Deception (9 page)

I felt as if someone had lit a candle in my brain. At last I had a link between one of my suspects and the murdered man! Of course, it might be mere chance that Her Majesty's Mint Engraver had bought a ruff from the widow of a man found dead with forged coins on his eyes, but it was also possible that it was something more. I was most intrigued.

I considered what I knew of Derek Anthony. Sir Edward had told us that he was in charge of the original coin engravings, and that they were kept under lock and key at the Tower. But perhaps the engravings were not safely at the Tower. It could be that Derek Anthony was using them to set up another mint elsewhere. And mayhap Will Stubbs had found out about it. And then I remembered something else: when we were at the mint, Mr. Anthony had been called away on “urgent business”—or so he'd told Sir Edward. Perchance that was because he knew we would want to be shown the engravings and they were not at the Tower!

I caught up with Her Majesty in the Privy Gallery, where she was showing the French Ambassador
some of the treasures of Whitehall Palace. The Maids of Honour were following dutifully and looking bored. I had meant to slip in among them quietly, in the hope that the Queen would not know I'd been missing, but I was thinking so hard about Derek Anthony that I came face to face with Her Majesty, the Ambassador, and a bust of Attila the Hun, before I knew what I was about.

Her Majesty pursed her lips and glared at me because I was late—her expression made Attila look like a friendly lapdog.

I curtsied and backed away quickly to join the other Maids. They all gave me strange glances and Lady Jane pointedly held her nose.

“Fie, Grace!” whispered Mary Shelton. “Have you been buying noxious potions like Lady Sarah? You smell of wood ash.”

I realized I must have got smoke in my hair as well as in my clothes. But I was too preoccupied to worry about that. My mind was racing. The Queen would be hours impressing the Ambassador—Whitehall Palace is full of treasures and each one has a history. On any other day my heart would have sunk at the prospect of trailing round after Her Majesty as she told each tale with relish, but today I was heartily glad that she had so many paintings and statues and
vases, for it meant that Derek Anthony would be at Court most of the day, waiting to see the Queen. And this had given me an idea.

While he was away from his workshop I could go there and have a look round for clues. But first I needed to get permission from the Queen to leave Court.

I had my chance when Monsieur de la Mothe-Fénelon stopped to admire the painting of a gold-smith's wife.

“Mon Dieu, qu'elle est belle!” he murmured, forgetting the Queen for a minute.

It wasn't surprising. It is said that the woman in the picture was a mistress of the Queen's father, and every gentleman who saw the painting would stop and exclaim at how beautiful she was.

I knew I had a few moments before he recovered his wits. “Your Majesty,” I said quickly, “will you grant me permission to leave Court? I am in urgent need of a seal bearing my coat of arms.”

The royal eyebrows rose. No one ever dared leave a Royal Tour!

“I have very good reason,” I added, looking meaningfully at her and hoping she would take the hint. “Your Mint Engraver has done such fine work on your coin that I would visit his workshop.”

Thank goodness the Queen is quick-witted. The eyebrows went down and she gave me a slight nod. She had obviously understood my real meaning. “Are you certain that it is he you should be seeking?” she asked.

I was having a coded conversation with the greatest ruler on earth and no one else knew what we were really talking about! “I am not certain, Your Majesty,” I answered carefully. “But I have heard much of his workshop and wish to see it as soon as possible, even though Mr. Anthony himself awaits an audience with you here in the palace.”

“I fear Mr. Anthony may have to wait here many hours until I am at liberty to see him,” said Her Majesty with a knowing look. “However, I grant you leave, Grace, but go not unattended.”

I think she was about to insist I took a great retinue with me, when the French Ambassador remembered his manners and turned to her.

“Naturellement, Her Glorious Majesty outshines even the most beauteous of ladies,” he gushed.

The Queen turned at this flattery, and with deep curtsies I made my escape and headed for the laundry. I had my own ideas about who should be my retinue.

When I got to the washroom I went straight over to the Deputy Laundress. “Mrs. Fadget,” I said in my most imperious voice, “I have need of Ellie. She must come with me in all haste to wash a precious silk handkerchief of the Queen's which Her Majesty will not allow to be taken from her chamber.”

Ellie, who had been scrubbing away at a wash-board, dried her hands and hurried over eagerly.

“You don't want that idle little baggage, my lady,” said Mrs. Fadget, beginning to take off her apron.

