Blood dripped from his cut lip. He hunched his powerful shoulders; as I prepared for his full onslaught, Cecil cried, “Stop it! Stop this instant!” and Dudley snarled, showing me bloodstained teeth. He might have charged again had Elizabeth’s frightened voice not shattered our confrontation: “God save us, what—what is wrong with it?”
I whirled about. Horror flooded me.
Kate stood as if paralyzed. At her feet, black foam bubbling from its snout, the spaniel thrashed, one gnawed glove still clenched between its teeth.
The other glove dangled from her hand.
Chapter Six
“Do not touch anything,” I said and I had to force back a surge of panic, drawing a steadying breath as I stepped to her.
The chamber’s stunned hush was broken only by the spaniel’s death throes, as if it were being disemboweled from within. Arching its spine, the dog released a vile stream of spew, choked, and went still. The other spaniel whimpered but did not try to approach.
Her color drained to an ashen hue, Kate dropped the glove and started to turn to Elizabeth. I heard Dudley shout, “No! Do not approach the queen!” and a stiff rustle of petticoats as he pulled Elizabeth bodily off her chair.
Kate lifted wide eyes to me. “Am I…?” she whispered. She knew this was how Peregrine must have died, intoxicated by poison smeared on a letter’s seal.
I made myself look at her hands, hanging limp at her sides; to my overwhelming relief, I did not detect the blisters that had been the beginning of Peregrine’s doom. Still, I could not be certain. If the poison had seeped inside her, nothing I did could save her. The spaniel had died within seconds. It would not take much longer to kill a woman—
Something snagged at my attention, dragging my gaze downward. Gilded shreds, stuck in the dog’s now-rigid mouth …
“The wrapping inside,” I breathed. “It was poisoned.” To no one in particular, I added, “I need something to cover my hands with, so I can gather it. And keep the other dog away.”
There was no movement until Elizabeth said, “Do as he says. Now!”
One of the women took the surviving spaniel by the collar and hauled it from the room. Within moments, Cecil had handed me a pair of hawking gauntlets and as I pulled them on, the fit loose but close enough, Kate said, “What should I do?” She remained immobile, a tremor in her voice, but there were no other changes. I took her hands in mine and turned them over, examining her palms, closely this time.
“Am I going to die?” I heard her ask. I shook my head. “No. It wasn’t on the gloves.” I glanced at the tumbled box, the upended lid. “The box … it looks as though it was altered—”
Dudley said angrily, “What do you mean? How could it be altered? Who would dare?”
Elizabeth hushed him. Cecil shifted to Kate, leading her to the other women, who were holding each other and crying. I started to bend to the shredded papers when I felt someone hand me a shawl. “Cover it,” Elizabeth said. “Lord Robert,” she added, lifting her voice. “Fetch gloves and help Master Prescott.” Not awaiting Dudley’s answer, she directed her next orders at Cecil: “Take my women to my rooms; they look ready to faint. And make sure the outer doors are secure and no one is admitted. Disperse the parasites outside. Tell them I will make no public appearance today. No one says a word of this to anyone, on pain of my worst reprove. Is that understood?”
The women nodded in unison, sniffling, and allowed Cecil to herd them out. After I shrouded the dead dog, I began picking up the torn paper and half-chewed glove. Dudley delayed for as long as he possibly could, joining me as I finished making a heap by the hearth, his own hands sheathed in gauntlets and his expression grim.
“What is your intent?” he asked, and while I’d expected derision in his tone, perhaps even a hint of accusation, he seemed begrudgingly willing to listen.
“Burn it, of course,” I said. “What other remedy is there?”
He bristled. “Poisons can be traced. My own Dr. Dee knows a great deal of these matters and could tell us where the poison originated, help us find whoever did—”
“It will not tell us anything,” I interrupted. “I’ve seen this type of poison before. It is fast acting and untraceable.” Even as I spoke, I had a terrifying notion of who was responsible, and Dudley must have gleaned it, for he snarled, “Whatever you know, you had best spill it now. It is treason to do otherwise.”
