Game of Spies

by Pamela Mingle

  “Indeed. One of the ladies, Frances Barber.”

  “You’ve not yet arrested her?”

  “Nay. We are keeping a close watch on her to see if she might incriminate herself. She must be on edge, given the turn of events.”

  On edge—and desperate. Icy fingers of fear crawled up Gavin’s neck. Frances had shared Isabel’s chamber, had been the first of Mary’s ladies to show her any kindness. Despite Isabel knowing Lesley was bedding Frances, she had continued to like and trust the woman.

  When Gavin had questioned the group the morning Isabel fell down the stairs, several people had said they’d not seen Frances yet. They’d snickered, and Gavin said, “She’s with Lesley.” The others had confirmed this was most likely the case. He had meant to follow up, but never had, his primary goal at that point being to get Isabel out of harm’s way.

  His mind quickly jumped to a conclusion he should have reached by now. Frances had been the one who’d pushed Isabel down those steps. She and Lesley had planned it together, each serving as the other’s alibi. It would not be unusual for Frances to be found lurking near Isabel’s chamber; thus, she’d been the one to do the deed.

  Vile, traitorous woman.

  And now Ryder was taking Isabel back into the heart of the danger. Isabel, sweet, trusting Isabel, would be glad to see Frances. She wouldn’t be afraid of her; she would welcome her continued friendship. And Frances? She would be enraged when she found out Isabel had returned to question Mary. She would do whatever it took to put a stop to it.

  Gavin looked up at Cecil. “Pray, sir, send me. I’ll go immediately.”

  If Cecil was shocked by Gavin’s authoritative manner, he didn’t show it. “Very well. Wait outside while I pen a reply to Ryder. I’ll summon you when I’ve finished it.”

  Gavin nodded, exiting the room. He paced in the corridor until Cecil opened the door and handed him a document pouch. The older man seemed to realize Gavin had some personal stake in the matter. “Leave London through the Derby gate. Faster that way,” he said.

  On horseback, making his way out of the city, Gavin hoped never to return. The narrow streets, with their tall structures listing inward, made for dark and dismal surroundings. Dung heaps everywhere, beggars trying pitifully to survive, packs of dogs roaming the streets. And the stench. He couldn’t wait to breathe free once again, in the northern climes. In the clean and lovely borderlands he’d called home all his life.

  Pray God he would be in time to save Isabel, for he had no doubt Frances would try to do her harm.

  …

  Once they had arrived at Tutbury, Ryder installed Isabel in the receiver’s lodging near the main gate. He didn’t want her residing with the queen and her ladies. She had a new role and purpose. Isabel dreaded encountering the others—they would view her as a traitor to the queen. Oddly, she dreaded isolation as well. It would be lonely and force her to look inward. What could she have done differently to salvage her relationship with Gavin? To put the broken shards back together? Things were so muddled she preferred not to think about it.

  While unpacking the few belongings she’d brought, she wondered about Gavin’s meeting with Cecil. What had he learned? More details about the plot? Or was his purpose simply to inform the man of what they’d discovered? Which, thanks to her, was very little. In the middle of her musings, a knock sounded at her door. She hoped it wasn’t Ryder—she was not at all prepared to begin her sessions with Mary.

  “Enter,” she said, albeit reluctantly. Frances came through and remained standing near the door, a forced smile on her face.

  “Good even, Isabel. We were all surprised to hear you were returning. And as an agent of Queen Elizabeth.”

  If Frances, her only true friend among Mary’s ladies, felt this way, Isabel imagined the others did, too. “I am not an agent of Elizabeth.” Isabel certainly did not view herself as such, even if Ryder did. “I’m merely here to record Mary’s testimony regarding…certain events. I’m not an interrogator.”

  “Hmm. ’Tis a fine line, is it not?” In a moment, Frances walked farther into the chamber, without an invitation from Isabel. She wandered about, looking at the worn painted cloths, the faded paintings, the threadbare tapestries. “These living quarters are not precisely what you are accustomed to, are they?”

