by April Taylor
“Rob, we have a mighty fight in front of us. I shall need all your wits and strength to aid me.”
“Very good, Master.”
Rob sounded unperturbed. Having bound himself to the apothecary, he would not hesitate to hazard his very soul if asked. Luke grinned at him, his affection and trust for the boy evident. Not one to share confidences, he had found the development of his relationship with Rob awkward at times, but, as the lad consistently proved his worth, Luke had fallen into the way of treating him like a younger brother.
Under the charm of Rob’s natural impudence, some of Luke’s habitual reserve had abated. He now wore more smiles than frowns, leading some of the wenches in Hampton and the surrounding villages to come more frequently to his shop than to the apothecaries who served their own communities.
It was Rob’s opinion, frequently voiced, that Luke had grown his fashionable beard in the past year to hide behind, but instead it lent his face a softness that enhanced his attraction to the opposite sex. Luke had been unaware of this, until he had caught Rob shaking his head and smirking like an inane donkey when a maid from Hampton left the shop.
“What?” he had demanded. “What are you grinning at?”
“You, Master. Did you not see the disappointment on her face?”
“Her injury was not on her face. Why would I want to look at it?”
Rob hooted with laughter.
“I venture that had you looked into her eyes and smiled, she would have swooned where she stood. You should beware, Master, or you will find yourself at the church gate before you know it. It’s not every man has his own house and business and is a pleasure for maids to look at.”
Luke had shaken his head, but he paid more attention from that moment and had to admit that his assistant was right. He took to keeping Rob in the shop with him and found that the lad had a pretty line of talk that soon had disheartened wenches smiling again.
Now that he thought about Rob, he could see that the boy was another weapon in his armory against Nimrod.
“This is serious,” he said. “It could end in our deaths.”
“There are a hundred ways we could meet our deaths every day of the week,” Rob replied.
“You speak truth. I will take all precautions, however. Go to bed, boy. I shall be late tonight restoring my energies and making plans.”
* * *
Luke’s thorniest problem the next morning was how to gain entrance to the palace. To march in as Luke Ballard, apothecary, known to mix with the poor and ill in the midst of an epidemic of sweating sickness, would be to earn himself an instant change of abode from the Outer Green upriver to the Tower. Even his position as Privy Inquirer would not save him. Henry’s terror of any type of sickness would be heightened by the Queen’s pregnancy. After almost seventy years of the Tudor dynasty, the need for an heir was still paramount.
The easiest way would be to disguise himself as a merchant and use a shimmer spell on Joss, for only court dogs were permitted in the palace. The spell would render her an indeterminate shadow, unidentifiable and unnoticed.
He had dreamed many times since the previous summer of confronting another sunderer. In his imaginings, he always saw through the fine feathers to the loathsome evil thing beneath, but, in reality, he could not hope for that. Sunderers were cunning. It must have galled the breed to know that a mere journeyman elemancer had defeated a powerful sorcerer. Asmodeus’s failure to achieve his aim would have sharpened their craving for vengeance.
Luke shook himself and concentrated on the problem at hand. He did not just need access to the wall near the Chapel Royal, which should be reasonably easy, but into the Queen’s privy apartments, which would most certainly prove much harder. After a little thought, he went upstairs and sat on the bed, preparing himself for a ritual that, although easy, needed concentration. Joss lay across the doorway, ensuring that he remained undisturbed.
Once Luke was happy with his state of relaxation, he unstoppered a vial of perfume containing the same ingredients as the one that Queen Anne used. Inhaling the rose and musk he concentrated on her and softly spoke the words of the auditory connection spell.
“Anne Boleyn, Queen Mother. I beg an audience.”
Luke waited. A few moments later, he heard her voice, sharp with annoyance.
“You disturb our rest, Master Apothecary.”
“I crave pardon, Your Grace. I must gain access to the Queen’s chamber where the girl was killed and also the wall where the writing appeared.”