“I will decide what is or what is not treason,” cut in Elizabeth. “If Master Prescott says we can’t discover anything from this—this abomination, then I would prefer it were burned and out of my sight, lest some other hapless creature suffers. And the same for that poor dog.” She motioned to Dudley. “If you would not mind, my lord…?”
Tight-lipped, he went to assume charge of the corpse. Footsteps entered the room. Cecil had returned with Walsingham.
“Did I not just say I wanted absolute secrecy?” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“Your Majesty,” said Cecil, “Master Walsingham is familiar with poisons. He has traveled extensively in Italy, made a study of the art—”
“Art?” Elizabeth was outraged. “Christ’s wounds, this so-called art was meant for me!”
“Yes, it was,” Walsingham said. “Which is why we must examine it first. I have asked Lord Robert to have the dog’s body brought to the cellars. With Your Majesty’s leave, I can perform a necropsy that might help determine the type of poison and its origin.”
Elizabeth hesitated and Cecil drew her to the alcove. As they engaged in urgent conversation, Walsingham stepped to the hearth. “Excellent,” he murmured, so that only I could hear, “already you’ve made yourself indispensable, the hero who saved the queen’s life. But, you’re about to make an error, albeit an understandable one, given your experience. Don’t you think it wise to sift through the evidence first?”
“My squire perished like that dog,” I said. “I’ve seen this poison before. It is odorless, tasteless; it strikes within seconds and leaves no trace. You can cut that dog up in pieces and it will tell you nothing.”
“Indulge me. Have you searched the box?”
I started. In the uproar, I had not considered it. Abandoning the hearth, I gingerly righted the box by Elizabeth’s chair. It was, as I had supposed, empty, save for a crumpled lining. I reached for the lid. The same fine cloth upholstered both; as I took up the lid, something crinkled under my fingers. I paused, probing. “Walsingham,” I said.
He rose from his crouch over the tissue, striding past Elizabeth and Cecil, who broke off their argument to stare at us. “I think there’s more paper under this.” I patted the lid. “Not tissue. By the feel of it, it could be a letter parchment.” Even as I relayed the information, I was pulling my poniard from my boot to slash at the covering.
“Careful,” warned Walsingham. “Some poisons release their toxin when exposed to air. It could be a trap, in case the first attempt failed.”
“Or it could be a message,” I said, “because the assassin anticipated that the attempt would, in fact, fail.” Still, I did as he instructed, meticulously slicing the fabric and rocking back on my heels, to avoid being directly over it as I gripped the shorn edges and ripped them apart.
A folded parchment slid out—unsealed.
Walsingham’s mouth curved into an icy smile. “He plays with us. Allow me.” He removed gloves from within his doublet. My breath stalled in my lungs as I braced for the worst, but he unfolded the parchment without incident. Passing his gaze over it slowly, he went still as if contemplating its significance. Then he removed his gloves and passed his fingertips deliberately over and around the paper.
“Well?” Elizabeth demanded warily after enough time had passed and Walsingham had not started foaming at the mouth. “Will you tell us what it says, sir?”
He turned to her, dazed, as if he had forgotten she was there. “I cannot, Your Majesty. Though it does appear to be a letter, its code is unfamiliar to me.”
“Then it must be deciphered,” s
aid Cecil. “And while that is being done, Her Majesty must leave for Windsor at once, the coronation postponed until we can ascertain—”
Elizabeth held up her hand. “No.”
Cecil gaped at her. “But Your Majesty, I must insist. An attempt has been made on your life. This monster could try again and Whitehall is too large to protect you. We have too many people coming and going; if we restrict access to your person or post extra sentries, it will rouse suspicion that something is amiss—which is not the impression we wish to convey.”
She regarded him as though she were counting seconds under her breath. I knew that look; I had seen it before. Elizabeth was not going anywhere.
“I am afraid,” she said. “Terrified, in fact. But I’ll not be chased from my own city before I have even been crowned, with every sovereign in Christendom expecting me to fail. A queen who flees at the first sign of trouble is not long on her throne.”
