she could do it again with a click of her fingers. Just as soon as I had served her mistress. If we ever got to her room.
My skin crept with sudden dread. Yes, why was it taking so long to reach the princess’s bedchamber? I recalled it being only a few steps along the landing. But perhaps my memory had deceived me.
Glancing past Mistress Ashley, I saw a host of doors ahead, more than I remembered. Hundreds, possibly. I blinked, bewildered and no longer trusting my eyes.
It was no dream though. I pinched myself and the corridor still stretched on for ever, the far end shrouded in sinister oblivion, each door yawning open on either side like a row of black toothless mouths.
We could be walking for days, I thought in horror, and never reach Elizabeth’s room.
Then I became aware that we were not alone. The hair rose on the back of my neck. Someone was following me. I could hear the thin scraping of a shod foot along the floorboards, and the brush of thick cloth from a long robe . . .
I whirled in terror, my heart thundering wildly.
But there was nobody there. All I could see was the reddish glow of firelight on the wall above the stairs. Then I heard William’s deep familiar voice greeting the hall retainer below, and the sound of laughter from the serving women.
I am the one bewitched, I thought, and shook my head in dismay. First, the tinglings I had felt on the cart when I first set my mother’s ring upon my finger, and its strange warmth, both of which seemed to have vanished now. Now I was beginning to hear things that were not there. Perhaps I needed more sleep.
‘Did you hear what I said, girl?’
I turned, hot-cheeked. ‘Forgive me . . . what were you saying, mistress?’
To my relief, the long black corridor ahead of us was gone. The landing was just as I remembered it, unlit but otherwise perfectly ordinary.
Mistress Ashley had paused before the Lady Elizabeth’s door, her hand raised to knock. Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I said, the Lady Elizabeth is bewitched by love.’
I had paused to remove my glove, slip off my mother’s ring and conceal it in my belt pouch. But at this I looked up at her, astonished.
‘By love?’
‘Yes.’
Her voice hissed through the darkness, leaving me cold. A restless shadow-spirit had stalked this house when I was here before, terrifying us in the night and haunting our daydreams. It might have gone now, blown back to its kingdom in the realm of death, but something dangerous still stirred here in the dust. I could feel it in the uneasy drumming of my blood.
‘The Lady Elizabeth has fallen in love and is bewitched by her passion. So bewitched, she has barely eaten or slept or spoken to a soul this past month, and lies near to death.’ Kat Ashley met my gaze fiercely. ‘And you will break the spell that binds her.’
PART TWO
Hatfield House
EIGHT
Much Suspected
I had seen the Lady Elizabeth in many different moods since first entering her service over a year ago: I had seen her proud, joyful, furious, commanding, even frightened. Yet never before had I seen the Queen’s sister broken.
Not lying in bed as I had expected but seated in the window-seat in her nightgown and lacy mantle, the Lady Elizabeth seemed to be waiting for someone she knew would never come, staring out into the wintry sunlight without hope.
Her small dark eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, as though she had been crying, her face paler than ever. Her knees drawn up to her chin, she hugged them tight, rocking slightly back and forth on the window-seat, her air that of a distressed child.
It was strange and disquieting to see the princess, five years my senior, reduced to this childlike state.
Blanche Parry sat in a high-backed chair beside the fire, her face pinched, not sewing or occupying herself with some mundane task as she habitually did, but watching her ladyship with a scared expression. As I entered she looked up in brusque recognition. There was relief in her face. We had never been friends. But I knew the princess’s lady-in-waiting held me in some awe since the night I had ‘died’ and come back to life. Her eyes had never quite met mine after that. But I could tell from her face that she hoped I had come to cure Elizabeth.
‘My lady,’ Kat Ashley murmured, dropping to her knees before her mistress, ‘Meg Lytton is here.’ When she received no response, she plucked nervously at the princess’s sleeve. ‘My lady . . . can you hear me? The young Spaniard has come back at last. And he has brought the witch girl with him, as you requested.’
