The Tudor Conspiracy

WHITEHALL
Chapter Seventeen

I could not sleep.

I sat awake in the dark, facing the door, every sense attuned to the sound of any approach, until the window grate high in my wall lightened to a murky hue, indicating dawn had arrived. Then I stood, wincing at the stiff pain in my limbs, and prepared myself. I looked a fright, my eye blackened and half-shut, my lip swollen. Under my chemise, my bruises had ripened to a motley shade of yellow-blue. I did not tarry at my glass, however. I did not care to see guilt staring back at me.

In the long gallery leading to the royal wing, servants were already about their tasks, gathering burned candle stubs, stray goblets, and other objects left by inebriated courtiers from the night before. As I approached the double oak doors of the queen’s apartments, one of the guards standing vigil stepped forth, his pike at the ready.

“Halt! What business do you have here?”

“Pray, inform Her Majesty that Master Beecham must see her,” I said as he eyed me, obviously debating whether to order me away to take my place in the queue with the rest of those who gathered at midday as she made her way to the hall to dine. I added, “Tell her it concerns her betrothal.”

The guard’s eyes snapped wide. Turning to one of the others, he barked an order. I paced to a window and stared into a courtyard where a decorative fountain with a cherub on its tip dripped with melting ice. When the guard brusquely motioned to me, I followed him through the doors into the maze of corridors and chambers of Mary’s private apartments.

She stood waiting for me, wearing a russet velvet gown with a jeweled belt, her hair gathered at her nape in a pearled snood. Her women were nearby, sewing. A quick glance showed Sybilla was not among them. Pulling off my cap, hearing their stifled gasps as they caught sight of my battered face, I bowed. “Forgive my intrusion. I bring news Your Majesty must hear at once.”

“You’ve been brawling,” Mary said coldly, and before I could reply, she stepped aside.

My stomach dropped when I saw Renard seated at the table behind her, a mass of papers strewn before him, quill in hand. His brow arched. “Up so early? I fear it’s hardly the place or time for petty appointments. I suggest you return later today, when you will be heard-”

“No.” Mary interrupted. “He’s here now, and I will hear what he has to say. Judging by his appearance, it must indeed be urgent. Any other man in his state would be abed.”

I returned my gaze to her. She, too, looked as if she could use more time in bed, her skin waxen and eyes ringed by shadows, as if she hadn’t slept in days. I could also tell by the force of her regard that the guard had relayed exactly what I said at the doors, thereby revealing, as intended, that I knew something no one outside her intimate circle should know. She obviously was not pleased with my indiscretion.

“Begging your pardon,” I said, “but what I have to say is for your ears only.”

“Oh? You are among friends here. I have no secrets from them.”

Panic knotted my throat; I had to clench my fist to stop myself from ripping out the tube of letters from my cloak. I couldn’t simply hand them over; if she dismissed me without hearing what I had to say, I was doomed. Renard’s terse stare warned me that he knew why I was here and if he could manage it I’d be dead before the day was done, the queen’s suspicions be damned. I must explain to Mary personally what I had deduced before Renard spun his own take on the letters and she bayed for blood.

“It concerns your sister-” I started to say.

Renard leapt to his feet. “Majesty, please, do not indulge this man further! He is a liar. I told you, he cannot be-”

“I believe I’m perfectly capable of judging his ability to tell the truth,” said Mary, her glance withering. “Come, Master Beecham.” She motioned me to her study. As I passed her ladies, Jane Dormer gave me an apprehensive look, her dog growling on a lead at her feet.

I did not acknowledge Renard as he hastened to follow us into the wood-paneled study and closed the door, though I felt his stare boring into my back.

“Well?” Mary turned to face me, standing before her desk. “You have your privacy. Tell us this urgent news about my sister that cannot wait. Best be quick about it; my patience is sorely tried. I still have my council and the Hapsburg delegation to attend to, as well as my upcoming move to Hampton Court. The air here does not agree with me. I need a change of scenery.”

With an incline of my head, I took the tube out.

She went still. “Pray, what is that?” she asked, and though she remained outwardly composed, I heard the tremor in her voice.

“More trickery!” Renard lunged to snatch the tube from my hand.

Holding it aloft from him, I said to the queen, “This is evidence of a conspiracy against Your Majesty-evidence Don Renard himself hired me to obtain.”

Renard came to a halt, his face draining to a chalky hue. Mary regarded him for a lengthy moment before she held out her hand. She took the tube from me, turning to her cluttered desk to unfold it, perusing and discarding each letter in utter silence, until she’d let all eight fall from her ringed fingers to the blotter and had gone rigid, her gaze fixed on me. When she spoke, her voice was calm, which only increased my admiration for her.

“Are you certain of this?”

“I have been most diligent in my task.” I paused, despising the fact that I had to protect Dudley and sacrifice the earl in his stead, even if it was for Elizabeth’s sake. “I believe those letters prove my lord of Devon has been led into a rebellious plot aimed at forcing you to accede to his demands or suffer the consequences.”

Her jaw tightened. “So it appears. Yet you said this matter concerned my sister. How?”

