“Don’t know what ye’re askin’ me, sir.”
Gavin softened his voice and manner. The boy was practically a child, after all. “Where do you take the documents the bishop gives you? Whom do you give them to?”
“I takes ’em to Derby. Don’t know the man’s name. But he’s not from hereabout, I can tell you that. He’s a foreigner. And he gives me missives to bring back to the bishop.”
It was all Gavin could do not to gloat, not to revel in this triumph. The packet of documents could be the break they’d been waiting for. “What is your name, son?” he asked.
“Simon, sir.”
“Well, Simon, where do you think this fellow may hail from?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
“Can you describe him for me? What was he wearing?”
“Hose, master. A fancy coat over a doublet, and a cap. The cap were tipped, like, to one side.”
“He didn’t tell you his name?” When Simon shook his head, Gavin asked, “What did he call you?”
Simon scratched his head. “Rag something. I didn’t understand him. Told him my name, but he didn’t use it.”
Ragazzo. Italian for boy. “Can you describe his appearance, Simon?”
When the lad appeared perplexed by this request, Gavin helped him. “Short or tall? Dark hair or light? Fat or thin? Those sorts of things.”
“Shorter than you by a mile, but taller than the bishop. Not fat or thin, neither one, only ordinary. Dark hair what curled under, and a beard.” The lad fidgeted, eyeing his packet. He wanted to be off.
God’s mercy, this could be Ridolfi himself.
Gavin smiled. “You’re doing well, Simon. You’ve a good head for details. Anything else you can remember about him?”
“His beard were stiff, like he put egg white on it.”
“Ah. Mayhap he does. Men do that in some countries.”
He scooted off his chair and said, “I’ll take that packet now, sir. I’ll be late if I don’t leave now. Got to walk to Derby.”
When Simon made to grab the packet, Gavin snatched it away. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, lad. I’ll need to read these documents first.” Even then, the likelihood of allowing the boy to deliver them was slim. Gavin opened the door and summoned the servant who attended him. “Go to the kitchen in the queen’s lodging and bring back a meal for this lad. Stay with him and don’t allow anybody else access to him. Understood?”
The man nodded. “Aye, Master Cade.”
“I’ll wait with him until you return.”
Gavin turned back to Simon, and only then did he see the tears in the boy’s eyes. “Here, now, no need for that. I promised you a shilling, and you’ll get it. And you may keep the coin the bishop gave you.”
“He’ll hurt me if I don’t deliver the packet. He said he’d cut off my bollocks and stuff ’em down my throat.”
Gavin cringed. What kind of monster threatened a young lad with torture? The boy stepped into a pool of light, and Gavin saw his face clearly for the first time. He had spots, which meant he was older than Gavin had taken him for. But still, not more than sixteen or seventeen.
Gavin was itching to open the packet and examine its contents, but he dared not do so in front of Simon. “Tell me, lad, how you met the man who gave you missives for Lesley—the bishop.”
“I were hangin’ about town, sweepin’ streets and doin’ other jobs to earn a halfpenny or two. He saw me and motioned me over. I was suspicious at first—some of them types have a liking for young boys—but my mum allus needs coin. So I talked to him, and he told me what he wanted.”
“How long have you been in his—and the bishop’s—employ?”
“Not long. A month, but not much more.”
“I see. And how often do they seek your help?”
“This is the fourth time I been up here to the castle.” He smiled ruefully. “’Tis a long walk.”
A rap on the door interrupted them, but Gavin had learned enough. “Simon, this is Barnaby. He’ll take you to another chamber where you may eat and rest. I’m afraid you must remain with us for a bit longer.”
Simon had suddenly perked up. The scent of roasted fowl and vegetables wafted from a basket Barnaby carried and soon permeated the hallway. After one more longing glance at the packet, Simon followed the servant out the door. Leaving Gavin free, at last, to examine the documents.
