Held up by Alejandro’s restraining arms, I did not move even after the men had gone. Perhaps I suspected that if I moved, I would fall to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut, my legs no longer able to support me.
‘Well done,’ he whispered in my ear.
I shook my head and felt his hands drop away. Tears of frustration pricked my eyes, though to my credit I managed to stay upright. I was ashamed of my fear and weakness. And something else: I was ashamed that I had been thinking about Alejandro while my brother was being dragged away.
‘The letter . . .’ I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, unable to finish.
Alejandro nodded, an odd tension in his face. ‘The letter,’ he agreed grimly, and looked up at the first pale pinpricks of stars against the approaching blackness of night. ‘It’s time to find my servant Juan.’
We met Juan on the road and reached the Bull Inn just after midnight. As we entered the village, the Watch came round the corner, calling the hour aloud, and we had to duck back into the shadows until the old man with his swaying lantern had passed on his rounds.
Alejandro had helped me down from the cart just outside the small village of Woodstock, and told Juan to wait for us at the crossroads with both horses, safely out of sight behind a thick hedge of elder. We would continue on foot, so as not to alert anyone to our presence in the village.
I was exhausted, stumbling on towards the first houses like a drunkard, but what he had said made perfect sense. For all we knew, Dent was expecting us to call at the Bull Inn and might well have posted some of his men there, to watch for us.
I had done nothing treasonous. But if they could arrest one Lytton for fighting in the street, they could certainly arrest another for refusing to marry a man as influential as Marcus Dent.
Alejandro knocked softly at the bolted side door to the inn, and spoke to the landlord when he arrived. The man was irritated at being disturbed so late, but accepted a few coins in return for allowing us in off the street.
‘You can’t sleep here tonight,’ he muttered, looking us up and down once he had finished bolting the door again. ‘Not inside the inn, at any rate. There may be room in the stables for you,’ he admitted, addressing Alejandro, ‘but not the girl. It’s a rough, dirty place, not suitable for a female.’
‘Is Master Lytton here?’ I demanded, ignoring the man’s quick frown.
‘What’s it to you, girl?’
I threw back the hood of the travelling cloak Alejandro had given me to keep out the night’s chill. ‘I’m his daughter and I wish to see him.’
The landlord hesitated, licking his lips, and I knew with a thrill of certainty that my father was here.
I raised my hand and pointed at his face, speaking slowly and with power. ‘We need to speak with Master Lytton tonight. You will show us where he is, and quickly. Take us to him now!’
SIXTEEN
Rebels
A FEW STEPS up the back stairs of the Bull Inn brought us to a tiny room set below the eaves, the ceiling as low as the door, the whole place in darkness. There we found my father slumped over a book by the light of a single candle, an empty flask of ale at his elbow, his shoes off, his clothes awry.
My father jerked upright as we entered, clearly alarmed at the intrusion. Then his face changed, and he sneered when he saw who it was.
‘Get out, you weak-minded fool,’ he told the landlord, and repeated this in a loud voice until the man stumbled away in confusion, dragging the door shut behind him.
My father was drunk, his words slurred.
I stood and looked at him, my temper flaring. My lips tried to form the word ‘Father,’ but I couldn’t bring myself to breathe sound into his name. ‘Where is the letter?’
‘Which letter would that be?’
So he was going to play the ignorance game. Why was I surprised?
I stared across into my father’s glazed, bloodshot eyes and knew him for the worst sort of cowardly traitor – a man who would not stir to help his own blood. The heat of my fury was as white-hot as the fire that had consumed my aunt.
‘The letter you stole instead of allowing it to reach the magistrate,’ I said delicately into the silence. ‘The letter written by the Lady Elizabeth at your suggestion, begging for my aunt to be released and for the charges against her to be dropped.’
My father was surprised by how much I knew: it was in his eyes. But he kept smiling as he struggled to his feet. His chair fell backwards with a crash. ‘I see, I see. And why on earth would I do that, eh?’
