The Queen's Secret

by Victoria Lamb

  ‘You sang alone at Easter.’

  ‘Yes, my lord. But I took Peggy’s part that day.’ She hoped she would not be forced to explain why she was never allowed to sing at the front of the troupe. ‘She was sick of a fever and could not come to court.’

  ‘And how is Peggy now?’

  Her cheeks grew hot. ‘She had to leave court, my lord.’

  His smile was wry, understanding. ‘I see. Yet you are still at the back. Such a pretty voice too. You should be heard by the whole court, not buried in the chorus.’

  ‘But truly, my lord, I am not permitted to sing alone, only with the others. Mistress Hibbert says—’

  ‘Ah, stiff-necked Mistress Hibbert. Well, that sharp-tongued old crow is not here to spoil our sport. This is my castle and I say you shall sing for Her Majesty. The Queen is forever collecting curiosities. And you are a perfect curiosity. You may be just the thing I need.’

  Leicester looked her up and down with a shrewd smile. ‘Yes, you must walk to church behind the Queen’s horse this morning. Mass for the Queen begins in an hour, and I want you among her ladies. Here.’ He removed a gold chain from his neck and stepped forward to place it about her own. Lucy bowed her head, feeling the chain weigh heavily about her throat, finer than anything she had ever worn before. ‘Now you look more the part. Be especially attentive to the Queen. Smile when she laughs, stay mum when she frowns, follow her every mood like a mirror. And be sure to sing for her on the way back to the castle. She loves a pretty song thrush.’

  Lucy curtseyed, but awkwardly, dazzled by the sun, his splendour and the costly gold chain about her neck.

  Leicester came closer, his arm on her elbow, his low voice in her ear. ‘You were very brave, you know, facing down that bear. Brave or foolish. Most girls at court would have screamed and fainted, or run away. You did none of those things. How much of that was stupidity and how much courage?’ He paused, searching her face, his close scrutiny unnerving. ‘Courage is a rare quality in a woman, Lucy Morgan. Can you be that brave at the Queen’s side?’

  ‘I will try to be, my lord.’

  ‘Do not be afraid to accept what I am offering you. The Queen rewards talent in those close to her, whatever the circumstances of their birth. I am giving you an opportunity here to rise at court, my sweet-throated songbird.’

  Lucy stared at him, unsure how to reply, then became aware of Tom standing behind his master as though awaiting further instructions. It hadn’t been her intention to look at Tom again, and she hurriedly lowered her gaze to the dusty ground.

  But Leicester must have seen the quick flicker of her eyelids or some tell-tale sign in her face, for he smiled, glancing over his shoulder at Tom and then back at her.

  ‘Do you ride, Lucy Morgan?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Then you must learn. And swiftly too. Young Tom here will teach you. The Queen rides everywhere and you shall accompany her, even if it must be on foot for now.’ Leicester released her arm with a little shake, his final words meant only for her ears. ‘And tell me everything that passes between you.’

  Eleven

  GOODLUCK BENT HIS head on entering the tent, and caught a distinct whiff of urine mingled with the woodsmoke from outside. Dropping the flap over the entrance, he threw down his cap and kicked a lump sleeping under a cloak. The lump groaned and turned over. ‘What?’

  ‘Wake up, Twist!’ Goodluck sat down on one of the lidded baskets containing all their props, costumes and play scripts. Not that all of these men could read. In their game, a good memory was more important than being able to read and write. ‘Council of war.’

  Sos emerged from a damp corner, his hood askew. ‘War?’ His clever Greek face twitched at the thought. ‘We’ve only just arrived.’

  ‘No time like the present,’ Goodluck replied as he bent to remove his boots, tossing each one on to his bed.

  ‘Is that your hose?’

  Sos was holding his nose. Goodluck laughed, stretching his cramped toes. ‘Talking of smells, we appear to have inherited one of the most scrofulous tents known to man. What happened to the last one?’

  ‘Ned was meant to bring it back with him after patching those holes. Remember the night the cows came through?’ Sos shrugged. ‘He forgot.’

  ‘This was the best you could do instead?’

