Kathryn Kramer (36 page)

Chapter Forty-Six

Through the tiny window of his cell Nicholas could hear the sounds of London, the clatter of the cart and coach wheels on the cobbles, the barking of hounds, the yells of traders, the brawling of apprentices, the din of  pedestrians as they wound their way past the shops and stalls.   And the bells.  Always there were bells tolling in the hours of the day, reminding Nicholas
of the tediousness of his existence.

"All too familiar sounds," he grumbled, not even bothering to get up from his bed.  He just lay there lethargically.  What did it matter? 
He wasn't going anywhere. The Tower of London was by now becoming much too well known to him.  Was it any wonder he was in a foul mood?  Until Elizabeth saw fit to release him he was "her guest".

Not that he was being mistreated, he was not.  He lived in comparative comfort because of his status as a nobleman.  His room was well furnished, with Turkish carpets adorning the floors, fine wooden chairs, tables and even a comfortable bed
. He was given a certain amount of freedom, even allowed to take walks when accompanied by several guards.  He was well fed and given enough water, unlike some of the poor souls who likewise found themselves imprisoned.  It was just that he was disheartened and bored.             

He was an active man and there was just nothing that he could do.  He was not allowed any visitors
, nor was he allowed to write any letters.  Except for the guards and the warder, he saw and talked to no one.  Minutes, hours, even days passed by without any change in his routine until Nicholas seemed to lose  all track of time.                             

He felt betrayed
, and the bitterness showed plainly upon his face.  He had risked his very life for Elizabeth's safety many times.  Now he was angered that she couldn't even take the time to pay him a visit, even if it was for naught but to scold.  She had seemingly turned her back upon him who was ever her loyal servant.  She had given him a taste of power and then snatched it back violently because of another's false witness.  He had come to the end of the road.  His path to freedom was blocked.  The queen's displeasure seemed absolute and all because of one man.  Stafford!  He had poisoned Elizabeth's mind against Nicholas and conspired to the blackest of deeds.

Two conflicting emotions took control of Nicholas's heart.  The first was hatred wherein he spent long hours thinking of ways to get even with his enemy.   Oh, how he detested that bastard.  Behind
Stafford's smiles and the velvets he wore lurked a savage beast looking for a chance to kill.  Nicholas was certain that Stafford had instigated the murders of two men and had blamed them on Nicholas.

Oh, what he wouldn't give to have his hands around that devil’s
neck!  Or a sword at his throat."  Closing his eyes, Nicholas fantasized about all the different tortures he would bring to his rival, but his hatred melted away to be replaced by an emotion of a gentler sort.  His love for Alandra.

Nicholas remembered Shakespeare saying that love was the oak which stood against every winter wind, the violet beneath the snow just waiting for spring, the calm on the restless turmoil of the sea.  Love was steadfast and never ending.  It ran quiet and deep, mirroring the soul.

"Alandra.  Alandra.  Alandra."  Even just saying her name brought him a sense of peace.  His mind was haunted by the memory of her sweet smile, the shadow-darkness of her hair, the way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled, her large flashing eyes.  Stretching himself out upon the bed, he willed himself to sleep so that he might conjure up his dreams of her. 

The pressure of hands on his shoulders awakened him.  Instinctively he lashed out with his fists.

"Nicholas, what on earth are you doing?"  Morgana shrieked as she struggled against his flailing hands.

"Morgana!"  His eyes flew open and he bolted upright.  "Have you come here to gloat."

"No, of course not!"  She moved towards him with feline grace.              

Nicholas shrugged her away.
"Get out of here.  I have nothing to say to you."  She was the last person in the world he wanted to see.  "Leave me.  I would have some peace," he declared loudly.

"Shhhhhh
," she scolded, laying a solicitous hand on his arm. "I am here to help you.  Be quiet or you will bring the guards."

His mood was grim as he asked, "
What are you doing here?"  Though he had not had any company since arriving, he was definitely not in a mood to see her. 

"I have come to help you escape!" she whispered.

