The Tudor Vendetta (6 page)

“You are right,” he said. “You do not serve me. Thus, you are free to do as you wish. However, if you would permit me one last bit of advice…?”

I glared. “When did my leave or lack thereof ever stop you before?”

He sniffed. “I realize the task at hand may seem unworthy of you, being bait to trap Dudley. Nevertheless, an intelligencer does as ordered, regardless of personal preference. I hope you have not wasted my time. You have the potential to be our most accomplished asset. Certainly our best-positioned,” he added, “given your intimacy with the queen. But there is no room for error. If you have any doubts, you are unfit and should resign your charge at once. Disappointment is preferable to weakness.”

His blunt rebuke made my jaw clench. Yet as he turned to the door, I heard myself say, “I do not doubt.” He paused, not looking at me. “And I’ll be in her apartments,” I said. “Wearing my best doublet and smelling of lavender, I promise.”

“I don’t care about promises” was his reply, in unsettling echo of Kate’s words to me in the stables. “All I want is compliance. Remember what you are, not who you were.” He pulled open the door. “You are expected at the stroke of one. Don’t be late. She dislikes tardiness.”

He left me standing there, my resentment curdling inside me.

Chapter Five

After consuming all the bread and cheese, and most of the ale, I felt better in my stomach, if not my spirits. Moving to the chest, I found my sword enveloped carefully in its scabbard and oiled cloth to weather the voyage. I hesitated, my hand hovering over it. It had come to me unexpectedly, thrown at me for my defense in a dying king’s secret chamber. Would I have need of it today?

I did not think so. Moving it aside, I located the pouch of coin and clothing Cecil had brought: an elegant doublet made of maroon velvet, with matching hose, breeches, codpiece, and sleeves of crimson damask. I eyed the quality as I spread them on the bed. Cecil had thought of everything; he probably even had my measurements right. Taking a fresh chemise and under-linens from my bag, I draped them across the stool to air out the wrinkles and stink of travel before I went out in search of water. Whitehall had common bathing quarters, but I was in no mood for the company of gossiping, naked courtiers. A trough in a nearby courtyard yielded what I sought; splashing my face and hands, I used a cube of soap wrapped in linen to scrub myself, shivering in the cold as I toweled my body. I left a scum of grime on the surface of the water. Returning to my room, I ignored the curious glances of passing ushers and pages in the corridors.

The clamor of bells announcing the hour greeted me when I emerged, dressed in my stiff new finery. Walsingham had failed to provide directions but I assumed Elizabeth resided in the same royal apartments her sister had once occupied. After taking several passages, I found the sumptuous privy gallery fronted by mullioned bays overlooking the Thames.

The green river glittered in the sunlight, as if raw diamonds floated across its murky waters. It was a beautiful day, despite winter’s approach. The storm clouds of yesterday had disappeared, blown away by a brisk wind that ruffled the hedges and pruned trees in the gardens; the palace itself was like a mausoleum, but it had never been warm, its gargantuan expanse ill-suited to comfort, regardless of how many braziers and hearths were kindled.

Around me, people began to appear—courtiers in finery, the rustle of weighted hems and embroidered sleeves, the clinking of pomanders and ropes of pearls and gold imbuing the air with chiming music. Sentries guarded an archway that allowed access into the royal abode; as I paused, feeling my dagger hilt press into my calf (I had stashed it in my boot, though weapons were forbidden in the sovereign’s presence), I took a wary look about. I did not recognize any of those around me. For an unsettling moment, they all looked the same to me—polished peacocks with the sharp, hooded eyes of birds of prey, gauging my arrival as they might a fresh victim. All gathered in groups according to rank; all engaged in idle chatter. But none, I suspected, was actually interested in what the others had to say. They were intent only on the closed double doors behind which lay the beating heart of their existence: the queen herself.

Recalling how Mary had sometimes granted public audience at this hour, following her noon meal, I wondered if Elizabeth had summoned me to take my place among those eager to curry her favor. I had served her faithfully, yes, we had gone through trials together, but in the end, who was I to her? Certainly, I could not compete with the history she shared with Dudley. I had experienced firsthand the changes that being queen could wreak; Mary Tudor, whom I helped to win her throne, became a monster before my very eyes. Cecil had said Elizabeth’s newfound power was going to her head. Had she, too, embarked on a transformation? If so, how would she welcome me?

