Love's Labyrinth

by Anne Kelleher

  “Lord Nicholas Talcott?” the tall, heavily bearded sergeant barked.

  “Yes?” Nicholas frowned, eyeing the man up and down.

  “We have a warrant for your arrest”

  “What?” Nicholas drew himself up and Olivia clutched at his arm. “I’m just returning—I’ve not been here on English soil for five minutes. On what charge?”

  “Treason against the Crown, my lord.”

  Olivia gasped, and she felt Nicholas stagger slightly. “What?” she whispered, shocked.

  “Such a charge is ridiculous—” Nicholas spluttered. “I am Her Majesty’s most loyal subject—I’ve done nothing—”

  “You’ll have a chance to answer the charge to Lord Walsingham.” The sergeant made a gesture and they were surrounded. Olivia shrank against Nicholas, as a burly soldier leered down at her.

  “Walsingham!” cried Nicholas. “It was his business I was about!”

  The sergeant’s disgust was plain on his face. The other soldiers crowded closer, until Olivia could feel their hot breath on her neck. “Apparently he forgot that, my lord. Come now.”

  “Sergeant, there’s been a terrible mistake—I don’t understand—”

  “It’s not for me to understand either, my lord. My orders are to bring you to London. Will you come peacefully?”

  “And—and my lady—” Nicholas stopped short and gazed down at Olivia.

  “What about the lady?” asked one of the men, leaning on his pike. “Turn her loose? The warrant says nothing about her.”

  “Bring her. She’s part of this. She’s with him, right?”

  The men surrounded them. Olivia looked through the crowd that had begun to gather and saw Jack standing uncertainly on the periphery. Nicholas caught his eye and gestured with his head. The boy tugged his forelock and took off. Please, she prayed, let him get to Talcott Forest safely. And let Geoffrey come and straighten out this mess as quickly as possible.

  “Nicholas.” She spoke as softly as she could. “Where are they taking us?”

  “London, missy.” The bearded sergeant spoke over his shoulder. His manner was rough, but his voice was not unkind. “To the Tower. The Tower of London.”

  The road to London was long and rough, and the closer they got to the ancient capital, the more crowded it became. But Olivia, sitting crowded in a wagon with Nicholas bound by her side, was only half aware of all that passed by. They stopped for the night at a tavern that was nowhere near as well appointed as the ones Nicholas had taken her to, and instead of going to a room, they were chained to a pole in the stable.

  “My God,” she murmured, when they’d been left alone in the dark, “they act as if we’re guilty.”

  “They think we are,” Nicholas answered grimly. It was impossible to see his face in the gloom, but she pressed against the reassuring warmth of his body. His arm closed around her awkwardly. “Forgive me.”

  Olivia closed her eyes, burying her face in his chest. She took a deep breath. The odors of the stable, dung and horse, and their own sweat, filled her nostrils. The sweat was acrid and sharp. Fear, she thought. That’s what fear smells like.

  “Olivia, I’ll do all I can, I swear it, to protect you. Even if it means going to the block myself—I’ll not tell them anything to implicate you.”

  In the darkness, she raised her head and stared at the pale smudge that was all she could see of his face. “Nicholas, can’t we just tell them the truth?’.

  He made a little choking noise in his throat.

  “Not about me, not that—but, about what happened in Calais? That’s what they will question you about—not me.”

  “Obviously.” His dry tone struck her as funny and she giggled. Even to her ears, she sounded hysterical. He leaned forward and awkwardly held her close. “Hush. If we make too much noise, they’re likely to separate us and I want to keep you close for as long as I can.” He paused. “Are you all right?”

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. “Yes.”

  “Now. Hopefully, Jack has gotten to Geoffrey by now. He wouldn’t have stopped, and he may even be home. As soon as Geoffrey hears of this, he’ll come right to London. I’m not without friends, you know. And I count Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, as one of them. When Geoffrey tells him my story, we’ll see how long it takes for the Queen to order us set free.”