  “I never lived in any kind of luxury until I came to Tutbury. It seems normal to me.” This was not quite true—her own home, while not sumptuous, had been well-furnished and decorated. Her mother had seen to that. Frances’s prowling about put Isabel on her guard. “Come, sit down. Tell me the news.” Isabel lowered herself to the bed.

  The other woman plunked down on the settle. “The only news is about the queen. She is officially a prisoner, being punished for something she was not involved in. And Lesley would not do anything to place Mary in danger. It was all Norfolk’s doing, and an Italian banker called Ridolfi.”

  Isabel longed to say she agreed with that—except for the part about Lesley—but Ryder had strictly cautioned her not to comment on anything relating to the conspiracy. Her own common sense told her it would be a mistake. She changed the subject. “How are things between Bess and the earl?”

  Frances laughed. “Oh, I believe they’ve made up. For now. Shrewsbury is much occupied with matters concerning Her Majesty and rarely makes an appearance. Bess and Mary are no longer permitted their friendship. And we are not allowed any singing, dancing, or guests. And no outings. We ladies eat with Mary, sit with her, and sew, and that is the extent of our activities. Mary is not well; she keeps to her chamber a great deal of the time.”

  When Isabel gave no answer, Frances said, “How is Gavin? You disappeared together. Why did you leave?”

  This was tricky, and Bel avoided a direct answer. “Gavin, the last time I saw him, was well. He was summoned to London and departed in a hurry.”

  “Rumor has it that you arrived here accompanied by a handsome man. Nobody has actually seen him, though.”

  Isabel couldn’t help smiling at that. “He is handsome, I suppose.” In her eyes, Gavin was the better looking. At times, all she’d wanted to do was gaze upon him. She gave her head a shake and said, “Perhaps you will meet him. I don’t know.”

  Frances rose, as did Isabel. “I must go. I was told not to approach you, but I wanted to see for myself you were here and what you were about. But I can see you will not be forthcoming with me.”

  Isabel started to speak, but Frances cut her off. “I love him, you know.”

  Confused, Isabel said nothing.

  “Lesley. I love John Lesley. There is little I would not do to protect him, and Mary, too.”

  Before Isabel could comment on this astounding declaration, Frances was gone. Had that rash statement been a threat? Possibly, but it seemed an empty one. Frances was in no position to cause harm. According to Ryder, Mary would be brought to the drawing room downstairs for her meetings with Isabel. That was for the best. After this reunion with Frances, she did not care to see the others.

  Later, she and Ryder sat down together for dinner. After a servant had presented the first course, Isabel asked how her sessions with Mary would proceed. He smiled. “You might begin with her dog.”

  She had struggled mightily with Ryder’s suggestion of returning Bisou to the queen. Isabel was the only one who truly cared about the little dog, who played with him and made sure he had a walk or two each day. But she agreed that returning Bisou would get her off on the right foot with Mary, so she’d reluctantly consented.

  She sliced pieces of bread for each of them, then helped herself to salad and roast venison. “Then what?” she asked.

  After Ryder finished chewing a bite of roast, he answered. “Initially, you may need to take your cues from Mary. She may treat this as a cozy little chat, although the presence of the scrivener should disabuse her of that notion fairly quickly.” He stabbed at another piece of venison. “Don’t wait too long to begin discussing the plot. You have the list of questions I gave
you?”

  “Of course.” He had also given her a list of permissible topics and another of those she was to steer clear of.

  “Mary, as you know, is very skilled at manipulating people. At showing her sweet and gentle side, and do not doubt she will do so with you. Be patient, but don’t let her evade. Insist she answer. Emphasize this is for her benefit.”

  It will be for her benefit if I have anything to do with it.

  Ryder dropped his knife and leaned forward. “Above all, do not allow her to take control. She’ll ask why you and Gavin left, although she may already know the answer. She’ll want to know where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. Guide her back to the subject at hand. Always.”

