Sisters of Treason (24 page)

“You may well ask.” But it is clear to Levina why she is there, for she is treated like a princess, everyone kowtowing, falling over themselves to do things for her. Though she is but a faded version of the girl she was; the impression Levina had that afternoon was of a candle almost down to its nub, its flame shrinking—and Katherine had always burned so brightly.

“They were talking of smuggling her out of the country,” she continues, and has George’s full attention now. “They think to wed her to one of the Spanish Habsburgs without Elizabeth’s knowledge. There is a plan to moor several small boats in the Thames. To whisk her away.” She had heard this when she first arrived, while awaiting Katherine’s arrival in an anteroom. Feria and the ambassador can’t have known she was there for they spoke quite clearly.

“Oh,” George says. “And you are sure she is not party to it?”

“I truly think not. But it seems the Ferias have taken her into the fold and—well, they could use her ultimately to oust Elizabeth, particularly if she
were
a Habsburg bride.”

“Why would they seek to do that? Why should Spain care so much?”

“King Felipe fears—and I heard them say this quite clearly—he fears that the King of France will invade England in the name of his daughter-in-law, the Scottish Queen, and put
her
on the throne.”

“Mary of Scotland,” he says. “I see. Felipe would be on the run if France got a foothold here. Veena, you can’t get involved in all this. These politics. It is too dangerous.” He has his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it, as if to emphasize his words. The fire is hot against her skin, too hot. She moves back to the chessboard, with George following.

“Perhaps, but I should warn the girl. She’s got herself into something she doesn’t understand.”

“I suppose you could say something to her. But Veena, I mean it, if you aren’t careful you might find yourself at the wrong end of a poniard, Spanish
or
French. Or even English, for that matter.” He brings both hands up and spreads them over his face, as if he is washing. Levina notices that he looks old; the years of fear have taken their toll on him. Marcus’s letter is lying on the table beside the chessboard; she tries to think of her son, take her mind off this other thing, but can’t.

“All I will do is warn her,” she replies. “I won’t even say a word to Frances.”

“Not to anyone.” George takes her hand briefly. “I’ve had enough of this, Veena.” He stands. “We can finish the game tomorrow. I think I will retire.”

“I’ll join you.” She gets up, suddenly feeling exhausted and wondering if she too looks as old as her husband. She supposes she must, she will be forty next year, after all.

“I shall sleep alone tonight.”

She feels a dip of disappointment. He has not visited her chamber since his return from Bruges.

•  •  •

Levina perches in one of the wherries that convey all and sundry back and forth across the Thames. Her satchel of painting materials
is stashed beneath the bench; she hopes the boat is watertight and there is no bilge at the bottom to soak her parchment but it all seems dry enough about her feet. She had to pay the waterman a penny on top of the fare to get him to stop at the steps near Durham House, for he was intending to cross over to Lambeth rather than run upriver, but the tide is whisking them up at a fair speed and he seems merry enough, whistling a ditty as he rows.

It is a fine day with a warm breeze and not too much of a stench rising from the water. A family of ducks floats past, a string of fluffy ducklings gliding after the mother, who occasionally dips down under the water. A small boy, sitting on his father’s lap, coos with delight, trying to reach out to them with a fat little hand. Two women, each one with a vast basket, are chatting happily about the Queen and whom she will choose as a husband. There is a sense of optimism in the air, has been since Elizabeth came to the throne. But Levina feels weighed down by the things she knows, wonders if it will ever end, this intrigue, this almost permanent sense of dread at the back of things. It makes her question why she remains at court at all now Katherine is no longer there; but it is where she makes her living and they have got used to the finer things of life now, she and George, and how else would Marcus be traveling the Continent, getting an education?

The boat draws up to the steps and the waterman helps Levina out with a smile. She stands for a moment watching as the craft moves off across the river, girding herself for her visit to Durham House. She has brought her painting equipment with her as an excuse to be there and hopes it might give her the opportunity for a moment alone with Katherine. She can offer to make a quick sketch of Jane Dormer too, perhaps. People are always willing to have their likeness drawn, even girls like Jane Dormer who are not in the least bit vain.

