The Tudor Conspiracy

by C. W. Gortner

  The locks immediately slid back to reveal the haggard face of Elizabeth’s trusted lady, the matron upon whom, after Mistress Ashley, she most relied. Mistress Parry had been in service to the princess since Elizabeth was a babe. Though not old—no more than forty-six—she looked ancient, her eyes hollowed from sleeplessness, graying hair escaping her hood. With a clawlike hand she yanked me into the room and slammed the door shut, bolting it again as if she feared an invasion.

  “What is happening?’ she asked anxiously. “Tell me. Are they going to arrest her?”

  I shook my head. Urian dashed up to me, shoving his long muzzle into my hand, demanding to be petted. As I caressed him, I surveyed the chamber. It boasted a magnificent oriel window that let in plenty of light, floor-to-ceiling tapestries, carpets underfoot, and fine furniture. Scattered about were traveling chests, into which a perspiring young maid was emptying armfuls of clothing, candlesticks, and other possessions. Except for her and Mistress Parry, I saw no other women or attendants.

  I turned back to Mistress Parry. “Where are her ladies?”

  “Gone.” She gave a fretful sigh. I could see the poor woman was about to leap out of her skin. “Her Grace is in her bedchamber; she was taking her exercise in the gallery, as she does every morning, when one of those insufferable women came to tell her that the Earl of Devon would be arrested. As soon as the others heard, they ran off, like rats from a ship, leaving Her Grace alone. She told us to start packing. Then she locked herself in her room. She thinks they’re coming for her next. Are they?”

  “Not yet,” I said, and I moved to a narrow door I assumed led to the bedchamber, Urian at my heels. Mistress Parry warned, “She won’t see anyone.”

  I knocked on the door. “Your Grace? It’s me. Let me in.”

  No response. I knocked again. “You must open. I bring word from Her Majesty.”

  After a tense moment, I heard a key turn and pushed the door open onto a small bedchamber, suffused in darkness. There was no window or candles; only a rush light on a side table, which cast more smoke than illumination. As light from the outside seeped in, I saw an unmade tester bed and another coffer on the floor. Elizabeth crouched there, a heap of books at her side. She appeared to be looking through them, putting some in the coffer and discarding others. Another maid stood nearby with a frightened look; she must have unlocked the door.

  I waved her out, keeping the door ajar. Urian padded over to Elizabeth and whimpered. She petted him absently, her hair tangled about her face; under the hem of her dark skirt, I glimpsed slim bare feet. The chamber was icy, yet she wore no shoes.

  “Don’t,” she said, before I could open my mouth. “I don’t want to hear it. I need to decide which of these books I can take with me into the Tower.”

  “You’re not going to the Tower.” I stepped to her, lowering my voice even as I heard Mistress Parry marshaling the two maids in the outer chamber.

  Elizabeth turned to me, her eyes black in her ashen face. “Is she sending me to the scaffold instead?”

  “She’s sending you from court. I know not where. But before she does—”

  “She’ll question me. Am I to submit to her interrogation before the entire court?”

  I did not answer. I returned her stare until she looked away. She pretended to go back to her books. Then I heard her say, “If she sent you, then I can assume you haven’t lost her favor. Does that mean our other matter is resolved?”

  “Yes. I delivered letters to Her Majesty. I am responsible for Courtenay’s arrest.” I paused. “But not Dudley. For the moment, he is safe—though he doesn’t merit it.”

  She drew in a stifled breath and turned her sharp gaze back to me. “And my letter?”

  “It was not there. Dudley must have kept it.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She searched my face. “Did he do that to you?”

  “Among others. But he took the brunt of it.”

  Her mouth twitched; it was almost a smile. “I take it he wasn’t pleased to see you.”

  “You might say that. He blames me for everything that has befallen him and his family. He vowed that when the time comes, he’ll see me pay for it.”

  She nodded. “It’s to be expected. Robert was never one to accept responsibility if he could blame someone else.” She stood, her gown crinkled. “So,” she said, “with all his threats and bluster, did he tell you everything?”

