Now for the dress, and she had so many styles to choose from. Of course, she could keep changing it just like a human. She finally decided on a cream dress with red panels. It was high at the front and low on the ankle but slit up the side to allow her to walk, appear to walk, comfortably. She felt sexy. That was the word. She felt attractive to human males. Lilith was confused. Why should she want to appeal to human males? Something of Lucy's emotional responses must be leaking over along with the sensory input.
"Have you brought breakfast?" asked Lucy, to where Lilith appeared to stand. Then the girl took a closer look at the fine clothes. "I am sorry. I am half asleep. I thought you were a servant." The girl giggled in embarrassment. Clearly someone dressed like Lilith was a lady, albeit a rather strange one.
"No, Lucy, I need to talk to you. We have a problem," said Lilith.
"Do I know you?" Lucy was surprised by the informality.
"No, but I know you. I am Lilith. I am afraid I have played a foul trick on you. My excuse was that I was dying." Lilith sat on the side of the bed.
At that moment the door opened and Millie, her maid, entered with a tray.
"Breakfast, my lady, with Master Tunstall's compliments."
"Thank you," said Lucy. "Put it on the side." The maid bustled around. "It is a nice day, my lady. Master Tunstall says you have been unwell and will be inside all day but what do men know? If you are feeling better then, if I were you, I should take some air in the garden to clear away the foul vapours. I will help you dress when I come back for the tray."
"Thank you," said Lucy again, as the maid let herself out.
"Can you pass me the tray?" Lucy said to Lilith.
"I'm afraid not, Lucy."
"No, you can't touch anything, can you? The maid never once looked at you. She couldn't see you could she?"
"No, Lucy. Only you can see me."
The girl nodded. "What are you, a ghost? In those clothes you must be a spirit from a faraway country. Why am I not more frightened?" The girl frowned, "Mayhap this is all a dream, or I am bewitched."
Lilith's subroutine interpreted. A
"I am not a ghost Lucy. I am alive but I am from far away. You are not dreaming or bewitched. You are looking at a portrait that only you can see. I am really in your head. You are calm because I am deliberately damping panic reactions in your body." Lilith tried to put the situation into terms that would suit Lucy's world picture.
"Sweet Jesus. This is what Dee meant. I have something inside my head. Something that will make me a monster." The girl's hand curved around the knife.
"Lucy, stop. Dee was wrong. You are not a monster. I don't want you to kill anything. I am not in favour of killing," Lilith said, primly. "At least, not of unnecessary killing."
Honesty forced her to add the qualifier at the end. The People were invariably honest. Their physical structure made it difficult to be otherwise.
"No killing?" asked the girl.
"Not into killing," said Lilith, firmly.
Lilith ran through the events of the last few days with Lucy. The girl bolted down an enormous breakfast while listening intently. Higher energy output required a higher calorific input, noted Lilith. She should have thought of that. Oh well, Lucy would never get fat.
The explanation took much longer than expected because Lucy's and Lilith's concept of how the universe was put together differed in several important areas. Eventually, the girl translated Lilith's story into terms that were familiar. She sat up on the bed and hugged her knees.
"So, Doctor Dee was attempting a spell to summon a demon for my uncle?"
"Yes, Lucy. He wanted information about an attempt on your Queen's life."
"Someone tried to kill Uncle earlier," said Lucy.
"Really? That is interesting," said Lilith, thoughtfully.
"So something went wrong and he got the wrong demon. You are from a far country in the Other World and, unlike our local demons, you are not evil."
"No more than you humans," said Lilith. She had given up trying to explain to Lucy that she was not a demon. Maybe demon was the best word Lucy had to describe her.
"Oh dear," said Lucy. "I have met some vile humans. Uncle has tried to marry me to some of them. And I am stuck with you in my head because it would kill me if you left?"
"Yes, Lucy," Lilith said, patiently.
"I am not sure I like that," said the girl
"No, Lucy, I am sorry. I was dying and had nowhere else to go. I have made a few improvements to your body as rent, so to speak."
