Alejandro rubbed my cold hands. ‘No, your father turned his horse towards the village and the London road. He took the letter and rode in the opposite direction, not back towards Marcus Dent.’
‘I don’t believe it. Are you even sure it was my father?’
He nodded grimly. ‘It was the same man we passed on the stairs at the Bull Inn when Elizabeth went to visit John Dee. You remember that night?’
Only too well, I thought bitterly.
‘But this makes no sense,’ I continued aloud, bewildered by Alejandro’s tale. ‘Why would my father do such a thing? He told me he was on his way to the Low Countries with my brother and cousin, to escape the shame of my aunt’s arrest. Besides, he must know that by stealing the letter he condemns my aunt to death.’
I recalled conversations I had overheard between my father, Will and Malcolm, the whispered discussions after supper that had fallen into silence at my approach. Had they planned this all along, the three of them together, my father, my brother and my cousin? Had I been the unwitting fool who had been sent to get the princess’s signature on a document that could be used to rally men to their cause abroad?
‘All this time . . .’ I gasped, the truth crashing down on me. ‘My father’s insistence that I should serve the princess, my brother sending me back here for a letter with her signature on it . . . What a witless idiot I have been!’ I broke from his grip and stumbled away. I felt sick and dizzy. My head was throbbing again. I had to get inside, back to my bedchamber, to where the dagger was hidden. It was all I could focus on.
Alejandro followed me into the house and up the stairs. ‘Let me help you,’ he kept saying, but I just waved him away.
He watched anxiously from the doorway as I fumbled for the dagger hidden deep inside the straw mattress, and pressed its cold blade down my bodice, close against my chest.
‘Meg, you need to rest. Your head—’
‘No longer hurts,’ I lied, and dragged away the cloth binding that Blanche had wrapped about my temples. The cut stung and I saw fresh blood on the cloth. A wave of nausea followed, but I fought against it. ‘I’m going straight back home. I have to see Marcus . . . talk to him.’
‘At least wait a few hours until you have eaten and are feeling stronger.’
‘No,’ I insisted doggedly, searching for my outdoor shoes and coat. ‘I don’t have time to sit down and eat a meal. Don’t you understand? If I don’t speak with Marcus today and make him change his mind, then my aunt will be condemned to hang.’
‘I see.’ Alejandro handed me my missing shoes and watched me sit on the bed to slip them on. ‘And how precisely do you intend to make Master Dent change his mind?’
‘I’m going to agree to marry him.’
There was a tense silence in the room. It seemed to me that I could hear ringing in my ears, or maybe it was just the after-echo of my own voice.
Then he nodded. ‘I was afraid you would say that,’ he murmured. ‘Wait here for a few minutes. Don’t leave the room. Don’t go anywhere, do you hear me?’
I ignored him and continued looking for my heavy winter cloak. It was not particularly cold outside, being a sharp and sunny March day. Yet I was shivering nonetheless. When at last I found the cloak, I swung it about my shoulders, searched for my purse in the travelling bag, then stood there in silence, not sure what to do.
I was ready to go home, and knew there was no time to lose. Yet something in me balked at the appalling message I must bear to Marcus Dent, that I had changed my mind and would marry him after all.
What choice did I have though in this game of flinch? I had played my hand, then he had played his, and I could not trump his card in any other way but to capitulate and marry the man. With Elizabeth’s letter, I could have forced him to back down. I could have saved Aunt Jane. But without it . . .
Alejandro came back into my bedchamber before I could fall to brooding over my father’s betrayal. He too was dressed for travelling, with a sombre black jacket over his shirt and his sword by his side. The only concession to his calling was the silver cross that still hung about his neck.
‘No,’ I exclaimed, and shook my head, guessing his intention at once. Marcus would be furious if he discovered I had gone to him in the company of another man. ‘I must do this alone. One of the servants can drive me over and wait to bring me back tomorrow.’