  “Most of it, but I don’t know how much to believe. That, too, I suppose, is to be expected.” Then, before I could stop myself, I added, “Why? Why did you do this?”

  This time, her smile crept across her lips. “I think you already know. Or if you don’t, Cecil did. It’s why he sent you. He could not have expected me to wait for Renard to put an end to me? I did what I had to. I don’t regret it. I only regret that I put those I care about in harm’s way.” She brought a hand to her throat. “I was saddened to hear of Peregrine,” she said. “I would never have allowed it to go so far had I known the price you would pay.”

  “He paid it. I wish it were otherwise.” I met her eyes. “It’s not over yet. Renard is enraged. He will do whatever he can to see you dead. You are still in danger.”

  Her gaze turned inward. She reached to her bed for her discarded slippers; their rose silk ribbons tangled about her slim fingers. “I’ve been in danger from the day my sister became queen. Our past is something she can never forgive or forget. If she does not harm me today, she will eventually. Nothing is more certain.”

  Differences of faith can tear apart even those who should be closest …

  With the echo of Sybilla’s words in my head, I watched Elizabeth move to her tarnished glass to gauge her appearance. “Is that all you want to ask of me? Speak now, for I’ll not tolerate it later. Or have I so disillusioned that you wish to now serve my sister instead?”

  “I pledged myself to you. After everything I’ve done, can you still doubt me?”

  She turned from the glass. Though she didn’t say a word, I saw in her eyes the momentary fracturing of her reserve.

  “I will never leave you,” I told her, “not willingly.”

  She bit her lip. “Mistress Parry,” she called out. Her matron bustled in.

  “It seems we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Elizabeth said. “I must attend my sister the queen and request leave to depart court. I don’t think she’ll let us get as far as Hatfield,” she added, glancing at me, “but perhaps my house at Ashridge will be acceptable.” She gave a sudden shiver, sole indication of the fear she must harbor deep inside. “I’ll implore on my knees, if need be. Fetch my white gown. I must look … penitent.”

  Mistress Parry nodded, hurrying back into the anteroom.

  Elizabeth fixed her gaze on me. “We still have time. Robert wouldn’t keep my letter, not because he cares anything for you but because he would not see me harmed. He has many faults, yes, and desires too much, but never my death. If my letter is missing, then someone else must have it.”

  I pivoted immediately to the door.

  “Wait,” she said. I looked over my shoulder. “Do whatever it takes,” she whispered. “No matter the cost, Renard must never get hold of it. If he does, it will indeed be over—for all of us.”

  I strode through the outer chamber, startling Mistress Parry as she went to the princess with her gown. Only once I was alone in the gallery did I let myself pause, leaning against a wall to force out the air lodged like barbs in my chest.

  A woman like her—all she can bring a man in the end is perdition …

  I knew who had taken Elizabeth’s letter.

  A few moments later, the princess emerged. In silver-white satin, with her hair loose under a simple crescent headdress, she looked almost serene. I tried to focus only on escorting her through the palace to the queen’s wing, even as urgency pounded in my blood, making it difficult not to abandon her and begin my frantic search for the woman I now believed had deceived me far more than I could have ever imagined.

  Mar
y waited in her audience chamber, bedecked in a jewel-encrusted gown that swamped her thin figure, surrounded by terse black-robed councillors. After Elizabeth dropped to a curtsy, the queen motioned brusquely and turned without a word to march into the council room with the councillors behind her. Elizabeth did not look at me; she went into that room alone, her chin high, as if she truly had nothing to hide.

  The door shut. Immediately, the queen’s women began to whisper. I avoided their questioning gazes. I had already seen Sybilla was still not among them, but she must be somewhere. She couldn’t have escaped yet, not from London. Where would she hide? She must have taken the letter from the folder before she brought it to me; perhaps she thought that as long as she had it, she’d have something to barter with, in case Renard discovered her ploy and her own life was placed in danger.

  I had to find her first.

