The Queen's Secret

by Victoria Lamb

  ‘Not her rooms, but the building itself.’ He shot her a smile, then glanced over his shoulder to reassure himself that he was not being followed. ‘Lord Leicester swears there are no secret passages into this building other than the ones we are already aware of, but I like to make sure of such things myself. Though discreetly, of course, to avoid scattering the pigeons.’ He indicated the blue livery. ‘Hence this rather unflattering coat.’

  ‘But if you are caught?’

  ‘Then I will spend a few hours languishing in his lordship’s dungeons until someone comes to release me.’

  ‘Oh, Goodluck,’ she moaned, leaning her head against his broad chest. The steady beat of his heart went some way to comfort her, but she was still afraid for his safety. ‘Why do this dangerous work?’

  ‘Why, because there is no one else foolish enough to do it for me,’ he replied, his voice level and amused. Gently, he raised her chin and looked down into her face. ‘And you, my little songbird, how is the Queen treating you? Are you still happy at court now that every eye is upon you?’

  She grimaced at the difficult question – or rather its answer – then wished she had not, seeing how seriously Master Goodluck watched her.

  ‘It is hard sometimes,’ she admitted in a small voice. Then she managed a smile of enthusiasm. ‘But I love to entertain the Queen, and now Lord Robert has written a song for Her Majesty and I am to perform it before the court.’

  ‘Lord Robert?’ he repeated, his brows raised.

  Realizing her slip too late, she rushed to correct herself. ‘Lord Leicester, I meant to say,’ she stammered, but knew her guardian would not let it go so easily.

  ‘Well, now.’ His smile was dry, and not altogether kind. ‘Making friends in high places, I see.’

  ‘His lordship told me to call him that,’ Lucy tried to explain, not liking the way Master Goodluck had drawn away from her, a strange and hurtful distance in his face. ‘But I see now that it would be a mistake. The Queen would not like it.’

  ‘I’m glad you have the sense to see that, at least.’

  As he turned to descend the steep stairs, Lucy caught at his arm. ‘Wait, I’ve just remembered something you should know. I saw a man a few nights back, I think it was the bear-tamer you’ve been watching. He seemed to be meeting another man, over by the Watergate Tower.’

  ‘Did you know this other man?’

  ‘It was too dark to see his face clearly,’ Lucy admitted, then caught her lip between her teeth, worrying at it. ‘Tom said something about a man who was found drowned. One of Leicester’s men. Could the two be connected, do you think?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  It was only one word, and lightly spoken too, but Goodluck was frowning and Lucy felt suddenly alarmed. Was the threat to the Queen’s safety so very serious? She clutched at his sleeve. ‘You don’t think these conspirators could reach the Queen, do you? With Leicester’s men everywhere, and her own guards at her door, how could anyone come at her without being caught?’

  ‘I don’t think they could get past the guards, no. But there are other ways into the castle. Unguarded ways. I was just looking into it. There’s a disused storeroom between the Queen’s apartments and the old hall, and it’s possible someone could get in through that. But it’s kept locked.’

  ‘So it’s safe?’

  Goodluck hesitated, seeming to think aloud. ‘The key’s missing. It could have been on the dead man. But it’s not an easy way in. It’s more likely they would try to strike while the Queen is on the move, perhaps out hunting. That’s where their best opening would be.’

  For a moment, Lucy wished she knew nothing about this Catholic plot, that she was as innocent as when she had arrived in Kenilworth and able to sleep easily at night. ‘Promise me you’ll be careful? I couldn’t bear to lose you. These men are trained assassins. They’re dangerous.’

  ‘So am I, Lucy.’ Goodluck’s smile was far from reassuring; for a few seconds, she looked into those cold dark eyes and was almost frightened of the man who had raised her. ‘Now you’d best go about your work and stop interfering in matters that do not concern you. I heard the Queen shouting for you earlier. I don’t think you should keep Her Majesty waiting. I’ve known too many shrews not to recognize the ugly mood she’s in.’

