Clasping his hands behind his back, he bowed with rather less respect than he ought to have shown the heir presumptive to the throne.
‘My Lady Elizabeth,’ he murmured, raising his head to meet her accusing gaze. His colour was heightened, his breathing a little fast, but he was back in control. ‘I must apologize for my presence here. You were unwell, so I was called in to question your servant—’
‘I have heard the servant girl’s story, and it is clearly nonsense.’ Elizabeth’s tone was icy, though her eyes flashed across the room at me as though promising dire consequences later. ‘I thank you for your diligence in this matter, Master Dent, but your presence is no longer required. Please leave us.’
He persisted. ‘Madam, an accusation of witchcraft has been made—’
‘There are no witches here, sir. Only two very foolish girls. I may be a prisoner of my sister the Queen’s Grace, but I am still mistress of my own household here at Woodstock and shall punish my own servants as I see fit. Nor are your skills as a witchfinder needed. It was not witchcraft, as you will hear, but a jest gone wrong.’
She turned her head and spoke a command softly to Blanche Parry, who had stood silent and watchful at her shoulder the whole time.
Joan was produced, cringing and rubbing her eyes, from behind Blanche’s voluminous skirts and pushed forward into the centre of the room. There she gave a shivering, tear-stained denial of her original tale and agreed with the Lady Elizabeth, after being prompted, that it had been ‘nothing but a poor jest’ and ‘all made up’.
‘A poor jest, indeed,’ Marcus said tightly, but I could see that he knew he had lost.
Sir Henry Bedingfield came through the door, his florid face redder than ever, demanding to know what on earth had been going on while he was out with the guards in the old palace, searching for suspicious items that might have been left there. He had heard shouts of fire from the lodge, which had turned out to be false, and now the Lady Elizabeth was out of her sickbed and speaking without permission to the local witchfinder.
Elizabeth fixed her gaoler with a stern eye. ‘Sir,’ she said simply, ‘your efforts here have made a mountain out of a molehill. Two silly girls played a game that went awry, and that is all there is to be said about it. Regardless of the country of my sister’s prospective bridegroom, this is still England and we are not yet obliged to accept the Inquisition into our houses.’
Marcus Dent bowed, and reached for his cap and cloak. I could guess what he was thinking. To press his moral duty to examine me as a witch would have been to invite possible disaster in the future. If Queen Mary died without an heir – though that was in serious doubt, with her wedding to Philip of Spain about to take place – Elizabeth would be within her rights to claim the throne. And any fool knew that those who scorned the Lady Elizabeth during her exile from court would be repaid with equal scorn if she were to become Queen herself.
Once Marcus Dent had safely gone, accompanied by a tight-lipped Sir Henry Bedingfield, I waited in silence, with downcast eyes, for the Lady Elizabeth to chastise me.
In the tense silence that followed, I glanced discreetly at the princess and noticed for the first time how unwell she appeared. Her face was lily-white, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed, and she had seated herself in the same chair by the window that Dent had only recently occupied. For her to sit in company was rare, for Elizabeth was a restless person and preferred to stand or walk about whenever possible. I had not seen her so affected since her mysterious illness in June, from which she had taken so many weeks to recover.
‘Now, Meg Lytton, I intend to discover the truth of this botched affair that forced me to rise from my sickbed and have Joan lie to that gentleman on your behalf,’ Elizabeth told me, her white hands tightening on the arms of her chair.
Her shrewd gaze was hard to meet. ‘What precisely were you doing in the old palace last night?’
SEVEN
Immortal Soul
WE WERE ALONE together, the door was closed for once, and there was no one to hear us.
‘Speak,’ Elizabeth commanded me impatiently.
‘I was casting a circle,’ I admitted flatly, and saw her face tighten. ‘I didn’t know Joan had followed me out there. I’m sorry. It was careless of me.’
‘I thought we had agreed it was no longer safe to work magick in the old palace. Besides, to go out there alone at dusk was madness. Simply being caught out at such an hour without good reason would be enough to draw suspicion on yourself.’ She looked at me in silence for a moment. ‘You could have been hanged for this, you understand that?’
