Conspiracy (7 page)

Prince Sven had obviously heard about the accident with the statue, because all the way down to the lakeside he was very solicitous of the Queen. Every time she passed a statue or a pillar in the gardens, he stood between her and it, so he could ward it off her, which made her laugh.

“I have gentlemen and to spare to guard my body,” she said. “But not enough well-looking princely suitors, so have a care for yourself.”

Lady Helena translated this and Prince Sven bowed elaborately.

“I cannot believe you are not besieged by every eligible Prince in Europe,” translated Lady Helena.

“Oh, I am,” the Queen replied. “But are they well-looking?” She shook her head.

The Earl of Leicester wasn't present to be annoyed by such flirting because he was too busy with the preparations.

Sir William Cecil was fussing over news from Scotland, and the Queen was telling Prince Sven all about it—the scandal over Mary, Queen of Scots. Lady Jane and Lady Sarah think Mary is very romantic to risk losing her whole kingdom for love of the Earl of Bothwell. But her people are outraged about her murdering her husband to make way for him.

The Queen thinks Mary is an idiot—and so do I.

As we all processed down to the lake, John appeared out of nowhere, ignored Mrs. Champernowne's beady glare, and offered me his arm. I took it and made sure I limped a bit for him, but actually I've forgotten which ankle was bad now, which is a bit embarrassing. I hope
he
doesn't remember.

We talked on the way—just about things like his work as the Earl of Leicester's henchman, a post which a cousin got for him only a few months ago, and how he helped with the wonderful new
Hungarian greys my lord has bought for the Queen's stable.

At the lakeside, he bowed very gallantly to me and said, “I must leave now, I have work to do for my lord. Enjoy the fireworks.”

Lady Sarah laughed and nudged me. “Perhaps I should twist my ankle soon, Grace. I believe you have a suitor.”

I replied, “Fie!” I really don't know why everyone has to make so much of it—John is just helping me while my ankle's sore. Well, it isn't, but he doesn't know that. He's being kind. We are friends. What would I want with a suitor? I'm not so silly as Lady Sarah I'm-so-pretty Bartelmy.

Down on the lake there were boats ready, rowed by men in green and white—the Queen's summer colours. We went down a little jetty to board the boats. Once the Queen was settled in the biggest, with Prince Sven and Lady Helena, a drum and a pipe began playing.

There were four people in each boat, plus the rowers, and many of the courtiers were already out on the lake waiting for us. I got in a boat with Mary Shelton, Lady Sarah, and Carmina. Mary clutched nervously at the sides whenever the boat rocked.

Some musicians, still tuning their lutes, were
quickly rowed past to catch up with the Queen. Mary gasped as the wash made our boat wobble.

“It's all right,” I said to her a bit mischievously. “If the boat tips us in, just think how many rescuers we'll have!”

Suddenly, the boat lurched again and Mary squealed. I leaned over to see—and there was a naiad alongside! Only it wasn't, for I recognized one of the tumblers, disguised with waterweed. He looked quite scary, and Lady Sarah squealed as well when another raised his head and splashed her. There was more splashing and ripples and out of the water rose the smaller boys of Will Somers's troupe—dressed in green fronds as mermen, and dropping the straws they had used to breathe while they were hiding underwater. Others, dressed as fauns, came running down to the lakeside, too. They formed chains and a pyramid and sang a song of farewell.

The naiads sang as well: everyone was part of the story. We were pretending to be the Army Virtuous, and we were going to storm and board the Barque Perilous, a ship of wicked giants which was near the middle of the lake. And we could see it clearly—all lit up by dozens of torches.

It was very weird, and yet believable, and if one of
the naiads hadn't started sneezing, I might have thought the lake really
was
full of water-folk!

Up ahead I saw Masou, as Puck, with his little henchmen, standing on the parapet of the barque. He gave a long speech in rhyme, which must have been very hard to learn, then invited us aboard to subdue it with our beauty.

