Ill Met by Moonlight

by Mercedes Lackey

  “I don’t care about him, only that he spoiled my joy. I was so afraid that Da would be different, that I would not feel for him what I used to feel. But it was not true. It was just as it had been, as I had remembered … and I was happy, truly happy … and … it was all spoiled.”

  “No, m’lady, not really.” Blanche nodded encouragingly as Elizabeth sipped the sweet, strong wine. “You know now that His Grace is alive and well. You know that Lord Denno has been speaking the truth and that you can trust him. Moreover, you know that when the time is right, you may be able to visit His Grace. Now drink up your wine and go to sleep.”

  Elizabeth’s expression had lightened as Blanche named the two great goods that had come out of that evening’s adventure. And when the glass of wine was empty, she stretched out on the bed and closed her eyes. A small smile curved her lips. It would be better to see Da Underhill—Elizabeth could think the name, although she could not speak it. He would tell her what he had been doing rather than her telling him what she had for breakfast and dinner. They could walk and talk, ride and tease each other, without any fear of watchers.

  Then her eyes snapped open and she half sat up, catching her breath. “Mary,” she whispered to Blanche. “Mary does not love me anymore. She does not like it that Edward is fond of me. She … she recognized Da … but she called him FitzRoy. Why did she call him FitzRoy?”

  “That was his name before the king raised him up to be Duke of Richmond, Duke of Somerset, and Earl of Nottingham.” Blanche bit her lip. “I am sure she will not tell anyone she saw a man eight years dead in the garden.” Blanche tried to sound reassuring, but her voice was too hearty.

  “But she will not keep it secret,” Elizabeth whispered, her voice shaking. “Even though no one saw anything. Her own ladies and gentlemen agreed that the garden was empty except for us. And you were so clever about hinting it was you she saw. She is very shortsighted … But you think she will speak of it.”

  Blanche did not answer that; all she said was, “Lie down again, m’lady and sleep. Remember that your Da is alive and Lord Denno will help as he can whatever happens.”

  Comforted, Elizabeth did sleep, but she woke apprehensive and while she dressed and broke her fast, she and Blanche talked about what Stafford could have seen and, half asleep, mistaken for Elizabeth greeting a man in the garden.

  The ax did not fall that morning, however. Elizabeth, as she had promised her brother, attended the lessons given by Dr. Cheke. The younger boys greeted her with their usual clamor, the older boys with calm nods. Lord Stafford was not present. That was a relief.

  Later Elizabeth realized that she should have been worried by his absence. She should have guessed that he had been summoned by Mary to support her story, but she did not think of it. So she had a very pleasant morning and left her brother with a fond kiss to have her nuncheon in her own chambers in good enough spirits to eat bread and jam and slices of fruit.

  She was just wondering aloud to Blanche where Kat could be, when that lady stepped into the room. Elizabeth saw at once that Kat was very pale and she exclaimed and asked what was wrong.

  “Where were—” Kat began and then said hurriedly, “No. Do not answer that. You are summoned to the queen, Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth rose at once, her eyes filling with tears. “There was no man,” she said to her governess.

  Kat came to her and gave her a hug and a kiss. “You need not assure me of that.”

  In the queen’s small private closet, Elizabeth sank down into a deep curtsey. Catherine Parr gestured for her to rise and then held out a hand. With tears running down her cheeks Elizabeth kissed the hand, which then patted her fondly.

  “Whatever were you doing, love? Mary obviously had not slept at all last night and she was nearly hysterical when she came to me this morning.”

  “I only went out into the garden because I was so hot,” Elizabeth sobbed. “My head ached so, and I felt as if I could not breathe. I was afraid to lie down. I would have choked … Oh, madam, I swear I will never do so again, but I could not see that it was so wrong a thing to do. I had my maid with me, and we were only in the little garden right in front of my rooms.”

  “But Lord Stafford said he saw you run to and embrace a man—”

  Elizabeth wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “My maid and I have been talking about that. Neither of us remembers exactly what we did. It was not important. We thought we were just going out until I felt cooler, but what we think now is that the maid must have stepped out first to make sure the garden was empty.”

