Isabel and Gavin had not spoken. Indeed, he’d barely spoken to anybody but the earl. His demeanor had altered. Whereas before he’d always had a smile and a good word for everybody, now he seemed defeated and depressed. Mary’s ladies gossiped about him, but Isabel did not join in, even when asked directly. Alice prodded her for information while they were packing the queen’s remaining items.
“Bel, what is wrong with Gavin? He is sullen. And he has certainly cooled toward you.”
Isabel, who had believed she was growing indifferent to Gavin, felt a jolt to her heart at that comment. Burdened with an armload of smocks, petticoats, and kirtles, she said only, “You must ask him yourself, Alice. I’ve not spoken to him since his return.” Walking away with her load, she heard the other woman mutter something under her breath and the resulting snickers of her friends.
Mary clapped her hands, silencing them. “Make yourselves useful, ladies. There is much to be done.”
Isabel hurried outside and looked for the cart which held similar items. Shrewsbury and Bess were studying their lists and directing the work of the many servants loading the carts. The earl’s secretary stood by, and even Philip had been pressed into service. John Lesley huddled with an aide, no doubt planning malice of some sort. She didn’t trust him. Not after what Gavin had told her. When she had divested herself of the garments, Isabel glanced up to see Gavin striding toward them, a servant trailing behind him. Gavin was carrying something, and at first, she could not identify what it was. Then, as he drew closer, she saw clearly what he held so gently in his arms. A person. A lad whose form appeared lifeless.
By now, others had taken notice and stopped what they were doing to gape. Suddenly, the atmosphere grew charged, everybody waiting to find out what this was about. Chatter ceased. All eyes were on Gavin. Bearing his sad burden, he headed directly toward Lesley, the only one among them who had not noticed him and who continued talking with his aide. Shrewsbury broke away from his wife and stepped forth, then hesitated, waiting to see what Gavin intended.
Many of those gathered, including Isabel, emitted gasps of horror, shock, or sadness when they finally got a clear view of the dead boy, whose body bore the unmistakable marks of a cruel end. By the time Gavin stopped, directly before John Lesley, that man had finally ceased his conversation and was looking uneasily at Gavin, who said nothing, waiting until he had the bishop’s full attention. The silence grew fraught.
“Well, what is it, Cade?” Lesley said. “Why are you bringing that ghastly corpse to me?” It was bravado. Isabel could see the fear in his eyes.
“You did this,” Gavin said, so softly she had to strain to hear him.
Lesley laughed nervously. “You are not in your right mind. Perhaps you should see a physician. Your humors are unbalanced.” He chortled, but even his aide did not join in the laughter.
Gavin had turned, seeking something. Shrewsbury stepped up behind him and began to speak.
“Is this wise, Cade?” He had whispered, but Isabel was standing close enough to hear. The frown he directed at Gavin held a warning. Gavin passed the body to his servant, who, to his credit, did not flinch. “Take him back to my residence, Barnaby.”
In a moment, it was over. Gavin punched Lesley in the face, then in the belly. His fists flew so fast that Isabel lost count of how many of his punches hit their mark. Lesley clumsily threw a few of his own, to no avail. In the end, Philip and a couple of Mary’s guards restrained Gavin. Even with three of them, it had been difficult. Blood streamed from Lesley’s nose and the huge cuts that had opened around his eyes and on his jaw. Gavin had not a mark on him.
“You’ll pay for this, Cade,” Lesley screamed. “You, too, Shrewsbury. You stood by and allowed this man to beat me.”
“Calm yourself, John,” the earl said. “You’d better have those wounds seen to.” Isabel detected a note of humor in the earl’s words and thought he was suppressing a smile.
“I can have you removed from your post,” Lesley said to Shrewsbury. “I have influence with Elizabeth.” Spittle flew from Lesley’s mouth, and the earl extracted a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at it.
“Do use your influence to that end, for I will be a happy man when that day comes,” Shrewsbury said. Then he spun around and shouted, “Everyone, back to work. We leave at dawn tomorrow, and if we’re not ready, there’ll be hell to pay.” Then he strode off after Gavin, who was walking back toward his residence.