As unexpected doubt assailed me, taking on a looming menace, as I recognized once more how precarious my position truly was, I nearly turned to depart. The sudden emergence of Cecil from behind the doors stopped me. He wore a dark robe, his chain of office heavy on his shoulders. He appeared flustered, pushing through the courtiers who surged at the sight of him. When he espied me at the edge of the crowd, he motioned.

I felt every pair of eyes cleave to me as I passed, heard someone whisper, “
Who
is he?” and then I stepped past the doors into the antechamber beyond. Cecil motioned to the guards. An outcry from the courtiers issued before the closure of the oak doors muffled it.

Cecil grimaced. Pulling off his cap, he dabbed at sweat beading his receding hairline. “It’s a nightmare,” he said. “They’re at her night and day like Pharisees. They think that if they crowd her passage, she will have to notice them. I am considering drafting restrictions regarding the distance they must maintain from the sovereign’s person. As it stands, she cannot set foot outside her doors without encountering that mob.”

“You did want this,” I reminded him. “You worked tirelessly to its end.”

He sighed. “Yes, I did.” Repositioning his cap, he glanced around us, though the splendid antechamber was empty. Behind the spangled curtain covering a nearby archway, I discerned voices. “Now, you must heed me. Lord Robert is with her,” he began. He set a hand on my sleeve, detaining me. “I couldn’t persuade her to see you alone. She says it is high time you and Dudley cease sparring. Indeed, she commands it. She told him as much, when he learned of your summons.”

“I can only imagine his excitement,” I said, wishing I had brought more than my dagger, though it was unlikely he would dare attack me in front of her.

Cecil sniffed. “Regardless of his sentiments, like all of us he must abide by her rule. She has taken this opportunity to begin opening the congratulatory gifts sent by foreign princes. She wishes to greet you informally.” His voice lowered to a conspiratorial hush. “She has also expressed interest in bestowing you with a title and estate, in recompense for your efforts on her behalf. If she offers it, I want you to thank her but refuse, saying it is too great an honor. Humility is your weapon of choice.”

“An estate?” I repeated. Without warning, hope flared in me, vanquishing the uncertainty of my future. A grant of land would solve everything; Dudley would rejoice to see the back of me and I would prefer to oblige him. If I accepted Elizabeth’s offer, I could woo Kate back, marry, and raise a family. I could be free of the mayhem, the intrigue, the claustrophobia of life at court. Yet even as I welcomed the thought, my hope must have shown on my face, for Cecil’s grip tightened like a vise.

“Would you deny everything we have fought for, to go off and play country squire?” he asked. “Is that what you want, to see her in thrall to Dudley and the rest of us on the scaffold?”

I knew. I knew it as if he had spat the betrayal in my face. Kate’s appearance in the stables had not been coincidence.
He
had sent her to me, to rupture whatever frayed thread still bound us. “Up to your old tricks, I see.” I yanked my arm away. “What did you tell her? That there is no place for me in her life because I devote myself body and soul to your service?”

“You did tell me you had forsaken her,” he replied. “Only yesterday, in fact.”

“God’s teeth,” I whispered, “just when I think you could not be more heartless. You had no right to interfere!”

He did not flinch. “Kate understands more than you suppose. She realizes we all must sacrifice,” he said, as if he were talking of a piece of merchandise and not the very girl he had raised. “She knows how much is at stake now that Elizabeth is queen.”

“Does she?” I riposted. “Because the way she spoke to me, it felt like—”

“Are you ready?” asked a woman from behind us. “Her Majesty is waiting.”

With a furious glance over my shoulder, I saw one of Elizabeth’s damsels peering from the curtain. I drew a taut breath as Cecil tugged at his robe and moved to the chamber where the queen and her company awaited.

A vivid recollection of the last time I had been in this airy room assaulted me. Here, during Queen’s Mary reign, I had first met Sybilla. I shut my mind to the memory of her gliding toward me and focused on the chamber with its wide window bays offering a view of the windswept parkland outside.

