Her Last Assassin (34 page)

Not a kiss given in chaste friendship, but open-mouthed, kissing him fully, his hand clasping the player’s dark head.

Lucy almost fell down the stairs, her hand flying out to the wall just in time to prevent her fall. She could not breathe, and thought herself under some kind of spell, for what she had seen was surely impossible. Not two men kissing each other, for she had discovered the existence of such unusual pleasures after her marriage to Jack Parker, but that he, her one-time lover Will Shakespeare, could find joy in the embrace of another man. And not any man but the Earl of Southampton, barely grown to manhood himself, and Lucy’s most vicious enemy at court.

But that was why!

How blind she had been. How blind. No wonder the young earl had been so vile, warning her to stay away from Will. She almost ran the rest of the way to the banqueting hall, wishing she could undo that terrible glance, that moment of shock and amazement, that unravelling of everything she had ever known or thought about Will.

She was no longer a fool to his attentions, but all the same, her heart burned with shame at how she had been in thrall to such a man. She suddenly remembered her wedding night, the awkwardness of Jack’s ribald jokes, and how Will had laughed at her for fearing rape at the hands of her new husband. Had Will and Jack been lovers too? Had they made love together at Will’s lodgings while she was keeping house with Mistress Parker, then laughed at her simple trusting faith?

Her troubled thoughts were interrupted by the sound of angry shouts ahead, a clatter of benches knocked over. She stumbled into the high-ceilinged, torchlit banqueting hall. The place was in confusion, all the guests on their feet, the captain of the guards shouting orders to his men, ladies weeping into their hands, men staring and pressing forward to the dais.

What in God’s name could have happened?

In the noise and confusion, she found herself facing Master Goodluck across the high-ceilinged room, his face the only clear one in the hall, while men crowded past her to the Queen’s side.

Goodluck!

Master Goodluck saw her, and his eyes widened. But when Lucy would have approached him, he shook his head and motioned her to attend the Queen instead.

Her heart jerked in shock. For a few blinding seconds, in the chaos around them, Lucy had forgotten she must hide her love for him. At his gesture she had herself under control, her smile erased as she pushed through the crowd of courtiers to the high dais.

A man was being dragged away, his hands bound behind his back, guards on either side, his face red with hate and anger.

‘I would to God I had murdered her!’ the man spat at his captors, then shouted wildly, for all the court to hear, ‘You are all sinners, to kneel and pledge allegiance to this whore. I go to my death with no sin on my conscience, for Elizabeth the bastard is a heretic and a usurper. I may have failed, but others will take my place!’

Lord Essex, dressed lavishly in cloth of gold, a diamond-studded gold star pinned to his chest, was standing over the Queen, who had sunk into her high-backed seat, her face white as plaster, her eyes wide and dark with fear. Behind her seat, her ladies crowded, jostling one another, trying to soothe their mistress with wine and comforting prayers.

‘Your Majesty,’ Essex was saying urgently, trying to support her, ‘are you hurt? Did his knife cut you?’

‘Let me be, don’t fuss, I am unharmed,’ the Queen insisted in an angry mutter, pushing him away. She accepted a white lace handkerchief from Sir John and pressed it to her mouth, gasping, ‘Though only by the grace of God, it would seem. Why in the name of all that’s holy was this lunatic allowed into my presence?’

‘That shall be discovered. For now, you must allow me to escort you to a place of greater safety, Your Majesty.’ Lord Essex clicked his fingers at the captain of the guards. ‘Your guards will accompany us to the Privy Chamber and secure the place. The villain may not have come alone.’

‘Oh, very well. But I am vexed that I shall miss the dancing.’ Queen Elizabeth sighed, then held out one pale jewelled hand, allowing his lordship to raise her from her seat. Lord Essex placed an arm about her waist. She did not protest but leaned against him, staring about the hall, her hand seeming to tremble on his chest. ‘So that was my secret assassin. Not a terribly successful murderer, my lord, after all your fears that he would do for me. Who was he in the end? Does anyone know the villain’s name? He was wearing my household livery. I thought you told me all my servants had been questioned to ensure their loyalty.’

