The Time Duchess (The Time Mistress Book 4)

by Georgina Young-Ellis

  “Wie ist das Wetter zu dieser Jahreszeit in Österreich?” Elizabeth suddenly blurted.

  Cassandra’s eyes widened. “Pardon, Your Majesty?”

  “’Tis a simple question. Surely you have enough German to answer it.”

  Cassandra tried to muster a small laugh. “I am simply terrible at languages. I never adequately mastered my husband’s native tongue.”

  “I do not believe it. In twenty years in Austria, you never learned how to respond to a question about the weather?”

  “No―”

  “Do you know what I think?” Elizabeth sneered.

  “Your Majesty?”

  “I think you are a spy.”

  “A spy?”

  Cecil glanced up at her and down again.

  “I do not know where you are from,” the Queen continued. “You are not British, your accent is very different. You are not Austrian, unless you are lying about not speaking German. You look English, but you could be Scottish, for all I know…or Irish.”

  “Your Highness, no!” cried James. “My aunt has never been to that wretched island in her life.”

  This was the worst conclusion Elizabeth could have come to.

  “Silence, you pup,” the Queen said to James. “I do not know what your role is in all of this, but I intend to keep you in the Tower until I find out. Perhaps your aunt had planned all along to install you here in the palace and have you gather information for her about our activities in Ireland, a plan that seems to have worked out quite well, has it not?”

  “Your majesty―” James sputtered.

  “And yet you do not strike me as underhanded…more likely her pawn in this game. Why, you cannot be much more than twenty years old.”

  “I am twenty-five,” James lied. In fact he was nearly thirty. “But Your Majesty, neither my aunt nor I would ever―”

  “So, if you say your aunt has been in Austria for twenty years, you cannot have seen her since you were five,” the Queen insisted.

  “I have seen her since. She has visited my family.”

  “Ah, then your family can vouch for her. You say you are from Cornwall.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” James said with the slightest hesitation.

  “Though you have no Cornish accent about your speech…”

  “I strived to rid myself of it.”

  “It matters not. I shall send a representative to Cornwall. The parish is Cardinham?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Good. My man will visit your family there and he can tell us if it is true―that your aunt married some other Duke Von Schell and has been living near Bavaria not speaking German for the last twenty years. They can vouch for your identity as well, I am sure, young master.”

  “Of course,” James replied.

  Cassandra could almost feel the heat coming off him.

  “And you, Duchess, how old are you?” The Queen demanded.

  “I am forty, Your Majesty.”

  “You married at the age of twenty?”

  “Yes―”

  “Impossible.”

  “I beg your pardon, Your Highness?”

  “You cannot be a day over thirty, and if you are, you married at the age of ten.”

  “No, of course not, Your Highness.”

  “You dare to contradict me? I am telling you, none of this adds up. You are lying.”

  There was nothing more to say. Cassandra looked down again. She’d been caught and there was no way to explain her way out of it. She was going to the Tower with James in the best case scenario. And if Elizabeth became convinced they were Irish spies, she would execute them. Her legs threatened to give way.

  “I am sending you back to Austria with an armed escort. If you say that is where your home is, you can bloody well return to it, and there you can stay. I never want to hear of you being on English soil again, is that clear?”

  Relief washed over Cassandra. She was to be spared a death sentence. Yet taken to Austria? How would she ever get back to the portal? It was still a dire punishment. She stared at Cecil, willing him to look at her, but he wouldn’t.

  “You will leave at once. You will be taken back to your residence to pack your things and retrieve your money, and then you will be taken directly from there out of London. You may say your goodbyes now.”

  Cassandra turned to James, her eyes filling with tears. Her son’s face was white, his eyes large and dark in it, his already prominent cheekbones suddenly more stark. She embraced him and whispered in his ear, “The portal.” Maybe he could escape and get to it. It was the only hope for either of them. He nodded ever so slightly.

