Kathryn Kramer (39 page)

“Is he—is he alive?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No. He was killed during the attack of the Armada. A rare show of courage ended his life, though it does not vindicate him of what he did.” In a rare display of emotion, the queen’s eyes misted with tears, though she hurriedly brushed them away. She had woven such a sad tale that she was overcome.

“But there is a bright side to all of this.” Snapping her fingers, she summoned a page and instructed him to bring forth a rolled-up piece of parchment. “At last I have found Lord Woodcliff’s heir.” And Morgana Woodcliff be damned. At last
Elizabeth had it within her grasp to reap her revenge upon that woman in the most tantalizing of ways.

“Me?” Of all things in the world she might have expected, Alandra had never foreseen this.

“Of course. You are of his blood. I could see that in your face, even if I didn’t know your story. And there is the blanket. Besides, my spies did a thorough job of locating witnesses who will corroborate that you are indeed Allison Catherine Woodcliff.”

“Allison Catherine Woodcliff,” she repeated. But no, Alandra thought, no matter what happened she would always be Alandra Thatcher. A person couldn’t just cast away so many years of love.
Murray was her father, she wanted no other.

“As Lord Woodcliff’s only grandchild you are entitled to his country estate, his
house in London, and a considerable amount of money and jewels. What do you say to that, child?” Without giving Alandra a chance to answer, she guffawed. “Imagine that. Morgana Woodcliff is your step-grandmother. What a fine joke indeed! Oh, I can hardly wait to tell her.” She could hardly wait indeed!

So that was it, Alandra thought. That was the reason for all of
this. It was to take revenge on the woman the queen hated. Undoubtedly, Elizabeth would get great delight in announcing to Morgana that she was going to have to share her late husband’s fortune. More than anything in the world Alandra  wanted to turn her back, walk out, and never see the queen again, but she knew the futility of such a scheme. Thus she listened in silence as Elizabeth gave orders that Alandra was to become a lady-in-waiting. Christopher had lived in her world for a time. Now she was going to live in his.

Chapter Fifty -One

Nicholas was roused from a fitful slumber with a violent shake, so forceful that it rattled his teeth.  "Wake up!  Nicholas, do open your eyes!"

Sitting up against the pillows
, he tried to recapture the fading image of his dreams.  Alandra.  As usual he had dreamed of her.  Perhaps that was why seeing Morgana staring back at him was all the more unsettling. 

"What is it now?  God's nose but you have a lot of brute strength for a woman."  She had already fulfilled her promise of bringing him the straw and the makings for the "Nicholas" dummy.  What was her purpose in coming again? 

"I have brought you a length of rope.  Just in case it is needed."  Morgana's smile looked anything but sincere.

"Rope?"  She could have slipped it through the bars of the door.  Undoubtedly this was just an excuse to see him,
he thought, not liking that idea.  He didn't want her to have any hope that just because she was helping him out of his cage he owed her anything.  "What's it for? I can’t climb out the window.”

"It's not for that.  It's for use in case the warder comes upon you un
-expectantly.   It would then be needed to keep him confined so as not to sound the alarm.  That is unless you think it better to kill him," she said sweetly.

"Kill him!  Nay.  He has done me no great harm.  It is n
ot his fault that I am here."

Taking it from her hand he accepted it grudgingly.  "Let us hope that I have no need of it and that your plans work smoothly."

There was a strange glitter in Morgana's eyes.  "Oh, they will.  My plans will most definitely go exactly as I intend.  They have until now."

"So I would suppose,"  Nicholas said beneath his breath.

For just a moment a strange feeling of danger tickled the back of his spine, but he hurriedly pushed it away.  It was either trust Morgana or languish here in the Tower until Elizabeth felt the benevolent urge to set him free. 

"Everything is set for tonight."

"Tonight?"  It seemed too soon.  Nicholas had always believed that a well-worked out plan took some time.

"Are you having second thoughts?"  Morgana leaned against him, touching him on the shoulder.  "Perhaps you like the living arrangements here."

"I don't!  Not at all.  Every man values his freedom."  He meant that as a
double entendre
, but she pretended not to understand.

His tone softened as he asked, "
Aren’t your visits to me going to arouse suspicion?  After all, there aren't many golden-haired women as lovely as you roaming about the Tower."

She beamed at the compliment.  "I
took care of that from the first.  If enough money changes hands, it can silence the most tattling of tongues."  Slowly, seductively, she removed her cloak, as if to say her visit was going to be lengthy.   "Besides, I like coming to see you."

"See me?"  Nicholas waited warily, knowing what was to come.  She still hadn't gotten it into her head that any attraction he had once held for her was totally dead.

"It's not too late for us, Nicholas!" 