Wrapped boxes, enameled caskets, and other containers sprouting ribbons and gewgaws were heaped on the central table, where Elizabeth’s ladies had assembled to sort through the trove. I scanned their ranks; saw with a clench in my chest that Kate was among them, clad in blue velvet, her face drawn. She avoided my gaze, her somberness in marked contrast to the eager faces of her companions, all of whom were unfamiliar to me. Though the number of Elizabeth’s attendants had of course increased, I found it unsettling to find no sign of the other two women who had served Elizabeth throughout her life. Times past, she would rarely have been seen without her protective chief gentlewoman, Lady Blanche Parry, or her former governess, the redoubtable Mistress Ashley.

Two contented spaniels dozed by the hearth. The atmosphere was warm, redolent with the bittersweet scent of crushed herbs underfoot. The carpets, I noted, were threadbare, as if our late queen had worn them out with her anxious pacing.…

Elizabeth’s husky laughter rang out. Turning to my right, I found her seated near an alcove, clad in a high-necked gown of silver brocade. Tight-sleeved, with cuffs of black lace at her wrists, her garb showed off her perfect skin and slim hands to perfection—beautiful hands, which she liked to display, and which at this moment beckoned Dudley. He bent to her. Her head cocked to one side as he murmured in her ear. Her next burst of laughter was a purr in her throat. “You’re too bold, my lord,” she declared and she slapped him lightly on the cheek, even as a flush crept over her face, indicating that bold or not, she rather liked his suggestive whisper.

I tasted bile. Cecil’s warnings returned to me, about her open indiscretion with Dudley, even as his wife lay secluded, perhaps already dying, in a manor far away. I had to resist the urge to stride to him and haul him from her side. As if she sensed my anger, she shifted her gaze in my direction. I immediately bowed, fumbling at my head. As I realized with a cold start that in my haste I had forgotten to don a cap, Dudley guffawed. “Lost your headgear again, Prescott? I seem to recall you mislaid it often when you were our foundling. I suggest you nail it to your head, seeing as you are so apt to roll around in the muck.”

Elizabeth clucked her tongue. “Come now.” She extended her hand with its signet ring to me. Her smile was inviting as I approached. Besides Cecil, Dudley and I were the only men in the room. She said softly, “Lest I am mistaken, it seems absence has not been kind to you, Master Prescott. You look tired.”

I absorbed the tenor of her voice, seeking the underlying meaning in her words. With Elizabeth, there was always more than one meaning and I was not mistaken in detecting faint reprimand in her manner. It took a few moments to ascertain the cause; when I did, I replied, “Exile is never easy, Majesty. But my absence helped me return to serve you.”

Her lips twitched. She held up a hand, prompting Dudley to reach for a nearby decanter and pour. He did not take his eyes from me. I ignored him, for in the daylight I could now discern the invisible burden she carried, though she disguised it with her usual skill. Triumphant as her accession was—indeed, some might say, miraculous—the violet smudges under her eyes and taut pull to her mouth, the slightly hollowed cheeks and pallor betrayed more sleepless nights than anyone supposed. Elizabeth had fought to attain this zenith; after a time, it had become her sole purpose in her otherwise imperiled existence. Betrayal, deception, even death had become her allies, and compassion welled in me as I watched her raise the goblet to her lips. Under her regal aura, a lonely woman sat before me—one who doubted my allegiance because I had left her, as she must doubt everything and everyone around her.

It was her curse—a curse which Cecil, for all his insight, and Dudley, in his arrogance, failed to understand. From the hour she had discovered how thin the line was between life and death, Elizabeth had learned never to fully trust.

Cecil said, “Master Prescott is entirely at Your Majesty’s disposal.”

“Is he?” She preempted Dudley, who started to scoff. She went quiet again, contemplating me. “Then we must give his disposition some thought.”

Though it sounded like a dismissal, I knew it was not. I finally gleaned her purpose. This so-called informal gathering was as much a part of her ploy as her avoidance of overt acknowledgment of me in the hall the night before. She needed time to assimilate my return, to gauge where I could best be employed and set me on a course. She did not plan on setting me to dance attendance on her or relegating me to a country estate. Elizabeth had something specific in mind. All I needed to do was wait for her to reveal it.

Dudley, however, did not realize this. Focused only on his need to see me disgraced, he gloated as if I were about to be consigned to cleaning out the privies, preening at her side in his jeweled doublet, a hand at his hip. He looked exactly what he was—a handsome predator, whose only interest was the destruction of all rivals. Cecil’s concerns were unfounded; though Dudley might have snapped his fingers and had any girl in this room on her back, for now he did not yet have the one he most desired.