Connecticut Vampire in Queen Mary's Court

by Hall, Ian

  “What’s the charge against you?”

  Again he chuckled. “Ah, Richard, we lead an uneasy life, we minstrels of the night. If the wind suddenly blows in the wrong direction, we break.” Even in the darkness, I could see his eyes looking directly into mine. “There are no charges against me. I don’t exist, never did. So therefore I will disappear tomorrow.”

  “Surely not?”

  “I sensed it coming, Richard. I sent you away, got you out of the line of fire.”

  Suddenly it all fell into place. “Your men weren’t just following us.”

  “No, they were just making certain you left London.”

  “Stand back.”

  “Why?”

  “Stand back!” I turned, and kicked out backwards, donkey-style, hitting the lock with my heel, smashing the side of the door and part of the stone surround. Taking him by the hand, and racing as fast as his feet would travel, I had him out of the Tower in a few minutes. Reasoning that the King’s Head would probably be safe again, prudence still dictated we entered by the back door.

  But we were stymied before we got past the kitchen drudges, the landlord waving us away. “Not tonight, gents, we’ll have none o’ your sort ‘ere. This is a respectable establishment!” Then he lowered his voice. “We have Spaniards in, sires. They went through your room this afternoon. I couldn’t stop ‘em.”

  So we went north by a circuitous route, ending up near our new digs. “Wait here.” I pushed him into an alley, returning ten minutes later with a purse of coins from our room. “It’s not much, Peter, but it’s all we have right now.”

  We shook hands somberly, and he left without another word. As he walked away, I felt a queasiness come over me, that old familiar sickly feeling. I readied myself for a bout of nausea, but for once the feeling soon passed.

  I felt exhausted, and fell asleep as soon as I lay on the bed.

  In the morning, I explained Fakenham’s end to Steve. “So it all collapses?”

  “I’m not sure.” I took some porridge, but still felt hungry. I needed to feed, and quickly. “I don’t think I’d like to visit the Queen anytime soon. If Fakenham’s told her we’re away on a mission, it might give us a breathing space.”

  “Fakenham maybe even took a bullet for us.”

  The next day, we went back to work on the Privy Council. At every opportunity, we tried to catch one of them alone, and give him another dose of ‘Elizabeth is innocent, send her away from court’ treatment.

  But on the third day of April, I saw Renard attend the council. He nervously paced back and forth in the anteroom; obviously he had news to tell. Curious beyond measure, I sneaked into the main Council room and managed to hide behind a long tapestry.

  To say Privy Council meetings were boring would be a complete understatement. They talked about bylaws, they debated trivia, they broke into prayer intermittently, and the constant attention to detail would have sent a normal human to sleep on his feet.

  Then Renard got called into the meeting, and I hoped it would get more interesting.

  “The Council recognizes Simon Renard, Ambassador to King Charles of Spain.”

  “Good afternoon, lords, gentlemen, members of the council.” The Frenchman’s voice sounded cloyingly sweet.

  “You have a statement for the Council?”

  “I do. I have a statement from her Majesty Queen Mary.” The room seemed so quiet. I heard the sound of him unfolding a piece of paper as he cleared his throat. “I am her Majesty Queen Mary. I wish the council to come to a final decision regarding the guilt of my stepsister, Princess Elizabeth. The matter cannot be drawn out further, and a decision must be made. If you have not sufficient evidence to prove her complicity in the rebellion, and therefore cannot come to a decision, I will have no other alternative but to make the decision for you.’ The letter is signed Mary R.”

  I heard his footsteps on the polished oak floor, and the closing of the door behind him.

  Oh, and only then did it get really boring.

  Talk about dithering. I had to stand through another three hours of pushing and pulling, then they decided to send the Queen a letter, and I thought the meeting over.

  No.

  It must have taken them another two hours to write the freaking letter! Going back and forth, writing it, then striking the parts where they thought they’d ‘gone too far’. They were obviously scared shitless, and no one wanted to make a decision.

