The Tudor Vendetta Page 20

  Lord Vaughan sighed. “He was, indeed. I remember it well because the princess was also questioned and several of her servants, including Master Parry, sent to the Tower for a time. The Admiral was condemned of plotting to marry her, but she denied any knowledge of it. Shortly thereafter our payments for Raff’s upkeep ceased.”

  “You had payments?” I thought Elizabeth had indeed risked her life by hiding away her son. If Seymour was Raff’s father and the child’s existence discovered, it would have made her appear guilty in Seymour’s plot. She could have bowed her head to the sword like her mother before her. Had she, in her youthful exuberance, consented to Seymour’s advances? Or had something more sinister occurred under his roof, a violation of a girl by a man who was supposed to be her guardian, the husband of her stepmother, the widowed queen?

  “Yes,” said Lord Vaughan. “For almost a year, payments came quarterly, issued through a solicitor in York, a client of Master Parry’s. I had to travel there to receive them. Sometime following Seymour’s execution, the payments stopped. I made inquiry but the solicitor had no explanation to offer. Then he disappeared. Gone abroad, I was told. I wrote several times to my aunt, using Parry’s cipher. On a few occasions she came to visit and left a small jewel or purse of coin but never enough to see to our needs and by then my own livelihood was suffering.”

  “Did you ever try to contact the princess directly?” I asked.

  “Never. I am a loyal subject, as I assured you. I never shared Philippa’s belief that the Tudors were accursed for breaking with Rome or imposing heresy on us. I am of the old faith but no traitor. I kept my head down and trusted that in time, the monies due would be sent.”

  “But they never were?” His account fitted with what I knew of the manner in which Elizabeth had lived toward the end of her brother’s reign. As young Edward began to sicken, those who ruled in his name harbored constant fear of a revolt and did their utmost to subdue both Elizabeth and her sister Mary by keeping them impoverished and far from court.

  “It was as though Raff had been forgotten,” Lord Vaughan went on, “and once Philippa gave birth to our children she began to nurture this hatred of him. We had seen by then that while he was indeed robust—he almost never had an ailment—he was … unusual. Not simple, but not normal, either. Philippa did not want him near her; she believed he would curse our children. We engaged nursemaids from the village when he was a babe, but once he grew old enough, Philippa refused him any affection. She could not abide kindness shown to him. Her loathing of him grew until I thought she might have seen him dead had I not been here to protect him.”

  “Protect him?” My voice was sharp. “You call what he has endured protection?”

  “I did what I could,” he said sadly. “I know it was not enough, but as the years passed, Raff became something we feared, a child that must be kept secret, though we had never asked for him. Philippa kept saying we should give him to a farmer far away, to rid ourselves of the obligation; but how could I allow that, given who he was? I insisted that he must be educated and be raised with our own children.”

  “You speak as if your wife had no idea of whose child she spoke of.”

  He hesitated for a moment. “Perhaps in some part of her, she did,” he said at length. The admission seemed to pain him. “I never told her of my suspicions but I think she shared them, only she found it easier to deny. She finally accused me of having been unfaithful with some doxy during one of my trips to London and then, having entrusted the child to my aunt, concocting a scheme to hide the fact that Raff was mine. She was so vehement; she relished making me feel guilty and I let her. I thought it better for her to blame me instead of the boy.”

  I leaned back in my chair. The hall was dimming, the afternoon fading toward early winter dusk. “She certainly knew who Raff was today,” I reminded him. “She admitted as much and implied he had been deliberately abandoned here, among other things.”

  “Yes. She changed her tune after the tutor arrived,” he said.

  A shiver went through me. “Why? Did Godwin know about Raff?”

  “He never mentioned it, if he did. Indeed, he seemed to despise and disregard the boy as much as Philippa did.”

  “Can you describe him to me?” I leaned toward him again, intent now on this revelation that the tutor’s appearance had altered the situation in the household.