I saw Ellie's face fall. “Her Majesty will be wanting someone of experience with fine cloth,” Mrs. Fadget went on. “I shall come with you.”

“The Queen was most insistent it should be Ellie,” I told her.

Mrs. Fadget looked astounded at this.

“Ellie has small, gentle hands just right for the task,” I explained hurriedly.

Mrs. Fadget looked down at her huge, sausage-shaped fingers, gave a grudging curtsy, and bustled off crossly.

“Did Her Majesty really say that about me?” gasped Ellie as we left the laundry and made our way to my bedchamber.

“No, I'm afraid she didn't, Ellie,” I said. “It was the only way I could think of to get you away from there.”

Ellie looked disappointed.

“But I'm sure she will one day, when you are Chief Laundress,” I added. “I don't feel guilty about telling a lie to that nasty old harpy, because I need you and your sharp eyes—and it truly is on the Queen's business.”

Ellie's eyes widened when I told her we were going to Derek Anthony's workshop. “Mr. Anthony has an apprentice,” she told me. “Matthew by name. All us servants know him. He's got quite a reputation amongst the girls.” She blushed. “Indeed, he carries a torch for me!”

I nudged her. “Lucky you, Ellie—an engraver for an admirer. Perhaps he'll do you a likeness.”

“Get away!” exclaimed Ellie. “He may carry a torch for me, but I don't care a fig for him.”

“Now,” I said, “it must seem that I am visiting the workshop to ask about a seal for my coat of arms. It will give us a chance to spy about for anything suspicious. You will pretend to be my attendant—I'll lend you a gown.”

“One of your gowns!” Ellie gasped. “I'll be quite the fine lady.”

When we reached my bedchamber, I laid out my gowns—apart from the rose velvet one—for Ellie to choose from. It was fortunate that she was not choosing one of Lady Sarah's, for we would have been all day about it.

Ellie sighed as she fingered the fine fabrics. “I've always favoured this green one. It is so lovely… .”

I was helping her to put it on when there was a knock at the door. Ellie jumped in surprise and ran to hide behind my bed curtains, while I went to the door.

Olwen had brought me a message from Mrs. Champernowne. “You're to go to the Holbein Gate when you're ready, my lady,” she told me. “Mrs. Champernowne has arranged an escort for you.”

My heart sank. I had hoped that Ellie and I would be able to carry out my mission without the company of any silly young gentlemen. But, alas, it was not to be.

Olwen tidied away some of Lady Sarah's kirtles, picked up a sleeve that needed stitching, and then hurried away down the corridor.

Ellie emerged from her hiding place and I quickly finished helping her to dress. Once she was laced into the gown, we took one look in Lady Sarah's looking glass and burst out laughing. Although she
is my age, Ellie is shorter and thinner than me, and the dress fairly swamped her.

“Don't worry, Ellie,” I said. “We'll try a bumroll under it and we'll pin the rest up.”

Even so, the finished effect was rather bunchy and the skirt threatened to trip her up when she walked. But it made my heart glad to see her sweeping round the room like a lady, and we were able to make do with a cloak over the top. I lent her my velvet mask and borrowed Mary Shelton's for myself.

I made Ellie wear the mask until we left the palace, as there would be terrible trouble if anyone found out what she was doing.

We made our way down to the Holbein Gate and King Street, where we came upon Mrs. Champernowne with two young gentlemen courtiers holding the bridles of their horses, and a litter with four littermen.

“Blimey, Grace,” whispered Ellie. “Are we going in that? I'll feel like a proper princess.”

For one horrible moment I thought Mrs. Champernowne was coming with us, too. She stared long and hard at Ellie and I thought she had recognized her. Then she shrugged. “The Queen said you were running an errand for her, Grace,” she said sternly. “And she insisted that Sir Simon and Mr. Robin
Middleton accompany you. I don't know why—Lord knows, they're not the brightest stars in the firmament. Just make sure you behave, look you.”

Once Mrs. Champernowne had finished telling me what I should and shouldn't do, and bustled off to fuss over the other Maids, I introduced Ellie to the gentlemen as my attendant. Soon she and I were being carried along King Street in the litter towards the Charing Cross. Sir Simon and Robin, his younger brother, rode along beside us. They seemed rather tongue-tied in our presence.

“I wish we could go alone,” I muttered to Ellie. “How can we look for clues with these two in attendance?”

