Sisters of Treason (33 page)

The crowds have thinned now, so they pick up their pace until they are inside the city walls and the streets become too narrow and winding to keep up their trot. Soon they reach the Ludgate house and she asks the groom to take Nicholas back to Cheapside. There is a faint glimmer of candlelight beyond the window, and she hopes it is George in there and not just the serving maid tidying before bed. She tries to remember his schedule of duty, whether he is on guard late this week or not. Dismounting, she leads her horse through the arch to the stable at the back, hearing George calling out to her.

“Is that you, Veena?”

“It is.” She will have a word with George about the boy; he knows the boy’s father well enough. At moments such as this she feels the fortune of her marriage. Where most women barely tolerate their husbands after so many years, she finds herself more fond of him now than she ever was as a girl. She is suddenly struck by sadness, thinking of all the time they have spent apart, her at court, chasing commissions and never here for him to come home to. It is no wonder he has been so distant of late. She will make amends.

November 1560

Whitehall

Katherine

“He is here,” says Juno, who has her nose pressed up to the window. She taps on the glass and waves. We hear the door bang shut at the bottom of the stairs.

“I don’t know if this is wise,” I say.

“Since when have you ever done what is wise, Kitty? You, of all I know, are folly’s friend and I love you all the more for it. See him just this once, if only because he is my own dear brother.”

Juno knows as well as I do that it is impossible for me to refuse this visit, and as I hear his footsteps mount the stairs my chest tightens, making me short of breath. I wonder for an instant where the old Katherine has gone: the one who jumped from the high rock into the river pool, thrilled by the danger; the one who had them all eating from the palm of her hand, who never felt unsure over a lad. The door opens with a slow creak; there he is and I am weak at the sight of him. He is holding what appears to be some kind of package, his face shot through with worry. My dogs cluster round him in greeting, but I hold Stan tightly in my arms as an ally, despite his wriggling and whimpering—my dogs are as fond of Hertford as I, it would seem.

“Ned,” Juno cries running into his embrace. He looks at me over her shoulder with the irresistible air of an abandoned puppy, forehead creased, hangdog eyes.

“My lord Hertford,” I say, trying to contain myself, to keep things formal, to not give away anything of the tempest that rages in me. But I feel pulled to him by a great force that I fear I will not be able to resist. “This
is
a surprise.”

He produces a green apple from beneath his cape and, unsheathing his pocket knife, slices it, handing a piece to Hercules, who is cuffed on the windowsill.

“Treats for the monkey, Brother,” says Juno. “Have you brought something for us too?” She indicates the parcel he is holding. “Have you sweets in there?”

“Not sweets, no,” he replies, kneeling down on the floor and unwrapping the package as we watch on, puzzled. He produces what appears to be a handful of mutton ribs, and Stan, getting a whiff, wriggles out of my grip to join the frenzy at Hertford’s side. He makes them all first sit and then each perform their little trick,
rolling over, begging, offering a paw. It touches me that he remembers which of my pets best performs what, and I feel I might melt away watching this scene.

When the dogs have all scattered to the corners of the room to chew at their bones, Hertford remains on his knees, looking up at me wistfully. “For goodness’ sake, Hertford, get off the floor,” I say, pretending sternness.

“Kitty,” he breathes, “I thought I had lost you.”

“What’s to say you have not?” I move away from him towards the hearth, happy to regain a little of my old self. Juno is seated there with her arms tightly crossed, rubbing at her shoulders. Since the influenza struck her down she has remained particularly susceptible to the cold and falls ill easily. I take one of the furs, covering her with it, and poke the fire until it flares up. She reaches out to take my hand and we watch the flames in silence for a moment.

“Perhaps,” says Juno to her brother, squeezing her fingers around mine in a gesture of solidarity, “you could explain your behavior—why you left Hampton Court without so much as a word.”

I still can’t look his way, but I can feel his eyes on the back of me.

“It was Cecil,” he says. “He had words.” I turn now to look directly at him.

“Words?”

“He cornered me in the stables, stood by cracking his knuckles as one of his henchmen had me by the throat up against the wall. Said if I didn’t leave you be, he felt sure some kind of accident would befall me. Ordered me away from court. Said it was the Queen’s wish. I had no choice, Kitty, since it was the Queen who sent me away.”

