His Dark Lady (32 page)

‘A formal execution seems overly complicated,’ Maude murmured. ‘To be beheaded, the Queen would have to be removed from all her women, her courtiers, and taken to a secret place where her crimes could be laid before her, and judgement given. Her death to follow instantly.’ He looked at Goodluck again in that sly, sideways manner. ‘It is how it should be done in a just world. But the chance of our plan being discovered is too high. A select gang, maybe five or six people at the most, that is how you murder a queen.’

Goodluck called his bluff. ‘Then what do you suggest? That we creep into the Royal Bedchamber and strangle the Queen in her sleep?’

Ballard laughed. ‘No, but Maude is right. We stand no chance of engineering a proper trial and execution, however much she deserves to see her death coming. I imagine it will be difficult to come face to face with the Queen, with all her guards and ladies about her, her simpering entourage.’ Ballard smiled unpleasantly. ‘But a dagger, thrust deep into the heart, will send a whore to hell as swiftly and efficiently as any executioner.’

Babington swallowed, but nodded. ‘Then are we all agreed? When the time comes, one of us must seek a private audience with the Queen, stab her in the heart, and rid England of her heresy.’

‘But which of us must wield the dagger?’ Goodluck asked.

Ballard made a dismissive gesture. ‘Whichever of us is still standing. If it falls to me, I will do it gladly.’

Babington put out his hand, palm down. ‘We must all swear it. In the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ.’

‘Amen,’ Goodluck murmured, and placed his hand on Babington’s.

The other two followed suit, each declaring, ‘Amen.’

Babington shook off their hands, breathing fast. He sat back and stared at the fire, his face suddenly pallid and sickly looking. ‘So we are sworn to it. The Queen will die. Let us talk no more of this business. In the morning, you and Maude must make preparations to ride north,’ he said, glancing at Ballard, ‘and I will write a reply to Her Majesty, Queen Mary, letting her know that a Catholic army is ready to fight in her cause. She will be glad of such news.’

Goodluck drained his cup. ‘Is it safe to write such a letter?’

With a quick grin, Babington looked back at him and nodded. ‘Ah, but there’s the beauty of it. I write my letters in a code devised by Her Majesty herself. It is quite cunning, and if the letter should fall by some mischance into the wrong hands, it will be unintelligible to those who do not hold the key.’ He yawned, stretching luxuriously. ‘Besides, the messenger I send is a resolute Catholic and highly trustworthy in this cause. I have never met a braver fellow. Gilbert Gifford will not fail us.’

Six

Dearest Cathy
,

It seems an age since we were at court together. I received your letter last month and am glad to know you and your son are in good health. How strange it must be to nurse a babe in your arms! And is your husband returned yet from the Low Countries? I keep you all in my daily prayers. Write again and this time spare no details, I wish to hear everything
.

But I have news for you, dearest friend. You remember one W. S. who so rudely accosted me at the masque? He has spoken to me since then, many times, and I was mistaken in him. In truth, I am in love with him and hope to be Mistress Shakespeare one day. There, it’s out, and looks so cold and hard on paper. But I do, and my heart sings for the gentleman. For I swear he is a gentleman, though a player too, and from the land
.

I was sorry to hear you have been lonely with your husband at the war. I am lonely too, not being at court any more. Come and stay with me in Cheapside, if you will, and bring the child with you. I long to see you again. And keep me in your prayers also
.

Yours, Lucy

PS W. has promised nothing, yet I trust him. Am I wrong to do so?

‘SO ALL THIS
is yours now?’ Cathy asked Lucy, glancing curiously about the dark, cramped house in Cheapside. She shifted her young son from one hip to the other, hushing him as he protested. ‘Since Master Goodluck’s death?’

Lucy threw back the front shutters, and warm sunlight streamed in through the window. ‘His body was never found, so it remains Goodluck’s property until his death can be decided.’ She tickled the child under his chin. ‘This one’s growing bonny. He must be nearly two now. Does he favour his father?’

‘I can hardly remember,’ Cathy replied, then managed a wry smile at Lucy’s surprised glance. ‘Oh, do not misunderstand me. I love Oswald well enough. But I have not seen him in nearly a year, not since he went off soldiering in the Low Countries. What if he never comes back, Lucy? What if he is killed out there?’ She shook her head bitterly. ‘I do not know how we will survive if my husband dies.’

‘Whose command is he under?’

‘He is with Lord Leicester’s troops.’ Cathy hesitated, then giggled, her face suddenly diverted. ‘With the great man himself. But you will not have heard the stories. You have not been back to court, have you?’

‘Not since the Queen in her wisdom dismissed me,’ Lucy agreed, then laughed. ‘No, don’t look like that. My life here is not so terrible, though it seems you receive news of the court while I am shunned. But I am happy now, for you are here at last and we shall be like sisters again.’

It was good to have Cathy to stay. The weeks since she had left court had been filled with days of loneliness and, later, fear of what lay ahead once her guardian had gone and she seemed to have lost her place at court. She knew ways to earn money in the city, but had so far turned her face against them. She might be a virgin no longer, but that did not mean she should become a prostitute. Instead, she had been gradually pawning her last few possessions from court to pay for the upkeep of Goodluck’s house, plus her own meagre needs. Sir Francis had written to her in a kindly manner on several occasions, offering assistance, yet she had felt too much shame in her loss of position to reply. One day perhaps, if she grew desperate enough, she would ask for his help. But that day had not yet come.

