Grantville Gazette Volume 25

by editor Paula Goodlett

  Jermyn laughed a rather grating laugh. Off pitch and nervous. A laugh that didn't fit his chubby body. "It's the largest palace in London, after Whitehall, Captain. What did you expect to find for the queen's court?"

  The captain stopped and took in the gardens, now trimmed, tended and hunkered down for winter. Naked decorative trees and bushes gave the palace a rather forlorn look. Forlorn, but very well groomed.

  As they approached the main building of the palace he could see archways and alcoves, and in each alcove was a life-size marble sculpture, all representative of various characters from mythology. He counted nine of those. Everywhere he looked there was statuary and large winter-dormant fountains scattered around the grounds. Near the house, he looked to his left and saw a recently constructed building. "Is that the Catholic chapel I've heard so much about?"

  Jermyn smiled again. "It was one of Her Majesty's greatest achievements. Would you like to see it? There is a magnificent Rubens over the altar, twenty feet tall. We are still working on some of the interior decorations and carvings."

  "No." Vanderbeek stopped, tugged Jermyn's ample sleeves, and pointed to the building. "Do you understand the presence of that Catholic chapel is one of the things which enrages the mob outside the gates?"

  "We have only really learned it since the queen's death. The fact they hate it, I mean. We—or rather I—well, most of us, do not understand why. It makes no sense. We have increased attendance almost every week since we opened for select public masses. We stopped those after the death of the queen, when the mob began to form. We have heard there has been an increase in the persecution of Catholics across London, too."

  They began to walk toward the large main entrance doors. "Is everyone a Catholic behind these walls?"

  "Nearly so, at least now. The ladies and lords of the queen's court were mostly Protestant. It has been so since 1626. That's when Charles threw out the French court Henrietta Maria brought with her from France. He replaced all of her ladies in waiting with English ladies. During that time is when I came to be of service to the queen." Jermyn smiled again. Vanderbeek didn't like the smile the first time he saw it as he disembarked from his launch. He reconfirmed his opinion as Jermyn continued. "We have all assembled in the main hall. There used to be over three hundred of us living here, and there were about one hundred who traveled with the queen as her court. Anyone who had somewhere to go, other than Denmark house, has left it." The big man shrugged. "All that is left are those of us who have nowhere else. The Catholics, the priests, monks, the French, the freaks. Geoffrey was welcomed once by the French court, and was granted gifts of gems worth over two thousand pounds by Marie d'Medici and her court. He was well liked. Nearly all in the household have connections there, so we will go there."

  Vanderbeek's eyebrows went up, and he re-thought the amount of money he was going to charge for the trip. "Does he still have that kind of money?"

  Jermyn gave Vanderbeek a Gallic shrug, obviously mastered by living among them. "He lost the jewels and the gifts when he was seized, along with the queen's midwife and a few ladies in waiting by the Dunkirker pirates. Of course, they were ransomed. I think the Dunkirkers were frightened by the importance of the cargo they waylaid."

  Vanderbeek nodded in agreement. "I recall hearing. They could do the same again today with an English ship, ever since the damned Spanish have taken the Low Countries. They were always after the Dutch, now that'd be like stealing from yourself, since they were usually under Spanish letters of marque."

  They entered the building through a set of magnificent doors, where a servant took their cloaks and then led them into a wide hallway that extended for several yards, until they came around a corner, and then to a large cross hallway. They went to the right. Windows lined the south side of the hall, letting in the cold winter light. When Jermyn finally opened the double doors to the main hall, Vanderbeek was confronted with one of the strangest sights he had ever seen. The room was sumptuous, dark oak paneled, high ceiling, stained glass windows behind, and a massive table in the center. Seated around the table and standing around the room was the largest collection of freaks and oddities he had ever seen. There were tall, slender African men and women dressed as formal servants. He counted three more dwarfs. There were several ladies in waiting, a man with no legs who walked on his hands, a handful of Capuchin monks in their coarse robes and rope belts, exotic birds, dogs large and small, a few monkeys on leashes, several priests, and another thirty or so "normal" looking people, servants he assumed. He recognized the giant from the Bull and Blood, and saw another, shorter, giant who was grossly fat. At the head of the table, Geoffrey stood on a chair, his back to Vanderbeek. After a moment, the dwarf turned to him and bowed slightly. In the daylight, his features looked even more delicate and childlike.