"What kind of improvements?" asked Lucy, suspiciously.
"Lucy, I have been reviewing your people's medical practices from my records. As long as I am in here with you, promise me you will avoid physicians."
"Do you think me mad, demon? Of course I will avoid physicians."
"But I digress, I think you will find that my improvements make your body work better."
"I noticed. Did you see Simon's face when I caught that knife?" Lucy said, mischievously.
The two young women dissolved into helpless giggles. In Lucy's case, the reaction had more to do with hysteria than humour.
The maid came in for the tray to find Lucy in fits of laughter. Lilith turned off her image to avoid confusing Lucy. It would not do for word to get out that Lady Dennys talked to ghosts.
"There you are, my dear. Nothing like a good meal to restore your humour."
"Thank you. I think I will take a turn in the garden. After you have dressed me, would you ask Master Tunstall if he would like to be my escort?"
"Of course I will, ma'am," said the maid.
'Are you still there, even when I cannot see you?' thought Lucy.
'I am always with you,' thought Lilith. 'Just think clearly at me and I will hear you.'
'I was afraid of that,' thought Lucy.
"Just let me straighten your hair. What a beauty you are. Every eye in the court will be on you," said the maid.
Simon was working at a desk when there was a knock on the door and the maid came in and curtsied. "The Lady Dennys sends her compliments and bids you attend her in the rose garden."
"What, Lu— the Lady Dennis is out of bed? I will go to her at once."
The maid gave him a knowing look as he dashed out. Simon chose to ignore the impertinent wench. She showed no particular sign of awe in the presence of the young secretary. He did not complain, as he strongly suspected that it would be his dignity that would suffer most in any altercation.
Simon found Lucy standing over a bush of white roses. Roses had a special significance for the English. This was especially true for the Tudor monarchs, who had secured power by uniting the white rose of York with the red rose of Lancaster. The people of England had looked to the Welsh Tudors to end the disastrous English dynastic struggles still popularly known as the Wars of the Roses. Elizabeth was the third great Tudor monarch, after her father Henry VIII and grandfather Henry VII. Memory of the short rules of her puritan brother, Edward VI, and Catholic sister, Mary, were already fading from the public mind. And no one talked of poor doomed Lady Jane Gray, the first Queen of England in her own right, who reigned for but nine days.
Nonsuch had been built as a Tudor Royal Palace so the roses in the garden alternated red and white.
Lucy sniffed the strong scent. "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. That's what the poets say. Do you agree, Master Tunstall, or do you think that a rose would not smell to us like a rose without the blood and lives that they have consumed?"
Simon offered the girl his arm and they strolled down the aisles of flowers. "I can't say I have given it much thought, Lady Dennys. I am afraid I live in a rather dry world of reports and filing systems. I have not considered poetry since my studies at Cambridge and I fear I was a poor master of words."
"And beauty, Master Tunstall," said Lucy. "Do you never consider beauty?"
Simon looked at her.
"Oh yes, Lady
Dennys," he said. "I often consider beauty."
Every adult in England wore hats of a style that befitted their station. Only one social group was allowed licence to ignore this social convention: young unmarried women. Flowing tresses were the crowning glory of English girls. The strong breeze lifted Lucy's auburn hair and tossed it playfully. He had thought that she had a small beauty mark on her left cheek but, oddly, there was no sign of it now.
"Uncle says the rose is the perfect symbol of English monarchy. It projects an image of beautiful and sweet-scented flowers into the light of day but its stem is guarded by sharp thorns."
"And its roots are fertilised by dirt and decay," said Simon, finishing the quote. He smiled down at the girl. "Sir Francis has oft made the same observation to me."
