I was so distracted by my thoughts I did not heed my surroundings. Halfway through a corridor, an arm shot out and grabbed me about the throat. I was hauled into a closed, fetid room. The fecal-spattered hole and stomach-churning smell demonstrated the room’s function. As I staggered against a wall, I thrust out a hand to avoid fouling my clothes, reaching with my other hand to the dagger I’d stashed under my doublet.
“I could cut off your hand with my sword before you release that paltry blade.”
I turned about. A shadow stepped forth. Lord Robert seemed overwhelmingly large in the confined space. “Well?” he said. “What did my father say to you?”
I kept my voice calm. “He said I should attend to you, and do as you bid.”
He took another step forward. “And?”
“That’s all.”
Robert stepped so close, the smell of his expensive musk filled my nostrils. “You’d best be telling me the truth. If you’re not, then you’d best pray I don’t find out.” He regarded me intently. “He made no mention of Elizabeth?”
“No.” I said immediately, and then I paused as I realized whom he spoke of.
He snorted, “I don’t know why Mother bothers with you. What would you know, a simple fool from the country brought here to clean my boots?” He stepped away. I heard a flint being struck. Moments later, a taper flared in his hand. He set it on the floor. “I’ll give you this much: You haven’t learned to lie yet.” He looked at me over the wavering flame, as misshapen shadows splashed across his face. “So, my father said nothing about her?”
I recalled what I heard as we entered London, and as if a bell went off inside me I decided to feign ignorance. Looking down to my feet, I murmured, “If he had, I would tell you.”
He guffawed. “Aren’t you the meek one? I’d forgotten how good you were at fading into the background, never seeing or hearing what didn’t concern you. I understand now why Mother was so set on bringing you here. You’re truly someone who doesn’t exist.”
His sharp burst of laughter ended as abruptly as it had appeared. “Yes,” he breathed, as if to himself, “the squire who doesn’t exist. It’s perfect.”
I stayed very still. I did not like the look creeping over his face, the slow calculated malice. He rocked back on his heels. “So, tell me, what would you say if I asked you to do an errand for me tonight that could earn you your fortune?”
The thick air in the room felt like a noose about my throat, cutting off my breath.
“What?” Robert’s smile showed a hint of perfect white teeth. “Have you nothing to say? How odd—a weasel like you. I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime, the chance to earn your way out of service and become your own man. It is what you dream of, is it not? You don’t want to be nobody forever? Not you, not the clever little foundling. Why, I think you must be fully literate by now, what with that old monk Shelton hired. I bet he taught you Latin with one hand while buggering you with the other. Well, am I right? Can you read and write?”
I met his eyes. I nodded.
His smile turned cruel. “I thought as much. I always knew you weren’t as stupid as you’d have us think.” His tone lowered, adopting a sinister intimacy. “And I know our proud Bess will come here tonight, though my lord father pretends to know nothing.”
At these words, I could not stop the rush of excitement that went through me. So, it was true. Elizabeth Tudor was here, in London. I had witnessed her arrival.
Then I saw Robert’s expression darken. When he next spoke, his voice was tainted by a furious heat, as if I had in fact faded to nothing, an invisible being before who he needn’t measure his words. “My father promised me that when the time came, I would not be neglected. He said none was more worthy than I. But now it seems he prefers to heap honors on Guilford, and put me to do his dirty work instead. By God, I’ve done everything he asked; I even married that insipid sheep Amy Robsart because he thought it best. What more can he want from me? When will it be my turn to take what I deserve?”
I’d never heard any of the Dudley boys express anything other than conformity with their father’s wishes. It was the way of the nobility: Fathers sent their sons away to serve in influential posts and assist the family. Dudley’s sons had no will other than his, and in turn, they would reap his fortune. As far as I was concerned, Robert had no cause for complaint. He’d never known a day of hunger or want in his life; he probably never would. I had no reason to pity him; but in that moment I saw that like so many sons who feel helpless, Robert Dudley had begun to chafe against the paternal tether binding him.
“Enough!” He hit his fist into his palm. “It’s time I showed my mettle. And you, you worm—you are going to help me.” He thrust his face at me. “Unless you’d rather I sent you back to the stables for the rest of your miserable days?”
I did not speak. I knew I should prefer the stables, where life was at least predictable, but I did not. I met Robert’s stare and said, “Perhaps my lord should explain what he expects of me.”
He seemed taken aback. He glanced over his shoulder before he looked back at me. He gnawed at his lower lip, as if he had sudden doubt. Then he menaced, “If you fail me or do me wrong, I swear there isn’t a place in all England where you can hide. Do you understand me? I will find you, Prescott. And I will kill you with my bare hands.”
I did not react. Such a threat was to be expected. He had to intimidate me, ensure that I feared him enough to not betray his trust. It made me all the more curious. What did he want so desperately?
“Very well,” he said at length. “The first thing you need to know is that she’s apt to surprise you when you least expect it. I’ve known her since she was a girl, and I tell you, she likes nothing more than to set everyone around her to wondering. She delights in confusion.”