She immediately got his attention.  "Escape!"  Freedom after three weeks in prison was a heady thought.  Nicholas hardly dared to breathe, his heart thundered in his chest.  Above all freedom was what he wanted, but he was loath to trust her.

"Perhaps I have it in mind to stay here," he said testily.  "The acco
mmodations are so appealing.  There is a great deal that can be said for solitude."

"Stay?  You can't!" she squealed.  "Robert Cecil is calling for your head, telling all who will listen that the court cannot condone unwarranted murder."

"Robert Cecil," he grumbled.   With the exception of Lord Stafford, Cecil was the man Nicholas loathed the most.  An ambitious little dwarf who thought to build himself up by tearing others down.  He lacked public graces and had manners befitting a blacksmith.  An upstart was what he was who just happened to have an influential father in Lord Burghley.  Men scrawled "toad" on his palace walls and in that assessment of his personality Nicholas quite agreed.

"He has been goaded on by Lord Owen Stafford......"

"Stafford!"  The very name infuriated Nicholas. In a gesture that was anything but gentlemanly he grasped her hair, winding it around his wrist like a rope, forcing her to meet him eye to eye.  "Speaking of Lord Stafford, just how do you and he fit together in all of this?"  For a moment Nicholas wondered if Stafford too had been ensnared by Morgana's charms, then threw the notion aside. 

"I abhor the man!"  Morgana gasped.  "How could you forget what he did to me?"

It had been Stafford who had exposed her whorish nature to the court.  Hardly the act of a lover.  With a mumbled oath, Nicholas released her. "If this talk of aiding me is some sort of joke......  If it is I swear I'll....."

"It
is no joke, Nicholas." She ran a hand over his chest with a familiarity that used to stir him.   "I have it all arranged." 

Quickly she explained  to him that h
e was to sit by his window, motionless and silent, as if brooding over his misfortune, so that the warder would get used to seeing his still figure against the light of the window.  In three days time, Morgana would smuggle in an exact duplicate set of garments he was wearing, the midnight blue doublet trimmed in gold braid, gold hosen and blue trunk hose.  "And a cap."

"I seldom wear a cap!"  he interjected.
 

Morgana then told him that he was to assemble  a dummy, using a bale of straw she would also bring him, and then dress it in the clothes.
The dummy would be positioned by the window seat so that when the warder made his rounds he would think Nicholas was at the window sullenly thinking about his confinement.

"I will come to you with the key and unlock your door.  There will be a boat......"  She pressed her face against his chest, feeling the warmth and strength of him.

"So, I'm to go by waterway.  But to where?"  he asked stiffly, not even making an effort to touch her.

"Across the Channel.  We'll go together......"

"No...."  Even though she held his fate in her hands, he couldn't lie to her or to himself.

She was stunned.  "What do you mean?  Oh, Nicholas I had to lie to Radcliff.  You know what
Elizabeth would have done if she knew I planned to run away with you that night.  My presence would have only strengthened the case they have against you.  I knew what I was doing."

"Morgana....."  How did you tell a woman you had found somebody else, that you didn't want her?  "I....."

"It's that girl!"

Did he imagine it
, or was there a hiss in her voice?

"Yes." He'd get free of the Tower and head straig
htaway to Bristol, pick Alandra up in his arms and carry her away.  To the ends of the earth if need be.  "It's only once in a lifetime that a person finds true love.  I did and am blessed for it."  He was sincere in his wish, "and you will find such happiness too.  One day."

Morgana refused to be defeated.  "You only think you are in love."  She threw herself into his arms, hugging him tight.  "I love you, Nicholas.  You're all I ev
er dreamed about, all I've ever really wanted.  While you were away, I was so lonely, so desolate..."

He sincerely doubted it.  "You'll find somebody else......"  He wanted to say that the truth of the matter was that she loved o
nly herself but held his tongue.

"Never.  I wanted you the moment I first saw you at court, striding across the room to greet
Elizabeth.  You seemed taller than any other men, braver.  Magnificent!"

"I was cocky.  Nothing more."

