Maid of Secrets

by Jennifer McGowan

  Anna, for her part, was to provide a simple accounting: who was there and who was not, from monarch to maid to serving girl, complete with names and what they were wearing or carrying. This work was not as intriguing to her as deciphering codes or playing with astrolabes or translating ancient Greek, but Anna enjoyed the game of numbers and descriptions very much. Even now, her cheeks flushed with excitement as her gaze discreetly swept the small space.

  My role, in turn, was to learn the unspoken secrets of the players around me, simply by observing how they conducted themselves upon this royal stage. I noted who was leaning into intimate conversation, and who was being rebuffed. Who had curiosity or anger or delight or dismay writ upon their faces, and who was watching whom. After three months of this constant assignment, I could no longer enter a knot of people without systematically tracking the cues they gave, which announced their intentions before they ever opened their mouths.

  Still, my stomach tightened as we approached the Queen. I didn’t know what to expect from her, and I didn’t like surprises. Surprises required improvisation. Improvisation worked far better in a play than in real life—and even then, only with the most skilled of actors. Would I be convincing enough to carry the day, if my assignment proved to be beyond my skills? I put on a smile of confidence like a mask, and made ready to say yes to anything.

  Seated beside Queen Elizabeth were three ladies-in-waiting, who in turn were attended by the youngest member of our special group of maids, Sophia Dee.

  Yes, that Sophia—whose touch had been my undoing, three months ago in the marketplace.

  Orphaned when she was very young, Sophia was both ward and niece to the Queen’s astrologist, John Dee, and the dark-haired, violet-eyed girl was believed to almost possess the Sight. It was beyond ironic to me. A hundred years ago—or even more recently, in truth—an ability to foresee the future might have gotten Sophia burned at the stake. But here, with this Queen and in this court, the idea that she might serve the Queen in much the same way John Dee did had made Sophia a commodity of highest value. And her gift was going to manifest itself with clarity any day now, everyone was certain.

  I, for one, suspected it already had. Cecil had forced Sophia to stand in my path that day in April, to confirm his suspicion that I was the thief that he sought—and with her touch she’d condemned me. I’d forgiven her for her part in taking me down, but only because she was so distraught for days after, swearing she did not know why I’d filled her with such fear, or how exactly she’d known of my crimes. Sophia had mentioned a dream to me that day in the marketplace, but when I’d asked her about it later, she’d said I’d misheard her. This of course was impossible—I misheard no one. But at the girl’s obvious distress, I didn’t press the point. Perhaps she didn’t trust her dreams as yet; perhaps all of her dreams weren’t accurate. Or perhaps she was simply scared. I know I would have been. It could not be easy to see the future, especially if it came true.

  We’d talked more since that day, and I quickly realized that Sophia felt a certain kinship to me. Not because of our backgrounds, since Sophia had been born to wealth and had never roamed the streets and countryside as part of a laughing crowd. But simply because I was the new member, the slow learner, the sharpening stone on which the other girls honed their wits. Before, that role had been hers. I did not quibble with Sophia’s camaraderie, though. I was glad to call anyone an ally. I thought of her as “the Seer.”

  Now, as Sophia sat quietly beside the Queen, her quiet blue gown of stiffened lace doing nothing to dim her ethereal beauty, her role was to watch the space between the spaces around the women gathered here, in case their spirits spoke to her or she was given some clue as to their future actions. It was a fruitless chore, in truth. Sooner or later, I felt in my bones, Sophia would gain real command over her sight. And then she would truly shine.

  Hopefully, it would be sooner rather than later. The poor girl was already betrothed, and to an old man at that! I couldn’t imagine a worse fate. Invariably, when I’d played the role of the wife of an older man as part of my “acting” duties within the Golden Rose, it had called for sarcasm, anger, and a surfeit of grief. From everything I could tell, in observing both the members of our own troupe and the lives of the villagers and farm people who made up our crowds, marriage was the lot all women hoped for . . . until they found themselves enmeshed in it. Yes, of course there were exceptions, but they were precious few. For most women, marriage was like a yoke hewn from a sturdy beam, something to be endured for the security it provided. But my aim in life was freedom, not endless servitude; joy, not misery. There would be no husband for me.

