The Betrayal (26 page)

She left behind consternation and anxiety, and rumours began to run through the hall like a summer fire over a heath: war has been declared on us by France … by Spain … by the Low Countries; a great plague
is on its way; a comet has been seen in the sky foretelling fire; Hampton Court Palace has burned to the ground …

The messenger (whom the queen had left prostrate on the floor) picked himself up and was immediately seized by those of the queen’s councillors who’d stayed behind. Two of his riding companions entered, and were similarly taken. A few moments later, someone (I did not know his name, but took him to be a dignitary by his chains of office) stepped on to the low stage and lifted his hands for silence. The hall was at peace within seconds.

‘Her Grace has been very much disturbed by some news that has just arrived from Fotheringay,’ he said.

Immediately an undercurrent of whispers ran around the hall: ‘
Fotheringay … Mary, Queen of Scots …
’

He asked for silence again. ‘I must tell you that this morning, in the great hall of Fotheringay, the Queen of Scotland was put to death by the axe.’

There was an intake of breath from everyone in the hall.

‘Long live the queen!’ cried the speaker, and this sentiment was echoed in shocked voices by us all.

While we were all gathering our wits, a set of church bells began to ring out a celebratory peal. This was followed by others, so that within a few minutes our ears were beset by the pealing of bells right across the city. I looked for Tomas to ask what it all meant and what I should do, but he’d disappeared.

It was over an hour later before I found out more. After waiting in the hall feeling very out of place, I’d actually begun the journey home, terribly disappointed that I’d not been presented to Her Grace and, if the truth be told, wondering if my token of her appreciation might be quite lost to me now. My mind a tangle of questions, I’d walked as far as the Fleet and was about to cross it when I decided that I simply could
not
go on without speaking to someone and finding out exactly what had occurred, why the queen was so upset and what it all might mean for the country.

And so I turned back and came again to Whitehall Palace, this time not going to the banqueting hall, but rather to where I knew every scrap, every latest piece of news would be circulating: the servants’ quarters. More particularly, I went towards the royal laundry and, saying once again I was Barbara’s sister, gained entry.

Barbara was sitting with three other girls in the starching room and welcomed me in a very friendly manner. As I’d supposed, no one was a-bed, and little groups of servants were gathered, talking of the event in excited whispers. As each new piece of information arrived (from someone who knew a footman, was walking out with an equerry, or was the sister of one of the queen’s night-servants) it was seized upon, marvelled at and duly passed around. Barbara’s welcome to me became even warmer when she realised that I’d been in the hall at the time of the messenger’s arrival and could provide first-hand information. When I’d satisfied
everyone’s curiosity as to the manner and demeanour of both the queen, the messenger and those about them, I asked why they thought the queen had screamed out so.

‘Because she’s furious!’ Barbara answered straight.

I shook my head, still bewildered. ‘But why?’

‘Well, although she’d signed the death warrant, she didn’t expect it to be used.’

‘At least not straight away,’ another girl added. ‘She thought the matter would go again before her ministers.’

‘She doesn’t want the blood of an anointed queen on her hands,’ continued Barbara.

‘And now she’s distraught! Her ladies are still with her … She’s screaming and no one can calm her. She’s blaming her ministers for forcing her to sign.’

‘She says she never wished Mary put to death!’ Barbara added.

I looked from one to the other of them. ‘But … well, ’tis done now,’ I said, shrugging.

‘Aye,’ Barbara said, ‘and the whole country rejoices for it.’

‘We are all free of the fear of Catholic rule!’ said her friend.

’Twas a strange situation, I thought. The queen was upstairs in her palace, raging and sobbing by turns at the news (or so they said), while, below, we celebrated the very thing that she was so concerned about.

I stayed with Barbara and her friends a good while,
for no one seemed inclined to go to their bed. Someone lit a bonfire in the courtyard and the servants gathered around it, while a youth from the brewhouse brought ale to drink, and there was even dancing. ‘Her Grace is safe!’ people cried. ‘Long live our beloved queen!’

After a glass of ale I began to feel very tired and, although there was still much laughter and gaiety, with church bells continuing to be rung across the city, thought to leave. Before I went, though, there was something I had to tell Barbara. I took her to one side, saying I wished to speak about my brother.

‘You do?’ I could not mistake the eagerness in her face. ‘When might he be coming to see me?’

I shook my head. ‘I’m afraid … not for many a long day.’

She frowned. ‘Has he gone from London, then?’

‘In a manner of speaking, yes, he has. He … he will come no more.’ This was true, of course, because from now on, I’d have no time for acting with the players.

‘He’s
dead
?’ she asked, shocked.

‘No! Not that. He …’ I bit my lip and tried again. ‘You know I have undertaken some tasks for the queen’s fool – a little spying work?’

She nodded, frowning.

‘Well, I’m most sorry to tell you this, but part of this work required me to be disguised as a boy.’

‘You dressed as a boy?’ she repeated, perplexed.

I nodded. ‘I, in fact, am my brother. We are one and the same person.’ She still looked puzzled, so I added,
‘There is no
brother
, only me.’

‘Oh!’ She suddenly blushed scarlet. ‘But you … but I …’

‘I am most truly sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to deceive you, merely sought you out as a friend. And then found it difficult to admit the truth because you … you …’ my voice trailed away.