The couple turned into the lanes of bushes. An area of the garden at Nonsuch was laid out in corridors of high-trimmed bushes, which formed the walls of long galleries lined with flowers. Openings led off to enclosed gardens that were like rooms of green. Each had some central feature. Some had a statue, others a central flower display, a small fish pool, or even, in one case, a small theatre stage. Strategically located benches offered succour to the weary. The idea was that a strolling lady and gentleman would turn a corner to be delighted by a novel space where they could have privacy. Such gardens were popularly the haunt of lovers and many a kiss was stolen in their shaded nooks and crannies.
Lucy and Simon entered such an enclosed garden, containing a lawn and five plum trees. In season, lovers could select from their laden branches. Simon steered Lucy towards a wooden bench at the rear. He was concerned that she should not walk too far and suffer a relapse. Honesty forced him to admit another motive. Some little time sitting with Lucy was as pleasant a way to spend the day as he could envisage.
The couple passed a compost heap of newly cut grass that the gardeners had piled in one corner to rot down. Lucy glanced over at the steaming pile and stiffened.
"Master Tunstall, I think you should look more closely at the compost," she said.
What on earth is she up to now, thought Simon, but he humoured her. He took a stick and poked into the loosely piled waste. "It's nothing, Lady Dennys. Just some gardeners rubbish heap," he said, patiently.
The stick glanced off something hard. Simon scooped away the cuttings.
"Oh!" Lucy exclaimed, her left hand covering her mouth in a characteristic gesture.
A naked foot projected out of the compost heap.
"You, man, yes, you," Simon called to a passing gardener. "Find a steward and tell him to fetch Sir Francis Walsingham. Now, man, as fast as you can."
"Stay with me, Lady Dennys. Come sit over here on the bench. I don't want you in the gardens without an escort."
"It was murder then, Master Tunstall," she said.
"I fear so, Lady Dennys. The men were stabbed." Simon smiled reassuringly at her. "Nothing to worry about though."
"You think the assassins are still here, sir?" she asked.
"Very unlikely. I am sure they are long gone." But he drew his sword and attempted a martial pose over the girl.
They had not so long to wait before Walsingham arrived, accompanied by a steward.
"There, Sir Francis, in the compost are two fresh bodies," said Simon.
Walsingham squatted down and closely examined the corpses.
"The blood is dry, Tunstall, but rigor mortis has not yet set in. This happened very recently." He turned to the steward. "You, sir, come here."
The steward was a portly man who clearly enjoyed the good life. "Me, Sir Francis?"
"Yes, you. Tell me if you recognise either of these men."
The steward reluctantly bent over the first corpse and shook his head. The second corpse was lying facedown. Walsingham seized it by the hair and pulled the head back to reveal the face. The man's throat had been deeply cut. The steward took one look and retched violently.
"Well, man?" asked Sir Francis, impatiently.
"It's my cousin's son," said the steward, shakily.
"But what was he doing here?" Walsingham grabbed the steward by the shirt.
"On my life, I don't know, sir," said the steward in terror.
Walsingham released the man and smoothed down his shirt. "Fear not, good steward. No blame attaches to you. But I need to know what happened. Can you think of anything?"
The steward gazed at Walsingham uncomprehendingly. Simon knew that the spymaster must be seething with impatience but Walsingham had carried out many interrogations and knew that a servant must be cajoled rather than threatened, or he would simply clam up.
"Come, why was this man at the Palace?"
The steward looked relieved to have a straightforward question that he could answer.
"If it please you, sir, he was one of the Queen's guards."
"Sweet Jesus and all the saints," said Walsingham. "Queen's guards murdered and their weapons and armour missing. Come on, Tunstall!"
Walsingham leapt up and made for the Palace at the run with Simon close behind. Both men forgot Lucy in their urgency.
When they reached the Palace, Walsingham made for a lady-in-waiting who was leaving as they entered.
"Where is the Queen?" Walsingham demanded.
"Why, in her chambers," said the woman.
Walsingham and Simon ran up the corridor, drawing swords.
"But Sir Francis, you can't go in there," she shouted after him.
