Queenbreaker: Perseverance (The Queenbreaker Trilogy Book 1) (25 page)

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

June
1533

I
tossed in my bed all night after my confrontation with Mariah.

“How
did this happen?” It was unbelievable to me that I had caused her such great
insult. I had not suspected the Lady Mary Howard of such snobbery.

She called me a social climber.

I
racked my brain from sunup to sundown to produce a single example at court that
was not. Every servant from the Yeoman Warders of the Watching Chambers to the
barefoot boys who carried loads of firewood half their size to the kitchens was
out for any advantage.
Even the religious folk.
Anne’s
own chaplains battled from the pulpit every Sunday to win her favor with
sermons aimed to chastise her enemies, extol her most excellent virtues, and
shine God’s benevolent grace on her Reformist views and endeavors. My
sycophancy was in its babbling infancy compared to them.

Or compared to a Howard!

The
powerful Duke of Norfolk conformed himself to the King’s will not wholly out of
love. Everyone knew that he had supported Anne’s rise and the rise of Reform
against his own conservative leanings solely to win the King’s favor.

My conscience runs a straight line;
Norfolk’s is a maze.

I
went to Sunday Mass feeling empty of God. Another long-winded speech about the
King’s supremacy rained down on us from the pulpit. I took communion nearly
taking a fingertip from the priest.

“
Mea culpa
,” I murmured and returned to
my seat. But I wasn’t sorry. I wanted to bite, tear, and pummel everyone who’d
harmed me since I’d arrived at court. Most especially Mary Howard. But how
could I harm her? I had no weapon strong enough. And there would be
consequences…

“What
is worse than going back to Norfolk?”

“Shh.”
Joan Percy pinched my arm. “You’ve been muttering since yesterday. Whatever is
the matter with you?”

I
blinked as I realized that Joan was the first to ask. I was truly invisible at
court.

“I’m
in trouble Joan.”

Joan
leaned closer. “I know.”

“You
what?”

Jane
Seymour’s gabled hood turned around. “Please whisper later, Mistress Shelton.
Lady Joan.”

The
instant she turned ‘round, I hissed, “My God, I wish I had a brick. I’d knock
that thing from here to Southampton.”

“Shhh,”
Joan urged. “Ignore her. She’s out of sorts at being left out of the Progress.”

I
snorted. “She’s a ninny for thinking it might be otherwise.”

“Not
so,” Joan corrected. “Lady Lee is going home to Kent for the summer so there is
a place open. Mary Carey told Mary Wyatt who told me.”

Hope
surged, washing away my sour face. “Who is it to be?”

Joan
shook her head. “The Queen has made no decision yet.” She leaned even closer
until our heads touched. “But I heard Mariah asked that it not be you.”

Holy Mother of God.

“Whatever
did you do to sour her on you? She’s the most gentle lady, after Lady Lee, of
course, in the Queen’s chambers.”

My
spine went limp. I puddled in my seat. “I have a talent, Joan. A God given
talent.”

_______________

After
Mass I slipped away from the procession returning to the Queen’s chambers. Only
Joan saw me go. She raised a hand, wishing me well.

I
rushed to the alcove and for the first time, shut the curtain myself. John,
leaning against the windowseat, grinned.

I
had wanted to believe his name held the power to turn night to day, to part the
seas and raise the dead, but Mary Howard’s hatred was a thing so fixed, so
furious—and so mysterious—it would outlast Domesday. Even Ralph did
not hate me so well.

But
why did anyone hate me at all? Was I blind to some catastrophic flaw in my
character? If so, why did no one tell me what it was? I could change. I could
be other than I was—better than I was.
But not soon
enough to win Mary Howard to my cause.

I
swallowed against the tears swarming in my throat. “Mary Howard is against me,
my lord.”

His
grin vanished. “She said so?”

I
shook my head. “She did not have to. She called me every base thing, accused me
of being a spy…” I covered my face. I did not want John to see it raw and ugly
with shame. “And she has sworn to see me sent from court. I do not know what I
have done to make her hate me.”

“What
did she say of me?” he asked.

“She
gave me no space to use your name.” I pressed my hands against my eyes to stop
the fomenting tears. “She was relentless.”
John gently pried my hands away and kissed them.

For
an instant the horror of Mariah’s assault faded, pushed aside by a thousand
butterflies dancing beneath my skin. His lips felt like sunlight and sable.
Would they feel the same touching mine?

“Forgive
me, mistress,” he breathed. “I never thought she would treat anyone so.”

