Game of Spies

by Pamela Mingle

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Gavin had been with Ryder above an hour when the man asked to question Isabel. Throughout, Gavin had debated whether to inform him that Isabel would tell him nothing he did not already know regarding Queen Mary. In the end, he decided not to. Both Isabel and Ryder were astute, keen observers, good at assessing others. Gavin would merely witness—unless Ryder threatened Isabel. Then he would step in.

  Ryder sent a footman to summon her. When she entered the room, she held her head high and exuded confidence. Yet because he knew her so well, he also sensed trepidation. A slight hesitation on the threshold. A stutter as she greeted Ryder. God’s wounds, how he wished she did not have to suffer this.

  “Mistress Tait, good even,” Ryder said.

  And it was evening now. When Isabel opened the door, Gavin had heard voices and laughter, and the clatter and general disruption of the mummers’ preparations. The tantalizing odor of the dishes being laid out for the banquet drifted in, making him wish to God that was all they need think about on this night. Revelry, silly mumming plays, and excellent food.

  Ryder’s voice intruded, and Gavin was drawn back to the reality of their situation.

  “Mistress, Gavin has explained what has transpired in a general sense, and from his point of view. I need your perspective on all of it.” He waved a hand through the air, as though that explained what he meant by “all of it.”

  “Where shall I begin?” Isabel asked.

  Ryder handled her prudently. Rather than beginning with a demand to reveal everything Mary had spoken to her about, he asked her to tell him everything she could recall about her fall down the steps at Sheffield. Ryder dipped his quill into an ink jar and made notes while she spoke. Her description of the event was exactly as before.

  Ryder laid down his quill. “You have been attacked several times, mistress. Why is it thus?”

  Isabel paused, gathering her thoughts. “The perpetrators—whoever they are—believe I have information which, if generally known, would harm the queen.”

  “And is it so?”

  “I suppose it is, yes.”

  “Were you not frightened by all this? The attempts on your life?”

  At that, she glanced at Gavin, and a tiny smile curved her lips. “Of course. But directly after the incident at Sheffield, Gavin arranged our escape. He has always been there to protect me.”

  Gavin cringed at that. It had been a near thing, both by the river and yesterday, at the tavern. And he’d not been there to prevent someone shoving her down the stairs.

  She went on. “And I feel safe here at the castle. The men in the watchtower, the garrison—I am well guarded. The people who want me dead could not get past them.”

  Ryder leaned back in his chair and studied Isabel. “You are very matter of fact about it, mistress.”

  “I am not given to hysterics, sir,” Isabel said.

  Ryder glanced at Gavin, eyebrows lifted. Both men chuckled. “I warned you,” Gavin said.

  Suddenly, Ryder’s posture straightened and his expression sobered. Now he would get to the heart of it. “Gavin has told me you were much in Mary’s favor. I ask you now to tell me what she confided in you.”

  Isabel shot a wary glance at Gavin, then looked back at Ryder. “The first evening I met her, she told me she believed Queen Elizabeth loved her and cared about her well-being. She also said how very much she missed her son. And always, I heard much of her ailments and physical complaints.”

  “And going forward, as you spent time with her and came to know her better?”

  Isabel began to relate what Mary had told her about her husbands, beginning with the young Francois and ending with the Earl of Bothwell. At one point, Ryder interrupted. “And did you believe she was being completely honest with you?”

  “To be sure, I wondered at times. There were lies of omission, perhaps. She was—is—very unhappy about her imprisonment. Her abdication was forced upon her—those are her words—and she believes she would be in Scotland with her son if only Elizabeth would free her.”

  Ryder had folded his arms across his chest. “For a prisoner, she lives in the lap of luxury, does she not?”

  “I cannot gainsay that,” Isabel admitted.

  Ryder’s next question surprised Gavin. “What do you know about the plot conceived by Mary, John Lesley, and Norfolk to free Mary and seize the throne?”

  Isabel appeared to be shocked by the question. “Why, nothing, sir.”

  “Nothing? In your frequent, private conversations with the queen, she never mentioned this?”

  Isabel hesitated. “Not in so many words. Perhaps obliquely. I-I warned her against doing anything rash.”