‘You can travel on the cart with my man, Juan. I will ride alongside. Do not worry, I shall not try to stop you throwing your life away on Marcus Dent.’ Alejandro studied my face, his own expression unreadable. ‘Have you spoken with the Lady Elizabeth yet? She is still your mistress, you must ask her consent to leave Woodstock.’
‘Have you spoken to Father Vasco? Have you asked for his consent?’
‘Father Vasco was no longer in his room. I left a note for him. He may be angered but he will understand the reason for my departure. Here in England, it may be considered no great thing for you to wander about the countryside alone, or in the company of a servant only. But in Spain we understand the need for an unmarried woman to be accompanied by a man of honour wherever she travels.’
I glanced at the sword by his side. ‘There will be no need for that,’ I said bitingly. ‘I go willingly to Marcus Dent. It is the only way.’
I had not imagined the contempt in his voice before. ‘What, are you the virgin sacrifice?’
Heat flared in my face and I brushed past him angrily. ‘I must speak to the Lady Elizabeth.’
‘What you must do is recover that letter,’ he told me, ‘and swiftly, before it can be used against your mistress.’
I turned in the doorway and stared back at him, frowning. ‘Used against her?’
‘A letter with her signature on it? Of course it could be used against the princess, and in any manner of ways. Some men are so skilled with such work they can take even the most innocent letter, change a few words and make it sound like treason. What was in it?’
I blinked, unsure. ‘I don’t remember. The messenger arrived just as she finished signing it and . . .’ My stomach clenched. ‘She didn’t . . .’
I couldn’t breathe. I shuddered at what I had done, how easily I had wrecked everything, and raised my gaze to his without bothering to hide my horror.
‘There was still space left on the sheet at the end of the letter and she forgot to score through it – she was in such a hurry to receive the Queen’s messenger. Whoever possesses that letter could add whatever they wished and make it look as though Elizabeth herself had written it.’
Alejandro stood for a moment in the same horrified silence that had engulfed me. No doubt he was also thinking it would be the work of a few moments to turn an innocent letter of clemency into a treacherous document. Such a letter would condemn the already suspected princess and lead her to an ignominious death.
‘Then you must go to her ladyship, and lay the truth before her. There is no other honourable course of action.’ He seized my arm, squeezing it reassuringly. ‘I will come with you, mi alma. Then we will ride to Marcus Dent, save your aunt and retrieve the letter from your father.’
‘You make it sound so easy,’ I said bitterly, though in truth I was secretly grateful to know he would come with me to see Marcus.
‘It will not be easy. It may even prove impossible. But these are great matters, and there is no disgrace in feeling fear. Only the simple-minded are not afraid when they ride into battle.’
‘Is that what we are doing? Riding into battle?’
We had reached Elizabeth’s closed door. The burly guard on duty there glanced first at me, then at Alejandro, then with more interest at the sword by his side. But he made no comment and did not attempt to bar my way into the princess’s bedchamber. The guards were too used to our comings and goings for such a visit to be anything out of the ordinary.
I looked over my shoulder at the young Spaniard. ‘I need to do this alone,’ I whispered, and was relieved when Alejandro nodded his understanding, withdrawing into
the shadows.
I drew a steadying breath, then scratched gently at the door, wondering if her ladyship was still reading her sister’s letter. Indeed, I did not even know what news the messenger had brought from court. To own the truth, I was burning to leave, to rescue my aunt from her accusers, but Alejandro was right. The Lady Elizabeth had a right to know that her letter had been stolen, and to punish me for my stupidity in trusting such a precious document to the hands of a servant I barely knew – assuming that was her will once she had heard the full sorry tale.
Elizabeth was standing by the window, the letter she had been reading abandoned on the bed. She turned as I entered, and I could tell that she had been crying, her eyes red-rimmed, her lips trembling.
Blanche Parry was nowhere to be seen, and I guessed she must have sneaked out to the Bull Inn to see her husband there, perhaps to ask his advice on whatever the Queen’s letter had held.
‘My lady, what is it?’