“When he hired me, Don Renard expressed belief that she, too, was involved,” I replied. “I have found no evidence of it.”

Mary swerved to Renard, her voice sharp. “You assured me otherwise.”

“Your Majesty, I am as taken aback as you are,” he replied. I almost envied his self-control. He seemed impervious, though his future hung in the balance. I wished I could tell Mary what kind of man he truly was-what he had done to Sybilla Darrier and her mother; what he might yet try to do to Elizabeth-but I, too, had secrets to hide. I could not risk being exposed as Elizabeth’s agent until I was sure the princess was safe.

Sarcasm tinged Mary’s tone. “I find that hard to believe, Don Renard, considering all your spies and expense. I cannot count the number of times I myself have provided funds for your endeavors through my own privy purse, so intent were on you on this theory of my sister and Courtenay’s falsehood. Yet now you’d have me believe you had no idea that the earl was plotting to betray me with these other lords, many of whom I’ve received with honor at this court and forgiven past grievances?”

To my satisfaction, the ambassador was starting to look panicked. “Your Majesty must forgive me,” he said warily, “but compelling as this so-called evidence may seem, we cannot yet be sure it offers proof of anything. We must verify the letters’ authenticity. And even if they prove real, this rebellion must be disorganized at best, seeing as I indeed gleaned no rumor of it. Perhaps the earl has managed to rally a handful of malcontents, but it’s hardly cause for-”

“Hardly cause!” Mary exclaimed. “It is treason, señor, treason of the highest order. And they shall pay for it, make no mistake. I will see every last one of them in the Tower.”

Renard pursed his lips. In that chilling moment, I divined his ploy. He would dismiss the very proof before his eyes, delay even Courtenay’s arrest if he could, if it meant Elizabeth might still be taken. A rebellion offered possibilities; something might yet be found to prove her involvement.

Mary was staring at him in astonishment, recognizing his diffidence, though she didn’t understand the reason behind it. “I can hardly believe my ears! Time and time again you warned me of treachery in our midst, yet now you disregard the very man we hired to uncover it? Disorganized or not, it is still a planned uprising by nobles of this realm-subjects all, who’d dare arm themselves against me. They must be apprehended, an end put to their schemes.” She suddenly faltered, reaching for the back of a chair. “God save us, should the emperor learn of it, he’ll refuse to let Philip come here, for fear of his very life!”

As Renard’s face turned thunderous at this, her open admission before me of her plan to wed the Spanish prince, I despised him even more. Despite what I knew of her religious intolerance, of her antipathy for Elizabeth and cherished dream of returning England to Rome, I couldn’t find it in myself to dislike her. Mary Tudor wasn’t a cruel woman, only a deeply misguided one. Renard was the serpent. Just as he’d assiduously worked toward Elizabeth’s downfall, so had he preyed on Mary’s innate lack of guile, stirring up the torments of the past and undermining her fragile confidence.

My sentiments had no place here, though. Only with the queen focused on Courtenay and his accomplices could I hope to fulfill my mission.

“We could question the earl,” suggested Renard, as if the option had just occurred to him. “If it is your command, we can arrest him and obtain the information we need. This plot cannot have gone so far that we cannot stop it before we announce the betrothal at Hampton Court. By the time word reaches the emperor, it will be over. Your Majesty will have asserted your might, the conspirators will have been imprisoned, and neither the emperor nor Prince Philip will have anything to fear.”

Mary released her grip on the chair. “Then do so. Have the warrant prepared this very hour; I will sign it before the council.”

Renard bowed, curtly motioning to me to accompany him.

Mary said, “No. Master Beecham stays. I would have a word with him. Alone.”

I couldn’t have hoped for more. Renard knew it. For a telling fraction of a second, his gaze met mine in fury before he stalked out, closing the door on the anxious women in the antechamber, all of whom must have heard the queen’s outcry, if not her actual words.

Mary dropped onto her chair. She didn’t speak, regarding me with an opaque intensity that seeped under my skin. “Why do you defend my sister so unremittingly?” she finally asked. “Don Renard has been convinced from the start that she’s had a hand in a plot against my person, indeed that she despises me and seeks my throne. He has many more years of intelligent judgment in such matters than you.”

I cleared my throat, realizing I stood on a knife’s edge. “I only did as I was bade, Majesty. Don Renard hired me to investigate both the earl and the Lady Elizabeth, and I found no evidence of her participation. She is innocent of any wrongdoing, though the ambassador may claim otherwise.”

“Innocent, you say? Then I fear you do not know my sister at all. Elizabeth has never been innocent. From the day she entered this world, she has been steeped in sin.”

Dread iced my veins. “I assure you, there is nothing to indicate she ever plotted-”

Her acrid laughter cut me off. “No, there isn’t, is there? And there never will be.” She stood. “Despite Renard’s dedication, his copious bribes of my courtiers and payments to spies, riffraff, and the like, she has eluded him. She’s too clever, like the viper you do not see until it bites. But she is not innocent. With or without evidence, I know it here, in my heart. I only need to take one look at her to know what it is she desires.”

