Virginia Henley (14 page)

“Seymour has rooms here at the palace so he’ll likely stay put tonight. But if he leaves Whitehall tomorrow, I want you to follow him. His grandfather, the Earl of Hertford, has a mansion in Cannon Row, but my guess is that he will avoid both his father and his grandfather at the moment. The fellow next to him with the clipped beard is his friend Henry Somerset, who may accompany him. They frequent a brothel in Thames Street but that doesn’t concern me. Just wait outside, and then resume your pursuit. I need to know everyone Seymour contacts. Report back to me at six tomorrow night aboard the
Hepburn Rose.
”

Patrick made his way to the kitchens, which were busy night and day, baking and cooking vast quantities of food for Whitehall’s residents. He helped himself to a large meat pie and a jug of ale as he looked over the servants gathered there. Patrick knew that Court pages had ravenous appetites and empty pockets, so he singled out a royal page who looked to be about ten or eleven years old. He offered him a slice of pie and slipped him a gold coin. In return the lad eagerly showed him where Lady Arbella Stuart’s chamber was located.

Patrick made his way into the palace gardens, identified Arbella’s window and made himself comfortable for the night beneath a flowering hawthorn tree. The next morning he was not surprised to see Arbella emerge from the palace in the company of her dearest friend and conspirator, Catherine Spencer.

Keeping a discreet distance, he followed them as they walked past the cockpit and mingled with a crowd gathered at the archery butts. Both females repeatedly glanced over their shoulders, clearly revealing to Patrick that they felt guilty about what they were plotting. Finally the pair sat down in the empty stands of the tiltyard and bent their heads in whispered conversation.

Though Patrick concealed himself behind one of the six-foot-high tilting barriers, he was tall enough to see over the top. His mind blocked out his surroundings as he focused his whole attention upon the ladies’ conversation. Gradually, their words came to him across the distance, indistinct at first, but as he concentrated they became clearer.

“But June is the traditional month for brides,” Arbella argued. “The first day of June would be far more romantic!”

“The first of June falls on Saturday. It has to be Wednesday.”

“Why does it have to be on a Wednesday?” Bella asked.

“Because it’s easier for us to get away on Wednesday afternoon. We had no trouble whatsoever the past few weeks,” Cat pointed out.

“Then why don’t we arrange it for the following Wednesday?” Arbella counted on her fingers. “That would be June fifth.”

“The longer you try to keep a secret, the easier it is for someone to find out, and what if Will changes his mind?”

“You’re right as always, Cat. The sooner the better.”

They were eventually joined by Henry Somerset, who made a gallant display of kissing their hands. “Good morning, ladies.”

“Tell William to make the arrangements for the coming Wednesday afternoon, the twenty-eighth of May,” Arbella said quickly.

Somerset bowed to the ladies and strolled off.

Patrick went back to his ship and spent the afternoon in the hold, helping to load his cargo of wine and checking on supplies for the return voyage.

Ian Hepburn returned before six o’clock and made his report. “Seymour didn’t retire from the gaming room until almost three in the morning. By that time he was falling-down drunk. This morning he didn’t emerge from his rooms. At noon, the other courtier ye pointed out to me visited him. His friend stayed about an hour, then he left. Finally, Seymour, looking a wee bit green about the gills, ventured forth. I followed him down to the Old Palace Water Stairs, where he took a barge.”

“Did you take the same water craft, or follow on the next?”

“I took the same one. He doesn’t know me and I didn’t want to risk losing the weasel once he’d emerged from his hole.”

Patrick nodded, agreeing with Ian’s reasoning.

“Seymour got off at Queenhithe Landing and I followed him along Thames Street, thinking I knew his destination. But he surprised me when he turned off Thames Street and joined the throng that was crossing London Bridge to Southwark.”

“He didn’t suspect he was being followed?”

Ian shook his head. “The bridge was crowded with people and carts going both ways. I was able to keep distance between us because his fancy duds made him stand out like a peacock in a flock of starlings. I thought he was going to the Bear Gardens or the newly built Globe Theatre but, believe it or not, the weasel was going to church!”

“St. Mary’s Church!” Patrick declared with satisfaction. “Seymour might be sly as a weasel, but he’s brainless as a louse.”