“Why?”
“To test a theory, Madam.”
The air around him thickened and he sensed a quickening interest piercing her irritation. He heard her take an inward breath as if she were about to speak, but she said nothing. Focusing, Luke realized she had been interrupted by someone for when her reply came, her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear it.
“We will send Gwenette with instructions,” the Queen Mother replied, breaking contact.
* * *
Mistress Paige appeared at the shop doorway an hour later, a shawl covering her head. An awkward silence ensued, as seemed to be the custom these days when Luke and Gwenette were alone.
“You come from Queen Anne?” he said in a brisker voice than he had intended.
“Aye,” Gwenette said, frowning. “There is no need to use that tone, Master Ballard. I know you consider me little more than an annoyance.”
Luke bit his lip. He could not do right for doing wrong where Gwenette was concerned. He knew that in a tight spot, she was as steadfast a friend as any man could hope for. That much she had already proved. Would that she was as straightforward in other ways as men were. For all that, he would not hurt her for the world.
“I beg pardon, Gwenette,” he replied, hoping that the use of her given name would soften her. “I did not mean to insult you. This is the beginning of what I believe will be a parlous business. I am distracted. Forgive me.”
She sketched a curtsey. “Recent events have left those closest to the family more than a little anxious, too. My mistress begs me to escort you to the Queen’s rooms whilst the court is at meat. You are to use the secret way. It is fortunate that today both King and Queen entertain the Spanish and French ambassadors, so the meal will be longer than usual. What are you looking for?”
“I need to examine the wall near the Chapel Royal as well as the royal chamber.”
“But I have told you what the words said...”
Luke raised his hand. “Do not say them. They may hold a significance we cannot understand.”
“But they are words from the Bible.”
“Aye, but we do not yet know who wrote them and with what intent. What has happened to the girl’s body?”
“It has been wrapped and given to her grandmother. Why?”
“I need to see the poor child. Can you arrange that as well?”
Gwenette looked at him, chewing the inside of her cheek and frowning.
“Why?” she asked again.
Luke sighed. This was precisely the kind of thing that irritated him. Pose that question to Byram Creswell and they would already be on their way, but ask a woman and she had to know Chapter and verse before she stirred a step.
“I must examine her to find any traces the killer may have left,” he said with as much patience as he could muster.
She considered. “It could provide fodder for gossip if I were seen visiting Goodwife Brook, Luke. People would conclude I was on the Queen Mother’s business, and that could bring her unwanted attention. Allow me some time to think about it,” she said.
“You are a gem among women, Gwenette. I am sure you will find a way.”
“Good. Now, you can show me to the royal apartments using the route my mistress spoke of. They will all be at table. Let us go.”
Luke took Gwenette through to the kitchen to tell Rob of their plans to visit the palace and seize his scrip. Skirting the Tiltyard, they slipped from the grounds through the gate opposite Bushy Pa
rk. By degrees, Luke led Gwenette toward the Royal Mews.
Muttering an evasion incantation under his breath, Luke rounded the corner, gesturing to Gwenette to stay where she was. He crept into the furthermost stable block. Although a couple of lads came in and out with buckets and straw, neither of them appeared to notice the visitors. Putting down their buckets, the two boys turned and walked straight back out again.
As soon as the stable hands were out of sight, Luke beckoned his companion forward and sprang towards what looked like a solid wall, pulling on a small knot of wood. At once a door swung open revealing a long dusty passage. Grasping a torch from a rack on the tunnel side of the door, Luke lit it from the brazier. Urging Gwenette to enter, he shut the door behind them.
The tunnel was longer than he remembered and it was several minutes before the ground began to slope upwards. On the alert, Luke saw the stairway cut into the sidewall and gestured Gwenette to precede him. They were now in the palace proper, walking in the gap between two interior walls. Knowing that any sound could prove fatal, Gwenette pointed at the small door to the Queen Mother’s suite of rooms. Luke shook his head, his first task being access to Queen Madeleine’s privy apartments. A few moments later, they emerged into the King’s bedchamber.
