C. Gortner: The Tudor Conspiracy

“What of her?” Her anxiety was infectious; I found myself looking over my shoulder as I spoke, half-expecting the front door to burst open to reveal men at arms.

“She’s staying in bed.” Mistress Parry shook her head at my concern. “With a disposition like hers, she’s prone to fever. She’ll live, but she’s too ill to rise or”-she set her jaw in a hard line-“greet any visitors. Those fine lords, whoever they are, will be in for a difficult time if they think they can come here to berate her.”

It was a ploy, I knew it at once. A sick princess would be hard to move. I didn’t comment as the other servants on the staff-the serving maid and kitchen personnel, a few idle grooms-crowded into the hall. To a person, they looked terrified.

“Get,” Mistress Parry said with a wave of her hand, and the staff hurried back to their posts. She turned to me. “You, too. The last thing we need is one of them asking how the man who once served the queen is now in Her Grace’s house.”

She was right. I had to disappear. Fast.

I ran up to my room and started cramming everything I had pulled from my saddlebag back into it. I was looking around to make sure I hadn’t missed anything when I heard the men’s horses cantering into the courtyard, followed by rough demands of the grooms as they dismounted.

They were inside the manor before I could reach my door; I could hear their booted heels, monstrously loud, and Mistress Parry’s indignant protest. “My lady is abed! She has taken with fever. You cannot intrude on her-”

I hoisted my saddlebag to my shoulder, my other hand on my sword. Daring a glance into the passageway, I glimpsed men with caps bunched in fists as they came up the staircase and turned down the opposite corridor to the princess’s apartment. The startled cry of one of her attendants preceded brusque rapping on her bedchamber door.

“Madam, open at once! We come in Her Majesty the queen’s name!”

I inched backward into my room. My breath came fast. Maybe they wouldn’t search the manor. Maybe they’d just question her, and when they discovered that she had been here all this time, abed, they’d-

Footsteps marched toward me.

Wildly, I started to move to the bed, thinking to hide under it. I was not fast enough. The door banged open. A sentry stood on the threshold. “You.” He jabbed a gauntleted finger at me. “Downstairs. Now.”

He accompanied me to the hall. The entire manor staff had been assembled, the maids openly weeping, the men white-faced. I was grateful Mistress Ashley and Kate were not here. With any luck, Mistress Parry hadn’t yet sent their summons.

The queen’s men milled about the hall, the central table cluttered with the detritus of their office: bags, weaponry, paper, quills and ink bottles. I recognized a few of the men from my time at court, though I didn’t know their names; they were from the council. As the sentry pushed me into line with the other servants, one of the men-a lean, white-haired noble with a forked beard and the commanding stance of a man in charge-pivoted toward me and stared, hard, as if he were searching his mind for my identity.

Then he looked away and I sagged in relief, lowering my eyes and chin.

In a cold voice he announced, “I am Lord William Howard, Admiral of England. I am here by Her Majesty’s command to search this house and inquire into the activities of said household as it pertains to the recent treasonous revolt against the queen’s sovereign person. Thomas Wyatt and others have been apprehended and are in the Tower. Her Majesty will show mercy to the innocent, if such can be proved, but none of you are to leave the manor or its grounds on penalty of immediate arrest.” He treated us to a frigid stare that emphasized his authority before he motioned to the sentries, who herded the servants out.

I was turning to leave when Lord Howard’s voice came at me. “Not you.”

I looked over my shoulder. He had recognized me. I bowed. “My lord.”

“Haven’t I seen you at court?” He did not speak as if it were a question, but I decided to risk it, nevertheless. “You may have, my lord. I’ve been in Her Grace’s employ and have occasionally run errands for her at-”

“Do you lie to me?” His voice did not raise a decibel, but the threat in his tone was unmistakable. “Because if you do, I warn you, we have ways to loosen the tongues of liars so that they learn to speak the truth.”

I went quiet. As I considered my next move, I wondered who had betrayed me this time. Renard was the most likely culprit; after our confrontation outside my room, he had every reason to want to see me disappear. He had lost control of his own agent; Sybilla had turned rogue, stolen the evidence he sought, made him look the fool. Only he, too, had something to lose if I were to confess what I knew; I could certainly tell Lord Howard of how the Spanish ambassador had done his utmost to bring down the queen’s sister, failing in the process to intercept the revolt brewing under his nose. It might not save me, but I was fairly certain Renard would rather his own sordid failings didn’t come to light.

Lord Howard tilted his head. “What is your name?”

I hesitated for a second before I said, “Prescott, my lord. Squire Prescott.” Again, it was a feeble attempt to gain time. Renard and Mary both knew me as Daniel Beecham; if Renard had told these men to look for me, Beecham was the name he’d cite.

“Prescott,” mused Lord Howard. “Well, Prescott, you’re not to leave the premises. I want you where I can find you, at all times. I may have reason to speak with you again.”

“Yes, my lord,” I murmured, inclining my head. He did not move, watching me turn to the door. I anticipated he’d call me back before I had the chance to step out, that he’d realize where exactly he had seen me at court, coming and going from the queen’s own apartments, and then I’d find myself in boiling water, indeed.

A man without a past cannot exist …

Howard did not stop me.

* * *

Guards were placed at the princess’s door; no one but Mistress Parry and members of the council was allowed to see her. I sat with the servants in the kitchens that night, listening with one ear to their hushed, anxious chatter while with the other I strained to overhear Lord Howard and his men deliberating over their dinner in the hall.

Mistress Parry came in with a tray, bearing Elizabeth’s untouched meal; I drew her aside. “What is happening? What do you know?”

Clearly frightened despite her outward stance, she whispered, “Wyatt’s rebellion failed. But it looked at first as though it might succeed; he had over two thousand men under his command, while the council refused to vote the queen so much as five hundred more guards. She marched straight to the Guildhall and gave such a speech that all London took to her defense. Wyatt’s men deserted him when they saw the forces arrayed against them. Lord Howard was there; he barred the rebel entry at Ludgate. By nightfall, Wyatt surrendered. There’ve been deaths on both sides, but not many.”

“And now?” I thought of Scarcliff. Had he fought for or against Wyatt?

“There’ll be more,” she replied grimly. “Every last man in that rebel army is being pursued. That’s not the worst of it, either. I was in my lady’s room today when Lord Howard informed her that a letter, purported to be from Wyatt, informing her of his plan, was found in a packet of secret missives being sent abroad. The queen is enraged. She’s ordered that my lady be brought to court at once. I’m insisting she’s too ill to travel, but Howard has sent for a physician. We’ve a few days, at best. When the physician arrives and examines her, he’ll pronounce her fit. He can do nothing else.”