Kathryn Kramer (37 page)

Chapter Forty-Eight

Justice
.  That was the word Nicholas pondered as he lounged on the bed in his cell. When he had first been imprisoned he had thought he would not be convicted but he realized now that his chances for justice waned the longer he was kept in the Tower. He had no doubt that he would be found guilty. Perjury and bribery were all too common among juries. Stafford would win his guilty verdict by such measures. Hadn’t he already convinced the queen?

And what of the
Elizabeth? Ah, that was the most unsettling thing of all.  By her denial to hear him out she had practically condemned Nicholas.
There is no other way.  I must escape
, he said to himself for the hundredth time.

Yet
Nicholas loathed having to trust Morgana after all that she had done.  The moment she had left his cell, he had been assailed by doubts.  But what choice did he have?  She was his only contact with the world outside these walls. And perhaps when all was said and done, she really would try to make amends for her former actions.

It didn't take Nicholas long to convince himself of the wisdom of Morgan's plan, thus he began to implement his part of the scheme.   Ever
y time his warder, Henry Vickery, entered he would find the prisoner sitting at the small barred window, motionless and silent.

A tall, gangly sort of fellow, whose doublet sleeves ro
se well above his wrists, Vickery had one eye that tugged inward, giving his eyes the appearance of being crossed when he looked down from his lofty height. The warder had been fairly congenial to Nicholas, he couldn’t fault him on that. Therefore it was difficult for Nicholas not to answer the well-meaning Vickery.

So when his cell door clanged open now, Nicholas had to force himself to hold his tongue.

"Do you play chess?" Vickery asked, trying to draw his sullen prisoner out of his gloom. ‘No, huh? Pity. We might be a good match

Nicholas was tempted.  Chess was his favorite game
, and he realized how it would help pass  the hours.  Still, he had to keep silent.

"Don't want to talk, don't want to play chess.  How about food?  Are you hungr
y, sir?"

The tangy smell of freshly caught fish pervaded Nicholas' nostrils from the tray the warder had brought in.  It made him realize he was hungry, but he forced himself to keep his back turned.  Once he was free
, he would be able to have as many fish as he could eat.

"The dampness and cold are coming in.  They say there is going to be a storm.  I could be persuaded to bring you some extra blankets if you but say the word."

It
was
growing cold within the chamber, Nicholas thought.  A blanket would be such a luxury he could well make use of during the coldest part of the night.

"Hmmmm!  If I had not heard you talking when you first came here
, I would be thinkin' that you are a mute!"  Nicholas' refusal to talk seemed to be getting the best of Henry.  "Well, it doesn't matter.  I brought something for you.  Even if you won't say thank you, I'll give it to you anyway...."

From under his doublet he procured a leather bound book.  With a shrug he held it towards Nicholas.
The warder's hand was long-fingered and freckled, the back tufted with dark brown hair, Nicholas noted.

"It's a book by some ancient Greek or other.  Heady reading
, if you ask me.  I thought you might enjoy it.  It will help you wile away the hours, doing something besides just lying there."

The warder jabbered on, trying to make conversation,
to say anything that would bring Nicholas out of his shell, but Nicholas was a master of stubbornness.   He didn't even sneeze.  In the end the warder gave up.

Once the warder had left Nicholas paced back and forth in his cell, wearing a path in the floor with
his boot heels

A rattle of keys announced that once again Nicholas was not alone.  Looking up
, he fully expected to see the warder's face at the grate, making another offering.  Instead, he was surprised to see Morgana.

"I have a present for you," she said, detaching a key from the ring at her belt.
She slid the key into the lock. "The straw and your clothing.  I have it all in a bundle.  I paid the tailor extra to make your garments to my specifications and to complete them in a timely manner." 

Pushin
g through the door she handed the sack to Nicholas. He opened it and pushing the straw aside found the cloak, hat, doublet and  trunk hose that she had promised.  Digging deeper into the bundle, he also found a ruff.

"You didn't desert me......" he whispered.  Untying the cord that held the garments together
, he held each one up.  "They look to be perfect for our little plan.  Exactly like the garments I am wearing."

