‘I dance and sing for the Queen, little brother.’ She smiled as Will’s dark gaze lifted to her face again, a certain resentment in his eyes. ‘Sorry, I forgot. We are not brother and sister. But you said you came here today with your father? Have you lost him?’
His head jerked in a nod. ‘There were so many people …’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you find him. What does he look like?’ She smiled down at him, holding out her hand. ‘Like you, only taller?’ Will slipped his hand into hers and she shivered, feeling the cool skin of his palm against hers. ‘How can you be cold in this heat? Come on, let’s try down towards the Brays. Where did you last see him?’
They found Will’s father searching for his son through the narrow, smoky alleys, stooping to question an old woman sitting at the entrance to a makeshift dwelling. Master Shakespeare was a broad-shouldered man, muscular where his son was still thin as a birch twig. His clothes spoke of some prominence in society, though they were too plain for him to be gentry. Lucy caught the same restlessness on his face as on his son’s and a sharp intelligence about his eyes and mouth.
‘Father!’
The man straightened as they rounded the corner, and Lucy saw relief flash across his face at the sight of his son, and a touch of anger too. He held out his arms and Will ran into them.
‘Where have you been the past two hours?’ his father demanded, and held him out at arm’s length. He looked over the boy’s head at Lucy, taking in her appearance with one swift assessing stare. ‘I’ve been half mad with worry, boy. I ought to take a rod to you for this new piece of idiocy. Master Lunt took the cart down the road to see if you’d started for home without us. He’s been gone a while too. We’ll have to hope he comes back, or we’ll be walking home to Stratford. And who’s this with you?’
‘This is Lucy Morgan,’ Will stammered. ‘One of the Queen’s own ladies. She’s from London and lives at the court. She found me in the tiltyard and helped me look for you. I … I was lost.’
‘One of the Queen’s ladies, eh? It seems I owe you my thanks, Mistress Morgan.’
Master Shakespeare seemed a polite and well-spoken citizen. She was glad for Will’s sake that his father’s anger appeared more bluff than anything else, as she did not like the idea that the boy might be beaten.
‘Lucy, please,’ she corrected him, smiling. ‘And your son has given me honour I don’t deserve. I’m only a court entertainer, not a lady.’
‘Well, whatever you are,’ he said, and she saw his eyes move cautiously over her face again, ‘I thank you for finding my errant son and bringing him back to me. Be a shame to lose the boy now, after the cost of feeding and clothing him for eleven summers.’
Will blushed and protested under his breath, as though embarrassed to have his age mentioned.
Master Shakespeare ruffled his son’s hair. ‘But all’s well that ends well, as they say. We’d best head on back towards the Stratford road, see if our neighbour has waited for us.’ He hesitated. ‘Did you get to see the Queen in the end, boy?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘That’s one thing, at any rate. Now we must get on home. And on a Sunday, when we should be at rest.’ Master Shakespeare shook his head, looking at her. ‘I’m sorry if he chattered on to you. The boy’s got nothing in his head but London these days.’ He flicked Will’s ear, but his son did not protest this time, staring back at Lucy with a sudden intensity, as though imprinting her face on his memory. ‘See? We’re too dull and slow in Warwickshire for the likes of my Will. Give you good day, mistress.’
He bowed, and she curtseyed in return. Then they were gone, the man leading his son away through the smoky alley. Lucy stood and watched them go, aware of a few curious stares from the poorer people here. When she had last walked through the Brays, her gown had not been so rich. But she would not show them any fear. Goodluck had taught her that. To show fear was to invite violence, or so he believed. So she stood straight-backed, with her head held high, and ignored the nervous hammering of her heart.
At the end of the meandering alley through the Brays, just before it curved out of sight, she saw Will look back and lift a hand in salute. She waved merrily, and then they were gone, two shadowy figures lost in the drifting smoke.
She stood another minute in the rutted dust of the Brays, then turned and made her way back into the castle, wishing she had not weakened and agreed to help Lady Essex sneak out of the women’s quarters and meet Lord Leicester tonight.
