C. Gortner - The Tudor Conspiracy

Rochester’s expression froze for a moment. Then he harrumphed. “Philip of Spain? Now, where did you hear that? I wouldn’t put too much stock in rumors, if I were you. They’re a dozen a groat these days.” He tugged at his doublet. “Well, then, I’ll leave you to rest. I’ll advise Her Majesty and let you know as soon as she has time to see you.”

I inclined my head. “I am indebted to your kindness.”

“Oh, not at all! As I said, delighted you’re here.” He left, clicking the door shut behind him. In the silence, I moved to the coffer to touch the decanter.

It was hot. Lifting the lid, I found it full of mulled wine.

I had the distinct sense that Rochester had been expecting me.

After drinking half the jug, I collapsed on the hard bed. Despite the scratchy mattress and my best efforts to stay awake, I soon drifted to sleep. When I awoke hours later, my mouth was dry and the room so dark I couldn’t see my hands in front of my face. I didn’t recall dousing the tallow lights. As I struggled to get my bearings, I realized I wasn’t alone. There was a warm weight by my feet.

I reached down. A warm lick on my hand and a soft muzzle told me Elizabeth’s treasured greyhound, Urian, whom she had brought with her from Hatfield, was here. I eased my foot out from under the coarse blanket covering me and nudged Peregrine, who was, as I suspected, curled in his cloak on a reed mat on the floor.

“You’ll catch your death of cold down there! And you took your time getting here.”

“I found Urian, didn’t I?” he asked. “I also befriended a groom who told me the princess goes riding in the mornings with her friend. I didn’t know she had friends here.”

I was suddenly wide awake. “Neither did I. Did this groom say who her friend was?”

“Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devon. Apparently he’s her cousin.”

“Did he say anything else?” I could barely restrain the impulse to bombard him with questions, recalling what Cecil had told me about Courtenay. I concentrated on breathing deep, pretending I was starting to fall back asleep before I muttered, “She’s going to notice her dog is missing.”

“That would be the point. Urian would only go with someone he trusts.”

I smiled, crossing my arms behind my head as Elizabeth’s hound settled between my legs. Peregrine’s breathing deepened. The boy could sleep anywhere.

I now had confirmation of her association with Courtenay, whatever it was, and it didn’t bode well, not if Renard was targeting them. Then I thought of the dead dog tossed into the queen’s chapel, a placard denouncing Catholics knotted about its neck.

What perilous path did Elizabeth tread?

I woke before dawn. As I hastily washed my face in the basin, after breaking a film of ice on the water, Peregrine lurched to his feet and insisted on attending me, staggering out the door with his hair askew and jug in hand to fetch fresh wash water.

He poured the jug over my head while I stood in the lumpy basin, the water so cold I was barely able to move my arms to wash myself. “You must find us a brazier, charcoal burner, anything, so long as it holds fire,” I told him through chattering teeth. “I can’t bathe like this every morning. I’ll catch my death of cold!”

“Yes, master,” he said, then ducked as I swiped at him with my hose. I dressed more quickly than I’d ever done in my life, not caring that I was still damp. As I stashed my poniard in my boot, Urian whined and scratched at the door.

“He needs to go out,” said Peregrine, who clearly had no intention of repeating my bathing experience, though he’d slept in his clothes and looked a rumpled mess.

“Fine, take him out,” I said. “While you’re at it, see to our horses. I want them well fed and kept warm. I’ll try to get there as soon as I can. I want to catch a look at this Courtenay. Oh, and if you see Her Grace before I do, try to detain her, but don’t let anyone else see that you actually know each other.”

“I’m sure she’ll be delighted,” Peregrine quipped, and, clipping a lead to Urian’s red leather collar, he left.

I pushed my sword in its scabbard under the bed. Bearing weapons at court, at least visibly, was forbidden. Then I looked about for somewhere to hide my bag. I didn’t have anything that could incriminate me except for a book Cecil and I had agreed to employ as a cipher in case I had need of it. I’d rather not leave it out in plain sight. None of the floorboards proved loose enough to pry up. I’d settled on stuffing the bag in the coffer when a knock came at the door. I found Rochester on the threshold, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

“Good morrow to you, Master Beecham. I trust you’re well rested.” He paused, scrutinizing me. “Are you ready?”

“Ready?” I echoed.

“Yes. Her Majesty has agreed to see you this morning. In fact, she insists on it.”

* * *

Snow drifted outside the gallery windows, turning the courtyards into white-cushioned jewel boxes. Inside the palace, the chill was pervasive, despite the profusion of carpets and tapestries. Linked by numerous long galleries and passageways, with wide upholstered bays that reflected an emphasis on luxury instead of defensiveness, Whitehall remained unfinished. An elephantine undertaking, it had been under construction for years, its warren of ostentatious halls, chambers, servant’s quarters, and official offices coexisting with tarpaulins and scaffolds parked beside unfinished walls, with gaps in the mortar where the wind whistled through.

My feet were chilled in my boots when we finally reached a gallery adorned with smoke-darkened paintings. Guards parted to allow us access into a world I had never seen before: a series of interconnected wainscoted chambers filled with sumptuous hangings, gold and silver plate and candelabra, and carved chairs big enough to fall asleep in. Dried lavender and rosemary were scattered underfoot on the carpets, so that each of our footsteps crushed the herbs and released a heady scent. Applewood fires crackled in every recessed hearth, heating the air to a summer’s intensity. It was so warm, I suddenly felt sweat start to trickle under the tight fit of my new doublet. The drastic change in temperature was a sure breeding ground for disease, I thought, thinking of Kate’s theory that weather affected our humors.