She turned to the window, her voice low, as though she spoke to herself. “I’ve watched her, day after day, ever since she came to my court. Flaunting her youth and witch’s beauty, whispering, always whispering; luring others to do her deeds like her mother before her. Elizabeth wants me to suffer. She wants me to know that no matter what, I will never have peace. Without marriage, I cannot bear a child to supplant her in the succession; without a husband, I will die a virgin. That is what she desires. She lives for the hour when she can take my crown and call it her own.”

When she turned back to me, I saw in her pale gray eyes the flickering ember of something horrible, unstoppable. Those eyes probed at me, seeking a flaw in the very texture of my face, so she might confirm the relentless hatred that had begun to consume her. “Who’s to say she did not know of Courtenay’s plot?” she asked in a dead-quiet voice. “Who’s to say she knew and gave her consent, knowing my ruin would be her gain? She might have kept herself apart from the planning, knowing the risk her involvement would entail, but it would not stop her-no, not her, not the daughter of Anne Boleyn.”

I stood silent, my throat dry as bone. In her expression and words, Mary revealed she had gone beyond reconciliation. Even if Elizabeth managed to escape with her life, there was no denying that she had lost her sister forever. Henceforth, they would be at odds until one of them breathed no more. Cecil’s prediction had come true: They were destined to be mortal enemies.

Mary returned to her desk, composed again, resigned to what came next. “I want to believe you,” she said, “and without proof of her guilt, I can do nothing else. But for now I do not want her near me; wherever I am, she must be elsewhere. Before she departs, however, I will look her in the eye. I will ask her to her face if she knew anything about”-she swept her hand over the letters-“this vile business. Go now. Bring her to me. Tell her the queen of England would see her.”

I bowed and had started to retreat to the doors when she added, “You will continue to investigate every detail of this conspiracy. Courtenay may not confess to everything or he may not know. He was never a clever man; he couldn’t have organized this alone. And I expect loyalty, Master Beecham. If you think to conceal anything from me, if you dare try to protect anyone to my detriment, remember that yours is the life which will be forfeit.”

“Majesty,” I murmured, and I left her.

* * *

I strode through the officials crowded outside the queen’s apartments. In less than an hour, the gallery had filled to capacity, and all eyes marked me as I passed, gauging my importance now that I’d been closeted alone with the queen. I did not spot Renard; he must have gone to prepare Courtenay’s arrest. I did see Rochester among those present, talking to an anxious-looking man in a bishop’s robe, who I assumed was Courtenay’s patron, Gardiner. I made to pause, catching Rochester’s troubled glance.

He turned away pointedly, as if he did not recognize me.

I could hardly blame him. I moved onward, down the staircase into the lower gallery, where courtiers had converged to speculate. Already word had leaked out that something of importance had happened. By early afternoon at the latest, all Whitehall would be buzzing with news of the earl’s fall.

I had a sudden pang as I thought of Courtenay. He would surely die for this; after having survived years of imprisonment in the Tower, his own actions had led him to the scaffold. Though he wasn’t a pleasant man, nor, as the queen had surmised, a particularly clever one, I was relieved I could still feel pity for him, and angry regret that I’d had to expose his dealings, despite my promise to him. For all his misdeeds, he didn’t deserve this.

Dudley did.

Then I came to a halt. I did not know where Elizabeth lodged. Raking a hand through my matted hair, I saw courtiers staring at me in unabashed disgust. All of a sudden, I was aware of my unkempt person. Must I approach one of these mincing peacocks to ask-

“Master Beecham! Master Beecham, wait a moment!”

I turned to see Mistress Dormer hastening down the staircase, holding up fistfuls of her skirts, exposing thin ankles in gray hose. “Her Majesty asked me to accompany you,” she explained, breathless. “The rooms you seek are a distance away, and she thought you’d need help finding them, seeing as you’ve not been there before.”

I smiled faintly in gratitude. With a toss of her pretty head, Jane Dormer led me past the courtiers, who immediately leaned to each other to whisper.

“Where did you leave Blackie?” I asked, hoping to distract her from uncomfortable questions concerning my meeting with the queen.

“With Lady Clarencieux. He’ll have to learn sometime that I can’t be with him every minute. Though I’m quite fond of him now, I never wanted a dog. He was a gift-or so Mistress Darrier claimed.” Jane grimaced. “As if that could excuse what she did.”

Just as I’d been on the night of my arrival, I was struck by the spite in her voice. Though she seemed an otherwise unassuming girl, where Sybilla was concerned Jane Dormer was all claw.

“I did not see Mistress Darrier this morning,” I remarked.

“No, you did not. Because Mistress Darrier comes and goes as she pleases.” The silence turned taut before Jane added pointedly, “You’d be wise to stay far from her.”

“Oh?” I kept my expression neutral, even as I took in the twist of her mouth, the slit-eyed jealousy that was too mature for someone of her age. Beautiful women often incited competition among their peers, I knew, but Jane Dormer was little more than a child. “What exactly has Mistress Darrier done to have provoked such dislike in you? She gave you that dog, which seems to me a kind gesture-”

“Does it?” she snapped. “Do you think it a fair exchange for stealing my betrothed?”

I almost stopped walking. “Your betrothed?” I echoed.

