She set down the spoon, dabbed my mouth and chin clean with the napkin. When she finally spoke, her voice was composed.
“I apologize that I didn’t tell you the entire truth. I never meant to put you in danger. My loyalty has always been to Her Grace, though she can be too headstrong and often needs protection from herself, whether or not she cares to admit it. When Walsingham told me that Master Cecil felt it best if we got her away from Greenwich, I agreed to help. I didn’t tell you because he said you had your own orders. He said you had been hired and paid.”
She paused. “I didn’t expect you. But I am glad of it. I … I am glad you are here.”
I observed her face as she talked. I saw what she meant. But as the events of the past days began to seep in, pain and anger arose in me. I didn’t want complications; I didn’t want vulnerabilities or heartache. Feeling something for her would bring me all those things.
“Walsingham gave me instructions, yes,” I replied. “And I was paid. But I also knew that allowing Her Grace to go ahead with her plan to meet with Lord Robert would put her in more danger than she’d incurred already. I’m surprised no one else shared my concern.”
“What would you have had us do?” If she’d detected the deliberate harshness in my manner, she didn’t let it show. “She insisted on questioning Robert about her brother and wouldn’t hear anything to the contrary. None of us could have known that the duke intended to woo her himself or put Jane Grey on the throne if she refused him.”
That made sense. I should rest my suspicions, at least as far as Kate was concerned. She’d not been involved in any plot against Elizabeth.
As if she had read my thoughts, she smiled gently. She knew how to pluck a chord in me, much as a hand knows a lute. In my inept attempt to hide my discomfort, I said the first thing that came into my head: “It’s not fair to test a man who doesn’t have his clothes on.”
She laughed. “You’ve managed well enough thus far.”
I wanted to weep. In some indefinable way, she reminded me of Mistress Alice, of the garnet-cheeked honest girl that Alice must have been in her youth. And as I thought of this, I saw again the triumphant look in Alice’s eyes when she turned to me by the king’s bed. She had been trying to tell me something, but I would never know now.
I met Kate’s gaze. “I thought I was going to die.…” I faltered. Conflict surged again in me, without warning, inundating me in darkness. “Where are we?” I asked in a taut whisper.
“In a manor not far from Greenwich town. Why?”
“Whose manor? Who is here with us?”
She frowned. “Her Grace owns the deed, privately; the house is leased to a friend. Besides Peregrine, you, and me, Walsingham comes and goes. He was here earlier in fact, wanting to know how you— Brendan, what is it? What is wrong?”
I hadn’t realized I had recoiled until I saw the alarm on her face. “That’s who I saw on the leads. Walsingham. He had a dagger. It’s why I jumped. I remember now. Cecil arranged Her Grace’s escape, but he wanted me dead. He sent Walsingham to kill me.”
“No,” she said quietly. “You have it wrong. Walsingham was there to help you. We would never have known where to look had he not told us he’d seen you leap into the river. He even fetched your sword from where it had fallen into the courtyard.”
“Maybe he had no other choice! The sword was evidence I’d been in Edward’s presence. I might survive the fall, as I did.”
“But you still wouldn’t have been found, not in that current. You had a wounded shoulder. There were rope and riverweeds wrapped about your legs. By all rights, you should have drowned.” She paused. “Cecil entrusted Walsingham with your welfare. He’s been watching over you the entire time. That’s why he was on those leads. When we failed to show up at the postern gate, he followed our trail.”
I let out a harsh chuckle. “I wonder where he was when the duchess of Suffolk and her henchman locked me in an underground cell and left me to drown.” Yet even as I spoke I thought of my jerkin, which I’d left by the pavilion and which had inexplicably materialized near the ruined cloister entrance, where Peregrine found it. What had the boy said?
If we hadn’t happened to find your jerkin, we’d never have thought to look …
“Peregrine told us about that,” said Kate. “At the time you were taken, Walsingham was readying the horses we never took. Surely, you can’t fault him?”
“Not unless you take into account that everyone I’ve met at court, not to mention everyone I’ve known since childhood, has proven false,” I retorted. The instant the words were out, I regretted it. Kate bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. She stood.
