I quickened my pace. It wasn’t until I reached my room that I realized how fast I’d been walking, as if I were about to be detained at any moment. I had to smile. In less than a day, I’d managed to gain audience with the queen and secure an appointment with Simon Renard, the man whom Cecil believed was intent on destroying Elizabeth. I should be congratulating myself. I knew, though, how the court could enmesh one in its tendrils, how easy it was to fall prey to unseen traps. I had to watch my every step.
After checking that everything in my room was in order, I threw on my cloak and braved the maze of the palace. If my luck held up, I’d be able to get to the stables and chat with Peregrine’s new groom-friend myself. I wanted to learn more about Courtenay and his relationship with Elizabeth, but I had just crossed the quadrangle and barely approached the long, painted stable block when Peregrine came running out, his cheeks flushed from the cold. When he saw me, he skidded to a halt.
“I saw her!” he burst out. “She spoke to me!”
I didn’t need to ask whom he referred to. “Quiet!” I clamped a hand to his shoulder, looking about. A few ostlers idled nearby. “Not another word,” I said, and I hustled him back to the palace. As soon as I closed our chamber door, I turned to him. “Tell me exactly what she said.”
“Well, she came into the stables after her ride. I was tending to Cinnabar. He has a wound on his forelock; he must have been nicked by a stone on the road. Anyway, I was salving it when she walked in with a nobleman. They were laughing. He called for a groom to take his horse, and I volunteered to take it. She recognized me but pretended not to. When the lord left—she kept calling him ‘sweet cousin’—she spoke to me. She was not pleased. She said we should not have come to court without her leave.”
Relief washed over me. That sounded like her. “Of course she’d say that, but at least now she knows we’re here. Did she say anything else?”
“No, the lord was waiting for her outside. She said she had a headache from his endless chatter and was going to nap before she changed for the queen’s feast. Oh, and she told me to take care of Urian, seeing as I stole him away.”
It was a message: She wanted me to know she’d be in the hall tonight. The “sweet cousin” she had been with was Courtenay. I had just missed him. A few minutes earlier and I might have had the chance to gauge this man whose relationship with Elizabeth was starting to cause me grave concern.
“What was the nobleman like?” I asked.
Peregrine blew air out the side of his mouth. “Rude, like most of his ilk. He didn’t tip me for taking his horse, though grooms survive on tips. And he looked at me as if I was going to steal something when Her Grace said she wanted a word with me about her dog.”
I felt a prickle of alarm. Courtenay sounded mistrustful, not an encouraging sign.
“You did well,” I said. “Now she knows we’re here and won’t be surprised if she sees me. But I want you to stay away from this Courtenay fellow. I don’t like the sound of him.”
Peregrine nodded. I went to the coffer, taking out my new vermilion doublet and the wrapped cloth protecting my shoulder chain. As I unfolded the cloth, exposing the thick gilded links, Peregrine whistled. “Nice! That must have cost a few angels.”
“Don’t get too excited. It’s fake. I brought you a new jerkin and sleeves, too.”
“But not of velvet. I wager I don’t have a chain to go with it, either.”
I laughed. “What a squire you’re turning out to be!” I clapped him on the back. “Let’s use wash water and soap. Tonight, we will feast with the court, my friend.”
I made sure not to watch as he hand washed himself, concentrating on my own necessities until I heard him make an annoyed sound. I turned to find him standing stiff in his new garb, his unruly hair oiled and tamed to damp ringlets that fell to his shoulders, the green wool of the jerkin bringing out the emerald hue in his eyes.
“You clean up nicely,” I remarked.
He scowled. “It itches. It feels like I have fleas.”
“Well, you were in the stables all morning.” I turned back to my small hand mirror, which I’d propped on the stool. As I adjusted the linked chain about my shoulders, I remembered my weapon. I was sheathing my poniard in my boot when Peregrine said suddenly, “Are we in danger, too?”
I paused.
“If you would just tell me what is happening, I might be able to help—”
I held up my hand. “You promised, remember? No questions.” My tone softened. “I just need to speak to Her Grace in private. It may be that I’ll need your help.”