  “Ah,” Ryder said, placing his hands on the desk and leaning toward Isabel. Gavin stepped forward, ready to intervene if necessary. “What prompted you to warn her?”

  “I cannot say, Master Ryder. I swore to the queen I would not reveal any of her confidences.”

  “Would you be shocked if I told you John Lesley had been threatened with the rack? And in pleading with his jailers, proclaimed Mary to be a ‘serial adulterer?’”

  Isabel flinched, but she remained composed. “I don’t care for the man, but I am sorry to hear he was threatened with torture. I have had very little contact with him, although I am aware Gavin believes he is the enemy. Perhaps, fearing the worst, Lesley spoke rashly.”

  Ryder got to his feet, a typical power ploy. “Mistress Tait, William Cecil is convinced by an abundance of evidence that Mary herself was a key player in a plot to overthrow Elizabeth. I would ask you to consider carefully the consequences of your refusal to reveal what the Scots queen told you.”

  Gavin wanted to throttle the man for the threat, but Isabel either didn’t recognize Ryder’s statement as such, or she was not intimidated by it. “Sir, it sounds as though you have sufficient evidence. I doubt I could tell you anything you do not already know.”

  “That, madam, is for us to decide.” Ryder circled round the desk and looked at Gavin and Isabel. “I will leave you now, with the suggestion that you enjoy the evening’s festivities. But I implore you, mistress, to judiciously consider my request. We will speak again tomorrow.”

  With that, Ryder left the room. And Isabel, who had maintained her equanimity throughout her interview with him, said, voice sounding accusatory, “You believe I should betray Mary and tell him, don’t you, Gavin? Or who knows what might befall me.”

  What a lackwit he was. Of course she’d recognized the threat. She was too smart to have missed it. Should he have told Ryder to draw back? Not yet. But it may come to that.

  …

  Slowly, Isabel got to her feet and moved to stand before the blazing fire. The interview with Ryder had left her cold, in body and spirit. Suggesting they enjoy the festivities was laughable after he’d threatened her. And Gavin had said nothing in her defense. Nor had he yet responded to her question. After pouring them each a glass of sack, he said, “Come, Isabel. Sit beside me.”

  Reluctantly, she joined him on the upholstered settle. “You showed remarkable composure, Bel. And yes, I do think you must tell Ryder everything you know about Mary’s involvement in Ridolfi’s plot. It is your duty to do so, as an English citizen.”

  Isabel sipped her wine. She needed time to contain her anger. Finally, when she thought she could keep her temper in check, she said, “My first duty is to Mary. It is she for whom I work, and therefore, she deserves my loyalty.”

  Gavin looked baffled by her response. “Can you not throw him a bone? Give him some bit of information you had from Mary, if only to appease him?”

  Ignoring that question, she went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “You realize, do you not, that you have never explained anything to me regarding this Ridolfi person. After Simon’s death, you mentioned him as a cohort of Lesley’s. But never again did you speak of him.”

  Gavin gave her a sheepish look. “Suffice it to say, he was one of the prime movers in this conspira
cy. You need know nothing else about him.”

  Angrily, Isabel set her glass down, so hard, some of the sack spilled out. Quickly, she mopped it up with her handkerchief. “Because I am a female? I thought you were a different kind of man, one who respected my intelligence.” She couldn’t keep the rancor from her voice.

  Gavin got to his feet and moved away from her. “I have the greatest admiration and respect for your intelligence. You know that. I wanted only to protect you. The more you knew, the greater the danger to you.”

  “And yet, here I am, in greater peril than ever, this time from the other side.”

  Gavin’s mouth hardened. “If you believe I would stand by and allow any harm to befall you, you underestimate me.”

  “You cannot protect me all the time, Gavin. Events you can neither control nor prevent have happened, and will again.” She sighed deeply, shaking her head. “We have been friends, and more, for a long time now, without you ever being honest with me. You have hinted that the queen lied, that she cared only for herself, that I should be wary of her. But you never truly justified why I should not trust her. You never once looked me in the eye and said, ‘Let me give you the truth about Mary, Isabel.’” She blurted out, “The way matters stand now, I trust Mary more than you.”

