The Tudor Conspiracy Page 8

  “Yes, he was there!” Courtenay was turning to and fro, peering furiously into the gallery. “By all the devils in hell, he was eavesdropping on us, and now we’ve lost him!”

  “Who are you talking about?” asked Elizabeth. “I didn’t see anyone.”

  Courtenay’s voice edged. “That nobody from the hall, who made such a show of rescuing Jane Dormer’s dog, He must have followed us.” Without awaiting the princess’s response, he swung about to his henchman, who lumbered up with a distinctive limp, an unsheathed dagger in his fist. By the looks of it, the earl had hired a mercenary. “You idiot,” spat Courtenay, “you were supposed to keep watch!” He lifted a hand as if to strike the man, but Elizabeth interposed herself between them.

  “Enough,” she declared. “You told him to wait behind the postern door for our privacy, remember? How could he have kept watch?”

  “He’s a miserable whoreson,” snarled Courtenay. He stabbed his hand at the henchman. “Get back to the hall and find him. If he overheard enough to tell Renard or, God forbid, the queen, we won’t need Philip of Spain to come and burn us. Mary will do it for him.” Courtenay’s voice twisted, his lips drawn back to show his teeth. “I’ll take Her Grace back to her chambers. You do what I pay you for and get rid of that mongrel-come-out-of-nowhere before he ruins everything!”

  My breath shattered in my throat as I heard Elizabeth start to protest again; then her voice faded as Courtenay steered her away. In the silence that fell at their departure, I discerned footfalls starting toward me. I shouldn’t have chosen the first place I saw to hide. The hall lay in my direction. The earl’s man was going to walk right past me.

  I eased my poniard from my boot, keeping it pointed inward so the blade wouldn’t catch a stray reflection from the meager light. I had no illusions. He was big enough to smash me to splinters, even if I somehow managed to evade his dagger. Nevertheless, I was going to give it my best. Maybe if I put up enough of a fight and shouted loud enough, he’d not have time to kill me. The earl wouldn’t want his man embroiled in a public murder at court.

  My skin crawled as his shadow loomed, inches from where I crouched. He wasn’t quite as large as he’d first seemed, though more than enough to make me wish I had my sword. I couldn’t see anything of his face save for a misshapen nose peeking from his cowl. Time stopped. My heart thudded like an anvil. He paused, so close I might have reached out and touched his cloak. His head swiveled slowly toward me. My hand closed on the hilt of my poniard as I prepared to raise it and strike—

  He moved on.

  I held my breath, my body tense, braced for a lethal spring. I couldn’t believe it. How had he not seen me? It wasn’t that dark. Was he night-blind? I didn’t move, listening to his footsteps fade away. Maybe he thought to stalk his prey by pretending to let it go. The moment I slipped out, he’d charge me like a bull, seize me from behind to throttle me … but as the minutes passed with agonizing slowness, nothing happened. I heard only the cresset flame sizzling in its sconce, the clamor of music and laughter drifting from the hall.

  Finally I dared to look. The gallery stretched into darkness.

  Empty.

  I slipped from the window seat. Sheathing my poniard, I hurried to my room.

  Peregrine was waiting for me, Urian on the bed. The tallow was lit. As I entered, Urian growled. When he recognized me, he thumped his tail.

  “Good dog.” I reached down to pet him. Only now that I was in my room did the impact of what I’d just been through hit me, tying such knots in my stomach that I felt I might be sick.

  “Did you find the earl?” asked Peregrine. His eyes widened. “You look awful.”

  “Yes, well, it hasn’t been an easy night.” I started to unclasp my belt. “I found him, but then I nearly fell afoul of his henchman.”

  “Henchman?”

  “Yes. It seems that man watching me in the hall is a beast the earl hired as a bodyguard.” I yanked off my doublet, raking a hand through my damp hair. Despite the cold, I was sweating, and, as usual, I had lost my cap somewhere. Peregrine was quiet, taking my doublet and folding it.

  “I don’t know what the hell is going on here. I saw Her Grace give Courtenay something, and judging by the way they spoke, the things he said—whatever is happening, he’s knee-deep in it, and it’s more dangerous than any of us thought.” I paced to the coffer. “Maybe I should send you back.”