  “He was…” Lord Vaughan considered, his hand trembling slightly as he smoothed the blood-spotted front of his doublet. “How shall I put it? You could not find a more diffident man, almost submissive. He always wore black and he spoke softly, so you had to pay close attention to what he said. Yet he had this air of sophistication, which he used to great effect. He entranced Philippa. He was comely, if too thin and pale, and despite his crippled leg, elegant of movement. He did not seem to me like a man who must earn his board teaching children, but then, as Philippa often said, I should know more than most to which depths people could fall.”

  “What did she mean by that?” I said. “What depths did she refer to?”

  “I suppose the fact that she too had fallen, marrying beneath her rank.” A bitter smile twisted his mouth, betraying that while he might never admit it aloud, he too had suffered for his choice of a spouse. “She never let me forget that had the circumstances been different, I would not have won her hand. In any event, she declared Godwin a gentleman, like those she had met growing up in her father’s house, of good breeding and position, who had, like her, lost much in the upheaval following King Henry’s break with Rome.”

  “Was Godwin papist, too?”

  Vaughan assented. “He attended mass with us, so, yes, he must have been.” His voice hardened a fraction. “I began to think my wife was in love with him. To hear her speak, you would think Godwin could do no wrong; it was he, in fact, who suggested Raff was no longer a suitable companion for our children and must be put to work instead. He told Philippa the boy was simple, hopeless at his lessons; that he ran off and hid for hours, and was leading our children astray. Philippa was adamant that Raff tend the stables. We had so few servants as it was and so much work to maintain the very roof over our heads…” He avoided my stare, his face visibly affected by his recollection. “Regardless, I carry the blame, for I did not argue against it. She would hear nothing in his defense and Raff—he had such fear of Godwin. He avoided the tutor at any cost.”

  “So, you let your wife and a hireling dictate the rule of your house,” I said, disgusted by his weakness, even as I was now certain Master Godwin had had far more sinister intent that Lord Vaughan could ever have suspected.

  “Not entirely,” he started to say. Then he paused. “Master Godwin worked for meager pay,” he explained. “We could hardly afford a tutor in the situation we were in, and Philippa was constantly fretting that he might seek a better position, though he told her he was content with a room and his books. I reasoned, as he was crippled, he must have had difficulties securing posts in the city—Londoners being what they are—and Raff preferred to be outside; he loved the animals, often bedding in the stables of his own accord. Bardolf followed him everywhere, and he had a sure hand with the horses, almost a talent for sensing if they were hurt or ill. He was more himself with the beasts than with any of us, and didn’t seem to mind.”

  I had no doubt Raff had welcomed it, anything to escape Lady Vaughan and the tutor. I kept the thought to myself, however, for there remained a final piece to the mystery I needed to resolve. “You did not like or trust Master Godwin yet you allowed him to accompany Lady Parry to fetch the physician for your son. I must confess that I find that strange. Why would you entrust your aunt’s safety to the very man whom you believed your wife conspired with?”

  “What I told you about that day is the truth,” he insisted. “No, I did not care for Godwin. How could I? No man cares to see his wife beholden to another, but he taught our children well and never showed us any disrespect. York is but a day away. My son was dying. Godwin offered to
be of service, and with my aunt so determined, it seemed the only way. I did send that note we found on her horse to court. It was the first time I had dared write to the queen. Philippa was irate; the fact that Godwin had also vanished, along with Henry’s death—she wanted us to hide any evidence of Lady Parry’s visit and report that my aunt had never arrived here. I refused. I told her we must welcome any assistance Her Grace could provide. But no one came until you.”

  I believed him. I saw it in his eyes, the anguished candor. He had killed his own wife to stop her from destroying whatever was left of his life; he had done it for Abigail, more than to save me, but he had not willingly dispatched Lady Parry to her fate. Yet perhaps his wife had; perhaps she and Godwin had been planning something nefarious that Lady Parry’s unexpected arrival had interrupted. Perhaps the very reason for her rift with Lady Philippa had arisen because Lady Parry had suspected her and Godwin and confronted them. I might never discover their intent now. Philippa Vaughan was dead, and though I had found Raff, I was no closer to discovering the whereabouts of Lady Parry or the tutor, though now I believed at least one of them was alive. Godwin’s horse had never been found. What if he had taken Lady Parry after they left the manor? If so, he could be the stranger who had sent the poisoned box to the queen and stalked me on the journey here.