  Olivia closed her eyes, willing herself to believe that what he said was true. “But, Nicholas, we don’t even understand the charges. What if it’s Geoffrey who’s the reason?

  He sat back with a grim laugh. “Then the charge would be witchcraft, not treason.” He settled himself against the pole to which they were bound. “Come, lean against me. We better try to get some sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long, bad day.”

  Tomorrow came all too quickly. They were roused at the very first light of dawn, when the sun was less than a red wedge in the eastern sky over the London road, given a hard biscuit and a cup of water, and loaded once more into the rickety wagon. Stiff and sore, Olivia grimaced every time the wheels jounced over a rut or a pothole. More than one time, they were pelted with refuse as they passed through villages, despite the efforts of the soldiers to stop the abuse. And so slow was the progress, that the sun had long since passed its zenith by the time they passed beneath the stone gates that marked the entrance to the City of London.

  Momentarily she forgot their predicament as she gazed in wide-eyed wonder at the city that rose, massive and medieval, all around them. Houses were jam-packed along the narrow streets, some as high as five and six stories, leaning out so precariously that the streets themselves were deep wells of shadow. Every house seemed to be a shop of one sort or another—drapers and clothiers and glovers of every description all jostling for attention by means of bright signs and fluttering fabrics. The wagon lurched around a corner and down another street, and they passed a church, crooked tombstones in the churchyard leaning heavily against each other. Here and there, people paused and stared as they passed: a woman who grabbed her child away from the wagon wheel; another who hushed a squalling infant. An apprentice looked up as he shuddered beneath his master’s whip, and schoolboys tossed an apple over their heads from side to side as they ran alongside the cart.

  And then they turned one more corner, and the road opened out into a broad avenue, and Olivia’s heart rose in her throat as the rough gray stone walls rose into sight. This was the Tower of London. This was where Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard had met their awful fates, this was the place where Raleigh and Essex would die. The so-called Princes in the Tower, murdered most likely not by their uncle Richard III, but by his usurper, Henry VII, lay buried somewhere in one of the walls. They would not be uncovered for more than a hundred years. Blood stained the walls and tinged the mortar. She swallowed hard as the wagon lurched to a sudden stop.

  She looked at Nicholas, and their eyes met. For a split second, time seemed to stand still. In those blue, blue eyes, she read something she had never seen before. “I love you,” he mouthed, and then the guards dragged them away and apart.

  “Well done, Warren.” The thin voice rose above the scratching of the pen, and Warren smiled, even as he inclined his head lower. “I assume you mean to question him at once?”

  “Immediately, my lord. I intended to go to the Tower as soon as I placed these plans in your hands.”

  There was a brief pause as Walsingham scanned the document he had just penned.

  “Would you like me to deliver that, my lord?”

  “This? Ah, no. I’m not quite ready to turn the plans over to Cecil yet. I think I’ll take some time to familiarize myself with them.” He looked up at Warren and smiled blandly.

  A shiver went down Warren’s spine. Copy them, he means, thought Warren. Copy them and commit them to memory, and use them in any way he could to accomplish whatever he thought he could get away with. Walsingham was not so much a master spy as he was a master opportunist. He rose to his feet. “Then if
you have no more need of me, my lord. I will go and question the prisoner.”

  “Yes.” Walsingham picked up the pen once more. “Oh, and Warren?”

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “I’m to understand there’s a woman involved?”

  Another chill went down Warren’s spine despite the stuffy air in the windowless room. Walsingham even spied on his spies, it seemed. “Aye, my lord. Talcott and his leman. I—I thought to release the woman.”

  “Release the woman? Why?”

  “Well, uh—” Warren paused, thinking furiously. The woman was not really part of his plans. He’d only thought to use her to further rouse Sir John, but now that the ruse had worked, he had no more need of her. And the last thing he wanted was for Walsingham, or anyone else, for that matter, to question her. “Why not release her?”