There is a Spaniard at the river entrance who greets her in broken English, opening the door and calling an usher to fetch the mistress of the house. She waits in the empty hall, wondering
where everyone is. There is an iron clock that rasps and clicks. Levina paces, inspecting the carvings, gruesome depictions of Hell in the most part, but beautifully crafted all the same. After some time Katherine arrives alone.

“Veena,” she says. “Twice in as many days! The Countess is at prayer. She won’t be long, I am sure.”

“Perhaps I can draw you while we wait,” Levina says, and then dropping her voice to a whisper, “It is you I came to see; there is something I must tell you, in confidence. Where can we go?”

“The light is best in the gardens I think, and the weather is fine,” Katherine replies, catching on. She has a knack for intrigue, though usually for her it is of the romantic kind. She leads the way out, telling an usher to let the Countess know where they are when her prayers are done.

They find a spot with a view of the river, and Katherine sits on a stone bench while Levina sets up her things, pinning a fresh sheet of parchment onto her board. The light is too strong really, and Katherine’s face is carved harshly with shadow, but it is the quiet setting that meets Levina’s purpose.

“Have the Count and Countess mentioned a marriage for you, Katherine?” she asks, trying to make it seem innocuous.

“They talk of almost nothing else. They would match me with a Spaniard, a Habsburg, Veena. What think you to that?” Katherine has a smug little beam on her face.

“I think,” Levina lowers her voice, “that you need to beware.”

“I think not, Veena. The Ferias are so kind to me; they only mean me well, not like Elizabeth. Besides, the Count is leaving tomorrow for the Continent. He has business with the Emperor. And I feel sure he will be making arrangements for me also.”

“Katherine,” Levina says firmly. “Remember what happened to your sister.” She is wondering if it is a good thing or not that Feria is leaving.

“My sister Jane?” The girl looks crushed, as if she is collapsing in on herself. “And Father.”

Levina nods. She can see Jane Dormer approaching, crossing the garden, waving. She waves back. Katherine turns to see who it is.

“What do you mean?” she hisses.

“Do not think to wed anyone without the Queen’s say-so. Do not think you are so well protected here,” Levina whispers. Then Jane Dormer is upon them.

“Mistress Teerlinc,” she says, taking Levina’s hand with a smile. Levina half rises. “No, don’t let me disturb you at your sketching. I should like to watch though.”

“Of course. And perhaps I could draw you also,” says Levina.

“I should like that—whilst I am great with child. It will make a pleasant memory.” She perches beside Levina. “So what were you discussing so intently? You looked quite . . .” she pauses, looking from Katherine to Levina and back. “Quite in cahoots.”

“We were talking of the Queen’s planned summer progress. She has expressed a desire for Lady Katherine to join her retinue.” Levina had thought that the progress might be a good way to get Katherine away from Durham House. Frances could write and ask Elizabeth. She wouldn’t refuse that, and it would be a small triumph for the Queen over the Ferias—to get her cousin back from their clutches. But a thought pops into Levina’s head:
Out of the frying pan and into the fire
.

“Ah,” Jane Dormer says, pausing, twisting a bracelet round and round her wrist. “And does that please you, Katherine?”

“There are more pleasant things I can think of. But if the Queen commands it, then I shan’t be able to refuse.”

“True,” says Jane Dormer.

“Look,” exclaims Levina, pointing at the river, relieved by the distraction. “There goes Dudley’s barge. Look how it is festooned.” She is thinking perhaps it is better that Katherine is kept in the dark, given her perverse desire to so often do what is most ill advised. She will ensure the girl is called on progress and that will be that, for the moment at least. Perhaps Katherine can visit her
mother at Sheen too; Frances could send word she is ailing with a letter saying Katherine is forgiven in matters of faith, then it will seem all the more genuine. Levina can imagine Jane Dormer reading the letter, saying, “But you
must
visit her, Katherine dear, if she is ailing.” There is no need to frighten her out of her wits. Levina’s mind whirrs; there is much arranging to be done.

