The Tudor Conspiracy - Gortner Christopher W. - Страница 12

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“I suggest you look elsewhere,” he snapped. “Mistress Darrier is already spoken for.”

Though I didn’t look at him again, I felt his stare follow me as I left the room, like the tip of a dagger poised between my shoulder blades.

It did not escape me that he had issued a warning.

Rochester gave me directions to Renard’s office-a series of turns and passages I hoped I’d remember-along with his effusive congratulations. “Well done! Don Renard is a fine man to work for, upright and devoted to Her Majesty’s interests. You’d be hard-pressed to find a better post at court.” He winked. “Or, I’ll wager, one better suited to make your fortune. I hear these Hapsburg officials piss ducats.”

Amused, I thanked him again for his kindness and took the staircase to the painting-hung gallery. Outside the mullioned bays, I saw the snow had stopped. A wan sun struggled to cast off winter’s pall, shedding anemic light into the courtyards.

I ruminated on what I had learned thus far. I had seen a portrait of Philip of Spain in Mary’s private rooms, a sure sign that she was seriously considering, if she had not already accepted, the Hapsburg offer of marriage. Elizabeth’s absence from the queen’s chambers was telling, too, suggesting a possible rift between the queen and her sister. Elizabeth went riding every morning with Courtenay; if he was supporting an anti-Hapsburg faction, might she be utilizing her friendship with him to indicate her own disfavor with a Spanish union for the queen? It would be typical of her: By not saying anything out loud, she was in fact stating her position quite clearly.

I turned my thoughts to Renard. He had no reason to trust me, a stranger who had arrived at court with nothing save my past actions on the queen’s behalf to commend me. I had added to his suspicions by showing influence with Mary and coercing him to offer me a post. What awaited me tomorrow at our meeting?

I also wondered about Sybilla, an Englishwoman raised abroad, newly returned to England, and, according to Renard, “spoken for.” I wasn’t the most experienced when it came to women, but I knew jealousy when I heard it, and the ambassador spoke like a covetous man. Yet Sybilla had engaged me on purpose with her subtle flirtations, and she had done it before him. Why? What connection, if any, did she have with Renard?

I quickened my pace. It wasn’t until I reached my room that I realized how fast I’d been walking, as if I were about to be detained at any moment. I had to smile. In less than a day, I’d managed to gain audience with the queen and secure an appointment with Simon Renard, the man whom Cecil believed was intent on destroying Elizabeth. I should be congratulating myself. I knew, though, how the court could enmesh one in its tendrils, how easy it was to fall prey to unseen traps. I had to watch my every step.

After checking that everything in my room was in order, I threw on my cloak and braved the maze of the palace. If my luck held up, I’d be able to get to the stables and chat with Peregrine’s new groom-friend myself. I wanted to learn more about Courtenay and his relationship with Elizabeth, but I had just crossed the quadrangle and barely approached the long, painted stable block when Peregrine came running out, his cheeks flushed from the cold. When he saw me, he skidded to a halt.

“I saw her!” he burst out. “She spoke to me!”

I didn’t need to ask whom he referred to. “Quiet!” I clamped a hand to his shoulder, looking about. A few ostlers idled nearby. “Not another word,” I said, and I hustled him back to the palace. As soon as I closed our chamber door, I turned to him. “Tell me exactly what she said.”

“Well, she came into the stables after her ride. I was tending to Cinnabar. He has a wound on his forelock; he must have been nicked by a stone on the road. Anyway, I was salving it when she walked in with a nobleman. They were laughing. He called for a groom to take his horse, and I volunteered to take it. She recognized me but pretended not to. When the lord left-she kept calling him ‘sweet cousin’-she spoke to me. She was not pleased. She said we should not have come to court without her leave.”

Relief washed over me. That sounded like her. “Of course she’d say that, but at least now she knows we’re here. Did she say anything else?”

“No, the lord was waiting for her outside. She said she had a headache from his endless chatter and was going to nap before she changed for the queen’s feast. Oh, and she told me to take care of Urian, seeing as I stole him away.”

It was a message: She wanted me to know she’d be in the hall tonight. The “sweet cousin” she had been with was Courtenay. I had just missed him. A few minutes earlier and I might have had the chance to gauge this man whose relationship with Elizabeth was starting to cause me grave concern.

“What was the nobleman like?” I asked.

Peregrine blew air out the side of his mouth. “Rude, like most of his ilk. He didn’t tip me for taking his horse, though grooms survive on tips. And he looked at me as if I was going to steal something when Her Grace said she wanted a word with me about her dog.”

I felt a prickle of alarm. Courtenay sounded mistrustful, not an encouraging sign.

“You did well,” I said. “Now she knows we’re here and won’t be surprised if she sees me. But I want you to stay away from this Courtenay fellow. I don’t like the sound of him.”

Peregrine nodded. I went to the coffer, taking out my new vermilion doublet and the wrapped cloth protecting my shoulder chain. As I unfolded the cloth, exposing the thick gilded links, Peregrine whistled. “Nice! That must have cost a few angels.”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s fake. I brought you a new jerkin and sleeves, too.”

“But not of velvet. I wager I don’t have a chain to go with it, either.”

I laughed. “What a squire you’re turning out to be!” I clapped him on the back. “Let’s use wash water and soap. Tonight, we will feast with the court, my friend.”

I made sure not to watch as he hand washed himself, concentrating on my own necessities until I heard him make an annoyed sound. I turned to find him standing stiff in his new garb, his unruly hair oiled and tamed to damp ringlets that fell to his shoulders, the green wool of the jerkin bringing out the emerald hue in his eyes.

“You clean up nicely,” I remarked.

He scowled. “It itches. It feels like I have fleas.”

“Well, you were in the stables all morning.” I turned back to my small hand mirror, which I’d propped on the stool. As I adjusted the linked chain about my shoulders, I remembered my weapon. I was sheathing my poniard in my boot when Peregrine said suddenly, “Are we in danger, too?”

I paused.

“If you would just tell me what is happening, I might be able to help-”

I held up my hand. “You promised, remember? No questions.” My tone softened. “I just need to speak to Her Grace in private. It may be that I’ll need your help.”

His face brightened, as I knew it would. I turned to my bag and removed quill, ink, and paper. Ripping off a section of paper, I wrote quickly.

The stables. Tomorrow at midday.

I didn’t dare write more, in case my note should fall into the wrong hands. I folded the ripped paper into a small square that fit in my palm and slipped it into my doublet before turning to Peregrine. “Do you want me to deliver it?” he asked eagerly.

“We’ll see,” I said. “First, let’s find out what this night has in store. Come. We don’t want to be late for our first big event at court.”

* * *

The cavernous great hall was large and surprisingly warm, boasting two enormous hearths fashioned of imported Caen stone, both of which glowed with scented fires. The vast hammer-beamed ceiling high above was barely visible, its painted vaulting clouded by a pall of smoke from the many gilded candelabras and torches set in cressets on the walls.

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