Carrying a jug of fresh water for the Queen’s ablutions, Elinor approached. She nodded to Grace and gave a humourless smile, but her gaze was as sharp as a dagger. As Grace passed, she heard the maid of honour come to a halt and turn. Watching me, the young woman thought. Spying.
As she moved through the palace, Grace felt eyes upon her everywhere. A serving girl pausing with a bowl of eggs. A Privy Councillor, crow-like in his black gown, watching her with implacable beady eyes. Two knights stopping their conversation to study her as she passed.
You will drive yourself mad with this worry, she repeated to herself.
Grace waited at the end of the corridor until Elinor’s footsteps had faded away and then she opened the small door in the panelled wall and stepped into the tight-winding back stairs. At the foot, she listened to ensure the kitchen workers had left the area before crossing the flour-sprinkled kitchen annexe that still smelled sweetly of the honey cakes that had been prepared for that evening’s meal.
Skipping to the door, she slipped out into the warm evening. A cloud of midges swirled in the sun’s last rays. Breathing deeply to ease the tightness in her chest, she smelled the lavender from the formal gardens and the rosemary and mint planted in rows just outside the kitchen door.
Dressed in his best brown doublet embroidered with patterns of green ivy, Nathaniel waited near the orange-brick garden wall, still warm from the day’s sun. He offered her a posy and bowed formally, his cheeks and large ears glowing a dull red. Grace laughed quietly and gave a small curtsy. Will’s assistant played his part well, she thought.
‘Good evening, Grace. Will you walk with me a while?’ he asked in a clear voice that carried across the gardens.
‘I will,’ she replied, ‘though I cannot be long. I still have work.’
Shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped behind their backs, they walked away from Nonsuch through the winding paths of the gardens, looking, as Grace had hoped, like two young lovers on a quiet romantic stroll. Once out of sight of the palace behind a tall row of yews, they moved quickly through the gate in the wall into the deer park.
Nathaniel’s face darkened as he offered Grace a hand over the large stones thrown across the rutted path that ran between two banks of nettles. ‘We take a risk, even now,’ he whispered.
‘All is risk,’ the young woman stated firmly. ‘I hardly dare breathe in the palace for fear of a hand on my shoulder. There is talk that two of the boys from the stables and three kitchen workers have already been taken away for crimes unknown. If we are to help, we must act.’
‘I do not disagree,’ Nat said, ‘but that does not make this any easier. Even two lovers out on a summer’s eve is a cause for suspicion in this atmosphere.’ He led the way along the line of the wall until they reached the edge of the palace grounds. ‘I hoped to visit Will in Bedlam to see they were treating him well, but I was told the Keeper has orders to admit no one.’
‘Nor is there any escape from that foul place. It is worse than Newgate,’ Grace replied. She had vowed to shed no tears in public for the man she held so deeply in her affections, nor to offer even a word that would reveal any anxiety over his fate. That would not help. Only a clear head and a strong heart would be of use.
The bats were already flitting from their roosts in the dark woods that lay beyond the rolling grassland surrounding the palace. Steeling herself, Grace plucked up her skirts and ran, with Nathaniel close beside her, glancing back every few steps to see if they were being pursued. Even when they reached the shelter of the trees, the young woman still expected to hear cries of alarm at her back.
Ducking under the low-hanging branches, they avoided the thick banks of briar and progressed fifty paces into the cool, shadowy interior. Nathaniel brought them to a halt and gave a short, low whistle. After a moment it was answered away to their right. Stumbling in the growing gloom, they came to an old oak tree that five men linking hands could not have encompassed. As they looked around, two figures dropped from the branches as silently and stealthily as cats.
Carpenter pressed a finger to his lips as Launceston prowled the perimeter, one hand cupped to his ear as he peered into the dark beneath the trees. Their cloaks were smeared with mud and the green of tree bark from three days of living rough.
‘Let me go to Bedlam to try to help Will,’ Grace said, once they had exchanged curt greetings.
‘What could a woman do?’ the pallid spy sneered.
