The Tudor Secret

Chapter Eight





I thought I was too late, for she seemed to have vanished into the labyrinth of halls and galleries. My heels struck hollow echoes on the floors as I dashed down one corridor, paused, and turned into another. I was following my instinct, avoiding the line of sputtering sconces spaced unevenly on the walls, braving the darker twists and turns in the blind hope that she would not take so easy a route.

I nearly sighed aloud when I finally came upon her, standing in an archway that led into an inner courtyard, bunching handfuls of her gown. She’d removed her filigree net; her hair coiled loose, like fire, over her taut shoulders. Hearing my approach before she saw me, she spun about. “Ash Kat, get word to Cecil at once. We must—”

She stopped, staring. “By God, you are bold.” She looked past me. Panic colored her voice. “Where are my women? Where are Mistress Ashley and Mistress Stafford?”

I bowed low. “I haven’t seen Mistress Ashley,” I said, using the tone I’d learned to wield when dealing with a volatile foal. “If by Mistress Stafford, you refer to your other lady, she didn’t follow you out. In fact, I saw her go in the opposite direction.”

“She must have gone to ready my barge.” Elizabeth paused. Her eyes were unblinking, riveted on me as if she might truly divine my purpose under my skin. She abruptly gestured, moving on swift steps into the courtyard, where the shadows lay thick. Glancing back to the doorway, she said, “Why are you still following me?”

My hand went to my doublet. “I’m afraid I still have my master’s orders to complete.”

Her face hardened. “Then uncompleted those orders will remain. I believe I’ve suffered enough humiliation from the Dudleys for one night.” In the open air, her indignation echoed a decibel higher than it should. She looked translucent, almost wraithlike. She had come to court to see her brother, only to be disdained, informed in public that the king, no doubt by the duke’s command, had departed for Greenwich. Now here I was skulking after her, a nuisance determined to win favor at any cost. Disgust swept through me. What was I doing? Let Robert and his ring be damned! I’d concoct some excuse as to why I’d failed in my assignment. If I was beaten or dismissed, so be it. I was literate, able. With any luck, I wouldn’t starve.

“Forgive me.” I bowed. “I did not intend to cause Your Grace any distress.”

“I’m far more concerned by the distress the duke has caused me.” She fixed the full force of her eyes on me. “You’re their servant. Do you know what he plans?”

I went still. Master Shelton’s words spilled in my mind: She’s poison. Poison to the core.

Even as I considered it, I knew I wouldn’t turn away, wouldn’t evade or flee her question, even though it might end up costing me everything. I’d reached that inevitable crossroads that comes in every man’s life—the crucial moment when, if we’re fortunate enough to recognize it, we can make a choice that will forever alter our fate. Elizabeth was the catalyst I’d sought without ever knowing it; poisonous or benign, she offered me the key to a new existence.

“I do not,” I replied. “If I did know, I would tell you. But I have eyes and ears; I saw what happened tonight, and I fear that whatever he plans, it will not bode well for Your Grace.”

She tilted her head. “You’ve an able tongue. But before you go any further, let me warn you, I’ve dealt with abler in my time. Be careful where you tread, squire.”

I did not flinch. “I state what I see. I learned early in life to look beyond the obvious.”

A faint smile creased her lips. “It seems we have something in common.” She paused again, and the silence restored that invisible divide between royal and commoner. “So, you have my attention. Tell me what you saw to make you think I may be in danger?”

I didn’t disregard the underlying threat in her voice. This was treacherous ground, not some fable in which I might play the knight. This was the court, where the sole coinage was power. She’d grown up among its quicksands, tasted its brine since she’d been old enough to learn the truth of her mother’s death. But whether she cared to admit it or not, she knew we were both now pawns in some Dudley game. It was the primary reason I couldn’t walk away; in truth, there was no walking away.

“I saw that you did not anticipate being denied His Majesty’s presence. You expected him to be in the hall to greet you, as he surely would have, were he truly on the mend from his illness. Now you are afraid, because you do not know how he is or what the duke has done.”

