The Tudor Secret

Chapter Seven





With a knot in my throat, I followed her. As we neared, Elizabeth glanced at me from her stance at the hearth. There wasn’t a hint of recognition in her cool amber gaze.

“Kneel,” Lady Dudley hissed in my ear. “The duchess of Suffolk is of royal blood, daughter of the younger sister of our late King Henry the Eighth. You must show her your respect.”

I dropped to one knee. I caught a glimpse of a spaniel huddled on a massive lap, its red leather collar encrusted in diamonds. The dog yipped.

I slowly lifted my gaze. Ensconced on a mound of cushions, constrained by a gem-encrusted bodice and galleon-sail nectarine skirts, was a monster.

“Her Grace Frances Brandon, Duchess of Suffolk,” lilted Lady Dudley. “Your Grace, may I present Squire Prescott? He’s newly come to court to serve as a squire to my son.”

“Squire?” The civility in the duchess’s high voice was brittle as piecrust. “Well, I can’t see the churl bowed over like that. On your feet, boy. Let us have a look at you.”

I did as she bade. Metallic eyes bore into me. She must have been handsome once, before inactivity and overindulgence at the table had taken their toll. The phantom of a once-robust beauty could still be discerned in the tarnished auburn hair coiled under her enormous jeweled headdress, in the strong line of her aquiline nose, and in the pampered translucence of her skin, which was taut and white, without blemish or wrinkle.

But it was her eyes that transfixed me; cruel, appraising, and appallingly shrewd, those eyes belied the indifference of her expression, tyrannical as only those born to privilege can be.

I couldn’t hold her stare for long and dropped my discomfited gaze to her hem. I saw that her left foot, squashed into a ludicrously delicate slipper, twisted inward, grossly misshapen.

I heard her chuckle. “I was an expert rider in my youth. Are you? A rider, that is?”

My reply was low, cautious. “I am, Your Grace. I was raised among horses.”

“He was raised at our manor,” interposed Lady Dudley, a perverse challenge in her voice. “He came to us by chance twenty years ago. Our housekeeper at the time found him—”

A terse wave of the duchess’s ringed fingers cut her off. “What? Have you no family?”

I glanced at Lady Dudley, though I knew she’d give me no succor. Her lips parted, showing teeth. With a sudden drop of my stomach, I wondered if I was about to be cast off. It happened. Masters transferred or exchanged servants for favors, to pay off debts, or to simply dispose of those who ceased to please. Was this why she’d brought me to court? Had all my aspirations been mere fanciful notions?

“No, Your Grace.” I couldn’t keep the quaver from my voice. “I am an orphan.”

“A shame.” The duchess’s tone indicated she’d heard enough. She said briskly to Lady Dudley, “Madam, your charity is to be commended. I trust the boy proves worthy of it.” Her hand flicked at me. “You may go.”

Overcome by relief, I bowed, remembering not to turn my back on a person of the blood royal. Just as I took a step backward, praying I wouldn’t bump into another chair, Lady Dudley leaned to the duchess and said: “Il porte la marque de la rose.”

She couldn’t realize I understood her words, unaware I’d studied French with the aid of one of Robert’s discarded lesson books. The duchess sat as if petrified, her ferocious gaze fixed on me. I froze in my tracks. What I saw in her narrowed eyes chilled my blood.

He bears the mark of the rose.

I felt sick. Lady Dudley stepped back from the chair, offered the duchess a brief curtsy. The duchess seemed unable to move. Behind her, lurking at the fringe of the group, I caught a tawny flicker. I blinked, looked again. It was gone.

A heavy hand came down on my shoulder. I wheeled about to find fury etched on Master Shelton’s scarred face. He hauled me to the sideboard. “I thought I’d seen you off with that wench. Instead, here you are getting yourself into trouble again! Is this to be my reward, eh? Is this how you repay me for everything I’ve done for you?”

His reprimand fell on me like rain. My mind whirled, though I had the forethought not to give voice to my tumult, even when he stabbed his finger at my chest and said, “Don’t dare move. I’ve something to do; and when I get back, I expect you to be here.”

He strode off. I caught my breath, my mouth dry as bone. With almost painful trepidation I slid my hand to the top of my hose. Further down, near my hip, where points held my codpiece in place, I could feel it. It took all my strength not to strip away my clothing, to reassure myself it couldn’t be possible.

The rose—Mistress Alice had called it that. She said it meant I was blessed. But how did Lady Dudley know? How could she have discovered something so intimate, which I’d thought belonged to a lonely boy and a laughing, red-cheeked woman, his only friend in a hostile world? And why would she have wielded it like a weapon upon someone who had no reason to care?