  Catherine frowned, just a little. “Why did you need to be sure of that?”

  Elizabeth made her voice small and meek-sounding. “My maid was afraid that it was not proper for me to be out so late at night. And I did not want to do what was wrong, but I have been so unwell lately, and oh! I wanted air so badly.”

  Tears welled over her eyelids again as Elizabeth tried to swallow her fears for this woman who had become, in a few short weeks, more of a mother than she had ever had. Oh, Kat loved her and so did Blanche, but they were both servants. Queen Catherine’s care was freely offered when nothing in the world obliged her to give it.

  “But why did Lord Stafford believe you met a man in the garden?” Catherine asked, now clearly puzzled by the absolute contradiction between the two stories.

  Now she was on surer ground. “He told us he was dozing by the window. My maid and I both think he was half asleep and dreaming. Blanche must have walked out into the center, near the flowers, and called out to me. He said he heard a voice cry ‘Elizabeth.’ And I must have come from the building when she called. Perhaps I ran or skipped—it was such a pleasure to feel the cool air. Perhaps I hugged the maid out of pure high sprits or perhaps I caught my foot and tripped and she caught me. Neither of us remember this. It is just something we thought might have explained what Lord Stafford thought he saw.”

  Queen Catherine sighed, both with relief and exasperation. “It sounds very likely. I cannot imagine why he rushed out to involve Lady Mary in this nonsense. But she said she saw someone seated on the other end of the bench.”

  “I think that would have been the maid. Likely when I fell against her she told me to mind my manners and sit down quietly. Just as likely, without thinking, I told her to sit down too, as I would have said to Mistress Champernowne. But of course the maid would not have been accustomed or comfortable sitting. I am afraid I didn’t think about her. I just closed my eyes and sat enjoying the cool breeze. Perhaps I was playing with my cross. The maid must have got up, and then I heard someone call out ‘FitzRoy’ and I jumped to my feet.”

  Catherine frowned, but this time her look was troubled. “But how could Mary have mistaken your maid for … for a man eight years dead?”

  There was a little silence and then Elizabeth said, reluctantly, “I do not mean to say any wrong about Lady Mary, who has always been very kind and loving to me, but … but her long vision is not very good. She must hold her needlework almost to her nose to see it well. Unless she knows the color of a lady’s gown or man’s doublet, she must even wait to hear a voice before she knows who is beside her.” Elizabeth grimaced a little. “She sees—what she has been told to see, I think, or what she thinks she should see. Lord Stafford told her there was a man, so any thing, my maid, a tree, or a shadow, must be a man.”

  “God’s Grace, I had forgotten that!” Catherine exclaimed, and laughed ruefully. “Of course, all she saw was a blur but she would hate to admit that.”

  “Lady Mary cannot be wrong,” Elizabeth replied, in tones that implied that Lady Mary all too often was wrong, and stubbornly would not admit the fact.

  Catherine sighed. “Well, I will write to the king and explain to him what really happened. I tried to convince Mary not to write to him about this, but I had not heard what you had to say and she was not … completely rational. She will not write that you were with a man, but she insisted that the king must know his da
ughter was wandering abroad in the middle of the night.”

  “If she will write, I am sorry. I cannot think of a way to stop her. But you must not try to excuse me. Please!” Elizabeth caught at the queen’s hand. “Oh, madam, the king is so overwrought with this coming war and all the plans to be made. Please do not trouble him with this nonsense about me. I should not have gone out so late at night. If His Majesty wishes to punish me, I deserve it. Please, please do not interpose yourself to take the blow meant for me.”

  The queen patted Elizabeth’s wet cheek with her free hand, her expression full of sympathy. “But it was only a little foolishness, not a great sin, to wish to be cool. If I explain and remind him of the Lady Mary’s short sight—”

  “Not now.” Elizabeth barely prevented herself from screaming in her terror. She saw the queen accused of complicity in allowing the king’s daughter to meet a man at midnight; she saw them both executed. “Not when His Majesty is so very busy,” she gasped. “If you think the punishment too … too severe, perhaps you could beg him for mercy for me, but do not associate yourself with my mistake.”

