She bit her lip in thought, then took William’s arm and escorted him to the door. They spoke quietly together. He shook his head, but Rachel persisted. After a moment, he sighed and stared at her, drinking her in as though she was the last cup of water on earth. My mind began to sift through all the sketches I’d ever seen of the medieval Tower of London.
When Rachel returned, she was grinning. “Be near the southwestern corner of the Tower walls at dawn. There is a small gate there, little used. Captain Lucie will let you in.”
As Phoebe thanked her profusely, my mind raced. “Rachel, how big is this window? Could a man get through it?”
“Well . . . yes, I think so.” In seconds, she saw what I wanted to do. But then she shook her head, sadly. “But there are iron bars set across the opening. It would be impossible.”
I gnawed at a cuticle, glancing across the room to where the queen sat, still holding Hectare’s hand. Eleanor’s head was bowed, and her lips moved in silent prayer.
Iron bars. Iron bars.
Chemical formulas wrote themselves in the air before my eyes. My fingers twitched as I discarded one after the other, growling with irritation.
Not invented yet. Too weak. Too volatile. I hesitated, calculating the odds.
“What are you thinking, Hope?” Phoebe whispered.
I looked to Aaron, who was adding a handful of herbs to his pot on the fire. “Rachel, does your grandfather’s apothecary shop carry oil of vitriol by any chance?”
Rachel’s brow wrinkled. “Yes, he makes it, then cuts it with water to clean his steel tools. If he makes an excess, he sells it to the blacksmith.”
My lips struggled to form the words fast enough. “Does he have any now? Uncut? And could you get some and bring it to the side gate at the Tower?”
The confusion on Rachel’s face cleared. “Oh! I see. Yes, of course. Of course I can.”
“Would someone please tell me what you’re talking about?” Phoebe said. “Because I’m about to pop my bloody—” She broke off, clearing her throat as she glanced at Rachel. “Er . . . I am soon to become quite angered.”
I shushed her as Eleanor called for us to join her at Hectare’s bedside. “Later,” I whispered as we obeyed.
“We shall speak more of this on the morrow,” Hectare was telling Eleanor, cutting off her queen’s protest. “I give you my solemn vow that I shall still be in the land of the living. Go back to your husband. And for the babe’s sake, if not your own, get some rest. In any case, I wish to speak with these girls alone.”
When Eleanor sighed in defeat, Hectare placed a hand on her cheek in a sweet blessing that stung my eyes. We both dropped into a curtsy as the queen stood. Eleanor’s eyes were bloodshot. She stared down at Phoebe and me as if we were ghosts.
“There is to be a masque at Westminster Palace tomorrow night, after the coronation. I will take chambers there. Come to me before it begins, and I will see that Lady Babcock attends me. And I . . . I would speak with you.”
She’s going to help us! Mom will have to obey a summons from the queen. She’ll have no choice. Then I’ll move heaven and earth to get her out, whether she wants me to or not.
“Thank you,” I breathed. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
The queen crossed to where Phoebe and I knelt, surrounding us with her unique smell. Roses laced with a spice I didn’t recognize.
“Rise.”
Her intelligent green eyes scanned back and forth between us. “I trust Hectare with my life.” She paused, licking dry lips. “But this?” She took a step closer and looked deep into my eyes. Her voice husky with emotion, Eleanor whispered, “I wonder . . . will this world always belong solely to men?”
Slowly, carefully, without taking my eyes from hers, I shook my head. “No, Your Grace. Not always.”
Eleanor’s eyes closed. A smile edged her mouth as she sighed. “I shall, of course, not live to witness such a thing. But perhaps . . . to help sow the seeds of that glorious harvest?”
I didn’t answer, though I knew that in the years to come Eleanor of Aquitaine would endow convents and be as much of a champion for female education and rights as was possible in her era. A thought startled me as I wondered how much of that was due to this moment in time.
Smiling, I allowed all the admiration I felt for the brave queen to shine through.
The queen of England nodded to herself. “Yes,” she whispered as she departed. “Perhaps.”
“What was that all about?” Phoebe said.
“Dear physician,” Hectare called. Aaron hurried toward the bed and bowed low. “I thank you for your efforts,” the nun said. “But like me, I believe you’d as soon rest those old bones of yours? If you will but allow your granddaughter to stay? She comforts me.”
“Of course, learned sister,” the apothecary said. “I shall return on the morrow.”
Aaron left, and Sister Hectare asked Rachel to see about getting Phoebe and me a place to sleep for the night. When Rachel shut the door behind her, the nun patted the side of her bed. “Come, come, we haven’t much time.”
Hectare spoke in a voice like crinkling paper. “One of the few advantages to being very old is that one has seen so many mysteries, one can pick and choose which to believe.”