She walked toward
the door, covering the grille with her cloak.  Deftly, she unfastened the bindings of her gown.  Pulling the fabric down to her waist, she gave him a view of her breasts, firm, perfectly molded mounds tipped with rosy crests.  A sight that would have tempted any other man.

"Nicholas......"

He reached out to her, but not to take her in his arms.  Instead, he plucked at the cloth of her bodice and covered her.  "Morgana.....don't embarrass yourself.  I've told you before and I'll say it again.  I am taken."

Nicholas heard the sound of her slap before he felt it.  Then the whole side of his face burned. 

"I hate you for this, Nicholas.  You will never know just how much!"

He did.  It showed in her eyes.  Even so he knew he couldn't have reacted any other way.  Alandra deserved his faithfulness.  "Perhaps you had better go."

She made no move to leave.  "I saw her, by the way."

Nicholas stiffened, every nerve in his body on alert to trouble.  "Saw who?"

"Your little peasant girl."  Putting her hands on her waist, she laughed softly as she eyed him up and down.  "Oh,
now
I have your attention.  You should see your face.  Your mouth is hanging open."  Purposely, she let the silence stretch out before she said, "she was at court.  To see the queen."

"Alandra at court?" Nicholas didn't like that at all.  He didn't want Alandra anywhere near
Elizabeth.  She was an innocent to the kind of intrigue and skullduggery that went  on at court.

"She didn't think I saw her but she was very, very noticeable in her quain
t little gown."  Walking toward the door, she tugged at her cloak, putting it back on her shoulders.  "Undoubtedly, she was asking the queen to pardon you, but as you see you are still here.  At least for now."

"Morgana!  Is she safe?  The q
ueen, she treated her well didn't she?  Where is Alandra?  You must take her a message......"  Though he had been anxious to get rid of her, now Nicholas was loath to see her go.  He wanted to know more, but Morgana had it in mind to tease him.

"So many questions. Why, I do think I'll just let you wonder about your little lover's fate."  The door clicked as she slipped out.

"Morgana!"  Frantically Nicholas pushed against the door, peering out at Morgana's retreating form.  "Come back.  There are things I must know."  Purposely she ignored him, soon disappearing out of sight.

"Damn!"
  Nicholas looked down at the rope he clutched in his fist.  It was a reminder now not only of his own danger but of Alandra's as well. 

Chapter Fifty-Two

The inn's shutters were closed to keep out what little day's sunlight was left.  Only  a few glowing embers sparked in the fire's hearth.  Lying face down in the middle of the small four-poster bed, the covers drawn over her head, Alandra shuddered with  sobs as she relived the events that had taken place not an hour before.   Lord Woodcliff's granddaughter, his heir, how was that possible?  What ghastly joke was fate playing on her?  Could even Will Shakespeare write such a fanciful story?   And yet it was true.  The nurse that Anne Woodcliff had taken with her to the country had verified each and every detail. 

"Be careful what you wish for......."
the phrase ran through her mind. Alandra moaned, remembering all the times she had so wanted to be a lady, to mingle with those glittering nobles at Whitehall and how she had wanted to know who her parents were.  Now her wishes had been granted, she had been summoned to court, and she wanted with all her heart to take those wishes back.  She knew now that all she really wanted to be was Alandra Thatcher, but that matter had been taken out of her hands by a prying old woman. 

She wouldn't go to court.  She wouldn't!  She was no match for those preening sharks.  They'd tear her to pieces.  She'd not ruin her whole life just because of that selfi
sh, self-seeking, vengeful queen.  She'd not be made a puppet just so Elizabeth could laugh behind her hand at Morgana.  She'd stand firm and utter the word the Queen had never heard before--no.

And send Christopher and all your fri
ends into ruin by crossing the queen?
  Alandra laughed bitterly at the very idea.  No, she would do as she was bid, dutifully and politely. 

"Yes, your Majesty.  Of course, your Majesty.  Tell us how high to jump, your Majesty.  Tell us how low to bow, your Majesty.  We'll sit up and beg if you want, your Majesty.  Give us a kick if you'd like, your Majesty.  Chop off our heads if it please, your Majesty.  We'll roll over and play dead if it will delight, your Majesty."  Oh, how galling it all was!
             

Even so
, Alandra knew she was helpless.  She who had always spoken her mind would now be forced to play the politics of the day, or end up like Christopher in the tower.  The truth of the matter was she had lost control of her life, her destiny.  But then perhaps no one ever really was the captain of their own fate.  Certainly Christopher hadn't been.  He, like she, was a victim of the queen.