Lord Essex looked furious. He was afraid too, his gaze seeking out Goodluck’s above the crowd of startled courtiers. ‘And so they have been. These things will be discovered in time, Your Majesty. But since we are still uncertain of the truth, let me take you back to the Privy Chamber under guard.’

Her voice was querulous, as though she suspected him of a coup. ‘Take me back under guard? Your guards or mine? What, am I a prisoner in my own palace now?’

‘They are your own royal bodyguards, Your Majesty,’ he reassured her, ‘and all hand-picked men. It is for your supreme safety that they will escort us, and no other reason.’

The captain of the guards had caught Lucy’s eye, gesturing her to join the confused throng about the dais. She glanced about for Goodluck, but he had vanished. Gone ahead, no doubt, to check the Queen’s state apartments were safe to receive the royal entourage. She knew what he would be thinking: that if an assassin could attack her so openly in the state rooms, an accomplice could easily have entered her royal chambers during the confusion and even now be awaiting the Queen’s return.

Lucy fell into line, following the other shocked and whispering women along the corridors, though her mind was in chaos. First that disturbing glimpse of Shakespeare and the Earl of Southampton together, now an attack on the Queen in her own palace.

Goodluck was back earlier than expected. She had never seen his face so grim, and guessed instinctively it was not this unsuccessful attack on the Queen that had brought him back to court.

So what else had happened to put that frown in his eyes?

Even safely installed in the Privy Chamber, her bodyguards thronging at the door and her armed nobles about her, the Queen refused to sit but stood resolutely at the window, staring out at the darkness. Lord Essex spoke to her urgently, his voice kept low so only the Queen could hear. She waved him away after a moment, then turned to face the room as the doors were shut and barred against the rest of the court.

Lucy watched in silence, concerned by what she saw; the Queen was trembling, her face pinched with worry and fatigue. Anger too, and small wonder. Who could she rely on to protect her but these men?

Cautiously, not wishing to draw attention to him, Lucy’s gaze moved round to where Goodluck stood, his back against the door. His eyes sought her out, not reassuring but their gaze steady enough, then he looked away. He knew something. But like the old campaigner he was, he was not going to speak unless there was no help for it. Truth, as he had often told her, was a dangerous thing when spoken out loud.

‘How could this have happened?’ Queen Elizabeth was demanding, glaring at each of her nobles in turn. ‘Where is Lord Burghley?’

His strangely hunched son, Robert Cecil, stepped forward in his customary black robes. He bowed before her, his look apologetic. ‘My father was not well enough to leave his chamber tonight. But I can answer for him, Your Majesty.’

‘I might have died out there. The villain had a knife. Did you see it? Mere inches from my throat.’

‘I did indeed, Your Majesty.’ Cecil turned his accusing gaze on Lord Essex; Lucy shivered to see the malice in the young councillor’s face. ‘Monitoring plots and threats of assassination is your province, my lord Essex, is it not? I take it you were unaware of this man’s existence in Her Majesty’s service, right under your nose?’ He paused, as though for effect. ‘Wait though, I seem to recall being told of some plot involving a servant of the Queen. But perhaps you considered those who work in the kitchens too lowly to be a threat to Her Majesty?’

‘Last year we spoke at great length to all who serve Her Majesty,’ Essex spat out angrily, ‘and dismissed all those we could not trust. But these serving men come and go each year, and more are employed whenever the Queen moves residence. Besides, my men tell me this villain who attacked the Queen was not known to them. An outsider, they said. He must have bribed someone to let him into the palace—’

‘Bribed someone? But if all here are so loyal to the Queen, who would be open to a bribe?’

Queen Elizabeth clapped her hands, bringing both men to attention. ‘Enough! I cannot think!’ She paced the room, barely seeming to notice the weight of her elaborate gilt-edged ruff, her jewelled slippers peeping out from under the heavy golden skirts of her gown. ‘My lord Essex, I know you have worked hard to secure my palaces against would-be assassins. Yet it is also true, as Cecil suggests, that any blame for this event must fall on your shoulders. You said one of your own men was stationed here in my household, watching the other servants for signs of treachery. Is he still here? Did he miss this attacker?’

Essex pointed to Goodluck standing against the door, and the nobles parted so the Queen could see him more clearly.

