Her Last Assassin (25 page)

Lucy stared, bemused, and saw Cathy nod her head significantly, as though trying to pass on a message.

What could her friend want?

‘Do you like to jump?’ Henry Wriothesley asked, whispering in her ear. ‘Or do you prefer to be lifted?’

She looked him in the eye. ‘I like to jump, my lord.’

‘I have heard that.’

She stiffened but said nothing. He wanted her to lose her temper, but she would not give him the satisfaction.

The music changed tempo, becoming faster, and she whirled before him in the steps of the dance, her broad skirts flying.

They were dancing a few steps from the Queen and her partner, the exquisitely dressed Earl of Essex, his doublet black and white, his slashed sleeves of gorgeous black velvet, pure white silk peeping through from beneath. A large pearl trembled in his ear as he bowed to the Queen.

The Queen leapt lightly up in the dance, laughing with pleasure, and Essex stepped forward to catch her. The many panels of her magnificent rainbow-skirted gown shimmered and swayed as she descended in his arms, her waist and chest still pleasingly small and narrow above their broad expanse.

‘You are a bird of paradise, Your Majesty!’ Robert Devereux flattered her, holding her with deliberate intimacy.

Watched by hundreds of envious eyes, the earl slid his hands down her back in a display of ownership that Her Majesty did not seem disposed to object to. Her long white fingers gripped his shoulders as he placed her gently on her feet, as flushed as a young girl at her first dance, her eyes fixed on the earl’s handsome face.

‘And you are a swan, my lord,’ she countered, though still smiling. ‘A bird to be watched most carefully.’

Lucy leapt a few seconds later, not daring to jump higher or earlier than the Queen, and Henry Wriothesley caught her by the waist.

She looked down at him. Loathsome, dangerous man. But her expression gave nothing away.

His hands dropped to her hips, drawing her closer than she found comfortable. She felt Wriothesley’s body against hers, the insistent press of his knee. His breath scorched her neck. Then he was forced to release her as she turned in the dance, her arms spread wide, her long white silk-lined sleeves hanging down.

As they came together again, he asked, ‘Have you seen Master Shakespeare lately?’

Her glance was hostile. ‘No, my lord. But I think you must know that already.’

‘And has he written? Sent you any word at all?’

This time Lucy had to bite her tongue, keeping her tone light. He might be young, but he was influential at court as well as enormously wealthy, and therefore not a man to offend.

‘No, my lord Southampton. I took your warning most seriously and have had no dealings with Master Shakespeare for many months.’

She leapt in the dance, and again he caught her. Only Henry Wriothesley did not let her go, pulling her even tighter into his body than before, his smile greedy and contemptuous.

‘My lord, you must release me!’

‘Must I indeed?’ He laughed, and his hand squeezed one of her breasts quite openly, hurting her. She struggled, her eyes wide with shock, but he paid no heed, tugging at her white-beaded bodice as though to release her breasts in front of the whole court. ‘Dancing is not for me, clearly. I seem to have forgotten the steps. But perhaps you can teach them to me.’

An icy voice from behind them drew Wriothesley up straight, his hands dropping to his sides.

‘My lord, your clumsiness is not to be tolerated. You are holding up the dance.’

It was the Queen, who never seemed to miss any indiscretion among her courtiers, however small.

‘Remove yourself at once, my lord, and pray do not dance at court again until you have the steps by heart.’

‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ Henry Wriothesley said stiffly, and backed towards the door, still bowing to the Queen.

At the Queen’s cold nod of dismissal, Lucy curtseyed and slipped gratefully away into the crowd, heading towards the candlelit sideboard where the wine was being served. She wanted to get as far from the Earl of Southampton and his cruel hands as she could manage. Somehow she found an empty seat against the wall and sat there, trembling with rage at Wriothesley’s treatment, barely dredging up a smile when one of the older courtiers stopped to ask if she was unwell. He called a servant and had wine brought, then moved on into the crowd, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She had given in to Henry Wriothesley’s demands too easily before, that had been her error. He was still young, still learning the ways of the world. Her unquestioning submission had given the earl hope that he could treat her however he wished, speaking to her lewdly and without respect, even humiliating her before the Queen.

But how to correct her mistake without endangering her position at court?