“That is not ‘words,’ ” says Juno. “That is an out-and-out threat. I thought Cecil was on Kitty’s side.”

“He does the Queen’s bidding,” I say. “Not mine.”

“Yes,” she says. “Cecil is on Cecil’s side, first and foremost.”

Hertford holds out his hands for me to take, and I hesitate, engulfed by the feeling that if I touch him now, feel his skin against
mine, there will be no return. So I keep hold of Juno and reach out with my free hand to stroke his sleeve instead. “You tremble,” I whisper.

“So the Queen has ordered you from court. Is it not too dangerous for you to be here now?” asks Juno.

“I
had
to come. I thought I would lose you, Kitty. Your letter—” He stumbles over his words. “You seemed set on a Spanish match. I couldn’t have borne it.”

I feel my heart begin to unfurl, then I remember. “And Frances Meautas?” As I say her name I have an image of her brandishing that poem as if it were a crown she’d captured on a battlefield.

“Yes, what
of
Frances Meautas?” adds Juno.

“I don’t know.” He collapses onto the seat beside his sister, leaving me still standing, not knowing where to put myself. Touching Juno’s hand, he says, “Cold,” beginning to rub it between his palms. This tender gesture makes my heart lurch.

“You haven’t explained yourself,” she says.

“I thought to convince Cecil that I had given you up,” he replies. “And I knew Frances Meautas wouldn’t be able to keep quiet about it, that it would be around the palace within hours.”

“You were right about that,” I say, unsure whether to believe him. “But Frances Meautas!”

“I thought you would know, Kitty,” he says, “that I would never court such a girl. Thought you would divine that something was up.”

“A note would have been better,” says Juno in a clipped voice. “So Cecil fully terrified you, then,” she adds, softly now. He is nodding slowly when we hear the lower door opening and shutting. We look at each other. “Glynne or the chandler,” she whispers. “Or the lad with more firewood. You’d better hide, Ned. Get behind the hangings.” He slides behind the bed curtains just as the door swings open. It is Lettice Knollys.

“I thought I’d find you in here,” she says. “You’ve missed all the entertainment.”

“What entertainment?” I ask.

“There was a fight. Pembroke’s men and Dudley’s.”

“Was anyone hurt?” asks Juno.

“Several black eyes and a few bloody noses; nothing serious, but the Queen is beside herself with rage, what with Cecil’s servants refusing to lift their caps as Dudley passed the other day.” Lettice is clearly enjoying the opportunity to gossip. “She bawled at Cecil and though the door was closed you could hear every word. She ordered him to fall into line and offer Dudley the respect he deserved. You could have heard a pin drop in the privy chamber.”

From the corner of my eye I notice Stim sniffing about the hangings where Hertford is hidden, I whistle him back, but he stubbornly refuses.

“Anyway,” continues Lettice, “you were missed and I was sent to find you. You’d better think of a good excuse.” She makes a slicing gesture across her neck. “Astley is in a fine temper.”

“Tell her I was caught short with women’s matters and that Juno was helping me change. We will be along in a moment.”

“Don’t tarry or I shall be in trouble too.” She makes for the door.

From the window I watch her walk across the yard below and enter the door to the Queen’s apartments; only then do I go to Hertford’s hiding place. I pull the curtain aside with the words, “She’s gone.”

He grabs my wrist, and before I understand what he is doing I realize I am wearing a ring set with a pointed diamond. “What is this?”

“With this ring I promise myself to you, Kitty. Juno, will you bear witness?” He looks over at his sister, who is smiling as if it is she who has been proposed to.

“Oh, Ned,” she says. “What about Cecil?”

“I will speak to Cecil myself, if necessary.” I hear the splinter of doubt beneath his words but pretend to myself I have not. “
He
would not want Kitty wed to Spain any more than I do.”

“What if I don’t accept?” I say.

“Then I shall be the most miserable man alive.”

I can hardly bear to look at the forlorn face he wears.

“Of course I accept.”

At last I allow him to wrap his arms about me, and, closing my eyes, I nestle my nose into his neck to catch his scent. I am thinking that this could send the pair of us to the Tower, and I am standing over the river pool once more, throwing myself into the air, charged up with the thrill of it.

“As soon as you can find a way to leave court, come to me at Canon Row. We shall be wed there. Juno will let me know of it.”

“And the Queen?” I say.

