The Tudor Secret

by C. W. Gortner

  “I’ll convey your concerns,” he said at length. “In the meanwhile, this note must be delivered, lest your master suspect our interference. After you do, return to Lord Robert. If your services are required again, you’ll be advised.”

  I stared at him. “What about Her Grace? Aren’t you going to warn her?”

  “That is not something you need concern yourself with. You were told to follow orders.”

  To my disbelief, he turned to the door. I burst out, “If you don’t warn her, I will.”

  He paused, looked at me. “Are you threatening me? If you are, let me remind you that squires who inform on their masters are not irreplaceable.”

  I met his eyes, held them for a long moment before I slipped the note back into my jerkin. Then I heard a soft thud at my feet.

  “For your services,” he said. “I suggest you be prudent where you spend it. Servants eager to flaunt ill-gotten wealth end up at the bottom of the river almost as often as disloyal squires.” Without another word, he strode out. I didn’t want to touch the purse he’d flung on the floor but I did anyway, pocketing it without examining its contents.

  I edged back out the door. There was no sign of Walsingham. Turning into the passage, I made for the stairs.

  If I had had any doubts before, my mind was made up. I must warn the princess. Robert couldn’t be trusted, and I was beginning to think that neither could anyone else. The purse in my hand might be small but it surely contained enough to buy my silence. Walsingham was Cecil’s creature, and I had no idea what the Secretary’s ultimate purpose might be. I suspected this matter was more complex than I’d been led to believe. I found it difficult to believe Cecil would harm the princess, but perhaps Walsingham himself played a false hand. I wouldn’t put it past him. I also had no idea if she would willingly see me, but if I refused to budge she’d have to. I’d leave her no other choice.

  I climbed the staircase, resolved.

  A gallery stretched before me, its width leading to a pair of imposing doors, the lintel boasting carved cherubim. To the right, recessed embrasures overlooked a garden. The panes were cracked open to admit the afternoon breeze.

  Standing halfway between the far doors and me were three men in court velvets.

  I didn’t know them. Nor did I have much time to look, for as I started to take a step back a voice came at me from behind: “By the cross, where do you think you’re going this time?” I swiveled about as a familiar figure swept up to me to wag her finger in my face.

  It was Elizabeth’s attendant, the one I’d seen at Whitehall—Kate Stafford.

  “Haven’t I told you already the kitchens are not in this wing, you oaf?” she declared. Up close, her curious yellow-hued eyes were alive with an intelligence that belied her careless air. She exuded a heady scent, like crisp apples and gillyflowers. I didn’t know whether to laugh or flee, until I noted the warning in her gaze when it met mine.

  “My—my lady, forgive me?” I stammered. “I got lost, again.”

  “Lost?” She turned from me in a whirl of tawny skirts to the man who approached. “Horses may lose their way but only mules are likely to return time and time again to the same empty stall. Don’t you agree, Master Stokes?”

  “I do.” Master Stokes was of medium height, slim, his face too sly to be called handsome, with elegant cheekbones accentuated by light brown hair slicked back from his brow. On his hands were displayed various gemstone rings; from his left ear dangled a glittering ruby pendant. It caught my attention. I had never seen a man wearing an earring before, though I would later learn it was more a fashion abroad than in England.

  “Speaking of which, is this servant bothering you?” His voice was languid. “Shall I teach him not to trouble our pretty damsels, Mistress Stafford?”

  Stokes’s insolent stare dropped to her cleavage as he spoke. She flipped her hand, a trill of laughter reeling from her lips. “Bothering me? Hardly. He’s just a servant new to court, who seems to think we keep the kitchens under Her Grace’s duvet.”

  His corresponding laugh was equally high-pitched, almost effeminate. “If it will cure her headaches,” he said. “As far as our mule is concerned…” His stare rose over her head to fix on me. “Perhaps I can set him on his way.”

  Mistress Stafford turned to him. Though she had her back to me, I could imagine the provocative look she treated him to. “Why waste your time on hired help? Let me see the boy back to the stairs, yes? I’ll be a moment.”

