The Tudor Secret

Chapter Twenty-two





When I awoke the next morning, it was to an empty bed. I was taken aback. Then I chuckled, passing a hand over my tousled hair. The trestle table had been dismantled, the stools set in a row against the wall. Folded in a pile by the bed were the clothes she’d brought me. Otherwise, it was as if Kate hadn’t been here at all.

I started to slide out of bed when the door opened. She appeared with towel, basin, and a small coffer—once again in her russet gown, her hair braided, neat as if she’d spent an uneventful night. I hugged her as she set the articles down, drowning out her feigned protest with my mouth. She clung to me for a moment before she pushed me away.

“Enough.” She went to retrieve a tray. “Walsingham is downstairs. He wants to see you as soon as you break your fast.”

“That’s what I was trying to do.” I reached out to grab her again.

She pranced away, elusive as dandelion seed. “You’ll have to content yourself with last night, for that’s all I plan to give until you put a roof over my head.” She tossed the towel at me.

I laughed. “This from the wanton who assured me she had all she wanted last night.”

“A woman can always change her mind. Now, behave yourself whilst I wash you.”

I affected a penitent stance, though it took concentration as she cleaned me from head to foot, lathering and rinsing without discrimination. Only when she undid my bandage to replace it did I wince. “Does it hurt?” she asked.

“A bit.” I glanced at the wound. It was as ugly as I expected. “Corrupted?”

“It was. But you’re fortunate. The ball shredded and took a few layers of skin, nothing more.” From the coffer she extracted a jar and proceeded to swab green salve over my shoulder. I stood immobile. Like Mistress Alice, she was an herbalist.

“It’s a French recipe,” she explained, “rosemary, turpentine, and rose oil. It hastens healing.” With expert fingers she applied a fresh bandage, tucking it under my armpit. “It’ll have to suffice. It’s uncomfortable, but I’m assuming a few more days in bed are out of the question.”

I pecked the tip of her nose. “You know me too well.”

She helped me into my clothes—shirt, new leather jerkin, breeches, and a belt with a pouch. I was surprised when she produced soft kid boots in almost my exact size.

“Peregrine bought them at the local market. He got himself a cap and cloak, as well. He says he’s going to be your manservant once you get rich.”

“He’s got a long wait.” I turned about. “Presentable?”

“A prince.” She served me bread and cheese and dark ale, which we consumed in companionable silence, though I could sense her anxiety.

“Is it bad news?” I finally said.

“With Walsingham, it usually is. But I’ve no idea what he wants. He didn’t say anything other than that I fetch you.” She grimaced. “Now that I’m no longer required, I’ve reverted to being another ignorant woman in his eyes. Never mind that I’m as able as any hooligan he could hire, or can pick locks and intrigue with the best of them.”

“Not to mention, you’ve a temper. If I were him, I’d watch my step.”

“You’re the one who needs to watch his step.” Kate faced me as she’d done that afternoon—it seemed ages ago—in the gallery at Greenwich. “Whatever he wants of you, you can rest assured it won’t be safe.”

“I thought he helped save my life,” I reminded her.

“He did. That doesn’t mean I trust him with it. He’s a serpent, out for his own advantage. I don’t think even Cecil can control him.” Her voice wavered. “Promise me you’ll not agree to anything dangerous. I said I’ll go to Hatfield and I will, but I don’t want to spend all my time sick with worry over you.”

I nodded solemnly. “I promise. Now, show me the way.”

She pointed to the door. “Down the stairs and to your right. He’s in the study off the hall.” She turned away. “I’ll be in the garden, hanging sheets.”

The image brought a smile to my face as I took the stairs to the ground floor and moved through the country house, which was sparsely furnished, a refreshing change after the spiked opulence of court. Outside the hall I paused before a door and took a deep breath.

I pulled it open. Like Kate, I likened Walsingham to a serpentine presence. His alleged contribution to my survival had done nothing to change this impression. Rather, it was unnerving to know that the man had been ghosting me since Whitehall, watching but not interfering, until that night on the leads. I wasn’t convinced of his motives but hid my discomfort at the sight of his gaunt figure seated at the desk, Urian’s head resting on his thigh.

“Squire Prescott.” His spidery hand caressed Urian with hypnotic repetition. “You’ve recovered with alacrity, I see. The vigor of youth, and of a woman’s care, are indeed a marvel.”