“Good gracious,” says Jane Dormer. “I have never seen a barge so draped and decorated.”

“Eighteen oarsmen!” cries Katherine.

That thousand marks will be all spent before the month is out, thinks Levina.

“That man is a disgrace,” says Jane Dormer. “I know it is ungodly to be critical thus, but . . .” She doesn’t finish. The whole country would agree with her about Dudley.

August 1559

Nonsuch Palace

Katherine

My beloved Kitty,

It seems an age since we were together a month past at Sheen. Your visit was all too brief. It was a happy few days indeed, though not entirely so for you I fear, dear sister, as you were ridden with melancholy that was, as ever, well hidden beneath your ebullient surface. I know you too well, Kitty, and it pains me to witness your sorrow, however expertly you try to hide it. It is my greatest hope that things go better for you now and that the Queen is treating you a little more kindly. Maman tells me you are still lacking the proper privileges of your rank. I know what Jane would have advised you: to remain stoic and remember God has His plan for us. I keep her book, it is your book really, under my pillow. It is a source of great succor, giving me the feeling that our sorely missed sister is close. I think often of her and wonder if you do also. There are roses blooming in the gardens here at Sheen, which remind me of her. Do you recall her fondness for white roses? I daily cut a few stems to put in my chamber and delight in their scent.

I long for you to join us here. Sheen is such a pleasant place and not so far flung as Beaumanor. The river slinks by as a constant reminder that you are somewhere along it, though now, I remind myself, you are on progress and I know not where this letter may find you. The land here is lush and green and wildflowers speckle the pasture. It makes for good walking and though this place is too quiet for your tastes, I should like to walk with you here sometime soon. I am most content watching the fowl nesting by the river and waiting for their eggs to hatch, witnessing God’s hand at work in nature. I saw two kingfishers at battle yesterday. It is astonishing how fierce the little creatures can be, the one holding the other beneath the water by the beak. Nature’s brutality is sometimes surprising, but then man, who should know better and is guided by the Lord, is capable of worse. I do wonder what separates us from the beasts, beyond our faith.

A heron fishes most days on the stretch of river that is visible from my chambers. All these birds remind me of poor old Forget-me-not. Do you remember him, Kitty? I suppose him free now to fly where he will. My favorite heifer calved last week, with twins—quite a miracle. Both survived and are thriving. I will not bore you further with my bumpkin matters, but how I should like to share these simple pleasures with my own dear sister.

Mistress Teerlinc was with us last week, but is I believe back at court again now, and may well be with you already. She left a drawing she had made of you, a fine one indeed. Maman has pinned it to her bed hangings. Maman has not been so well of late, but seems recovered now, and Stokes is the model of a husband, fully doting.

I am told that Jane Dormer, or the Countess of Feria as she is now, has left for the Low Countries to join her husband. I know you are fond of her, Kitty, and that you have sought refuge with the Ferias of late, but I have to say I am glad she is gone. I know of the marriage they have been trying to broker for you, and I cannot say strongly enough that it makes me uneasy. However thoughtful Jane Dormer is, Kitty, her faith is what defines her, her faith and her husband, and it is a faith you do not share, so be careful. It would displease the Queen greatly to find you had made a match such as they wish, or for that matter any unsanctioned match. Do not be seduced into thinking Feria cares for your well-being; he sees a political advantage in you and might well go to any lengths to achieve it.

I do not seek to alarm you, dear sister, nor do I believe you to be unaware of all these things, but I am reassured now the situation with France has changed. With the French threat diminished the Emperor, who we must not forget has Feria in his pocket, is less inclined to gain a foothold here, but . . .

I tear Mary’s letter into tiny pieces and hold my hand above my head, allowing the breeze to take the fragments, watching them scatter like cherry blossom.

“What are you doing?” asks Juno, who is seated on a rock above the river pool, her legs dangling over the edge. We slipped away from the others; on progress there is so much happening, it is not so difficult to escape unseen. The day is so glorious it seemed a sin to stay inside, unpacking the Queen’s things.