  Finally abandoning the idea of sleep, the lump that was John Twist threw back his cloak and rolled up into a sitting position. ‘My fault,’ he admitted, yawning. ‘I left it too late to find a replacement. But I don’t see what’s wrong with this one. Just a few odd smells, and aren’t we all used to that? No holes, and it’s big enough for all of us too, not like the last one. Better than lying out in the rain.’

  ‘Where is Ned?’

  ‘Went out early this morning. Think he might even have combed his beard.’ Twist unwrapped a stale-looking piece of bread and began to gnaw on it. ‘Church?’

  ‘Or a woman.’

  Twist looked at Sos with a sceptical expression. ‘Highly unlikely, my friend. Big Ned hasn’t had his end away since good Queen Mary was on the throne.’

  ‘Good Queen Mary? What was so good about that murdering bitch?’

  ‘She died.’

  Sos laughed, and settled himself on a rough stool opposite Goodluck and hooked his feet round the legs. ‘So he went to hear Mass. Which must have finished two hours since, unless he went to worship with the court.’

  ‘I don’t think he keeps such high company.’ Twist spat a piece of bread into his hand, staring down at it in disgust. ‘Jesus. Is that grit or dried shit?’

  ‘You’d better hope for the latter,’ Goodluck replied. He looked up as Ned came stooping through the entrance flap. ‘Shit’s less likely to break your teeth. Hey, Ned. We were just debating where you’d vanished to.’

  ‘I was at church.’

  ‘Which finished several hours ago,’ Goodluck pointed out.

  Ned stopped and looked at their faces, one by one. His frown darkened. ‘Aye, and then I dropped into the Castle Arms for a quick stoup of ale. It’s a long hot walk up the hill from that church. Why, what’s the problem?’

  ‘We thought you were seeing a woman.’

  ‘Yes,’ Twist added, his smile unpleasant. ‘Name of Mary.’

  ‘Will you stop before you get me strung up? I am not a Catholic!’ Ned swore under his breath, and threw a cloth-wrapped parcel down on the basket beside Goodluck. ‘Just because I’m not a complete heathen like you three, that doesn’t make me a Papist. And I brought back meat and some greens, you ungrateful bastards. We’ve still half a bag of pulses here. I thought we could knock together a stew.’

  ‘Later,’ Goodluck agreed. He sniffed the parcel cautiously before tossing it on to his bed alongside his boots. ‘Sit down. We’re having a council of war.’

  Twist abandoned his bread, his blue eyes narrowed on Goodluck’s face. ‘Is this where we finally discover why we’re out here in the middle of nowhere?’

  ‘Don’t tell me you would have preferred to spend the summer in London?’ Sos asked, shuffling his stool along to accommodate Ned’s outstretched legs.

  They called him Big Ned because of his height – he stood about six foot three in stockinged feet, which often proved useful for seeing over hedges or peering in at bedroom windows. Beside him, Sos, who was short and slim, looked like a boy. Except for his beard, which was longer and bushier even than Goodluck’s.

  ‘The stench of that place in July,’ he continued, pinching his nose expressively. ‘Worse even than the fishing boats at Piraeus.’

  Goodluck stood and went to the tent flap. He listened a moment, then lifted one corner and peered cautiously around the outer court, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He dropped the flap and went back to his seat.

  ‘First, many thanks for agreeing to travel up from London,’ he said, keeping his voice low out of habit. ‘I know you had other plans this summer, Ned. I appreciate your help and will happily give Twist a kicking fo
r you if he can’t keep a civil tongue.’ He waited until their laughter had died away. ‘As for the rest, I don’t think it’s safe to discuss details here. Too many ears. But if I say we’re on the lookout for undesirables of the kind we just discussed, that should be enough for you to be getting along with.’

  ‘Very cryptic,’ Twist commented.

  ‘We’ll talk about it later. Outside, in the woods beyond the castle walls. Is that understood?’

  Sos nodded, his clever face serious. ‘And if people ask why we’re here?’

  ‘We are here to perform a play before the Queen.’

  Twist laughed. ‘You liar!’

  Goodluck crossed his heart. ‘It’s the truth. A short piece, to be played before the Queen some time next week, depending on the weather and Her Majesty’s mood on the day.’

  Ned looked amazed. ‘How did you arrange that?’