She raised her chin defiantly and fought to keep her voice steady. ‘I would remind you, sir, who sits on the throne.’ Ignoring the Earl’s quizzically raised eyebrow, she continued, ‘In the past, I have been reckless-’
‘I recall risking life and limb in Spain trying to save your foolish life,’ Carpenter snarled.
‘I am not that same woman who strode blithely into danger following her heart. Wisdom has come to me, later than I might have hoped, but there it is. I will do anything in my power to aid Will in his hour of need, and to help save our Queen from this plot. Do not underestimate me, Master Carpenter.’
Shrugging, the spy flashed a smirk at Launceston which only made Grace angrier.
‘Listen to her,’ Nathaniel interjected. ‘We all walk different paths, and we all have different parts to play in this business. Grace can help as much as any man.’
‘As much?’ Launceston said in a quiet, strong voice. ‘Can she slit a throat? For this matter will come to blood in the end. There is no other way.’
Drawing his dagger, the Earl turned suddenly and peered into the dark. Leaves rustled in the breeze. Tense, they all grew still, but after a moment he returned his blade to its hiding place though his gaze continued to search the gloom.
‘Robert and I will maintain our search in London for whoever has been killing our fellow spies,’ Carpenter whispered. ‘Once we have him, we should find out more about this plot. You do what you can here at Nonsuch.’ He sighed. ‘Though London is no place to be these days, with rumours of curses and magics and the corpses of plague victims moving of their own accord down in the pits.’
‘How … how long do we have before they make a move on Will’s life?’ Grace ventured.
The scarred spy shook his head. ‘Not so quick that it will look like the law is being circumvented. Not so long that he will prove a threat to the plotters.’ He ran a weary hand through his long hair, revealing the ugly mass of pink tissue on the side of his face. ‘Two spies, a fool and a woman against our Enemy,’ he sighed. ‘Kill us now and be done with it.’
Nathaniel bristled. Holding up a hand to calm him, Grace stepped close to the spy. ‘It is time to stop complaining, Master Carpenter, and to accept that the four of us here are all we have. And we shall not be easily defeated, even if it costs my life.’
The scar-faced man eyed her curiously, struck by the passion in her voice.
‘Who are the enemy?’ Nathaniel snapped, still annoyed at being called a fool. ‘The Spanish? Catholic agitators?’
Carpenter and Launceston exchanged a glance and weighed their words. After a moment, the Earl breathed, ‘It does not matter which hands move the pieces in this game. The ones we must be concerned with at the moment are our own — our former allies, perhaps even our friends. We must be prepared to be betrayed on any side.’
‘Can we trust each other?’ Nathaniel pressed, his jaw set.
Before anyone could respond, their attention was caught by flickering lights moving far off among the trees; some were pale, some blazed red and gold like torches.
Nat caught the scarred spy’s arm and hissed, ‘Guards from the palace hunting for us.’
Carpenter’s face drained of blood. He shook his head slowly.
‘We must leave this place. Now,’ Launceston snapped. ‘We have little time.’
Breathlessly, they ran towards the edge of the woods, the lights closing on them.
‘What are they?’ Grace gasped, almost stumbling as she leapt over exposed roots. ‘How do they move so fast?’
; ‘No questions!’ Carpenter snapped. ‘Save your breath. And do not look back under any circumstances.’
On every side, the lights moved through the trees faster than any man could run. Grace’s heart pounded with the rhythm of her feet.
As they closed on the edge of the woods, Launceston raised a hand to slow them, and then waved them behind a twisted old oak. Ahead, there was only a short run across the open grassland to what Grace told herself was the safety of the palace garden walls. A thin line of fiery light remained along the western horizon. Soon it would be dark.
Grace could see Launceston had heard something. His dagger drawn, the Earl stalked around the tree, keeping low. The young woman felt her heart would burst.
The lights glowed dangerously close.
A cry of alarm tore through the stillness. Spinning round, Grace saw one of the Earl of Essex’s advisers standing beside a tall elm tree, pointing at them. The lanky, ruddy-faced man’s mouth hung wide and the jarring, high-pitched sound he was making was like iron on glass.