His face brightened, as I knew it would. I turned to my bag and removed quill, ink, and paper. Ripping off a section of paper, I wrote quickly.
The stables. Tomorrow at midday.
I didn’t dare write more, in case my note should fall into the wrong hands. I folded the ripped paper into a small square that fit in my palm and slipped it into my doublet before turning to Peregrine. “Do you want me to deliver it?” he asked eagerly.
“We’ll see,” I said. “First, let’s find out what this night has in store. Come. We don’t want to be late for our first big event at court.”
* * *
The cavernous great hall was large and surprisingly warm, boasting two enormous hearths fashioned of imported Caen stone, both of which glowed with scented fires. The vast hammer-beamed ceiling high above was barely visible, its painted vaulting clouded by a pall of smoke from the many gilded candelabras and torches set in cressets on the walls.
The black-and-white checkered floor was crowded, the air ringing with voices as courtiers sauntered about with goblets in hand, gathering to gossip and eye the dais, upon which sat a velvet-draped table and several upholstered chairs. I noted that many of the courtiers sported jeweled crucifixes and medallions of saints. Considering such idolatry had been abolished under our late king’s reign, the goldsmiths of London must be enjoying an exceptionally busy season. I also espied a knot of somber men in tall black hats and short cloaks standing apart—bearded and hawk-eyed, without a smile to be seen among the lot; I guessed these must be the Spaniards of the Hapsburg delegation.
“Stay close,” I told Peregrine, as we weaved past servitors carrying platters of goblets, making our way toward a series of trestle tables set in front of the dais. Already some early arrivals clamored for their seats; liveried stewards directed them to form a queue. I hoped for a place with a view of the entranceway, so I might spot Elizabeth when she arrived. My searching looks about the hall confirmed to me that she was not yet here.
As Peregrine and I waited in line, I had the sudden sensation that I was being watched. The feeling was so strong I actually felt the hair on my nape prickle. I swerved about, inspecting the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a sudden absence of color amid the swirl of peacock glamour—a swish of darkness, like the flare of an old cloak. A large figure nearby shifted, melting into the courtiers. Hard as I craned my vision, even rising up on my tiptoes to peer past the sea of bobbing heads, I couldn’t discern who that shadow was or where it went. Nevertheless, I was certain it had been there, close to me.
At my side, Peregrine said, “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” I tried to push against the crowd, but the figure was gone. Then heralds announced the queen, and everyone started shoving forward. Angry words thrown in my direction alerted me I was holding up the line. I quickly made my way to the table indicated by a harried steward who snatched away my invitation. My seat was not far from the dais itself, close enough to gauge the activity without appearing conspicuous.
Peregrine eyed the lone chair assigned to me. “Am I supposed to stand?”
“It’s what squires do. You’ll hand me my napkin and refill my cup.”
“Wonderful. And you can toss me bits of roast, like a dog.”
“You’ll eat as soon as I…” My voice faded as I caught sight of Simon Renard moving toward the dais, accompanying the queen. Mary had donned a heavy sie
nna-colored velvet gown with fur-trimmed sleeves, her hair parted under a hood. In her hands, she clutched a nosegay of silk violets. A sapphire crucifix swung from her narrow bodice as she strode past the bowing courtiers, accompanied by her female attendants. Jane Dormer guided her little dog, Blackie, who strained at his lead. Behind her was Sybilla Darrier, clad in striking crimson velvet, her peaked collar studded with garnets that caught the light.
The ladies took their seats at a nearby table. Several gentlemen of the Hapsburg delegation joined the queen on the dais, including Renard, who took the chair one remove from Mary. On Mary’s left—a place of honor—sat a gaunt woman in old-fashioned patterned damask and a triangular gable hood. She had a prepossessing nose and piercing narrow blue eyes. Next to her was a handsome young man in flamboyant black-and-white satin, his short French-styled cloak strapped to one shoulder with elaborate braiding.
“That’s him,” Peregrine said in my ear. “That’s the sweet cousin.”