Isabel remained, watching Gavin, wondering who the lad was and, of greater significance, who he was to Gavin. The death of this boy had to be related in some way to Gavin’s two-week absence. Otherwise, she would know. He would have told her. Had he anticipated this killing? Feared it? Was that why he had seemed so careworn, so beaten down, since he’d been back at Tutbury? There was only one way to find out. Ignoring the shouts of Lady Shrewsbury, she turned and ran after the two men. Her anger and bitterness toward Gavin fell away with every step she took.
Shrewsbury had one hand on Gavin’s shoulder and was issuing orders. That was obvious from his demeanor. Gavin nodded and jerked out of his grasp. Isabel reached him just as Shrewsbury was striding away.
“Gavin! Wait.”
He seemed to barely register her presence, only continued walking, staring straight ahead. Out of breath, she hurried to keep pace with him. “Won’t you tell me who the lad is? I can see his death is a great sorrow to you.”
At last, Gavin turned to Isabel. He grasped her hand and led her to the fortification where they’d sat together on the steps and talked. Without preamble, he drew her into his embrace. He brushed his hands over her body— down her sides, up her back, and into her hair. Not in a sensual way, but as though he wished to draw comfort from touching her. She allowed it for as long as he wanted. At some point, the fact that he was quietly weeping crept into her awareness. Hearing his soft sobs caused tears to course down her face, and she dashed them away with one hand. She did not know what was wrong. Nor did she know the dead boy, or even the poor soul’s identity. Nonetheless, she shushed him with quiet, gentle words.
“Hush, now, Gavin. Won’t you tell me what happened? Is the lad kin to you?”
He shook his head. At length, his weeping tapered off. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes and face. The torrent of emotion subsiding, he pulled her down to sit next to him on the crumbling steps. Gavin related Simon’s story to Isabel, clutching her hand the whole time. “He was a good son, who looked after his mother and siblings. Uneducated, poor, but the salt of the earth. If the boy my wife gave birth to had lived, I would have been proud if he’d become a lad as worthy as Simon.”
That shocked Isabel. When he’d told her about his wife and her betrayal, he’d spoken rather coldly of the child she’d birthed. That must have been a way to mask, or perhaps simply not acknowledge, any feelings he may have had for the babe. It had been some time before he’d discovered his wife’s infidelity, and in the interim, he would have mourned the boy’s death. And surely, if the child had lived, Gavin would have raised him as his own, even after he’d learned the truth.
“That snake Lesley and his cohort, Ridolfi, had the boy murdered. When he was late returning to Derby, his death warrant was sealed. I should have realized. I could have protected him. Instead, I used him so we could find out what Ridolfi was up to.”
Denying this would do no good, because it was the truth. Partly, anyway. But Gavin had neither planned nor carried out the murder. “Perhaps. But you tried to help Simon. You didn’t kill him.”
Suddenly, his arms were around her again and he was whispering in her ear. “You are the only good and true person in my life, and I pushed you away. Can you forgive me, Isabel? You are very dear to me, and I am heartily ashamed of what I said to you. I was an arse, and no mistake.” His ravaged face held a world of pain, but she did not doubt his sincerity.
Could she forgive him so easily? When she did not speak, he said, “I want to know you, Bel. Everything about
you. Your past life, of which you have spoken very little, because I have not inquired. How you were hurt. Why you cannot believe there are any good men. All of it. Will you tell me?”
“I-I need time, Gavin. I want to, but…”
“When you are ready,” he said, smiling ruefully.
She nodded. It was the best she could do. Too many times he had encouraged her, then pushed her away.
He got to his feet. “I’m obliged to speak to Shrewsbury before I deliver Simon’s body to his family, which must be done soon.” He let her go and raked a hand through his hair. “And I am sorely in need of a bath.”
“And I must return to my duties before Lady Shrewsbury has an apoplectic fit. You will not return in time to leave for Sheffield with us.”
“No. I’ll join you there.” He leaned down and kissed her gently. “Fare thee well, sweet Isabel. Safe journey.” And then he walked away, his resolute strides leading him to the earl. Isabel watched, feeling an odd sensation. As if the chambers of her heart were overflowing, with an emotion she could only describe as love.