  Pulling away from her he simply said, “Goodbye, Aunt.”

  “Goodbye,” said Cassandra. She tried one more time to catch Cecil’s eyes. Their gazes met for a split second and then he looked away, perhaps feeling betrayed himself. Then the guards led her away.

  Chapter Ten

  Less than two hours later, Cassandra was in a carriage, bumping over the road leading southeast out of London to Dover, where she’d be put on ship to cross the English Channel. From there she was to be escorted through France and on through whatever all those various countries were that had changed a hundred times throughout the centuries, to Austria―and then what?

  To the left of the carriage, a soldier rode on horseback, visible through the window. There was one on each side and behind, plus one sitting with the driver. How would she escape? Run away when she asked to stop to pee? She wouldn’t get very far in her cumbersome clothing, thin shoes, and nothing to defend herself with. They’d taken her knife away from her when they searched her belongings back at James’s house, and her self-defense training was hardly enough to overpower five men. This is a nightmare. And all because she and James had not thought her back-story through well enough. They’d been in a hurry, and had just assumed no one would check. That had been the fatal flaw. They’d known if they could find the Earl of Oxford, they’d probably end up at court and in front of Elizabeth, and, old and doddering as she might be, nothing got past the woman. Though Cassandra might pride herself on having a good understanding of the history of England and Italy, she was no scholar when it came to the intricacies of Germany, Austria, Spain, the Hapsburgs and all that complicated business; neither was James, and they’d paid the price.

  If James could get himself extricated from the Tower, maybe by sweet-talking Elizabeth, there might be some hope he could get to the portal. Once he returned to 2125, he could get help from Professor Carver and the team, and maybe they could figure out a way to get her out of this mess. That is, if they were ever able to find her again―or if she didn’t get killed somewhere along the way―or end up in some Austrian prison―or―there were so many catastrophic possibilities. No, she wouldn’t let herself think about that. She had to stay strong, had to keep her head clear. There was a way out of this and she, or James and the team, would find it.

  It had grown dark. She’d calculated it would take seven or eight hours to get from London to Dover, making it well after midnight by the time they would arrive. Would they let her sleep somewhere before putting her on the ship? Surely they’d have to wait until morning to book her passage. They were at least treating her, if not like a Duchess, at least like someone of high rank, and had let her bring her money, most of which was tucked into her luggage, along with her jewelry.

  The loud clopping of a horse’s hooves, fast approaching from behind, sounded over the rattle of the carriage and the steady footfalls of the steeds that accompanied the prisoner. Someone yelled, and moments later there was a thud. Cassandra peered out the window into the darkness. She could just make out a rider on horseback who had overtaken them. The mysterious person struck the guard to her left, and the Queen’s man fell from his horse. The carriage jolted to a stop and she nearly tumbled to the floor. There was more yelling, sounds of a struggle, more thuds like bodies falling to the ground, and the whinnying of horses. Then everything fell eerily quiet. A man, face concealed with
in the deep shadows of his hood, yanked the door open.

  “Come with me,” a deep, muffled, though strangely familiar voice said urgently.

  “Who are you?” She groped around for something to strike him with.

  “Come with me or be taken from England. You have no choice.” He pulled her from the carriage, shoved her up onto his horse, and clambered onto the saddle behind her. He urged the animal to a gallop and they started back over the road toward London.

  There was no way to struggle, and it was impossible to speak over the wind and the noise of the horse’s hooves on the road. How did she know that voice? Could it be Lord Oxford? Surely the earl wasn’t strong enough to best five horsemen with weapons. Perhaps Shakespeare? Impossible. Either of them would have assured her of his identity. This was someone else, maybe someone one of them had hired, or, dared she think it, that Robert Cecil had sent to save her from the fate of being extradited. No, he was no longer on her side. And anyway, he wouldn’t go against the Queen and her orders. One way or another though, it was clear this person knew her.