This would be the most difficult part of all. They had to get from the King’s apartments to the Queen’s without being detected. The bedchamber was deserted, but a basket of logs had been placed in the middle of the room, covered with sacking. As Luke approached, the sacking shimmered. God bless Anne Boleyn. She had arranged for the logs as an aid to walk through the palace undetected. He and Gwenette exchanged glances and smiled.
“I must go first,” Gwenette whispered. “Carry the logs on your shoulder to hide your face. If we are challenged, I will deal with it.”
Luke noted her eyes alight with excitement like a child about to embark on an adventure. God alone knew what was on the other side of that door. Hauling the basket onto his shoulder, he nodded. Gwenette opened the door and peered out into the gallery.
Chapter Five
Rob felt niggling disappointment that Luke had left him behind. He never knew whether to laugh or despair over the fact that the minute Gwenette Paige appeared, Luke was no longer the calm apothecary listening to ailments. Discomfort poured from him. He shuffled his feet, fidgeted and mumbled the first thing that came into his head. Luke might like to think that he was immune to all women, but it was only in Gwenette’s presence that he became so uncomfortable. Rob liked Mistress Paige and knew that Luke valued her, despite the brusque way he spoke to her. But surely in a situation such as the one Luke now faced, a sturdy, quick-witted lad like himself would have been a more fitting companion?
In truth, the thought uppermost in Rob’s mind was of him being unable to help someone who came into the shop, and thus appearing to be a mindless idiot, but he reasoned that Luke would not have left him behind unless the apothecary thought he could be trusted. So long as customers only wanted the usual medicines, of which Luke kept a goodly stock, then Rob could cope.
He busied himself sweeping the floor and putting down fresh rushes. The sweating sickness had resulted in fewer customers and Rob found time hanging heavy on his hands. He decided to move and wash out all the gallipots, a task that soon had sweat dripping from his forehead and down his tunic. The noise he made prevented him from hearing the new arrival until he turned round. Both he and the girl jumped in shock.
“I beg pardon, young mistress. How can I aid thee?”
The girl appeared to be half-asleep. She looked up at Rob, black pupils large in amber eyes, curls of unruly auburn hair escaping from her cap. He found himself swallowing and, try as he might, he could not tear his gaze away from hers. It was some time before he could discipline his tongue to function.
“Do you require medicine?” he asked in the gentlest of voices. His heart contracted when confusion and fear flooded her face. He put out his hand, took one of hers and drew her down onto a settle, keeping hold of her hand. “Mistress, tell me what ails thee. Where does it hurt?”
She laid her other hand between barely budding breasts.
“Here,” she whispered. “Since Edith died, I cannot eat or sleep.”
“Mistress Brook? You knew her?”
“She was my friend. Younger than me, but not so timid. She looked after me. Made sure that I had food, protected me from the other girls. They are not always kind. I loved Edith. I do not know what to do.”
“Who sent you here? Were you asked to buy medicine?”
She lifted tear-drenched eyes to his, bewilderment writ large across her face.
“I cannot remember.”
Probably hasn’t eaten for days, Rob surmised. Crept around like a shadow, ignored and unnoticed. He felt a rush of anger that nobody had looked after this little waif. Poor child. Well, she was here now with him. She would not remain friendless and unprotected. Rob rose to his feet and poured a goblet of the restorative that he knew Luke gave people in distress, urging her to drink all of it. A little color came into her cheeks.
“Wait here. I will bring you food,” he said, laying his hand over hers before going into the kitchen. Putting some bread and cheese on a platter, he hurried back into the shop. She must be persuaded to eat.
The empty goblet rolled from side to side in the disturbed rushes. She was gone. He could not help the thought that she had either been frightened into flight or, worse, taken by force.
* * *
Gwenette jerked back and shut the door, turning to whisper to Luke.