All around, the lights began to change direction. In an instant, Launceston had darted from the shelter of the oak and plunged his dagger into the neck of the pointing man. The shrieking ended with a sticky gurgle.
As Carpenter reached the Earl’s side, Grace darted towards the two spies with Nathaniel close behind. But as she neared, she saw horror become etched in the scarred man’s face as he glanced at the body of the adviser.
Turning suddenly, the spy held up his hands and shouted, ‘Stay away! Do not look at the body! Do not look!’ Carpenter bounded towards the woman. ‘Run!’ he shouted. ‘Back to the palace, before they see your faces!’
Behind the spy, the lights swirled and drew near. In their faint glow, Grace thought she could now see shapes, like foxes, though larger, grey and indistinct, bounding sinuously among the trees towards them.
Turning, she lifted her skirts and ran towards the comforting candlelight of the palace. Nathaniel was by her side, urging her on.
At her back, she heard the pounding of the two spies’ feet as they began to follow, but then the sound took a different direction and was accompanied by Carpenter’s furious cursing and his companion’s loud mockery. The two men were trying to draw the pursuers away, Grace realized.
Sacrificing themselves for me, she thought, her eyes stinging with tears.
A ferocious spitting and snarling erupted at her back, and she almost stumbled in terror. She had heard nothing like that sound before. Dimly amid the cacophony, Grace heard the two spies shouting in defiance.
Crashing through the gate in the garden wall, the young man held it open until they were both safely through and then slammed it shut. They ran on along the winding paths amid the perfume of night-scented stock, the terrible animal sounds dying down until only silence lay across the countryside.
Hidden in the dark by the palace walls, they came to a halt, leaning against the warm brick to catch their breath. Grace was crying silently, and she wiped her tears away with the back of her hand before Nathaniel saw. ‘What … what was that?’ she croaked. Her thoughts were like mercury, unable to make sense of what she had seen and heard.
The assistant took a deep breath and then said with a confidence that she knew was for her benefit, ‘The enemy agents are accompanied by hunting dogs. That is how they discovered us so quickly.’
The woman found it easier to accept his explanation. She glanced back along the dark garden and asked in a quiet voice, ‘Master Carpenter and the Earl of Launceston — are they alive or are they dead?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The low moans of lost souls drifted like the wind across frozen wastes. Bloodcurdling screams of agony punctuated the slow, constant exhalation of despair. In the eternal night of Bedlam there was no rest, nor easing of spiritual pain. No hope, no joy, no friendships, no love.
Pressed into the corner of his cramped cell on a thin covering of filthy straw, Will Swyfte listened, and waited. His time would come. In the midst of the enveloping misery, his vigilance was kept alive by the slow-burning fire of his anger. Despite the cold iron of the manacles that gripped his ankles, he would not give in, for Kit’s sake, and the sake of all the others now at risk from the creeping plot of the Unseelie Court.
The choking stink of excrement filled the air from the overflowing vault beneath the madhouse. Across the entire floor of the Abraham Ward the straw heaved and rustled as scurrying rats searched for the meagre morsels of food dropped by the inmates. In the night, their high-pitched squeaking only added to the chorus of suffering. Sometimes the spy was sure he could hear another sound echoing deep in the background: the cries of Griffin Devereux rising up from the depths, as if the black magician somehow knew Will was now incarcerated in Bedlam too.
Purple bruises patchworked the spy’s face and body and every joint ached from the ferocious beatings he had endured. The men Cecil had dispatched to escort Will to the hospital had treated him as they would any other traitor, with fists and feet and pricks of daggers, just for sport. But once the gates of the feared lock-up had clanged shut, the true pain had begun. Still seething from his treatment at Will’s hands, the Keeper had found new sport in an inmate whose fame reached far beyond the walls of London.
‘You raised yourself above me, and now you are beneath me. Indeed, beneath all men,’ the key-holder had growled before launching the first of many assaults. Will had resisted, but, hampered by manacles and ropes, he could do little but soak up the pain until unconsciousness freed him from the agony.
With his eyes now used to the permanent half-light, he watched the stained door. The beatings would continue, but his time would come, and then there would be vengeance aplenty.