  Vanderbeek smiled at the dwarf, and then turned to Jermyn, still keeping his eyes on the group displayed before him. "Who's in charge of this . . . this group of passengers? I have a few questions."

  The youthful priest near the front of the room came forward. Vanderbeek was expecting a French accent; instead he got a Scottish brogue. "I am the leader of this group, sir. I can make all of the decisions for everyone here."

  Evans the Giant spoke up, as did others. "He does not speak for me!"

  "Nor I," came from the mouth of the man with no legs.

  Most of the freaks were protesting the self-appointment. The Africans in the back of the room were silent, and the group of women—he assumed them to be ladies in waiting or high-level servants—were murmuring and looking nervous. One in particular caught Vanderbeek's eye. He fixed his gaze on her for a moment, and she returned it with a smile, and then looked down. Trouble, he thought, and continued to survey the noisy room. He recognized the priest from the night before directly behind the one who spoke up. They were loudly protesting the potential selection of anyone else. The disagreements and calls for a leader began to grow, dogs barked, monkeys howled and a bird cawed madly.

  Vanderbeek finally put up his hands. "Enough! I will speak to the dwarf, the priest, and Jermyn." He pointed to each of them in turn as he called their names. The protests continued, but he walked from the room, the three of them scurrying after.

  * * *

  Later, after a long discussion on the details of the rescue, Vanderbeek had a better handle on the three men. Jermyn, he decided was just about worthless. A basically stupid but loyal Englishman who simply had nowhere else to go. The priest was the queen's confessor, who thought his rank gave him the intelligence to make decisions for all. But Geoffrey, Vanderbeek judged, was a dependable man.

  At the end of the meeting, Vanderbeek pulled him aside. "I want you to be my main contact to the group, Geoffrey. Can you do that?"

  "I was afraid you were going to ask me that, Captain. As much as I would like to say yes, I cannot."

  Vanderbeek was genuinely surprised. "I don't understand. You can fight, obviously. You have the ability, and the brains—"

  "So I may, Captain, thank you." His small face changed expression from smiling to a restrained anger and deep hurt. "You have seen me—somewhat, as the man I really am. The man I want to be. Although the other night in the bar, I wish I could have sang our way out of trouble, instead of killing that man. As powerful as I felt afterwards, I never want to feel my blade cut flesh again if I can help it. It still sickens me to think about it."

  "Nothing to be ashamed of. One of the reasons I am here is because your bravery impressed me. And the strong persuasion of Kenelm Digby."

  Geoffrey pointed fiercely down the hall to where the rest of the odd household waited. "To them, I am a joke. A cruel joke, upon which all sorts of pranks and foolishness are played, for which I must bear the brunt. It's a constant humiliation I was able to endure because of my love for the queen. It made her happy. What made her happy, ultimately made me happy. William Evans, the giant, knows me. The queen's master of arms knows me. He trained me. The hunt master knows me, and the queen's sta
ble master knows me. I can hunt, shoot, and ride better than most of the courtiers for the queen or the king. But even those who know me do not believe in me, seriously." His small shoulders shrugged. "I have been here since I was six years old, and during that time I have been the punch line of so many jokes that I am nearly immune to them. No one at court takes me seriously, Captain. No one."

  He paused and looked at his hands. "As I began to grow up, from sixteen inches when I was six, to my nearly twenty-one inches today, I found I was less able to bear their jibes. There is a quite famous poem about me riding a foxing-terrier and jousting with a wild turkey." He sighed, and then his hands clenched into fists not much bigger than Vanderbeek's thumb. "I am the queen's dwarf. And always will be. It's a double-edged sword." Geoffrey unclenched his fists and smiled up at Vanderbeek. "So that is why you must find another to lead this group, Captain. They will not follow a joke."

