“It was after we’d finished eating. The servants were clearing plates and packing things away.” Mary’s lips quivered. “I do not mean to embarrass you, but the ladies were speculating about you and Isabel. If you might be feeling amour for each other. You were walking together, you see, as you have at other times.”
Gavin chose to ignore this, and when he remained silent, Mary continued. “They rode in from the trees behind us. I believe you and Bel were out of sight by then, if that helps pinpoint the time.”
“What specifically do you recall?”
Mary rubbed a hand across her forehead. “The guards shouting. That is the first thing that alerted me. Someone yanked me to my feet, and immediately the ladies and I were surrounded by guards. And Philip.”
“Nobody thought to mount?”
“It was too late. They were upon us in seconds. Eventually, the Tutbury guards fought them off, you came running and joined in, and that was that. And then the frightening incident with Bel occurred.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. You’ve been a great help. One last thing. Did you recognize any of the attackers?”
Something flickered in her eyes briefly, but she quickly recovered and said, “Non. No one.”
For now, Gavin let it go. Was one of the assailants known to Queen Mary? And if so, why was she lying about it?
“Thank you, Your Majesty. With your permission, I’ll question the others here.”
“Mais oui. I shall be in the privy chamber. We will postpone supper until all of you have returned.”
Gavin summoned Cecily, Alice, and Lady Shrewsbury from the passage one at a time. Essentially, they all gave similar responses to Mary’s. Lady Shrewsbury spent most of the interview fussing about Isabel and how she’d been foolish enough to land herself in the middle of the fight. Cecily was bored, examining her fingernails throughout. Alice, sarcastic: “Of course I recognized them. They were all my former lovers.”
To which Gavin could not resist responding: “Ah. That explains why one of them was shouting, ‘Where’s that poxy whore?’”
At that, she rose from her chair and exited the room.
To the devil with her. She’d called Isabel a whore, hadn’t she? Apparently, she misliked being called one herself.
Chapter Nine
Ann shook Isabel awake. Groggy, she was not immediately aware of her surroundings or the time of day. “We must dress you for dinner, mistress,” Ann said. “I’ve just returned from being questioned by Master Blake.”
“What do you mean?”
“About what happened today. Blake and Master Cade are questioning everybody, even the queen.”
“I see.” The day’s events came roaring back. The outing, the walk with Gavin, and the near kiss. Recalling that, she smiled to herself while Ann fastened her gown in the back and then arranged her hair. While seated in front of the mirror, Isabel’s run-in with the attacker played in her mind. She’d been terrified. She had tried to keep her eyes focused on Gavin because she’d known his steady, calm gaze would comfort her.
He had called her “sweetheart.” That was the best memory of the day, the one she would hold close and save for herself alone. She knew what was coming tonight. The other women would have a field day at her expense, laughing about her falling into the river.
But that precious memory would sustain her. The sound of Gavin’s deep voice when he’d said it. Sweetheart.
Sure enough, when she entered the queen’s presence chamber, the titters began. And the taunts. “We thought we would have to go to supper without you, Bel,” Cecily said. “Have you recovered from your dunking?” She looked at her acolytes, and they all laughed. Then, in French, they began discussing the incident, calling Isabel stupid, clumsy, and unladylike.
“Perhaps she can entertain us tonight with her one talent. How to plant oneself in la riviere,” Alice said.
Isabel scanned the room. Both the Shrewsburys were present. Gavin stood near the far wall, talking with Philip, but he briefly glanced at her. To her surprise, John Lesley was back from London and seated next to Mary. Was this the moment she’d been waiting for?
The decision was made for her when Gavin said, “Isabel. Isn’t there something you would like to say to the queen’s ladies?” The room went silent. Isabel felt her heart thumping, so hard she thought perhaps it would knock her over. The women looked uneasily at each other.