She glared. “Yes. You cannot know, naturally, having just arrived at court, but Her Majesty had arranged for me to wed the Duke of Feria. I was to be his bride and return with him to Spain, had Mistress Darrier not decided she wanted Feria for herself. Or rather, that toad Renard decided it for her.”

A chill overcame me. “Perhaps she has no wish to wed Feria, then.”

“No wish?” She gave a humorless laugh. “Women like her have every wish. Feria will make her a duchess, which is quite a step up from being the ambassador’s whore.”

An invisible noose coiled about my throat. “That’s a strong accusation. I understood that he was her patron and moreover that she is of noble blood. Her father and brothers perished defending the Church during the Pilgrimage of Grace.”

Jane sniffed. “Is that what she told you? I suppose it does carry a ring of truth, if you don’t know the real story. But most do not, and those who do don’t care to recall otherwise, given her proximity to Renard. But Lady Clarencieux certainly does; she remembers when Master Darrier, Sybilla’s father, was one of those up-and-coming men who got rich under Lord Cromwell-a lawyer, like Cromwell himself, who inventoried the monasteries once they’d been slated for closure. He made his fortune pillaging like a pirate, building his estate with gold he never reported to the treasury. When Cromwell fell, so did Darrier. He was executed, yes, but not for defending our Church. He was drawn and quartered like a common criminal because he had stolen from the king.”

I was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. I saw Sybilla in my mind, her heavy tresses of hair draping over me, her body writhing …

“And her brothers?”

She shrugged. “Who knows if they even exist? If they do, they did not die in York, I can assure you. Of everything Mistress Darrier says, the only verifiable truth is that she, her mother, and her sister fled England to escape the king’s wrath, no doubt with some of the Darrier wealth stashed in their underlinens. After all, they had to have something, to gain entrance to the Hapsburg court. Empresses don’t take on paupers to be ladies-in-waiting.”

I couldn’t move another step, coming to an appalled halt. Sybilla had lied to me. She had deliberately misrepresented her situation. What I didn’t understand yet was why.

“She was actually telling Feria that same tragic tale when you came into the gallery with your dying squire,” Jane went on, oblivious to my discomfort. “I tell you, she was not convincing and not pleased by your interruption. Oh, I’ll give her this much: She’s a fine feast for the eye, if you care for her sort, but Feria will regret having agreed to Renard’s terms. A woman like her-all she can bring a man in the end is perdition.”

I had to restrain myself from grabbing hold of her, bombarding her with questions she’d have no answers for.

“Do I offend?” Jane asked, taking note of my silence. “I merely thought you should be forewarned. She’s not who you think she is. She is hardly a respectable person. To steal another woman’s betrothed and give a dog as consolation is not a respectable thing to do.”

She’d reverted to being a wronged adolescent, railing against the wiles of an older, more experienced woman. I gave her a vague nod, my mind awhirl. “Yes,” I murmured. “I agree it is not respectable. I appreciate your candor. You’ve been very kind to me.”

“I like you. I think it a pity you’ve nothing to commend you save the queen’s favor.”

I cleared my throat, turning my attention to the gallery we entered, the carved wainscoting and elaborate plaster decorations edging a coffered ceiling marred by damp stains. “I’ve never seen this part of the palace,” I said, as I tried to get my mind around what she had told me, trying to fit the fragments into some cohesive design. Why would Sybilla mislead me? Had she hoped to incite my pity, perhaps? It could be that she still sought to escape Renard’s hold on her; nothing Jane Dormer said had negated that. Maybe she thought the truth less compelling than a fabricated past, guaranteed to evoke sympathy in a man like me.

Jane said, “This part of Whitehall is rarely used.” She paused. “Lady Elizabeth insisted on staying here, I’m told. Apparently the apartments used to be hers when her father was alive and she came to visit him at court.”

Remote and empty, without the ubiquitous legions of courtiers or servants, the gallery before me offered a spectacular view of the river but little else. The cold was palpable as we came before a sturdy door adorned with faded gilt. There were no guards; as I rapped on the wood panel, the sound echoed. Scuffling on the door’s other side preceded its tentative opening and a tremulous “Yes? Who is it?”

I recognized Blanche Parry. “Master Beecham. I bring word for the Lady Elizabeth.”

There was a moment of hesitation. Blanche didn’t know my alias, I suddenly thought, and as I heard her urgent inquiry of someone nearby, I turned to Jane. “Please inform Her Majesty that I’ll escort Her Grace back as soon as she’s ready.”

She pouted. I recalled how she’d suggested that Elizabeth would do better to submit to the queen and realized she’d been looking forward to witnessing the princess’s humiliation. It saddened me that a girl with so much to live for had already imbibed the venom of the court, where reveling in another’s disgrace was a coveted pastime.

“Very well,” she said unconvincingly, and she walked away, glancing over her shoulder as I waited for the door to be unbolted. When she was far enough away that she couldn’t possibly overhear, I said, “Mistress Parry, it’s Brendan. Open up.”

