Deception (8 page)

I glanced at Master Petty and caught him in the middle of a yawn. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said quickly, covering his mouth. “Work is hard here at present … but we are pleased to labour for Her Majesty,” he added hurriedly.

Mary Shelton was examining the Queen's face on the coin. “Mr. Anthony's engraving must have been very fine,” she said. “For this is Her Majesty to the life!”

“I would have him engrave my likeness on a gold heart!” exclaimed Lady Jane, looking up coyly into Sir Edward's face. “What think you, sir?”

I heard a grunt of annoyance from under Lady Sarah's mask.

Sir Edward gave a gallant bow. “'Tis a pity Derek Anthony is not here to receive your compliments,” he told Lady Jane. “I told him we had important visitors today, but he was suddenly called away to his workshop on urgent business, else he could have shown you the original engravings, which he keeps safe under lock and key here at the Tower.”

Everything seemed so safely locked up at the Tower that I did not see how any counterfeiter could have smuggled anything out at all. I felt quite disconsolate on the way back to Whitehall. I am halfway through the time the Queen has given me, and yet no further forward in my investigation. Although at least I now know how coins are minted, and when I meet Sir Thomas Gresham again I can talk trussels and piles with some certainty!

Lord preserve us! I had quite forgotten that I am at a masque, but I have just been hit on the head by a walnut! I know who did that. Masou has a demonic grin on his face. He probably doesn't like it that I have had my head in my daybooke and have missed some of his antics. The Spirit of the River (Mr. Will Somers, who has now removed his huge headdress) is declaiming an ode about the Monarch of the Ice and her dominion over the Thames. The Queen is enjoying it hugely, for not only is it terribly flattering, but it is amusing also and Her Majesty loves to laugh. She is very fond of her fool, who can always be depended upon to entertain her. The old Will Somers, his father, served King Henry and she has made sure that the tradition is continued.

I must send Masou a sign. I would like to share all I have seen today with him and Ellie. And find out if they have managed to learn anything themselves …

I threw the walnut back at Masou as he capered past. I was very pleased with my shot as I caught him on the ear and he turned at once. “Forgive me, Master Jack Frost,” I called. “I was trying to juggle like you but I have not the skill.”

As I hoped, Masou came over. “One walnut doth
not a juggler make, my lady,” he said solemnly. Then he bent closer. “What are you about, Grace?” he whispered, rubbing his ear. “You've never bothered with juggling before.”

“Meet me tomorrow morning,” I whispered back. “With Ellie. I'll be in the kitchen gardens when the clock strikes eight.”

Masou winked to show he had understood and cartwheeled away.

Now I will put my daybooke down and watch the rest of the entertainment.

THE TWENTY-SIXTH DAY OFNOVEMBER,
IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1569

I am to attend the Queen shortly. I hope I have time to finish this entry before I am called to the Presence Chamber. I am huddled by the fire in our bedchamber, trying to warm up after my outing to the freezing kitchen gardens and back, along endless draughty corridors.

I dressed in my warm hunting kirtle, rushed through breakfast, hid some manchet bread in my sleeve for Ellie, and crept down to the kitchen gardens as the clock in the courtyard was striking eight. As I passed the smokehouse, a hand shot out from the doorway and pulled me inside. Ellie put the sack back over the door and she and Masou and I made ourselves comfortable next to half a pig, which hung from the low ceiling.

“We can hide in here and be comfortable,” said Ellie. “But we better be quick.”

It was warm inside the smokehouse and the smell of the smoked meat made me realize that my breakfast had been rather wanting. Then I remembered the manchet bread and passed it round.

Ellie seized her piece hungrily. “What have you found out?” she asked, her cheeks bulging.

“But little,” I said miserably.

And Ellie and Masou had done no better. They'd heard nothing but unhelpful gossip, Ellie in the laundry and Masou out at the Frost Fair where the body had been found.

As I hurriedly told them of my visits to the widow Stubbs and the Tower, we heard footsteps crunching on the frost outside. I'd hardly had time to get behind the pig before I heard the door open and Ellie demand, “What d'you want in here, Joe?”

“I've come to check the hams,” came the reply. “What are you two doing, more to the point?”

“None of your business, Joe Tucker,” laughed Ellie. “And if you tell anyone you found us here, I'll start spilling the beans about you and that new dairy-maid.” I heard the footsteps hurry off.