There should have been two guards at the entrance to the Queen's private chambers but the corridor was empty. Walsingham threw open the door into the Queen's bedchamber. Her Majesty stood in front of the bed in her petticoat. Frightened ladies-in-waiting huddled behind her. Two men, dressed as court guards, menaced the Queen with halberds.
The Queen was at their mercy but they hesitated in front of her imperious stare. Equipped only with a petticoat, she intimidated two heavily armed men. Not for nothing was she known as Gloriana. The Pope himself was quoted as saying that the Virgin Queen of England was "magnificent, only 'tis a pity she's not a Christian."
Walsingham's arrival broke the spell. One guard turned to face the intruders while the other advanced on the Queen. The halberd outreached swords so the guard easily held them off. The second guard raised his weapon to deal the Queen a killing blow.
Lucy ran after her uncle. Lilith noted with satisfaction that she had no difficulty keeping up with the men. The improvements that Lilith had carried out to the girl's body were proving efficient. Lucy was not even out of breath. The girl ran into the room and halted suddenly behind where the men fought. Lilith detected massive emotional response, including fear.
'What's wrong, Lucy? Why are you so frightened?' Lilith asked.
'That man, he's going to kill the Queen,' Lucy thought.
Lilith picked up absolute horror in the girl's thoughts. Lucy was clearly deeply upset but she did not seem to know what to do. She had Dee's athame concealed in her dress but the girl clearly did not think of it as a weapon. Lilith had files about the use of knives in her stolen database. She knew what to do. Lilith calculated trajectories and muscle tension carefully and then took over Lucy's nervous system, shutting down the girl's consciousness.
Something metallic flashed between the three fighting men. It struck the guard menacing the Queen in the back of his neck, with an audible thud. The assassin went down as if poleaxed.
The remaining guard lost concentration and glanced over his shoulder, undecided whether to continue to defend himself or to attack the Queen. Walsingham solved the problem for him, by taking him neatly through the throat while he was distracted.
Simon turned to identify their rescuer and saw Lucy in the doorway looking confused.
The girl quailed as several pairs of eyes stared at her.
"You threw the knife, Lucy?" Walsingham said, astonished.
The captain of the guard led a squad of his men in, at the double. "Sir Francis, what are you doing with a drawn sword in the Queen's presence?"
/> "Your job, I think captain," said Walsingham. He sheathed his weapon and motioned for Simon to do the same.
"You cut it a little fine this time, Sir Francis," said Elizabeth, coolly. "There is blood all over our floor. Methinks, we would prefer that you execute vile traitors somewhere other than our bedchamber."
"I apologise, Your Majesty," said Walsingham dropping to one knee. "I have been extremely stupid."
"Well, well, Sir Francis. No harm done—except to the floor," she said, waving a hand airily.
The captain made a show of looking officious. "This one is dead," he said, examining Sir Francis's victim.
The other traitor made a gurgling sound. He lay facedown and the hilt of a dagger stood out from the back of his neck. The weapon had struck so hard that it had punched through a leather neck guard, deep into the tissue beneath. The captain tried to pull out the knife but the tip was jammed in bone. Eventually, he removed it by putting his boot on the back of the man's neck and pulling with both hands. The traitor groaned and died, depositing a fresh flow of blood on the polished wood.
Elizabeth sighed theatrically. "Lord Lumley will never invite us back at this rate."
"Whose weapon is this?" asked the guard captain, holding out the dagger.
"Mine," a small voice said. "Doctor Dee gave it me."
Lucy stepped forward and retrieved her knife.
"Yours, girl?" said the guard captain, shocked. "You threw it? Are you deranged?"
"Mad is she?" The Queen's voice cut through the conversation. "Mayhap, we should have her bite some of our other subjects. Possibly they might serve their monarch half as well," she snarled.
"Yes, Your Majesty," said the captain, falling to one knee.
"Come here girl," commanded the Queen.
Lucy approached and curtsied deeply. Elizabeth raised the girl up and took her face in one hand, turning her head from side to side.
"A rare beauty, as I said earlier, Sir Francis."
Lucy's Blade Page 9