She was silent, so still she might have been a statue. Then she said, “You are indeed perceptive. Eyes such as yours could take you far. But if you can see so much, then God spare me from those with even keener sight, for it’s clear that travesty in the hall was meant as a warning that John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland now rules this realm.”

I fought the urge to look over my shoulder, half expecting to see the duke padding up to us, his black-robed council at his heels with warrants for our arrest.

“Does Robin know of your suspicions?” she asked.

I swallowed. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her what I suspected about Robert, and of the mysterious exchange between Lady Dudley, the duchess of Suffolk, and me. But all I had were, in fact, suspicions, and something instinctual kept me quiet. Whatever the Dudleys had planned for me was not her concern—not yet.

“Your Grace,” I said at length, “I do not know if Lord Robert can be trusted or not. But if you so command it, I will try to find out.”

Without warning, a burst of laughter broke from her lips, wild and uninhibited, and then it vanished as soon as it appeared. “I do believe you would do exactly as you say. For better or worse, their corruption has not yet touched you.” She smiled, in sudden sadness. “What is it you want of me, my gallant squire? Don’t deny it; I can see it on you. I am no stranger to longing.”

And as if I’d known the answer all along, never knowing when or if this moment would come, I said, “I want to help Your Grace, wherever it may lead.”

She clasped her hands, glancing down. Dry wine stains soiled her hem. “I hadn’t expected to make a friend tonight.” She lifted her gaze to me. “Much as I appreciate the offer, I must decline. It would complicate your standing with your master, which seems to me none too firm. I would, however, accept an escort to my barge. My ladies must be waiting for me.”

Resisting sudden emptiness, I bowed low. She reached out, touched my sleeve. “An escort,” she said softly, “to see me safe. I’ll lead the way.”

Without another word she took me through the courtyard and back into a maze of silent galleries hung with tapestries, past casements shuttered by velvet drapes and embrasures that offered moon-drenched glimpses of patios and gardens. I wondered what she felt, being in this place built by her father for her mother, a monument to a passion that had consumed England and ended on the scaffold. I saw nothing in her expression to indicate she felt anything.

We emerged where we had started, in the mist-threaded garden leading to the quay. Standing there in anxious vigil were her women. Mistress Ashley bustled forth, the princess’s cloak in her hands. Elizabeth raised a hand to detain the matron’s advance. Her other attendant, the one called Mistress Stafford, remained where she stood, enveloped in her tawny cape.

I feared Elizabeth might nurse a serpent in her midst. She turned to me. “A wise man would look to his safety now. The Dudleys brew a storm that could rend this realm apart, and if there is any justice, they will pay for it. I’d not wish to be associated with their name, then, not when men have lost their heads for far less.” She drew back. “Fare you well, squire. I don’t think we’ll have occasion to meet again.”

She strode to her barge. Her cloak was thrown over her shoulders. Flanked by her women, she moved down the steps. A few moments later, I heard the boatman’s oars strike the water as the craft plied the rising tide, sweeping her away from Whitehall, from court. From me.

In the wake of her departure, I sought reassurance. She had said no to my help, but only because she cared. Much as it hurt, I hoped she left London while she still could. This court, I thought, echoing Master Cecil’s pronouncement only hours ago in this garden, was not safe. Not for her.

Not for any of us.

I passed a hand over my doublet, feeling the ring in my pocket. I had failed in my first, and probably last, task for Robert Dudley. I should indeed see to my own safety now.

I started back into the palace. After what seemed like hours of aimless wandering, I stumbled upon the stables, where the dogs greeted me with lazy barks, drowsy eyed amid slumbering horses in their painted stalls. After checking on Cinnabar, whom I found well stabled, with plenty of oats, I located a coarse blanket in a corner. Divesting myself of doublet and boots, I burrowed into a pile of straw, drawing the blanket around me as if it were linen.

It was warm and cozy, and it smelled like home.