  ‘Everyone shouts at me these days,’ Lucy muttered. She picked up her skirts obediently enough and began to climb the stairs to the state apartments.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Turning, she saw Goodluck still there on the winding stair, staring up after her, a searching look in his eyes.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said hurriedly, then realized that a man like Master Goodluck would never be satisfied with such an empty reply.

  It made her shudder to think how he must extract the truth from those unwilling to answer his questions. No wonder he had hidden his true profession from her while she was a child; it was not a comfortable thing to look at the man she considered her father and know that he was a spy, trained to watch others in secret, to interrogate, to find answers – and to kill.

  ‘Well, almost nothing.’ She shrugged, wishing to make light of the incident. ‘I quarrelled with Tom.’

  Goodluck frowned. ‘Quarrelled?’

  ‘He thought …’ Lucy found herself blushing fiercely. She could not bear for him to know this. It was too intimate, too humiliating. ‘Tom misunderstood our friendship, and we had a few sharp words over it, that’s all.’

  Goodluck must have seen it in her eyes, his stare piercing through to the truth even in the dimly lit stairway.

  ‘Tom tried to seduce you?’

  ‘No!’ Lucy felt herself blush harder still, and knew that such awkwardness gave her away.

  Why must she always be such a knock-kneed child with him? The man was no longer her guardian. She was a woman now, with work at court, even if she was still unmarried. Surely it was time she outgrew this foolish deference towards Goodluck and made her own decisions, unhindered by his over-strict opinions on how a young woman should act?

  Master Goodluck made as if to come after her, but she shook her head, holding him at arm’s length.

  ‘What I mean is, I was an idiot and gave Tom good cause to think he could kiss me, and then I … I changed my mind. It was my fault, not his, and we have since made a peace together, of sorts.’ Lucy managed a smile, seeing the anger in his face. ‘It was a foolish thing, nothing of any moment. I beg you would forget it.’

  But she could see that Goodluck would neither forget nor forgive. His dark eyes burned with fury, however tightly controlled, and his hand had clenched into a fist. Sometimes it was almost as though he considered himself her true father and therefore guardian of her morals even now, when she was old enough to choose whomever she liked to take as a lover. Though indeed she had no intention of behaving as loosely and recklessly as most of the other girls in the entertainers’ troupe; let them lose their innocence, and enjoy themselves at night down in the kitchens or in the servants’ halls. She would keep herself chaste until her wedding night, just as she had promised Queen Elizabeth.

  None of it was Goodluck’s business, though. She loved him dearly, and trembled to think of the danger he put himself in daily for England’s protection, yet she was no longer his charge and he must be made to see it.

  ‘Though if I were to take Tom into my bed,’ she added, her voice shaking despite her resolve to be frank with him, ‘it would not be your concern. I am old enough now to take a lover if I choose.’

  Then she turned, without a curtsey or even a glance at his face to gauge his reaction, and hurried up the last few turns of the stair to the royal apartments. Behind her, on the dark steps, Lucy could feel the weight of Goodluck’s eyes watching her until she was safely out of sight.

  Forty-two

  AFTER CHECKING THE Queen’s rooms were secure, goodluck returned to see Twist and the others. He made hurried enquiries, and the answers he received alarmed him. No, their men had never seen the Flor
entine acrobats anywhere near the bear-tamer. But no matter, for the troupe had dismantled their tent and packed up that very hour, and were reputed to be on their way further up the country. Sos had seen their cart rumble out of the north gate, carrying all their goods and supplies for the road, with the green-liveried acrobats walking behind, arm in arm.

  Catching up with their slow cart, Goodluck was not surprised to see the troupe turn off the road a few miles from Kenilworth. After some muttered deliberation under the trees, they left their cart under cover and doubled back cross-country through the forest, following the line of the castle battlements whenever it became visible in the distance.