  That left only one member of our small band of five maids a-spying who was unaccounted for this morning: Jane Morgan, the Blade.

  The most secretive spy among us, Jane was probably hiding not ten feet away, watching us all. She had a knack for that sort of thing, as well I knew. Invariably her role, no matter the setting, was to be ready to kill someone—or at least horribly maim them. She could recognize the tensing of a body, the stealth of a step, the shift of the eyes. An attack on the Queen was not a likely concern when she was surrounded by women in her own Privy Garden, but Jane never knew when she’d be called upon to act. Especially in a castle as full of mayhem as Windsor.

  In the short time I’d been here, there’d been no fewer than a dozen odd court disturbances, from the theft of the ladies’ precious gowns—later found floating in the Thames—to the string of English roses painted around the rim of the Round Tower, to the enormous wharf rats that had been released into the kitchens, setting the entire staff of cooks and servants into a screaming fury. The Queen and her court were irritated, and all of Windsor was abuzz with the outrage of it all.

  Cecil halted in front of me with a brief bow to the Queen, and I forced my attention back to my royal obligations. In unison, Beatrice, Anna, and I curtsied deeply to Her Majesty, then stood straight. Each of us, if asked, had already observed enough in this small garden space to give a full report.

  Sadly, in all the time I’d been in the Crown’s employ, nobody had asked.

  Perhaps now that would finally change.

  Queen Elizabeth eyed us with approval. Given that Her Grace’s gown was studded with jewels along both sleeves, it was plain she had not dressed merely for her ladies this morning. She must have just left her enormous Presence Chamber, where she routinely heard her subjects’ requests, resolving everything from village conflicts to tax relief to marital negotiations for the most minor of nobility. Having lived with the Golden Rose the whole of my life, I’d never realized how much a monarch could govern the daily lives of her more dignified subjects.

  Now this monarch turned to Cecil, fully ready to govern mine.

  “Good morrow, Sir William,” Queen Elizabeth said, her voice filled with proud command, causing everyone in earshot to turn her way abruptly. “I trust your morning lesson has gone well?”

  Cecil bowed slightly, his response measured and equally firm. “Very well, Your Grace,” he said. Something passed between them, riding the innocent words, but I could not puzzle it out. “Your maids are ready to serve you.”

  The three ladies-in-waiting behind the Queen tried to appear bored but failed miserably. I could sense Beatrice snapping to attention as they eyed us with furtive attention. They wanted desperately, I knew, to gather some idea of why the Queen concerned herself so much with the separate studies of five young maids, but so far they had been unsuccessful in that attempt. According to Cecil, not even the Queen’s closest confidantes were privy to our exact purpose, other than that we were being taught “advanced etiquette, comportment, and grace.” As if we were rather slow and needed extra instruction. Considering the curious backgrounds of most of us, this seemed eminently logic to all, and we were all glad of the covering story. Except Beatrice, of course, who remained constantly indignant about the perceived slight to her reputation.

  Then something moved near the hedgerow, the subtles
t shift of shadows, and I hid a smile. Jane Morgan had finally made her appearance known. At least to me.

  Dark and fluid in her somber grey shift, sharp-featured but oddly striking, Jane was the grimmest member of our small group of spies in many ways, but she was also the easiest for me to understand. Her skills were straightforward, and exceedingly useful, though to my knowledge they hadn’t yet been put to the test under the Queen’s command.

  Jane had been found just after Christmastide, I’d been told, when the Queen’s Guard had been sent to arrest a traveling group of marauders who’d attacked a small hamlet in North Wales.

  Jane, whose family had been killed in the attack, had gotten to the marauders first.

