Maid of Secrets (33 page)

I’d turned to him and was staring now. “You are flaunting an heirloom of your mother’s—that she got in the English Court? Are you mad?”

He grinned. “It seemed to be the place to bring it out. My mother was ever so oblique about her time here, and I thought it might be interesting.”

“But what if someone
recognizes
it? What if it was not your mother’s to give?”

“Then they can steal it back. That would be a great game, would it not?”

“You don’t seem distressed by the possibility.”

He smiled thinly. “I rather suspect it will find its way
back to me. In all the time that I’ve carried it, it always has. I’ve been tempted to throw it into the ocean, just to see if it will swim.”

“It’s not something that you want?”

He regarded it solemnly. “It’s pretty enough. But it’s a question without answers, and I won’t find those answers by keeping it in my pocket. And, too, my mother has never done anything in her life without specific purpose. I cannot help but think her generous gift came with a history I can only guess at.” He looked at me. “There are many lies already in this castle. What’s one more?” He slipped it off his finger and held it up to me. “Would you like to see it more closely?”

I hesitated, then took the unusual ring into my hands. The jade stone setting was exactly like Beatrice’s family treasures. I’d been right. “I’d planned on stealing this, you know.”

“I know,” Rafe said simply. “I thought I’d spare you the effort.” He curved his hand over mine, imprisoning the bauble within my grasp. “Keep it close.”

I walked back to the masque so distracted, my head churning with everything I had learned, that I was amazed that I arrived before dawn. Certainly quite some time had passed since I’d left the festival’s raucous revelry, but it seemed as lively as ever from the sounds that boomed forth from the great hall. Rafe’s ring was heavy in my hand, and I held it tightly, like a talisman. Why had he given it to me? Had it been only to cause trouble? And what would Beatrice say when I showed it to her?

I’d just rounded the last corner before the grand Presence Chamber, when I encountered Beatrice. Before I could even speak, she shoved me back into an alcove.

“You!” she hissed, her face white with fury. “You are dressed like an imbecile. Where is my gown?”

“Jane and I switched clothing!” I retorted, instantly defensive. “Whatever is the matter?”

“You lied to me!”

Oh, no.
My breath turned to ashes in my throat. “What do you mean?”

“Cecil said my services are no longer needed as a lady of
the bedchamber—that the Queen was displeased with me. And this never should have happened! He said
you
were the one intended to go to her bedchamber and listen to those insufferable biddies yap about the day’s events, not me. He’d intended
me
to be the one following Rafe—not you. And you
lied
to me to get me to do it, telling me that the Queen had favored me when she’d done no such thing. And now through
no fault
of my own, the Queen is angry with me and has
dismissed
me from the chambers. If it ever gets out, my reputation will be destroyed, and it is
all your fault
!”

“I didn’t! It isn’t!” I protested, unable to keep the desperation from my voice. “Beatrice, it is true it was not the Queen’s intention for you to be elevated to lady of the bedchamber this soon, but I have no interest in the role—it is not for me!”

“Enough with your lies!” she spit back. “I trusted you, and you turned on me like the rat that you are, greedy to get whatever spoils you could. Cecil told me what you did to try to scheme your way into Rafe’s affections. You disgust me!”

“That’s not true!” Even as I said the words, Beatrice snapped up her hand, cutting off my words.

“Tell it to the Queen,” she said haughtily. “She knows how to deal with sluts like you.”

“But I didn’t—” And she was gone.

I could barely totter out of the alcove, a boat shattered on the rocks by a violent storm.
What had Cecil told Beatrice—and why?

And what did he mean that Beatrice’s services would no longer be necessary?

Cecil and Walsingham turned at the doorway to the
Great Hall as I approached, and they spotted me. Their faces were dark.

“What?” I asked. “What happened?”

“Where have you been?” Cecil demanded. “The Queen has summoned you for a private discussion.”

“I—I was . . . ,” I scrambled, trying to catch up. “She what? But why?”

Cecil took me by one arm, and Walsingham by the other. “It appears, Miss Fellowes, you will have the opportunity to explain yourself to her,” Walsingham said.

We entered the half-lit Privy Chamber, and the Queen whirled around to face us, her eyes as flat as an asp’s as she surveyed my manly costume. “Where were you off to this night, Miss Fellowes? And why weren’t you reporting on the events that befell Lady Amelia, as I expressly asked of you?”

I blinked, stunned.

“Lady Amelia?” I offered lamely. I would have curtsied, but Cecil and Walsingham were still pinning me in place. Suddenly, I remembered: Jane was supposed to have found Lady Amelia and brought her to safety. “Say she’s not hurt!” I blurted, the words more a statement than a question.

“And why would she be hurt? What do you know about her situation?” The Queen fairly bit off the last words, and I felt the blood draining from my face.

“I don’t know anything.”
Where was Jane?
She was supposed to have ensured that Lady Amelia had not come to harm. She was supposed to have reported to Cecil, no matter what she’d found.

Why had Jane not made good on her promise?

Had Jane been harmed? I rejected that notion immediately. Of all of us, Jane would not allow a Spaniard or any other man to get close enough to harm her. Or if she did, the ensuing row would have caused such a “disruption” that all thoughts of Lady Amelia’s disappearance would have disappeared under a wave of blood and fury.