  “Back?” Peregrine gaped in dismay. “Back where? To Hatfield?”

  “After what happened tonight, it would be safest. I won’t put you in harm’s way, and now it seems I am a target. Renard suspects me, and Courtenay wants me dead. The only saving grace in all this is that neither of them is likely to tell the other anything.”

  “Then let me help you!” He took an imploring step to me. “I know this palace like the back of my hand. I can find out things you need to know. You can’t do it all, not if it’s as dangerous as you say, and I…” His voice drifted off as he took in my expression. His mouth set in a stubborn line. “No.”

  I eyed him. “If I tell you to go, you will.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I’ll strap you to your horse and send you back with an escort.”

  “To Hatfield?” He scoffed. “I don’t think so, not unless you want them to know that’s where you came from. Besides, I can’t go back. I … I promised Kate.”

  My heart sank. “You promised her?”

  “Yes. It was the only reason she let me accompany you. I told her I’d keep watch over you. But I can’t do it, can I, if you won’t let me?”

  “You can’t do it anyway. She should never have asked it of you.”

  “She didn’t. I offered.” He dragged his foot back and forth on the floor. “I heard her talking to Mistress Ashley one night. She sounded so worried. She said danger follows Elizabeth like a curse, but the princess in turn curses everyone who serves her with the need to save her. And you’ve got it worst of all, she said. You’ll do anything to protect her.”

  “Kate said all that to you?”

  “Not to me. She didn’t know I was there. I was hiding in the pantry. Besides, what does it matter? She’s right, isn’t she? You love the princess more than anyone.”

  Urian whined from the bed, sensing the tension between us. I went to Peregrine and set my hand on his shoulder. He went still. “Peregrine, look at me.” When he didn’t, I cupped his chin. Tears brimmed in his eyes. “It’s not true,” I said. “Yes, I love Her Grace and I am sworn to serve her, but it’s not the kind of love I bear for Kate or for you. You are my family.” I resisted the guilt of my own deceit. I couldn’t explain to him that my service to the princess was bound by more than a pledge; that we shared the same blood, though she didn’t know it. Elizabeth was my kin.

  “You … you see me as family?” he whispered.

  “Like a brother.” I ruffled his hair. “Now wipe your nose. Not with your sleeve. That’s a new jerkin, remember?” He searched his bag and came up with a nose-cloth; I sat on the bed and scratched Urian’s head as Peregrine dabbed his face.

  “I slipped her that note, telling her we should meet tomorrow at the stables,” I said, “but I had a sense tonight that she knew I was there. Hopefully she can tell me exactly what Courtenay is concocting.”

  “What if she doesn’t?” said Peregrine. “She hasn’t exactly made it easy thus far, has she? I mean, she didn’t ask for anyone’s help though she’s been in danger.”

  I went quiet. He was right. Elizabeth had told Courtenay that she dwelled on the edge of an abyss, but none of us who cared for her—not I or Kate, Mistress Ashley or Cecil—had received a single request for help from her. I knew she was proud, and overly secretive, but now I also knew that Robert Dudley played a role here, and I did not trust Robert Dudley with anything.

  Could Elizabeth be protecting the very man who could be her downfall?

  “If she doesn’t tell you the truth,” Peregrine said, “I can get you Courtenay inst
ead.”

  “What did you just say?”

  His words tumbled out in haste. “After the princess left the stables this morning, my friend Toby—that stable boy who told me she goes riding with Courtenay, remember?—he said Courtenay pays him extra for one of the palace horses to be kept at his disposal at night. I could find out why. I mean, most noblemen don’t take out anonymous horses for rides in the dead of night, do they?”

  “No, they don’t,” I said. “This Toby is a veritable well of information. I suppose he knows how Courtenay likes his shirts hemmed, too?”

  Peregrine gave me an exasperated look. “Did you think stable help survives on the mere pittance they’re paid, if they get paid? Most of the lads take on additional work whenever they get the chance. I did it myself. Those extra coins can make the difference between a meal and scrounging in the ditches with the beggars.”