“Absolument.” Trying to remain composed, she inhaled a deep, steadying breath. In flawless French she unloaded weeks of pent-up anger and disgust. “You see, vixens, I am not so stupide as you believe. I have studied French for many years, and therefore heard and understood every insult you uttered about me. Know that I have had many opportunities to observe all of you. Since you thought me dull enough not to understand anything you said or did, you made free with your speech and actions.” She paused to draw a deep breath. “Cecily, you are quelqu’un qui aime manger. In fact, I have noticed your habit of secreting food in your handkerchief. Especially sweetmeats.”
Nervous laughter broke out, and Dorothy said, “I thought you were getting rather portly, Cece!”
“Shut up, Dorothy,” Cecily said.
“And Dorothy,” Isabel continued. “For you, it is the drink. You have a habit of over imbibing, which is why you are no good at cards. You tend to nod off when you should be paying attention to which suits are being played.”
Dorothy glared at Isabel. “You said you did not play cards.”
“I don’t. But I know how.” Isabel had to fight to keep from looking smug.
Alice laughed hardest. “I suspected you of cheating, Dorothy. Every time your head bobbed, I thought you were concealing something in your lap!”
Isabel had saved Alice for last. “You, mademoiselle, referred to me earlier today as a putain stupide. I’ve no idea why you would say that of me. Since I have been in residence here, I’ve observed that you meet a certain guard every day behind the dovecote.”
Alice looked like she’d swallowed a toad.
“And I believe I can safely say he is not alone in receiving your attentions, n’est-ce pas?”
Alice began to whine. “I am not the only lady—”
But now all the ladies were shouting over each other. Hurling insults that made Isabel blush. She feared it might end in a brawl. Glancing across the room at Gavin, she found him looking back at her with a distinct warmth in his gaze. She smiled, then, and something visceral took flight inside her and rose slowly upward.
Sweetheart. I am your sweetheart.
Mary clapped her hands to stop the commotion. “Ladies, ladies, Isabel has put you in your places, as you so richly deserved. From now on, you shall show her respect, and we will be done with this foolishness. Oui?”
Grudgingly, each of the culprits looked to Isabel and muttered apologies. She harbored no illusion that they would treat her any differently unless Mary was present. Even though they would probably try to get back at her for humiliating them, she couldn’t help feeling victorious. Now, perhaps she would have a place here. She’d proved she could stand her ground with them. She could be of some help to Mary. And impress Lady Shrewsbury, thus avoiding an unceremonious homecoming.
And she could bask in the warmth of Gavin’s smiles. The ones that were just for her.
As the evening wore on, however, Isabel’s ebullience faded. The other women were avoiding her, except for Frances, who was nowhere to be seen. Mary and John Lesley had made themselves scarce as well. The overall mood was subdued, probably because of the scare at the river. Gavin, despite looking at her with what she had earlier deemed affection, had ignored her all evening.
A lutenist and flautist entertained them, but nobody suggested dancing. Gavin made the rounds, spending time with each of the ladies before taking his leave early. Isabel wished to do the same, but Philip had cornered her and said he needed to speak to her about the incident at the river. He suggested they talk in the passage, and she agreed.
They sett
led on a bench set into a window embrasure. “Shrewsbury charged Gavin with getting to the bottom of the assault, and he asked me to help. We are interviewing everybody who was present.”
“I see. Ask your questions, Master Blake, but I doubt I will be of any help.”
Although he tried to persuade Isabel otherwise, she’d been correct. She had nothing to add to what they already knew. “If you were to see your assailant again, would you recognize him?” Philip asked.
“Aye, I would. I had a good look at him.”
“Well, that’s something.”
After their interview, Isabel bade him good night and retired to her chamber. Frances was not there, but there was nothing unusual about that. Who was her preferred gentleman? Gavin, perhaps. But Frances had disappeared immediately after supper, whereas Gavin had remained with the others until a short time ago.
Ann helped her undress, teasing her when she could not stifle her yawns. “You slept three hours this afternoon, mistress. How can you be drowsy?”
“My day was quite eventful. That is my only excuse.”