  “If you promise,” said Stokes. For no discernible reason, the finger he drew down her exposed throat filled me with dread.

  He turned heel on his elegant boots and returned to where the other men stood grinning. Linking her arm in mine, Kate Stafford drew me back into the passage.

  The instant we were out of sight, she pulled me into a recessed window bay. All semblance of indulgent coquetry vanished. “What do you think you are doing?”

  Seeing as she’d foregone the pretense, I saw no reason why I shouldn’t follow her example. “I was going to see Her Grace. I bring important news she must hear at once.”

  She thrust out her hand. “Give me the missive, whoever you are.”

  “You know who I am.” I paused. “I didn’t say I had a missive.”

  She stepped close, her apple-blossom scent taunting me. “I assumed you did, under the circumstances. You are Lord Robert’s squire.”

  “Ah, so you remember me.” I too leaned close, so that our noses almost touched. “Not to mention that you must also be expecting a reply to the missive you just delivered.”

  She drew back. “I’m sure I don’t understand.”

  “Oh? That wasn’t you in my master’s chambers earlier? There is another lady at court who wears boots under her gown?”

  She went still. I smiled as I saw her inch the betraying foot back under her hem.

  “I was behind the curtain,” I explained. “Now, I must deliver my lord’s reply.” I started to turn away. She gripped my arm again, with astonishing strength for so small a person.

  “Are you mad?” she hissed. “You mustn’t be seen anywhere near her. You are his servant. Their meeting is supposed to be a secret.” She glanced to the gallery entrance before returning her eyes to me. “Give me his reply. I’ll see that she reads it, have no fear.”

  I pretended to consider. Then I removed the paper from my jerkin. As she made a move to take it, I shifted my hand behind my back. “I must say, this is rather convenient—you being here at the precise moment I arrive.”

  Her fingers closed on air. Her chin lifted. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, for one, that I saw you at Whitehall.”

  “Yes, and…?”

  “And you didn’t look too concerned for your mistress when she left the hall, though she was clearly in distress. In fact, I saw you speak to Master Walsingham. So, before I hand over my master’s missive, I think I need some answers.”

  She tossed her head. “I’ve no time for this. Keep your master’s reply. I know his answer.” She started to step past me.

  I blocked her way. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

  “I could scream,” she said. “I am the princess’s lady. Those gentlemen would be here in a few seconds, and that would not bode well for you.”

  “You could. But you won’t. You don’t want your admirer back there to know you’re doing more than showing me to the kitchens.” I drew myself to full height. “Now, who told you I was coming? Walsingham? Are you his doxy? If so, Her Grace won’t enjoy discovering that her own lady-in-waiting, whom she entrusts with personal correspondence, is being paid to spy on her.”

  She burst out laughing, then clapped a hand to her mouth. “You really are too inexperienced for this sort of thing,” she said in a low voice. “I should send you on your way and not tell you a thing. But in the interest of time, no, I am not Walsingham’s doxy. I simply know him because of Her Grace’s acquaintance with Master Cecil. Or rather, I know of him. He’s a p
rofessional informant—and if rumors are true, trained in Italy as an assassin.”

  “Hence his gallant manner.”

  Her smile was tart. “Exactly. He happened to be near me as Her Grace left the hall. I assure you, we exchanged only the required niceties.”

  “I suppose you weren’t listening in on her conversations, either?” I said dryly.

  “No, that I was doing. She calls me her ears. I’m the reason she need not resort to outright gossip, which would be unbecoming in one of her rank. Before you ask, I also tried to hear your presentation to the duchess of Suffolk. I reasoned Her Grace must have been curious as to why you were brought before her cousin.”

  She paused, searching my face. All of a sudden, her expression softened. Her look of compassion startled me with its sincerity. “I realize you have no reason to trust me, but I would never betray her. Her aunt Mary Boleyn, sister to her mother Queen Anne, was my mother’s benefactor. Though we are not related, I couldn’t love her more than if we shared blood.”