I blenched and whispered, ‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Why in God’s name do it, then?’
‘I wanted to strengthen my skill. To see if I could work magick on my own, without my aunt to help me.’
‘You were a fool to do so.’ Her voice hardened. ‘Did you never consider the danger you were putting me in? If the Queen heard that a member of my own household had been taken as a witch, do you think she would rest until I too had been summoned back to the Tower and questioned on the same charge?’
I was ashamed, realizing too late that she was right. ‘I’m sorry, my lady.’
She must have read the contrition in my face. ‘Well, if you are resolved never to be such a fool again, and to celebrate Mass with me every morning and evening for the next month like a good Catholic, then we may yet save you from the rope.’
‘I am, my lady. Quite resolved.’
‘Then we shall say nothing more about it.’
I curtseyed. ‘Thank you, my lady.’
‘Not that you must abandon your powers altogether, of course, for I may yet have need of them. But you must be more discreet from now on. I will not be able to lie for you a second time, not without drawing too much attention to myself.’ Elizabeth thought for a moment, staring down at the fine red threads of her mantle. ‘Do you know how to work astrology, Meg? To divine the future from the movements of the stars?’
‘A little,’ I agreed. ‘And to tell the future from the bones, or the entrails of a dead animal, or even the patterns in a bird’s flight.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘For I would have you teach me some of these skills. But not until we can be sure we are not overheard.’
We had been speaking in whispers, our voices so low that no one listening outside could have heard a word. But now Elizabeth straightened, raising her voice for the benefit of anyone with their ear to the door.
‘I have accepted your innocence this time, but there must be no more doubt about your character. Nor will you disgrace my household again, is that clear? If you are so much as suspected of casting a tinker’s spell or making up a love potion, I shall put you back in the hands of that despicable witchfinder myself. Yes, and come to see you hang, if you are found guilty.’
It was all pretence, yet still I shivered, not entirely sure that Elizabeth did not mean that threat.
‘Let this be a lesson to you, girl,’ she continued harshly, ‘to keep to your daily work and your prayers, and not stray too far from the confines of the lodge.’
Elizabeth rose and looked out of the windows, as Marcus had done, across the sunlit lawns down to the river. Her long-fingered hands trembled on the windowsill. Elizabeth seemed very young suddenly. Yet she had already suffered so much in her short and troubled life. I wondered if she was thinking of her mother, the beautiful Queen Anne, executed as a witch and a heretic as well as an adulteress.
But she went on after a moment, in a lighter tone, ‘You have that young Spaniard to thank for your life, by the way. He came to see me this morning. Had the impudence to break into my bedchamber unannounced and beg me to help you.’
I said nothing, but felt heat flood my cheeks.
‘What is he to you?’ she asked idly.
‘Nothing, my lady.’
She made a noise under her breath, and I felt sure she did not believe me.
‘You know why he was sent here, of course,’ she
bit out, still staring out of the window. ‘He and his “holy” master.’
‘To . . . to instruct you further in the ways of the Catholic faith?’
‘To spy on me!’ Her jewelled hands gripped the windowsill convulsively, then Elizabeth seemed to force herself to relax. She beckoned me closer and lowered her voice again. ‘My sister does not trust me. Nor does Prince Philip, her Spanish husband-to-be. These two Catholic priests have been sent here to watch whatever I do and say. I am observed at every turn, and my movements reported to my sister. Who then tells me she keeps me prisoner here for my own safety and well-being!’
Father Vasco was a hostile and unpleasant man who seemed to hate Elizabeth and the Protestant faith she had professed under her brother’s reign. I could well believe he was here to make mischief for the princess. But could Alejandro be spying on Elizabeth and sending secret reports back to London? Was such a thing possible?
I thought of those cool dark eyes, his swift and calculating intelligence, the way he had bribed that guard so he could speak to me last night . . .