The locks immediately slid back to reveal the haggard face of Elizabeth’s trusted lady, the matron upon whom, after Mistress Ashley, she most relied. Mistress Parry had been in service to the princess since Elizabeth was a babe. Though not old-no more than forty-six-she looked ancient, her eyes hollowed from sleeplessness, graying hair escaping her hood. With a clawlike hand she yanked me into the room and slammed the door shut, bolting it again as if she feared an invasion.

“What is happening?’ she asked anxiously. “Tell me. Are they going to arrest her?”

I shook my head. Urian dashed up to me, shoving his long muzzle into my hand, demanding to be petted. As I caressed him, I surveyed the chamber. It boasted a magnificent oriel window that let in plenty of light, floor-to-ceiling tapestries, carpets underfoot, and fine furniture. Scattered about were traveling chests, into which a perspiring young maid was emptying armfuls of clothing, candlesticks, and other possessions. Except for her and Mistress Parry, I saw no other women or attendants.

I turned back to Mistress Parry. “Where are her ladies?”

“Gone.” She gave a fretful sigh. I could see the poor woman was about to leap out of her skin. “Her Grace is in her bedchamber; she was taking her exercise in the gallery, as she does every morning, when one of those insufferable women came to tell her that the Earl of Devon would be arrested. As soon as the others heard, they ran off, like rats from a ship, leaving Her Grace alone. She told us to start packing. Then she locked herself in her room. She thinks they’re coming for her next. Are they?”

“Not yet,” I said, and I moved to a narrow door I assumed led to the bedchamber, Urian at my heels. Mistress Parry warned, “She won’t see anyone.”

I knocked on the door. “Your Grace? It’s me. Let me in.”

No response. I knocked again. “You must open. I bring word from Her Majesty.”

After a tense moment, I heard a key turn and pushed the door open onto a small bedchamber, suffused in darkness. There was no window or candles; only a rush light on a side table, which cast more smoke than illumination. As light from the outside seeped in, I saw an unmade tester bed and another coffer on the floor. Elizabeth crouched there, a heap of books at her side. She appeared to be looking through them, putting some in the coffer and discarding others. Another maid stood nearby with a frightened look; she must have unlocked the door.

I waved her out, keeping the door ajar. Urian padded over to Elizabeth and whimpered. She petted him absently, her hair tangled about her face; under the hem of her dark skirt, I glimpsed slim bare feet. The chamber was icy, yet she wore no shoes.

“Don’t,” she said, before I could open my mouth. “I don’t want to hear it. I need to decide which of these books I can take with me into the Tower.”

“You’re not going to the Tower.” I stepped to her, lowering my voice even as I heard Mistress Parry marshaling the two maids in the outer chamber.

Elizabeth turned to me, her eyes black in her ashen face. “Is she sending me to the scaffold instead?”

“She’s sending you from court. I know not where. But before she does-”

“She’ll question me. Am I to submit to her interrogation before the entire court?”

I did not answer. I returned her stare until she looked away. She pretended to go back to her books. Then I heard her say, “If she sent you, then I can assume you haven’t lost her favor. Does that mean our other matter is resolved?”

“Yes. I delivered letters to Her Majesty. I am responsible for Courtenay’s arrest.” I paused. “But not Dudley. For the moment, he is safe-though he doesn’t merit it.”

She drew in a stifled breath and turned her sharp gaze back to me. “And my letter?”

“It was not there. Dudley must have kept it.”

Her eyes narrowed. She searched my face. “Did he do that to you?”

“Among others. But he took the brunt of it.”

Her mouth twitched; it was almost a smile. “I take it he wasn’t pleased to see you.”

“You might say that. He blames me for everything that has befallen him and his family. He vowed that when the time comes, he’ll see me pay for it.”

She nodded. “It’s to be expected. Robert was never one to accept responsibility if he could blame someone else.” She stood, her gown crinkled. “So,” she said, “with all his threats and bluster, did he tell you everything?”

“Most of it, but I don’t know how much to believe. That, too, I suppose, is to be expected.” Then, before I could stop myself, I added, “Why? Why did you do this?”

This time, her smile crept across her lips. “I think you already know. Or if you don’t, Cecil did. It’s why he sent you. He could not have expected me to wait for Renard to put an end to me? I did what I had to. I don’t regret it. I only regret that I put those I care about in harm’s way.” She brought a hand to her throat. “I was saddened to hear of Peregrine,” she said. “I would never have allowed it to go so far had I known the price you would pay.”

“He paid it. I wish it were otherwise.” I met her eyes. “It’s not over yet. Renard is enraged. He will do whatever he can to see you dead. You are still in danger.”

Her gaze turned inward. She reached to her bed for her discarded slippers; their rose silk ribbons tangled about her slim fingers. “I’ve been in danger from the day my sister became queen. Our past is something she can never forgive or forget. If she does not harm me today, she will eventually. Nothing is more certain.”

Differences of faith can tear apart even those who should be closest …

With the echo of Sybilla’s words in my head, I watched Elizabeth move to her tarnished glass to gauge her appearance. “Is that all you want to ask of me? Speak now, for I’ll not tolerate it later. Or have I so disillusioned that you wish to now serve my sister instead?”