  Finally the Duke of Norfolk read the finished article.

  ‘Your Majesty. We have heard the interrogations of many rebels, and we have heard the coerced confessions of the leaders, but we are afraid we cannot find a single solitary fact that will implicate Princess Elizabeth in any actual part of the rebellion.

  We are in no doubt at some point in time she was approached by the French Ambassador, Antoine de Noailles, and Sir James Croft, but neither will place a finger on Princess Elizabeth’s actual physical or oral participation.

  Furthermore, there is no evidence placing her in any collusion with Thomas Wyatt.

  We, therefore, cannot find Princess Elizabeth guilty of any of the charges leveled against her.

  Considering Princess Elizabeth is at present your only direct successor, and removing her from the succession would undoubtedly lead to some level of civil unrest, we cannot come to any penal sentence other than a recommendation; she be removed from court and placed in a house of confinement befitting her station.’

  I almost cheered.

  And as soon as the room cleared, I ran through the corridors, and off to my little nest in North London.

  Chapter 20

  April 5th, 1554

  Watching over a Princess

  I snuck into the Tower the same night, the blood of an unfortunate whore still wet on my lips. It took three attempts, but I found the guard’s pocket that held the keys to Elizabeth’s room; an easy steal for a vampire, but seemingly difficult for my emotional state. As I turned the key in the lock, I listened for movement inside.

  Silence.

  The room lay in darkness, a single solitary candle burnt low near the bare window, fluttering in the draught from outside. I listened, but heard only one low snore. I crossed to her bed, where she lay, partly on her side, facing me. I placed one hand on her hip to restrict her panicked movement, and one over her mouth.

  Elizabeth immediately woke up.

  I’m glad I’d taken the precaution, as she screamed under the pressure of my fingers.

  “Elizabeth! It’s me!” I hissed into her face. “Richard DeVere, you have nothing to fear!” Shaking my head at my inadvertent poetry, I slowly lifted my hands free. “I bring news, good news, Your Grace.”

  “It must be, to sneak into my room.”

  “Your Grace, I bring news of a letter from the Council to her Majesty today. You have been found ‘Not Guilty’ of treason.”

  “What?” She raised off the bed, and I swear I saw her bare breast, her nightdress opening slightly as she moved.

  “The Council has recommended that you be exiled from court, sent away from London.”

  I’d seen her breast.

  She clasped her hands to my face and kissed me. Boy, I felt glad I’d fed from the neck of the wretch in the alleyway, just minutes before. I kissed a princess, and her diaphanous gown had revealed her breast. I mean I stood literally inches from screwing the future Queen Elizabeth, and I’m certain if I hadn’t recently fed, nothing could have stopped me.

  I gently moved my face from hers.

  “This is great news, Sir Richard!”

  I took her hands, and placed them back on the bed. “We worked diligently, Your Grace, and we got the result we needed.”

  “So I am safe for the moment?”

  Until Queen Mary has a son, I thought, but kept my revelation to myself, not that she probably hadn’t thought about it thousands of times.

  I grabbed her by the shoulders. “But times have changed, Your Grace; the balance of power in London is shif
ting. Queen Mary is flexing her muscle. She arrested my master; Thomas Fakenham, the head of her own spy ring. They cited treason as the charge. I broke him out of the Tower and let him loose in Norfolk. At this moment I don’t know the condition of my own tenure, so I bring the news, and then must disappear into the night.”

  “You are a true friend, Sir Richard.” She touched my cheek, and again the familiar spark rose between us.

  I clasped her hand, turned it, and kissed the back of her fingers. “Your servant, always, ma’am.”

  I returned the keys quietly into the guard’s pocket and soon left the Tower behind me. As I travelled north, I almost had moments of reflection, my mission done, Sir Richard DeVere had indeed saved the world again, keeping Princess Elizabeth alive, and ensuring the integrity of the time-space continuum.

  But of course, real-life events have a way of bringing the narcissistic back to reality, and my world seemed no harder to invade. I had expected a town crier, running through the streets proclaiming Elizabeth’s innocence, but of course, nothing happened.