There was only one way such a dangerous adventure could end, and that was in disgrace for all of them.
Thirty
SLOWLY, NOT WISHING to ruin her luck by supposing them safe too soon, Lettice let out her breath. Lucy Morgan, with an air of surprising confidence, had demanded passage into the outer court and the young guard, hardly old enough to hold his pike steady, had waved them through the gate without a second glance.
Nevertheless, Lettice remained silent until they had reached the far side of the wooden bridge that separated the outer and inner courts, and were safely out of earshot. For a moment there, as she was approaching the guard post in her disguise, the dangerous nature of her adventure suddenly dawned on her, and she shrank back into her hood, as far from the guard’s lantern as possible. But the four men on duty had seemed more interested in their dice game than in two serving women at the gate, barking at the youngest to ‘Let them through!’ without pausing to demand their names or their business in the castle at this late hour.
Perhaps the guards thought them whores, returning from an hour or two of paid pleasure with some dissolute courtier. Or perhaps they simply did not care who came and went within the castle’s stoutly defended walls.
‘He didn’t even look at us,’ she whispered to Lucy, unable to hide the exultation in her voice. ‘Did you see?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
Shoulder to shoulder, they crossed the outer court in silence with their skirts held up above the dew-damp grass, taking care not to draw attention to themselves.
The main stables lay in darkness, except for a lantern hanging mistily under a gable roof at the far end, where one of the tall double doors had been left open a crack. As they approached, hurrying now towards safety, the door creaked another few inches and Lettice could just make out a male figure in the shadows, waiting for them. It was the Moor who worked for Robert.
‘Tom!’ Lucy exclaimed, then thrust a hand over her mouth as though to snatch back the name.
Lettice stared at her. The foolish girl seemed to be trembling.
The young Moor ushered them through the entrance to the stables, taking an oil lantern from a high shelf and lighting Lettice’s way with it. The horses nearest to the doors moved restlessly in their stalls, one or two whinnying at their presence. Lettice shuddered at the smell of the stables, and lifted a fine linen handkerchief to her nose.
‘His lordship awaits you upstairs, my lady,’ the young man whispered, indicating a steep ladder. ‘Once at the top, keep to the left.’
She stared at the ladder in horror. ‘I am to climb that? In this gown?’
The young man hesitated, clearly surprised. ‘Well … yes, my lady. There’s no other way up.’
Lettice pursed her lips at the steepness of the ladder and gestured him to lift the lamp so she could see her way more clearly. ‘Lucy, you are to remain here until I return. Is that understood?’
Lucy nodded, though she looked wide-eyed and uncertain under her dark hood. Lettice only hoped the silly young thing would not take fright and disappear before she and Robert had finished their business. Then she remembered Lucy’s startled reaction at seeing the young Moor in the doorway. Looking from one to the other, she saw their faces properly by the light of the raised lantern. Well, well. The Queen’s shiny new favourite, already in love and looking fit to lose her precious virginity before the night was out.
‘Enjoy yourselves,’ she said more softly, then drew up her heavy skirts and set her slippered foot on the l
owest rung of the ladder. ‘Young man, avert your eyes!’
At the top of her precarious climb, Lettice stood a moment, adjusting to the dark, her heart thudding under the tight bodice of her gown. Then she heard Robert whisper her name. To her left, a door creaked slowly open and a light shone out of a room at the gable end. The fear came to her that it might be a trap, but then he appeared, blocking the light in the doorway, and her eyes devoured him hungrily.
‘Robert!’
Without a word, he drew her inside the room and shut the door. The place was dimly lit and low-roofed, a straw mattress to one side and a table with a lantern flickering dully. She took a few quick paces to the window, examining the room with the careful eyes of a conspirator. He had covered the narrow casement with an old horse blanket so they could not be seen from the courtyard below, and had spread his cloak over the straw mattress. So his sense of chivalry was not entirely dead, she noted with a surge of sudden, almost unwelcome desire.