Oh yes, it was possible.
‘I have no proof,’ Elizabeth continued under her breath, her voice bitter. ‘Nor can I send them away without sinking myself deeper in trouble, for I promised to offer hospitality to any priests who should come to instruct me. But I would have you befriend Alejandro, since he finds you of interest. Watch him for me, both him and Father Vasco. Let me know if my suspicions are correct. Only be cautious. Do not grow too close to him. These priests are dangerous and not to be trusted, you understand?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
She turned away from the view, seeming to shake off her anger. ‘Now, I imagine the boy is still waiting outside to discover the outcome of this interview. Better call him in quickly, before Bedingfield returns.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
I curtseyed and opened the door to find Alejandro de Castillo waiting there, two guards blocking his way with crossed pikestaffs. His dark eyes searched my face.
‘The Lady Elizabeth wishes to speak with the priest,’ I told the men coldly. They dropped their pikes aside and let him enter.
I closed the door in their faces, though I knew that as soon as Bedingfield returned he would demand the door be left open, so there could be no secret discussions between us. Elizabeth was, after all, still under suspicion of treason herself.
‘Alejandro de Castillo,’ she addressed him formally, and signalled him to rise from his respectful bow. ‘You came here with your master to keep us all in the Catholic faith when we are far away from court. But will you pray for this girl too, priest?’ He began to reply, but Elizabeth cut him short. ‘Will you watch over one who has been accused of practising the dark arts?’ She looked at me, her voice shaking slightly, and I did not know why I had always thought her cold and distant. ‘I believe Meg to be innocent of those charges. But her immortal soul stands in some danger, I fear.’
We could hear Bedingfield returning. His familiar tread echoed up the wooden stairs, heavy in his outdoor boots. Blanche Parry’s voice was raised as she followed him, perhaps as a covert warning to her mistress that she would soon be under observation again.
Alejandro bowed again, his face solemn. ‘It is a great honour to serve you in this way, Your Highness. I shall indeed pray for Meg Lytton, and watch over her immortal soul while I am here at Woodstock.’
Elizabeth’s mouth twisted in a smile. ‘Sir, I thank you, but you must address me as “my lady”. I am no longer a princess.’
‘You are the daughter of a king, Your Highness. Until you are Queen yourself, you must always be . . . una princesa.’
‘Hush, sir, are you trying to land me in trouble too?’ But Elizabeth laughed, and already she looked better, her cheeks lightly flushed, her eyes sparkling at this flattery. She allowed Alejandro to kiss her hand and, as Bedingfield and Blanche Parry entered the room, even addressed him in fluent Spanish, which I had heard she had learned as a child.
Alejandro smiled at the princess with sudden, glowing warmth. He replied in the same language, only falling silent when Bedingfield interrupted, asking him irascibly to ‘Speak English!’ before adding to the princess, ‘You are fortunate, my lady, in your gift for foreign tongues. But alas, I have been instructed to hear all your conversations and so must request you to stick to plain English when you speak in front of me.’
Alejandro bowed again to Elizabeth, and led me from the room, still doffing his cap with great courtesy.
Outside the door, I stared up into his bronzed face. I was suddenly breathless, aware of how lucky I was to have escaped with my life today.
‘What did she say to you?’
Infuriatingly, Alejandro shook his head, still smiling. ‘I will tell you one day. But not today. Come!’ He seized me by the hand and began leading me down the stairs.
‘Where are we going?’ I demanded.
‘I have been put in charge of your immortal soul,’ he told me firmly, ‘so we are going to take the Holy Sacrament. I shall wake Father Vasco from his siesta and he will hear your confession.’
‘But I don’t have anything to confess.’
‘Nothing?’
‘No,’ I insisted stubbornly, hanging back against the tug of his hand. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘De verdad?’ Alejandro stopped and looked back at me. ‘I find it hard to believe that, Meg Lytton. Especially when I was exploring the old palace early this morning and happened to find this.’ He felt beneath his jacket, and drew out my aunt’s black-handled dagger.