  “Leave us,” the Queen now said abruptly, interrupting my reverie, and it took me a moment to realize she was commanding her ladies-in-waiting to depart. It took them a moment to realize it as well, which made Beatrice stand particularly straight as the three older women rose to their feet—Kat Ashley, the Queen’s oldest friend, who had the grace to not look annoyed; and Blanche Parry and Lady Knollys, who left no question of their disdain for us.

  I watched them go, then glanced back to the Queen, somewhat startled to see that her gaze had fallen on me.

  “You have been with us three months, Meg. Sir William tells me you’ve progressed well enough for your first test.”

  “Your Grace,” I said, curtsying again under her watchful gaze. I was getting very good at curtsying.

  The Queen swept forward, her skirts brushing by my forehead, catching at my hair. Even in the midst of the garden, she smelled of lavender and something else, a sharp but pleasant spice I could not identify. All of the castle was like that, aswirl in pomanders and scents that I encountered at every turn. I had begun working with Anna to sort them out, but I was still a hopeless novice.

  “Walk with me,” the Queen commanded, and I popped up so quickly, I felt dizzy, stumbling forward as Beatrice shoved me.

  “Go!” Beatrice hissed. “And try not to embarrass us!”

  I nodded tightly and hastened after the Queen, who was already several steps ahead.

  The Queen set out at a fast pace, and I carefully remained just behind her. We were of a height, which made it easier for me to match her stride, though her heeled slippers made her seem taller. At the far corner of the yard, the Queen still did not look at me, but glanced out across the garden as we turned, never slowing. “So, Meg, tell me,” she said, her words almost casual, but not quite. “What have you learned in your three months of training?”

  “Your Grace?” I asked, surprised by the breadth of the question. “Ah, I have learned a great many things.” She did not reply, so I blundered on. “I have learned the family lines of all political houses in England and the rest of Europe. I have learned to dance the Almain, and I have—”

  “And what have you learned about your fellow maids?”

  I hesitated again. Where is this going? “Well, Beatrice’s mother is from the house of Winterton, and is married to the Earl of—”

  “Beyond that.” The Queen silenced me with a wave of her ringed fingers. “What is Beatrice’s best ability?”

  “Manipulation,” I said, without thinking. Then I rushed to soften the words, lest they seem uncharitable. “She is perfectly placed in the court. Everyone knows her and her standing, and she makes alliances with ease and elegance. She is one of the most sought after young women of the land, though far below you, of course, Your Grace.”

  “Of course,” the Queen said dryly. “And her flaw? What is her greatest flaw?” The Queen was walking more swiftly, and I was forced to keep pace, my heart now beginning to beat a little faster. I tried to choose my words carefully, and the Queen’s lips pursed. “Don’t try my patience, Meg,” she said, the words a slap.

  “Her pride,” I bit out, cringing at the betrayal, even though it was just Beatrice and she richly deserved it.

  Rather than ask me to explain, the Queen moved on. “Anna, then,” she prompted.

  “Anna’s best skill is her discernment—she can see hidden patterns in events, encoded letters, or even in mechanical things,” I said, thinking of Anna’s fascination with the puzzle boxes. I swallowed, knowing the next question. “Her flaw is her innocence. She believes the best in everyone, even when there is naught but evil there.”

  It was only the truth, but I still felt wrong in saying it. Before the Queen could speak again, I hurried on. “Sophia’s gift is the Sight, of course, or at least the promise of the Sight. Her flaw is her lack of confidence.” I blinked at that, surprised at my own assessment. “Jane knows what it is to take a man’s life without remorse, and it has turned her heart to stone.” My words sounded curiously sad to my own ears. “And that is both her gift and her curse.”

  Time seemed to hold its breath as we stood there, and I saw my fellow maids line up before me in my mind’s eye: Sophia and Anna, Beatrice and Jane. The Seer and the Scholar, the Belle and the Blade.

  And as for me? I had a nickname too, of course. As the Maid whose job it was to ferret out secrets, I’d received my nickname the very first day I’d arrived, when the others had not realized I could hear them whispering. Now they didn’t even bother to hide it from me. My esteemed partners in the Queen’s service called me . . .