She traced the hard-muscled lines of his chest.  "You were, are, splendid!"

His fingers caught her wrist, pushing h
er probing fingers away.  "Don't..."  His voice held the tone of a father's with an errant child.

She raised her haughty head, her eyes blazing anger, but she controlled herself, tossing her well-coiffed blonde hair.  "So that's the way it is to be."

"Aye.  I won't pretend just to escape."  Knowing the fury a woman scorned often exhibited, he expected her to change her mind about helping him get free of the Tower, to rant and to rave, but strangely enough she didn't.

"Is she your mistress?"  she asked instead, cocking her head to one side as she looked up at him.

"We love each other," he answered, "yes....!"

She thrust back her shoulders and held her head high as she made her way toward the door. 

Nicholas was resigned to the fact that now he would languish in the Tower.  Morgana was a spoiled and vain woman who would never forgive him for rejecting her.  "I'm sorry, Morgana." He said softly.  In a strange way he was.  Had she possessed a heart to match her beauty, they might have been happy together.  Certainly he had thought they could be once.

"Don't be."  Her look was haughty.   Reaching down  her bodice
, she withdrew the key to his door and he could only imagine how she had obtained it. "Just be ready to enact our plan when the time comes.  In three days time."

He repeated her words,  knowing complete euphoria at the thought of escape.  "Three days time.  I'll be ready." 

He watched as she opened the door wishing he could take advantage of the moment and flee, but held back.  He had to be patient

"Goodbye, Morgana.  And thank you."

Chapter Forty-Seven

London
was a seething mass of noise and motion.  The city was a crammed commercial huddle, swarming with people.  Open carts, coaches, drays, horses and wagons clogged the streets.  The waterways too were crowded with various types of boats and barges. Alandra felt a keen affection for the city in which she had grown up.  The voices of the vendors hawking their wares, the church bells, the grumbling of shoppers haggling over the price of their purchases was as welcome to her as a familiar melody. 

Elbowing her way through a crowd
, she crossed the street carefully so as not to be run over by the carts and wagons.  Church spires, steeply pitched roofs of three-storied, gabled houses, turreted towers, and trees all formed a jagged landscape against the sky.  Chimneys and smokestacks billowed dark gray smoke from the forges and furnaces in the workshops below.

Alandra took advantage of her walk to enjoy the scenery  and found herself to be in high spirits as she made the long trek to
Whitehall Palace to see Elizabeth.  She could see the square tower of St. Paul's Church reaching toward the heavens, and imagined that it was saying a prayer that she would be successful in getting Christopher free.

             
She made her way by foot and by barge beyond Fleet Street, through Temple Bar to the Strand, the thoroughfare that led to where the Queen was now in residence.   It was only when she saw the walls of Whitehall that she began to loose her newfound confidence.  Perhaps she should have told her father and Will of her plan, but why endanger them if she failed?

Putting her hand up to her hair she brushed back the stray curl that had fallen loose from her coiled braid
. She had attired herself in one of her better gowns for the journey, for it would not do well to look the pauper.  Her spring green gown with bell-shaped sleeves was a copy of those worn at court.  The green and gold brocade underdress was one of the costumes used by the players but added  just the right sophistication.  As always she wore her skirts over a stiff farthingale.

"You can
not back out now," she scolded herself as she approached the palace.  Even so, her feet seemed to have a will of their own and wanted to take her back along the pathway.             

She announced herself to the guard at the front gate and was admitted.  Hearing the gate click shut she swallowed hard, but now was not the
time to become queasy.  She was Christopher's only hope.

Stepping inside the crowded anteroom
, she looked about her.  It was a bright world she entered, just as she remembered it would be.  She was aware of the ladies in their silk, brocade and velvet gowns, looking like bright peacocks, their hair piled high, their faces painted.  Gems sparkled like stars as they moved, making them look somehow unearthly, as though they came from another sphere.  All around her their eyes were staring, hostile, amused, mocking and curious.  Each and every look they gave her emphasized that she was an outsider, alien to their world of pomp and glitter.