Beware, Isabel.
Abruptly, she spun and headed back to her labors. Deflecting the questions the others were sure to ask would not be easy. And she had questions of her own. In his telling of Simon’s story, Gavin had left out some salient details. Why was he so certain of Lesley’s guilt? What, exactly, was in the documents he had read? Something damning. Something threatening enough that a young lad had lost his life because of it. And Gavin had never referred to any man called Ridolfi before. Who was he? The name seemed vaguely familiar. With Gavin’s emotions boiling over, it had not been a good time to ask him, but the next time they spoke, she would find out.
Most of all, Isabel wondered what it had to do with Mary. Gavin had been careful not to mention her, but Isabel had a feeling the queen may have been the principle subject of the documents.
…
Gavin stripped and bathed before his visit to Shrewsbury. He intended to leave for Derby immediately afterward. The earl would be furious with him for tipping his hand to Lesley, but Gavin was sick of the pretext and subterfuge. By God’s light, Lesley had tried to kill him. He was encouraging Mary in her plotting against Elizabeth and using Norfolk to that end as well. Were they simply to stand by and pretend ignorance?
He had his answer soon enough.
The earl was pacing around his study, pausing every so often to scowl at Gavin. “God’s teeth, Cade, what were you thinking? You were to keep this operation under wraps, so that we could gather as much information as possible. The final nail in the coffin. Thanks to you, we’ve lost that ability. It’s likely they’ll cease their plotting at once.”
“If his plotting involves the murder of innocent young lads, perhaps that is a good thing. Do we not have enough to arrest them? Norfolk, Lesley, and Mary?”
“Recall, there is nothing in the documents implicating Norfolk.”
“Nothing that we could find. Cecil’s people may already have discovered more.”
“May have. And the rest is hearsay. A conversation you overheard before they knocked you on the head. None of it can be proved.”
“It is in the documents!”
“It is not enough. Lesley can claim the wording in the documents means something else entirely.” At last, Shrewsbury dropped into his chair, looking defeated.
Gavin’s unwavering belief that they had sufficient evidence was broken. It had been wrong of him to confront Lesley. He’d allowed his emotions to cloud his judgment. Had he waited until their case was solid, Lesley would have gotten his just deserts in the end. He didn’t know what more to say, so he said nothing. Shrewsbury was right, about everything.
“Go,” the earl said, gesturing. “Carry out your sad duty and get to Sheffield posthaste.”
Gavin nodded and took his leave, shocked that the earl hadn’t dismissed him outright. He exited the Shrewsbury residence and immediately, to his chagrin, encountered John Lesley. Gavin had no intention of speaking to the man, but Lesley had other plans. He stepped directly in front of Gavin, blocking his way.
“I am on my way to speak to Shrewsbury about you, Cade. You should be removed from his service.”
Gavin entreated himself to remain calm, taking a degree of satisfaction from the cuts, bruises, and swelling on the other man’s face. Shoving him aside without responding, Gavin started on his way. Until he heard Lesley say, “Isabel Tait is a lovely young woman. I would hate to see any misfortune befall her. Or you, come to that.”
At which point Gavin spun around, grabbed Lesley by his doublet, and hoisted him into the air. Ah. Now they were eye to eye. “If any harm should come to Isabel, you’re a dead man, Bishop.” Gavin lowered him to the ground, hoping he’d scurry off to the earl.
Lesley straightened his doublet and tugged at his hose. “Stay out of my—and the queen’s—business, Cade.”
Gavin, who’d been about to turn away, halted. “Or…?”
“You may find you’ve gone too far.”
“And I might give you the same caution.”
“I am innocent of any wrongdoing!” Lesley insisted, drawing himself up.
“Tell that to the rack master,” Gavin said. He walked away, and when he glanced back over his shoulder, he took great pleasure in seeing Lesley abandon his plan to talk to the earl. Instead, he was hurrying to his own lodging.