I stared, speechless.
‘Your immortal soul . . .?’ he queried again.
‘Is perhaps a little bit in danger,’ I breathed, nodding. How had he found my aunt’s athame? I thought I had hidden it safely. There were footsteps below us on the stairs. My eyes met his. ‘Put that away. Would you see us both hanged?’
He handed me the dagger. I drew up my heavy skirts, not caring what he might see, and hid the dagger in the top of my woollen stocking. By the time the guard passed us, I was respectable again, if a little red in the face.
We went downstairs together to find Father Vasco. Considering what the princess had told me of his mission here, I was surprised that Alejandro had neither betrayed me nor used the dagger to blackmail me. After all, he could easily have threatened to take the dagger to Marcus Dent.
What Alejandro might have demanded in return for his silence, I dared not consider. Though I couldn’t help but think that it would not have been a hardship to give in to his demands.
I caught myself staring furtively at my unlikely saviour during Mass, perplexed by Alejandro’s unexpected help in avoiding the hangman’s noose. I had never found it too hard to understand people, to see almost at a glance what they wanted and why. Yet Alejandro was a riddle I could not solve. It seemed as if I had been mistaken in thinking him my enemy, but yet I must remain cautious.
I was in the old palace herb garden a few days later, sent on an errand to gather fresh bay leaves for the cook, when Blanche Parry finally cornered me. She had been trying to get me alone all day and so far I had carefully avoided her. I did not know what she wanted, but I could see from her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes that she was angry.
‘Not so fast. It’s time you and I had a talk,’ Blanche insisted as I tried to slip past, a muttered excuse on my lips about the cook waiting for me.
I said nothing but waited, eyes downcast, herb basket cradled on my arm, to hear what I had done to offend her. There was never any point arguing with Blanche when she was in this mood.
‘You may have fooled the others, but you can’t fool me,’ Blanche said fiercely. ‘I know you for a witch.’
I raised my eyes to her face at that. Knew me for a witch, did she? I considered a few spells my aunt had taught me, methods of ensuring a person’s silence. But they were all dangerous and could easily go wrong. I knew Elizabeth would never forgive me for working magick against her faithful lady-in-waiting.
&nbs
p; Although I had stayed stubbornly silent, my expression must have betrayed my anger. Blanche made the sign of the cross, as though afraid I might turn her into a toad at any moment.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Devil’s child.’ She saw my involuntary movement, and her face twisted with malice. ‘Oh yes, I remember the gossip about your mother. Cat Canley was a witch too, though she knew better than to flaunt it at court. But she was too friendly with poor Lady Elizabeth’s mother, and look what happened there. Queen Anne suffered a terrible death, her head struck clean from her body!’
‘That was not my mother’s doing,’ I said coldly, struggling to control myself.
‘Perhaps not.’ Blanche Parry levelled a shaking finger at me, her voice a vehement whisper. ‘But the same will happen to you one day, Meg Lytton, if you keep encouraging my mistress in the dark arts.’
A tide of red moved across my vision, and I could no longer see Blanche Parry; she was just a dim figure against the sunlight. The herb basket tumbled to the floor, spilling bay leaves across the narrow sandy path. I raised my hand, pointing at Blanche with stiffly outstretched fingers, and vaguely heard her shriek.
But before I could speak the words, a familiar voice cut across my rage like a dash of cold water, shocking me back to myself.
‘Meg?’ It was Alejandro, suddenly at my elbow. ‘What’s this? You’ve dropped your basket. Here, let me help you.’
Blanche Parry had backed away into a privet hedge. She stood now, covering her face with her apron and blubbering. ‘Witch! Witch!’ She raised her head to Alejandro and gasped, ‘You saw what happened, señor. She was going to put a spell on me.’
‘I saw nothing,’ Alejandro said sharply. He bowed to her formally. ‘Give you good day, Mistress Parry. I must take Meg back to the house, for Father Vasco has urgent need of her.’
Witchstruck Page 8