  The Rat. And I had just proven their case.

  But what should I care? They’d done nothing to help me, either.

  Other than Anna, of course, who’d tried to help me with naming herbs, and who would gladly teach me to read, if only I could admit more fully that I needed help . . . . And Jane, whose words before she’d bludgeoned me had at least given me hope . . . . And Sophia, who’d truly seemed distraught even as she’d identified me to the Queen’s guard.

  Of course, Beatrice deserved my harsh words without sanction. But then, Beatrice cared even less for me than I did for her.

  The Queen’s next words jolted me back to attention. “And you, Meg? Do you know your greatest skill?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but the Queen raised her hand, effectively silencing me.

  “No.” She shook her head. “We cannot assess ourselves as easily as we might think, so I will tell you the answer. Your best skill is not your thieving, though you consider it so, or even your stealth. It’s your ability to play whatever role you must, for however long you must, to live a life of secrets and lies.” She grimaced. “I know that skill very well. It serves me more faithfully with each passing year.”

  Then she flicked a sharp glance at me. “But unlike me, Meg, you have not learned to master those roles and rise above them. To know that they are roles alone. Your flaw is that you have spent so long being who you are not that you have no idea who you are.” She shook her head, her judgment swift and complete. “And until you do know who you really are, you will always be someone else’s servant.”

  That isn’t true! The words sprang hotly to my lips, but I knew better than to give them voice. I know myself, of course I know myself. I am seventeen years old. How could I not know myself? You are completely wrong, I wanted to say, right to her face. Completely.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” I said instead, my voice as flat as the Thames in full summer. “I will think carefully on your words.”

  She nodded, taking my agreement as her due. “Now,” she said, glancing back to where Cecil stood in the middle of the Privy Garden. “We do not have much time, so I will be plain. Sir William believes I am telling you about your assignment for this evening, and to give truth to that lie, here it is: Tonight we will dine in the Presence Chamber, and a ball shall follow to honor our guests. There will be a new young courtier with the Spanish delegation, whose conversation we wish to know. Rafe Luis Medina, the Count de Martine. I am told he is attending as a nobleman and a flatterer, but I suspect he is something more—possibly an agent of King Philip, possibly an agent of the pope. He will be dining with Ambassador de Feria as they prepare for the rest of the Spanish delegation to arrive. You are to listen to
their conversation and report it.”

  She stretched out her fingers then, studying them with impressive interest. “You have been chosen for this assignment because with your acting skills, you can comport yourself like an established lady of the court, yet you are unknown to the delegation.” Now she flipped her hands over and regarded her palms. “Further, if Cecil is to be credited, your recall is exact, even if you don’t understand at all what you are hearing. Is this so?”

  Cecil! Annoyance rippled through me as I recalled all those days of translations, the endless books and languages. The old goat had known all along, and had still made me stumble through the lessons until I’d relied on my memory to save me. He’d been testing me from the first moment.

  The Queen was waiting for a response, and I nodded hastily. “Of course, Your Gra—ma’am,” I said, remembering the next stage of honorifics in a conversation as long as ours.

  She smiled faintly, and while I was certain she had to be bored with her hands by now, she continued to observe them with great solemnity. “Good. But now I will give you a second order to follow, one that is between us alone. A secret order. And one only you can complete.”

  Yes. My nerves tightened in anticipation, but I kept my voice steady. “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  The Queen raised one of her hands to fuss delicately with her crown, and finally, I understood. She was hiding her mouth, ensuring that her words could not be deciphered by prying eyes.

  “Look down at your hands,” she directed, and then continued once I did. “You have noticed, without question, the distractions of the court these past months,” she said. “The outbursts among the courtiers over some secret revealed or another, the petty thievery, and all of that.”

  I nodded, biting my lip. In truth, it had been great fun to witness the frequent disruptions, to realize the court was not just made up of perfect little puppets. And if I’d contributed to a few baubles being temporarily misplaced, well . . .