  “Relatives don’t always love each other,” I said, but I was no longer suspicious. “In fact, most often the opposite seems to be the case.” My voice quavered. To my mortification, all of a sudden I couldn’t control myself. “God help me, I don’t know who or what to believe anymore.”

  She was silent. Then she said, “Trust Her Grace. That is why you are here, is it not? She told me you had offered to help her and she refused. Do you know why?”

  I nodded. “Yes. She would not see me harmed for her sake.” I hesitated another moment before I handed her the missive. She tucked it into her bodice.

  Footsteps came toward us. She went still. There was no time, or place, to hide. Without warning, she flung herself at me, taking my astonished face in her hands to press her lips to mine. As she did, I managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of the figure who stalked past us, followed by the three men, none of whom paused to make comment at what we were doing.

  For a paralyzing moment I thought I must have imagined it.

  Kate Stafford melded her body to me; she breathed into my mouth, “Don’t move.”

  I didn’t. Only after the echoes of booted feet faded away did she draw back. “He’s left her. I must go.” She paused. Her expression was somber. “You mustn’t say a word to anyone. Not even Cecil. If you do, you could place her in more danger than she already is.”

  I hadn’t imagined it. “That was the duke. He was with her. Why? What does he want?”

  “I don’t know. He arrived before you did, demanding admittance. She was abed, resting. She let him into her audience room and sent us all away.”

  I didn’t like the sound of this. “Then I must speak with her.”

  “No. It’s not safe. He could return; someone could see you. We can’t risk it. We cannot be exposed. If anyone should know—”

  “Know?” I exploded under my breath. “Know, what? What in hell is going on?”

  “You will discover all in time. Now I must go.”

  She turned away. I followed her to the gallery entranceway. As she made to enter, I touched her shoulder. “Tell her this, from me. Tell her there’s a plot afoot to arrest her sister. She must not meet my master. She must leave now, before it is too late.”

  From the gallery came a ringing: “Kate? Kate, are you there?”

  The voice immobilized us. Kate pushed me from the entrance, but not before I saw Elizabeth silhouetted against those magnificent far doors, her hand clasping the collar of her crimson robe, her hair unbound. “Kate!” she called out again, and I heard the fear in her voice.

  “I’m here, Your Grace! I’m coming,” Kate cried back. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Hurry up,” said the princess tremulously. “I’ve need of you.”

  She moved forward. Though I had the perfect opportunity at that moment to go to Elizabeth, something held me back. I said, “You will tell her?”

  “She won’t listen.” Kate met my stare. “She loves him, you see. She has always loved him. Nothing we say or do will stop her.” She smiled. “Gallant squire, if you truly wish to help her, be at the pavilion tonight with your master.”

  She left me standing there, incredulous.

  I didn’t want to believe it, though it made perfect sense. This was why she had stayed at court despite every apparent threat to her safety.

  She loved him. Elizabeth loved Robert Dudley.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I needed time to sort out my turmoil before I could return to Lord Robert. The palace was eerily still. I saw only menials going about their business, none returning my wan greeting as I wandered Greenwich’s unfamiliar labyrinth of corridors. All the courtiers had retired to their respective quarters or gone to stroll in the formal gardens, it seemed.

  I was adrift in a shadowy world.

  Brooding engulfed me. I tried to tell myself that despite being the daughter of a king, Elizabeth was still flesh and blood. She was fallible. She did not know him as I did; she did not see the depths of avarice and shallow ambition that ruled his heart. But then, she herself had admitted as much to me. She said only last night in Whitehall that she’d never had cause to mistrust him.

  Yet anything less than the truth would bring about her doom.

  I reached a grand hall, where servants were laying out carpets, setting up tables, hanging silk garlands over a dais in preparation for the festivities. Those few that paid notice looked at me once and turned away. I stopped, suddenly knowing what I must do.