  Then I saw Mistress Dormer watching me intently; turning to her without warning, I grabbed her dog’s lead. “Blackie looks as if he needs to relieve himself,” I declared, and I pulled the growling, snapping dog into the gallery, leaving her to hurry after me.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded as I began to yank the dog down the gallery. He indeed had to go. At the first corner, he lifted his leg and pissed against the wall.

  Jane gasped. “He’s supposed to go outside! The queen warned me if he ever did that in the palace again, she’d make me give him up. She says Whitehall reeks of—”

  I whirled to her. “Where is she? Where is Mistress Darrier?”

  “How—how should I know?” She recoiled from me, glancing over her shoulder at a pair of courtiers strolling past. “I’m hardly in a position to—”

  “Don’t lie.” I stepped closer, dragging Blackie with me. “You told me those things about her for a reason. You deliberately warned me against her.” I paused. “You do realize the princess is still heir to the throne? She’s not been disinherited yet, and the queen is her sister, her family. They might find accord. It would go better for both of us if we were seen to be on the winning side.”

  My intimation wasn’t lost on her. “You … you serve her?”

  “I serve the Tudors. And I must find Mistress Darrier before it’s too late. It’s a matter of life and death. Help me and I’ll make sure you will not go unrewarded. You still want to marry Feria, yes? I’ll put a word in with the queen, I promise you.”

  She arched her brow. I had gone beyond my bounds, and she knew it. I had no right to promise anything. With sudden determination, Jane snatched the lead from me. “I warned you about her because I like you. But I’m starting to like you rather less. You are indeed common as dirt, if you think this is how a gentleman behaves.” She drew herself erect. “I do not know where she is. She does as she pleases. Why not ask Don Renard or the Earl of Devon, if you can find him? He seems to have gone missing as well, much like Mistress Darrier. Perhaps they’re together. Surely one of those men ought to know where she gets to when she should be at her post in the queen’s chambers.”

  “Together?” I whispered. “She and Courtenay…?”

  “You truly don’t know anything, do you?” she asked. “Before you arrived, Mistress Darrier and the Earl of Devon were quite friendly. Some of us thought she hoped to have him as her spouse, until he was rejected by the queen and turned his attention to Elizabeth. But I daresay that didn’t stop her. A woman who sleeps with an ambassador and an earl, while conspiring to steal another woman’s betrothed, is truly capable of anything.”

  Horrified silence descended as I recalled the day in this very gallery when Sybilla had approached me and Elizabeth and Courtenay appeared. My lady Darrier, he had said, if I were you, I’d be more circumspect in choosing those with whom I idle away my time. We wouldn’t want your master to think you’re consorting with the enemy, now would we?

  They knew each other. They were more than mere acquaintances.

  Jane was regarding me impatiently. “You look rather shocked. I don’t see why. As I told you, she’s not respectable.” She tugged on Blackie’s lead. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I must bid you good day, Master Beecham. I believe we’ve said all we need to say to each other.” She turned about to return to the queen’s chambers, Blackie trotting at her side.

  I stood as if paralyzed. Courtenay had said in the brothel, I don’t swive men.

  He hadn’t lied.

  That night in the brothel, he had been waiting for Sybilla.

  * * *

  I raced back toward my room. I had no idea how long Elizabeth’s interrogation might take, but I had to prepare. I had a feeling in my gut that Courtenay had gone into hiding in the brothel in Southwark; I had to reach him before they ran him to ground like a hare. If Sybilla had seduced the earl, chances were she’d uncovered his role in the conspiracy before me; she must have known that he was sending letters for Dudley and that Renard would try to intercept them. She’d stolen Elizabeth’s letter from the tube for a reason, then provided me with the others to seal Courtenay’s doom. Whomever she was working for, it wasn’t the ambassador. She wanted the earl ensnared in his own trap, just as she had ensnared me, and she had to be stopped.

  I had to stop her.

  At the door, I was fishing in my doublet for my key when sudden footsteps came up behind me. Before I could yank my poniard from my boot, a fist slammed into my gut. It knocked the air out of my lungs. I doubled over, crumpling to my knees.

  “Where is she?” Renard stepped from the shadows.

  His henchman kicked me. I grunted, tasting blood.