It took only moments to bring him back to Earth. The documents all related to Mary’s mundane affairs. One was her request for more tapestries and carpets, as the winter months were closing in and the castle would be subject to strong winds and cold temperatures. Another confirmed what Blake had learned in his interview with Ann, the lady’s maid. Mary was to be moved to Sheffield Castle for Christmastide. And last, there were several letters penned by Mary herself to her connections in France, requesting such items as embroidery floss, fabrics, and various cures for her ailments.
Hellfire and damnation. Nothing of any use. Nothing.
Gavin placed the documents back in the packet. Young Simon could sleep at Tutbury tonight. He would not like it, but it was growing too late to walk the twelve miles back to Derby. Gavin would send him on his way in the morning, on horseback with an escort. The lad would arrive sooner that way, and without suspicion.
Chapter Thirteen
When Isabel returned to Mary’s chambers, a few of the ladies glanced up with knowing looks. Had they guessed where she’d been? Did she look like a woman who’d lately been pleasured by an attractive and wickedly sensual man? Mary and Lady Shrewsbury were in their customary places, while everybody else was relegated to the small, extremely uncomfortable footstools. An afternoon seated on one made Isabel’s back ache unrelentingly. After locating the volume she’d been reading out loud, the Odyssey, she found her place and settled in for a long afternoon. But it seemed the ladies wished to talk.
“I, for one,” Cecily said, “am grateful for the move to Sheffield for Christmastide. Lady Shrewsbury, is it a more salubrious lodging?”
Without glancing up from her needlework, the lady said, “I believe you will find it so, and you have me to thank. I informed the earl that if the latrines were not dug out, and the midden cleared away, I was leaving Tutbury for Chatsworth and not returning.”
“We are grateful to you, my lady,” Dorothy said. “Perhaps when we return, it will be less malodorous here.”
Isabel hid her surprise at the news, since everybody else seemed to know. Perhaps Mary had informed them while she’d been with Gavin. “Is it at a distance?” Isabel asked.
“A full day’s carriage ride. We will leave at dawn.”
“When?”
“Not until December twenty-third, so we have plenty of time to prepare. We’ll remain at Sheffield through Twelfth Night—or until the necessary work here at Tutbury has been completed.”
Isabel glanced at Mary. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet during this exchange, concentrating on her needlework. In a moment, she glanced up and caught Isabel watching her. “Pray, ladies, let us stretch our legs. Don your mantles and meet in the garden. We have been sitting too long.”
“Is that permitted?” Alice asked.
“We will not venture outside the garden,” Mary answered. “I cannot see why that would be objectionable. We shall remain in full view of the guards.”
Isabel walked down the passage to her chamber with Frances. “You were absent a long time this morning, dear Isabel,” she said, smiling.
“Aye. I took a long walk. It was quite invigorating.”
“By yourself? Gavin was not with you?”
Isabel could not hold back a laugh. Their interest in each other was becoming apparent, so what harm would it do to tell her the truth? Although she wasn’t sure she should trust Frances since she’d seen her with Lesley the night Gavin was nearly killed.
“Aye, he was. Teaching me to play tennis.”
Frances gave her a wry look. “Is that what it is called now?”
Isabel’s
face grew hot. “He instructed me until I was able to achieve some skill. Then we bandied the ball back and forth for a short time. I’m not very good at it yet.”
Frances exploded with laughter. In fact, she laughed so hard, they had to stop at one of the window embrasures so she could recover herself. “Oh, Bel, you are such an innocent.”
Isabel did not understand what was so funny. “Let’s go, Frances. The queen will be waiting.”
Wiping tears from her cheeks, Frances accompanied Isabel to their chamber, where they gathered mantles, gloves, and hats, then followed the others down the stairs. The guards did not question their departure from the lodging.
Once outside, Mary motioned to Isabel, who hurried over to see what she wanted. The little dog, Bisou, raced back and forth, releasing his pent-up energy. He looked exceedingly funny, with his little legs pumping so hard. Delighted, Isabel laughed. The queen linked arms with her and said, “Walk with me, ma chere. Where were you earlier? I thought perhaps you had left us.”
“My apologies, Your Majesty. I should have asked your permission. It won’t happen again.”
She waved a hand through the air. “You did not answer my question.”