"With one difference."  Morgana took the doublet from him and turned it i
nside out.  "It is reversible." A red doublet showed when she tugged at it just right. “ It will make it easy for a quick change when you must get past the guards.

"Amazing." 

Morgana didn't  stay. It was obvious to Nicholas that she didn’t want to be found within the cell, thus without even so much as a blink, she hurried away. Even so, her visit was appreciated.  Nicholas filled his lungs with air, ignoring the dank smell of the moat's water, feeling a new vigor, a renewed stirring of hope.  He would escape.  Now he had outside help.  Friends, if one used the term loosely. 

"Alandra love, you will be seeing me sooner than you know."  With that thought in mind he deftly assembled the dummy figure, stuffing it with
the straw and any spare clothing that he had.

Putting a hand on it
s shoulder, he dubbed it "Nicholas".  "The day I walk out of here, Sir Nicholas Leighton will be gone forever.  You'll be my symbol of rebirth, good sir."  He bowed, showing the dummy proper respect, then quickly, before the warder passed by on his rounds, Nicholas shoved the "other Nicholas" under the bed.

Chapter Forty-Nine

The day was clear with just a hint  that soon Jack Frost would come with his magic paint brushes to decorate the windows of the London shops, churches and houses.  The slight chill in the air  made Alandra wish she had brought a cloak to warm her on this early morning journey.  Goosebumps tickled her arms and shoulders, though if it was from the early morning air or her nervousness, she didn't really know.

Looking towards the tall structure ahead
, she was glad that on this second visit to Whitehall she had reached it in good time. The journey did not seem as long perhaps because familiarity with the route had quickened her steps. 

"Good
morning."  The guards at the gate recognized her, allowing her to enter without a pause.

The  maze of corridors at
Whitehall were crowded with courtiers and servants alike, passing each other as if in mock procession.  All eyes turned towards Alandra as she walked by.  She felt her cheeks burn under their scrutiny and wished for a moment that she was back at the Black Unicorn with the players.  Smoothing the full skirts of her gown, fiddling with her ruff, she tried to compose herself, swallowing the rising lump in her throat.  Though she was clothed in a borrowed dress and the best of her finery, she couldn't compete.  Even the servants here were garbed in elegant styles and fabrics.

"But that doesn't mean I can't hold my head up," she whispered to herself
. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and sweeping past the gawkers, made as grand an entrance as any of the players had ever managed upon the stage.

The antechamber
was packed.  The buzz of voices sounded like a beehive.  Swarming around the queen's secretary, several of the courtiers  were acting quite bold as they sought to petition the queen for this or that.  Alandra was surprised to see Lord Stafford among them, arguing that he should have immediate entrance.  Even though she saw him in profile, the  tightness of his mouth, the flare of his nostrils revealed his anger all too plainly.  Was he being turned away because of what she had said to the queen yesterday?  She could only wonder.

"Come thi
s way," the secretary said to Alandra, noticing her at once. 

Alandra followed obediently, her skirts swishing so loudly she was certain all around her could hear
them.  As she walked, she took note of things she hadn't noticed before.  The walls were of dark wood paneling.  At either end of the room were tall windows draped with lustrous brocade curtains.  Lifting her eyes to the ceiling, she could see swirls of ornately carved wood.   Row upon row of royal portraits adorned the walls.

"The Queen will see you now,"  her escort said, then
opening the door to the presence room, quickly left her.

Inside strolling mus
icians idled about with lute and harp, singing vibrant melodies.   There were dozens of servants in attendance as if pampering the queen was the most important business of the realm.  Elizabeth was seated in her carved chair in the chamber, clothed in white again, as if she really took seriously her claim as the virgin queen.  The dress looked to be dusted with moonbeams.  Diamonds sparkled around her throat and dripped from her ears.  From a distance she looked like a shimmering, shining deity, but Alandra knew a closer study would reveal her many flaws. 

This morning the Queen was angry.  Her long pale fingers moved restlessly, clasping and unclasping in her lap, plucking at the material of her skirt, then beating the arms of her gilded chair as she talked with a rotund little man in brown doublet and hosen.

"God's nightgown, but he has no lack of balls in asking that of me," she was saying.  "Tell that young puppy that I will decide when I want to see him."