“She will come round; besides, Kitty, she favors you these days. And since Dudley is back in her orbit her mood is bound to lift. With Dudley on the rise once more, Cecil will be going down. You heard what Lettice said; he is out of favor.” He seems now buoyed up with confidence, his doubt disappeared entirely.

“Yes,” says Juno “and you are the Queen’s closest cousin.”

“Don’t,” I say sharply, thinking suddenly of my sister Jane.

“We must go, before someone else comes looking for us.” Then Juno turns to her brother, saying, “Can you get out without being seen?”

“You go,” he says, pressing his mouth to mine briefly, and I am flying through the air again. “I shall protect you, Kitty,” he whispers. “I will not let any harm come to you.” And then, as I peel away from him he draws me back, taking my ring finger. “Better this is not on show, here.” He unclasps a fine chain from about his neck and, slipping the ring onto it, fastens it at my nape, then helps me tuck it away beneath my stomacher. His hand lingers a moment on my breast, and he meets my eyes with a half-lidded look that makes a flower of heat blossom in me.

“Hurry,” says Juno, tugging at my hand. “Godspeed, Ned, I shall contact you at Canon Row when the time comes.”

As Juno and I rush towards the Queen’s rooms, a sense of calm settles over me, as if everything is at last falling into place.
I would rather risk everything and be married to Hertford than see him wed to another. Besides, things have a way of working themselves out, and Elizabeth may like her power games, but she is not bloodthirsty as her sister was—she has not ordered a single execution yet.

“Do not tell your sister of this,” says Juno.

“But why? I can trust Mouse.”

“It might visit danger on her.”

“I suppose you are right.” My secret gives me a stirring feeling, as if I have a pouch of saltpeter upon my person and must take the greatest care not to pass too close to a flame.

We slip into the privy chamber quietly, making our excuses. Mistress St. Low clucks about, asking if I have everything I need. I keep up the charade with a grateful but appropriately wan smile and hold my hand to my lower belly. I notice Frances Meautas and Lizzie Mansfield whispering, thick as thieves, in the corner and glancing over at me. I throw them a smile and a wave, touching my fingers to the chain about my neck, physical proof of my secret. Frances seems wrong-footed by my friendliness, half smiling back with a puzzled expression. I wonder if she still has that poem tucked under her dress and if she awaits another from the man who will be
my
husband.

I sit beside Mary, who is alone at the window with a book. But the Queen, who is sitting in the warmest part of the room listening to Lady Knollys recite poetry, looks over, beckoning the pair of us to her with a smile.

She pats the stool beside her with the words, “Come and sit with us, girls. Lady Knollys is reading from Wyatt’s poems. I am particularly fond of them.”

I settle onto the stool, and Mary takes a cushion at my feet. I can see the tension in the set of my sister’s jaw; we are both unused to this friendly treatment from the Queen, and I remind myself to take care of what I say.

“We are all cousins here, are we not?” she says with uncharacteristic warmth.

“That is true,” says Lady Knollys.

“My Boleyn cousins and my Tudor cousins,” she says.

But I am thinking that, if there is any truth in the rumor, we are all Tudors, for it is said that Lady Knollys’s mother, Mary Boleyn, was the mistress of the eighth Henry before he moved on to her sister, Anne, and that Lady Knollys was his natural daughter. I wouldn’t know anything about that, but it is true both she and Lettice have a Tudor look about them.

“Call Lettice over,” the Queen exclaims. “We would be surrounded by our close family.”

Lady Knollys catches her daughter’s eye and Lettice peels away from the group of women sewing in the corner, bobbing in a curtsy and settling down next to Mary.

“Ah yes, family,” sighs the Queen. “We should have Mistress Teerlinc paint a set of limnings for us before you leave to wed Devereux, Lettice.”

“You are to wed?” I whisper, feeling a wave of elation. If the Queen has given permission for Lettice to wed, it is a sign that her aversion for marriage among her ladies must be on the wane. There is hope for me, then.

“I have had news of another plot of late,” says the Queen. “It appears now that Huntingdon would see himself on my throne. Seems to think a dribble of Plantagenet blood is enough. There is always
someone
who would like to take my place. See, ladies, how our family needs to stand united.” She then turns to Lady Knollys, calm as a millpond, as if there were no plots or fights or poisoned gloves or any worries at all, saying, “You didn’t quite finish reading the poem.”