“I pledged myself to you. After everything I’ve done, can you still doubt me?”

She turned from the glass. Though she didn’t say a word, I saw in her eyes the momentary fracturing of her reserve.

“I will never leave you,” I told her, “not willingly.”

She bit her lip. “Mistress Parry,” she called out. Her matron bustled in.

“It seems we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Elizabeth said. “I must attend my sister the queen and request leave to depart court. I don’t think she’ll let us get as far as Hatfield,” she added, glancing at me, “but perhaps my house at Ashridge will be acceptable.” She gave a sudden shiver, sole indication of the fear she must harbor deep inside. “I’ll implore on my knees, if need be. Fetch my white gown. I must look … penitent.”

Mistress Parry nodded, hurrying back into the anteroom.

Elizabeth fixed her gaze on me. “We still have time. Robert wouldn’t keep my letter, not because he cares anything for you but because he would not see me harmed. He has many faults, yes, and desires too much, but never my death. If my letter is missing, then someone else must have it.”

I pivoted immediately to the door.

“Wait,” she said. I looked over my shoulder. “Do whatever it takes,” she whispered. “No matter the cost, Renard must never get hold of it. If he does, it will indeed be over-for all of us.”

I strode through the outer chamber, startling Mistress Parry as she went to the princess with her gown. Only once I was alone in the gallery did I let myself pause, leaning against a wall to force out the air lodged like barbs in my chest.

A woman like her-all she can bring a man in the end is perdition …

I knew who had taken Elizabeth’s letter.

A few moments later, the princess emerged. In silver-white satin, with her hair loose under a simple crescent headdress, she looked almost serene. I tried to focus only on escorting her through the palace to the queen’s wing, even as urgency pounded in my blood, making it difficult not to abandon her and begin my frantic search for the woman I now believed had deceived me far more than I could have ever imagined.

Mary waited in her audience chamber, bedecked in a jewel-encrusted gown that swamped her thin figure, surrounded by terse black-robed councillors. After Elizabeth dropped to a curtsy, the queen motioned brusquely and turned without a word to march into the council room with the councillors behind her. Elizabeth did not look at me; she went into that room alone, her chin high, as if she truly had nothing to hide.

The door shut. Immediately, the queen’s women began to whisper. I avoided their questioning gazes. I had already seen Sybilla was still not among them, but she must be somewhere. She couldn’t have escaped yet, not from London. Where would she hide? She must have taken the letter from the folder before she brought it to me; perhaps she thought that as long as she had it, she’d have something to barter with, in case Renard discovered her ploy and her own life was placed in danger.

I had to find her first.

Then I saw Mistress Dormer watching me intently; turning to her without warning, I grabbed her dog’s lead. “Blackie looks as if he needs to relieve himself,” I declared, and I pulled the growling, snapping dog into the gallery, leaving her to hurry after me.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as I began to yank the dog down the gallery. He indeed had to go. At the first corner, he lifted his leg and pissed against the wall.

Jane gasped. “He’s supposed to go outside! The queen warned me if he ever did that in the palace again, she’d make me give him up. She says Whitehall reeks of-”

I whirled to her. “Where is she? Where is Mistress Darrier?”

“How-how should I know?” She recoiled from me, glancing over her shoulder at a pair of courtiers strolling past. “I’m hardly in a position to-”

“Don’t lie.” I stepped closer, dragging Blackie with me. “You told me those things about her for a reason. You deliberately warned me against her.” I paused. “You do realize the princess is still heir to the throne? She’s not been disinherited yet, and the queen is her sister, her family. They might find accord. It would go better for both of us if we were seen to be on the winning side.”

My intimation wasn’t lost on her. “You … you serve her?”

“I serve the Tudors. And I must find Mistress Darrier before it’s too late. It’s a matter of life and death. Help me and I’ll make sure you will not go unrewarded. You still want to marry Feria, yes? I’ll put a word in with the queen, I promise you.”

She arched her brow. I had gone beyond my bounds, and she knew it. I had no right to promise anything. With sudden determination, Jane snatched the lead from me. “I warned you about her because I like you. But I’m starting to like you rather less. You are indeed common as dirt, if you think this is how a gentleman behaves.” She drew herself erect. “I do not know where she is. She does as she pleases. Why not ask Don Renard or the Earl of Devon, if you can find him? He seems to have gone missing as well, much like Mistress Darrier. Perhaps they’re together. Surely one of those men ought to know where she gets to when she should be at her post in the queen’s chambers.”

“Together?” I whispered. “She and Courtenay…?”

“You truly don’t know anything, do you?” she asked. “Before you arrived, Mistress Darrier and the Earl of Devon were quite friendly. Some of us thought she hoped to have him as her spouse, until he was rejected by the queen and turned his attention to Elizabeth. But I daresay that didn’t stop her. A woman who sleeps with an ambassador and an earl, while conspiring to steal another woman’s betrothed, is truly capable of anything.”

Horrified silence descended as I recalled the day in this very gallery when Sybilla had approached me and Elizabeth and Courtenay appeared. My lady Darrier, he had said, if I were you, I’d be more circumspect in choosing those with whom I idle away my time. We wouldn’t want your master to think you’re consorting with the enemy, now would we?