"Yes, your majesty."

Alandra couldn't help  wonder if it was Stafford the Queen scorned,  and thought how it would serve him right if it was.  Pausing in the doorway she waited until the tirade was over, then walked slowly towards the queen.  This time she was not as nervous as before, until she took note that Morgana was in the room. 

Reaching the q
ueen, Alandra turned her head and sank into a low curtsy, fully expecting to hear Morgana's shrill squeal of  protest.  But to her surprise, none came.             

"So, you are here again, child.  Good.  Good." 

As if anyone would dare to refuse the queen’s command, Alandra thought. "Yes, your Majesty."  Alandra kept her knees bent, holding  her pose, waiting until Elizabeth nodded that she could stand up.

"Hmmmm.  Let me look at you."

Elizabeth's keen eyes moved over Alandra slowly, taking in the details of her dress.  One of the actor's wives, a woman of means, had loaned Alandra a pale blue satin dress embroidered with flowers and swirls for the occasion.  Her low bodice tapered to a point below the waist.  The ruff she wore was enormous and gave Alandra the feeling that her head was a separate entity, suspended above the stiff pleats.  Her hair was worn in cascades of dark curls over her shoulders, emphasizing the slim length of her neck.  The French farthingale was different from the Spanish style Alandra always wore.  It was unwieldy and made Alandra feel like a walking wheel.

"You look particularly pretty this morning.  Charmingly subdued, like a country girl.  Are you?"

"Am I what, your Majesty?"

"From the country?"

Alandra shook her head.  "No. I grew up in London.  A mascot to the players you might say."  The farthingale pinched her as she moved, and seeking comfort, she tried to position it more favorably.

"Bothersome aren't they," the
queen exclaimed.

"A bit like wearing a carriage wheel around one's hips," Aland
ra said truthfully much to the queen's mirth.

"Oh it is.  It is.  But very, very stylish and
all the rage."  Once again the queen studied her, long and hard.  "'T is a pity you aren't of noble birth or even a merchant's kitten. You would make a fine lady-in waiting."

Alandra shrugged.  "I am what I am and for that I am happy."

"Exactly what are you?"  Had anyone else asked such a question, it would have seemed rude, but a queen had every right to inquire.

"A
simple, happy girl.  I have always found that life is what you make of it."

“And just what have you made of your life, child?”
Elizabeth really  seemed interested.

"I am a good daughter and help my adoptive father with his costumes, sets and scenery.  I am honest, try to be understanding
, and always try to appreciate the simple things.  It is the things we sometimes take for granted that truly makes life worthwhile."

"Perhaps.  I wouldn't really know."
Elizabeth looked down her long nose.  "Ah, but you are pretty.  And surprisingly enough it does not pique my jealousy.  Yours is an innocent prettiness.  And you are quite likeable."

Alandra smiled.  "I hope so, your Majesty."

The Queen studied her narrowly, asking bluntly, "What do you think of my courtiers?"

For a moment the question startled Alandra.  "Truthfully?"  she asked.

"Of course."

"I....I don't think I would want them as my friends," Alandra answered humbly.

"What!" she exclaimed angrily.

The Queen had obviously been expecting Alandra to display awe and admiration. 

"Explain," Elizabeth demanded.

"From what little
I have seen of them," she said thinking of Morgana and Stafford, "I think they care only about themselves.  Their smiles do not extend to their hearts, nor their beauty to their souls."

"I see...."

For just a moment Alandra thought she had overstepped her bounds.  "But then perhaps I should not judge."

Elizabeth
waved her hand.   "No, no.  I want you to be truthful.  Honesty is at a premium here."

"Murray, my father, has said often that a man has only enough true friends in his lifetime to count on one hand,"  Alandra continued thoughtfully.  'T
is true I think, except among the players.  When Christopher needed them, they flocked to his side without hesitation.  Even facing a dangerous man like Will Frizer."

"They came to Sir Leighton's aid?  Undoubtedly he paid them."

"Not a farthing!"  Alandra insisted.