So we all got out of our boats and walked up the boards onto the barque, which was actually a pretend ship built from stage scenery on an island in the lake.

French Louis and the strongman were there, one on top of the other, as the Giant Melancholy with a big mask and a huge hammer.

The Queen and Prince Sven came to it first. Prince Sven laughed and put his hand to his sword hilt, but Lady Helena stopped him because it's high treason to draw a blade in the presence of the Queen, unless it's in her defence.

The Queen stood and smiled up at the giant—then put out her hand, palm upwards, and said in ringing tones, “Begone, foul monster!”

And of course, the giant started to moan and cry and apologize, and we took possession of the Barque Perilous. There were some very annoyed ducks hiding in its shadows, quacking crossly every so often.

We walked along the boards to where there was seating prepared for us, and the monsters in masks being played by the Earl of Leicester's gentlemen fell back as if blinded by our light.

Then the Earl came up in his boat. He got out and led us to the benches, while Gypsy Pete clutched Masou's hand and sang a song about how he was only a minnow, but he had seen Her Majesty's beauty through the water.

The Queen listened to the song right through, and then gave the little boy her hand to kiss. He shook it solemnly, until Masou nudged him and told him what to do.

When we had all sat down, the gentlemen doused their torches and we waited in the dark, looking at the stars and wondering what would come next. I love seeing the stars when we are on progress. In London there is usually too much smoke to see the Milky Way, but here it arched over us like one of the Queen's veils.

BANG! I nearly ducked under a bench it was so loud.

A huge rocket shot off from another island we hadn't noticed, and exploded all over the sky in reds and blues and whites. We all gasped, including the Queen. With the lake around us so still and flat, it
was truly as if there were two skies—one above and one below—with two sets of fireworks.

Strange music came from another platform, mainly recorders and shawms—very old-fashioned sounding—and in the darkness,- while the rockets banged and crashed, it sounded as if the fireworks themselves were singing.

The Queen was oohing and ahhing, and clapping her hands. The Earl of Leicester and Prince Sven sat one on each side of her. The Earl looked pleased and happy.

Suddenly, there was a loud hiss and
wbeeee!
Something hot and fiery and smelling of gunpowder flew just over our heads. The Queen and the Earl and all of us ducked. The rocket buried itself in the mud by the water, where the mermen were waiting for their next song. Little Gypsy Pete was standing right by it. Then the rocket exploded and he was thrown backwards.

“Oh, my God!” said the Queen, standing up with her hand to her mouth to peer over the parapet. “That poor child,”

Prince Sven tutted. He spoke in Swedish and Lady Helena translated. “How very frightening for “Vbur Majesty. It went right over your head! Are you much alarmed?”

“Stuff!” snapped the Queen. “I am perfectly well. What about the little boy?” She turned to the Earl. “Robin, someone must run down and see what happened to him!”

The Earl of Leicester was already on his feet, white again. I realized that the Queen, in her anxiety, had forgotten herself, and called the Earl by the pet name she had for him when they were young and frightened in the Tower. He bowed quickly, vaulted the barrier, and hurried down to the shore. We could hear him giving orders. There was a flurry and gathering of torches, and then the injured little boy was carried away.

The Earl did not return, but he gave instructions for the fireworks to carry on. We stayed where we were, because it's very dangerous not to if the display is happening around you, and we all watched the rest of the show.

Prince Sven beckoned Lady Helena and started saying something quite long and serious, which Lady Helena translated. “I don't understand why everything is going wrong here at Kenilworth, most beauteous Majesty,” she said for the Prince. “It is as if there is a curse. So many things! The saddle girth, the statue, the firework. My lord of Leicester should not be so careless.”

“Pah!” said the Queen, looking angry. “They were accidents.”

But the atmosphere was lost, and then the final fireworks—a big E covered in Catherine wheels—got stuck, and the whole frame went up in flames. It was very dramatic. And quite safe, being on another island in the middle of a lake. Though it annoyed the ducks even more.