  Now the troupe appeared to have come to a halt in the sundappled clearing ahead, and were speaking to each other in lowered voices. Goodluck could make out the odd word, but had little chance of hearing well enough to decipher their rapid Italian. Keeping well under cover, he crept from tree to tree, careful not to crack twigs underfoot, glad now that he had snatched up a mud-brown hooded cloak on his way out of the tent. It usefully hid the blue livery he had adopted in order to search the state apartments, satisfying himself that none of the would-be assassins had already entered the building and were concealed there.

  Goodluck leaned against the trunk of a sturdy old oak, hidden from sight but still within earshot of the troupe of acrobats. He surveyed them as they went quietly about their business, opening packs and sharing out the goods they had brought with them into the forest.

  He thought back to his conversation with Lucy. What in heaven had she meant by that last remark?

  She was growing into a beautiful and talented young woman; indeed, she had altered and grown in some indefinable way even during the ten days or so since her arrival in the Queen’s train. Truth was, she was no longer his ward, and he could not hope to control her decisions now. But he loathed this corrosive suspicion that the black groom had raped her – or, at the very least, had tried to seduce her, still an innocent girl.

  At the very thought of young Tom hurting Lucy, a mindless fury rose inside him, as though he wanted nothing better than to snap the boy’s neck.

  There had been something so unhappy in her eyes on the stairs … a look that had reminded him of her long-dead mother. Another Moorish beauty, vulnerable to a certain kind of man.

  Yet like must incline to like, and he could not prevent his Lucy from growing up and becoming a woman. Even if it pained him to think of her being hurt or betrayed.

  He did not trust that boy. But then, he never entirely trusted anyone.

  Goodluck froze, as did the Florentines in the clearing, hearing a sound. Someone was approaching through the trees. Not from behind him, thank God, but from the opposite direction. He waited in silence, breath held, as did the men he was watching, all of them tense and keen to see who it was.

  Then one of the acrobats – a slant-eyed woman, dark-faced and slender – gave a little cry and launched herself forward.

  ‘Be quiet!’ one of the others admonished her, but the woman paid no attention, hurtling towards the hooded and bearded man who had just walked into the clearing, throwing herself on him. They embraced passionately, with many exaggerated kisses. Though not without some difficulty, Goodluck noted, as the man was holding a chain in his hand, at the end of which lurked a great black bear.

  The bear reared up and was jerked back to the earth with one sharp tug.

  It sat back with a lurch, groaning loudly, and raised its black front paws as though in protest.

  A female bear, Lucy had said, recounting its unprovoked charge against her outside the stables. Perhaps the animal was jealous of the slant-eyed acrobat, without a doubt the man’s lover.

  They were organizing themselves now, weaving skilfully about each other as they worked, speaking in quiet voices. One man was directing the slant-eyed woman in some complicated action, another handing her a knife, which she slipped daintily between her teeth, clamping down hard on the blade. An older woman was examining the bear. The animal was kept on a short leash during this, its front paws raised, a stick held threateningly in front of its face. No one spoke above a murmur, as though aware they might at any moment be observed.

  Frowning, Goodluck considered whether he might move any closer without being discovered. As it stood, he could barely catch a word of their conversation. Yet one thing was clear to him: these people were highly trained, used to working together, some of them perhaps even experienced in the art of assassination. They would not easily be drawn into making a mistake that could expose their plot – or the nobleman behind it. For it was certain that Massetti could not be the sole backer of their scheme. Experienced teams like this tended not to work in pursuit of a cause; in most cases, they were mercenaries. Only a large amount of gold or other enticements could have hired such skill, and a man like Massetti was not wealthy enough to have brought so many across Europe on his own coin.

  There was some earnest discussion now among the acrobats, then the bear-tamer tapped the bear with his stout knotty stick and muttered some command under his breath. As the shaggy creature reared up, he turned and took up a crouching position behind it.

  Through all this preparation, the slant-eyed woman had taken a few steps back and dropped her cloak to the ground. Beneath it she wore a loose dark tunic top and tight-fitting men’s hose, closely gartered. She herself was of a slender build, her breasts barely noticeable, black hair cut short as a boy’s; the heavy fringe almost met the dark of her straight, frowning brows, giving her an Egyptian air.