  Nevertheless, in order to satisfy or refute my suspicions, I had to return to court. I had to expose my own self and wait for him to strike. He had had plenty of time and opportunity to come for me here, and thus far, he had kept his distance since the incident on the road. Whatever he planned, I had the disquieting sense that he wanted me back in London.

  “This cipher you were provided to correspond with Lady Parry: Do you still have it?”

  Lord Vaughan gave me a startled look. “I … I fear not.” As he saw me frown, he added, “I wanted to employ it to compose my letter to the queen, but when I went to find it, I realized it was gone.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I immediately had Vaughan search his study—a mess of documents and estate paperwork strewn everywhere in the chasm that had opened around him since his son’s death. Following several hours of futile exploration, he failed to unearth the cipher. He was deeply apologetic, almost distraught as he told me he had always stored it with the bundle of letters from his aunt. He showed me the letters, wrapped in faded ribbon and kept in the back of a desk drawer.

  “It was here,” he said. “I swear to you; it’s been here for years, ever since Raff came to us. I used it various times to read the letters my aunt sent. I don’t understand how I could lose it.”

  “You did not lose it,” I replied. “Godwin took it from you.”

  His face blanched. I did not explain further, striding back into the hall to prepare my departure. Though I could not condone what Lord Vaughan had let happen, upon my return to court I would do everything I could to shield him from Elizabeth’s wrath. He was misguided and craven, enslaved to drink and his wife’s caprice, but he was not cruel. He had no doubt been the sole bulwark between Raff and Lady Vaughan. If only for that, he deserved mercy. He could not have known that in hiring Godwin, he had admitted a viper into his house. That cipher he believed lost was the key to the letter in the poisoned box. Godwin had stolen and used it. He was indeed the stranger behind Lady Parry’s abduction and the attempt on the queen; he was the man I hunted. I had to find him before he found me.

  I departed Vaughan Hall under the cover of night. As I rode away, Bardolf stood at the gates and lifted a mournful howl.

  As Cinnabar was eager to stretch his legs after too many days in the stable, I gave him rein, galloping through Withernsea with the promise that I would never see that dismal village again. In my cloak pocket, I carried Raff’s ring.

  * * *

  I barely stopped until I reached London, pausing only to rest for a few hours and fill both my belly and that of my horse in whatever ramshackle inn I found, before pushing onward, almost past endurance. Steady snowfall fell as I neared the city. Upon reaching the gates, the church bells tolled for evensong, a cacophony of sonorous clangs that warmed my icy feet and hands. Home, I thought. I was home at last; and with this thought, a smile cracked my dry lips. Not long ago, London had been a wasteland of terror and sorrow for me, but now as I rode through the crowded streets to Whitehall, I remembered that I had not yet visited the churchyard near the Tower, where Peregrine lay buried. I must go there once this assignation was over, to pay my respects and tell him that I would never stop mourning or missing him and I had found another boy who needed me—forsaken, often scared yet never defeated, a child like each of us had been.

  I showed my safe conduct signed by the queen to sentinels posted outside the palace. Increased security was evident everywhere I looked, guards stationed at the foot of every staircase and by every exit. I led Cinnabar across the inner courtyard to the stable block, where I brushed him down and saw him safely in his stall, then paused at the water trough to gaze into the near-frozen water.

  My reflection was dim but I saw enough of my appearance to realize I would never get past the guards encircling Elizabeth’s apartments. I should have made my way to my chamber in the palace and at least attempted to make myself more presentable.

  I did not. Hurrying up the staircase, I strode through the tapestried labyrinth of passages where few courtiers lingered; it was that rare hour between royal appearances, if Elizabeth had even been making them—too late for her daily stroll in the gallery and too early for her repast in the hall. It suited me fine; I would prefer not to contend with anyone outside her immediate circle. With any luck, Cecil and her councilors would be at various tasks, scheming over their papers, so she and I could speak alone.