At last it was over. We filed out to the boats again and were rowed back. The music played from the trees, but the mermen tumblers didn't return until the final part, when all the various fauns and naiads and dryads and mermen—some of them the worse for drink, too—danced and sang a song of goodnight to the Queen.

Back in the Queen's Chambers, Her Majesty stood while Lady Helena unpinned her
tuff
for her. I held tip the mirror so she could see. She looked very thoughtful. “Lady Grace,” she said to me, “how is your ankle?”

“Much better, Your Majesty,” I replied.

“Then go with Mrs. Champernowne to find out how the little boy is doing,” she commanded.

I curtsied and went out of the castle with Mrs.
Champernowne to the worn canvas tent in the corner of the paddock where the tumblers are staying.

Will Somers was still wearing merman face paint and talking to the Earl of Leicester. Mrs. Champernowne waited to talk to Mr. Somers, but I went round the back to find Masou. He still had one pointy Puck ear on, but he looked very upset.

“How is little Gypsy Pete?” I asked gently.

Masou sighed. “He is most grievously injured,” he told me, shaking his head. “But the Earl sent his own physician to attend upon him. And he says Gypsy Pete will recover with care.”

“Thank the Lord!” I gasped, relieved to hear that the little boy was not killed in the accident.

“The firework blew him backwards and he cracked his skull on a rock that was sticking up-otherwise he would have been unhurt,” Masou went on. “I'd taught him how to fall and everything.”

“The Queen will be glad to hear that the Earl's physician attended,” I said.

Masou drew me aside. “My lord”—he nodded at the Earl, now talking to Mrs. Champernowne—“is furious. The firework master has been dismissed, for he was found blind drunk under a bush, and it was his daughter did the office of lighting the fuses.
They say she must have knocked one of the rockets off its proper placing on the frame.”

Well, that explained how the rocket had gone off so near the Queen.

The Earl of Leicester came back with Mrs. Champernowne and me to report to the Queen personally. He strode ahead, not saying a word to either one of us.

Once in her chamber, we found the Queen still part-dressed and with her fur dressing gown about her. She sent the other Maids of Honour to bed, with Mrs. Champernowne heirding them along, but nodded to me to stay. I sat down on a cushion near Lady Helena, who was sewing by the fire and yawning behind her hand every so often, for it was very late of a summer's evening.

I stretched my ears to listen to what the Queen and the Earl of Leicester were saying—as the Queen knew I would.

“Your Majesty,” said the Earl, “I come to inform you that the young apprentice tumbler is injured but, thanks be to God, not fatally so.”

The Queen put her hand to her chest and sighed with relief. “Is the poor child's family with him?” she asked.

The Earl shook his head. “He is an orphan. Mr. Somers took him in.”

The Queen took out a purse and opened it. “He must have the best of care. …”

“I have seen to it, Your Majesty,” put in the Earl. “My physician shall attend him regularly until he is fully recovered.”

The Queen shook her head. “Robin, my dear, what a thing to happen. The child could have been killed.” Her voice was soft and sad.

The Earl of Leicester kneeled to her and took her hand in his. ““Vour Majesty, I am devastated that so many happenstances should come in one day.”

“Do you think there could be some kind of curse, Robin?” asked the Queen. “Some ill-will?”

The Earl shook his head. “I have no time for superstition. Not a curse, no. But be sure I shall investigate everything,” he said. Then he kissed the Queen's hand and hurried away, looking harassed and tired and worried.

I almost felt sorry for him, even though he had ignored me.

The Queen beckoned Lady Helena. “I would have a posset tonight to help me to my sleep,” she said. “Will you see to it? Lady Grace may unlace my stays.”

That is a great honour—usually only Ladies of the
Bedchamber help the Queen undress. Lady Helena lifted her brows, because generally I would be the one sent chasing after a posset for Her Majesty. But maybe she thought the Queen was being kind because of my ankle.