The guarded note that crept into his voice alerted me to an unspoken undercurrent. This sounded more than just a son’s bravura against his father.
“Take her arrival today, for example,” he continued. “She steals into the city without prior warning, and only once she’s reached her manor does she send word requesting leave as to when she may visit her brother, as her sister, the Lady Mary, did a few months past.” He let out a staccato laugh. “Now, there’s pure connivance, if ever I saw it. God forbid she should put herself at our mercy or that her papist sister should outdo her. And she knows we dare not refuse her, for just as she planned, rumors of her arrival run like wildfire through the city. She wants us to know no Dudley is more powerful than her.”
He spoke as if it were an elaborate game, when it was clear Elizabeth must have come to London because she’d heard rumors of her brother’s impending death. Once again I fought back the near-overwhelming sensation that I should be doing everything possible to escape this errand. Why put myself in harm’s way? Why risk becoming Lord Robert’s victim again? Inviting as it was, freedom from servitude seemed a rather remote possibility at this particular moment.
I drew in a steadying breath. “Why would she even heed me? We’ve never met.”
“She’ll heed you because I am her friend, whom she’s never had cause to doubt. She knows I am not my father. I will not play her false.” He fished under his gauntlet, tossed a ring at me. “Give her this. She will understand. But do it in private; I don’t want that busybody matron of hers, that Mistress Ashley, knowing my business. Tell her I’ve been delayed but I will send word soon, by the usual route, so we can meet alone. Tell her I will have what I was promised.”
He took a menacing step toward me. “And don’t let her out of your sight, not even if she dismisses you. I want a full accounting of her actions, from the time she enters the palace until she leaves.” He unhooked a pouch from his belt and dropped it by the taper, which was melting onto the floor. “There’ll be more if you succeed. Who knows? You could end up a rich man, Prescott. The water gate lies straight ahead. After you’ve done as I ask, feel free to enjoy yourself. Elizabeth always retires early. Find
yourself a cunt. Drink. Eat till you puke. Only don’t breathe a word to anyone, and be in my chamber by the stroke of nine tomorrow.”
He unlatched the door. When I heard his footsteps fade away, I grabbed the pouch and fled from the room. As I stood gulping air in the corridor, I untied the pouch with quivering fingers. It contained more than I could imagine. A few more like this and I could buy my way to the New World, if need be.
All I had to do was deliver Lord Robert’s ring.
Chapter Five
I trekked down a series of corridors, passing from the palace into sudden night.
Torches mounted on the walls converted Whitehall’s mullioned bays into opaque eyes. A near-full moon rode in the sky, rimming the knot garden before me in a tarnished glow. There were copses of willows and fragrant herb patches, edged by a waist-high yew hedge that lined the path to moss-licked river steps and a private landing quay. Three guards swathed in wool stood near the quay; a lit iron brazier beside them cast fiery reflections onto the river.
There was no one else in sight.
The soughing of water reached me. I might have enjoyed the unexpected tranquility and the balm of the night, had I not the dilemma of what to do next. I didn’t know when the princess would arrive and I couldn’t simply approach and state my desire to speak with her. No guard worth his salt would be amenable to a stranger lacking proof of identity, save for the badge on my sleeve, which could be stolen, and a ring I couldn’t show.
The opportunity would have to present itself. I tarried under the palace shadow, listening to water shred against stone. When I discerned a distinct, more rhythmic splash, I readied myself.
A canopied barge glided into view.
The guards formed rank. From within the garden, a trim figure suddenly materialized. A jolt went through me when I recognized Master Cecil. Another man dressed entirely in black emerged to stand beside him. My nape prickled. How many others lurked in the shadows?
The barge was secured. I inched closer to the quay, my creeping steps sounding impossibly loud in my ears as I tiptoed through pools of darkness and crouched low behind the ornamental hedge. I was almost at the river’s edge.
Three cloaked figures emerged from the barge and mounted the steps to the quay. She was at the forefront, leading a thin silver-colored hound by a chain. As her tapered hand cast aside her hood, I glimpsed fiery tresses caught in silver filigree, framing an angular face.
Cecil and the stranger in black bowed. I edged closer, taking advantage of the hedge’s shadows. They were a pebble’s throw away, and the silence enhanced their voices. I heard Cecil’s first, imbued with urgency.
“Your Grace, I must beg you to reconsider. The court is not safe for you at this time.”
“My sentiments precisely,” interposed an officious voice. It came from the shorter of the princess’s two attendants, a stout matron who spoke with impudence. This must be the woman Robert had mentioned—Mistress Ashley. Behind her, the other, slightly taller attendant remained silent, muffled in a cloak of tawny velvet.
“I told Her Grace the same not an hour ago,” said the matron, “but would she heed me? Of course not. Who am I, after all, except the woman who raised her?”
The princess spoke, her voice crisp with impatience. “Ash Kat, don’t talk about me as if I weren’t here.” She stared at the matron, who, to my surprise, stared right back. Elizabeth turned her attention to Cecil. “As I have informed Mistress Ashley, you both worry too much. This court was never safe for me, yet I’m still alive to walk its halls, am I not?”