“Don't worry about that, Grace,” Ellie whispered back. “There's a very welcoming tavern called the Ship Inn close by. I'm sure we could nudge them into spending an hour or so there.”

“That's a good idea, Ellie—but you'd better let me do the talking in front of the gentlemen of the Court,” I told her firmly.

“Don't you think I talk proper, then?” demanded Ellie, with a twinkle in her eye.

Ellie was enchanted by the journey. She sat in front, holding the curtains wide open, and kept turning round and pointing out the wonders of London.

“But you've seen all this many times!” I reminded her.

“Not like this I ain't!” she sighed. “I'm always on foot, and busy watching out for the dung and the rubbish.”

At last we arrived at West Cheap and the littermen stopped. Our companions helped us out with much blushing.

West Cheap was as busy and bustling as ever, full of customers going in and out of the apothecaries and grocers' shops. A young servant passed us carrying a basket, and we smelled the sweet scent of the dried lavender she had just bought.

I had forgotten just how many goldsmiths and engravers there are in this street. I had to look hard among the signs to find the one that said
DEREK ANTHONY
. His workshop was at the bottom of a tall five-storey building, and it had a heavy studded door and a large front window.

As Ellie had said, the Ship Inn was just over on the other side of the street. The smell of roasting meat hung pleasantly on the cold air and Ellie licked her lips. I hung on to her arm to try and bring her back to the matter in hand, and beckoned to one of our companions. “Sir Simon,” I said, peeping coyly
round my mask. “It will be tedious for you to stand by as I deliberate over the design for my seal.” I hoped I sounded a little like Lady Sarah, for I wanted to persuade him to do as I wished. “Why don't you and your gallant brother step up to the inn and bespeak a noontide meal for us all? We shall be but an hour at most.”

The two young men looked pleased at this suggestion and dashed over to the inn like two cantering ponies.

Ellie and I pushed open the heavy door and stepped into Mr. Anthony's establishment. The shop was large, with an opening at the back showing a workshop beyond. On the walls were charts displaying engraving designs for customers to choose from. Near the window was an empty ware bench with a cabinet behind it, and at the side stood a counting table.

“Don't think much of this,” muttered Ellie from under her mask. “There's nothing for sale!”

“An engraver cannot leave his wares out,” I told her. “They are far too valuable.”

At the sound of our voices a young man came out from the workshop, wiping crumbs from his mouth. He was wearing a thick leather apron, and had a
thatch of brown hair and piercing blue eyes. “What an honour, your ladyships,” he said with a deep bow. “I'm Matthew Tibbit, apprentice to Mr. Anthony, and in charge while he has stepped up to the palace on business.” Then he gave a start of surprise as Ellie removed her mask. “Ellie Bunting!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing 'ere, dressed so fine? And who's this?” he added, pointing his thumb at me and grinning. “The palace dairymaid?”

I swept my mask aside. “I am Lady Grace Cavendish, one of the Maids of Honour to Her Majesty the Queen,” I said sternly. “I am here to commission a new seal bearing my coat of arms.”

Matthew instantly looked horrified. “I—I beg your pardon, my lady,” he stammered. “I am ever at your service. I'm as good an engraver as any you'll find in London—and better than most.”

I could see that Ellie was trying not to laugh and it nearly started me off. “I was hoping to see Mr. Anthony,” I said, “for I was very impressed with the fine designs he produced for the Queen's new coin.”

“Faith, your ladyship,” Matthew said, “it was me who did most of the work on that! Indeed, if it wasn't for me this place would grind to a halt! I'm the first one 'ere of a morning and the last one to leave at night. Honest worker, that's me.”

“In that case,” I said, “you can be the one to help me. I was thinking of a seal on a gold ring.”

“You're talking to the right man, then, my lady,” said Matthew, cheerfully leading us to the ware bench. “I do all the rings.” He carefully laid a velvet cloth on the bench. Then he unlocked the cabinet with a key from his belt and took out a seal ring. “This'll impress you, Ell,” he said, giving her a nudge. “And you, your ladyship,” he added hurriedly.

I pretended to examine the ring closely as Matthew chattered on.

“It's this year's fashion,” he said importantly. “Most recently favoured by Lord Howard of Effingham himself. I did all them laurels.” He looked about furtively. “I do extra work—not quite as expensive as Mr. Anthony, if you get my meaning. I could do you a seal that would be the envy of the Court for half the price he'd charge.”