The Tudor Conspiracy (8 page)

The ladies took their seats at a nearby table. Several gentlemen of the Hapsburg delegation joined the queen on the dais, including Renard, who took the chair one remove from Mary. On Mary’s left-a place of honor-sat a gaunt woman in old-fashioned patterned damask and a triangular gable hood. She had a prepossessing nose and piercing narrow blue eyes. Next to her was a handsome young man in flamboyant black-and-white satin, his short French-styled cloak strapped to one shoulder with elaborate braiding.

“That’s him,” Peregrine said in my ear. “That’s the sweet cousin.”

I took in my first sight of Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devon. He must be popular with the ladies, I thought: a well-built fellow, broad of shoulder and chest, with a full head of tawny hair that matched his well-groomed mustache and forked goatee. His appearance took me aback; I wouldn’t have expected someone who’d spent so many years in the Tower to look quite so robust, though his appeal was marred by a petulant expression. As the long-nosed lady beside him lifted her goblet for wine, Courtenay said something of evident wit to her. She gave him a sour smile. They seemed to know each other, but then everyone at court did, especially at functions like these. Perfect strangers were not averse to feigning rapport if it might tender an advantage.

Pages bearing decanters circulated among us, filling our cups with ale. Renard suddenly leaned to the queen. As he murmured in her ear, Mary stared at the empty chair between them. Her face visibly darkened.

“What?” she said, in a displeased voice loud enough to carry into the hall. “Are we to endure her insufferable disobedience again?”

Taut silence fell. Renard exchanged a brief, conspiratorial look with the sour-faced lady as Mary swerved her attention to Courtenay. Her fist clenched, crushing the silk violets. “Did you not deliver our message to her as we instructed, my lord?”

Courtenay blanched. “Your Majesty, I assure you, I conveyed your request-”

Mary stabbed her finger at him. “It was not a request. Go to her apartments at once. Tell our sister the Lady Elizabeth that she
will
obey our order to attend our guests this evening, by our royal command!”

Courtenay had started to inch up from his chair when Mary went still, staring straight ahead. For a moment, it seemed as if the very hall sucked in its breath. I didn’t need to look to know my mistress, Elizabeth Tudor, had finally made her appearance-late, as usual.

She wore an unadorned gown that sheathed her slim figure in black velvet, making her seem taller than she actually was. Her coppery mane fell loose to her narrow waist, swaying like a curtain of fire as she moved past the tables of staring courtiers to the dais. The Spaniards actually crossed themselves and averted their eyes, as if she might cast a spell on them. I had time to take wary note of their reaction before I heard a frenzied burst of barking and saw Jane Dormer’s dog leaping up, yanking at its lead as if it recognized Elizabeth. The princess had a special kinship with animals; even the wary stable cats at Hatfield responded to her. It gave me pause. That little dog might prove a useful distraction …

Then I focused on the queen as Elizabeth sank to a curtsy under her baleful gaze. The clench of Mary’s jaw and the stony hardness that stole over her face were chilling.

Mary Tudor regarded her sister with undisguised hatred.

Elizabeth said quietly, “Forgive my delay, Your Majesty. I … I was unwell.”

“Not so much that you refrained from riding with our cousin today,” riposted Mary. “You were also invited to attend mass with us this afternoon, and once again, we waited for you in vain.”

Elizabeth’s reply was soft; only those who knew her intimately would have been able to tell how cautiously she was choosing her words. “Your Majesty, I thought I might have caught a chill after my morning ride. I didn’t wish to expose you to-”

“Enough.” Mary cut her off with an impatient wave of her hand. “I have heard it all before, too many times, in fact. It seems whenever the subject of attendance at mass comes up, you have a sudden ailment.” She paused, staring at her sister as if she wished to make her vanish through the sheer force of her will. “Where is the blessed medal of the Holy Virgin I gave you?” she asked.

Elizabeth went still. Then her hand crept up to the high neckline of her gown. “I left it for safekeeping in my rooms.” Her voice was guarded but remarkably steady. “It is so precious a gift to me, I fear that I may lose it.”

“Or fear losing your heretic friends’ support if you’re seen wearing it.” Mary leaned forward, glaring now. “You have an able tongue, madam, as always, but we are not so blind that we cannot see what is before us, though you may think otherwise. Do not think to defy us indefinitely. Your time of deception is fast coming to an end.”