His tone indicated he knew more of said care than I preferred. I had to force myself not to order Urian away, appalled by the dog’s lack of discernment.

“I was told you wanted to see me?”

“Ever to the point.” His bloodless lips twitched. “Why waste time on the superfluous?”

“I hope you weren’t expecting a friendly chat.”

“I never expect anything.” His hand paused in its stroking of the dog’s ears. “That’s what makes life so interesting. People never fail to surprise.” He gestured to a stool opposite his. “Pray, sit. All I require is your attention.”

Because my shoulder was starting to pain me, I obliged. I had that vague feeling of unease I now recognized. Cecil and his men seemed to exude it like disease.

“Jane Grey and Guilford Dudley have been taken to the Tower,” he said without warning.

I bolted upright on my chair. “Arrested?”

“No. It’s traditional for a sovereign to lodge there before the coronation.” He eyed me.

“I see.” My voice tightened. “So, they’re going to do it. They’re going to force the crown on that innocent girl’s head, regardless.”

“That innocent girl, as you call her, is a traitor. She usurps another woman’s throne and now awaits her coronation with all the dignitaries of the court at her side. Thus far, the only compunction she’s shown is her continued refusal to allow her husband to be crowned alongside her—to the collective Dudley fury.”

I contained my revulsion. Of course Walsingham would brand Jane Grey a traitor. It was always easier to view the world through the prism of his convenience.

“By ‘another woman,’ ” I said, “I assume you mean the Lady Mary.”

“Of course. Any change in the succession would require the sanction of Parliament. I doubt our proud duke has gone so far as to request official approval of his treason. So, by law, and Henry the Eighth’s will of succession, Lady Mary is our rightful queen.”

I paused, deliberating. “But the council has agreed to uphold Jane as queen? Northumberland doesn’t act alone?” I was thinking of the duchess, of her threats to bring down the Dudleys. If she raised protest against this usurpation of her rights, it could buy both princesses the time they needed.

Again I received his unblinking stare. “What exactly do you ask, squire?”

“Nothing. I just want to clarify the situation.” I watched him fold his hands at his chin. Deprived of his caresses, Urian lay down on the floor with a dejected sigh.

“The council members would agree to anything to save their skins,” continued Walsingham. “The duke has badgered them into submission with threats that he has enough ammunition in the Tower to crush any revolt in Mary’s name. He’s also garrisoned the surrounding castles. Still, our sources indicate not a few of his so-called associates would as quickly see him hang as give him further rein over England. He’s made more enemies than is safe for any man. He may also soon face significant opposition from the Lady Mary herself.”

It was the longest speech I had heard from him, and it held a few unexpected surprises.

“Significant?” I said carefully. “I understood her Catholicism and doubtful legitimacy made her anything but.”

“It would be wiser not to discredit her quite yet.”

“I see. What is it you want of me?”

“The duke has not yet officially announced Edward’s death; however, with Jane Grey in the Tower awaiting coronation, it can’t be long in coming. Mary has let it be known she’s at her manor of Hoddesdon, from where she continues to issue demands for information. We suspect someone at court has warned her to stay away. She has no resources to draw upon, however, and few will risk themselves for a princess whose own father and brother declared her a bastard and whose faith is at odds with their own. There is the possibility she’ll flee the country, but we think it more likely she’ll head for the northern border and her Catholic noble strongholds.”

As if it were the most ordinary circumstance between us, Walsingham withdrew an envelope from his sleeve. “We want you to deliver this.”

I didn’t take it. “I assume that isn’t a safe conduct to Spain.”

“Its contents,” he replied, “are of no concern to you.”

I stood. “I beg to differ. Its contents could be my death, judging from past events. I’m as loyal as the next man, but even I have my limits. I need to know what it says before I agree to anything. And if you are not authorized to tell me,” I added pointedly, “I suggest you tell Cecil to come here instead.”

He deliberated for a moment. “Very well.” He gave me a slight incline of his head. “It’s from a few select lords on the council, an explanation of their predicament, if you will. It offers Mary their support, should she choose to fight for her throne. They would prefer she not abandon England, an absent queen being even less desirable than an illegal one.”

“Hedging our bets, are we? She must have become quite significant, indeed.”

“Accept the job or decline. It makes no difference to me. I can hire a dozen couriers.”

Cecil was behind this, naturally; he had seen the way the matter could go. I had no illusions as to whether he wanted the duke’s daughter-in-law or the Catholic heir on the throne, and so I took my time, smiling and patting my knee, enticing Urian to my side.