  Eyes wide with shock, Gavin began to pace about the room. Every so often he halted, spun about, and stared at her, hands on his hips. As if he wished to say something, but could not quite make up his mind to do so. Isabel waited, hands folded in her lap, for him to sort out his thoughts.

  When Gavin returned to her, he didn’t sit beside her. Rather, he stood before her, his expression dark. “You judge me harshly if you trust that woman above me.”

  Isabel’s heart plunged at that, and she wished her rash words unsaid.

  “Did it occur to you that my work was clandestine? That as an agent for the queen, I was sworn to secrecy?” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Indeed, I told you far more than I ever should have.”

  The sting of tears burned at the back of her eyes. Everything was going so wrong, and she couldn’t seem to change the tone of the conversation. “Aye, it did occur to me. But after I’d become so fully involved, after we’d become so close, wouldn’t it have been more prudent to make certain I was well informed about all matters pertaining to the queen?”

  “Our feelings for each other were separate. Private.”

  “Perhaps we wanted them to be, but in the end, what we meant to each other…it was mixed up together with this whole business. Can you not see that?”

  Gavin lowered himself beside her and grasped her shoulders. “I wanted to keep you out of the maneuverings as far as possible. Only a few hours ago, I confessed my love for you. Can you not trust me enough to tell me of your dealings with Mary? I could then determine, with your assistance, what to tell Ryder. While I would do anything in my power to assure your continued safety, I don’t know Ryder well. I don’t know what he will do if you refuse to answer his questions.”

  When she did not answer, he leaped to his feet and said, “God’s wounds, Isabel!”

  Softly, she spoke up. “When you said you loved me, it sounded as if it was against your better judgment. You said, ‘God help me,’ as though loving me was an anathema to you.”

  “For God’s sake, Isabel. How could you think such a thing?”

  “Admit the truth, Gavin. You cannot yet commit to another woman.”

  “I said I loved you. What more do you want?”

  Sobbing, she cried out, “I am not Anna!”

  After that, a heavy silence hung in the air. Isabel wept quietly, hoping Gavin wouldn’t notice. Having turned his back on her, he was gazing into the fire. What he was thinking, she couldn’t know and didn’t care to guess. She felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach with an iron fist. She fought to control herself, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.

  At length he turned, raked a hand through his hair, and said, “Pray, pardon me for offending you. I think it best we do not see each other the remainder of the day. I’ll retire to my chamber so that you may pass your evening in company.”

  Isabel wanted to speak, to say something to break this awful impasse, but couldn’t find the words. So she said nothing, the moment passed, and Gavin strode to the door. He paused, his hand on the latch. “Ridolfi murdered Simon. Is that enough truth to satisfy you?” The door banged behind him.

  Isabel covered her face with her hands and wept at Gavin’s cruel revelation. Shivering, she sat before the fire a long time, fearing she would never be warm again. It was growing late, and she should return to her chamber and dress for the evening’s revels. She felt numb inside. Hollowed out. She had hoped Gavin would reiterate his love for her in no uncertain terms. But instead, he’d given a cold, curt apology. By God’s light, why could he not realize that not every woman was like Anna Cade? That Isabel was not the same at all?

  Nothing he’d said, even regarding Simon’s murder, had persuaded her to break her vow to Mary. God’s mercy, Norfolk and Lesley were being tortured! What if the same fate awaited Mary because of information Isabel provided? She refused to bolster their case against the queen, and she’d no idea what the personal cost of that would be.

  …

  Gavin awoke the next morning, eyes gritty due to his wakeful night. Merciful God, what a hellish sleep he’d had. Isabel’s anguished cry, “I am not Anna!” had affected him deeply, echoing through his mind in the darkness. How many times had he drawn Isabel close and then backed away, all because he dreaded a recurrence of what had happened with Anna? And Bel was right about his declaration of love for her. Half-hearted as it had been, he could well imagine how it must have sounded, and it made him cringe.