  Catherine sighed. “It is true that the king is very busy and not overly happy with Emperor Charles’s plans, which makes him irritable now. You may be right, that to try to excuse you would only make matters worse. Let us just be quiet and see what happens.”

  They did not need to hang in suspense very long. Before the end of the week, an irritated but not furious note came from King Henry through Secretary Wriothesley commanding the queen to have Elizabeth and her household removed to St. James’s Palace in London. “She is too lively, too clever, and too much an attraction to the young gentlemen, who at the same time envy that she holds her brother’s strong affection. If she is separated from them, fewer tales will be told of her.”

  Although Elizabeth wept bitterly over the news of her exile from the lively schoolroom and the gay activities of the queen’s court, she also wept with relief. Queen Catherine had not needed to oppose her husband’s will over so light a correction. Moreover, Catherine pointed out that the king’s indulgent words coming through Wriothesley’s formal letter spoke of Henry’s affection. The queen also was able, without mentioning Elizabeth to the king, to appoint William Grindal as her tutor so she would not miss the lessons she loved so well.

  Sensing the queen’s strong sympathy for Elizabeth, Kat Champernowne took her courage in both hands and asked for permission for Lord Denno to visit while Elizabeth was at St. James’s. Under a strict and careful interrogation, Kat explained about Lord Denno’s long association, first with His Grace of Richmond and then with Lady Elizabeth, who, Kat said, he seemed to regard as a legacy from Richmond.

  “And most certainly he speaks of both of them as God’s own replacements for his lost small brothers and sisters, Majesty,” she added fondly. “No father could be more careful with her, nor more generous.”

  Before she agreed, Queen Catherine interviewed Denoriel herself. He took great care with his dress, which was sober in hue but extravagantly rich in ornament. He also took considerable care with his appearance, making sure his eyes were round-pupilled, that his ears showed no sign of points, and that there were lines that bespoke age in the skin around his eyes and his mouth. Together with his snow-white hair, he looked near three-score years—not of an age to interest a girl of eleven, except as a gift-bearing “uncle.” And certainly he looked nothing like the sort of young fellow that might have been mistaken for Henry Fitzroy—if such a young fellow existed outside of Lady Mary’s imagination.

  Permission for limited visits was granted. Queen Catherine was eager to do anything she could to comfort Elizabeth, whom she was coming to love most dearly. Catherine did not quite understand why Elizabeth should blame herself so bitterly, but she promised that as soon as the king asked about his children, she would tell him that Elizabeth was much chastened and begged to be restored to her brother’s and sister’s company.

  That aroused Elizabeth’s anxiety again, but Catherine laughed at her and promised to do nothing that could irritate the king. Much less anxious, Elizabeth kissed the queen’s hand in farewell and set out for St. James’s Palace.

  When Rhoslyn heard that Elizabeth was gone and with her any chance of encountering Denoriel, Rosamund Scot returned to Mary’s household. She found Lady Mary much distressed over her half-sister and the fact that she had not told her father of the depth of Elizabeth’s depravity.

  “She is a witch,” Mary whispered to her cleverest and most sympathetic maid of honor.

  She had hinted of witchcraft to Jane Dormer, who was her most faithful attendant, whose devotion she never doubted. But Jane tried not to indulge her mistress’s emotional moods and often tactfully corrected her for her own good. Mary had seen Jane recoil from the word “witch,” had seen the disbelief in Jane’s eyes, and heard Jane beg her never to make such an accusation against Elizabeth without hard proof. Mary knew Jane was right.

  No one would believe her if she said an eleven-year-old child had done a conjuration capable of bringing back the dead. And Mary knew she had no proof at all, only her own certainty of her brief glimpse of FitzRoy. And who would believe that? Even Jane had murmured about her shortness of sight. But she remembered well the conformation of his body, the way he held his head.