Walsingham’s black eyes turned stony.

After enough time had elapsed to establish I was no longer his for the taking, I said, “Since our last engagement, my rate has gone up.”

It pleased me to note that he visibly relished the introduction of money. It put us squarely in his terrain, where everything was open to negotiation. He removed a leather pouch from his doublet. “We are willing to double your fee, half in advance. If you do not deliver the letter or if Mary is captured, you forfeit the second half. Would you like me to put it in writing?”

I took the pouch and the letter. “That won’t be necessary. I can always take care of any misunderstandings when I next see Cecil.” I walked to the door and paused. “Anything else?”

He stared at me. “Yes. As you may know, time is of the essence. You must get to her before the duke’s men. We also don’t think it’s wise for you to use your real name. You are now Daniel Beecham, son of Lincolnshire gentry. The persona is real enough; Cecil patronized the family before its demise. Daniel’s mother died in childbed, his father died in Scotland. The boy himself was under Cecil’s care until his own death years ago. Your beard should help with the disguise, so don’t shave it. Master Beecham would be two years older than you if he were alive.”

“So, I’m finally a dead man. My enemies will be pleased.”

“It’s for your protection,” he said humorlessly.

I smiled. “Yes, I’ve been told how protective you are. I heard about your ill-timed venture to the stables while I was otherwise engaged, and of your aborted intervention on the leads. I can’t help but wonder about the time before, when I was trapped in the monk’s cell. It was you who found my jerkin by the lake, wasn’t it? You dropped it at the entrance to alert Peregrine and Barnaby. A rather passive attempt, but I suppose I shouldn’t complain.” I reached for the door latch, resisting the jab in my shoulder. “Am I free to go?”

“In a minute.” Walsingham’s eyes flicked to Urian, who stood attentively by me. “Henry Dudley didn’t fire the shot that hit you.”

I didn’t move.

“The steward Master Shelton held the pistol. I saw him take aim from the window. I thought you should know. He is, I believe, someone you trust?”

“Not anymore,” I said, and I strode out.

* * *

In the hall, a scullery girl emptied the hearth of cinders. With a shy smile she indicated the way to the garden, which I found enclosed by walls and windswept with the scent of lavender.

Kate was doing as she said—hanging sheets on a line to dry. I crept up behind her, wrapped my arms about her waist. “Did you scrub them yourself?” I breathed in her ear. With a gasp, she let a pillowcase fly from her hand. Urian barked in delight, jumping up to seize it in midair. He trotted off with his trophy, tail held high.

Kate turned on me. “I’ll have you know Holland cloth doesn’t come cheap. Unless you indeed plan on getting rich, we’ve a household to economize for.”

“I’ll buy you a hundred pillowcases in Egyptian silk, if you like.” I pressed the pouch in her hand. As she felt its weight, her eyes widened. She searched my face. Before she could voice the question that hung between us, I pulled her to me.

In my arms, she whispered, “When?”

I replied softly, “As soon as I can let go of you.”

* * *

That night, as I finished packing my saddlebag for the trip, a knock came at my door. I suspected before I went to answer it who it was; neither Kate nor Peregrine would have requested admittance, and Walsingham would never climb stairs to see a hireling.

She stood in the passageway, cloaked head to toe in black velvet. Kate paused on the landing of the staircase behind her, a flickering candle in hand. As she met my eyes, I nodded. She turned away, but not before I saw her troubled expression.

I stepped aside. As Elizabeth moved into the room, I felt again that magnetic lure she seemed to exude like a scent. She pulled down her hood; it crumpled in soft waves about her long throat. She wore no jewelry, her fiery hair caught in a braided net. There were, I noticed, dark circles about her expressive eyes, as if she had spent a sleepless night.

I bowed low. “Your Grace, this is an unexpected honor.”

She nodded absently, looking about. “So, this is where you recovered? I trust you were well cared for.” There was no hidden emphasis in her tone, no indication she had any idea of my involvement with Kate. I decided it would be better to leave it that way, at least for now. Kate would tell Elizabeth in her own time.

“Yes, very well cared for,” I replied. “I believe I owe you my gratitude.”

“You do?” One of her thin eyebrows arched.

“Yes. This is your house, is it not?”

She flicked her hand dismissively. “That’s hardly reason for gratitude. It’s but a house, after all. I have several, most of which stand empty.” She paused. Her eyes met mine. “Rather, it is I, Master Prescott, who should be giving you thanks. What you did for me at Greenwich … I will never forget it.”