“That was close. A few moments earlier and we would have come face-to-face with Ambassador Fuentes. We must wait a while. Then, follow me as if you are merely obeying my instructions. The servants are used to seeing me going to and from the Queen’s apartments on errands for my mistress.” She looked more closely at him. “Cover your hair—it is too distinctive, Luke. Here,” she ordered, grabbing the sack covering the basket of logs, “drape this over your head. Come.”
Luke was unsurprised to discover that the spell on the sacking intensified his senses. He could feel fear mingled with excitement rolling from Gwenette in an almost tangible stream. The atmosphere at court was always heightened with ambition and power-seeking in full play, but he knew that unless she grew calmer, her anxiety would attract the type of notice he was desperate to avoid.
Now that he was on the verge of examining the site of the murder, he worried that he might not have prepared for all contingencies. Indeed, far from the calm, measured thoughts that had occupied him at home, his brain seemed to teem with disconnected images. The more he tried to discipline his mind, the less ordered it became. Was that the sacking, his own anxiety or something more sinister?
Waiting until they had turned a dark corner between the royal apartments, Luke lowered the basket to the ground, making sure for the benefit of any watching eyes that he flexed his shoulders. He needed to make physical contact with Joss and she divined this by standing quite still next to the basket. He could stroke her, but it would appear that he was merely rearranging the logs to make them easier to carry.
Gwenette, aware that he was not following, turned and hurried back to him. He took her hand and put it on Joss’s head.
“I can feel hostility in the air,” he said in a whisper close to her ear. “It is making you more nervous than is wise. Feel the softness of Joss’s fur, lose yourself in its silkiness and let her presence calm you.”
Gwenette closed her eyes and let Joss nuzzle her stroking hand. When she next opened them, Luke could see that her growing apprehension had dissipated. He nodded and swept the basket back onto his shoulders.
“Lead on and have faith,” he said.
He saw Gwenette’s head lift and her back straighten as she approached the door guarded by two sentries.
“Logs for the Queen’s fire.”
The crossed pikes separated and one sentry opened the door. Gwenette pointed towards the fire. “Put them there,” she
said in a loud voice, turning only when the door closed. Luke did as he was bid, checking that the apartments were empty.
“There is nobody here,” he whispered, suddenly alarmed.
“It is something my mistress has arranged, but these rooms will not remain unpeopled for long. Luke, you must make haste. How can I help?”
“Tell me as much as you remember of the night Edith Brook died.”
Gwenette smoothed down her skirt. “My mistress sent me to the Queen with the gift of a pearl that his late majesty gave her when she carried the King.”
“What time of day was it?”
“It was almost time for Her Grace to retire. When I entered, she appeared fretful, although her ladies did much to try and win smiles from her.” Gwenette looked up and proceeded on his nod. “She wished to bathe. The Mistress of the Robes attempted to talk her into waiting until the warmth of day, but the more she cajoled, the more the Queen determined she would wash herself. I remember her saying something about being fragrant for the King.”
“Aye. All know he follows his father in matters of bathing. So, I assume that this child was instructed to fill the tub.”
“Aye, but Her Grace did not want everyone to see her condition so clearly, so she instructed that a bath be filled behind the curtain. But then it was forgotten. When the Queen saw the pearl, she decided she must wear it the next day and ordered that her jewels be brought so that she could choose a chain.”
Luke gazed around deep in thought. He could imagine the size of the pearl and doubted if Madeleine had ever seen anything to match it. That distraction and the deep shadows would allow anyone to enter unobserved and kill the maid. They would merely have to get past the guards and ushers on the door, a simple matter for a sunderer.
Gwenette watched his every move, seeming to divine his thoughts.
“Was it a woman, Luke?”
“Possibly. Why do you think so?”
“Because if she was noticed, it would be assumed she was a maidservant, but had it been a man, there could be no excuse for him being in the Queen’s Privy Chamber.”