‘That is the man, Your Majesty, and Master Goodluck is his name. He left the palace some days ago, against my clear instructions, following the trail of a fellow spy instead of watching for conspirators here. He returned just in time to see this Catholic traitor make an attack on your royal person.’

Queen Elizabeth clicked her fingers at Goodluck, who came forward at once and fell to his knees before her.

‘You, sir, Master Goodluck,’ she said coldly, ‘you will be so good as to explain yourself. I have been attacked by a traitor within my own household, the very crime you were set to watch for, and now it seems you were not even on hand to prevent this villainy.’ The Queen stared at his bent head. ‘Speak, sirrah, what do you have to say for yourself?’

Lucy watched in silence, struggling to keep her emotions hidden, though her nails were cutting into her palms.

‘Forgive me, Your Majesty,’ Goodluck said plainly, looking up at his queen. ‘Lord Essex speaks the truth. I have indeed failed Your Majesty on this count. Though if I may be permitted to speak in my defence, some months ago I recounted my suspicions to his lordship about a serving man in your household, whom I had never seen but heard, and was told not to pursue the matter any further.’

He hesitated, glancing warily at the door to the Privy Chamber as it swung open. But it was only the Earl of Southampton being admitted, no cap on his head, the youth’s hair in disarray, his fair face flushed. Lucy saw his untidy appearance and shivered, for she could guess what it meant; that he and Shakespeare had been sporting with each other when the earl was informed of the attack on Her Majesty.

‘As for not being on hand in recent days, that also is true,’ Goodluck continued, his face sombre. ‘But I have been following the trail of a suspected traitor, who met his death today in most dreadful circumstances. I absented myself from court in an effort to discover more about his activities, and for no other reason. This I will gladly swear on my life.’

‘Which should be forfeit anyway,’ Essex muttered savagely.

‘This traitor’s name?’

Goodluck looked cautiously at Essex, who shook his head. ‘You must excuse my disobedience, Your Majesty, but his name may only be disclosed in secret, not before this company. The question of his treachery is not yet certain.’

The Queen turned from him and paced back and forth, fanning herself, her face still white and pinched with strain.

‘My lord,’ she asked Essex without looking in his direction, ‘is it true that your attention was drawn to this serving man by Master Goodluck, and that you did nothing to discover his identity?’

Essex had folded his arms across his chest, a look of sullen rage on his face. ‘The matter is more complicated than you can grasp, Your Majesty.’

‘Being a mere woman, and therefore a simple-minded fool?’ she threw icily over her shoulder at him.

‘I believed this other man to be pursuing the traitor on my behalf.’ Essex sounded bitter. ‘I had paid him handsomely enough for his loyalty, after all, and thought him a true Englishman.’

‘And all the while he was working for Spain behind your back?’

But Lord Essex refused to be drawn. ‘That remains to be seen, Your Majesty. Either way, the man was a danger and had to be removed.’

Queen Elizabeth stopped pacing and stared at him. Her lips opened, then closed again abruptly, as though she had remembered that they were not alone.

‘Very well,’ she began tartly, ‘since I cannot find it in myself to condemn him for having done his best to uncover this traitor’s identity, I shall demand no punishment for Master Goodluck.’

At these words, Lucy felt herself sag in relief. Still on his knees, Goodluck glanced at her briefly, a slight frown in his eyes. Carefully, she looked away, schooling herself not to react so openly again.

‘But you, my lord Essex, will leave court immediately and dwell on your mistakes at Essex House until I give you leave to return.’

Essex stared at the Queen in disbelief. ‘You are punishing me for his failure?’

‘I entrusted you with one task, my lord, which was to discover all secret movements against my throne and person. Tonight I was nearly murdered in my own palace, in front of the whole court.’ She shook her head, not bothering to hide her anger. The other nobles shrank as she gazed round at them, her tone accusing. ‘I hold you to blame for this, my lords. Think how the heads of Europe will laugh when they hear how vulnerable my court is to such attacks. As for King Philip, he will be sending assassins over by the bushel-load when he hears of this, for if one lone man can almost accomplish my slaughter, it stands to reason that several at once would be more successful. After all, a monk killed poor Henry of France in the same way, a lone fanatic with a knife. Why should they cavil at murdering a queen in the same cowardly manner?’