Anger flared in me. Mistress Alice was gone. I couldn’t stop mourning her; but in that instant, God help me, I almost hated her for wrecking our memories, for violating our trust. It did not matter that no doubt Lady Dudley had seen my birthmark when I was a babe; all I could think was that she’d been granted a confidence I believed was mine and Mistress Alice’s alone.

I closed my eyes, removed my hand from my hose to press it to my pounding heart. As I felt the ring tucked there in my inner pocket, I suddenly realized I was in serious peril, hurled into a situation I had no means to survive. Something was happening, something terrible. I didn’t know what it was but somehow I had a part in it, and so, it seemed, did the princess. The Dudleys meant to do us both harm. And if I could find a way to warn her, then maybe—

A blast of horns came from the gallery, and the duke marched to the dais. The hall went silent. I peered to the hearth, where Elizabeth stood motionless. The duchess of Suffolk had risen, as well; as her eyes met mine, fear stabbed through me and I shifted sideways, seeking the camouflage of the crowd.

The duke’s speech carried into the hall. “His Majesty wishes to extend his gratitude to all those who’ve expressed concern over his health. It is at his request that I make this announcement.” He scoured the courtiers with his stare. “His Majesty is a benevolent prince, but he is most displeased by the rumors that have come to his attention. Contrary to those who dare speculate, he is well on his way to recovery. Indeed, at his physicians’ advice, he has retired to his palace at Greenwich, where he can hasten his cure. As a sign of his improvement, he also wishes it be known he’s given gracious consent to the marriage of my youngest son, Guilford Dudley, to his beloved cousin, Lady Jane Grey. Said union will be celebrated tomorrow night with festivities at Greenwich, where His Majesty himself will bless the couple. His Majesty commands we toast this joyous occasion.”

A page hastened forth to hand the duke a goblet. He brandished it in the air. “To His Majesty’s health; may he long reign over us. God save King Edward the Sixth!”

As if on cue servitors entered with platters of goblets. Courtiers rushed to snatch these, thrusting them upward. “To His Majesty!” they cried in unison.

Northumberland gulped down his wine and abandoned the dais, proceeding from the hall with the lords of the council behind him, like dark leaves in his wake. From where I hid, I saw Lady Dudley follow, as well, but at a distance, accompanied by the glowering duchess of Suffolk. The duchess’s daughter, Jane Grey, was behind her mother, one tiny hand lost in Guilford’s as he strutted proudly, his father’s chosen link to the Tudor royal blood.

The moment they exited, courtier turned to courtier like fishwives in a market, and I glanced in sudden painful understanding at the hearth. Ashen disbelief spread over Elizabeth’s face. Her goblet fell from her hand. Wine splashed across the floor, spattering her hem. Without warning, she whirled about and stalked out the nearest side door.

The next minutes passed like years as I stood waiting to see if anyone would follow. The courtiers began to take their leave. No one seemed to notice that Elizabeth had left. I started to move to the door when I espied the princess’s attendant sidling up to a stark figure I failed to recognize at first. When I did, my heart lurched. It was Walsingham, Cecil’s associate. He and the girl exchanged a few words before they parted, Walsingham turning pointedly away. Neither showed any intention of following the princess.

I slipped to the door. I didn’t see Master Shelton before he suddenly blocked my way. “I thought I told you to stay put. Or haven’t you found enough trouble for one night?”

I met his bloodshot stare. He’d never given me cause to mistrust him. Yet he answered to Lady Dudley for everything he did; and in that moment all I saw was a reminder of the powerlessness I had felt all of my life. “Since you seem to know more about this so-called trouble than I do,” I retorted, “maybe you can explain it to me.”

His voice turned ugly. “You ungrateful whelp, I don’t need to explain anything to you. But I’ll tell you this much: If you value your skin you’ll stay far from Elizabeth. She’s poison, just like her mother. No good ever came of the Boleyn witch, and none will come of the daughter.”

He flung the words at me like filth. It was a warning I knew I should heed, but at that moment all I wanted was to get away from him and the Dudleys, no matter the cost.

“Be that as it may, I have my master’s bidding to fulfill.”

“If you go after her,” he said, “I’ll not be responsible for it. I’ll not protect you from the consequences. Do you understand? If you go, you’re on your own.”

“Perfectly.” I inclined my head and walked around him. I did not look back, though I could feel his eyes boring into me. I had the uncanny sensation that despite his threats, he understood what I was about to do, that somehow, in a distant past, he’d felt the same compulsion, and was, in his belligerent way, trying to save me from myself.

Then all thought of him left my mind as I hurried into the passage in search of Elizabeth.