Chapter Sixteen
The trip to Sheffield Castle was a necessary inconvenience. The weather had turned with a vengeance, pelting them with icy rain that soon became sleet. Even Mary, known for her love of riding, eventually surrendered to the elements and rode the remaining miles in her gilded carriage. Dorothy, Cecily, and Alice accompanied her, while Isabel, Frances, and Lady Shrewsbury rode in the conveyance belonging to the earl. Given what had happened upon her arrival at Tutbury, Isabel was afraid she would succumb to travel sickness once again, but apparently she wasn’t prone to it after all. Although the air inside the coach was stagnant and the ride jarring, she did not become ill.
They arrived late and in full darkness. Torches flamed, lighting their way across the drawbridge. The retinue paused, awaiting the raising of the portcullis and the opening of the heavy oak and iron doors. This was a far cry from the situation at Tutbury, which offered very little in the way of protection other than a manned gatehouse. Perhaps Shrewsbury felt the remote location of Tutbury offered protection enough. Isabel wondered if the remoteness also served as a punishment for Mary. A reminder that she was a prisoner of the queen of England.
Isabel, to her great relief, was not required to assist in the unpacking. Mary had assigned that task to Aimee, who organized and supervised the unloading and putting away of all Mary’s clothing. Nonetheless, the queen took Bel aside and asked her to see to her personal memorabilia and objets d’arts, after she had dealt with her own belongings. The other ladies had been assigned the task of unpacking and sorting Mary’s embroidery supplies, which would end up being a much greater task. Perhaps the queen was feeling guilty about placing such a great burden on Isabel’s shoulders prior to the move. Isabel laughed at her own ridiculous idea—royalty never felt guilt about anything, did they?
On Christmas Eve, she kept one eye out for Gavin. She did not know how long a journey it would be from Derby to Sheffield, but surely it was doubtful he would arrive before Christmas Day. After inquiring of Bess Shrewsbury—whose knowing look irritated Isabel—how far it was between the two locations, she calculated it was possible he could arrive that evening. Not wishing to be disappointed, she tried not to dwell on it.
Sheffield employed a large cadre of servants, and Isabel had asked one of them to carry the containers of Mary’s personal items up to her chambers. Trailing behind, Bel inhaled the enticing aroma of cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg wafting up from the kitchens and into the living area. The cook and her staff were baking mince pies, and Isabel’s mouth watered in anticipation. The servant placed the containers on a table, and Bel began opening them
and setting the various objects in locations she judged would be pleasing to Mary. A jeweled penner given to her by Henri II. A rectangular bronze box etched with a salamander, from her first husband, Francois. Voices drifted from Mary’s bedchamber, screened off from the outer room. After a moment, Isabel realized it was not one of the other ladies with the queen, but John Lesley. Without consciously debating the right or wrong of it, Isabel moved close enough to hear what they were saying.
“…should have been in on the decision-making. At the very least, you should have informed me before the plans were set. I do not even know when this takeover is to occur.”
“Now, now, Your Majesty, you know I do not like to pester you with insignificant details given your ill health. No firm dates have been set, as we are still waiting on word from the Pope and King Philip.”
“You refer to seizing the throne from the queen of England as an ‘insignificant detail’? You are a fool sometimes, John.” Isabel heard the disdain in Mary’s voice.
“I may be, but always in service to you, my queen.”
Lesley’s obsequious tone was nauseating. Surely Mary could see through it.
“Your Majesty, this is your chance for freedom! You want to see little James again, do you not? You and Norfolk will rule both Scotland and England.”
It was quiet for a moment, and Isabel backed away in case Lesley was leaving. Then Mary began speaking again. “This plan seems more to the duke’s benefit than to mine. He informed me Scotland was not currently in play because of the warring factions there.”
Lesley tutted. “You must leave this to us, madam. We know the wisest course of action. Everything has been set in motion, and at this juncture, you’ve really no choice but to see it through, have you?” His tone had hardened. It grew quiet, Lesley perhaps waiting for a response. When nothing was forthcoming, he went on. “And I would advise you to show caution in what confidences you share with Isabel Tait. She and Cade are close. Too close.”
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