I caught hold of her hand. “No. I’m the one who must apologize. I … I didn’t mean it.”
She looked down at our twined hands, lifted her gaze to me. “Yes, you did.” She unhooked her fingers. “I understand. That woman … Barnaby said she was an herbalist brought by the Dudleys to poison His Majesty. He said you knew her, that they lied to you about her death. How could you not be angry?”
My throat knotted. I looked away, tears burning in my eyes. I didn’t see Kate reach into her pocket, only felt her set something in my hand. When I saw what it was, I went still.
“I found this in your jerkin pocket. I took the liberty of polishing it. It’s a strange thing, but pretty.” She took up the tray, went to the door. “I’ll be back in a few hours with your supper. Try to get some rest.”
The door clicked shut.
I gazed at the gift that Alice had given me. It was a delicate gold petal, its jagged edge indicating it had once formed part of a larger jewel. On its tip, like a perfect dewdrop, was a ruby. I had never seen anything like it. It was the last thing I’d have expected her to possess.
I enclosed it in my hand as dusk faded into night.
When grief finally came to claim me, I did not fight it.
Chapter Twenty-one
Kate returned with a bundle of clothes and her tray heaped with meat on trenchers and sauced vegetables. Peregrine was with her, grinning. He carried a folded table. After he set it up, he returned with my saddlebag, and, to my surprise, the king’s sheathed sword, which I’d last seen clattering off the leads at Greenwich. I opened the bag to examine its jumbled contents. I sighed in relief when I found the stolen psalm book, still wrapped in its protective cloth.
I turned to Kate. She’d changed into a rose velvet gown that enhanced the muted gold in her hair. As she busied herself lighting candles about the room, I acknowledged my desire to draw her into my arms and caress away the last of my mistrust. But Peregrine demanded my attention, dancing about like a precocious imp, Elizabeth’s silver hound at his heels.
“You look rather pleased with yourself,” I said as he helped me to my feet and into a robe. “And isn’t that Her Grace’s hound? Have you been thieving again?”
“I have not,” he replied. “Her Grace left Urian here with us, so we could track you. He’s the best tracker in her kennels, she said. She knows her beasts. He was the first to smell you on the riverbank.” He paused, his nose crimping. “What is it with you and water? You’ve done nothing but get wet since we met.”
I burst out laughing. It felt wonderful. I took Peregrine’s hand, made my slow but steady way to the dinner table. “Unrepentant as always,” I said, easing onto a stool. “I’m glad of you, my friend.” I looked at Kate. “And you. I thank God for both of you. You saved my life. It’s a debt I can never repay.”
The sheen in Kate’s eyes might have been tears. She brushed them aside with her sleeve, and Peregrine perched next to me as she started to serve.
“I’m not helpless,” I said, as Peregrine handed me my plate. “I can feed myself.”
Kate wagged her finger. “He’s not here to feed you. You’ve had quite enough pampering. Peregrine, either you tell that dog to get its paws off the table or you can both go eat in the kitchen.”
Amid laughter and candlelight, we dined and spoke o
f innocuous matters. Only after we’d wiped up the last of the sauce with our bread and Peregrine had recounted for the hundredth time how he and Barnaby employed Urian’s olfactory skills to track me did I breach our camaraderie. Leaning back in my chair, I said as casually as I could, “And where is Fitzpatrick?”
The rustle of Kate’s skirts as she stood broke the sudden silence. She began stacking the empty platters. Peregrine reached down to caress Urian.
“The king is dead, isn’t he?” I said.
Kate paused. Peregrine nodded sadly. “It’s not been officially announced, but Master Walsingham told us he died yesterday. Barnaby returned to court as soon as we found you, to be at his side. It’s said that at the hour of Edward’s death, heaven wept.”
The rain. I had heard it.
As the memory of that youth rotting away in a fetid room surfaced in me, my gaze went to the sword on the bed. My voice tightened. “And the herbalist? Did Walsingham say anything about her?”
Kate said quickly, “Brendan, please, let it be. It’s too soon. You’re still weak.”
