by April Taylor
“No, Your Grace.”
“If they feel they are under threat, or an adversary backs them into a corner, they will fight that foe to the death. They will be ruthless, giving no quarter. I am the same. Think of me as a lioness protecting her cub.” She smiled as she saw Luke swallow involuntarily. “I am aware his late Majesty gave you the run of his palaces at the request of the late Duke of Suffolk.”
“This palace, aye, Your Grace.”
“Then you have leave to come and go as you please, rubbing shoulders with builders, cooks, pages, yeomen, talking to them, finding out the latest gossip. I cannot do that, and people would not prattle before members of my household. I am told you have a clear and questioning mind. I need you to use it on my behalf.”
Luke could almost feel the walls closing in on him. “But the King is loved, Your Grace.”
“Not by everyone. I am anxious for the success of the Franco-Scottish marriage negotiations. Others want the King to look to Spain, but I have never been a lover of the Spanish.” The last words were spoken in a dry tone and her eyes challenged him to make some riposte. “Religious unrest is an ongoing thorn in the royal flesh. We are beset with troubles. The King is young. He has no heir. Only now do I fully understand my husband’s preoccupation with the succession.”
She leaned her head against the high back of the settle. Luke could see the passion in her face and understood that if she were willing to unguard her countenance so far, then she had not undersold the danger.
“If the plot comes from on high,” the Queen continued, “there will be evidence lower down. People in positions of power insulate themselves with inferiors. They work at a distance. All my energies must be devoted to keeping my son and his throne safe. In my position, I can do no more. You can. You must.”
“But the grooms of the privy chamber are close to the King. They have his ear, his confidence and surely they also have the authority and knowledge to investigate quicker and better than I?”
Queen Anne sprang to her feet. “The King may be the first in the land, but he—we—can trust no one. All positions at court are scrabbled for, fought over. Who can say which of them is true and which is not? Can you? His enemies are many, not just disaffected Catholics like my stepdaughter. We cannot let them triumph.” She swung round and sat down again. “My son and I are in need of your services, Master Ballard, although he may not know it. I can and will fight using everything in my power to safeguard him. Will you use your skills for us? Help keep King Henry IX on the throne and England secure?”
Luke stared at the jars of herbs arranged neatly on the shelves behind the counter. She was confident of her power and seemed content to give him time to comprehend the extent of it. Finally he spoke.
“If you truly believe I can help, then how can I refuse you, Your Grace?”
“You cannot. There is no way out, Master Apothecary. I saw your thought a moment ago. You were right. You are indeed trapped.” She let the words hang in the air for a few moments. “Did you know that the King has been indisposed this week?”
“There was talk in the kitchens that he had a chill, Your Grace.”
“He had no chill. He had stomach cramps, as did the taster. I used my late husband’s chest of medicines and purged the King myself. One whiff of a gut cramp and he is like a child again, wanting none but his mother. Few people know the real cause of his indisposition. He tells me that the day before he was stricken, a woman threw herself on her knees in front of him on his way to evening prayer. Heaven knows how she gained entrance. The guards made to take her away, but she called on the King as a gentle knight to hear her. He did.”
Luke guessed who it had been. “She was almost demented with grief, Your Grace.”
“She was this Gethin’s mother,” the Queen continued as if he had not spoken. “Cried out that her boy would have died rather than hurt the King or his horse. Southampton made the jest that, in that case, the lad had nothing of which to complain and signaled to the guards to hustle her away. The next day, my son was writhing with the cramps.”
“Prithee pardon, Your Grace, but I cannot think that was anything to do with Goodwife Pitt.”
“Of course not. She was never nearer than a man’s length from him, but far too many people have access to the palace.”
“Indeed, Your Grace. Including me?”
She sniffed. “My Lord of Suffolk had no love for me,” she said. “But I know how grateful he and his wife were for your aid that day.”
“And not only him, Your Grace.”