  She kicked off her shoes and stood barefoot, the knife still held between her teeth.

  ‘Hey-up!’ shouted one of the men.

  The bear was standing straight now, erect as any man, both front paws outstretched, its back turned on the troupe.

  Bouncing off bare toes, the woman ran forward and leapt forcefully on to the cupped hands of the crouching bear-tamer, using his strength to vault up into empty air.

  Twisting in a somersault, she landed on the bear’s back. She grasped a few handfuls of black fur and stood on the animal’s broad shoulders, her thin arms stretched out for balance, the knife still clamped between her teeth. The bear swayed slightly at the impact – though not with surprise, it seemed to Goodluck – and nearly fell. But the bear-tamer, via a series of guttural cries, tuts of his tongue and taps with his stick, managed to keep the animal from sinking back to its more natural four-legged stance.

  On the bear’s high back, the woman stood considerably higher than the lowest branches of the oaks around them. Indeed, she now stood at twice the height of a man. With grudging admiration, Goodluck doubted he had ever seen a more impressive somersault, given the short distance she had taken to achieve that speed and power.

  Yet why bother with such a trick? To vault the guarded mereside wall below the Queen’s apartments?

  If that were indeed the plan, how did the others in the troupe intend to get over? By using a rope, in plain sight of the guards who would be posted there at all hours?

  No, such a plan would be risky and over-elaborate.

  Goodluck regarded the woman steadily. There was a surprising strength in those legs, and her acrobat’s sense of balance held her steady on the bear’s shoulders as the animal swayed forward and back in response to muttered commands.

  For several minutes, a low rumbling sound had been growing steadily louder at Goodluck’s back. Thinking it the wheels of some rough trader’s cart on the nearby road to the castle, he had ignored it. Now he realized his mistake and turned his head in consternation, hearing the thud of hoofbeats and seeing the flash of gold and silver through the trees.

  The royal hunting party!

  The road from the castle must run parallel to his hiding place, he realized. He had thought today’s hunt would pass out in the other direction, towards the Chase. But his luck must have changed. For although the riders were at a safe distance, almost invisible through these densely crowded trees, the rehearsing acrobats would be bound to l
ook in his direction as the hunt passed and it was too late for him to seek better cover.

  He flattened himself against the creeper-thick oak and held his breath, listening for any sign that he had been spotted by the Italians.

  None came, and after a moment the Queen’s hunting party had passed on. The welter of yelps from the pursuing hounds faded into the distance as they dropped further into the wooded valley.

  For another few moments Goodluck waited in silence, the trunk against his back, staring at the green forest.

  Then slowly, with the utmost care, he turned his head – to find the blade of a knife six inches from his eyes, and the unsmiling, dark-eyed face of an Italian.

  Forty-three

  IT WAS ALMOST twilight when Lucy woke. She realized with a tremor of fear that her ‘short rest’ had turned into several hours’ sleep. She had only put her head to the mattress for a brief spell, overwhelmed by exhaustion after days of late nights and early mornings, attending the Queen, learning the words of the song Leicester had set her to perform, and trying to avoid drawing attention to herself in case it led to some betrayal of his lordship’s faith in her.

  How late was it? Where was everyone? Had she missed the hunt?

  Groggily, she stumbled out of bed and dressed in the half-light, the stiff fastenings of the unfamiliar court gown almost defeating her. One of the seamstresses had helped her to narrow the waist, let out for some larger woman in the past, but the task had been performed too well and now she could barely move. Lord Robert had procured it for her, saying she must look ‘at her finest’ tonight, when she was due to sing his love song before the Queen and court. If she was not too late …

  Why had no one woken her?

  Her heart juddered in her chest at the thought of missing her performance before the Queen. And tonight of all nights. Leicester would be furious with her, and rightly so. There were to be fireworks, and a water battle out on the mere, with vast fantastical creatures from legend – some of which she had seen being prepared that afternoon, the enormous creations dragged on rollers down to the lakeside and rowed out to the central raft.