‘I am glad you asked to see me,’ she began, turning to face him. She felt under her cloak for the letter. ‘This arrived today. Yes, you may well stare. It’s from my husband. A letter in which he all but accuses me of being your lover, and threatens to tell the Queen.’
Robert held out his hand for the letter, his face a mask. ‘I heard of the courier’s arrival, of course, and knew he brought letters from Ireland. But I hadn’t expected this. Has he told the Queen?’
‘I presume not, or we would have heard by now.’
‘Have been arrested, you mean,’ Robert corrected her drily, and unrolled the letter, reading down it swiftly. His eyebrows rose at several points, then he swore under his breath as he reached the end. ‘The bastard. After the sheriff’s public accusation, this letter alone is enough to condemn us. What have you replied?’
‘I haven’t, as yet,’ she admitted, stepping closer. ‘I’ve been waiting to speak with you first, to see what you advise. The courier will take back my reply with the Queen’s own letters tomorrow or the next day.’
‘Tell him it is a lie,’ he said flatly, thrusting the letter back at her as though it burned his fingers.
She stared at him. Her breath caught in her throat. ‘Robert, it’s too late to tell him this is a lie. I have not bled for nearly ten weeks now.’ She saw his eyes darken and narrow on her face.
Lettice held her head high and did not blush. It was nothing but the truth. And the earl must know it was his child, after all. There had been no one else, and Essex had been in Ireland too long for it to be his. She had held back from telling Robert for weeks, hoping that matters might resolve themselves on their own, nature being a fickle mistress. But now that her husband had learned of their affair, and the blasted child seemed to be taking root inside her, what else could she do but admit everything?
‘Mine?’ he demanded. He swore again when she raised her eyebrows at the insolence of the question.
‘It’s time you settled this score anyway,’ she pointed out, watching Leicester’s face carefully, his expression still under control, no doubt fooling himself that something could still be salvaged from this mess. Her tone became acid. ‘Unless, that is, you are content to see Essex cast me out on to the street as a whore and an adulteress. Which he will do, on his return from Ireland, if he finds me with a belly as big as a whale.’
Still Robert said nothing.
She shook her head at his lack of response. ‘Robert, he knows about us.’
‘And what would you have me do, exactly?’
‘Kill him!’
Robert’s eyes widened in shock and for a moment she wondered if she had gone too far, or as far as it was possible to go before he crumbled and ran back to the Queen, a beaten hound with its tail between its legs. She stared back, meeting his gaze, willing him to be strong, to do what was right for her and their unborn child.
He strode to the door, throwing it open and staring back along the unlit corridor as though expecting to see some spy loitering there, some listener in the shadows. But there was no one; the stables below were silent, except for the restless stirring of the horses. Slowly, he shut the door and turned to face her.
‘I am no assassin, my lady. Whatever you may have heard … I would never …’ He drew a harsh, uneven breath. ‘My wife’s death was an accident.’
‘When he returns from Ireland, then,’ she said softly, deciding to sidestep what he had said in case it led to further trouble between them, ‘seek out my husband, put some quarrel on him, and kill the man. Then we can be legally wed.’
‘It seems I won’t have to seek him out,’ he replied bitterly, gesturing to the letter in her hand. ‘If Essex comes back to find you with child, we’ll both be locked up in the Tower for adultery before I have time to quarrel with anyone, let alone pull out a sword and fight for your honour.’
‘Are you afraid to die, my lord?’
Her voice had been a little shrill. Robert straightened, looking at her angrily. She thought he might strike her, as her husband had been known to do during their quarrels, but Robert’s hand never moved from his side.
‘Yes,’ he agreed calmly, without any sign of shame. ‘And so should you be, my lady. The Tower is a grim place. No one who has ever been there would wish to return.’
Lettice walked back to the covered window and stood there a moment. Her mind worked feverishly. It would do no good to make him angry. She was pregnant, of that she was sure. All the early signs were there, and she knew how much he wanted a son and heir. Surely she could convince him that Essex must die? What other solution was there? Somehow she had to turn the quarrel aside, remind Robert that she was not his enemy, that he loved her, that she was to be the mother of his child.