As his gaze fell away, Will thrust himself back against the damp stone wall in shock. He was not alone. Sitting in the corner opposite him was Jenny. She wore the same blue dress he recalled from the day she disappeared, but her pale skin was now mottled, her black eyes dark-ringed as though she were being consumed by sickness. She eyed him through a curtain of lank, dirty hair, her too-thin arms wrapped around her legs. In her face the spy saw none of the love he remembered. Instead there was coldness, and suspicion, and perhaps contempt, as if she would never forgive him for abandoning her.
Everything about her appearance was designed to hurt, and even though Will knew that was the intent, he could not meet her gaze.
‘And so Griffin Devereux was correct. I now have my own devil, like Faustus in Kit’s play, to tempt me with sweet words and thereby condemn me to eternal suffering.’ The spy laughed without humour. ‘But you waste your time, creature of the dark — what do I call you? Mephistophilis, in honour of my friend? ’Twill suffice. For one, according to the words Kit wrote, it was Faustus who condemned himself. He opened the door. His devil only held it wide for the man to pass through. I will not make that mistake.’ Will stretched out his legs to ease the ache from the manacles. ‘And second, I do not believe in hell, or heaven for that matter. There is no hand of a loving God in the suffering I have witnessed in my life. And damnation is here with us, not waiting at the end of our lives. Men are the devils, inflicting pain upon their own for personal gain.’
‘Your bitter thoughts will hollow out your soul.’
The spy was sickened by the voice. It had the gravelly, phlegm-tinged tones of an old man, yet it issued from the full lips that he had kissed those years ago on the edge of the Forest of Arden. ‘Why go through these trials, if all is as you say?’ the devil continued. ‘If you believe this life is pointless, end it now and be done with it.’
Will kicked out at a rat which had been eyeing his bare feet. ‘I see you would find pleasure in my passing, which only encourages me to grip tighter to life,’ he replied.
‘You think after the cruelties inflicted by the Unseelie Court that there is anything left of the Jenny you recall so fondly? You think she can return to a simple life in Warwickshire when she has been so spoiled?’
‘Quiet!’ t
he spy snarled. The chains clattered as he lunged forward, but the manacles stopped him long before he got near the dark presence.
Mephistophilis gave only the faintest smile, but it was tinged with triumph. ‘What will you do when you find her and she begs you to end her life? When you look into her eyes and see no love there, no hope, no softness? When you see only Bedlam, for ever?’
Will regained his composure, leaning back against the glistening stone even though the turmoil still raged inside him. ‘I thank you,’ the spy said in a calm voice. ‘In harsh times, it is easy to lose your way and give in to hopelessness. But you have fanned the flames of my anger, and that will light my way in even the darkest night.’
Mephistophilis didn’t move, its gaze heavy and unwavering. A fly crawled in the lank hair.
‘So you have found your voice now,’ the man continued. ‘Will you explain the vision you showed me when we first met in the Rose Theatre?’
The devil shook its head with slow, deliberate moves. ‘Knowledge or power is never given freely, and you have nothing to offer me. Your soul is already damned. I will torment you in this dark place through your few remaining days, and then I will take your life, and that small, misty thing that makes you who you are.’
‘I have heard worse threats,’ Will said blandly.
The rat returned, scurrying up to the form of Jenny. It sniffed at the skin of her foot and rolled over, dead.
‘Here you sit, in the dark and the filth,’ the devil whispered, ‘a man who lives by his sword, now impotent. And while you rot away, death moves ever closer to the ones you love, and a shadow as dark and cold as the final night falls across your country. And still you see only a small part of the plot.’
‘What do you mean?’ Will’s knuckles grew white where they gripped the rusty chain that held him fast.
‘Your great foe has grown weary of the blows you have struck against it down the years.’ The devil lowered its head slightly so the black eyes were almost invisible behind the wall of hair. ‘A Queen stolen. Then a member of their ruling family slaughtered like a beast in the field. Every blow struck by each side contributing to a mounting spiral of agony. But now they have called, “Enough!”’
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