She smiled. “I think his late Majesty lost enough children in his first marriage to know that grief too well. He was glad to grant your right of access on account of his friend.”
Joss rose and padded into the kitchen. Luke stared after her for a few moments. “Excuse me, Your Grace,” he said, standing. Pippa was still seated at the table, but she was upright, her eyes wide open and staring at nothing. Joss settled herself at the girl’s side.
Luke had not noticed that the Queen had followed him until she leaned over his shoulder. “So, your housekeeper also possesses the talent. This I did not know.” She lapsed into frowning thought.
Luke closed his eyes. Please God, let her not involve Pippa when so little was known about the girl. His fear intensified, something he knew the Queen would sense. Life had been fraught with danger before Anne Boleyn had walked into his shop. Now it was perilous.
Chapter Eight
They returned in silence to the shop. Luke accepted that he would undertake whatever mission Anne decided to give him. What choice did he have? However, the thought that she might be planning to involve Pippa horrified him. How could he persuade this woman that his housekeeper’s participation in what would be a hazardous undertaking was nothing short of calamitous?
“Where is her greyspring?” the Queen asked eventually.
“Pippa is not yet initiated. Her talent is only lately discovered.”
It was some minutes later when Joss slipped into the shop and pawed at Luke.
“Ah, the girl has awoken. I will stay out of sight,” the Queen said, pulling her hood up. “The fewer people who see me, the better.”
Luke walked into the kitchen just as Pippa was waking up. “What did you see?” he asked.
“Horses and carriages coming over water.” Pippa sounded half-asleep.
“Do you know when or where?”
“No, but I usually have the same vision several times, so I might learn more next time.”
“Stay here and rest. I have some potions brewing in the shop. I’ll go and attend to them.”
He shut the door between kitchen and shop before telling Queen Anne in an undertone about Pippa’s vision.
The Queen bit her lip, deep in thought. “The security around His Majesty is lax. Goodwife Pitt accosting the King tells us that. I believe this matter is so important that I must insist you join forces to investigate the plot to kill the King. Two elemancers, even if the girl is untrained, are better than one.”
“But, Your Grace, Pippa knows very little. She is only just coming to grips with reading and cannot write. In truth, I know nothing about her, save what she has told me.”
“She does not need to read or write to be another pair of eyes, Master Ballard. What is her background?”
“She told me that as a young girl, her mother was at Hever, Your Grace. Her parents died of the sweating sickness and she was brought up by an aunt in Norfolk. She ran away and turned up in my workshop a few weeks ago. I do not think it wise to involve her in this problem.”
“What is her name?” the Queen asked, frowning.
“Garrod, Philippa Garrod.”
The Queen’s frown deepened. “I remember nobody of that name at Hever.”
“It will be her father’s name, Your Grace. I do not
know her mother’s name, but all the more reason not to allow her to be privy to this matter.”
“Master Ballard, you will do as you are bid. There is a plot to destabilize the throne. There are those who are resolved on the King’s death. They are already deep in conspiracy. Oh, I have enough power to sense their intrigues, but I dare not delve further. The merest suggestion that I might discover their identities would condemn me to accusations of witchcraft, and Henry would be isolated and in even more danger. It is significant that my son was ill after speaking to the mother of the hanged boy. I charge you, assisted by Mistress Garrod, to use your powers to discover these traitors, gather evidence and bring the proofs forward so that they may die the deaths they deserve.”
Luke bowed. “Your Grace, by my troth, I have no idea how to go about this task. I say again, surely there must be others in the court, trusted men, who could investigate this matter better and more wisely than a humble apothecary?”
“I trust none except my daughter and her husband, and I believe that even Robert Dudley has an eye to the main chance. If the King died now, under the terms of his father’s will, we would have Mary on the throne. Is that what you want? Catholic oppression? Do you want the Spanish Inquisition holding sway here as they do in Spain?”
“Heaven forfend.”