  “She may have been a witness.”

  “Aye, but—she’s just whore—”

  Walsingham looked up and cocked one eyebrow at him. “I see.” There was another silence. “A whore.”

  “Yes.” Warren felt the sweat trickle down his neck. The presence of the cousin complicated the matter in ways he’d not even contemplated when the damnable idea had leapt into his brain. Moon madness! He cursed the moment the sheer stupidity of it had burst into his skull. There was only one solution, which he had grudgingly reached upon long reflection. It had not been his intention to harm a woman.

  “Very well,” Walsingham said at last. “See that you question her before you release her. The testimony of one whore more or less is scarcely likely to sway the scales against Talcott one way or the other.”

  Warren drew a deep breath and bowed once more. Walsingham’s penetrating black eyes seemed to bore straight into his soul. Warren squirmed. If his master only knew. He pushed the unpleasant thought aside and bowed again. “As my lord wishes, it shall be done.”

  He shut the door softly as he left the room. Walsingham was biting the end of the quill as he stared into space; he seemed to have forgotten Warren’s presence. It was just as well. But the question of Talcott’s cousin—well, that was another problem altogether, one he’d been wrestling with ever since he’d seen Talcott and his cousin at the inn in Dover. This was no simple, soft-minded, milk-and-water miss. Despite her youth, she had a strong-minded air about her. She had to be eliminated—wholly and completely. It was perhaps regrettable, but after all, the more members of that damnable tribe who could be eliminated, the better. Releasing her would set her free in the dangerous streets of London, where she’d be vulnerable for at least a little while, without friends or family or even coin. He’d see her released at dusk, when the long shadows would hide the alleys and the crannies where the whores and thieves and cutpurses hid. And murderers.

  He glanced up at the sun. Plenty of time to speak to his contacts, and still arrange for the girl’s release. He was stopped by Sir John Makepeace as he walked down the stairs that led to the street.

  “Master Warren!” The knight turned on his heel and followed him.

  “Sir John?” Warren stopped short. “What do you do here, sir?”

  “I was looking for you. I was told you were likely to be here—”

  “Told by whom?”

  “The wench you keep. Said you were likely to be here as anywhere.”

  “I see.” He would have to punish Rose. “What do you want?”

  “To talk to you. Where’s Talcott?”

  “He arrived at the Tower today. I’m on my way there now.”

  “And how soon—” The knight gripped Warren’s arm.

  Warren stopped still in the middle of the street. He looked down at his sleeve and the knight dropped his hand. “How soon what?”

  The greedy light diminished somewhat in the knight’s watery eyes. “My reward. How soon—?”

  “These things take time, Sir John. You didn’t expect it would happen today, did you?”

  The knight drew himself up. “Nay, sir. May I come with you?”

  Warren flinched as if struck. “To the Tower, Sir John? ‘Tis best you stay as far from Talcott as possible. You’ll confront him soon enough.”

  Sir John straightened up and tugged his doublet into place with an affronted air. “You mistake my meaning, Master Warren. My lodgings lie in that direction.”

  Mollified, Warren shrugged. “An you will, Sir John. Come, and tell me every detail you remember.”

  The two men started off, Sir John speaking quietly in his low, dry voice, while Warren pretended to listen. The sooner he got the woman out of the Tower, the sooner she’d no longer be a problem.

  “I believe I have the answer.” Dr. Dee peered owlishly through his spectacles at Geoffrey and Alison across the table.

  “You do?” they chorused in unison.

  “Yes, indeed.” Dee stroked his long brown and silver beard, looking like a highly self-satisfied squirrel, if a somewhat skinny one. “It is here.” He tapped the parchment in front of him. “I realized as soon as you mentioned the eclipse that that had to be the answer.” He paused.

  “Well?” asked Alison impatiently. “Are you going to tell us, or should we guess?”