Seeing Will from time to time lightened the heaviness of her days. It was a sin for them to lie together outside wedlock, and Lucy knew it. Yet she could not seem to help herself, the passion and urgency were so strong between them.

Perhaps one day Will would ask her to marry him. Sometimes he kissed the tips of her fingers, as though she were at court again, and whispered, ‘I love you, Lucy Morgan,’ leaving her heart deaf to all warnings from her head.

A fear still lurked inside her that he might be married already, but she dismissed it. Will had never spoken to her of a wife or children, nor had Lucy asked, for she felt sure he could not have given his love so freely if he had already been bound by God’s law to another.

Cathy’s child began to squirm and protest in her arms. Cathy tutted, dragging down her bodice to put him to the breast. ‘Well,’ she continued cheerfully, as the child latched on and began to suck, ‘I had a letter from Alice at court last week. Lord Leicester is all but king of the Low Countries, it would seem, and the Queen is furious at his presumption. There’s talk of his countess sailing over there to join him with an entourage of ladies and a hundred squires in livery. And of course that, if she does, there will be a second English court, only on the Continent. It is said the Queen fears that by the time he finally returns from war, Lord Leicester will want to rule over England as well, and not without cause.’

Cathy fell silent as someone in the street walked past the front window. She continued in a whisper, ‘For everyone knows his wife would have a claim to the throne, being the Queen’s cousin.’

Lucy carefully said nothing.

‘But I did not come here to gossip and complain about my husband!’ Cathy told her busily. ‘I came to keep you company for a few weeks, my dear gloomy Lucy, and that is what I intend to do.’

‘It is very good of you to have come all this way.’

‘Nonsense. I was itching to get away from Norfolk, as well you know, and I wanted to see you bravely holding this house alone.’ She settled the child more comfortably at her breast. ‘Besides, when I read your letter, I knew I had to come as soon as I could. Master Shakespeare has nothing,’ Cathy reminded her sharply. ‘No money, no reputation.’

‘He works as a playwright now for Master Burbage and some
others
. They pay him to improve the old plays, make them longer and more fashionable. No, don’t shake your head, Cathy. Will is a player, yes, but he’s no pauper. He’s paid well for his work in the playhouse.’ Lucy frowned. ‘Well enough, anyway.’

It was true that Will had been paid handsomely in the past month, constantly reworking the old plays for a new audience. She had seen him with a fat purse one afternoon, coming from the Curtain Theatre, where he had been playing in an old piece about Henry the Fifth, and rewriting another play backstage between appearances – so Will had claimed, boasting of it as he kissed her. Yet his lodgings were still in the roughest part of the city, and she had noticed lately that he never seemed to have enough money to buy himself new clothes, nor pay to have his old ones mended. At first Lucy had supposed that – like most young men – Will must be gambling away his fees on dice games or cards, or at the bear-baiting pits across the river at Southwark, or even perhaps on ale. But she had soon learned that Will barely drank when in company, nor gambled more than he could afford, and showed little interest in the various illicit pleasures to be found on the south bank of the Thames.

‘And does Shakespeare love you?’ Cathy asked, looking unconvinced. ‘Has he asked you to marry him?’

Lucy said nothing.

‘I didn’t think he had.’ Cathy looked at her pityingly. ‘If you take my advice, you’ll forget all about Master Shakespeare. Oh, Lucy, I was like you once. I thought nothing could be more important than being in love. Being too lax with Oswald, I soon found myself with child. Do you remember? I was lucky. Oswald wanted to marry me, and our families were in accord. But if he hadn’t married me, I would have brought shame on myself and my family, and my life would have been over.’

‘Will loves me, I’m sure of it.’

‘Well, maybe Shakespeare does love you. But if he does, he must marry you. Peace, though, I do not wish to distress you. I shall say nothing more about it.’

Cathy stroked her child’s curly dark hair. He had allowed his mother’s nipple to slip from his mouth and was sleeping now, his flushed cheek resting on her breast.

‘You see my little James here?’ Cathy murmured, staring down at
her
young son adoringly. ‘He’s getting too old for the breast, yet still he demands it. Men are greedy, and do not care for the consequences. I love my little James dearly and would not lose him for the world, but I miss court life so badly some days.’

‘Yet you chose to leave.’

‘Because I was foolish and fancied myself in love. Now I am poor, and have a child to look after and a husband who is away at the war. Believe me, living in Norfolk without any money is worse than being buried alive. Do not wish such a tedious life on yourself. Marry a theatrical player from Warwickshire? You’ll end up tending pigs in his mother’s garden while he’s off on tour with his company – yes, and probably whoring every night and gambling away your children’s inheritance while he’s at it.’

‘I thought you would say no more about it,’ Lucy reminded her, growing hot-cheeked as her friend’s words echoed her own thoughts and fears about Shakespeare. ‘I love him and he loves me. Will must follow his heart in the theatre before he thinks of taking a wife. Promise me you will not interfere?’

Cathy shook her head, lips pursed. ‘Oh well, a woman in love will make her own bed and lie on it merrily enough. But if you want to avoid a life of drudgery, take my word for it and don’t see Master Shakespeare again. He’s too young for you, anyway.’

Lucy raised her eyebrows at that. ‘There are but four years between us!’

‘Aye, and four years is too long a time when it is the woman who is older. But I promised I should not interfere.’ Cathy laid a finger on her lips, smiling at Lucy. ‘I was a fool once, too. Now it is your turn.’

Seven