“Mary is a fanatic although not, I think, the stuff of martyrs. You had best teach Mistress Garrod quickly and well. I rely on your talent to aid you. One more thing. It will be impossible for me to come here like a thief in the night to hear your reports. Your appearance in my daughter’s rooms would be noticed and comment made. I am reliably informed that a gown Mistress Garrod now possesses once belonged to the Princess Elizabeth. No, no, do not be afraid. I have been assured it was a gown she no longer required. The girl may keep it. It will be a disguise when she brings reports to the palace. Better her than you. She can pass for one of the Princess’s ladies. The Princess Elizabeth is coming with the Duke of Kenilworth to the palace next week to be close by whilst the French and Scots are visiting. They will occupy the suite of rooms the King had when he was Prince of Wales. When your first report is ready, send the girl with it, suitably equipped. You can perform the perception spell?”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“Good. See that she speaks to nobody other than the Princess.”
Queen Anne pulled the hood down over her face. “I have tarried long enough. Douse your light.”
“Aye, Your Grace, I understand I must work in secrecy.”
“Fool. I meant, snuff out the candles so that none see me leave. My people may already be missing me.” She looked up at him. “We are relying on you, Master Ballard. Find the traitors, whoever they may be. Do not fail us. The fate of England is in your hands.”
She waited for a few moments to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness, then stepped to the door, opened it, paused to look out and vanished into the night. Luke gazed after her for a few moments before shutting and barring the door and returning to the kitchen. He knew from the tremor in his hands that all the blood had drained from his face. Pippa stared at him.
“What ails you?”
Luke did not reply at first. He needed to think, decide how much he should tell Pippa. He had followed his instincts when he took her in, but had that been because of her wretched state? If those instincts had been sound, why could he not shake the conviction that she had not been honest with him? In these days, even brothers were known to be on opposing sides. If she were an informer, he needed to make sure that she knew almost nothing. He rubbed his brow, hoping to block the threatening headache before it took hold. In his bones he did not feel that Pippa was an enemy, but the list of people who had made that mistake and paid for it with their lives was long. He felt he had no option but to pass the problem over to God.
“I need to think awhile and I am weary,” he answered. He could see questions in her eyes and sought to deflect her attention.
“We must enquire about a greyspring for you. I will visit...someone...in the morning. It needs to be a dog pup.”
“Why?”
He grinned, glad that the prospect had made her cease her other train of thought. “Because men have bitches and women have dogs. It is all part of the balance.”
“Oh, I see. Will you bring one home, or am I permitted to choose my own?”
“No, girl, the dog will choose you by coming when you call. Now, let us to our rest.”
* * *
“Tell me about your parents,” he said next morning as they sat at the table.
“I don’t remember much about them. I was so young when I went to Aunt Margaret.”
“Was your aunt a widow?”
“No, though Uncle Nicholas spends most of his days out on the estate, so I didn’t see him very much.”
“So Margaret Garrod married Nicholas...who?”
“Messingham. The estate is near Woodbridge in the village of Wickham Market. Why do you want to know?”
Luke waved his hand round the kitchen. “Don’t you miss it, even a little, coming from an estate to this?”
“No. Why should I? Here I won’t be beaten or hit over the head with pothooks if I get in the way. Here, you at least listen to me, even if you disagree. There, I was of no account, lower than my uncle’s by-blow, who got to be Cecily’s maid. Not that I would have wanted that, either. Now, there is some salt-fish for dinner, or would you like me to try and get some fresh?”
“Fresh, although you’d best look sharp or it will be all gone. I must needs see a friend.” The conversation with Pippa had elicited no clear answers. She had spoken in a matter-of-fact way as if nothing was important. Was she being genuine? Surely she must miss the bustling of a large house? In truth, he was no further forward.
