She was right. I had to disappear. Fast.

I ran up to my room and started cramming everything I had pulled from my saddlebag back into it. I was looking around to make sure I hadn’t missed anything when I heard the men’s horses cantering into the courtyard, followed by rough demands of the grooms as they dismounted.

They were inside the manor before I could reach my door; I could hear their booted heels, monstrously loud, and Mistress Parry’s indignant protest. “My lady is abed! She has taken with fever. You cannot intrude on her-”

I hoisted my saddlebag to my shoulder, my other hand on my sword. Daring a glance into the passageway, I glimpsed men with caps bunched in fists as they came up the staircase and turned down the opposite corridor to the princess’s apartment. The startled cry of one of her attendants preceded brusque rapping on her bedchamber door.

“Madam, open at once! We come in Her Majesty the queen’s name!”

I inched backward into my room. My breath came fast. Maybe they wouldn’t search the manor. Maybe they’d just question her, and when they discovered that she had been here all this time, abed, they’d-

Footsteps marched toward me.

Wildly, I started to move to the bed, thinking to hide under it. I was not fast enough. The door banged open. A sentry stood on the threshold. “You.” He jabbed a gauntleted finger at me. “Downstairs. Now.”

He accompanied me to the hall. The entire manor staff had been assembled, the maids openly weeping, the men white-faced. I was grateful Mistress Ashley and Kate were not here. With any luck, Mistress Parry hadn’t yet sent their summons.

The queen’s men milled about the hall, the central table cluttered with the detritus of their office: bags, weaponry, paper, quills and ink bottles. I recognized a few of the men from my time at court, though I didn’t know their names; they were from the council. As the sentry pushed me into line with the other servants, one of the men-a lean, white-haired noble with a forked beard and the commanding stance of a man in charge-pivoted toward me and stared, hard, as if he were searching his mind for my identity.

Then he looked away and I sagged in relief, lowering my eyes and chin.

In a cold voice he announced, “I am Lord William Howard, Admiral of England. I am here by Her Majesty’s command to search this house and inquire into the activities of said household as it pertains to the recent treasonous revolt against the queen’s sovereign person. Thomas Wyatt and others have been apprehended and are in the Tower. Her Majesty will show mercy to the innocent, if such can be proved, but none of you are to leave the manor or its grounds on penalty of immediate arrest.” He treated us to a frigid stare that emphasized his authority before he motioned to the sentries, who herded the servants out.

I was turning to leave when Lord Howard’s voice came at me. “Not you.”

I looked over my shoulder. He had recognized me. I bowed. “My lord.”

“Haven’t I seen you at court?” He did not speak as if it were a question, but I decided to risk it, nevertheless. “You may have, my lord. I’ve been in Her Grace’s employ and have occasionally run errands for her at-”

“Do you lie to me?” His voice did not raise a decibel, but the threat in his tone was unmistakable. “Because if you do, I warn you, we have ways to loosen the tongues of liars so that they learn to speak the truth.”

I went quiet. As I considered my next move, I wondered who had betrayed me this time. Renard was the most likely culprit; after our confrontation outside my room, he had every reason to want to see me disappear. He had lost control of his own agent; Sybilla had turned rogue, stolen the evidence he sought, made him look the fool. Only he, too, had something to lose if I were to confess what I knew; I could certainly tell Lord Howard of how the Spanish ambassador had done his utmost to bring down the queen’s sister, failing in the process to intercept the revolt brewing under his nose. It might not save me, but I was fairly certain Renard would rather his own sordid failings didn’t come to light.

Lord Howard tilted his head. “What is your name?”

I hesitated for a second before I said, “Prescott, my lord. Squire Prescott.” Again, it was a feeble attempt to gain time. Renard and Mary both knew me as Daniel Beecham; if Renard had told these men to look for me, Beecham was the name he’d cite.

“Prescott,” mused Lord Howard. “Well, Prescott, you’re not to leave the premises. I want you where I can find you, at all times. I may have reason to speak with you again.”

“Yes, my lord,” I murmured, inclining my head. He did not move, watching me turn to the door. I anticipated he’d call me back before I had the chance to step out, that he’d realize where exactly he had seen me at court, coming and going from the queen’s own apartments, and then I’d find myself in boiling water, indeed.

A man without a past cannot exist …

Howard did not stop me.

* * *

Guards were placed at the princess’s door; no one but Mistress Parry and members of the council was allowed to see her. I sat with the servants in the kitchens that night, listening with one ear to their hushed, anxious chatter while with the other I strained to overhear Lord Howard and his men deliberating over their dinner in the hall.

Mistress Parry came in with a tray, bearing Elizabeth’s untouched meal; I drew her aside. “What is happening? What do you know?”

Clearly frightened despite her outward stance, she whispered, “Wyatt’s rebellion failed. But it looked at first as though it might succeed; he had over two thousand men under his command, while the council refused to vote the queen so much as five hundred more guards. She marched straight to the Guildhall and gave such a speech that all London took to her defense. Wyatt’s men deserted him when they saw the forces arrayed against them. Lord Howard was there; he barred the rebel entry at Ludgate. By nightfall, Wyatt surrendered. There’ve been deaths on both sides, but not many.”

“And now?” I thought of Scarcliff. Had he fought for or against Wyatt?