  "Then why did they send you to the Bull and Blood to meet with me?"

  Geoffrey smiled and crossed his arms a little smugly in front of him. "I insisted. Most here are French. They cannot meander through the back alleys of Cheapside without tipping their hand. I pulled rank on them. Other than Jermyn, I am the ranking Englishman. He wouldn't go alone without Evans, the giant, and the giant wouldn't go without me. Therefore I went."

  He paused and looked down the hallway, checking for eavesdroppers. "There is something else you must know. Some of them may not leave; they are foolish enough to think they are still protected by the queen's wedding treaty."

  Vanderbeek shook his head. "I have seen the mob. A treaty means nothing to them. The moment those mercenaries are removed . . ." He paused, thinking for a moment. "Have you told anyone about the man in the Bull and Blood?"

  "Who would believe me, Captain? Would you, if you had not seen it? Talk to James Shirley. He is the valet of chamber and well respected. Most will listen to him. The Capuchins will listen to Robert Phillip, the Scotsman, as will the priests. Thick as thieves, them."

  "What about the freaks, Geoffrey? Will they follow you?"

  "They will follow me, as long as Evans is with me. He really did strangle a bull once, although it was a long time ago."

  "And the women?"

  "Based on what I saw in the large hall earlier, I think you already know. Her name is Marie Garnier. There are many Garniers here. Her mother is the queen's nurse, and her brother is the queen's groom of the privy council, which is the highest ranking member of the household, other than the master of ceremonies, who is also a Garnier, and an uncle. They are good and loyal servants. The Garnier family, along with the Vantelet family have been in the service of the queen of France for many years, and they were placed here by her. But be careful of that one. She likes her games with men, and she is rather good at it."

  Vanderbeek smiled widely. "I will keep that in mind."

  Chapter 4

  Marie Garnier

  "Mademoiselle Garnier? I am Captain Joos Vanderbeek. The man who would rescue you." As the door to her chamber closed behind him, Vanderbeek smiled at the woman. He straightened from his bow, and observed her carefully. She was striking. Dark hair, but fair skinned. Unusual grey eyes gave her an exotic look. Long and elegant neck, unscarred face, and no hint of a Gallic nose. As she rose to greet him, her movements were dancer like, elegant, and very calculated. She extended her hand.

  "I was not aware I needed rescuing." Her smile was the absolute picture of coy. Vanderbeek tilted his head as she proffered her hand for him to kiss. He refused her hand, and looked down into her eyes, smiling all the while. "How long has it been?"

  She dropped the hand to her side, and gave him a sour look. "Two years. Where have you been, Joos? Still sailing the seas? A bit of privateering now and again?"

  He motioned her to a chair, and they both sat. "I've been here and there, a little of this and a little of that. You know, the usual."

  "Still smuggling for the French and the Spanish?"

  "Sometimes for the English, too."

  They both laughed quietly.

  "I was warned about you by Geoffrey."

  She frowned a little, then became pouty. "He must like you. He usually doesn't give a warning."

  "What do you think of him?"

  "The dwarf? Not much at all, really. He is witty, intelligent, fine singing voice, dances in masques well, and takes the stabbing jibes. But that's his job. The queen adored him. Why do you ask?"

  "I saw him kill a man at a pub in Cheapside last night. Rather handily. Self defense."

  She looked at him and nodded slowly, thinking it through. "Hm."

  Is that all you have to say? Just 'hm'? Does that surprise you?"

  "He does seem changed as of late. In the last year he tried to grow a beard and mustache. It was not successful, and he was ridiculed for it. I have not seen it since."

  "Interesting fellow."

  She crossed her legs and settled back in her chair. "Certainly you didn't come here to discuss the dwarf? What do you want from me?"

  "Are you going to France with the rest of them?"

  "Why wouldn't I?"

  Vanderbeek laughed. "Any number of reasons, Marie. I need someone to depend on. There are many . . . let's call them 'factions' . . . here and one doesn't seem to listen to the other. So I need someone in the inside, as it were. You were suggested as the one who can help guide the ladies."

