The Tudor Conspiracy - Gortner Christopher W. - Страница 46
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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.
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