“There’ll be more,” she replied grimly. “Every last man in that rebel army is being pursued. That’s not the worst of it, either. I was in my lady’s room today when Lord Howard informed her that a letter, purported to be from Wyatt, informing her of his plan, was found in a packet of secret missives being sent abroad. The queen is enraged. She’s ordered that my lady be brought to court at once. I’m insisting she’s too ill to travel, but Howard has sent for a physician. We’ve a few days, at best. When the physician arrives and examines her, he’ll pronounce her fit. He can do nothing else.”

I stood, stunned. Another letter, this time from the very man who had marched on London, found in a packet being sent abroad? It could seal Elizabeth’s doom.

There could only be one explanation, and it made my blood run cold.

Renard. This was his deed. He’d found a way to falsify a letter from Wyatt, springing the snare that would bring Elizabeth to her knees.

I gnawed at my lower lip. If we only had a few days, it just might be enough. “Can we get word out? Is there a way to send a secret message?”

She stared at me, incredulous. “How, pray tell? They’ve surrounded the manor. Not even a flea in the stable can get out without their notice. Besides, who can we appeal to? No one will support her now, not even those who called themselves her friend.”

“I know someone. A man highly regarded by the queen. If he could persuade her-”

“You don’t understand. There is no persuading the queen. She’s already agreed to execute Lady Jane Grey, Guilford Dudley, and Jane’s father, the Duke of Suffolk. Lord Howard told the princess to her face. Oh, you should have seen the look she gave him! She might have struck him had she not been abed. It is too late for highly regarded friends now. The queen will see her to the Tower, and she”-Mistress Parry’s voice caught-“she knows it. God save her, all she can think to do is to delay them, to continue to plead illness in the hope that somehow, some miracle can save her.”

“Dear God,” I whispered. I remembered them as I’d last seen them in the Tower, Jane kicking the pile of books before she handed me the folder, and Guilford, that petulant husband, to whom she’d been wed against her will, cawing for my demise: They were to be Renard’s first victims. Would Robert and the other Dudley brothers follow? Would Courtenay die as well? How much blood would Renard make the queen spill?

How would Elizabeth survive it?

Mistress Parry’s eyes were wet with unshed tears. “My lady says if comes to it, she’ll ask for a swordsman from Calais like her mother. She says she’ll not let them take her head with a hatchet, like a beast in a barnyard. What can we do? What can any of us do for her now?”

The servants had turned to look at us in dread. I took her by the arm, silencing her. Her eyes widened as I leaned close. “Tell her to write a letter to the queen. She must refute any knowledge of the revolt and Wyatt. If she can sow doubt in the queen’s mind, we may still save her. Tell her I will deliver the letter.”

“You?” she whispered. “But how can you…?”

“Never mind.” I steered her to the kitchen door. “Tell her, before it is too late.”

* * *

We remained indoors as the snow fell outside, confined in the manor as the councillors and Howard trudged up the stairs to Elizabeth’s chamber, once, twice, three times a day. Each time they emerged flustered, their threats unheeded; each time Howard was heard debating angrily with them in the corridor as to how to proceed. Mistress Parry told me he was related to the princess through her maternal family; they were kin, and a little of the burden I bore eased as I began to suspect Lord Howard wasn’t quite as sure of his mission as he appeared. Every inch of the house and its grounds had been turned upside down; it was clear they sought evidence that Elizabeth had been stockpiling an arsenal to abet the rebellion and defend her position until she could be declared queen, as Mary had done before her in the struggle against Northumberland. They had found only frost-bitten hedges and a rusted old ax head in the orchard. Without concrete proof of Elizabeth’s guilt, Lord Howard began to look more and more like a man who’d rather be anywhere but here, browbeating a sick girl and her parcel of frightened servants.

At night after supper, once the men had taken to their quarters, Mistress Parry came to tell me the news. Even as Elizabeth mounted a spirited defense from her sickbed, proclaiming she could not believe such terrible deeds could be ascribed to her, her past recklessness at court returned to haunt her. She had, Lord Howard reminded her, been seen indulging Courtenay, as well as his friends; it was also established that she’d resisted Mary’s attempts to make her convert and indeed had sent away the very friar the queen had appointed to instruct her the moment she arrived at Ashridge. Nevertheless, as I repeatedly assured Mistress Parry, none of these acts was treason. Only rumor and innuendo linked Elizabeth to Wyatt’s revolt, and neither was enough to kill her.

Yet while I spoke, I saw her again as she stood at the hearth in her room upstairs and threw her letter to Dudley onto the fire. If they were to search Dudley’s prison, what might they find? What other secrets did he and Elizabeth hide?

On the fourth day, as the anemic sun struggled to penetrate a pall of cloud, the physician from court arrived-a self-important older gentleman in the peaked cap and black robe of his trade, who proceeded to shake the snow from his cloak and closet himself with Elizabeth. Mistress Parry was the only other person present; it was unthinkable, she declared, that her lady should be alone with a stranger, and a man, at that. When he emerged two hours later, his verdict was clear, just as Mistress Parry had feared: Her Grace the Lady Elizabeth suffered from a swelling sickness and fever, yes, but her condition was not grave enough to impede her from returning to court, providing precautions were taken.

Lord Howard ordered immediate departure. His men sprang into action, relieved to finally be doing something other than ogling the maids and drinking the cellars dry. As the servants went rushing to and fro, loading belongings into carts and setting up a litter in the courtyard, I slipped out to the stables to saddle Cinnabar. I was affixing his bridle when a familiar voice was heard exclaiming in the courtyard. I stepped out hastily into glittering daylight speckled by random snowflakes. My heart constricted. Standing beside two lathered mares were Mistress Ashley and my Kate, confronting the row of men-at-arms guarding the manor entrance and Lord Howard himself.