Luke hurried through the main gate into the Base Court hoping that he could waylay Will Quayne. The square was busy with clerks rushing across it, expressions intent and arms full of rolls of parchment. Artisans were repairing the roof as well as working on the new apartments. Hammering resounded and the brick fires were well alight in the park, casting a hazy pall to the eastern sky and poisoning the air with their reek. Luke wondered how the inhabitants lived with this relentless noise day after day. It was to be hoped that the apartments being refurbished for the new queen, whoever she turned out to be, would be ready in time for the marriage negotiators to see them if the following week’s visit proved successful.
It was some little time before he spotted Will’s dark hair in front of him and called out. Will turned, his expression growing darker as he saw who it was.
“What can I do for you, Master Ballard?” he demanded in a loud voice, swinging round to face Luke and dropping the armful of papers he carried.
Luke helped pick up the parchments to hide his confusion at Will’s unfriendly tone.
“Master Quayne? Why so cold?”
Will leaned close to him and hissed his answer.
“Because of my kindness in taking that boy’s tunic, I was subjected to an hour’s questioning by Sir William.”
“Marry, I beg pardon. I had no such intention—as you must know.”
“The Secretary is always on the lookout for traitors. And now you come hailing me where all eyes can see us.”
“Better to be seen in the light than discovered in the dark,” Luke replied, impatience getting the better of him.
“What can I do for you? Have you been to see my father yet?”
“I will go before the week is out—you have my word. Meanwhile, I need intelligence and I know not where to find it.”
Will sighed. “Follow me. I will ask Sir William if I may help you.”
Luke followed Will across the courtyard to a small door leading to the household offices underneath Queen Anne’s apartments. Sunlight and heat were beginning to penetrate here and the unm
istakable stench of the common jakes caught Luke by the back of the throat. He slipped a lavender-infused handkerchief from his sleeve and held it to his nose. Will, turning to make sure he was following, burst out laughing.
“You always did have a weak stomach. If you work among shit, you have to get used to the stink. Stay here.”
He knocked at a door and turned the handle, emerging some time later with a long-nosed man, who frowned at Luke. Those eyes seemed to look through the apothecary as if he were made of glass. Luke swallowed, suddenly apprehensive.
“Master Ballard,” Sir William said. “I would speak with you.” He turned to Will. “Wait inside. Follow me,” he said to Luke.
He led the way to the south side of the courtyard, opened a door and waved Luke in with a jerk of his head. Luke stumbled across the threshold and stood still, trying to accustom his eyes to the sudden darkness. Sir William closed the door before leaning against it and staring at Luke. “Do not look so affrighted. You are in no danger from me.”
As if to give Luke time to recover, he walked to the window and looked out over the gardens to the river. “These rooms belonged to the great Cardinal. Like him and you, I come from humble stock. God’s grace led me to the schoolroom. I was tutor to Her Grace’s brother, Viscount Rochford. The Queen summoned me this morning. Her Grace intimated that you may need help in some enterprise you have in hand. I will do what I can for you, but not openly. Any assistance I give will be deniable and cannot lead back to me. Or to Her Grace. For instance, at the moment, I am berating you for bringing one of my clerks to the attention of the King’s guard.”
Luke bowed. “As you wish, Sir William. I understand.”
“Master Quayne tells me you need intelligence. I do not want to know what. He will help you. I believe you are friends.”
“Since my youth, my lord. Master Corbin Quayne, Will’s father, took me in as an apprentice when my first master died.”
“Good. Use Will Quayne as your contact should you need assistance from me. On no account are you to communicate with me in person.” His hooded eyes stared directly into Luke’s. “Make no error, one whiff of danger and you will be cut adrift. I come from the willow, not the oak. I am not made of the stuff of martyrs. I bend. It is always a sound maxim, Master Ballard, to check that your wagon has wheels before you hitch your horse to it. Had Lord Cromwell done that instead of assuming that his late Majesty would put the Queen away and take the Seymour wench to wife, he might still be alive. I keep his face ever before me, so that I never forget I must not only watch the way the wind blows but also remember some people will wait years before exacting their revenge, as the Queen did with him.” He turned to face Luke. “You may go. Remember what I have said.”