She quickly
told of how Will Kempe, Christopher and a few of the other actors had dressed as groundlings, heckling their own fellow players.  She told of her own part in pretending to be an orange-seller, and her ploy to divert Lord Stafford's attention by spilling her oranges.   She revealed the humor of the clever manner in which Will Frizer was hit on the head with a bottle of ale and thus apprehended.

"Ah, I can almost se
e it before my eyes." The queen threw back her head and laughed with the rough guffaw of a man.  "God's elbows, but I think I could have made use of such a ploy several times when dealing with the damnable Spanish!"              

There was a long pause.  As quickly as she had laughed
Elizabeth grew solemn again.  "I have decided that I want to know all about you.  Thus can I determine your sincerity regarding Sir Nicholas."

At the mention of
Nicholas, Alandra's heart lurched.  She must quickly come to the point, lest like yesterday the queen grow tired of her and issue her out the door without making a decision on his fate.

"Please, your Majesty." She went down on bended knee.  "He is a good man, a most loyal subject.  He didn't kill Lord Woodcliff.  As I told you
, there is a witness, and myself and the players heard Will Frizer’s declaration of Christopher’s, or rather Sir Leighton’s innocence. Frizer more than likely did the deed. Nor did he kill Will Frizer. You have but to crook your finger and we will give you the needed evidence.             

"Oh, do get up!" 
Elizabeth waved her up with impatience.

Alandra rose but said,
"Won't you free him from the Tower?"

"In good time."  The q
ueen's voice was icy.  "Since he is there, I will let him do a bit of pondering."  Her eyes darted towards Morgana who was engaged in conversation with four men, all forming a circle around her.  "I do not tolerate lewd behavior, nor do I look kindly on flirtations.  Man-hunting little fools disgust me."

So
, it was his attention to Morgana and not the queen's suspicion that he was a murderer that kept Christopher confined, Alandra thought.  Then her trip to Whitehall had all been in vain.  And all their efforts at finding Bessie and Tom Banter a waste of time.  The Queen was a horrible woman!

"Oh, don't look so grim." 
Elizabeth tapped her on the shoulder with her fan.  "I never did think Nicholas to be the one who killed Lord Woodcliff or that ruffian.  He does not have such villainy in him."

"You never thought him guilty?"  Alandra was stunned.  "Then why was he made the object of a hunt
for Lord Woodcliff’s murder?"

Elizabeth
pursed her lips.  "Stafford's doings and not mine.  There are times when he can be a most insolent pup.  Besides, the thought of Nicholas being on the run was exciting."

Exciting
, Alandra thought.  A man was running for his life, might have been killed and this woman thought of it as a game!  Oh, how she wanted to scold, but she dared not say a thing.  Yet it was only by biting her tongue that she maintained her silence.

Elizabeth
changed the subject, returning back to her questioning.  "You told me yesterday a little bit about yourself.  Refresh my memory.  Who are you?" 

Alandra's anger melted away and was replaced by sadness.  "More than anything in this world I want to know who
I am," she answered honestly.  "To not know troubles me more than you could ever know.  I have never known the comfort of a mother, you see."

"Nor have
I...."  The queen's eyes were sad.  "My mother was killed when I was little more than a babe.  Thus I know your feelings, child."   She called for one of the pages to bring forth the miniature she had of Anne Boleyn and displayed it to Alandra.

"She was beautiful....!"  Alandra thought how terrible it must be  for
Elizabeth to know that her father had ordered her mother to be beheaded, supposedly for adultery though it was whispered the real reason was to make way for his marriage to Jane Seymour.

"Beautiful and intelligent.  Both traits that I inherited."

"Of course!" 

Elizabeth
was pleased that Alandra agreed.  "Now, I seem to remember that you told me yesterday that the players have been like family to you.  Explain."

Alandra went into detail,
telling Elizabeth about how Murray Thatcher had been driving his wagon along the road when he had found the basket and his surprise when he found a baby inside.  Her eyes shown with love as she explained how he had decided right then and there that she was to be his.

"He didn't make an effo
rt to find your real parents?" Elizabeth's tone was stern.

"No," Alandra answered, then quickly added, "they had left no clue as to who they were.  And besides, they must not have wanted me if they abandoned me by the side of the road."