Such
attractive people
,  Alandra whispered,
with a surface beauty that dazzles the eye, yet beneath lurks hatred, envy, jealousy and greed
. Christopher had revealed all these flaws to her, assuring her over and over again that he had no intention or desire to return to his former way of life.

Alandra walked slowly through the room, hardly even noticing the splendor of the furnishings.  Her attention was fixed on the woman in the ornate chair at the end of the chamber, under a canopy of the ro
yal colors of green and white. The crests  of the Tudors was above her head.   .

Around the queen
, like planets revolving around the sun, stood a circle of men, their faces turned towards the queen with expressions of mock adoration.  Their jabbered flattery held a jarring tone of insincerity.  As Alandra entered, these men showed a faint flicker of interest, darting furtive glances at her. 

One man stood out above the others.  His golden hair looked like the sun
.  It was Lord Stafford.  Alandra shot a quick, cautious glance at him from under her lowered lashes, hoping against hope that he wouldn't recognize her.  She was relieved that he, unlike the others,  was not looking at her at all.  He ignored her as if she wasn't worth even one peek.  Standing tall and erect, his attention was focused on Elizabeth.   

Suddenly two of the Queen's guards crossed their pikes in front of her face, halting her before she had a chance to get within forty feet of the Queen.

"What is your business?" one of them snarled, looking  scrutinizingly at her clothes and thereby deciding she did not belong within.

Alandra stated her pu
rpose, then watched as the reason for her visit was announced to the Queen by one of the young pages.

"She says she will see you," the boy dutifully reported.  Seeming to take
a liking to her he confided, "She usually turns away all those without an appointment.  You are most fortunate."

"Yes, most fortunate indeed
," she agreed.

Outwardly
, Alandra was calm, but inside she was trembling as she somehow forced her feet to carry her to where Elizabeth sat.  The queen was attired in a dress of silver, white and crimson.  The dress had slashed sleeves, lined with red taffeta, that hung down to the ground, which she was forever twisting and untwisting.  She had a chain of rubies and pearls around her neck.

"Ah, so you are
from the Lord Chamberlain's Men, a friend of Will Shakespeare."  Seeming to tire of the fawning attention of her male courtiers, she motioned them away.

"I am!"  Alandra
said with respect, then halted.  Her heart hammered in her chest until she was certain it would burst.  Remembering her manners, she dipped into a curtsy, spreading her green skirts like a fan.

"The queen smiled.  "His plays amuse me."

Alandra moved closer.  "He is a true genius with a gift few men have for revealing both the majesty and tragedy of humanity."  There was a pause.  Alandra wasn't sure whether to breach the silence or wait for the queen to speak again.  She waited.

"Indeed."  The queen smiled.  "It appears that you greatly admire him."

"I do.  More than I can say."  Alandra couldn't help but stare.  She had never imagined she would ever be this close to the queen.  The very thought was awe-inspiring. 

"Come closer!" 
Elizabeth motioned with her ring-bedecked hand. "I promise I will not bite, child.  I've already had my dinner."

Alandra did as the queen bid and was taken by surprise as she came to within
an arm's length of the queen.  Far away Elizabeth had appeared to be beautiful, up close it was obvious that she had lost whatever beauty she might have possessed.  Her face was thin and full of wrinkles, her bright red hair most obviously a wig.  She had gone to great lengths to foster the illusion of a young woman. 

The long, thin fingers fastened on Alandra's chin, raising her face. 
Elizabeth looked long and hard into Alandra's eyes, her face growing as pale as her dress. 

"Anne!" she croaked.  "It can't be."  The Queen raised a trembling hand to her brow.

"Alandra shook her head.  "Not Anne, your Majesty.  My name is Alandra.  Alandra Thatcher."

Make-up coated the queen’s
face like a gruesome mask, yet the mask collapsed now.  "Yes of course.  But that dark hair, those pretty eyes......"  She was visibly upset.  Her hand kept going to her throat.  "You must forgive me.  For a moment I thought....  But of course that is quite impossible.  Anne is dead.  Has been for many years....."