The Lady Elizabeth stirred then, frowning, and looked down into Kat Ashley’s face as though she had only just noticed she was there.
‘Meg Lytton?’
‘I am here to serve you, my lady.’ I dropped a low curtsey, shocked to see my former mistress so disconsolate. ‘In whatever way I can.’
What could have happened during my absence to reduce the Lady Elizabeth – whom I remembered as so regal, so composed – to such depths? At once I shared Mistress Ashley’s suspicion that she was bewitched, for surely no ordinary man could have brought the proud daughter of Anne Boleyn to this.
My instinct told me this was not the witchfinder’s work though. Dark magick felt entirely different. Yet who else but an enchanter could be responsible for her tears?
‘I was told you were sick, my lady,’ I ventured when the princess did not reply, ‘and had kept to your chamber these two weeks at least. I am no skilled healer, but if the cause of your sickness is magickal . . .’
Elizabeth said hoarsely, ‘’Tis not magickal.’
I was surprised by such a flat denial. And suddenly uncertain of my territory. If my talent as a witch was not required, why had the princess summoned me?
‘Then how may I be of assistance to your ladyship?’
‘How indeed?’
The princess closed her eyes, leaning her head against the window frame. Her reddish hair glinted in the sunlight, unbound and hanging to her waist. For a while there was silence in the room. Then her eyes flew open and she beckoned me nearer, as though she had just reached a difficult decision.
‘They say every poor village witch knows a spell or a love-potion,’ she whispered, watching me intently, ‘to charm even the most impossible lover. Can you do this for me, Meg? Can you brew a love-potion that will bring me the only man in the world I want?’
A love-potion?
I avoided Kat Ashley’s sideways glance. So she was right. The princess was indeed bewitched. But by love, not Marcus Dent.
‘What . . .’ I licked my lips, almost too afraid to ask the question. ‘What man is this, my lady? What is his name?’
Blanche Parry made a noise of protest, but I kept my gaze on Elizabeth and waited.
‘His name is Robert Dudley,’ the princess said softly. ‘His father was the late Duke of Northumberland.’
&n
bsp; ‘His father was the D . . . Duke of Northumberland?’
I stared, horrified by her admission. Before Queen Mary came to the throne, after their young brother King Edward had died, the Duke of Northumberland had gathered together his own supporters in an attempt to put his daughter-in-law Lady Jane Grey on the throne before Mary Tudor could be crowned.
Needless to say, the duke’s rising had been put down with little difficulty, and those involved had paid with their lives. Or most of the ringleaders, at least.
‘But was the Duke of Northumberland not executed for treason?’
The Lady Elizabeth nodded, and hugged herself tighter. ‘His sons were imprisoned too,’ she admitted sadly, ‘and stripped of their titles and estates. His son Guildford was executed along with him, and his son’s wife, poor Jane Grey, a sweet child who was once a friend of mine and whom they had hoped to set upon the throne in my sister’s place. I too was suspected for a time, and thought to lose my own head.’ Her voice snagged on pain, then recovered slowly as she continued. ‘The Queen agreed to release Robert from the Tower and allow him into her service. His family lands and title are still forfeit though, so for now he must be plain Master Dudley and earn his keep like any other man at my sister’s court.’
‘I see,’ I murmured, trying to hide my reaction.
But it could hardly be worse. The Lady Elizabeth had fallen in love with a suspected traitor like herself. How had this disaster occurred? Out here at Hatfield she was isolated from everyone at court, or so I had thought.
As though sensing my confusion, the princess managed a wan smile. ‘I met Robbie when we were imprisoned in the Tower at the same time,’ she explained quietly. ‘We are the same age, so were naturally drawn together at that dark time. Robbie is witty, clever, so amusing . . . and yes, though Kat hates to hear me say it, he is good to look upon. The most charming and handsome courtier I have ever known, and the truest.’
Witchrise Page 9