  Being far closer to the Tower, we moved back to the King’s Head, as I felt determined to keep my eyes on both the Council and their treatment of Elizabeth. Our rooms had been paid for weeks in advance, and the landlord looked happy enough to see us.

  “No Spanish today?” I asked as we shook hands.

  “None for a while, sire.” He scratched his chin for a moment. “In fact, that last day you were ‘ere, it was the last time I saw ‘em. They never did come back.”

  I checked my room, but found nothing amiss, but I did change back to my old black doublet and jeans. Boy that felt good.

  We were sitting in the main room of our tavern, supping mulled wine, and debating our next move, when I caught a motion out of the corner of my eye. A young boy, no more than fourteen had entered, systematically going round the tables. As he got closer, I heard him. “DeVere? DeVere?”

  I motioned Steve to pay attention. “Hey, lad?” I called at him, and he rushed to our table. “I’m DeVere.”

  He fished inside a rather dirty shirt, and produced a letter. “For you, sire.”

  I took the note, gave the boy a silver coin, and he ran enthusiastically from the tavern.

  We both exchanged mystified, serious glances.

  “How did the sender know we’re here?” Steve looked at the folded note, dark red wax seal, just like the last one.

  “The very same question I’m asking.”

  I opened it.

  ‘Dearest Richard, I am travelling home in the spring, as soon as the roads ease. I am well, and in good spirits. I will travel with my new friend, Joanna Lockhart. We will be in London soon. JW’

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” I said, handing the letter to Steve. “I was just thinking it may be time to go to Edinburgh.”

  “But that doesn’t answer the question of how the boy knew we were here.”

  I raced to the door and looked outside. The street looked quiet, but of course I could see no trace of the boy. I even raced up and down the streets; nothing. I began to get a bit pissed off with letters just arriving out of the blue.

  Steve joined me. “Anything?”

  I shook my head in frustration.

  For his part in the rebellion that would forever carry his name, Sir Thomas Wyatt got beheaded on the eleventh day of April. A cloudy, yet still morning saw a huge crowd in the grounds of the Tower, and I used the distraction of the guards to gain entry to Elizabeth’s room; same means, same pocket, same guard.

  Far too easy.

  I found Elizabeth at the window, watching the proceedings across the courtyard. From her position on the fourth floor, she had an unobstructed view. “But for the efforts of my friends, that could have been my fate?” she mused. She looked content, almost relaxed. “It might still be.”

  “It would be a cold day in Hell if Queen Mary were to conceive a child.” I walked to her side. “She is old, almost forty, and she’s not even married yet.”

  “The wedding will be this year.” Elizabeth looked back outside to the scaffold, to the crowd below. “Her mother, Catherine of Aragon, conceived her last child at thirty-one.”

  “Your grace, you should not think thus.”

  “And yet, I must.” Her voice sounded resolute and determined. “I have spent most of my life without the love of mother or father, despised by everyone, always in the way, yet pushed aside. I have been a prisoner for the whole of my life, for twenty-one years, and now must feel grateful to be imprisoned again?”

  The crowd cheered, and we watched the procession from the far building of the Tower. First the executioner, his large axe slung over his shoulder, then Wyatt, walking alone, then priests galore, I counted six.

  As the axe descended, hitting the wooden block and splitting Wyatt’s head cleanly from his body, Elizabeth shuddered slightly. “Do I see a foreshadowing of my own death? Or perhaps that of cousin Edward.”

  Courtney, although implicated in the rebellion, had indeed shared Elizabeth’s fate; neither had aided the rebellion, yet both were implicated in the plot, and both lay in the Tower, imprisoned.

  “I find it difficult to think Wyatt fought for me,” she said, her eyes full of sorrow, her mind obviously outside on the scaffold. “I have never met the man. His only crime was to consider me a better woman than my sister, and he died for that thought.”

  “He died for rebelling, Your Grace,” I tried to placate her.