  They went over more of what Isabel should and should not say, until her brain was spinning with it. The following morning, Mary would be brought to her and they would begin.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Isabel, stomach churning, was waiting for Mary in the drawing room. A servant had brought wine, marchpane, sugar cakes, figs, and dried apples, now laid out on a sideboard. Earlier, she had taken Bisou for a walk and glimpsed Mary’s ladies clustered together, talking excitedly about something. When they saw her, all of them pointedly looked away. The queen wasn’t with them. Isabel supposed she should be grateful they hadn’t jeered or thrown stones at her.

  The outer door opened, and Mary preceded Ryder into the room. Isabel couldn’t see them, but she knew there were at least two guards posted out front. Cradling Bisou in her arms, she rose and dropped into a deep curtsy. “Your Majesty.”

  Ryder unobtrusively exited.

  “Isabel,” Mary said coldly, “is that my dog you are holding?”

  “It is. I guessed you would be happy to see him again.” Isabel placed the animal in Mary’s waiting arms. The queen rubbed noses with him, cooed and clucked, then looked up at Bel and smiled.

  “I have missed him so much,” she said.

  Ryder had been right; Bisou was a perfect way to break the ice. “How did you find him?”

  “May I pour you some wine, Your Majesty?” The queen assented, and Isabel poured them each a glass. While filling a plate of the sweets and fruit, she said, “When Gavin and I left Sheffield, he followed us. He must have been hiding under some bushes. It’s astonishing he hadn’t frozen to death by then.”

  “And I suppose you will tell me nothing of why you left, sneaking out like thieves in the night. Shrewsbury spouted some nonsense about your injuries, and Gavin taking you home. Is that where you’ve been?”

  “I apologize, Your Majesty, but I cannot answer that.” Isabel gestured to an upholstered chair. “Pray, be seated.” She set the wine and plate of food on the table.

  Mary set Bisou on the floor. Instead of eating or drinking, she folded her hands and glared at Isabel. “All the time you were with me, were you spying on me? When I welcomed you into my circle, encouraged the others to be kind to you, shared meals—and confidences—with you—all that time were you spying on me?”

  Isabel began to see why Ryder had cautioned her. Mary was attempting to take control of the interview, and she must put a stop to it. “I was not. I have never shared your secrets with anybody, then or now.”

  “So you say.”

  “Shall we begin? I would like to start by asking how you came to be involved in Ridolfi’s plot.”

  “I am not involved in any plot!”

  “Your Majesty, you forget I overheard your conversation with John Lesley. Your comments indicated you knew what was afoot.”

  She shrugged. “Very little. It was so ill planned as to be laughable. And as I told Lesley, far more to the duke’s benefit than to my own.”

  “You were angry not to be in on the decision-making. They had moved ahead without you.” She hoped the scrivener was getting all this down. It could be to Mary’s advantage.

  “This is true. They planned; I acceded. Or not. It has always been thus for me.”

  Isabel did not want to get into a catalog of Mary’s troubles. She sipped her wine and thought about her next question. She’d memorized Ryder’s list. “You’ve been champing at the bit because of your lack of freedom to do as you like. Didn’t a plot to wed Norfolk, seize the throne, and rule England appeal? You would have been reunited with your son, among other things.”

  Mary’s face flushed. “Of course, it appealed. I had tried to seek help from France, to no avail. And I continued to correspond with my cousin, Elizabeth. I had faith in her, that she would visit me, that we could talk together of our mutual interests and concerns.” She stopped speaking abruptly and took a long swallow of wine. “But now I stand accused of this heinous crime.”

  “You were overheard talking with the Duke of Norfolk about the plot. You agreed to marry him and rule England together.”

  Mary slammed her hand down on the table. “They were manipulating me. I was too trusting, do you not see, desperate for my freedom and a chance to make a life with my son. Do you think I truly wished to marry Norfolk? A man I had met exactly once?” Her bosom heaved, her nostrils flared in anger. But Isabel plunged ahead.

  “There is some evidence that you agreed to Ridolfi’s scheme. That it was you who sent him on his way to Europe, to put this before both the Pope and King Philip.”

  Mary’s mouth tightened. “If there is any such evidence, it is false. I knew nothing of this until Lesley informed me of it.”