“He stayed in St. Mary’s for some time, then he returned to Whitehall and made no other stops along the way.”

“Thanks, Ian; you did well. The cases of wine are stowed, so if all goes well we’ll embark for Scotland day after tomorrow.”

Patrick went below to his cabin to write a letter to Cecil and one to Gilbert Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, who was newly appointed to the Queen’s Council. Arbella Stuart was his niece.

On Saturday, Patrick received a note from Robert Carey:

Patrick knew the
S
stood for Savoy. Carey had a letter from Cecil for James Stuart. He and Liz were leaving today.

Hepburn’s sixth sense had told him that there would be a letter; it had not told him when. Timing was ever the most important element in any sequence of events. Now that the letter was safely on its way to Scotland, Patrick could give Cecil the information he had gathered.

When Patrick arrived at the Savoy Palace, Robert Cecil did not keep him waiting long. When Patrick was shown into the inner office, he placed the letter he had written before Cecil and remained standing. This time he wanted his height to be imposing.

“Sir Robert, I have discovered a dangerous plot for a secret marriage between two young people at Court. Both parties are in the line of succession to Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elizabeth of England. If two existing claims to the throne are fused together in matrimony, it will strengthen those claims. I don’t know how your queen would view this, but I assure you that my king would see it in the worst possible light. If this marriage were allowed to happen, he would suspect double dealing at the English Court and he would never again seek to place his trust in high places.”

Cecil read the names in the letter, along with the date and the place of the secret wedding. “A simple inquiry at St. Mary’s will confirm if this is more than rumor.”

“And if it is, Sir Robert?”

“I shall inform Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, of his grandson’s mad scheme. In his younger days the earl was imprisoned in the Tower for marrying too close to the throne. He has more good sense than to imperil his life again.”

Though Patrick believed Cecil would take action, the other letter he had written would ensure it.

“You need not trouble yourself over my kinswoman Lady Arbella, Sir Robert. I have sent a similar letter informing her uncle, Gilbert Talbot, who will want no trouble now that he has taken his seat on the Queen’s Council. He will soon order his niece back to her grandmother’s strict supervision in Derbyshire.”

Cecil bowed his acknowledgment, and Hepburn knew that he had taken his measure and found it formidable. “When do you leave for Scotland, Lord Stewart?”

Patrick’s mouth curved. “I sail tomorrow, Sir Robert.”

Maggie opened the chamber door to admit Catherine’s friend. “Good afternoon, Lady Arbella. Perhaps ye can distract her. I brought her a lunch tray hours ago but she hasn’t stopped sketching long enough to even notice. Perhaps ye can tempt her to eat a bite. I’m way behind ... it’s wash day and these bed linens should have been down to the palace laundry this morning.”

Arbella crossed to the window where Catherine sat and looked at her sketch. “A new gown for the queen. What is that motif?”

“It’s a Tudor rose that I am entwining around the ragged staff of Dudley. Lord Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, was the great love of Elizabeth’s life, so I know this design will please her.” Cat waited until Maggie left with the great bundle of linen. “Is everything arranged?”

“Yes! Next Wednesday afternoon at St. Mary’s Church, across the river in Southwark. Will says it’s much safer in Southwark, where they are not likely to recognize us.” Arbella helped herself to a mutton pasty. “Don’t look for me at the masque, Cat. Hal Somerset has offered us his rooms for the night.”

“You’re taking a great risk. Judas! I’m supposed to be the impulsive one! Make sure nobody sees you, Bella.”

“Tush! From all the gossip I’ve heard, half the ladies at Court will be sleeping in some man’s bed tonight!”

“He must have a very large bed,” Cat teased.

“Who?” Arbella asked blankly.

“Never mind. If you’re eating in the Privy Chamber tonight, I’ll save you a seat. There’s always a crush on Saturday night, and Mother will insist we go down early.”

“Here comes Maggie, so I’ll be off. Save me a seat.”

When the waiting woman came in with her arms piled with fresh linen, Cat felt a stab of guilt. “I’ll help you make the beds.” She relieved Maggie of some of the sheets and bolsters and they went into Isobel’s bedchamber. Before they were done, someone knocked. “I’ll finish the bed. It’s probably Bella again.”