“No. I want to know. I … I need to know.”
“Then I will tell you.” She sat at my side. “She is dead. Sidney told Walsingham. Someone took her body away. No one knows where. The Dudleys threatened to kill Sidney for helping you, but by then word had gotten out that Elizabeth had escaped and the palace was in an uproar. Brendan, no. Sit down. You cannot—”
I came to my feet. Resisting the dizziness that came over me, I paced to the window to stare into the night. My stalwart Alice was dead. She was gone forever this time. Lady Dudley had slashed her throat as if she’d been some barnyard beast, and left her to bleed to death.
I couldn’t think of it. I couldn’t. It would drive me insane.
“What about Jane Grey?” I said quietly. “Has she been declared queen?”
“Not yet. But the duke removed her and Guilford to London. And there are rumors he will send men after the Lady Mary.”
“I thought he already had. I thought he sent Lord Robert after her.”
“It seems he had to delay. We think that after he discovered Elizabeth had fled Greenwich, he wanted to first get Lady Jane somewhere safe. She is all he has now.”
I nodded. “Peregrine,” I said. “Can you leave us, please?”
The boy rose and left, Urian padding behind. Kate and I faced each other from across the room. Then she stood and turned to pick up the tray. “We can talk tomorrow.”
I stepped to her. “I agree. Only … don’t leave.” My voice broke. “Please.”
She came to where I stood helpless and put her hand on my bearded cheek. “It’s so red,” she said. “And thick. I wouldn’t have thought you’d have such a thick beard.”
“And I,” I whispered, “never thought you’d care.”
She regarded me steadily. “Neither did I. But there you have it.”
I brought her to me, held her close, as though I might meld her to me forever.
“I’ve never done this before,” I said.
“Never?” She raised her eyes to me in genuine surprise.
“No,” I said. “I only ever loved one woman.…” I stroked her cheek. “And you?”
She smiled. “Suitors have been begging for my hand since I was a babe, of course.”
“Then add my name to the list.” The words did not disconcert me as much as I had supposed. I had never fallen in love before; now it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
She looked into my eyes. “Must we wait that long?” She took my hands, guided them to her bodice. I undid the laces. The bodice slipped from her shoulders. Moments later, she was stepping out of her skirts, shrugging off her chemise until she stood naked, patterned in candlelight and slivers of moon, desirable as no woman I’d ever seen.
I gathered her up, burying my face in her breasts. She gasped involuntarily as I carried her to the bed, where she reclined and watched me cast off my robe before she sat up on her knees to help me pull my shift over my head. My shoulder ached. She frowned at the fresh spotting of blood on the bandage. “I should change that,” she said.
“It can wait,” I replied against her lips. As I drew back, her gaze traveled down my torso, resting for a moment on the blemish on my hip. Then she brought her gaze lower.
I lay down beside her. Her experienced air did not deceive me. Under my hand I could feel her pulse racing, and I knew that if she had explored the ways of the flesh to a certain extent, in the end, like so many girls of breeding, she’d remained shy of the consummation.
But I soon discovered that I too was innocent, in every way a man can be. As I pressed her length against me and we tasted each other with fervor, I realized I could not hope to compare this luxury to my rambunctious couplings with the castle maids and damsels at the fairs. I worshipped as I might at a temple, until the desire in Kate’s eyes turned to flame and she was shuddering beneath me, rising to meet my ardor. Only once did she cry out, but softly.
After we were spent and she cradled in my arms, I whispered, “Did I hurt you?”
She laughed shakily. “If that was pain, I never want to know anything else.” She spread her hands over my chest, resting her fingers on my heart. “All I want is here.”
I smiled. “Be that as it may, I would still make an honest woman of you.”
“For your information,” she said, “I am eighteen. I can make my own decisions. And I’m not sure I want to be an honest woman quite yet.”
I chuckled. “Well, when you do decide, let me know. I should at least request Her Grace’s blessing; you are her lady. And your mother, I’m sure she too will want to be asked.”
She sighed. “My mother is dead. But I think she would have liked you.”