I took in my first sight of Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devon. He must be popular with the ladies, I thought: a well-built fellow, broad of shoulder and chest, with a full head of tawny hair that matched his well-groomed mustache and forked goatee. His appearance took me aback; I wouldn’t have expected someone who’d spent so many years in the Tower to look quite so robust, though his appeal was marred by a petulant expression. As the long-nosed lady beside him lifted her goblet for wine, Courtenay said something of evident wit to her. She gave him a sour smile. They seemed to know each other, but then everyone at court did, especially at functions like these. Perfect strangers were not averse to feigning rapport if it might tender an advantage.
Pages bearing decanters circulated among us, filling our cups with ale. Renard suddenly leaned to the queen. As he murmured in her ear, Mary stared at the empty chair between them. Her face visibly darkened.
“What?” she said, in a displeased voice loud enough to carry into the hall. “Are we to endure her insufferable disobedience again?”
Taut silence fell. Renard exchanged a brief, conspiratorial look with the sour-faced lady as Mary swerved her attention to Courtenay. Her fist clenched, crushing the silk violets. “Did you not deliver our message to her as we instructed, my lord?”
Courtenay blanched. “Your Majesty, I assure you, I conveyed your request—”
Mary stabbed her finger at him. “It was not a request. Go to her apartments at once. Tell our sister the Lady Elizabeth that she will obey our order to attend our guests this evening, by our royal command!”
Courtenay had started to inch up from his chair when Mary went still, staring straight ahead. For a moment, it seemed as if the very hall sucked in its breath. I didn’t need to look to know my mistress, Elizabeth Tudor, had finally made her appearance—late, as usual.
She wore an unadorned gown that sheathed her slim figure in black velvet, making her seem taller than she actually was. Her coppery mane fell loose to her narrow waist, swaying like a curtain of fire as she moved past the tables of staring courtiers to the dais. The Spaniards actually crossed themselves and averted their eyes, as if she might cast a spell on them. I had time to take wary note of their reaction before I heard a frenzied burst of barking and saw Jane Dormer’s dog leaping up, yanking at its lead as if it recognized Elizabeth. The princess had a special kinship with animals; even the wary stable cats at Hatfield responded to her. It gave me pause. That little dog might prove a useful distraction …
Then I focused on the queen as Elizabeth sank to a curtsy under her baleful gaze. The clench of Mary’s jaw and the stony hardness that stole over her face were chilling.
Mary Tudor regarded her sister with undisguised hatred.
Elizabeth said quietly, “Forgive my delay, Your Majesty. I … I was unwell.”
“Not so much that you refrained from riding with our cousin today,” riposted Mary. “You were also invited to attend mass with us this afternoon, and once again, we waited for you in vain.”
Elizabeth’s reply was soft; only those who knew her intimately would have been able to tell how cautiously she was choosing her words. “Your Majesty, I thought I might have caught a chill after my morning ride. I didn’t wish to expose you to—”
“Enough.” Mary cut her off with an impatient wave of her hand. “I have heard it all before, too many times, in fact. It seems whenever the subject of attendance at mass comes up, you have a sudden ailment.” She paused, staring at her sister as if she wished to make her vanish through the sheer force of her will. “Where is the blessed medal of the Holy Virgin I gave you?” she asked.
Elizabeth went still. Then her hand crept up to the high neckline of her gown. “I left it for safekeeping in my rooms.” Her voice was guarded but remarkably steady. “It is so precious a gift to me, I fear that I may lose it.”
“Or fear losing your heretic friends’ support if you’re seen wearing it.” Mary leaned forward, glaring now. “You have an able tongue, madam, as always, but we are not so blind that we cannot see what is before us, though you may think otherwise. Do not think to defy us indefinitely. Your time of deception is fast coming to an end.”