If she could feel the entire court’s attention riveted to the sight of her, on her knees before the queen like a suppliant, Elizabeth did not show it. With a raise of her chin, she said, “I regret that I’ve given such cause for offense. Though it would cause me great sorrow, with Your Majesty’s leave I would gladly return to my house of Hatfield-”

“You will not!” Mary banged her fist on the table, making the cutlery jump. “You will stay here, under our watch. Do not dare ask us again, lest you try our patience one time too many. There are worst places where we may yet send you.” She gestured to the empty chair. “You will sit beside our cousin Lady Lennox, whose loyalty you’d do wise to emulate.”

As if she trod on broken glass, Elizabeth mounted the dais. I now knew who that strong-nosed lady was: Margaret Douglas, Countess of Lennox. Like Edward Courtenay, she, too, bore a claim to the throne. To my disconcertion, I also realized we were related: My mother had been her mother’s aunt.

Lady Lennox cast a barbed, sidelong glance at Elizabeth as a page hastened to pour wine into the princess’s goblet. Elizabeth did not touch it. Having lived with her at Hatfield, I knew she rarely drank undiluted wine, for she was prone to headaches. A blue vein showed in her forehead, sole outward indication of her anxiety.

The feast began. I ate sparingly, watching Elizabeth likewise pick at her food. I was taken aback by her appalling slenderness, her cheekbones etched under her skin. These past months at court had taken their toll on her, and I had to clench my hands under the table. I couldn’t let emotion get the better of me. I needed a keen mind and determination to extricate her from her predicament.

Still, I wondered if she had noticed me sitting a few tables away, a mere pebble’s toss from her. If she did, she did not reveal it. Her gaze passed over the court as if she were looking across a murky pond, without any acknowledgment of the covert glances cast her way. The moment the feast ended and Peregrine leapt forth to wolf down the serving on my plate, Elizabeth rose. For a second, her eyes lifted and met mine, with a force that went through me like a dagger thrust. About us, servitors began to dismantle the tables, the courtiers leaving their plates behind, taking only their goblets as they cleared the floor for the evening’s entertainment. In the minstrel gallery, instruments were tuned. I saw and heard all of it yet did not heed, struck by the hunted appeal in the princess’s eyes.

Then she turned away to follow the queen and her guests to one of the massive hearths. Once there, she took a chair and sat alone, apart, like an exile. She and Mary each acted as if the other had ceased to exist, the queen regaled by Renard and the Spaniards, her laughter loud, overly ebullient.

“Remember, do as I told you,” I said to Peregrine. He nodded, mouth and hands full.

I inched toward the royal company. Courtenay dallied with one of the ladies, ignoring Elizabeth as well, though she sat only steps away. I took note of his behavior, in light of what I knew so far. Apparently neither he nor the princess cared to advertise their association in public.

Seeking an opportunity, I paused by a group of gossiping courtiers. I finally gleaned it when Jane Dormer hastened to a stool, her black dog still straining on its lead. She was trying to get him to sit, shoving at his hindquarters and scolding him. He, in turn, let out a little yelp, his tail wagging furiously as he stared fixedly to where the princess sat. Moments later, Sybilla drifted to Jane and began to talk to her, though Mistress Dormer, intent on trying to wrestle her pet into obedience, barely glanced at her elegant companion.

I took a deep breath and sauntered over to them, swiping off my cap as I crouched down to pet the little dog. He leapt up to lick my face.

“Blackie,” Jane exclaimed, “stop that!” She flushed, giving me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do with him! He won’t listen to a word I say.”

The dog lavished me with affection even as I examined the knot tying the lead to the collar. The knot was weak, as I had supposed, and easily loosened.

“Poor thing,” I said. “All this noise and so many people-it must be terribly confusing for him.”

“You have a way with dogs,” Jane remarked.

“Yes,” I replied with a smile. “I sometimes prefer them to people.”

Jane frowned. “They warm our bed on a cold night and keep fleas at bay, but they are soulless creatures. How can you prefer them to us?” I heard a rustle of skirts as Sybilla turned to us.