Once in bed, Isabel allowed the hurt she’d buried to surface. How could Gavin call her “sweetheart” one moment and act as if she were nothing more than a speck of lint on his doublet the next? She must have misread him. He simply thought of her as a friend. A young lady who needed his guidance and protection.
But he’d said he wanted to kiss her. He would have kissed her, had the attack not interrupted them. Isabel knew she would have allowed it, because she was in no doubt about her attraction to him. If she did not wish to make a fool of herself, she’d best put him out of her mind. Especially since she had finally managed to gain the grudging respect of the others.
All things considered, she would much prefer the ladies hating her than losing Gavin’s regard. But she did not seem to have a choice.
…
By the time Gavin made his way outside, darkness had fallen. Instead of retiring, he opted to take the night air by traversing the entire perimeter of the inner bailey. He walked briskly and soon approached the receiver’s lodging near the gate. Currently, the building was used to house guests and had stood vacant since Gavin had been at Tutbury. Candlelight glowed in one of the windows, which puzzled him. As far as he knew, there were no visitors at the castle at present. The stables were adjacent, and he stuck his head inside to see if an unfamiliar horse was housed there. Secured within one of the stalls was a magnificent-looking stallion munching on oats, a horse that did not belong to anyone at Tutbury. Gavin called for the stable boy, who eventually appeared, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Whose horse is this, Tobias?”
“Don’t know, Master Cade. The bishop brought him in.”
“But it’s not his mount?”
“Nay, sir, he fetched his own horse in first.”
“Very well, Tobias.” He ruffled the lad’s hair. “Return to your bed.”
Most likely, there was nothing amiss. But after the scare they’d had today, Gavin wasn’t taking any chances. Obviously, Lesley knew whose horse he’d led into the stables. Had he informed Shrewsbury? Why had this guest not been invited to dine with the rest of them? He stole softly to the receiver’s lodging and pushed the door open. All seemed quiet, but after a moment, voices from a chamber at the far end of the hall drifted his way. From this distance, he could not tell if they were male or female.
Gavin glanced around the hall and saw nothing save darkness. Judging it to be safe, he crept toward the voices. The chamber door was partially open, the odor of fresh rush mats scenting the air. He stopped just short of the entry, straining to identify the speakers. One male and one female, and in a moment, he recognized the woman’s voice. It belonged to none other than Mary, the Scots queen. But to whom was she speaking?
“Our marriage will go forward?” she asked.
Ah. Now Gavin could put a name to the other person. The Duke of Norfolk. Under house arrest in London since his release from the Tower, miraculously, he was here at Tutbury Castle in Staffordshire.
“I am committed to this scheme, although it disturbs my sleep,” the duke said. “The risks are great. If we fail, our lives will be forfeit. But if all goes according to plan, we will steal the throne out from under Elizabeth. You will be crowned queen, and I shall become your consort. But we’ll petition Parliament to name me king and thus rule jointly.”
The duke paused. “I must have your agreement on that.”
Mary must have nodded, because Gavin didn’t hear a response.
This was no great romance. They were marrying for the same reasons most aristocrats did. To combine property and fortune—but on a far grander scale.
His tone jocular, the duke said, “Are you sure you wish to become my fourth wife? All my previous wives have died young.”
Mary responded, her voice too soft for Gavin to hear. Then, “What of Scotland?”
“I fear they will not want you any more than they do at present. Probably less. It matters not. England is the real prize. And you may bring the Scottish lords round your thumb with time.”
“How do matters proceed from here?”
“Lesley brought Ridolfi to meet me in London. Twice,” Norfolk said. “I have agreed to his plan. Indeed, I signed a verbal agreement witnessed by Lesley and two servants, the details of which…”
Gavin heard no more. He was struck on the back of the head, and darkness, like an eerie, looming presence, engulfed him.