  She held onto the pommel for dear life, tired as she was. The stranger’s arms were wrapped around her, holding the reins. The horse could not sustain the furious gallop for long carrying the two of them, but was powerful enough to continue at a cantor for the two hours it took to get back to London. The poor thing was frothing by the time they entered the environs of Southwark. They approached a rundown building of two stories in the neighborhood of The Rose and Swan Theatres. They were not at all far from the portal exit. Why not make a run for it? What did she have to lose, except perhaps her life? However, the man yanked her from the saddle and forced her through the front door, up a staircase and into a room. Without a word, he led her to a bed, shoved her down, and proceeded to tie both her wrists to a post. He then left, leaving her in the dark, and locking the door. She struggled against the ties but they were tight and well-secured. She kicked at the post. It was solid, and she was just about out of energy. She was starving, thirsty, exhausted. She slumped against the post for a moment, but sat up, alert again, as footsteps thudded up the stairs.

  The door opened and the man came in.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice raspy.

  He ignored her. There was a clanking, the sound of a flint striking; then flame bloomed in an oil lantern. The room was filled with a dim light. The man’s face remained concealed within his hooded cloak.

  “I’ll scream,” she said.

  “Drink this and shut up,” he whispered fiercely, shoving a cup to her lips.

  She pulled away at first but her overwhelming thirst made her come back to it and sniff. There was no odor.

  The man waited. He didn’t seem to be forcing her. When she lowered her mouth to it, he tipped it and the liquid flowed in. Only water as far as she could tell. He tipped the cup further and she drank greedily. As soon as she finished, he took the cup away, reached for something else, then pressed a cold substance against her wrists. She tried to jerk free, but in moments she grew sleepy, too sleepy to keep her eyes open a second longer. No, I must not lose consciousness. I must not.

  Elizabeth remained seated on her throne after Cassandra had been escorted from the presence chamber. Cecil still stood meekly near his monarch. “And as for you,” the Queen croaked in James’s direction, “you disappoint me beyond measure.”

  “I have done nothing to offend you, Your Majesty.” He looked the old witch directly in the eye, anger and fear for his mother driving his words. “I am who I say I am, as is my aunt. It was wrong of you to send her away. Please, rethink your actions before it is too late.”

  “How dare you speak to me this way!” she roared. “Who do you think you are? Do you think you can charm your way into my Privy Chamber, seduce me with your comely face, your shapely legs, and your beguiling words? I am no young maiden, so easily enchanted. I have known my share of men and I know when one is aiming to get something from me. You are here for some reason other than simply to pay court to your queen and majesty, and I believe Ireland lies behind your reasons.”

  “If her majesty believes that, then I shall certainly find a way to prove you are wrong.” How, he had no idea. “And when I do, will you retrieve my aunt from Austria and end her banishment?”

  “Do not presume to bargain with me. I shall do what I will with you and your lying aunt. Austria―pah! I sent word with her escorts to deliver her directly to the Emperor that he may question her when she arrives. He will know soon enough if she has any right to call herself Austrian or to claim an alliance with the late Duke Von Schell.”

  James’s knees felt as if they would buckle beneath him. What would they do with his mother in Austria when they discovered she was a complete imposter? Perhaps send her back to Elizabeth who would end her life for certain.

  “Your Majesty, I beg you.” His jaw began to tremble.

  “Leave me now. Robin, accompany him. It is the Tower for you, Master Gwynne.”

  Cecil limped down the steps from the dais, and moved ahead of James and the guards. They escorted their prisoner to the quay and onto a barge with more of the red-suited soldiers. Cecil sat at the front, under an awning, and James was at the back surrounded by the guards. The tide was in their favor, and though the current was swift, the water was calm. They rode past the imposing mansions of the nobles, past the point at which the Fleet flowed into the Thames, and the stinking mud flats where sewage and other refuse was mired, along the docks of the City of London, past Dowgate, where James gazed upon his own home perched gracefully near the bank, beckoning him with its comforts.