‘So you and my cousin could take the letter abroad to persuade the Queen’s enemies of Elizabeth’s support.’
My father laughed then, rather wildly, and swayed, almost falling.
‘You always were a clever child, Meg. Far cleverer than your brother, that’s for certain. A pity you were born a girl. You could have had a promising career at Oxford or Cambridge.’
I stared at him, and struggled hard against the impulse to tell him precisely what I thought of him. He was still my father, and I had to love and respect him.
Honour thy father and thy mother.
I wondered why God would enforce such an impossible commandment when He must know how many unworthy fathers crawled on the face of the earth.
‘You left her to burn,’ I said hoarsely. I shook my head, utterly at a loss. ‘My mother’s sister, the woman who raised me from a baby. Why would you do such a terrible thing?’
‘Your aunt died so that England can become free,’ my father told me, throwing his shoulders back as though proud of what he had done. ‘Yes, that letter will rally the Queen’s enemies to our cause. Believe me, Meg, I didn’t want your aunt’s death on my conscience. But there was no other way. If Malcolm had succeeded in persuading you to allow him five minutes alone with the princess, he could have taken some other token of her support to the Low Countries. But when your aunt was taken by Dent, we suddenly saw what could be done with a letter of clemency from the Lady Elizabeth.’ He smiled. ‘You played your part in that well, Meg. I was proud of you.’
‘You tricked me. You left Aunt Jane to die.’
‘She was a proven witch!’
I looked at him steadily. ‘I am a witch too, Father. Aunt Jane taught me her craft. What do you say to that? Would you have left me to burn too?’
He seemed unsteady on his feet, and leaned against the desk, staring at me. ‘You . . . a witch?’
‘Did you never suspect?’
His mouth moved silently, as though praying. ‘Sweet Jesus. These last few years, yes, there were signs that you were no longer the good child I remembered, so innocent . . . I guessed your aunt must hold some strange influence over you. She was always a dark, secretive creature; she and your mother were forever whispering in corners. But I did not know how far it had gone between the two of you.’ He sat down heavily, a frown knitting his thick brows. ‘Does Dent know what you are?’
I nodded, and saw my father’s face grow pale.
‘You little fool,’ was all he managed, not looking at me, but I could see that he was troubled.
‘And what of my brother?’ I asked angrily. ‘Why did you run away in the night with Malcolm, when you knew Will would try to save Aunt Jane?’
My father hesitated. I could see remorse in his face, but also the dogged belief that he had done no wrong. ‘Your brother weakened. He would not see that his aunt’s death was a noble sacrifice to the cause. Yes, Will wanted to use the letter to save her life. But that would have lost us the chance to rouse the princess’s followers and lead an army against the Queen. So Malcolm and I decided to leave Lytton Park without him, and intercept the letter ourselves. Besides, Will is safer at home.’
‘Will was arrested earlier this evening. He had gone to see if he could change Dent’s mind about condemning Aunt Jane, but he was too late to save her. As I was too.’ My voice cracked a little with pain. ‘We saw him dragged away by Dent’s men. I don’t know on what charge.’
We sat a while in silence. I was so tired I could hardly speak, nor think what was to be done in this unholy mess.
My father stood and went to the washbowl. He wiped his face with a damp cloth and straightened his clothes, the effects of the ale slowly beginning to fall away. But he could not disguise any more what he had become over the years – a drunkard and a coward. My father’s once handsome face seemed dissolute to me now, fallen into deep lines and creases, his breath reeking from the ale he had been drinking.
Suddenly, Alejandro slammed his hand down on the table, making us both jump. ‘The princess’s letter,’ he reminded my father fiercely. ‘Where is it? We have wasted enough time here with the princess’s life at stake.’
My father straightened, staring at him. ‘I do not know you, sir,’ he said with cold dignity. ‘Nor why you come here in the company of my daughter. But I do know a Spaniard when I smell one.’