If she could feel the entire court’s attention riveted to the sight of her, on her knees before the queen like a suppliant, Elizabeth did not show it. With a raise of her chin, she said, “I regret that I’ve given such cause for offense. Though it would cause me great sorrow, with Your Majesty’s leave I would gladly return to my house of Hatfield—”
“You will not!” Mary banged her fist on the table, making the cutlery jump. “You will stay here, under our watch. Do not dare ask us again, lest you try our patience one time too many. There are worst places where we may yet send you.” She gestured to the empty chair. “You will sit beside our cousin Lady Lennox, whose loyalty you’d do wise to emulate.”
As if she trod on broken glass, Elizabeth mounted the dais. I now knew who that strong-nosed lady was: Margaret Douglas, Countess of Lennox. Like Edward Courtenay, she, too, bore a claim to the throne. To my disconcertion, I also realized we were related: My mother had been her mother’s aunt.
Lady Lennox cast a barbed, sidelong glance at Elizabeth as a page hastened to pour wine into the princess’s goblet. Elizabeth did not touch it. Having lived with her at Hatfield, I knew she rarely drank undiluted wine, for she was prone to headaches. A blue vein showed in her forehead, sole outward indication of her anxiety.
The feast began. I ate sparingly, watching Elizabeth likewise pick at her food. I was taken aback by her appalling slenderness, her cheekbones etched under her skin. These past months at court had taken their toll on her, and I had to clench my hands under the table. I couldn’t let emotion get the better of me. I needed a keen mind and determination to extricate her from her predicament.
Still, I wondered if she had noticed me sitting a few tables away, a mere pebble’s toss from her. If she did, she did not reveal it. Her gaze passed over the court as if she were looking across a murky pond, without any acknowledgment of the covert glances cast her way. The moment the feast ended and Peregrine leapt forth to wolf down the serving on my plate, Elizabeth rose. For a second, her eyes lifted and met mine, with a force that went through me like a dagger thrust. About us, servitors began to dismantle the tables, the courtiers leaving their plates behind, taking only their goblets as they cleared the floor for the evening’s entertainment. In the minstrel gallery, instruments were tuned. I saw and heard all of it yet did not heed, struck by the hunted appeal in the princess’s eyes.
Then she turned away to follow the queen and her guests to one of the massive hearths. Once there, she took a chair and sat alone, apart, like an exile. She and Mary each acted as if the other had ceased to exist, the queen regaled by Renard and the Spaniards, her laughter loud, overly ebullient.
“Remember, do as I told you,” I said to Peregrine. He nodded, mouth and hands full.
I inched toward the royal company. Courtenay dallied with one of the ladies, ignoring Elizabeth as well, thou
gh she sat only steps away. I took note of his behavior, in light of what I knew so far. Apparently neither he nor the princess cared to advertise their association in public.
Seeking an opportunity, I paused by a group of gossiping courtiers. I finally gleaned it when Jane Dormer hastened to a stool, her black dog still straining on its lead. She was trying to get him to sit, shoving at his hindquarters and scolding him. He, in turn, let out a little yelp, his tail wagging furiously as he stared fixedly to where the princess sat. Moments later, Sybilla drifted to Jane and began to talk to her, though Mistress Dormer, intent on trying to wrestle her pet into obedience, barely glanced at her elegant companion.
I took a deep breath and sauntered over to them, swiping off my cap as I crouched down to pet the little dog. He leapt up to lick my face.
“Blackie,” Jane exclaimed, “stop that!” She flushed, giving me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do with him! He won’t listen to a word I say.”
The dog lavished me with affection even as I examined the knot tying the lead to the collar. The knot was weak, as I had supposed, and easily loosened.
“Poor thing,” I said. “All this noise and so many people—it must be terribly confusing for him.”
“You have a way with dogs,” Jane remarked.
“Yes,” I replied with a smile. “I sometimes prefer them to people.”
Jane frowned. “They warm our bed on a cold night and keep fleas at bay, but they are soulless creatures. How can you prefer them to us?” I heard a rustle of skirts as Sybilla turned to us.
“There are some who claim that those who prefer the company of animals are apt to be the most honest,” she said. “Is that the case with you, Master Beecham? Her Majesty seems to think so. She has spoken rather highly of your integrity and valor.”
The Tudor Conspiracy Page 6