“Of course,” said Cecil. “No one questions your capacity for survival, my lady. But I do wish you’d consulted me before leaving Hatfield. In coming to London as you have, you risk his lordship the duke’s displeasure.”
Her reply carried a hint of asperity. “I hardly see why. I’m as entitled as my sister Mary was to see my brother, and he received her well enough.” She yanked at her cloak. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I must get to the hall. Edward will be expecting me.”
I had to scramble behind the hedge after them, dreading the thought that at any moment my foot might crunch down on a stray twig and betray my presence. Fortunately, my soft leather soles made no discernible sound on the lawn, but I was acutely aware that I’d just eavesdropped on a conversation not meant for my ears, entrusted with a message that more and more seemed like a ruse. Robert might say he’d never play the princess false, but Cecil clearly believed the duke might. What if delivering my master’s missive and ring caused more trouble than I knew?
“Your Grace, please.” Cecil hustled after her, for despite her delicate appearance, she had an athletic stride. “I must implore you. You must understand the risk you run. Otherwise, you would not have refused his lordship’s offer of rooms in the palace.”
So, Robert had been right! The duke did know she was coming: He had even offered her rooms in the palace. Why was he misleading his own son?
She stopped. “Not that I need to explain myself, but I ‘refused,’ as you say, to lodge in the palace because there are far too many people at court and my constitution is such that I cannot afford to contract an illness.” She held up a hand. “And I will not be dissuaded. I have waited long enough. I mean to see my brother tonight. No one, not even his lordship the duke of Northumberland, can stop me.”
Cecil’s reluctant incline of head showed that he recognized the futility of further argument. “At least, let Master Walsingham accompany you. He’s well trained and can give you proper protection should—”
“Absolutely not. I’ve no need for Master Walsingham’s or anyone else’s protection. By the rood, am I not the king’s sister? What need I fear from being at his court?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She continued toward the palace, her dog in perfect pace at her side. Then all of a sudden it paused. With a low growl, it turned its baleful eyes to the hedge. I froze; it had smelled me. She yanked at its chain. The dog did not budge, its growl becoming louder, turning into a menacing snarl.
I heard her say, “Who goes there?” and knew I had no other choice.
To the hound’s bloodcurdling bark, I stood and shifted through an opening in the hedge. I swiftly knelt, removed my cap. The moonlight sliced across my face. She went still. The dog snarled again. Cecil snapped his fingers. The guards were at me, swords scything in release. In a second, I was surrounded by blades. If I so much as moved a muscle, I would impale myself.
The dog strained at its chain, snout drawn back and fangs bared. She patted its sleek head. “Hush, Urian,” I heard her say. “Be still.” The hound sat on its haunches, its strange green-toned eyes fixed on me.
Cecil said, “I believe I know this youth, Your Grace. I assure you, he is quite harmless.”
One of her thin red-gold brows arched. “I don’t doubt it, seeing as he thought to hide from us in the yew, of all places. Who is he?”
“Robert Dudley’s squire.”
I glanced up in time to catch the quick look Cecil cast in my direction. I couldn’t tell whether he was displeased or amused.
The princess motioned. The guards shifted back. I stayed on one knee.
There are moments that define our existence, moments that, if we recognize them, become pivotal turning points in our life. Like pearls on a strand, the accumulation of such moments will in time become the essence of our life, providing solace when our end draws near.
For me, meeting Elizabeth Tudor was one of those moments.
The first thing I noticed was that she was not beautiful. Her chin was too narrow for the oval of her face, her long thin nose emphasizing the high curve of her cheeks and proud brow. Her mouth was disproportionately wide and her lips too thin, as if she savored secrets. And she was too pale and slim, like a fey creature of indeterminate sex.
Then I met her stare. Her eyes were fathomless, overwide pupils limning her gold irises, like twin suns in eclipse. I had seen eyes like hers before, years ago, when a traveling menagerie entertained us at Dudle
y Castle. Then, too, I had been captured by their dormant power.
She had the eyes of a lion.
“Lord Robert’s squire?” she said to Cecil. “How can it be? I’ve never seen him before.”
“I’m new to court, Your Grace,” I answered. “Your dog is foreign, is he not?”
She shot me a terse look; she’d not given me leave to speak. “He is Italian. You are familiar with the breed?”
“I had occasion to learn many things during my time in the Dudley stables.”
“Is that so?” She tilted her head. “Hold out your hand.”
I hesitated for a moment before warily extending my wrist. She loosened her grip on the chain. The hound thrust his muzzle at me. I almost recoiled as I felt his breath on my skin. He sniffed. To my relief, he licked my skin and retreated.
“You have a way with animals,” Elizabeth said. “Urian rarely takes to strangers.” She motioned me to my feet. “What is your name?”
“Brendan Prescott, Your Grace.”
“You’re a bold fellow, Brendan Prescott. State your purpose.”
I suddenly realized I was trembling and recited in a voice that sounded far too rushed to my ears: “My lord asks that I convey his regret that he could not be here to receive Your Grace. He was called away on urgent business.”
The Tudor Secret Page 4