"Merry-go-up!" she moaned, flinging herself over on her back.  How could she have ever been so s
illy as to think life could be simple?  Or really believe that happiness was so easy to obtain?  How could she have deluded herself when all around her was misery? 

London wasn't really a city of rainbows. It was crowded, dirty full of suffering, poverty and it stank.  Just ambling through the city one walked literally through death and pain.  But Alandra had preferred to see the sun behind the clouds, to smell the fragrance from the countryside that  floated in, had preferred to believe that people were really kind at heart.  At least until ambition got in the way.  Or family reputation.

She swallowed hard.  Her own grandfather had put her in a basket and left her beside the road as if she were little more than rubbish.  He'd discarded her with little care of what was to happen to her.  He'd broken her mother's heart with little conscience.  And all because of his lofty position at court and his reputation.  And what of her father?  A married man who had willfully seduced a young, naive woman for his own sport. 
A troublesome story, yet true. Oh, if only she hadn't been told.  But she had been.  Now how was she going to live with it?

They would know.  Everyone at court would know that she was bastard born, albeit of lordly parentage.  All the country homes, fine
London houses, gold coinage, diamonds and velvets couldn't wipe that stigma away.  She would be the object of gossip. Worse yet was the stunning reality that Morgana Woodcliff was her step-grandmother and as such would have Alandra under her thumb.  Morgana, a name she had grown to hate.  A woman who would peck out her eyes like a hovering crow if she let down her guard.  Was it any wonder she felt so much like running away?

But she couldn’t.  She would suffer her
fate in silence and hope beyond hope that there was still a chance for a happy ending.  At least there was one silver lining to her cloud.  At least now she was acceptable for betrothal to Christopher, if and when he got out of the Tower.  If only Elizabeth would set him free.

Alandra rose from the bed and slowly changed into garments that matched her mood, a black velvet dress that had been designed for mourning.  She then began packing her belongings in trunks and boxes, smoothing the wrinkles from her gowns as she examined each and every one, brushing off her leather shoes, dusting her gloves, rolling up her pairs of stockings.  She had few possessions worthy of the court, no precious finger rings, bracelets, ropes of beads, fans or go
ld chains.  She had only items that would be ridiculed by the lords and ladies; the first flower Christopher had given her pressed between the pages of a book, a handwritten copy of Shakespeares
A Midsummer Night's Dream
, a dried four leaf clover, a hand-carved wooden toy Murray had given her, and a crown made out of paste that Murray had created when she had laughingly wished that she were a princess, if only for a day.  Things of value to her if to no one else.  She stubbornly boxed up each and every one,  then taking a deep breath she made her way down the narrow stairs.                           

Alandra choked back her tears as she bid the actors goodbye. "I'll never forget you.  Never!" she said, kissing Robert Armin, William Kempe, William Sly and John Lowin on the cheek.  The lump in her throat threatened to strangle her.  Strange how one's life could so suddenly be turned upside down, she thought. 

"Alandra, words can never reveal how much we will miss you."  Though he had spoken several times of leaving her behind,  the usually pompous Heminges was warm and emotional in his farewell.

"Imagine, our dear little girl a lady of the nobility,"  Richard Burbage took her hand and bowed, kissing the soft flesh reverently.

"A lady," she scoffed.  "I have no desire to be such, but I fear they will try to change me into an ambitious, vain, fawning monkey, as my father calls them." 

She smiled through her tears at
Murray, then threw herself into his arms, the sprinkle of her tears turning into a torrent. "I'll never fit in at court.  Never."

"Hush, hush, dearling.  There, there!   It's all right......"  He patted her on the back, succumbing to his own sobs, a sound much like a puppy whimpering.  "Aye, you will!  You will.  You'll become the finest lady at court and shall make me very, very proud." 

"I don't want to go!" she mumbled against his shoulder.  "I want to stay here with you."  Who would take care of him now?  He was growing old, his eyesight failing.  Who would help him with his sets and costumes?  Drive the wagon?  See that he didn't work himself into fatigue?

"And I would have you do just that, but it isn't possible, daughter.  You heard with your own ears the Queen's command." 
Murray tried to sound stern.  "And perhaps in truth it is where you should go.  Being a lady is what you were born to be.  And ladies like precious gems need a proper setting."  She would never know how much that statement pained him, nor that it wrenched his heart to contemplate the loneliness her absence would bring.  She was the light in his world, and now that light was going to be dimmed.                            

"You'll come to visit me?"  Though she had begged
Elizabeth on bended knee to allow Murray to live at court, the request had been denied.

He held her at arm's length, his misted eyes appraising her.  "Aye."

"Often?"

"I'll come, as o
ften as the Queen will let me," Murray declared, wiping his nose on his sleeve.  "That is a promise."

