The Tudor Conspiracy - Gortner Christopher W. - Страница 58
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Elizabeth sighed. “Thank you, my lord.” She drew herself erect. The yeomen closed in around her. She walked into the palace, Kate, Ashley, and Parry behind. Lifting the brass-banded leather chest from the cart, I caught Howard’s gaze.
His impervious mask had slipped, revealing a troubled countenance.
“Whatever you plan,” he muttered, “you’d best act fast.”
* * *
I hurried after Elizabeth. The passage was clammy, the vaulted stone ceiling low above our heads. We were brought to closed chambers without any windows, furnished with only the essentials. It was freezing; there were no braziers. Stepping back through the antechamber without a word, the yeomen bowed and shut the door on us.
Mistress Parry gaped in dismay. Ashley stomped her foot. “This is an outrage! Does Her Majesty mean to murder us by ague?”
Elizabeth sank wearily onto a stool, as if her bones had turned to water.
I deposited the chest on the floor. “Your letter,” I said. “I’ll take it to someone who doesn’t want to see you imprisoned any more than Howard does.”
She regarded me blankly. “Letter?”
“Yes, your letter to the queen. The one I asked you to write. Please, Your Grace. We must hurry. There is little time.”
Mistress Parry intervened. “I–I didn’t believe you. And we had no means. They confiscated the ink, quills, and paper from her chamber at Ashridge. She couldn’t write anything, so I … I didn’t give her your message.”
As Elizabeth whipped her stare to Parry, Kate knelt to rummage in her tapestry bag. She pulled out a sheaf of paper, a sharpened quill, and a small bottle of ink. Turning to the table, Elizabeth removed the stopper from the ink and dipped the quill. She paused, her hand poised over the paper. She looked at me. Then she leaned forward and started writing, her quill scratching furiously in the silence.
Kate watched me. I found it difficult to meet her eyes, to see the fear in them and know it was because I had failed to keep us safe. There was still time, though; if I could reach the queen and convince her, I might yet be able to avert the worst.
Elizabeth turned the page over, her tongue showing through her clenched teeth. Then she stopped writing as abruptly as she’d begun, perusing the page. She appeared to be deliberating, looking over her words for errors. Satisfied, she inked her quill again and slashed diagonal lines through the space at the bottom of the page before she signed it.
“Sand,” she said. Kate searched her bag again. “I didn’t bring any,” she said. She cursed. “We were in such a rush when the news came that we-we-” As I saw her falter, overwhelmed by the emotion she had held in check, Elizabeth pulled her close.
“Not you,” she murmured. “Not my brave Kate. Don’t you dare. If you start crying, then so shall I, and we both know all the tears in the world will not avail us.”
Over Kate’s head, Elizabeth lifted her gaze to me. She couldn’t know that I had betrayed Kate and taken another woman to my bed, but in that moment it was though she saw into the darkest part of me. In her regard I found the acceptance that I had denied myself, the understanding that she, too, had been prey to illicit desire. Yet her gaze also warned that those we loved must not suffer for it. There was no reason they should know how far we had trespassed.
“I must go.” My voice was raw. Kate turned from the princess, a trembling hand at her mouth. I made myself return her frightened look, putting my hand on my chest over the inner pocket of my doublet, where I had hidden the jeweled leaf.
“The tide will soon turn,” I told Elizabeth as she blew on the letter, drying the ink as best she could before folding it. I took it from her, stashed it in my cloak. “They can’t take you by barge to the Tower then. Do whatever it takes to ensure you stay here overnight.”
She nodded. “I will. God be with you, my friend.”
Bowing low, I walked out, feeling Kate’s gaze on me. I did not look back.
I did not deserve her, not anymore.
Nevertheless, I’d lay down my life to keep her and Elizabeth from further harm.
* * *
The palace was dark, torches sputtering on its facade scarcely illuminating the heavy winter night. Huddled in my cloak, I hurried along the courtyard, keeping to the pockets of shadow by the walls. Elizabeth’s arrival could not have gone unnoticed. I had to evade detection for as long as I could.
Taking a side staircase to a gallery, I paused, looking about. The offices I sought must be near the queen’s apartments. A discreet inquiry of a passing page set me in the right direction. I encountered more sentries than I’d seen in the palace before, but none displayed interest in me. I walked with purpose, adopting the gait of a menial with an important task to complete. Courtiers idled in alcoves, with a distinct lack of merriment. I assumed anyone with the means had fled London for the relative safety of the countryside, but I still saw evidence that the oiled machinery of the court remained in full motion, with secretaries and pages hurrying to assignations, bearing satchels and portfolios. No doubt the council would be up all night, debating a strategy for contending with the queen’s sister.
I found Rochester directing a clerk as he hovered over a desk heaped with ledgers.
“My apologies if I disturb,” I said from the threshold.
He looked up sharply, glowering at the interruption. He appeared exhausted, his habitual florid color drained. The events of the past days must have tired him beyond measure, leaving little time for wine or food, and less for sleep. When I tilted my hood back far enough for the candlelight to reveal my face, he barked at his clerk-“Go! Fetch those papers from the archives!”-and pretended to examine the open ledger before him as the clerk sidled out, with a glance at me. As soon as he was gone, Rochester breathed, “By the saints, are you insane? You’re no longer welcome here. If they find out you’ve returned, you’ll be arrested and thrown into a cell to rot.”
I closed the door. The room was stifling from a lit brazier in the corner. “I must speak to her.”
“Her?” he echoed, and then, as he realized my intent, he shook his head. “Out of the question. She will not see you. She refuses to see anyone, but she’ll especially refuse you.”
I removed the folded letter from my cloak. “I must deliver this to her. The princess’s life depends on it. You care about Elizabeth, too. I know you don’t want to see Renard win.”
He swallowed. “What-what do you mean by that?”
“You know. Just as you knew from the moment I arrived why I had come. You were expecting me. You knew Cecil would send someone because you had warned him.”
His aghast expression confirmed it: The anonymous informant at court was none other than Rochester, the queen’s trusted comptroller. The warnings of the peril Elizabeth faced from Renard and the impending betrothal to Prince Philip-they had come from him. It must have tormented his conscience. He loved the queen; he’d stayed at Mary’s side in her darkest hours, when Northumberland had the kingdom in his grip and no one believed she’d win the throne. Still, like many who served her, he also must believe she was about to commit a terrible mistake. English to his core, he couldn’t stomach the thought of a foreign power coming upon these shores or the terror that would follow in its wake.
“I am Her Majesty’s loyal servant,” he quavered. “You cannot prove anything against me. And if you try, I’ll deny it. All of it.”
“You don’t understand. I do not seek to-”
He came at me, seizing my wrist. “It is you who do not understand. Nothing can save her now. It is over. Finished. We have lost.” His voice shook. “The queen will not be dissuaded. She had Lady Jane Grey and Guilford Dudley executed today. I was there; I had to bear official witness to their deaths.”
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