Cathy found her, her look flustered. ‘Thank the Lord, you are still here. I was beginning to think you had gone back to the ladies’ chamber.’

‘Cathy, what are you doing here?’ Lucy stroked her friend’s cheek, concerned by the tremble in her voice. ‘You could get a whipping if you’re here without permission.’

‘That doesn’t matter. I had to see you, Lucy. I couldn’t wait until later.’

Catherine looked agitated, a strained look in her friend’s face that Lucy did not like. A stray lock of fair hair had tumbled out from under her hood; she tucked it away with a shaking hand, biting her lip as she glanced about them at the thronging crowd of courtiers.

‘What in God’s name is it? You look awful, Cath.’ She rose. ‘Come, you must take my seat. Has something bad happened?’

Cathy shook her head. ‘No, it’s nothing, I’m just … a little unwell, that’s all. Here, though,’ she said, and drew a rolled slip of paper from her sleeve. ‘This … This message came for you.’

Lucy took it, frowning. ‘What is it? Who brought it?’

‘A boy, I don’t know his name.’

She began to unroll the paper, but Cathy put a hand on her arm. ‘Not here, don’t read it here,’ she whispered urgently. ‘Hide it, and come aside with me. I know a quiet place close at hand.’

Lucy pushed the message into the small leather pouch at her belt, then followed her out of the Great Hall, away from the state chambers and through a narrow maze of corridors. Soon they had left the noise of the revelry behind, the palace quieter here, only a few servants moving softly around, bearing empty trays back to the kitchens or replacing burned-out torches with fresh ones.

They passed along a cloistered walk, the uneven flagstones slippery with ice; Lucy looked up at the night sky through the ornately carved archways and saw the moon rising in the heavens, mistily haloed.

It was bitterly cold.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, her heart beating loudly.

It was unlike Catherine to be so secretive; nor had she ever seen her friend so frightened. Lucy peered over her shoulder in the darkened cloisters, thinking she heard footsteps behind them, but saw only shadows and patches of moonlight on the icy stones.

‘Cathy, I do not know this part of the palace. Where are we?’

‘Have patience. We are nearly there.’

Just beyond the cloistered walk, Cathy reached a low wooden door in the stone wall and pushed it open, gesturing Lucy down the steps. The room below was small and dimly lit by a single candle, furnished simply with a table and a pile of straw, a stack of wooden crates to one side, as though the place was sometimes used for storage.

Lucy trod carefully down the steps, holding her skirts out of the straw, and looked up into the face of Henry Wriothesley.

Stunned, she nearly tripped, stumbling over the bottom step. ‘You? My lord Southampton? What is this trickery?’

‘Forgive me, Lucy,’ Cathy said in a gasp, and now Lucy could see what she had missed in the darkness, her face flushed with shame. Cathy stood at the top of the steps, staring down at her. ‘I … I didn’t want to do this. His lordship made me bring you here. He gave me no choice, you must believe me.’ She glanced at the earl, then hurried outside as though in sudden fright, dragging the door shut behind her and calling down, ‘It … it’s in her pouch!’

Lucy turned to face the Earl of Southampton. She did not know if he intended her harm, though the pile of straw in the corner might serve as a mattress if he planned to rape her. She had faced such horrors from men before though, and felt no fear at what was to come, only disgust.

‘Well, my lord? Your trap has worked and you have my attention. Though I fear you will have the Queen’s attention soon, once she hears of this indignity.’

‘I don’t think so,’ he said calmly, and nodded to her pouch. ‘Take out the letter.’

She set her jaw at this command. Damn his eyes! He must have learned of the message – which came almost certainly from Will Shakespeare – and bribed Cathy to bring her and the message here. There could be no other explanation, though she would dearly love to know why Cathy had betrayed her.

Since there seemed little point in denying it, she undid her pouch, pulled out the message and held it out to him.

‘Have you read it?’ he demanded, not taking it from her.

‘No.’

‘Do you know who it is from?’

She shook her head.

‘Read it then,’ he insisted coldly, looking at it. ‘Read it out loud, for I would know what this message contains. Though I believe we can both guess who it is from. Your lover, the poet Master Shakespeare.’

‘He is not my lover!’