  The older man looked taken aback. “Sometimes I think I spend too much time in the sixteenth century,” he said, almost to himself. “I’m sorry. I forget how direct women became in the twentieth century. At any rate, it’s going to take two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” She leaned forward. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Why will it take us two weeks to get back when it only took two minutes to get here?”

  “It will take two weeks for the angles of sun and the moon, and all the heavenly bodies in fact, to return to the proper positions. It is a gateway, if you will, between now and then. The present and the future, or the past and the present, if you will. But if you do not return in two weeks, you will not have another opportunity for thirty-eight years. Thirty-seven years, eight months, two weeks, five days, eleven hours, sixteen minutes, and twenty-nine seconds, actually, but I don’t think you care whether or not it’s precise.”

  “Thirty-seven years?” Alison swallowed hard. “My God. I’ll be an old woman. If I even survive that long. So—why the wait?”

  Dee beckoned to her with one long skinny finger.

  “Look here. It’s all in the equations. If t is time, and the value of mass is approximately two hundred and seventy-five pounds—assuming your friend weighs less than you do, being shorter—”

  “Doctor Dee,” Alison interrupted softly. “I don’t care about the math. How come we have to wait two weeks? Do you have to wait for this—this gateway to open up? Is that why you’re here? You can’t get back?”

  Dee sighed and scratched his head. “No, no, it’s not like that at all. In my time—in twenty-one seventy-six, I mean—the time portal has been perfected to the point where we don’t need hedges and mazes and things of that nature. With the discovery of the fifth dimension—not ‘discovery’ in the sense you understand the word, we’d theorized it existed for years—but with the actual experience of the fifth dimension, using computer-generated space/time realities—” He broke off and sighed again. “The short answer is, I can go back and forth between my time and this one at will. You, however, given the primitive state of just about everything, can’t.” He picked up an inkwell and candle. “This is then.” He held up the inkwell. “This is now.” He held up the candle. “You think of these as two different realities, but that’s not true. It’s really all one. Part of it depends on you, to a great extent. You—the reality of you—extend into every level of existence. The discovery of the integration of the human psyche with the physical world in twenty forty-three was probably the most revolutionary discovery of all time. It goes beyond Galileo. But you, Mistress Alison, like Master Geoffrey to a great extent, aren’t quite there yet. Do you understand what I’m trying to explain to you?”

  Alison nodded slowly. “I think so. It’s like my trying to explain genes to someone who doesn’t know what the heart does.
Am I right?”

  “Exactly. Believe it or not, there are things the people in your time haven’t even begun to dream about. And it’s all right that things are like that. But what it means for you and for your friend, is that in order to cross the ripple in time, to return to the ‘when’ you remember as yours, you must wait for the physical world to give you a boost, so to speak.”

  “Gotcha.” She breathed a sigh and looked once more at Geoffrey. He was staring out the window and looked almost dejected. Geez, thought Alison, he looks like he lost his best friend.

  CHAPTER 13

  THE CELL DOOR scraped across the uneven floor. From the room’s low stone ledge, which served as both bed, table, and chair, Olivia looked up. Even at the height of a summer day, the interior of the Tower chilled her to the bone. It wasn’t so much the temperature as the atmosphere, she thought, as the hair rose on the back of her neck. For the first time in her life, she was terrified, truly and absolutely terrified. Nothing she had ever encountered had prepared her for this. Her run-ins with the authorities had been limited to speeding tickets—usually while Alison was driving. Her mouth was dry and her heart was pounding. Despite the chill, her palms were wet with sweat.

  She couldn’t let them see how frightened she was.

  Never. She twined her fingers in her skirts to hide how they trembled, and she raised her chin.

  The gray-faced, gray-haired jailer peered inside. “Ye can go.”

  Startled, she blinked. “What?”

  “Ye can go. Ye’ve been released.”

  “And what about Lord Nicholas? Is all of this—”