Trapped, Isabel could not lie. Nor did she know why her first impulse was to do so. “I was with Gavin. After the mishap at the tennis court, he promised to teach me to play. We had not had the opportunity until today.”
“All that time you were swatting tennis balls at each other?”
“Aye, madam.” For most of it, anyway.
At least she did not dissolve into laughter, as Frances had done. “He cares for you, Bel. Do you return his regard?”
Did she? She certainly had not set out for Tutbury with the least expectation of finding a man. She left her home to escape a marriage. Of her ardor for Gavin, there could be no doubt. He was simply the most beautiful, virile man she’d ever encountered. Despite his occasional tendency to ignore her, he’d shown her the utmost kindness and consideration. More than any person who had ever graced her life. She was a sexual neophyte, but he had treated her with great tenderness, and she found him irresistible. If his kisses and embraces were any indicator, she suspected he felt the same.
By God’s light, I am falling in love with the man.
Stammering a bit, she said, “I-I do, Your Majesty.”
Chuckling, the queen patted her hand. “Have you been in love before, Bel?”
“No, ma’am. Nor did I ever expect to be.”
Suddenly, Mary steered her off the path and over to a fountain, the base of which was surrounded by a ledge broad enough to sit upon. “May I confide in you, Bel?” the queen asked after they’d sat down. “You must not tell a single soul what I am about to say.” Bisou jumped up and Isabel set him on her lap.
“I would never divulge your confidences, Your Majesty.” The fountain was turned off, in anticipation of cold weather, and the surrounding foliage had withered and gone dormant.
“C’est bon. Of all my ladies, I trust you the most.” Then, she lowered her voice to a whisper, so that Isabel had to lean toward her to hear what she was saying. “I am to wed the Duke of Norfolk.”
Shocked, Isabel made a spontaneous decision to hide her initial reaction. “May I offer my most sincere wishes for your happiness, Your Majesty.”
“Merci, Bel.” Mary’s smile was tentative at best.
What to say?
Since Isabel and Gavin’s liaison at the tennis court, the weather had changed. Now, a stiff breeze ruffled her hair and burrowed beneath her mantle. Shivering, she said, “How did this come about, Your Majesty? I was under the impression your cousin would not condone a union between you and the duke.”
“She has had a change of heart.” Mary looked everywhere but at Isabel. “That is not quite the truth. She has not yet been informed, but I am confident she will give us her blessing when she knows we wish to marry. It will be in her best interest to do so.”
Isabel would call it “permission” rather than “blessing.” Mary and Norfolk could not simply announce their intention to marry and expect Queen Elizabeth to acquiesce. Recalling Gavin’s warning to be wary and cautious with Mary, Isabel reined in her curiosity and merely said, “I understand.” Even though she did not.
They were silent for a time, and the laughing voices of the others drifted on the wind toward them. Bisou suddenly jumped down, dropped on his haunches, and growled. It made Bel uneasy. Was someone listening? Mary, distracted, did not seem to notice. “We have plans, you see. Even though at present our marriage does not seem a possibility, in the coming months, there will, perhaps, be a re-ordering of things.”
Horrified, Isabel clamped her mouth shut. What could she say to that? The implications of this were treasonous, and Bel would be required to inform Shrewsbury if Mary was determined to proceed with this…“re-ordering.” Mary’s own life would be forfeit.
The queen needed no encouragement from Isabel to proceed. “Many changes are in the wind, Bel. More than that I cannot say at present. Soon, you will understand.”
Heart pounding, Isabel debated with herself. Should she warn Mary that whatever she and the duke were planning was treason and would put them both at risk? Surely, she must be aware of that. But Bel would not rest easy unless she advised caution. She kept her voice low, in case Bisou had picked up someone’s scent. “Your Majesty, is this wise? I do not know what it is you refer to, but the danger to you would be great. Are you certain you wish to be involved in such a…plot?”