‘Do not lie to me, whore!’ Henry Wriothesley seemed to tremble with rage, his young face flushed with it. Then he collected himself and nodded again at the message. ‘Your servant Catherine has been most helpful in this matter. Not trusting your word that you would never have any dealings with Shakespeare again, I set the slut to watch when you should receive any secret message, and bring both you and it straight to me in this place. She sent word to me at the feast tonight that such a message had just arrived, and then led you here, as arranged.’ His smile made her blood chill. ‘And if that letter is from Shakespeare, I shall convey you before Her Majesty the Queen this very night, and tell her of your whoring ways.’

‘But you are Shakespeare’s patron. Surely you cannot wish to see him in the Tower?’

‘Master Shakespeare will not be punished as you will be,’ he said softly. ‘The Queen treasures his poetry and will be swayed by my defence of his good name. I shall argue that you seduced Master Shakespeare against his better judgement, and that you alone should bear the guilt of this transgression. He is a married man, and the Queen looks kindly on such men who are led astray. Though not so on her ladies, who face the whip and a prison cell for their sins. I could name half a dozen in the past few years who have shared that fate.’

She knew he was right, and raged against the unfairness of the Queen’s judgement, who always forgave a lustful man more readily than a woman. Her fingers trembled on the message that would condemn her, wishing she could destroy it.

‘Read!’

Well, why not? Might as well get it over with, she thought, and face the Queen’s wrath. She could not stand there all night in her thin dancing shoes until her feet turned to ice.

Lucy stripped off her gloves, unrolled the message, and stared down at it in silence.

‘Well?’ he demanded impatiently.

She handed the paper to the earl, almost tempted to smile.

‘What is this nonsense?’ Southampton frowned as he turned the paper over in his hand, then examined its message again. ‘These strange markings, what do they mean? This … This message is in code!’ His eyes narrowed in accusation on her face. ‘By God, it is worse than I thought. You are a spy!’

‘Me? A spy?’

‘Wait until the Queen hears of this. Do not think you will escape punishment because you are a woman. You will be burned alive for this treachery, Mistress Morgan, for that is the method of execution reserved for a woman who has betrayed her country. I believe it is a terrible and agonizing death.’

At that moment, the door above creaked open. She turned in relief to see the Earl of Essex at the top of the steps, a servant behind him with a flaming torch in his hand.

Essex looked briefly from her face to Southampton’s, then called down, ‘Come away, Mistress Morgan. I will see you safely back to your chamber.’

‘No, wait, my lord, you must see this!’ Henry Wriothesley swore, pushing past her up the steps to thrust the message under Essex’s nose. ‘You see this? I found it on her person. It is written in code! This is the traitor you have been seeking. Lucy Morgan is the one who has been spying on us for the Spanish.’

Essex took the paper, glanced down at it blankly, then handed it back to Lucy. ‘This is yours, I believe.’

When his friend began to protest, Essex put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Let it drop, Henry. Come to my rooms tomorrow, I shall explain some of what has passed here. But you must not speak of this to anyone. Do you understand?’

Wriothesley looked past him at Lucy, his face contorted with fury. But he seemed to grasp there could be no winning this argument, for he gave a short reluctant nod, and shrugged off Essex’s hand.

‘Very well,’ he muttered. ‘But say what you like, she is still a whore.’

Essex left her not far from the large chamber where she slept with the other women, his manner icily polite. She noticed he did not bow.

‘Be warned to keep out of this game, Mistress Morgan, and tend the Queen only. That is your rightful place, whatever your guardian may believe.’

When he had gone, Lucy stood a moment in silence, her wits not quite steady, trying to understand what had happened. Then a bulky shadow detached itself from the others along the corridor and she turned to find Goodluck at her back.

He looked at her grimly without speaking, then laid a finger on his lips and drew her into a dark alcove.

‘This is my fault,’ he muttered, once he seemed convinced that none could hear them. ‘I sent you that message and never considered that it would reach your enemy first. I simply wished to see you again, to ask how you are faring at court. But when I realized that your friend Catherine had betrayed you, I followed both of you to the storage room, then went to alert the Earl of Essex. Robert Devereux is an unpredictable master, and he is no Walsingham, more’s the pity. But I trust him, for he holds the Queen’s safety close to his heart.’