  I winced. All this time he’d endured my treating him as if he were an irresponsible adolescent, when he’d experienced more in his short lifetime than I could possibly imagine.

  “God’s teeth, I am an ass,” I said.

  He shrugged. “How can you know what it’s like to be alone?” His remark stabbed through me, sharp with the memory of my own difficult childhood. Before I could say that actually I did know what it was like, he said, “So, are you going to let me help you? You need help, even if you won’t admit it. You can’t do all of this on your own.”

  I couldn’t believe I was actually considering it after I’d just had a man the size of an ox come after me, but he was right. I had no idea when or how, but I had no doubt that given enough time, Courtenay’s henchman would find me. I had to get to the earl first. This might be my only means. After tonight, I couldn’t take anything for granted, including Elizabeth’s cooperation, especially if she had something to hide. Moreover, I couldn’t convince Peregrine to return to Hatfield. I’d have to gag and tether him, and he’d still worm his way back. I knew that look on his face. He was determined to be of service, and better I set the rules. At least I could keep my eye on him.

  “I don’t like it,” I said begrudgingly, “but yes, for now you can help.” I reached into my pouch and tossed him a few coins. “See what you can find out. Take this, too.” I removed my poniard from my boot. “I don’t want you going around without a weapon.”

  He nodded eagerly, stashing the dagger and coins in his bag.

  “Just don’t let the other grooms know. I wouldn’t want…” My voice faded as he rolled his eyes. At that moment I was very glad to have Peregrine as my squire.

  “Now let’s get some rest,” I said, chuckling. “I have to deal with Renard tomorrow while you arrange everything with Toby.”

  Peregrine grinned and started setting up his makeshift bed on the floor. As he stripped to his shirt and bundled up on the floor in his cloak, I said, “We need to get you a cot,” and blew out the tallow. He grunted in response.

  I had barely settled into my bed when I heard his soft snore. He had fallen into deep sleep as only the truly young can, exhausted by the day’s events.

  I stared into the darkness. The day’s events unspooled in my mind in disjointed fragments, along with Peregrine’s words: You’ll do anything to protect her.

  Much as I wanted to deny it, I feared that I just might.

  Chapter Seven

  Simon Renard’s office—if such it could be called—was located in the northernmost wing of the palace, crammed between a gloomy disused courtyard and outer gatehouse leading into the park. It wasn’t sumptuous or even particularly well appointed, certainly not what I’d expect for the high-powered ambassador of Emperor Charles V, who represented Hapsburg interests at court. Rather, the antechamber where Renard’s staff worked stank of cheap tallow, must, and mildew. Boxes crammed with papers were piled in every conceivable corner, precarious towers that looked unsteady enough to keel over at any moment. At two desks placed opposite each other hunched morose clerks who looked as if they’d not seen the sun in years; they had matching quills in their ink-splotched hands and the same resentful expressions on their faces when I informed them I had an appointment with the ambassador.

  “Wait,” one grumbled, pointing to what looked like a stool buried under a heap of ledgers. The other clerk rose slowly, almost indifferently, and trudged to the door, knocking twice before he entered and closed the creaking door behind him.

  I remained standing, as far as I could from the leaning pillars of paper, smiling at the remaining clerk. He scowled and bent his head over his work. His slightly more rotund but equally ill-humored twin emerged from the room a few moments later and said to me, “Leave your weapon with us.”

  I unbuckled the scabbard from my waist and set it on his desk. “It’s expensive,” I added. “I expect you to take care of it.” The clerk grunted. I wondered what he would think if he’d known the sword had once belonged to our late King Edward; crafted of Toledo steel, it was worth a small fortune. He might not have cared. I could have carried a harquebus under my cloak for all the attention he paid me.

  I stepped through the door into a tidier chamber, boasting a mullioned window that offered a blurry view of the snow-speckled parkland beyond. The air here was sweet. Renard must enjoy beeswax candles for light. A brazier in the corner exuded heat.

  “Ah, Master Beecham.” Simon Renard stepped from behind his desk, hand extended. Once again I was struck by his self-assurance. “You’re punctual. Good. I like that.”