  ‘Do we get to practise first?’

  Goodluck grinned at Twist. ‘Every day, if necessary. And as openly as possible. I’ve chosen The History of Mad King Canute.’

  ‘The same piece we played in Banbury?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘So we are to perform for the Queen herself?’ Sos leapt up on to one of the lidded baskets and strutted along, thrusting an invisible sword back and forth. ‘With one eye in the back of our heads for Catholics?’

  ‘Hush, I’ve told you, it’s not safe here.’ Goodluck shook his head. ‘Twist, I want you on first watch. From dusk tonight until midnight.’

  ‘And what will I be watching?’

  ‘A tent.’

  ‘Our own?’ Twist looked surprised.

  ‘No, we’ll go out in a moment and I’ll show you where it is.’ Goodluck threw back the lid of one of the baskets and rummaged for a cloak. ‘You’ll need something dark to wear. Do you have a hat? Excellent. Keep it low over your face. No one’s to notice you watching, or it may be the last mistake you make. Just to be clear, I want to know who goes in and who comes out, and how long they stay.’

  ‘Should I get close enough to listen?’

  ‘No need.’ Kicking the lid shut, Goodluck threw him a stained black cloak, floor-length and excellent for disguise. He had used it himself to play a ghost in a tragedy two years before, and very successfully too. ‘Even if you could hear every word they said, it would make no difference.’

  Twist swung the black cloak about his shoulders and fumbled for the clip. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because, my friend, you don’t speak Italian.’

  Twelve

  ‘CAREFUL NOW, DON’T turn around and spoil it!’ a voice warm in her ear, hands clasped over her eyes. ‘Who am I?’

  Lettice stumbled and came to a halt on the uneven grass track that led away from the parish church.

  The other ladies moved past her, giggling, following the Queen on her white horse. Lettice knew it could not be Robert, who was pacing beside the Queen with a terrified-looking young Moorish girl a few steps behind him. Lettice stood perfectly still. She could see nothing but strips of light between the man’s fingers, as though she were blindfolded and about to be led out to the scaffold. She was reminded of a horrible game her husband liked to play with her in their bedchamber. She shivered, recalling the rough hood he used, the fear of a long drop.

  The two hands clasped over her eyes tightened, and the male voice asked again, more insistently, ‘Come, who am I?’

  With relief, she recognized the voice, but played along for a few minutes. Pip Sidney was such an amusing and promising young man, the son of Lady Mary. She had high hopes to see him married one day to her eldest daughter, Penny, whose velvety-dark eyes reminded her so strikingly of Robert.

  ‘Sir, it’s not very kind of you to tease me like this. I can’t see to walk, and will fall and hurt myself if you don’t release me. Do you always treat the Queen’s ladies so cruelly?’

  ‘If you fell, I’d catch you.’

  ‘Fine words,’ Lettice replied. ‘But how can I be expected to trust them, when I don’t even know who you are?’

  ‘You can trust me, madam. I am the Queen’s servant and a gentleman.’

  ‘Your name?’

  ‘You cannot guess it?’

  She heard the hurt and disappointment in the young man’s voice, and reluctantly capitulated. ‘Well, your voice does remind me of a gentleman of my acquaintance. A fine young man, handsome and a true soldier.’

  ‘Who? Tell me his name.’

  His hands dropped away as Lettice turned, smiling up into his eager, high-browed face. ‘Why, young Philip Sidney, of course.’

  ‘My lady Essex,’ he replied with a grin as he removed his jewelled velvet cap, hair flopping forward over his forehead.

  ‘Oh, Pip. You are such a menace. My heart nearly stopped when you grabbed me.’ Laughing, she curtseyed as he bowed with a flourish. Then she embraced him, her affection genuine. ‘I did not see you in church.’

  ‘I was late, and thought it best to wait outside.’

  ‘You were right to do so. The Queen is very strict about attending church. She wouldn’t have taken your late arrival kindly.’

  ‘Shall we walk on together? Her Majesty is almost out of sight.’ He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I can’t get enough of this clean country air. Do you feel the same? After the rich odours of London, all this greenery is like Eden on earth. Though can you imagine what might happen if we were to fall behind and become lost together, my lady? I’ve heard that these Warwickshire woods are dangerous. I might have to save you from being gored by a wild boar and then carry you back to the castle in my arms, battling savage beasts all the way.’