  “He died so I may be Queen.” Her voice had raised somewhat. “His only fault? He found the courage to put his words into action. Would that I had more lieutenants like him, the rest of the rebels caved like empty suits.”

  “Your Grace, you come close to treason with your words.”

  “Then today, a traitor I will be!” Her dismay turned quickly to anger. “How many men will die for me, Richard? Will you? Will Edward?”

  I thought she’d burst into tears, but she held herself together, and crossed to the bed.

  “You should leave,” she said, picking up her Bible. “The afternoon meal will come soon.”

  On leaving, I met Steve at the King’s Head, and debated going to the Queen.

  “She may place you under arrest.”

  “But I have to go sometime.” I shrugged. “I can break out of any jail. For that matter, I can just run away.”

  “It’s your call.”

  I waited a couple of days, but in the end I knew I had to make a report. After making my decision, I presented myself at Westminster Palace, hoping for the best, but prepared for the worst.

  Well, if Queen Mary intended to ambush me and drag me to the Tower, she sure played her cards carefully. After passing on my information to her men at the door, I had to stand in the anteroom for most of the day.

  And of course, when I got to see her, the usual lapdog stood at her side.

  “Sir Richard,” Renard said as I approached. “Do you have anything to report?” Wow, he’d even taken to talking for her.

  I gave him a bunch of bullshit of chases, and suspects fleeing, and close things; just a long shaggy dog tale of unsuccessful leads.

  And, hoping to sound absolutely useless, I got rewarded by being dismissed quickly.

  Then I ran to the door of the secret room, and accosted a stout man, obviously Fakenham’s successor, writing on a parchment. Stepping close, I hit him hard on the temple, knocking him out instantly, then caught his body, letting it drop gently to the ground.

  I put my ear on the wall.

  “… but he might lead us to Elizabeth’s captain.” Renard’s voice.

  “But we have no confirmation if she actually has one.” Queen Mary’s tone sounded bored, almost frustrated.

  “Your Majesty, I have it from the lips of Prince Philip himself, he will not set foot on this land if both Elizabeth and Edward Courtney are still alive.”

  Holy crap; a neck of an ultimatum to give to a woman.

  “And I have told you, sir, in no uncertain terms, that I c
annot, in conscience, execute the only heir apparent that England presently has!”

  “But Your Majesty,” I heard footsteps in the room, as if she paced, and he trotted after her. “Surely after you and the Prince are married, you will have heirs of your own.”

  “Renard!” she snapped, “You overextend yourself. I am thirty-seven years old; I am not a chit or harlot who marries for love and lust and bed-bouncing. I am the Queen of England, England’s first Queen! I marry to bring stability back to my realm, and to bring it firmly back under our Holy Father, the Pope.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  And the room fell silent except for Renard’s retreating footsteps. And the slow sobbing that touched my ears once he’d gone.

  I left the secret room and followed Renard, not out of any real conviction, but more out of habit. He met with a bunch of Spaniards in one of the outer rooms and immediately began a very intense conversation.

  I wondered if I should approach, find out more, but I felt suddenly listless, although I’d fed the evening before. My gut again seemed disturbed, upset.

  The pains in my stomach were alarming me. I’d never felt one day of illness since I’d been turned, back in 2001. I mean, vampires just don’t get sick. I walked outside, looking for some fresh air, but it had been raining, and the rain had brought the smell of London alive.

  Rotting.

  Chapter 21

  April 14th, 1554

  Renard the Fox

  Once I’d walked halfway home, I found myself actually enjoying the rain. The pains in my belly had gone, and I felt pretty freaking good.

  So, in such high spirits, I altered my course to Haxtun House, and ensconced myself in the darkness, laying my ear on the floor on the third level of the house.

  Waiting for any action below, my thoughts drifted to the imminent return of my delicious Lady Jane Winterbrooke. I even considered going ahead with my scheme of a vacation; leave cold and damp England behind, head for the continent, see Paris or Rome.