Besides, it would be a disaster to lose him now, with her husband aware of their secret meetings and her body ready to betray her to the Queen and court.
She let her shoulders bow slightly, and felt her eyes fill with hot tears. ‘But I am,’ she whispered to herself, though she knew he was still there, listening. ‘I am afraid. And alone in this.’
Robert hesitated, and the sound of his silence filled the low-roofed room, then he came forward. His hand was light on her shoulder, as though waiting to see if she would shrug him off. Then he reached round and unfastened her borrowed cloak. It fell to the floor in a rustle of cheap cloth.
‘My lady,’ he whispered, bending his head to kiss the nape of her neck. ‘Lettice, you are not alone. But these are not easy things to discuss – our child, your husband’s return, what must be done to make this right. And I admit, my mind has been elsewhere these past few weeks. Though that’s hardly a surprise.’ He kissed her neck again, his voice muffled, though she could hear the stress behind it. ‘I’ve had the Queen’s visit to plan, with all her entourage … several hundred servants, their horses and carts. And you know the danger, this fresh plot against her—’
‘There are always plots against the Queen!’
He laughed then, and she knew he was still hers. ‘If I did not know better, I would think you almost glad of such a thing. Your cousin Elizabeth is forever watching her back, looking for spies and assassins at every corner. She can never be herself, but must submit to the will of her councillors. That is no life.’
‘Elizabeth is the Queen,’ Lettice pointed out, no sympathy in her heart for her cold-faced cousin, who had always made her life at court as unpleasant as possible. ‘These troubles come with the crown.’
Robert nodded soberly. ‘So you ought to pity her. If you were in her position—’
‘Yes?’ Lettice turned and looked up into his face, suddenly eager, her cheeks flushing. ‘If I were queen?’
He drew in a sharp breath, staring back at her. ‘Lettice, my love, you must be careful. You have no idea how dangerous it is even to think such a thing, let alone voice it.’ His tone softened and his hand slipped down to her belly, stroking the fine material of her gown. ‘For the sake of our unborn child, promise me you will never attempt to put yourself above Eli
zabeth. She will not stand it, trust me.’
Triumph flickered inside her and she had to bite back a smile, force herself to conceal that glorious, lit-up reaction. He had thought it! He had imagined her on the throne instead of her cousin, too old now to bear him a son! The realization made her reach for his face, stroke his cheek fondly. She would give herself to him again tonight, though she had sworn to do so no more until Essex was dead and Robert in her marriage bed instead.
‘Dearest,’ she murmured, kissing him slowly. She felt him harden against her belly. ‘Are we to talk all night?’
Thirty-one
LUCY WHISPERED ‘NO!’ again, but her urgent refusals did not seem to be having any effect on Tom.
Instead, he had pushed back her hood to reveal her thick black hair, combed back and held in place with a single white ribbon. Then he loosened the cloak about her shoulders, ignoring her protests that someone might come in and disturb them.
Now, holding her gently by the shoulders, he lowered his head and kissed her. The feel of his lips against hers was a shock. Even more so was the knowledge that they were quite alone, hidden in the shadows of Lord Leicester’s stables, the door closed and the lantern dimmed.
‘Hush,’ he murmured, burying his face in her hair. ‘There’s no one to see us. And my lord will be a good hour above, you’ll see. What else should we do to pass the time?’
‘Not this,’ she hissed, feeling a sudden flare of panic as Tom dragged aside her bodice to reveal her breast. ‘You must not!’
His voice sounded thick. ‘But your body is like an angel’s. And your hair … Lucy, Lucy …’
‘Tom, no!’
Struggling against him for an undignified moment, Lucy soon managed to fight free of his hold. It was not so difficult to escape after all, she realized with a faint surprise, feeling his hands drop away without protest. Tidying her gown, Lucy took a few hurried steps backwards, and saw him follow. She turned, fleeing the intimacy that had sprung up so unexpectedly between them, and nearly slipped on the uneven cobbles, damp and strewn with foul-smelling straw, that paved the stable entrance.
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