Alejandro’s eyes narrowed on my father’s face, but otherwise he seemed unmoved by the insult. ‘My name is Alejandro de Castillo, Master Lytton. The rest need not concern you, though you may rest assured that your daughter is perfectly safe in my company.’
My cheeks were tinged with heat, my temper quickly rising. How dare my father speak like that to Alejandro? I was desperately ashamed of my own kin and wished I had not seen my father in this state. But I also knew what I had to do.
‘Just give us the letter and we’ll leave you in peace,’ I told my father angrily, impatient now to be out of that stinking little room. ‘If it should be used in any uprising against the Queen, the princess will be charged with treason. I should never have asked the Lady Elizabeth to write it, for it did no good and may yet do great harm.’
There was a silence. My father walked to the chamber window and back, his gait still unsteady.
‘I don’t have the letter,’ he said at last.
Alejandro raised his dark brows. ‘And you expect us to believe that?’
‘It makes no odds whether or not you believe me,’ my father said bluntly, and I knew from his face that he was speaking the truth. He indicated his jacket on the bed, his book and papers on the table. ‘Search me, if you must. Search this room. You will not find the Lady Elizabeth’s letter.’
Alejandro took him at his word and searched the room rapidly but with meticulous care. He glanced across at me afterwards and shook his head.
‘Where is it, then?’ I demanded.
‘Since there is little harm in it, I shall tell you. We had just turned south towards London and the coast when we heard a troop of soldiers coming towards us on the road to Woodstock Palace.’
I stared, horrified. ‘Troops, heading for Woodstock?’
My father shrugged. ‘I do not know what their business was there. We turned aside into the woods to avoid being seen, but my horse stumbled in a rabbit-hole. Once we saw that he was lame, we knew my part in this mission was finished. Malcolm rode on alone with the letter while I led my horse back here,’ my father admitted, and smiled when I stood, looking at Alejandro with fresh hope. ‘Do not waste your time. As soon as he reaches the coast, your cousin intends to buy a passage on the first ship to the Low Countries. In a few days’ time, both Malcolm and the letter will be safely abroad.’
I felt sick with disappointment. ‘I do not understand. Why . . . why do this, Father?’
He did not meet my gaze, fiddling with the papers on the table, though his voice hardened. ‘Someone had to do something,’ he muttered angrily. ‘This country has been sold out to a foreign power. Our too-pious Queen has married a Spanish Catholic and brought England to its knees. Already we are overrun with these Spaniards and their idolatrous priests. The Inquisition roasts heretics in our streets every day. The whole world is afraid.’ He shook his head. ‘You weep for the princess. Yet her life, my life, even your brother’s life . . . none of these are worth losing England for.’
I shook my head, sure beyond everything that his way was not the one to choose. ‘You’re wrong, Father. Elizabeth will be Queen soon enough, and to risk her life by trying to hurry that day . . . that is how you will lose England.’
‘How can Elizabeth be Queen unless we rise up against this Spanish union?’ my father scoffed. ‘The Queen is with child!’
‘There will be no child,’ I said quietly. ‘Not now, not ever. I have seen it.’
‘Where? In the fire? In your aunt’s crystal?’
My father was laughing at me. He thought I was a fool, an apprentice who had overstepped their place. My fists clenched at my side. I wanted to show him precisely what I could do, stifle that mocking laughter in his throat. How surprised he would be when he saw that my skills were no longer those of a mere apprentice. Though I would not allow my temper to get the better of me this time. He might be a traitor to his family but he was still my father, after all.
‘I have seen it in a horoscope calculated by the hand of John Dee.’
‘The astrologer?”
I should not have said anything and I knew it. I had promised the Lady Elizabeth that I would hold my tongue and tell no one of John Dee’s visit to Woodstock.
Still, at least my father’s mockery had been silenced. He stared from my face to Alejandro’s, half disbelieving, half excited by this revelation. He might mock and loathe women’s magick, but it was clear that he believed in John Dee’s skill as an astrologer.