  The sun was low in the sky as they approached London Bridge, fog settling low on the river. The tide was out and the rapids were gentle under the span of the bridge. The barge slipped through the arches with only a brief quickening of its pace. A few blocks beyond the South Bank was the portal―so close.

  The Tower of London emerged suddenly from the gloom, though on a clear day it could be seen from far upriver. It was a grand fortress, castle-like in appearance, and undeniably beautiful, of whitish stone, with four towers on each corner of the “keep,” or central building, each topped with a dome and a spire. Around the battlements were the crenellations so typical of a medieval structure of its kind, with small, arched windows that gave a forbidding sense of the darkness awaiting the prison’s newest inmate.

  The walls of the outer building, known as “Traitor’s Gate,” which ran along the river, were stark and grey, with little of the beauty of the inner keep, called the White Tower. The barge pulled up alongside the unadorned wall to the stone steps that led to the water. Two guards helped Cecil out first. He stood, cloaked in his black robe, awaiting the prisoner, his face pale and drawn. Two other guards took James’s arms and assisted him onto the landing. Cecil turned, his cloak floating about him, and haltingly strode through a large archway with iron gates that lifted to receive them.

  The two men, plus several guards, plodded across a muddy courtyard, through an arched entryway, and across the echoing stone floors of a cavernous room, through many doors and cramped corridors, up a winding staircase, until they arrived in a hallway with several wooden doors. Cecil approached one, and a guard on duty opened it with a large, iron key. A servant appeared from behind them and scuttled through to light candles and a fire in a small hearth. Cecil motioned James to enter. The young man stepped into his prison, but Cecil reached an arm out to stop him before he could go further.

  “Master Gwynne,” he began, “I want you to know how much I regret being a part of this investigation. I never was doubtful of your aunt’s connections, and I certainly do not believe you are spies. It simply cannot be.”

  “Then why am I locked away here like a common criminal, my aunt banished? I fear for her, Master Cecil, dreadfully, and I blame you. I thought you were a friend, but you have deceived us. I cannot trust you now. My aunt is lost to me, and my freedom is lost as well.”

  “I am so terribly sorry. If i
t makes any difference to you, the Queen was not quite telling you the truth. My investigation had not yet been completed. It was someone else who provided the information that ultimately incriminated you and your aunt. Someone who is jealous of you.”

  The only person James could think of who had expressed anything like jealousy was Shakespeare. However, he didn’t think jealousy was at the core of the bard’s animosity, and if suspicion of James’s motives regarding The Lord Chamberlain’s Men was what he was harboring, it was a personal matter, surely not something to bring up to Elizabeth. Anyway, he obviously admired Cassandra too much to approach his Queen with extreme accusations. Even if he wanted to get rid of James, he would certainly not want Cassandra implicated. “Who is it?” James blurted. “Tell me who it is? I have wronged no one!”

  “I cannot. It would make no difference for you to know. Besides, I take responsibility. I was ordered to investigate you and I did, though ‘twas not my information that dealt the final blow to your credibility.”

  James could not imagine who the person could be that knew so much about Duke Von Schell of Austria. Not Oxford, he seemed to have no knowledge of the man. “If you are so sorry,” he finally said, “then you would fix this.”

  “Again, I cannot. Once her majesty has made up her mind, it is nearly impossible to change it. And the evidence is against you. What am I to do?”

  “Your evidence is wrong. This person you speak of is wrong. We deserve to have a chance to confront them and dispute it.” Not that he really knew how. Nevertheless, his curiosity over who their accuser was prickled at him.

  “It is impossible. The Queen will have her way. In the end, I think she was upset that you weren’t who you said you were because she wanted more than anything to bring you into the bosom of her court. Yet, she is very cautious, and does not take anyone for who they say they are unless she knows their parentage well. There is something else you are not telling us, James. Now that you and I are out of Her Majesty’s hearing, it would be best if you would out with it.”