  She patted his cheek. ‘Let us catch up with the others. Enchanting though you make that adventure sound, Pip, I have little desire to soil my gown in the woods and none at all to be hoist about by one of my daughter’s suitors.’

  ‘One of …?’ He seemed embarrassed. ‘Penelope is a lovely girl. But I’m nowhere near ready for marriage, my lady, so both you and she are safe from my attentions.’

  ‘Me?’ Lettice laughed, pretending to look ahead for Elizabeth but in truth watching the tall young man out of the corner of her eye. For the first time, the idea of taking a younger lover struck her, and her cheeks grew warm at the thought. ‘You naughty boy. I’m already married, or had you forgotten?’

  ‘True enough, but your husband is safely across the sea in Ireland. And as they say, while the cat’s away …’

  ‘Pip!’

  With a nervous laugh, he bowed again, kissing her hand in apology. ‘Please forgive me. As you must know, I’m not one for these games of bedposts and secret kisses. My lord Leicester, though …’ Philip Sidney’s clever glance met hers, then slipped away as though confronted by an uncomfortable truth. ‘But my uncle is kept busy with the Queen these days, is he not?’

  They fell into step together, fitting discreetly back into the throng of lesser courtiers leaving the church. The sun was still hot, the grass dusty, and Lettice was thirsty and tired after the long service.

  Several gentlemen tried to catch her eye as they walked, but Lettice kept her head lowered, hands clasped demurely below her chest, employing the stiff white folds of her French hood to conceal her face. She could not grant all the favours she had promised them, least of all an audience with the Queen. But that was not something easily understood by the outer circle of the court, she had found. They seemed to expect a promised audience to mean ‘today’, rather than ‘if I can’. At least she had nothing to fear from Pip, a charming young man and a scholar too, already one of Elizabeth’s favourites among the younger generation at court. His boyish good looks had endeared him to many girls his own age too, of course, but at least he had wit enough to keep his flirtations hidden from the Queen.

  ‘You said before, they say … Are people discussing me and Leicester in the same breath these days?’ she asked quietly, careful not to engage his gaze. ‘Do they gossip about us in the court?’

  ‘I’m
afraid some do, yes,’ he agreed, his voice equally low.

  ‘And the Queen?’

  ‘The Queen?’

  Raising his eyebrows, Philip glanced at her sideways. At times, she found it hard to remember he was no longer that merry little boy fighting her husband with a wooden sword on the lawns at Chartley, but a grown man of twenty who had served his queen abroad and understood the politics of court life as well as she did.

  He fingered his slight beard before answering, as though teasing out the meaning behind her question. ‘I would have thought you were better placed to know such a thing, my lady Essex.’

  ‘There are circles within circles at court. Not all overlap with those I frequent. But if you were to hear aught—’

  ‘You would have it straight.’

  ‘I thank you, Pip.’

  He smiled, taking her arm in support as the grassy track began to wind back towards the castle, the climb suddenly very steep. Nearer the walls, they passed a row of low cottages. Dirty-faced children came tumbling noisily over the walls to watch the courtiers pass, peasant labourers kneeling in the doorways to their homes with heads bowed and uncovered for their queen, their silence respectful.

  ‘You have always been kind to me, my lady,’ Philip pointed out mildly. ‘I may be a young man and far beneath your star, but the least I can do is repay your kindness with a little of my own.’

  Gently, she pinched his hand. ‘Beneath my star? What nonsense!’

  ‘It’s the courtly style. You don’t like it?’

  Smiling up at Philip indulgently, she tried to imagine him married to her Penelope. He would make an excellent son-in-law, that was for certain, if a rather tempting one. How fine their children would look, all bright-eyed and dark-haired, dashing about her house. Though she was not quite ready to be a grandmother, she told herself ruefully. There was still plenty of life left in her. Time enough for her to grow staid and placid as a cow in a few more years, perhaps, when Penelope was no longer in the care of her tutor. Then there would be nothing better to do than rock a cradle at home while her daughter danced at court and turned men’s heads as she had done at that age.