‘I am to be questioned again. What else can this be but another failed rising against the Queen? And my name linked to the conspirators.’
For a moment, I thought she meant my cousin’s plot, and felt my heart contract with painful fear. Then it jolted back into life as she continued, blind to my guilt.
‘This is just one more attempt by the council to blacken my name and turn my sister against me. I do not know how much longer I can evade their torturous traps. There are many at court now who would gladly see my head on the block and the line of succession cleared for Catholics.’ Elizabeth indicated the letter with an angry, fatalistic gesture. ‘Lies, all of it. And yet my sister’s advisors would have me dragged back to the Tower and interrogated again, if they are permitted to have their way.’
My blood ran cold at this.
It was the worst news imaginable, given that her letter was out there somewhere, perhaps even now being doctored to make it look as though she wished to conspire against the Queen.
‘My lady,’ I forced myself to say aloud, though the words stuck in my throat like fishbones, ‘I fear the letter you wrote for my aunt’s sake may have been stolen by . . . by my father, to be used as evidence of your support by those in the Low Countries who would rise against the Queen.’
She stared, and her narrow mouth quivered. ‘In the Low Countries? What nonsense is this?’
‘My cousin Malcolm has been in the Low Countries these past five years, stirring rebellion in the hearts of exiled Englishmen.’ I barely dared continue, watching her face. But it was too late now to hide the truth. My voice dropped to a cautious whisper. ‘My cousin knows many Protestants there who would willingly cross the Channel, remove your Catholic sister from her throne, and crown you Queen instead.’
‘And my letter?’
I straightened my back, looking her full in the face. ‘My lady, I very much fear my father has taken your letter of clemency to my cousin. I entrusted it to a servant here who was seen to hand it over to my father, instead of taking it to the magistrate as he had been instructed. If some words of support for the rebels were to be added below your signature, in a similar hand, it could be taken abroad and used to foment revolt.’
Elizabeth felt for the carved wooden bedpost and leaned there, steadying herself. Her face appeared drained of blood, her breathing laboured. ‘Do you know what you have done?’ she demanded hoarsely, though always careful not to raise her voice. ‘This folly could bring me to the block.’
She seemed to think for a moment, not waiting for an answer. Her lips worked desperately, though no sound came out. I guessed she must be going over what she had written in the stolen letter and considering how her words could be misread, twisted to find a more sinister meaning. Then she turned and walked restlessly to the window.
‘You must retrieve this letter,’ she told me succinctly, throwing the words like knives back at me. ‘And prevent it from falling into the hands of my enemies. It cannot yet have been removed from the country. Do you know where your father may have taken it?’
‘To my cousin,’ I admitted, deeply ashamed of my family’s treachery. ‘Or perhaps my brother. Though they may be together, I don’t know.’
‘And thence to the Low Countries?’
‘I fear so, my lady.’
She nodded, remaining admirably calm in the face of this possibility. ‘Then you must discover where your cousin is lodging and follow him. Wrest the letter back from him by any means at your disposal. Is there any servant here whom you do trust?’
I flushed at the irony in her tone. ‘No, my lady,’ I said, but hesitated. ‘Only . . .’
‘Speak!’
‘Alejandro de Castillo knows of this matter and . . . he has offered to accompany me.’
She was startled then. ‘The young Spaniard would help me?’
‘Yes, my lady. He would not see you suffer any injustice from this.’
Her small dark eyes examined my hot face at length, making me squirm at the thought of what she might be seeing there. Then she nodded sharply. ‘Let de Castillo accompany you, then. He is to be trusted. And they are all knights, of course, in the Order of Santiago. He will be a good man in the event of a fight.’
She dismissed me with a violent gesture. ‘Go, find this letter and bring it back to me so I can see it safe. Or else use it for its proper purpose and save your aunt from the gallows. But do not allow it to fall into the hands of my enemies. For they will swiftly become your enemies too, if that were to happen.’
I bowed low, leaving her chamber. Alejandro was still waiting in the shadowy alcove along the corridor. As I approached, he stepped out, his dark gaze searching my face.