  Shortly thereafter I emerged onto a tree-lined promenade leading into the formal gardens that stretched to a loamy hill. Daylight faded from the sky, scalloping the clouds in scarlet. It looked as if rain were on the way. I took Cecil’s miniature map from my pocket, ascertaining my location. To my disappointment, the map didn’t detail the gardens, and I didn’t have much time before I had to make my way back.

  Like most palace gardens, however, these must follow an established pattern. Spacious yet laid out for the court to amble and enjoy without getting lost, wide avenues bordered with topiaries wound past herb patches and flowerbeds before threading off in various directions.

  I took one of these narrower paths.

  Thunder rumbled overhead. Drizzle began to fall. I stashed the map in my pocket, pulling my cap low on my brow as I looked about. In the distance, I glimpsed what looked like an artificial lake girdling a stone structure.

  My heart leapt. That must be the pavilion.

  It was farther than it appeared. I found myself traversing the length of a forested mall into a wild, strangely haunting parkland. Glancing over my shoulder, I spied fresh-lit candles in the palace windows. I wondered if Elizabeth herself gazed out from one of them at this moment, deliberating on her encounter with the duke. Or was she thinking only of tonight, of what her rendezvous with Robert would bring? I’d never been in love myself, but from what I knew, lovers pined for each other when apart. Did Elizabeth? Did she long for Robert Dudley?

  I regretted I’d not taken the opportunity to tell her what I knew. I might not have relished the deliberate destruction of her romantic notions, but at least she’d arrive at her rendezvous tonight forewarned as to just how high my master aspired.

  The rain grew stronger. Turning away from the palace, I quickened my pace.

  The lake surrounded the pavilion on three sides. A set of crumbling steps led up to it from the unkempt pathway where I stood. It must have been a lovely spot once, idyllic for dalliances, before years of neglect had rendered it lichen stained and near-forgotten.

  Exploring the area nearby, I located, as Walsingham had said, an old postern gate in an ivy-covered wall, leading to a dirt road and the sloping hills of Kent. This gave me pause. Horses could be tethered here out of sight and hearing, if properly muzzled and their hooves bound up in cloth. Had the princess selected this place less out of a sense of irony and more because of its value as an escape route? The possibility lightened my spirits, until a less-appealing prospect occurred to me.
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  What if this was Cecil’s plan? He may have decided to take advantage of her intention to lure Robert here, a place from which she could quickly, by force, be spirited away. No matter what else the secretary might be doing, it couldn’t serve him to let Elizabeth fall prey to the Dudleys. She was, as he had said, the kingdom’s last hope.

  I paused, considering. Now that I was alone, out of the palace and with enough space around me to feel as though I could actually breathe, I realized I had been led about like the proverbial blind man, by my nose. I had accepted Cecil’s proposition, delivered my master’s reply, reported to Walsingham. But I did not know any of these men, not really. Had I become another pawn to be discarded? What if there was more to this elaborate subterfuge than met the eye, more lies twisted within lies? I felt compelled to recall every word that had passed between Cecil and me, to search our verbiage for clues. Somewhere in our conversation lay the answer to this riddle. And I’d best find it.

  I froze.

  The tip of a dagger pressed into my back, just below my ribs.

  A nasal voice intoned, “I wouldn’t resist if I were you. Take off your jerkin.”

  I slowly removed my outer garment, thinking of the map folded in my pocket as I let it drop at my feet. My assailant’s blade felt very sharp against my thin chemise.

  “Now, the dagger in your boot. Carefully.”

  I reached to the hilt and pulled my knife from its sheath. A gauntleted hand reached around to take it from me. Then the voice, which I now recognized, said, “Turn around.”

  He wore a hooded cape, his features were concealed.

  “You have me at a disadvantage,” I said. “I hardly call that fair play.”

  With an effete laugh, he cast aside his cowl. He had a face too sly to be deemed handsome, with prominent cheekbones and in one earlobe, a ruby. His sloe-eyed look pierced me where I stood. How had I not recognized him as the man Peregrine had described?