Mary scowled, and Isabel regretted her comment. Rising, the queen paced away from Bel, who stood up when Mary did. Suddenly, she spun around. “Do you think this life is easy for me? That I enjoy being a prisoner? I am a queen, Bel! A sovereign! Many believe the throne of England is mine by right. In my position, would you not reach out and seize any chance to gain your freedom? To live the life you deserve? The life you were born to?”
Stunned, Bel said nothing. Mary had covered her face with her hands and was weeping.
God’s mercy, what have I done?
She took a tentative step toward Mary. “Your Majesty, I beg your forgiveness. It was not my intention to upset you. This is no kind of life for you. I know that. We all know that, including the Shrewsburys.”
Mary said nothing. Her heartbreaking sobs persisted, and Isabel fervently wished she could assuage the woman’s torment.
Stretching out her hands to the queen, she said, “Your constant disappointments and vexations must be unbearable. But I implore you not to do anything rash. Anything that will have consequences severe enough to make your situation worse.” Much worse.
Mary rose abruptly, her lips pressed into a flat line. “Enough, now. Let’s find the others.” She glanced ruefully at Isabel. “I will never be free, I fear.” As they wandered down the paths, Bisou at their heels, Mary clung to her as though she were drowning and Isabel was her only means of staying afloat.
…
Gavin was conversing with the Shrewsburys, Blake, and Dorothy Vere when Isabel entered the outer chamber. Before Mary could claim her, he excused himself and hastened to meet her while she was still standing in the doorway. Her eyes alight, an ecstatic smile broke across her face. God’s mercy, but she looked like the Helen of Troy of his imagination. The-face-that-launched-a-thousand-ships kind of beauty. Then his heart dropped, for what he was about to say to her would most likely erase that smile.
“Good even, Gavin.” A pause. “Is something amiss? You look quite somber.” A servant offered Bel a glass of wine, after which Gavin grasped her elbow and escorted her to a nook near a tall window, where they might have some privacy.
Setting her wine on the window ledge, she turned to him and said, “I believe ’tis time you revealed to me your true occupation here at the castle. I have been mulling it over, you see. You say you are equerry to the earl, but you seem to spend most of your time on either the queen’s safety…or on unraveling conspiracies.” She sobered and leaned in. “You were nearly k
illed, Gavin! Why?”
Confounded, Gavin simply stared at her. Why, of all times, had she chosen this one to quiz him about his work? It had been inevitable, eventually, since he’d been sharing so much with her, but the very night he wished to speak of…other matters? “Isabel,” he began, wanting to put her off, “we cannot have this conversation here, amid these people. Is that not obvious?”
Then he saw by her expression, her question had been only half serious. She was flirting with him, teasing him. He probably could have laughed and hedged, but since he’d misinterpreted, it was too late for that. Perhaps he should simply be honest. Telling her of his true purpose here should not affect the other conversation they must have. Her gaze remained steady, but her smile was slipping. He nodded, studying her. “You guessed my not-very-well-kept secret.”
Glancing around the room, she lowered her voice. “Tell me more. Everything.”
“I will, but not here, Bel. There are too many eyes and ears in this room. We cannot risk it.”
She nodded. “Of course not. I beg your pardon.”
“I do need to speak to you of something else, though.” Just then, Mary announced dinner, and to Gavin’s frustration, their talk would need to be postponed. Nothing was going according to plan. Had he imagined he could seduce her until she was drunk with pleasure, then mere hours later, in the middle of a pre-dinner gathering, tell her he was not seeking a wife and they must never indulge in such behavior again? Jesu, he was an idiot.
Shrewsbury sat on one side of Mary, and Gavin on the other. He did not know why he’d been accorded this honor, since the queen did not often bestow it upon him. On his other side was Cecily Blake, bedecked with pearls sewn onto her gown and artfully arranged in her hair. She was a temptress, no denying that. If only her manner was more inviting. Not toward him; he had no interest in her. Not for the first time, Gavin wondered why she was so unpleasant. He’d never truly made an effort to know her better; mayhap this would be a good time to do so, since Mary was deep into conversation with the earl.
“Mistress Cecily, are you looking forward to the move to Sheffield?”
Game of Spies Page 13