  In my mind, I braced myself. I had thought of little else during the journey back, reciting words that varied between accusatory and reproachful. She had sent me to Vaughan Hall without the truth, as Kate had warned. Once again, she had relied on my loyalty to play on my emotion and see to it that I left without being fully aware of what lay at stake. I knew she could not have told me here, in this place of subterfuge, with every room infested with ear holes; but she still should have imparted more than she had. All I could reason was that she had feared telling me her secret. She must not have slept easy all these years, burdened by the sacrifice she had made, but she had still sent Lady Parry to Vaughan Hall. Only weeks on her throne, one of her first acts had centered on Raff. I must at least allow her an explanation.

  I ran my hands over my soiled doublet, adjusting my belt and eyeing my mud-spattered boots as I neared the archway to her apartments. As I had anticipated, guards were there, sprawled in the alcove, caps at their sides as they played dice with the relaxed demeanors of men with too much time on their hands. The sight relieved me. Evidently, there had been no other attempts on the queen thus far or Cecil would never have tolerated such insouciance.

  As they saw me approach they scrambled to their feet, grabbing for their pikes to face me. I was about to reach into my doublet for my safe conduct when a voice from behind me called, “Halt!” and I turned to see men striding toward me with grim visages.

  At their head was Robert Dudley.

  I cursed under my breath. I should have expected this. I made a pact with him only to vanish without a word; he had no doubt been seething. He would now harass me, try to impede my meeting with Elizabeth, but I would not allow it. I had had enough of his insufferable arrogance.

  Lifting my chin as he came before me, his nostrils flared under his fine chiseled nose, I said, “My lord, I am honored by your welcome.”

  His mouth curled; with a teeth-baring smile, he hissed, “Honored? You thieving cur: The honor is all mine.” Without removing his virulent stare from me, he ordered, “Take him,” and the men behind him—guards in breastplates and oiled cloaks—surrounded me.

  I forced myself to remain calm. “You are about to make a grave mistake. I bring urgent news for Her Majesty and she will not be pleased—”

&
nbsp; He leaned to me, exuding the costly scent of ambergris from his bejeweled damask. “You are correct. Her Majesty is indeed far from pleased. Dee deciphered the letter we found in the box. Do you know what it said?”

  I went still. “I surely do not.”

  His smile widened. “Oh, I think you do. I think you know very well. Royal blood, indeed.” As he started to step back, to lift his gloved hand to issue another command to the guards, I said angrily, “I am the queen’s man. You must free me at once. I must warn her. I demand to see Her Majesty this instant.”

  Dudley shot out his fist, slamming it into my face and reeling me backward against the guards. “You will demand nothing, traitor. We now know what you have been about all along. You seek the queen’s demise for your own miserable ends. You shall never see or speak to her again.” He barked at the guards: “He is to be taken to the Tower.”

  I started yelling as they dragged me down the gallery, kicking and struggling, blood from my split lip seeping into my mouth. My cries reverberated. “I must see her! Elizabeth!”

  But as they hauled me away with Dudley at their heels, the wide-eyed sentinels at her door remained in place. No one emerged from her apartments, though I could hear Urian barking from behind her closed doors. No one came to see what was happening.

  Elizabeth did not appear.

  * * *

  A barge waited at Whitehall’s water stairs. The tide ran low, and as they shoved me into the barge under the canopy, pikes aimed and ready to skewer if I attempted to escape, Dudley sat on the bench before me and instructed the wherry men to bring us to the Tower’s water gate.

  Traitor’s Gate.

  You seek the queen’s demise for your own miserable ends …

  I found myself trembling, watching the city slip past as we sailed down the Thames, the streets bustling with pedestrians, the facades of taverns and inns and shops crowded against one another. Snow drifted down about us in swirling flurries; as we neared the Bridge, I tried to brace myself with my feet against the barge’s sides, as we gathered speed from the water funneling through the arches and careened through, jolting and swaying, pitched almost vertical in the foaming rush.