For a moment Alandra feared the queen might faint.
"Are you all right?"  She was genuinely concerned
.  Why, she's more  to be pitied than feared
,  Alandra thought.  Beneath all the paint and finery she was much the same as any other aging woman.

The q
ueen quickly recovered.  "Yes.  Yes."  She kept the front of her dress open and one could see the whole of her bosom, which Alandra could see was nearly as wrinkled as her face. "It is just that for a moment you looked like a young woman from the past.  Perhaps the only woman I might have called my friend."

"Her name was Anne?"  Alandra was interested in hearing about this woman who had looked  a lot like her.

"Yes.   She was one of my ladies-in-waiting.  A vibrant young thing who brought sunshine with her wherever she went."  A few of the queen’s teeth were missing, most likely from sweets, so that it was difficult to understand her easily when she spoke quickly.

"What happened to her?"

"No one really knows.  She disappeared for a few months from the court, and when she returned it was as if her soul had died.  She just wasted away and then one day she died." For just a moment her eyes seemed dull as if they reflected the tragedy, but Elizabeth quickly brightened.  "But we will not talk of it and make our mood melancholy. We must make arrangements for this play Master Shakespeare plans to give."

Alandra hurried over the details, describing the size of the area needed to put up the stage, then taking a deep breath revealed the true purpose for her visit.  "But that is not why I am here.  Will Shakespeare, or my father, or any of the others could have taken my place.  I am here to make plea on behalf of Chr
istopher."  Without thinking, Alandra called him by the wrong name.

"Christoper?"

Alandra realized her mistake.  She could not fail, she would not.  Her voice seemed to come from someone other than herself.  "Sir Nicholas Leighton, your majesty.  He has been dealt a great wrong, and I am here to ask for your help."

"Sir Nicholas Leighton?"  The Queen was taken aback.  "What have you to do with him?"

The story tumbled from Alandra's lips, as many details as she could elaborate upon.  She told  of finding him in the play wagon and hitting him over the head.  She told of his fib about being an actor, his theft of Shakespeare's horse, her wild ride after him, his attempt to clear his name and disappointment when he was thwarted in the attempt.

"Nicholas
claiming to be an actor?"  The queen smiled at the very idea.  Instead of being angered or fretful, she was genuinely interested his escapades.  "How perfectly thrilling."  Her voice lowered to a whisper. “So that was how he has eluded Lord Stafford’s pursuit of him. Very, very clever.”

"Aye, he is most clever."  Alandra fell to her knees.  "And a most loyal subject to your majesty.  That is why it shatters him so that you have thrown him in the tower without benefit of a trial."

"Thrown him in the tower?"  The Queen seemed genuinely surprised.  "Why was I not told of this?"

"But...but I....he thought that you knew."

Alandra told the queen about the message Nicholas sent to her about having at last cornered the true murderer of Lord Woodcliff, his visit by the guardsman, Radcliff and Morgana, about Will Frizer's death.  She wanted to voice her suspicions about why and who had been behind the murders, but the Queen did not give her the chance.

Alandra was unnerved by
Elizabeth's hawk-like countenance.  Her eyes seemed to skewer  her as she looked directly into her face. "There is something foul here.  But I will get to the bottom of it.  Of that I can assure you."

"Thank you, your majesty."  Never had Alandra felt so relieved.  Soon this would all be over.
             

"I like
you!"  Elizabeth patted Alandra on the head like a puppy.  "Your honesty, sincerity and passion remind me of myself when I was young.  I wish for you to come back tomorrow."

"Come back?"  Alandra was astounded.  She hadn't expected that.

"It is a command.   Yes, come back tomorrow and we will talk more about Sir Leighton’s difficulties."

"You will free him?" 

The queen did not respond.  The interview was over, and she bid her gentlemen return. Without even saying goodbye to Alandra, she began flirting with them again. 

Alandra felt deserted and confused as she walked  back t
owards the entranceway.  Yet she knew it was a start.  Somehow she would convince the Queen to let Christopher out of that dreadful tower.