“This isn’t mere trouble,” I said, bringing her attention to me. “If it’s what I suspect, Your Majesty’s life could indeed be in grave danger. We both know Philip of Spain employed a secret agent to see you imprisoned by your sister.” I did not add that the agent had been Sybilla, unable even now to voice her name aloud, even as I stood in midst of a chaos that had her mark.
“Yet seeing as no evidence could be found against me,” she said, “I was freed.”
“Precisely my point: Philip may have interceded on your behalf with Mary but only because he hoped to eventually win your hand and retain England as his vassal state. He wanted to be your king-consort, and now he has failed.” Her eyes flared at my assumption that she had already discarded the Spanish king as a suitor but I ignored it. “You will not wed a Catholic,” I added. “Philip knows this; he fears that in time you could become his enemy. Therefore, he must eliminate the threat. Though we do not know whom he has hired this time to do his deed, I think it is safe to assume the assassin had his consent. As it did not succeed, then my lord Cecil is correct in assuming that he will probably try again.”
Elizabeth arched a brow. “Then we’re fortunate that my knowledge of Philip surpasses yours. He may fear my enmity but he has one important reason to keep me alive, though I may reject his suit. Should I die without an heir of my body, the succession dictates my Catholic cousin Mary of Scots stands next in line to the throne. Under any other circumstance, I am sure Philip would rather she rule here than me; but Mary is wed to France. Philip would crown me with his own hands to keep the French from overtaking this isle.” She let her words sink in. “This cannot be his doing; but someone clearly wishes it to appear as if it were. You said earlier you thought the box had been altered in some manner; I would hear your reasoning first, before we call his ambassador to task and further risk our already tenuous relationship with Spain.”
I nodded, gathering my thoughts. As I turned back to the box, aware that Cecil and Walsingham observed me, I said, “There is a problem with the seal.”
“What of it?” said Elizabeth.
“If it had arrived from Spain, after such a long voyage, it wouldn’t have cracked so easily. It might have been brittle, fallen into pieces. But look: It broke apart in distinct sections.”
“Ah, yes,” said Walsingham. He sounded pleased. “Which could indicate it was recently applied. How clever of you to notice.”
“And see here.” I pointed to a faded area where the seal had been affixed. “There are still flecks of wax, but of a different color. That may indicate the original seal was taken off and replaced.” I returned my gaze to Elizabeth, who regarded me intently. “Whoever did this could have removed the first seal, added poison to the tissue, and then resealed the box. Therefore, the gloves, one of which Kate touched, are not poisoned. The dog died because it grabbed the glove inside the tissue. Biting into the paper killed it, not the glove itself.” I held back my suspicion that the poisoning of the tissue was not intended to be lethal but merely to sicken and frighten. If the assassin had wanted Elizabeth dead the gloves would also have been tainted, to ensure her demise. Whatever ultimate motive lay behind this attempt, fear was its primary goal.
Elizabeth turned to Cecil. “Can we find out who brought this gift? We must have some record of its delivery, an inventory, perhaps?”
The lines on Cecil’s face deepened, making him look older than his years. “I believe envoys brought the majority of these gifts,” he said haltingly. “My staff accepted them, of course, and recorded the date of arrival, but…” His voice faded. Elizabeth tapped her foot. He swallowed. “I cannot guarantee we annotated every one. There were so many messengers in those first days, so much confusion. The former secretary to your late sister had files we had to look through and store; we had papers everywhere to sort through.…” His voice turned brisk, to compensate for his deficiency. “I believe that at the very least, we have no other alternative than to question the Spanish ambassador.”
“Then do so,” said Elizabeth. “Only be discreet. Remember, His Excellency the Duke of Feria is a confidant of Philip’s. Moreover, if this gift came directly from Philip and was not a mere token of his esteem chosen by some menial, why did His Excellency not deliver it to me in person? The other royal envoys presented most of these gifts, as is the established custom. Yet seeing as Feria did not, indeed that he has shunned all but the most obligatory contact with me, is it possible these gloves did not come from Spain at all?”