I removed my cap. As I dabbed at my brow, a burst of women’s laughter was heard. Rochester motioned to the silver gauze curtain draped across an archway decorated with a lintel of plaster cherubs in midfrolic. He gave me a ribald grin. “You’ll be the fox in the henhouse, but a young buck like you shouldn’t mind the attention.”

I smiled, adjusting my doublet. In the room beyond, the queen declared in her distinctly gruff voice, “Mistress Dormer, will you cease that infernal laughing at once! I can barely hear myself think. Now, is this the right headdress or not? We don’t have all day.”

Amid more high-pitched mirth, I stepped past the curtain.

The chamber before me was large, with two full windows overlooking the snowy parkland. It was also in utter disarray, every available surface-tabletops, chairs, sideboards, even parts of the floor-strewn with fabrics of different colors. A pack of small black- or brown-spotted dogs, all with fluffy ears and ornate jeweled collars, emitted high-pitched barks when they saw me. One bold and mostly black one raced over to nip the toe of my boot, to an accompanying explosion of feminine glee. A slim blond girl dressed in a silver satin gown rushed over to scoop up the offending pet. She glanced at me shyly. She had large blue-gray eyes and lovely skin tinged with the easy flush of youth. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice identifying her as the breathy one whom I had heard laughing. “I just got him, and I’m afraid he’s not very well trained. He hates strangers.”

“What’s his name?” I started to reach out to pet the creature in her arms, but it growled and showed me its teeth.

“Blackie.” She gave me a timid smile. “I am Jane Dormer.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mistress Dormer.” I had just started to bow when a too-thin but otherwise handsome woman I recognized as the queen’s favorite, Lady Susan Clarencieux, stepped forth. She gave me a welcoming smile; Lady Clarencieux and I had met before, during the time of Northumberland’s coup, when I had helped her and Mary escape Robert Dudley’s pursuit and reach the safety of Framlingham Castle.

She said to Jane Dormer, “I don’t think this gentleman is here to see you. And you must muzzle that little dog of yours if it’s going to keep nipping everyone it doesn’t know.”

A riot of choked giggles ensued from the other women. Jane Dormer turned bright red. With another shy smile at me, she returned to her seat. Though I didn’t know most of the women staring in open curiosity at me, I noted at once that Elizabeth wasn’t among them. Then I caught Lady Clarencieux’s quick gesture at one of the matrons, who hastened to yank a linen sheet down over a large portrait propped in the corner. Before it was covered, I caught a glimpse of the image on the canvas-a fair, bearded man with a jutting chin and fine legs in white hose.

“Master Beecham, I am here.”

I turned to where the queen stood before a looking glass. She peered at me in the reflection, her head swathed in a turbanlike confection.

I bowed low. “Majesty, I am honored you could receive me at such short notice.”

The queen’s lips pursed. She surveyed me from head to toe before she broke into a terse smile that revealed tarnished teeth. “Why, it is you. I wasn’t sure at first.”

Mary Tudor was not beautiful. Whatever physical appeal she’d once possessed had been spoiled by years of bitter antagonism, so that she looked older than her thirty-seven years, her close-set hazel eyes pleated by wrinkles and her sunken cheeks betraying a premature loss of teeth. Poor eyesight had carved a furrow between her near-invisible brows, and she was gaunt, her figure almost childlike in her rigid, gem-encrusted finery. What she lacked in beauty, however, she made up for with a regal presence and a generosity of heart that had engendered loyalty in many of those who served her.

“Someone, pray take this off me,” she griped. Lady Clarencieux hastened to remove the turban. The queen’s lank red-gold hair, liberally threaded with white, fell to her shoulders. With a sigh, she passed a ringed hand over her unkempt tresses before she peered at me again. “Something is different. I find you quite changed.”

“Perhaps the beard, Your Majesty?” I suggested.

“No, you had a beard last time, though it wasn’t as fancy.” She startled me with her recollection. Feeling every woman’s eyes in the room on me, I said gently, “I have grown out my hair and put on some weight, Your Majesty.”

She brightened. “Yes, that’s it. You’re heavier.” She looked inordinately pleased she’d deduced the change. Then, as if a cloud had passed over the sun, her expression darkened. If I was heavier, I could almost hear her think, where had I been? In whose pay? Under whose roof?

Her next words were barbed. “Perhaps we’d have recognized you earlier if you had deigned to attend us at court before today. We seem to recall issuing an invitation when we were still in Framlingham, offering you a post in our service.”

“Yes, Majesty, I beg your pardon for my untimely delay. I thought it best to absent myself from court for a time.” I lowered my voice and took a step closer, seeing her draw in a breath at my intimate tone. “I feared there might be some here who would not appreciate my having betrayed their trust. Though I would gladly put myself in jeopardy again for your cause, I had no desire to risk my life unnecessarily.”

She went quiet, looking at me, before she took a small step back, restoring the proper distance between us. “We understand. And we assure you, you are completely safe. We’ve not forgotten how you rendered us valuable service.” She held out her right hand to me, adorned with her coronation ring. As I leaned over to kiss it, I let out a sigh under my breath. Cecil had been right: I still had her trust.

Then I heard her say, “Though you should remember in the future, we do not like our invitations being ignored. Your former master learned that lesson the hard way.”

A chill crept up my spine. I righted myself. She clapped her hands, eliciting another round of barking. As the ladies dug through the piles, Mary said to me, “We should discuss the reason for your visit. Rochester tells me you’ve come to seek employment?”