They knew each other. They were more than mere acquaintances.

Jane was regarding me impatiently. “You look rather shocked. I don’t see why. As I told you, she’s not respectable.” She tugged on Blackie’s lead. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I must bid you good day, Master Beecham. I believe we’ve said all we need to say to each other.” She turned about to return to the queen’s chambers, Blackie trotting at her side.

I stood as if paralyzed. Courtenay had said in the brothel, I don’t swive men.

He hadn’t lied.

That night in the brothel, he had been waiting for Sybilla.

* * *

I raced back toward my room. I had no idea how long Elizabeth’s interrogation might take, but I had to prepare. I had a feeling in my gut that Courtenay had gone into hiding in the brothel in Southwark; I had to reach him before they ran him to ground like a hare. If Sybilla had seduced the earl, chances were she’d uncovered his role in the conspiracy before me; she must have known that he was sending letters for Dudley and that Renard would try to intercept them. She’d stolen Elizabeth’s letter from the tube for a reason, then provided me with the others to seal Courtenay’s doom. Whomever she was working for, it wasn’t the ambassador. She wanted the earl ensnared in his own trap, just as she had ensnared me, and she had to be stopped.

I had to stop her.

At the door, I was fishing in my doublet for my key when sudden footsteps came up behind me. Before I could yank my poniard from my boot, a fist slammed into my gut. It knocked the air out of my lungs. I doubled over, crumpling to my knees.

“Where is she?” Renard stepped from the shadows.

His henchman kicked me. I grunted, tasting blood.

“Again, where is she? I won’t ask a third time.”

I looked up. Renard regarded me impassively, his burly henchman standing over me with fists clenched. I eyed his man as I heaved myself into a seated position. He was the companion of the slim swordsman who’d taken the tube from me, and I saw again in my mind that polished figure in black, who’d fended off my clumsy swordplay as if he toyed with a child. I remembered the gleaming eyes under the mask, the deft speed.

Then I recalled gripping Sybilla’s wrist and feeling her hidden strength.

The swordsman hadn’t been a man at all.

It had been her.

“Did you think to best me?” Renard’s voice slashed through my thoughts. “I’ve had a lifetime of practice at this game; I could see you dead this very hour and no one would question it.”

“The queen might,” I said, breathing through my nose. “Seeing as she ordered me to uncover everything else I can of the plot. If I go missing, she’ll know who to ask.”

His mouth twisted. “Is that a threat? Be very careful. The queen already mistrusts you; like me, she does not believe any man without a past can exist.” He flicked his hand. “Enough. I tire of this affair. Where is Mistress Darrier? I know you’ve been working with her against me, just as I know that you managed to steal those infernal letters. She was supposed to get them for me, but she betrayed me instead.”

I met his stare. “From what she told me, you earned it.”

Anger distorted his face. “She will die,” he snarled. Then he collected himself, allowing himself an icy smile. “Though I must admit, she played her part all too well. I even arranged a noble marriage with Feria for her, in exchange for her cooperation.” He paused. “And you: You were unexpected indeed, disguising yourself as a man for hire so you could save that heretic Elizabeth. No one guessed your ploy. Except Sybilla. She has a taste for deception; she suspected you at once. It seems you charmed her, though. She’s always been faithful to me until now. What did you promise her, eh? Safety in exchange for the letters? Money, perchance? Yes, I should think money would do the trick. She’s a harlot, after all. I had her mother on her knees the hour we met, and when she failed to please, I took Sybilla instead. She depends on men like us for her survival. Your cock, mine: It doesn’t matter, so long as she profits by it.”

My fists clenched at my sides. I had to tell myself not to rise to his bait. If he’d resorted to this extreme, waiting outside my room to bully me, then he was desperate. Sybilla had struck a coup de grace to his plan against Elizabeth, and he was flailing. Without that letter, he truly had nothing. The princess was being questioned this very hour and would go free. Once she did, he’d never have another chance to destroy her.

With one eye on his scowling man, I came unsteadily to my feet. “I don’t need to tell you anything. Lest you forget, I no longer work for you.”

His smile vanished. He held up his hand, halting his henchman, who growled in Spanish and made a menacing advance toward me.

“You will regret this,” Renard said. “I hold Her Majesty’s trust, for all that you tried to make me a fool today. You and I can reach an understanding. Bring me Mistress Darrier and your life will be spared. You cannot win; no matter what you do, my master the emperor’s son will wed the queen, and Philip will see Elizabeth beheaded like her mother before her. You’d be wise to change your allegiance now, while you still have the chance. If you do not, your days, like Elizabeth’s, will be numbered.”

“As they were when you left that poisoned note for me? I don’t reach understandings with murderers. Because of you, my squire is dead.”

He let out a sudden, cruel laugh. “Do you think I’m responsible for your squire’s death?” He met my stare. “You’re not as clever as I supposed. Poison was never my weapon of choice. Rest assured, had I chosen to dispose of you thus, you’d not still be here to reproach me.” He stepped back. “I wish you luck. I do believe you’re going to need it.”