  Also, Mary had heard Elizabeth say “Da.” There was nothing wrong with her ears, and Elizabeth had never called anyone but FitzRoy “Da.” Mary, sick with loathing, had heard one bastard call the other “Da” many times before the whore-witch got her just reward. Stafford might confirm that he had seen a man in Elizabeth’s arms, but he had never known FitzRoy and could not identify him.

  But Rosamund had no doubts and no reservations about what Mary told her. “And her mother was a witch before her,” Rosamund whispered in Mary’s ear, nodding, but then, still leaning close, the maid of honor asked, “But why do you say so now? She is only a child.”

  Mary needed someone to believe her and she knew Rosamund believed fervently in the old religion and the miracles of the Church. The Bible said “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” so Rosamund would believe witches existed—and knew what should be done with them. Although Mary was uneasy about confiding what Jane distrusted to another lady, she could not resist.

  “I saw her conjure up a person I know to be eight years dead,” Mary whispered.

  Rhoslyn stared, open-mouthed. Before she had presented herself to Mary, she had made her way, using the Don’t-see-me spell, to Stafford’s chamber. He was abed, and Rhoslyn had not wakened him; she had thrust him deeper into sleep and then ruthlessly plundered his mind of the memories of the last few days. He would wake with a violent headache but no memory of her visit. Thus she was already aware of every move of the confrontation in the garden—but only from Stafford’s point of view.

  Widening her eyes into an expression of horror and deep interest, she said, “You saw this?”

  Mary nodded, and there was even a welcome hint of fear in her expression. “I saw the man and I recognized him.”

  “Only you saw him?” Rhoslyn persisted.

  Mary nodded and sighed in defeat, describing what she had seen and heard to Rhoslyn. Rhoslyn listened in silence, only nodding and uttering murmurs to encourage Mary to recount all the details. This adventure held the seeds of a more satisfactory and more permanent solution of the problem Elizabeth presented to the Unseleighe.

  Rhoslyn had originally been furious over the way so promising a scandal had been hushed over—more furious because she knew the mild reprimand of separating Elizabeth from the other children for a few weeks or months was her own fault. If she had been present, Mary’s letter would have had a far more serious effect. And Rhoslyn knew why she had not been present to “help” Mary write her letter. She simply did not want a child dead or in Unseleighe hands.

  But this—an accusation of witchcraft … No! They would burn her. Not a child, even one she liked as little as she liked Elizabeth.

  �
�It is dreadful,” she said softly to Mary. “But I think you cannot do anything more now. It would be too hard to convince anyone. And—my lady, perhaps it was no conjuration, but a revenant. I have never heard anyone say of FitzRoy that he was evil; only that he loved little Elizabeth, and she him. Perhaps that alone was enough to call him to her side? And Elizabeth herself likely thought she was dreaming.” As doubt flickered over Mary’s features, Rhoslyn continued. “Anyway, she is away from the court and the children and cannot corrupt Prince Edward any more. That is an accomplishment. Elizabeth is not important. Edward is.”

  That assurance brightened Mary’s expression and she talked for a little while about her young brother, speaking of a book of prayers she hoped to give him.

  Rhoslyn remembered Pasgen saying that Vidal’s desire to be rid of Elizabeth now was ridiculous. It would be many years before she was a real threat to Unseleighe power. And in a few years, Elizabeth would no longer be a child. Mortals got old so quickly, and Rhoslyn suspected she would like the adult Elizabeth even less than she liked the child. There would be plenty of time to bring forward the accusation of witchcraft. Mary would not forget.

  Uncanny things were known to happen around girls just rising into womanhood and surely further incidents could be arranged. For now, Rhoslyn did not need to worry about Vidal. The situation between England and Scotland was worse than ever, with constant raiding bringing death and misery. There was power enough for Vidal’s court.

  As she half listened to Mary and agreed that for a child who loved his books as well as Edward, an illustrated Book of Hours would be a welcome gift, Rhoslyn considered her real problem. Aurelia. Aurelia had been determined to have the breaking of Elizabeth and would now be disappointed. It might be possible to convince her to wait, but it might not. Rhoslyn thought of Aurelia’s arrogance and her moments of confusion, and shuddered.