So then, what? Had Jane simply gotten distracted, not realizing that by her absence, she would be leaving me to swing in the wind?

Or was it worse than that?

I remembered Jane’s willingness to change our clothes, leaving me in these ridiculous breeches and hose. I remembered her quick push to get me out of the Presence Chamber. Had she done that on
purpose
? To ruin me? Could that even be possible?

I felt my world closing in.

“Your Grace, this is my fault,” I said, my voice lifeless. “I was supposed to take care that no disruptions befell the court. I—” I swallowed. “I knew that Lady Amelia left the hall.”

“Of course you did,” the Queen snapped. Her voice was pure ice. “Do you think I sent Anna to you for my health? You were supposed to follow Lady Amelia and bring her back to the masque. What part of that instruction failed to penetrate your feeble mind?”

This was getting worse and worse. My next words were so quiet that I felt Cecil shaking me. “Speak up,” he growled.

“Two Spaniards left the Presence Chamber, Your Grace,” I said. “The Spaniard with Lady Amelia, and Rafe de Martine. I chose to follow Rafe. Anna had no way of knowing that I would do such a thing.”

“I would well think she wouldn’t,” the Queen sneered. “Disobeying a direct order from her Queen would never occur to a maid of quality like Anna Burgher.”

Shame flared through me. She was right. Of course she was right. In my excitement to find the killer, I’d chosen the larger prey. But not the right prey.

And even that wasn’t entirely true. I’d chosen to run off after the Count de Martine, a young, handsome courtier who could possibly have nothing at all to do with the plot against the Queen.

Walsingham was speaking, and Cecil shook me again. Hard.

“What?” I managed.

“I said, why are you dressed in men’s clothes? Where did you find such a costume?”

“I bribed a servant to give them to me,” I lied. I did not—could not—implicate Jane. I had already caused too much damage here this night. “I thought the Count de Martine—or whomever he was speaking with—might notice me, were I dressed as a maid.”

“And what did you find?” Walsingham asked. My head felt muddy, but I still was able to lie. Some skills, it seemed, never failed me.

“I never did speak to the count but I stumbled across de Quadra and de Feria speaking.” I brightened, snatching at the thread of hope. “I could tell you what they said?”

“This is not the point!” the Queen fairly screamed, and I whipped my gaze back to her face, my heart seizing up. Never had I seen her this angry. Certainly never at me. “You were given a direct order from
me
to ensure that Lady Amelia
safely returned to the Presence Chamber with her skirts and her skin intact! You failed in that charge and instead took it upon yourself to run about the castle after a Spaniard—and do not think I don’t understand the reasoning behind
that
little move.”

She scowled at me from her dais, a goddess of wrath in her royal finery. Her gown this night was of gloriously embroidered heavy white silk, with a tight-fitting long pointed bodice circled with a jeweled girdle. Her skirts flashed like fire, embroidered with rubies, and opened in the front to reveal a cloth-of-gold lining beneath. Her ruff and wristlets were of finest linen, and her girdle and summer crown proclaimed her as the mighty sovereign she would ever be.

She was nothing short of magnificent.

And before her, I was awash in disgrace.

“You have proven yourself untrustworthy and false, the smallest, meanest creature in my kingdom, that you would fail me in such a way.” The Queen’s voice had grown quieter and, if anything, far more terrible. I felt myself at the edge of a very dark pit. “And to think, I
defended
you. Told Cecil you would be worth the months and months of training it has taken for you to even
act
like a woman of worth, to
act
like you have a shred of nobility about your person. And for
what
? You shame
yourself
, but it is clear that such disappointment would not trouble anyone so useless as you. But you shame England. And you shame
me
.”

I opened my mouth, apologies bubbling up, but they did not come out. Somehow, even in the depths of my disgrace, I knew that words would not save me. I wrenched myself out of Cecil’s and Walsingham’s arms, stumbling forward.

I had seen others curry the favor of the Queen. I had seen her nobles ply her with gifts, the poor and meek kneel in front of her, wailing about their miserable plights. I’d seen the bold and audacious pledge to her the power of their horsemen and people. The rich offer her their coffers of gold. The churchmen promise her a very place in the heavens.

I had none of these to give to her.

And so I, who had nothing to recommend myself but my pride and my freedom, gave up everything I stood for, everything I was . . . and completely debased myself to my Queen.

Without uttering one word of excuses, reasons, apologies, or pleas for my safety, for another chance, for clemency, I sank to the ground at the Queen’s feet, my arms outstretched above my head, my face buried in the rushes that lined her Privy Chamber floor, tasting dirt, and bile, and the tears I had not realized I was shedding.

I was undone.

There was complete silence in the room.

And still it continued.

And continued yet further.

When finally it broke, it was neither the Queen, nor Cecil, nor Walsingham who did the honors.

A footman rushed into the room, then knelt beside me, facing the Queen. If he thought anything of a woman dressed like a man lying in prostrate silence before his Queen, he didn’t pause to comment on it.

“Your Grace!” he blurted, and she must have given him leave to speak, because he rushed on. “The Lady Amelia has returned to the masque, alone, Your Majesty. She appears unharmed and in good spirits.”

“Thank you,” the Queen said, and the man scrambled back, fleeing the room. I could only guess who he thought I was.

It no longer mattered, of course. Nothing mattered.