I detected an old pain in her voice. “I’m sorry. When did she pass away?”
“When I was five.” She smiled. “She was so young when she bore me: just fourteen.”
“And your father … was he also young?”
She gave me a curious look. “I’m a bastard. And no, he wasn’t. Not as young as her.”
“I see.” I did not look away. “Do you want to tell me?”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “It wasn’t a love affair. My mother was born of servants who served the Carey household; they died in the sweating sickness outbreak that killed Mary Boleyn’s first husband. When she remarried and became Mistress Stafford, my mother served her. Mistress Stafford wasn’t rich; her new husband Will Stafford was a common soldier but she had two children by her first marriage, a stipend, and her late husband had left her a house. She also liked my mother, so she offered her a post as her maid.”
“This Mary Stafford,” I said, “is she the same who was sister to Anne Boleyn?”
“Yes, but she had none of her sister’s pride, God rest her soul. When my mother became pregnant, the morning sickness gave her away. She was terrified; but Mistress Stafford did not utter a word of reproach. She knew the hardship women can suffer, so she bundled my mother up and sent her to live under Lady Mildred Cecil’s care. I was born in the Cecil household.”
So, this explained Kate’s connection to Cecil. She had lived under his roof.
“Did Mistress Stafford know who your father was?” I asked.
“She must have suspected. My mother never said his name aloud, but there weren’t that many men of age in her household who would have taken the liberty. It must have hurt her deeply. Mary had been married to him less than a year, risked her family’s displeasure and exile from court to be with him.” Kate sat up, pushing her hair aside. “He’s still alive. I saw him at Mistress Stafford’s funeral. We have the same eyes.”
I was quiet, struck by the similarities—and crucial differences—between us.
“Of course, Mistress Stafford would have understood,” she added. “After all, she’d been Henry the Eighth’s mistress before her sister Anne caught his eye; she knew fidelity is not a man’s best asset, and no woman invites misfortune wi
llingly. But she let my mother keep her secret and raise me herself, without interference. She also left us with the Cecils. I think she wanted to keep my mother safe and away from her husband.”
She paused. “I owe her everything. Because of her kindness, my mother wasn’t turned out to beg. We lived well; I had a good childhood. I received an education. Lady Mildred saw to it, being an educated woman herself. I’m one of the few ladies in Her Grace’s service who is literate. That’s why she trusts me. If a message needs to be destroyed, I can memorize it.”
“I can see why she would trust you,” I said. “How did your mother die?”
“She caught a fever. It was quick, painless. I saw Mistress Stafford a few times after my mother passed; she was always gracious. She died three years later.”
“And the man you believe is your father…?” I ventured.
“He has remarried. He has children. I don’t fault him. I think he took my mother as men do, in a moment of lust, without thought for the consequences. If he knows about me, he’s never shown it. I’ve lived all of my life without him. But I use his surname. It’s the least he can do,” she said, with a mischievous smile. “It’s not as if there aren’t hundreds of Staffords in England.”
She poked my chest with her finger. “Your turn. I want to make an honest man out of you.” It was out before she even realized what she’d said. She took one look at my face and flinched. “Forgive me. I sometimes speak before I think. If you don’t want to talk, I understand.”
I cupped her chin. “No, I don’t want secrets between us.” I paused. “The truth is I don’t know who my mother is. I was abandoned as a babe. Mistress Alice raised me.”
“You were abandoned?” she echoed. I nodded, waiting for her to collect her thoughts. “Then Mistress Alice … she was the woman in the king’s room?”
“Yes. She saved me.” As I uttered these words, I felt an overpowering need to tell someone, to leave the memory in someone other than myself, so she’d never be forgotten. “I was left in the priest’s cottage near Dudley Castle, presumably to die. I was later told it happens more than we think—unwanted babies dropped off on noble thresholds—in the hope the rich will take pity on what the poor can’t afford. I would have none of it; according to Mistress Alice, I made enough fuss to wake the dead. She heard me wailing all the way from the slop pit, where she was dumping leavings, so she went to investigate.”
The Tudor Secret Page 18