Maggie came back carrying a note. “A page delivered this.”

Cat was reluctant to open it in front of Maggie until she recognized her mother’s writing on the envelope. She tore it open and quickly scanned the lines. “That’s strange. I had no idea that Mother was going up to Richmond today. She asks that we both attend her there first thing in the morning.”

“I hope it isn’t bad news. I saw Lady Howard’s serving woman downstairs and she told me Lord Hunsdon had taken ill.” Maggie crossed herself. “When the poor old soul dies, yer aunt Beth will become Lady Hunsdon.”

“We’d better pack some things now. There won’t be time tonight after the masque. When Mother says ‘first thing in the morning,’ she means shortly after sunrise.”

“I don’t think the sun is going to show its face this morning.” Maggie opened Catherine’s wardrobe. “Ye’ll need a warm cloak, my lamb; it will be cool on the river.”

Cat put on her gray velvet cape and tucked her curls inside the hood.
If there is sad news, I don’t want to look gaudy.

At this early hour of six, the corridors of Whitehall were empty, and the pair quietly left the palace and made their way to the water stairs. Transportation on the Thames was available day and night, but at daybreak they were the only passengers on the wherry. By the time the watercraft passed the ugly, square-built Syon House, only a mile from Richmond, Catherine was shivering. It was not from cold alone; she was growing apprehensive about what awaited her.

The pair disembarked and Catherine’s feet dragged as they walked toward the house. She noticed that all the May blossom petals had fallen from the trees and the lilac blooms had turned brown. Cat told herself that the month of June would bring a profusion of roses and lupins and night-scented stocks but, at the moment, the garden looked rather dismal.

As soon as they stepped into the entrance hall, a servant relieved them of their bags and carried them upstairs. Cat saw that her mother was standing before the entrance to the sitting room, as if she were blocking it from them. Isobel, dressed in black, looked haggard, and Catherine felt an overwhelming impulse to comfort her. “Mother, whatever is amiss?”

“Sit!” Isobel pointed to the hard wooden settle inside the front door and waited until Catherine obeyed her command.

Maggie headed toward the stairs to give them privacy.

“Stay!” Isobel’s orders were issued in a tone of voice she would use on a pair of disobedient dogs. “This concerns you.”

Maggie moved toward the settle, instinctively closing ranks with her beloved charge.

“I hope and pray that I have been misinformed about your involvement in a treasonous plot against Her Majesty the queen.”

“Of course I haven’t plotted against the queen. Mother, how could you think me capable of such wickedness?”

“You are quite capable of wickedness, Catherine. I’ve known it since you were a child!”

Cat flinched at her mother’s words, though she silently acknowledged that she had been a mischievous child.

“It has come to my ears that you have plotted and planned a secret wedding between Arbella Stuart and William Seymour.”

Dear God, how on earth did she find out?
Cat heard her heartbeat thudding loudly inside her eardrums.

“Is it true? Yes or no?” Isobel demanded.

Much as she wanted to, Catherine could not blatantly lie to her mother. “Bella and Will are in love,” she whispered.

Isobel clutched her heart as if her daughter had given her a deathblow. “So you admit you are involved in this conspiracy!”

“We had to keep it secret because marriage always upsets the queen. Please try to understand,” Catherine beseeched.

“I fully understand that you are deceitful and incorrigible, but one thing you are not is
stupid,
young madam! You know that Arbella and Seymour are both in the line of succession and a marriage between them would strengthen their claim to the throne!”

“Bella is not conspiring to take the throne; she just wants to get married. She is terrified of becoming an old maid!”

“That’s true, my lady,” Maggie agreed.

“Shut your mouth, Maggie,” Isobel ordered. “I hold you responsible for Catherine’s depraved behavior.”

“Mother, that is unfair. Please don’t blame Maggie for something I’ve done. I did my utmost to keep it secret from her.”

“Unfair? Do you not realize, Catherine, how unfair this is to me? I could lose my position as Mistress of the Wardrobe! The queen might even banish me from Court because of your evil plotting. I am distraught!” Isobel clutched a handful of her faded hair. “Distraught at your vicious willfulness!”