I nodded, keeping my voice low, for the guard stood but a few feet away. ‘She is furious, and rightly so. We are to find the letter and return it to her,’ I told him, and the bitterness in my mouth destroyed all my hope. ‘Unless it can be used to save my aunt. But I fear we may be too late by then.’
‘Do not be disheartened, mi alma. It may be that we can persuade these men who hold your aunt of her innocence and the Lady Elizabeth’s support.’
Alejandro hesitated, then made the sign of the Cross. There was pity in his face.
‘If not, may the Lord have mercy on her soul.’
* * *
I sat up on the jolting cart next to the Spanish servant, Juan, whose grimaces and nods I could hardly understand, while Alejandro himself paced beside us on his restless black horse. We took the shortest route to Green Hanborough where the magistrate lived. I guessed they would be holding my aunt there too. It still took several hours before we reached the crossroads and turned down the shady, tree-lined approach into the small market town. It was late afternoon by then, and I was hopeful that whatever trial might be taking place would have adjourned for the day.
But as we came into the town, we found the narrow streets deserted. I did not understand why until I saw a thin stream of smoke rising above the houses. Juan shouted something in Spanish, whipping the horse to quicken its pace. We jolted over the cobbles into the small market square. There, a stake had been raised on a wooden platform in the middle, its sides piled high with brushwood and already smoking. A crowd had gathered around this sinister construction, shouting and jostling each other to get closer to the stake. Above their heads, I could see a figure in sackcloth tied to the stake, dishevelled and with shaven head, but at this distance it was impossible to say whether it was a man or a woman.
I stared, horrified beyond speech as I realized that a burning was about to take place.
Alejandro glanced across at me, a heavy frown in his eyes. ‘Do not alarm yourself. This cannot be for your aunt. You told me they do not burn witches in England, that she will be hanged if found guilty.’
I nodded, trying to take comfort from his reassuring words. Yet my palms sweated and I felt sick, wondering who the stake was for.
Some poor soul whose death I did not wish to witness, that was for certain.
To be burned at the stake was the punishment fo
r a heretic, for those who refused to follow the Catholic faith. It was a hideous way to die. I had been told that heretics roasting in the market square were a common sight in Spain, and a cause for celebration there. Yet surely few Englishmen would sentence their fellow townsmen to such an agonizing death? These were not the barbarous shores of Spain, for all my brother’s doom-mongering.
A cheer went up in the square as the fire began to take hold.
I could see the man standing to one side of the platform, on a kind of makeshift pulpit. It was Marcus Dent, holding aloft a great black Bible, his face contorted with an almost demonic satisfaction.
‘So perish all heretics and unbelievers!’ he was shouting across the noise of the crowd. ‘Behold the foul witch, roasting in the fires of Hell for all eternity! So all should burn who abandon the Holy Book to follow the Devil’s teachings.’
I jumped down from the cart, ignoring Juan’s protest as it rocked from side to side, and stared wildly up at the figure bound to the stake. I could see now that it was a woman, her body thin and wasted. The creeping sense of horror redoubled and I shook my head, barely able to comprehend what I was seeing.
At that moment, the woman’s head twisted back towards me, recognizable even through the grey blossoming of smoke.
It was Aunt Jane. Her face was bruised and filthy, her yellow hair shorn close to her head. Her wide eyes stared desperately about the square, as though searching for someone who might save her from this terrible death.
Something collapsed with a crash in the stack of smouldering brushwood. Suddenly, a bright column of flame leaped out and up, licking at the coarse sackcloth of her robe, smoke billowing out as the material caught and quickened easily into flame. I heard my aunt scream, and knew that she was on fire.
‘No!’ I shrieked, but my voice was lost above the jeering shouts of the crowd. ‘Aunt Jane!’
The horse whinnied loudly behind me, clearly panicked. Then I heard a clatter of wheels and guessed the animal must have bolted with its cart still attached.
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