The rippling and gurgling of the river brought him to his senses. He was bound hand and foot, and about his waist was a thick rope, tethering him to…something immovable. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and tried to determine exactly where he was. Moving his head delivered waves of excruciating pain. The echo of voices vibrated in his ears. Mary and Norfolk. Thinking proved too much for him, and for the moment, he surrendered to the agonizing pain. Resting his head on the soft grass, he fell unconscious once more.
Later, he woke again, this time feeling a bit less woozy. The pain had subsided somewhat. Where was he? Think, man. He lifted his head, the only part of his body he could move, and studied his surroundings. A half-moon provided enough light for him to quickly determine his location, and what he discovered was not encouraging.
He was staked on the bank of the weir, along the Dove. In the past, the river had filled it, and it was used as a fish pond. But now it was dammed with brush and timber. The water had slowly drained or evaporated. Whoever had placed him there had opened the dam, so that the water level was now rising at an alarming rate. He could already feel its icy touch on his feet and ankles.
Jesu. Someone wants me dead.
Now was not the time to figure out who. It was imperative, if he did not wish to drown, that he think of a way to free himself. If only he could unbind his hands, but they were tied so tightly it would be a waste of time and effort to try. He strained to thrust himself upward with his feet, but, bound together as they were, he couldn’t gain any traction.
He needed to get his boots off. That might loosen the bindings sufficiently for him to extricate his feet and ankles. The rope did not seem as tight as the one binding his hands. The cold, merciless water was now rising over his lower legs, complicating his efforts. Squeezing his legs together, he pushed at the heel of one boot with the toe of the other, and felt his heel release from the boot’s hold on it. He knocked the boot against the ground, but it was full of water, heavy and unwieldy. The swiftly rising water had now reached his waist, and with it came an entire swarm of eels darting and slithering around him. God’s mercy, that was all he needed.
He was running out of time.
While he worked at freeing himself, Isabel’s face popped into his head. Her bottomless brown eyes seemed to be urging him on. What a fool he’d been, thinking to simply cut her from his life. His future. If he did not survive, he’d go to his death regretting that on his last night as a mortal being, he had made up his mind to abandon the smartest, loveliest, and bravest woman he ha
d ever known.
…
Isabel could not settle. Earlier, she had feigned sleep when Frances entered the room and quickly left again. After endlessly squirming about, Isabel threw back the covers and pulled on a dressing gown. Cracking open the door, she made certain the passage was empty and then stole into it. With no destination in mind, she walked toward the far end of the corridor, away from the queen’s chambers. Isabel had no desire to be questioned by the guards who stood outside Mary’s door.
She had not gone more than a few steps when she heard footsteps approaching. Hastily, she ducked into an alcove and behind a pedestal bearing a bust of Caesar. Isabel drew herself in, making her form as small as possible and praying she would not be seen. There were two people talking animatedly. One was Frances; the other, John Lesley. Unfortunately, she could not make out what they were saying—they passed too quickly. Isabel fully expected Frances to enter their chamber, but she did not. She walked on with Lesley, past Mary’s rooms. Lesley paused to speak to one of the guards. Isabel thought something changed hands between them, but she couldn’t be sure because of the dim light.
Where had Frances and Lesley come from? Isabel had never ventured to the far end of the passage, having always assumed it was off limits. She remained crouched down in her hiding place until she was certain no one was about, then proceeded to investigate. She peeked into three small chambers, all of which appeared to be storage rooms. One held pieces of furniture, another, boxes of candles, extra plate, and table linens. In the third, wardrobes lined up along the walls. Isabel suspected they held pieces of Mary’s extensive wardrobe. At the end of the passage, a door led outside. It was not locked, and she opened it easily. A set of stairs marched down the far end of the building. Wasn’t it risky for the door to remain unlocked without a guard posted?
Then a thought occurred to her. Perhaps it was kept locked, but Lesley had requested that it remain unlocked tonight, knowing he would be out late and would need to get back in. Which, in turn, meant he’d bribed one or more of the guards.
Game of Spies Page 9