  “Again, where is she? I won’t ask a third time.”

  I looked up. Renard regarded me impassively, his burly henchman standing over me with fists clenched. I eyed his man as I heaved myself into a seated position. He was the companion of the slim swordsman who’d taken the tube from me, and I saw again in my mind that polished figure in black, who’d fended off my clumsy swordplay as if he toyed with a child. I remembered the gleaming eyes under the mask, the deft speed.

  Then I recalled gripping Sybilla’s wrist and feeling her hidden strength.

  The swordsman hadn’t been a man at all.

  It had been her.

  “Did you think to best me?” Renard’s voice slashed through my thoughts. “I’ve had a lifetime of practice at this game; I could see you dead this very hour and no one would question it.”

  “The queen might,” I said, breathing through my nose. “Seeing as she ordered me to uncover everything else I can of the plot. If I go missing, she’ll know who to ask.”

  His mouth twisted. “Is that a threat? Be very careful. The queen already mistrusts you; like me, she does not believe any man without a past can exist.” He flicked his hand. “Enough. I tire of this affair. Where is Mistress Darrier? I know you’ve been working with her against me, just as I know that you managed to steal those infernal letters. She was supposed to get them for me, but she betrayed me instead.”

  I met his stare. “From what she told me, you earned it.”

  Anger distorted his face. “She will die,” he snarled. Then he collected himself, allowing himself an icy smile. “Though I must admit, she played her part all too well. I even arranged a noble marriage with Feria for her, in exchange for her cooperation.” He paused. “And you: You were unexpected indeed, disguising yourself as a man for hire so you could save that heretic Elizabeth. No one guessed your ploy. Except Sybilla. She has a taste for deception; she suspected you at once. It seems you charmed her, though. She’s always been faithful to me until now. What did you promise her, eh? Safety in exchange for the letters? Money, perchance? Yes, I should think money would do the trick. She’s a harlot, after all. I had her mother on her knees the hour we met, and when she failed to please, I took Sybilla instead. She depends on men like us for her survival. Your cock, mine: It doesn’t matter, so long as she profits by it.”

  My fists clenched at my sides. I had to tell myself not to rise to his bait. If he’d resorted to this extreme, waiting outs
ide my room to bully me, then he was desperate. Sybilla had struck a coup de grace to his plan against Elizabeth, and he was flailing. Without that letter, he truly had nothing. The princess was being questioned this very hour and would go free. Once she did, he’d never have another chance to destroy her.

  With one eye on his scowling man, I came unsteadily to my feet. “I don’t need to tell you anything. Lest you forget, I no longer work for you.”

  His smile vanished. He held up his hand, halting his henchman, who growled in Spanish and made a menacing advance toward me.

  “You will regret this,” Renard said. “I hold Her Majesty’s trust, for all that you tried to make me a fool today. You and I can reach an understanding. Bring me Mistress Darrier and your life will be spared. You cannot win; no matter what you do, my master the emperor’s son will wed the queen, and Philip will see Elizabeth beheaded like her mother before her. You’d be wise to change your allegiance now, while you still have the chance. If you do not, your days, like Elizabeth’s, will be numbered.”

  “As they were when you left that poisoned note for me? I don’t reach understandings with murderers. Because of you, my squire is dead.”

  He let out a sudden, cruel laugh. “Do you think I’m responsible for your squire’s death?” He met my stare. “You’re not as clever as I supposed. Poison was never my weapon of choice. Rest assured, had I chosen to dispose of you thus, you’d not still be here to reproach me.” He stepped back. “I wish you luck. I do believe you’re going to need it.”

  He walked away, his henchman throwing another mastiff glare at me.

  * * *

  I shoved my belongings into my bag, then threw on my cloak and sword. I left the room as I found it; I had no plans of returning. If I never saw the court again, it would be too soon.

  As soon as I reached the gallery and heard the agitated clamor of voices, I made haste to the queen’s wing. The doors were still shut, the sentries in place, but as I looked about, searching the crowd, I espied Mistress Parry, loitering at the edge of the throng as if she, too, searched for someone.