"We all will,"
Will Kempe piped up. "It will take the entire Queen's guards to keep us away."

"Aye, we'll come
,"  William Sly added.  "You've always brought us good luck, Alandra."

Alandra knew they wouldn't break their vow
, and yet it wouldn't be the same.  Once she left here, the past would be ended and her future would begin.  A future she was not certain of.  Was it any wonder that already she was lonely.  Oh, how she hated goodbyes, more so now as the actors lined up to bid her farewell. Only one face was missing--Shakespeare's.

"Father, where is Will
             

"He had an appointment in the seedier part of town, where the bull and bear baiting arenas are.  Bankside to be precise.  There is a theatre there that we might perchance use, at least until better quarters are located." 
Murray drew her aside, lest unwanted ears  hear what he said next.  "But his visit was for a dual purpose.  It seems the man who runs the bull baiting establishment, Harry Sackerson, by name, has seen Tom Banter."

"Tom Banter!"  Alandra had given up hope that he would ever be found.

"Shhhhhh!"  Murray cautioned her, for there were others besides the actors wandering in and out of the inn.  "He was seen meeting with a lady there.  One who fits the description of your yellow-haired rival."

"Morgana!"  Alandra laughed bitterly.  "My step-
grandmother
, you mean."  What evil was she planning now? 

As Alandra watched her trunks being carried downstairs and loaded in a cart
, she pondered the question, imagining all sorts of plots. She stepped up into the curtained litter that was to take her to Whitehall, then looked across the inn’s courtyard. Shakespeare was running toward her, his hand clutched at a rope. At the end of rope, securely bound at the wrists was a violently cursing  boy, a skinny young thing with hair like straw.  The blue eyes were hardened, angry, old beyond his years.

"Tell her what you told me, you young gibbet bait," Shakespeare scolded, giving the boy a push that landed him at Alandra's feet.  "Christopher is in severe danger!"

"Christopher?"  Alandra felt a shiver of fear.  "Dear God, what do you mean?" 

"We must hurry, there is little time!"  Frantically Shakespeare waved his hands
in the air, signaling the other actors to come.  

Ignoring the men who manned the litter he blurted out what he had learned from the young scoundrel he held in tow.  "Christopher is to be freed from the Tower tonight. 
The plot is already afoot.”

"Christopher.  Freed?"  That news was a blessing not a curse.  Why then was Shakespeare so worried.  "By who
m?"

"Morgana Woodcliff
  has masterminded the scheme."

"Morgana!"  Alandra digested that bit of information with mixed feelings
, and yet as long as Christopher was freed what did it matter who freed him.  "But you speak of danger."

"Aye, of the darkest kind." Though usually a man of calm temperament, Shakespeare nudged the young rogue no
ne too gently with his boot.  "Talk or I swear I'll take you to the Queen to hang from the gallows," he said, much in the same manner Nicholas Leighton had once threatened Will Frizer.  "Speak, or BiGod....."

A tight circle was forming around the bo
y.  Hunching himself forward, eyes downcast the boy began to mumble.

"Talk clearly.  Tell us the villainy of what is planned!"
Shakespeare chanted.

Raising his head
, the boy revealed eyes that held stark terror.  His skinny body went rigid, his voice broke into a squeak of pure terror.  "I can't!  He will kill me if I do.  Tom Banter is the devil incarnate!"

"Then I'll tell the tale."  Shakespeare's eyes were filled with pity as he looked at the boy, belying his earlier threat.  "Tom Banter has been hired by Morgana Woodcliff to commit another murder!"

"No!"  Alandra clutched at her throat, knowing without asking who was to be the victim.

"I overheard Bantor
talking to this young scoundrel."

Rapidly
, Shakespeare told how he had spotted Tom Banter, recognizing him at once because of his long black hair, missing ear, and crooked nose.  Positioning himself behind a post, he had eavesdropped on the conversation the "cutter" was having with the boy. 

"Christopher is walking right into a trap.  He wrongly places trust in those who are to free him, little knowing that once he is free of the Tower's walls he is to be murdered and thrown in the
Thames.  In what manner or at what time only this young ruffian knows, though he will not tell."

"Christopher is to be murdered!"  Alandra blinked hard to dispel the vision that suddenly danced b
efore her eyes.  Feeling dizzy she clutched at the curtain.

"I didn't want ter do it!  I didn't!"  As if seeking mercy the boy threw himself at Alandra's feet.  "Have mercy, Mistress!"

"Mercy?"  Alandra stared at the convulsively sobbing boy.  He seemed more victim than villain.  Therefore her voice was gentle.  "Tell me, please.  You have my word that if you help us we'll let you go and no one will ever know that you spoke out.  Please....."