“I thought that would make him blush,” said Ellie.

“You can come out now, Grace.”

“He will have it that you are my sweetheart now!” laughed Masou.

Ellie made a face. “Well, at least he'll keep it to himself—and he didn't find Grace.”

Masou turned to me. “Come, Grace, you say you have found out little, but surely there is someone you suspect?”

“I feel it has to be somebody at the mint,” I told them. “For that person would need to use the mint's own trussels and piles, or make their own from the original engravings, to produce such clever forgeries. But everything is kept so securely locked up.”

“Did you find out who has the keys?” asked Ellie, tearing off another piece of manchet bread.

“There aren't many,” I said. “There's Jacob Petty—the Master Moneyer—who seems an honest and loyal worker. Although, strangely, he seemed very tired, as if he had been up all night. And then there is Sir Edward Latimer, the Mint Warden.”

“That maid in a man's garb!” snorted Masou.

“Surely he is too lily-livered. I have seen him about the Court. When anyone mentions the murder he nearly swoons with horror. And he can barely venture out without the protection of his attendant and pages.”

“That's as may be, but I reckon one of his pages is a thieving cur!” declared Ellie abruptly.

We looked at her in surprise.

“I nearly caught 'im in the act,” she continued dramatically. “I was taking some collars to the starchers, when I sneaked a short cut through the Great Hall. One of Sir Edward's pages was in there, fingering a pretty silver chalice. I'm sure if I hadn't appeared he'd have had it away under his cloak!”

“You make a theatre of everything, Ellie,” laughed Masou. “You should join our troupe. The poor lad had probably never seen anything so fine and was awestruck. Now, Grace, is there anyone else on your list of suspects?”

“Well, there is Derek Anthony, the Mint Engraver,” I said. “He keeps the engravings safe. I know very little about him, for he was suddenly called away from the Tower before we arrived.”

“So how are any of these esteemed gentlemen linked to a humble waterman, the poor Will Stubbs?” asked Masou.

“Perchance Will Stubbs was just unlucky, and overheard something and then was killed so he couldn't tell,” I said. “Though why the coins were put on his eyes—”

“Ellie!” We heard a coarse shout. “Where is that lazy girl?”

“It's Mrs. Fadget,” gasped Ellie, turning pale.

“She'll have my guts for garters if she thinks I've been shirking. I must go—and so must you.” And she fled from the smokehouse.

Fie! I have pressed so hard I have nearly torn the page, but I hate to see Ellie treated so. Mrs. Fadget is in charge of the laundry at the moment as Mrs. Twiste is unwell. She is always unkind to Ellie, the old hag.

I am sitting on a hard bench at the tennis courts, where the young gentlemen of the Court are displaying their prowess to the French Ambassador—and to the ladies, naturellement. I'm supposed to be gasping at the antics of the players, who are whacking balls backwards and forwards—showing the French Ambassador how his native game should be played. To my mind it is like telling the Thames how to flow.

I have had a busy time since I made my last entry. To start with, I was nearly in great disfavour with Her Majesty, and it was all Mrs. Champernowne's fault.

I was on my way to attend the Queen, after my meeting with Ellie and Masou, and I had plenty of time, when I bumped into the silly moo. She sniffed
the air and then smelled my sleeve suspiciously. “You stink like a smoked ham, Grace!” she snapped. “What have you been up to?”

I had to think of an excuse. I'm sure Mrs. Champernowne would go off like a firework if she found out that one of the Maids of Honour had been lurking in a smokehouse! “I was walking the Queen's dogs,” I gabbled, “and I must have gone too close to the kitchen bonfires. I'll go and change.”

“Look you do—and quickly!” she replied.

I rushed back up the stairs before she could think to ask me any more questions. I hadn't noticed the smell of the smoke lingering on me. I suppose my nose had got used to it.

Having changed into my second-best kirtle and gown, I was now in a terrible hurry. The Queen does not take kindly to tardiness, although she allows herself to be late when it suits. As I went past the door of the Presence Chamber, there was the usual mob of people waiting outside for an audience with Her Majesty. Secretary Cecil was among them, with his grave air and a bundle of papers. Several courtiers were waiting to beg favour. Then I recognized Derek Anthony, the Mint Engraver, at the back of the crowd. He was wearing a handsome ruff
with little ox-eye daisies worked into the material all round. And I knew I'd seen that ruff before—in the widow Stubbs's cottage!