“You had to know the truth. I understand that.”

“Yes, apparently you do. Better than most.” She smiled tremulously. It felt strange to be alone in this room with her, where I sweated out my feverish delirium, learned the terrible final fate of Mistress Alice, and discovered my love for Kate. I had forgotten how powerful a presence Elizabeth could be, how unique she was to her own environment. She did not seem to belong in this rustic room, her very essence too large for such a confined space. It did not escape me that she had also put herself at considerable risk to come here.

As if she read my thoughts, she said, “Do not worry, Cecil knows I am here. I insisted, and so he sent some men to escort me. They are downstairs, waiting. They’ll take me back to Hatfield tomorrow.” Her lips curled in disdain. “It seems henceforth I must get used to having these men about me at all times when away from my manor at Hatfield, at least until they bring Northumberland down.”

There it was—spoken out loud, at long last.

“Is that what Cecil plans?” I said quietly.

She gave me a curious look. “Of course. Why else would they be sending you to my sister Mary? If she flees the country, she’ll leave England wide open to the duke. Who knows what would happen to any of us, then? They’d rather a Catholic spinster took the throne than a Dudley. My poor sister.” She let out a tart laugh. “Mary has always been either feared or disdained. Her lot is never easy. And now she faces the fight of her life. If the duke’s henchmen get to her first…”

“They won’t.” I stepped to her. “I will not let them.”

She regarded me in silence. Up close, I saw again the amber flecks in her irises that had so mesmerized me that first night, at the water gate of Whitehall; I recognized once more the dormant power lurking in the depths of her regard, which I now understood very few were capable of resisting. I had been ready to throw myself at her feet that night, to do almost anything to ensure her favor. I found it interesting that while I still felt the pull of her, I no longer was enslaved by it. I preferred it this way: I preferred being able to look the princess in the eye and recognize our shared humanity.

“Yes,” she murmured, “I believe you will do just that. Cecil is right: You’ll do anything to keep the Dudleys from winning. But, you do have a choice. You’ve paid your dues, as far as I am concerned. Even if you decided not to go on this errand, you’ll have a place in my service.”

I inclined my head with a smile, made myself take a small step back.

“What?” she said. “Does the choice not please? You did ask this of me once, at Whitehall, if I recall correctly: You said you wanted to serve me. Has Cecil made you a better offer, perhaps?”

“Not at all.” I raised my gaze to her. “I am honored and grateful. But, that is not why Your Grace has come all this way. You already know I will serve you, no matter what.”

She went still. Then she said, “Am I so obvious, then?”

“Only to those who care to look.” I felt a hollow open inside me, as I considered everything she was, everything she stood for, and everything she might lose if she ever gave in to her own conflicted heart—that magnificent heart, which had propelled her to me tonight despite the peril to her own person.

“I … I do not want him harmed,” she said, haltingly. “Robert is not to blame … He did as he was bade, and he—he did try to warn me. I’ve known him since we were children and there is much good in him. It’s only that, like so many of us born to this world, he has never been taught the value of truth. But he is not unredeemable. Even he can atone for his sins.”

I let the silence between us absorb her confession. I would not denigrate it with my own opinions nor commit it to a promise we both knew I might not be able to keep.

She bit her lower lip; her fingers, so startling in their unadorned length, plucked at her gown. Then she said abruptly, “You will take care of yourself, for Kate’s sake?”

I nodded. So she did know. We shared this, too, in common.

She turned to the door, where she paused, her hand on the latch. “Be careful with Mary,” she said. “I love my sister, but she is not a trusting woman. Life has made her that way. She has always believed the worst of people, never the best. Some say it is the Spaniard in her. But I say it is our father.”

I met her eyes as she looked over her shoulder. “You will take Kate with you?” I said. “I want her safe, or as safe as we can be under the circumstances.”

“You have my word.” She pulled open the door. “Guard yourself against dragons, Brendan Prescott,” she added, and I heard a hint of wry mirth in her voice, “And whatever you do, steer clear of water. It obviously is not your element.”

I stood listening to her footsteps fade down the stairs. I knew I would not see her in the morning, for I must leave before dawn. But in the emptiness left by her departure, I finally understood why Robert Dudley would have betrayed his own family for her love.

Given the opportunity, Elizabeth just might do the same for him.