Alejandro touched my arm gently. ‘Time to go.’
I nodded, and left my father’s room without another word. I did not know if I would ever see him again, and at that moment I did not much care.
We made our way down the narrow stairs in silence, only a single lantern at the bottom lighting our way. Reaching the last stair, I sagged against the wall, suddenly too exhausted to go on.
Alejandro put an arm about my waist to support me. ‘You can’t travel any further tonight.’
‘I must,’ I whispered, though in truth I could hardly keep my eyes open, the lids were so heavy. ‘The letter . . .’
‘Will have to wait until first light,’ he finished sternly. ‘There’s no moon tonight and the roads will be treacherous. Your cousin can hardly be riding through a moonless night to the coast. No, he’ll be waiting until morning too. Besides, you’re barely able to stand, let alone travel. Let’s get some sleep now and pursue your cousin tomorrow.’
I stared, too tired to follow his logic. ‘But the landlord said the inn was full, that there were only stables left.’
‘Then the stables it will have to be.’ His mouth twisted in a smile at last, seeing my surprise. ‘What? If a lowly stable was good enough for the Blessed Virgin Mary, it should be good enough for us.’
Slipping quietly between the horses, I made my way to the back of the stables and set the lantern on a dusty shelf there. I made a nest by its flickering light amongst broken and discarded saddle leathers and old horse blankets. There was straw and muck underfoot, and the whole place smelled powerfully of horseflesh.
But I was too exhausted to care about these smelly and dirty surroundings. Sleep was the only thing I could think about. Sleep, and Alejandro.
Shaking out the straw-soiled blankets, I tried to think back to those simple days before the Lady Elizabeth was brought to Woodstock. The days of my childhood with Aunt Jane at Lytton Park. But the memories were so hazy; they seemed to belong to another life, another Meg, who had long since forgotten and outgrown them. That haziness distressed me. I did not want to forget Aunt Jane, however painful the memories.
I shuddered. I would never forget her death.
Sorrow was throbbing inside me, raw as a fresh wound. But I would not allow it to drive me towards the s
ame fate my poor aunt had suffered. Not least because I could hardly retrieve Elizabeth’s letter if I was dead. And since my shameful family was to blame for its theft, it was up to me to get it back.
Alejandro came back just as I finished making my bed. ‘Juan won’t have to sleep under the cart after all,’ he told me, clearly suppressing a grin. ‘He’s found himself a room upstairs in the inn.’
I was astonished. ‘How did he manage that?’
‘Oh, some serving woman who’s already sampled his Spanish charms has given him her bed to share. That’s what the old rascal told me anyway. So at least one of us will be warm and comfortable tonight.’
I felt my cheeks grow hot as I realized what he meant. I glanced down at the nest I had made, padded liberally with horse blankets, the coarse wool prickly with hairs but making a softer bed than straw and hard earth. There was more than enough room for two.
‘Do you want to . . . to share my bed?’ I struggled to find the right words, my face growing hotter as I saw him turn back from trimming the lantern, his eyes on my face. ‘That is, you won’t get much sleep lying on the hard ground. I have plenty of blankets here, and . . .’
Alejandro’s expression changed and began to harden, as though I had offended him deeply. His whole body had stiffened while I was speaking, and now he seemed to be drawing back into himself, his jaw clenched against whatever he was thinking – once more refusing to speak his mind, as he so often did in my company.
Did he want to share my bed?
What a question to have asked, and in a poor lantern-lit stable with only these rough beasts for company. If I had leaped over and kissed him full on the mouth, I could not have thrown myself at him more wantonly. I wished myself a thousand miles away from the Bull Inn, seeing how his mouth had tightened, the brooding in his aristocratic face intensifying.
Yet despite my embarrassment, I heard myself finish what I had intended to say. ‘There’s no need for you to be uncomfortable tonight, Alejandro.’
Witchstruck Page 18