She didn’t speak for some moments, then gave a small smile. ‘’Tis of no matter,’ she said, ‘for I have been exchanging smiles with a new ’prentice button-maker, and think he may ask me to go a-walking with him soon.’

‘Then I’m very pleased for you,’ I said, though I didn’t know whether she’d spoken truly, or had just invented this button-maker to save face. We parted on very good terms, though, and said we’d see each other soon. Weary by then, I set off towards Green Lane, hoping that by the time I got as far as Ludgate it would be nigh on dawn and I’d be allowed into the city. Then it would just remain for me to face Mr Kelly and Dr Dee.

I left the confines of the palace, crossed the Strand and went homewards, taking a shortcut down a narrow, dark passageway. Hearing a horse’s hooves clattering on the cobbles behind me, I moved out of the way to allow it space, but to my surprise it was reined in. The rider jumped down and, to his credit, didn’t seek to play a joke on me as he’d done so often before, but spoke out quickly.

‘Lucy! Don’t be alarmed. ’Tis only me.’

‘Tomas!’ I turned, most surprised. He was no longer dressed as a jester, but garbed much more soberly now, in dark suit and black cape with a hood. ‘How did you find me?’

He smiled wryly. ‘The whole of Whitehall Palace seems to be up and dancing a jig, and I had a hunch you wouldn’t have gone home. I enquired in the laundries, and your friend Mistress Barbara said I’d just missed
you. I thought to catch you at the city gates.’

‘I’m happy you did,’ I said. ‘How was Her Grace when you left?’

‘Still much out of sorts. First weeping, then angry, then sad, then weeping again. And no one can say anything to help or console her, for she has a ready answer each time. Even though …’

He hesitated and I prompted, ‘Even though?’

‘Even though she knows her life would never have been safe with the Scottish queen alive, and plots and counter-plots being discovered at every turn. Why, I attended Her Grace only last week and spent an hour trying to amuse her, but the whole time she sat staring into the distance, saying, “
Strike, or be struck … which shall it be?
” It was a matter that was much on her mind.’

I nodded. ‘They are saying that although she wanted the Scottish queen dead, she didn’t wish to take responsibility for it.’

‘She did not. She wanted the deed done, but hoped that one of her ministers would undertake it and thus keep the blood from staining her hands.’ He shook his head. ‘No one was willing to do such a thing, however.’

We began walking together, the horse clip-clopping behind us. ‘And with the death of the Scottish queen, what of Mistress Juliette?’ I asked. ‘Need we have bothered ourselves with her?’

Tomas nodded assuredly. ‘’Tis excellent news that she’s out of the way, for our queen’s enemies remain
her enemies, even with Mary dead. All their efforts will now be focused on putting her son James on the throne.’

I hesitated, but could not resist asking if the late queen had gone to her death in a dignified and queenly manner, for this had been a question much asked about at the palace.

‘She did,’ Tomas answered, nodding. ‘She was composed and calm, and carried a crucifix – or so said a third messenger who arrived after the others. She freely forgave her executioner, and prayed throughout her last moments in Latin.’ He hesitated, then went on, ‘When she removed her outer garments so as not to impede the axe, she was wearing a satin bodice and petticoat of scarlet, the colour of Catholic martyrdom.’

I was silent, thinking about this sad lady for a moment. I offered up a prayer for her soul, yet could not feel sorrow, for she’d been an enemy to our queen and would have usurped her if she could.

We neared Ludgate, where a small crowd of people had gathered, waiting to be allowed into the city. Some had obviously been out all night celebrating the news, others were peddlers with full trays, or goodwives with baskets of eggs ready to sell at the street markets. All were avidly discussing the happenings, for the royal story had crossed London in a trice.

Tomas looked to the east and pointed out the smudgy pink streaks in the sky. ‘’Tis not long until dawn,’ he said. ‘Are you cold?’

I was about to say no, but thought how nice it would be to have Tomas make a little fuss of me. I therefore affected a shiver or two until he, smiling, took off his cape and placed it around my shoulders. We looked into each other’s eyes as he did so and – his face only an inch or two from mine – I held my breath. But then a hearty man with a fat piglet under each arm poked Tomas in the back, and the moment passed.

‘We’ll do well at market today, for people will be all for celebrating!’ the man said. ‘A roast suckling pig is an asset to any table, high or low. I only wish I had six of the beauties!’

‘Indeed,’ Tomas said politely, while I silently wished the man on the other side of the moon.

After that there were no more quiet moments, for two rival balladeers arrived at the gate, each with a pile of newly printed song-sheets selling at a penny each. One song was entitled
The joyful demise of the Queen of Scotland
and the other
Our gracious lady saved!
Each man set about singing his ballad with much gusto, causing several people living in the nearby houses to fling open their windows and shout a protest.

The sun came up, the streets grew lighter and more people arrived: sweeps, carpenters, milkmaids, carters, street-sellers and all the trades and, the gate being opened, we all went through. My feet trudged ever more slowly and Tomas offered to take me pillion on the horse but because that would have meant us reaching Green Lane more quickly, I refused. I didn’t wish to
say farewell to Tomas just yet, to have to explain myself to Dr Dee – or indeed want this strange night ever to end. We walked side by side, therefore, until the house came into view. Here Tomas tied the horse to a tree, gave a coin to a street-lad to mind it and said he’d accompany me to the door.

All was quiet upstairs and the curtains were closed, but downstairs I could hear – I was sure I could hear – Mistress Midge cursing as she swept the hallway.