Walsingham gave a grunt of consideration; Cecil looked even more troubled. To me, her question was valid. If the new reign’s bureaucracy was as unsettled as Cecil described, anyone with knowledge of the inner workings of the palace could have hired someone to deliver the box. Her mention of Feria unsettled me, however. I recalled him well, a rigid Spanish nobleman I had met during my time in Mary’s court. He had stood by and watched Peregrine die in my arms. I also knew he bore Elizabeth no love. Could he have orchestrated the assassination attempt at Philip II’s behest? I had to doubt, if only because it was so obvious an attempt. Feria would surely have anticipated suspicion falling upon him and covered his tracks. Given what we knew thus far, taking into account the lack of poison on the gloves, it increasingly felt to me as if this would-be assassin was taunting us. Which left—
“The message,” I said to Walsingham. “We must decipher it. If the culprit wants us to know his intent, it is there. He will not make it easy for us.”
“So it would seem.” Walsingham cleared his throat. “I’ll work on it at once, Majesty—”
Elizabeth did not let him finish. “I will see to it.” She extended her hand. “Lord Robert spoke the truth about Dr. Dee; while the man is an eccentric, I’ll grant you, he is also a marvel with ciphers. Robert can bring the message to him. In the meantime, you will perform the necropsy and assist Cecil with searching the delivery records and questioning Feria.”
Walsingham inclined his head, giving her the parchment. Though he must have been taken aback to have his own expertise supplanted by the seer dubbed a “madman” by Cecil, he did not comment on it, and neither did I. It was evident Elizabeth sought to entrust Dudley with a weighty task that would satisfy his ever-urgent need to feel important.
“And your women?” asked Walsingham. “Are they all familiar to Your Majesty or is it possible that one of them could have slipped this box among the other gifts? It would not be difficult, with so many to keep track of and your time in the palace so recent. And if you have strangers in your employ…”
“Do you imply that I cannot trust my own household?” Elizabeth sounded brusque, but she was not questioning his judgment. He simply confirmed a fear she already harbored, that anyone in her life could be suspect.
“I merely suggest the women should be questioned as well,” replied Walsingham. “We cannot be too cautious. May I request leave to arrange it with your chief gentlewoman?”
For a moment, I thought I saw Elizabeth falter. Then she said, “Yes, of course. Though I fear Lady Parry, who oversees my women, has gone to visit rel
atives, while my other matron Mistress Ashley is still at my manor of Hatfield. However, you may apply to Mistress Stafford, who was nearly poisoned here today. She has served me many years and I trust her implicitly.”
“Majesty.” Walsingham made his retreat to the door. Cecil lingered. Realizing he desired to talk with her in private, I decided to join Walsingham. I might be of help to him, though the thought of cutting up the dog made my stomach turn. As I made my leave, sidestepping the jumble of caskets, coffers, and other items littering the floor, the white pelt of Sweden flung in a corner like a melting snow, Elizabeth called out: “Brendan.”
I halted in my tracks. Walsingham had already left but her uttering of my first name startled me anyway. It conveyed an intimacy that until now she had evaded. Standing like a pilaster sketched in silver against the windows, her red-gold mane escaping the net at her nape to curl about her face, she said softly, “Do not stray far. I may have need of you.”
“As my lord Cecil mentioned, I am entirely at your disposal,” I said, and with another bow, I slipped from the chamber.
I wanted to dismiss it as more of my overwrought imagination, kindled by the turmoil, but the raw entreaty I had glimpsed in her eyes assured me otherwise.
Elizabeth was not only afraid.
She was hiding something.
Chapter Seven
The antechamber was quiet, Walsingham nowhere in sight. He had not tarried, and I moved past the sentries at the doors into the privy gallery.
Most of the courtiers had dispersed, save for a few desultory figures feigning games of cards or walking leashed dogs in the stubborn hope that the queen might yet make an appearance. Cecil had demonstrated his usual efficiency and tact; word had obviously not spread or the gallery would have been swarming with officials and gimlet-eyed ambassadors, eager to garner news of the near catastrophe for their masters.
The Tudor Vendetta Page 6