He walked away, his henchman throwing another mastiff glare at me.

* * *

I shoved my belongings into my bag, then threw on my cloak and sword. I left the room as I found it; I had no plans of returning. If I never saw the court again, it would be too soon.

As soon as I reached the gallery and heard the agitated clamor of voices, I made haste to the queen’s wing. The doors were still shut, the sentries in place, but as I looked about, searching the crowd, I espied Mistress Parry, loitering at the edge of the throng as if she, too, searched for someone.

When she saw me, she turned on her heel. I followed, keeping my distance until we were in the empty corridor leading to the princess’s apartments. Without looking at me, Mistress Parry said, “She’s been granted leave to retire to Ashridge.” Her voice quavered. “Thank God, we are finally delivered from this nest of papists.”

Relief washed over me. “And the earl, has he been arrested?”

She shook her head. “The warrant has been issued. But no one knows where he is.”

“Then I cannot leave yet. Her Grace knows why. Tell her I’ll come to her as soon as I’m able.”

She nodded. “God keep you,” she said, and she continued to the apartments as fast as her legs could carry her.

* * *

Afternoon faded into premature dusk. Standing wrapped in my cloak in a shadowed recess of the courtyard, I watched Elizabeth bid farewell to the queen.

Snowflakes drifted down over the braided manes of the stamping horses, on harried pages loading the last of the coffers and chests into the wagon, and on the princess’s red-gold tresses, coiled at her nape in a net, her slender figure enveloped in black velvet.

Not many had turned out to see her departure, though I could glimpse semiconcealed figures converging at the surrounding gallery windows, courtiers observing from the safety of their perches, waiting with bated breath for the queen’s last-minute order for Elizabeth to return to her rooms, from which she’d emerge for the short trip to the Tower.

Mary stepped from among her ladies, the wind catching at her violet mantle. A jeweled rosary hung from her waist. She faced her sister as she might a combatant.

Elizabeth dropped practically to her knees, head bowed. She’d come to court as the queen’s cherished heir and sister; in less than six months she was leaving under a pall of hatred and suspicion. My heart went out to her as the queen extended her hand with its signet ring. There was no affection in the gesture, no sign of forgiveness or largesse; Mary was as remote as the clock tower looming above us.

In the silence broken only by the wind and sifting thaw of snow, with the queen’s little hand trapped in hers, Elizabeth lifted her voice and said, loudly enough for everyone present to hear, “I depart from Your Majesty’s presence with a heavy heart, though circumstances and my own delicate health require it. Yet I declare myself your most loyal subject, who loves you more than anyone. I beseech you not to believe those who spread evil reports about me without doing me the honor of letting me prove to you in person the malicious nature of such slanders, for on you alone do I depend for my honor.”

It was a perfect speech, stamped with Elizabeth’s signature flair for rhetoric. Mary reacted accordingly, her thin white lips seeming to disappear into the pressed crevice of her mouth. I held my own breath as everyone waited. Elizabeth glanced warily past her sister to Renard, who stood steps from the queen. Though his cap shaded his face, his eyes must have been directed at her with single-minded fervor. If he had had his way, this moment would have gone very differently.

Mary withdrew her hand. Something intangible, fleeting in its poignancy, moved across her face. Her attempt to smile came out as a bloodless grimace; she impulsively reached out without warning and clasped Elizabeth’s hand again, as if in regret.

Then she called to her women.

Lady Clarencieux stepped forth, bearing what looked like a small animal. As the princess unraveled it, a length of lustrous sable flooded her arms-a cloak with inset sleeves and hood, fashioned of supple velvet and the exquisite Russian fur.

“It is cold in Hertfordshire,” Mary said, “and, as you say, your health is delicate. We would not wish for you to take ill for lack of proper care.”

Elizabeth started to speak, her gaze bright with unshed tears; before she could, the queen motioned again, and a friar in a Franciscan habit and cape, the knotted cord of his order about his waist, appeared. At the sight of him, Elizabeth’s eyes dimmed.

“You assured us that you wished to become better acquainted with the ways of our true faith,” Mary said. “This friar will go with you to Ashridge to instruct you. He brings with him the articles of our true faith, so you may see them every day and learn their solace. We pray that you’ll soon realize that only by casting aside the heretic teachings of your youth can you prove this loyalty you so ardently declare.”

She took a step back. The sable overflowed in Elizabeth’s arms. Turning to Mistress Parry, she relieved herself of it and curtsied again before moving to her litter. She had a large entourage that included her women, an escort of men-at-arms, her Arabian jennet, Cantila, and Urian.

“We choose to believe you for now,” Mary called out, freezing her in midstep. “Live quietly at Ashridge with no further upset, and we’ll take note of your sincerity.”

Elizabeth paused, casting her gaze over the assembly. Though she couldn’t have seen me among the multitude, I hoped that somehow she felt my presence.

To the crack of whips and clangor of hooves, the procession rode out under the palace archway. The crowd dispersed, the courtiers rushing to join the watchers in the galleries, to examine and dissect, to again place bets on Elizabeth’s chances.

Shrouded in my cloak, I blended with them.

The time had come to embark on my own desperate gambit.