  "What do you need me to do?"

  "They need to be ready to leave with only an hour's notice. One bag or valise per person, only. We will leave by the watergate and row past the bridge, down to my ship, which will be anchored just below the Tower. From there we will head to Calais."

  "Do we not portage around the bridge? I wouldn't want to drown trying to shoot the rapids at the bridge at low tide."

  He smiled at her, and casually leaned back in his chair. "You are many things, Marie Garnier. You have always been smart."

  She smiled coyly once again. "Why, Joos. You are just unhappy that I know what time we will be leaving. I don't know which day, but at least I know what time." She shifted in her chair and looked smugly at him. "You see, I know that at low tide and at high tide the bridge restricts the river. There is so much restriction there is an eight-foot drop in the water from the high side to the low side. The only time it is safe to cross the water beneath the bridge is when the tides are still. To do so at any other time will most certainly result in an unpleasant death by drowning."

  Vanderbeek felt a little sheepish. "I have always been plagued by smart women. And people wonder why I have not married. I was pleased when I saw you here, at Denmark House. I smuggled you into the country; it will be an honor to smuggle you out."

  After a moment, he asked, "Are you still working for Richelieu? Or have you moved on to De Blainville, or Cork, or the Jesuit, Richard Blount, or Marie de Medici, Or Chevalier de Jars, or the Spanish, or perhaps the new king in the Netherlands? Have I forgotten anyone?"

  "The Americans?"

  "Ah, yes. Them . . . the cause of all of this nonsense. I have much to do, and I want to catch the tide to take me back to my ship. Just be ready to leave, and make sure those who don't want to leave won't be in our way."

  She rose and extended her hand again. He smiled at her, and slowly kissed it. He straightened and gazed into her eyes for a moment, then abruptly turned, left the room and closed the door behind him.

  * * *

  He met Geoffrey in the hallway, leaning with his back to the wall, one foot propped behind him in casual disregard of the expensive wall coverings, his sword at his side, and cleaning his fingernails with a tiny dagger. "You are certainly smiling like a fool, Captain. I told you to be careful with that one. I have seen the bravest field marshal like putty in her hands."

  "My guess is that within ten minutes, she will summon her maidservant and give her a letter to deliver. Follow the letter; tell me to whom or where it is taken. Be prepared, there may be more than one."

  "You are a fast learner, C
aptain Vanderbeek. Consider it done." The little man pushed his dagger into his boot, and trotted off down the hall, leaving Vanderbeek to gaze after him.

  Chapter 5

  The Earl of Cork

  Richard Boyle, the earl of Cork, was a very busy man. The Privy Council was beginning to come together, and formal leadership was starting to take shape. He needed allies, lots of them, and quickly. At least he had Strafford and Laud locked up. The note he'd just finished reading made him smile. He called to one of his secretaries.

  "Michael, take a note. Two things to be done. Release William Prynne from the Tower. Immediately. Next, have the commander of the mercenaries in the Strand remove all the guards from Denmark House at first light. No sooner. I want people to see they are being withdrawn.

  The secretary looked at him nervously. "S-Sir?"

  "What is it?"

  "Prynne, sir? He's been sentenced to be branded, his ears slit, and then death. He wrote that horrible book against the queen about actors being creatures of the devil and actresses being whores. He's an incorrigible rabble rouser, sir. Are you sure?"

  The earl placed his hands flat on his desk and looked his assistant in the eyes. His face twisted into a sarcastic falsely-patient smile. "I know your 'friend'—who is really your lover—is an actor for the Globe. My knowledge of that 'relationship' is one of the reasons I can trust you, Michael. To expose you would mean certain death in today's 'tolerant' climate." The smile was replaced with cold eyes. "I need my allies, Michael. The Puritans hold the hearts of the people. Charles was always too stupid and stubborn to understand that. The Puritans hate the queen. I am giving them an opportunity to destroy the symbol of what they hate the most. Carry out my order."