  “And why did you not immediately inform Shrewsbury? That would have proved you were opposed to these maneuverings. You yourself told me you intended to wed Norfolk, that Elizabeth would give her blessing, and there would be a ‘re-ordering’ of things.”

  She ceased speaking and drew in a long breath. Merciful God, Mary’s protestations sounded insincere. Dishonest, weak, and invented on the spot. Isabel did not believe the queen to be naive. God knew, she herself had been the very definition of naive when she’d arrived at Tutbury. But Mary? Never.

  Flustered, Isabel rose and walked over to the window, where she gazed out at the forbidding winter landscape, all the vitality sucked from it. That was, she realized, how she felt. The truth hit her like a bolt of lightning.

  Mary was lying. Or telling only partial truths, which she’d always done. Relying on Isabel’s innate empathy, she’d expected the younger woman to believe whatever she said. The scrivener’s quill quit its ceaseless scratching. The only sound was from the queen, her labored breathing filling the silence.

  “I am not well,” Mary said. “May I return to my chambers?”

  Isabel spun around. She doubted it was a physical ailment plaguing Mary. Opening the door, she called for Ryder, who appeared almost immediately. “The queen is not feeling well.”

  He gave her a questioning look, but said, “I’ll escort her to her chambers.”

  They left, and Isabel moved to stand by the windows. With both hands, she rubbed her face, hard, hoping this might bring clarity. What had changed? Essentially, she’d learned nothing new from Mary. So what was causing Isabel to doubt her?

  It was the undeniable fact that Mary was lying. Lying about matters she herself had confided to Isabel. Isabel’s final question to her had remained unanswered. Why had she not informed Shrewsbury? That was perhaps the crux of it. If she’d been opposed to the scheme, if she had truly not wished to be involved, she should have reported it to the earl without delay.

  But she had not.

  Isabel felt something brush against her legs, heard whimpering. It was Bisou. Leaning down, she lifted him up and he snuggled against her chest. Mary had left him. After waxing eloquent about how happy she was to have him back, she’d not given him another thought.

  Gavin had been right after all.

  After the evening meal, which Isabel ate by herself, Ryder tapped on her door and entered. “I beg your pardon for leaving you to dine alone,” he said. “Shrewsbury demanded a meeting with me.”

  At her raised eyebrows, he shrugged. “Wishing to have this matter over with, the earl is
impatient. His wife is unhappy with the situation.” Ryder looked as if he were suppressing a smile. Isabel gestured to the table, and after seating himself, he said, “I told him you’d only just begun with Mary and had not even reported to me yet. What can you tell me?”

  Isabel’s spirits had been low since her meeting with the queen. For nearly four months, she’d served as Mary’s confidant. She had trusted her, believed in her, and sympathized with her dire situation. At some point after her session with Mary, Isabel had to acknowledge the woman had been using her. Mary had needed somebody new to bolster her spirits, listen to her stories, and, yes, occasionally probe for information. The other ladies had heard about her childhood, marriages, children, forced abdication, and troubles with Elizabeth many times over. But then, here came Isabel, fresh and unworldly, open to anything Mary needed to confide. She had unburdened herself to her heart’s content, and Isabel had willingly and sympathetically listened.

  Had the queen been complicit in the attempt to kill Gavin? To kill her? Isabel could not rule it out.

  A rap on the outside door pulled her out of her musings. Ryder got up to see who it was. She heard him speaking to one of the guards, then he returned carrying a tray with two goblets on it. “Somebody has an eye out for our comfort,” he said. “Hot spiced wine.”

  Choking a bit when she caught a whiff of the spicy draft, Isabel steeled herself with a long swallow before speaking. Then she told Ryder everything he needed to know. He dipped his quill into the ink jar repeatedly and wrote rapidly, recording her every word, pausing occasionally to drink. When she was done, he leaned back, drained his goblet, and stared at Isabel.

  “Well,” he said.

  She smiled. “I was gullible. Innocent. Call it what you will. I believe Mary knew I would never betray her secrets, and if she stood accused, I would defend her. She was shocked today when she realized she could no longer rely on my steadfast belief in her. I’d become a different woman from the pliable, easily led girl who had first shown up at Tutbury.”