  But he also burned with anger and yes, hurt. Isabel had said she trusted Mary more than him. If she only knew all the lies Mary had presented as truth, all the falsehoods with which she had portrayed herself to Bel. But she did not know, because Gavin had never told her.

  God’s teeth, she was right about that, too. Long ago, he should have sat her down and told her all he knew. Given that she’d become Mary’s primary confidant, she deserved to have the truth, even if she refused to believe it. Instead, he’d decided it was more important to tease information from her about Mary. In his defense, he’d quickly gotten over that. The closer he’d gotten to Isabel, the less he cared about what secrets of Mary she held. It was Bel he’d come to care about, far more than his work for Ryder.

  Speaking of whom…he’d been truthful when he told Isabel he did not know what to expect from Nicholas Ryder if she refused to inform on the queen. He seemed like a reasonable man, but Gavin had seen reasonable men throw caution to the winds to achieve their goals. It was within Ryder’s power to arrest Isabel on the spot and throw her into the dungeon right here at Skipton. But his instincts told him Ryder was not that kind of man, that he would, despite his threat, be patient with her.

  A servant had been in earlier and stoked the fire in his hearth. Gavin was quick about his morning ablutions, and as soon as they were completed, dressed with haste. A man servant tapped on the door and carried in a tray of pottage, bread and butter, and ale.

  He ate, not truly tasting his food, pondering the day ahead of him and what would happen. How would he save Isabel if Ryder attempted to arrest her? Gavin didn’t relish another escape and the hardships that would impose on them in the cold January weather. But if it came to that, so be it. Pushing away the remainder of his meal, for which he had no appetite, he exited his chamber and made for the lord’s dayroom, where he suspected Ryder would be waiting.

  On the way, it occurred to him that perhaps Isabel would not want rescuing—at least, not by him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Isabel entered the lord’s dayroom, where Nicholas Ryder was situated. She curtsied, and he said, “Good morrow, mistress.” No sooner had she sat than Gavin walked in.

  “Cade,” Ryder said. “I was on the verge of summoning you.�
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  Gavin glanced at her. With dark smudges beneath his eyes, he appeared as haggard as she felt. He too must have passed a restless night. “Isabel,” he said, his voice flat.

  “Gavin.” She could be equally as cold.

  Ryder looked pointedly at Gavin and said, “I think perhaps ’tis time we told Mistress Tait everything. The whole truth about Mary. Shall I do so, or would you prefer to?”

  “I’ll cede the task to you.”

  Isabel had no desire to hear it from either of them. What was the point? But Ryder had begun to speak, and she’d better attend, if only to show respect. The tale was more absorbing than she’d anticipated, especially when it came to Mary’s husbands. It was a long story of murder, treachery, and duplicity. In the end, Ryder asserted, it was clear that Mary and her lover, the Earl of Bothwell, were complicit in the death of her second husband, Lord Darnley.

  Isabel held up a hand. “Stop, pray. How do I know this is all true? I have no proof of any of it. Nor corroboration. ’Tis only your word.”

  Once again, it was Ryder who spoke. “We have sworn testimony from numerous sources, some of whom served the queen. And written proof as well.”

  “Now do you see that she has lied to you, Isabel?” Gavin asked.

  Isabel did not answer immediately. “What you have told me does not differ appreciably from what Mary herself said.”

  Gavin huffed a laugh. “Truly? Didn’t she act the innocent in all these doings?”

  Isabel had to admit Mary had. “It is true, she omitted certain aspects of this in her relating of it to me.” Isabel’s fingers strayed to her pendant, brushing her thumb over the stone. Last night, she’d vowed never to wear it again. But already it felt a part of her. Refusing to wear it would represent a permanent end to her relationship with Gavin. “Tell me the rest.”

  Finally, Gavin took up the story. “The night I nearly drowned, I overheard a conversation between Mary and the Duke of Norfolk. They planned to wed, seize the throne from Elizabeth, and rule England. The plot was instigated by an Italian banker named Roberto Ridolfi, who had connections to both Philip of Spain and the Pope. Norfolk said Ridolfi had visited him twice in London. Unfortunately, I was rendered unconscious before I learned the important details. The how, where, and when, if you will.”