  He wore unrelieved black, the wool of his doublet of high quality, the fine cambric shirt peeking above his collar edged in distinctive Spanish lacework. Without his cap, I saw his russet brown hair was thinning on top, his high unlined forehead adding distinction to his features. He’d seen a barber this morning: I could detect faint soap on his person, and his beard was cut closer to his chin.

  He motioned to a chair. I declined his offer of wine. “Too early?” he remarked. “Punctual and abstentious. Most unusual for an Englishman, if I may be so candid.”

  “My lord is gracious,” I said. My senses heightened as I watched him pour a precise measure of red wine into a goblet, to which he added a portion of water. He acted as if our encounter yesterday were of no importance. It was an enviable quality—and a telling one.

  Men like him were not the forgiving type.

  He paced to his window. “Such a dreary winter.” He sighed. “The snow reminds me of Castile, except here it’s damper and lasts longer. The cold—it hurts my bones.”

  I kept my gaze steady. “Has my lord been in England long?”

  “Sometimes it feels like forever.” He returned to the desk. “It’s been a little over eight months. Before this, I was stationed in Paris, but my wife and children reside in Brussels. I’d hoped to visit them this year, but alas”—he swept his hand over the broad leather-bound notebooks and other detritus on his desk—“an ambassador’s work never ends.”

  I wasn’t taken in by his complaint or casual imparting of personal information. He hadn’t agreed to see me to discuss the weather or his official woes.

  I said, “Winter can be harsh. This one may get worse.”

  “Yes. I’m told the Thames is close to freezing over. A rarity, I hear.” His smile lingered as he resumed his seat. He had not yet tasted his wine.

  He let the silence between us settle. Another trick of the trade, one Cecil had employed to significant effect. It induced a subtle anxiety that could compel a less patient man to initiate conversation. I was not susceptible to it. Not anymore.

  His smile faded. “Her Majesty and I spoke at length about you after you left us. She assures me you are trustworthy.” He set his goblet aside. So he, too, was abstentious. His offer of wine must have been either a test of my stated sobriety or a means to loosen my tongue. “She gave me a detailed account of your previous efforts on her behalf. It was all most impressive, particularly coming from someone with no apparent stake in the outcome.”

  “My stake may not have been apparent,�
� I said, “but my payment depended on it.”

  “Oh, yes. Her Majesty told me you’re a man for hire, with no personal affiliations of your own. Though it does raise the question of why you chose to undertake those errands in the first place. At the time, Northumberland had the realm in his grip; it must have been widely believed he’d succeed in putting his daughter-in-law Jane Grey on the throne.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said, and his gaze sharpened. “I wasn’t privy to the duke’s plans. I was hired to convey a letter from the council, which I did, and Her Majesty was gracious enough to hire me in return. But surely Your Excellency has verified all this by now.”

  He reclined in his chair. “Unfortunately, I could not. No one on the council seems to remember having seen you, much less hired you.”

  “That’s because no one on the council did. I was hired by Cecil. Anyway, given the circumstances, I’m not the kind of person any of them would want to remember.”

  He let out a sudden laugh. “You are a fascinating fellow, most unexpected. I must confess, besides the comforts of home what I most miss about the Continent is stimulating conversation. In Paris, it’s a staple of life, like good bread or wine. Alas, I’ve not found not much of either here; Englishmen are entirely too preoccupied with these tiresome matters of religion. No one has much inclination to cross swords, so to speak.”

  “Unless it concerns that tiresome matter of religion,” I said, and he took up his goblet to sip. It reassured me. I’d gained enough confidence to precipitate his relaxation, if not his trust. Then he said, “Are you one to cross swords, Master Beecham?”

  I allowed myself a smile. “Is it a condition of my employment?”

  “Indulge me.”

  “If you’re asking if I’m inclined to fight for one faith over the other, the answer is no.”

  He arched a brow. “You have no preference?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just prefer not to fight over it. I’m a man for hire, as the queen said. My motto is ‘Whoever bids the highest. The soul can shift for itself.’”