“There are some who claim that those who prefer the company of animals are apt to be the most honest,” she said. “Is that the case with you, Master Beecham? Her Majesty seems to think so. She has spoken rather highly of your integrity and valor.”

I couldn’t take my eyes from her. She was, if possible, even more beautiful in candlelight, the flickering shadows heightening the smoky lapis of her eyes and the carmine of her lips. Her mysterious half smile was also unmistakable. I knew that look. I’d seen it before on other women’s faces-a seductive invitation.

I rose to my feet. “I am honored by Her Majesty’s praise,” I said carefully.

“As well you should be,” she said. “And I hear you may soon be granted a post in Ambassador Renard’s service. He, too, has been quite a favorite of the queen’s.”

I detected an undertone in her voice, alerting me to a motive I couldn’t decipher. Was she warning me or merely making conversation? I sensed the latter possibility was unlikely. Sybilla Darrier struck me as a woman with a purpose for everything she did, and as I saw her gaze shift to where Elizabeth sat immobile on her chair, I tensed.

She said, “Differences of faith can tear apart even those who should be closest.”

Her words caught me off guard, as did Jane’s vehement response. “She hardly deserves our pity. Everyone knows she’s a heretic who has refused to convert, though the queen has ordered her repeatedly to submit.” She stared at Sybilla. “Were she not the queen’s sister, I daresay she’d be in the Tower by now. And you, my lady, should be more careful, given your family’s history. Surely you, of all people, would not wish to defy our sovereign.”

I caught my breath at the malice lacing Jane’s voice. Sybilla, however, seemed unperturbed. “My dear,” she said, “you speak without thinking. Admirable as such fervor be, it ill becomes a maid, especially if one still has hopes to wed.”

Jane’s expression faltered. At her side, Blackie started barking again. I did not betray my curiosity as I leaned over to pet the dog. The contention between Jane and Sybilla intrigued me, as did the fact that Sybilla’s time abroad could be due to a familial disgrace.

“Ah,” said Sybilla, “and now it appears we’ve aroused Don Renard’s interest.” Following her glance to the group with the queen, I caught sight of the ambassador staring at us, his eyes smoldering as he took in Sybilla’s and my proximity. Bent over Blackie, ruffling his ears with one hand, I lifted my gaze. This time, I found covert complicity in Sybilla’s regard.

“
Audentes fortuna juvat
,” she whispered, and her eyes gleamed.

Fortune favors the bold.

She had seen my hand shift surreptitiously from Blackie’s ears to his collar. Without looking away from her, I untied the lead. With a high-pitched bark, Blackie dashed forth. Jane came to her feet with a cry of dismay; I watched with my heart in my throat as the dog made his way directly toward Elizabeth, just as I hoped he might. Catching sight of the loose dog-something strictly forbidden at court and especially in the hall-the surrounding courtiers laughed and began stomping their feet. Frightened by the sudden pounding of their heels all around him, Blackie changed direction and swerved, his tail and ears tucked as he scampered in a full-blown panic toward the nobles idling by the hearth.

Jane screamed. “No! Stop him! The fire!”

Hearing her young lady-in-waiting’s outburst, Mary frowned, half-rising from her chair to peer at the creature running past her. With her compromised eyesight, the queen seemed unable to identify the reason for the commotion and let out a startled gasp-“God save us, a rat!”-for with his small size, shadowy color, and furtive speed, Blackie was indeed rodentlike.

I started to regret having let him loose. Clearly I had overestimated Blackie’s ability to get through the crowd to the princess and thus gain me the opportunity I needed to approach her. As I saw Renard make a disgusted moue and step aside, opening a path to the hearth, I ran forward to cut Blackie off before he reached the painted screen shielding the fire and found himself trapped between the hearth and the queen’s company. He swerved again-and this time, to my relief, Elizabeth stood and called out to the dog.

His ears perked as if he’d heard the clarions of salvation, Blackie flew to her. She scooped him up, murmuring as he went limp in her arms, his tongue lolling. I moved rapidly to her through the guffawing courtiers, knowing Jane Dormer would be right behind me. I had only seconds. As I neared, I extracted the folded note from my doublet.

I held out my hands. Elizabeth extended the dog to me; our fingers touched. Her eyes widened slightly when she felt the note, and then she took it. Cradling the panting dog, I bowed to her and took a step back.