I
shook my head, dispersing the butterflies, willing my high color to subside.
“It is not your fault. It is not your trouble, my lord.” Tears pricked the
inner corners of my eyes. “Tomorrow I must write and tell my Mother I am not to
go on Progress.”

John’s
arms folded around my back. He pulled me to his chest. In our shared silence,
our heartbeats slowly met then merged.

“Be
at peace, sweetheart,” he murmured against my hair. “God does not desert the
faithful.”

“God
deserts the faithful all time,” I muttered. “How else do the wicked prosper?”

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

June
1533

It
was cockcrow and Madge wore the same court dress from yesterday. Janet had
warned me when she poked me awake with a message, ordering me to meet Madge in
the first alcove off the Queen’s gallery.

I
slipped out of bed without disturbing Joan or Bess and followed Janet to the
dressing table.

“The
lady’s in her cups,”
Janet
murmured softer than the
dying fire in the grate.

“Badly?”

Janet
nodded. “Her sleeves are wrinkled as prunes.”

That
was bad. Madge was fastidious. She never showed herself in public with a single
hair out of order. It was her card to play and even the Queen marked it.

 
I shrugged on the dress Janet gave me and
hurried to the rendez-vous. The lower servants, the porters and such were about
dousing torches, carrying firewood and water to the royal lodgings. We ignored
each other.

I
found Madge in the alcove, leaning against the windowsill, staring out at the
still dark landscape. I did not bother to curtsey. She didn’t notice.

“Do
you want to go on Progress?”

Madge’s
tongue slid across the s’s.

She speaks adder.

“You
know I do.”

Madge’s
reflection smirked.

“The
Queen has an errand for you.”

I
caught a frown before it completely materialized.

Serve
the Queen and help
ourselves
in doing so. Mother had
told me.
But this?
Whatever the Queen wanted must be
something less than honorable. Why else meet with Madge in the dark?

I
rubbed my palms down my skirt, remembering the dry vellum of the Queen’s Bible
as I took my oath.

Whatever the price to be with John at
Windsor… I will pay it.

“I
am at the Queen’s service,” I said.

Madge’s
upper lip curled as she turned and sighed. “So are we all. The errand is this:
Master Wyatt has a book in his possession. The Queen wants it.”

The
frown flew past my defenses. “Why does the Queen not ask for it?”

Madge’s
stupor vanished. “Are you refusing the Queen’s request?”

“N-no,
not at all, but I don’t understand why—“

Madge
snapped her fingers. “Your understanding is not necessary. Your obedience is
all that’s required.”

The
hairs at the nape of my neck bristled.

“I
will obey,” I said, barely keeping my voice even. “Wholeheartedly. If you tell
me why the Queen wants it.”

Madge’s
bloodshot eyes narrowed. “It contains proof,” she said with a rusty sigh.

My
skin tingled at the word. “Proof of what?”

“That
Mariah Howard has a lover.”

My
jaw fell. “She does not!”

Madge
slapped her hand across my mouth. “Quiet or I’ll pull your tongue!”

The
instant Madge took her hand away, I asked. “Who is it?”

“Find
the book and you’ll be first to know,” she taunted.

Mariah
Howard had a lover? Was it possible? Would she have done like Wyatt and couched
his identity in a poem? And why should the Queen ask this of me? Did she think
I had some talent for theft? Had Madge tattled about my spying on my parents?
What did it any of that matter—this might be my only chance to go on Progress.

I
took a short breath and asked, “What does it look like?”

Madge
nodded,
pleased I’d so easily acquiesced.

“A
leather bound volume, so big, with a capstan design on the cover in gold.”

I
frowned recalling where I’d seen such a thing. “I know the book. It belongs to
Mary Howard. Master Wyatt had it just before the Coronation, but—

Madge
pounced. “But what?”

“He
gave it back to her.”

Madge’s
eyes rolled shut as she fell back against the window. “Christ in Heaven. Wyatt
would have let it go for a kiss.”

She
rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands.

“Well,
is it something Lady Mary might part with for a price?”

Madge
sniggered, releasing a cloud of fetid breath. “Not for all the New World’s
gold.”

“Then
how am I to obtain it?”

Madge
leaned close. Her breath staggered me. “Come now, mistress.
You—with
those two meddlesome sisters in the nursery?
You steal it.”

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

June
1533

I
took a seat in the darkest corner of the near empty Chapel Royal. I slouched as
low as possible and took out my writing tools. I had barely kept myself in
check since leaving my dawn meeting with Madge.

When
Mother heard what Madge—what the Queen had asked me to do—she might
call me home. But what could I do? I could not hide such a thing from Mother.
What if Madge lied? The request was so bizarre, so ludicrous—so
dangerous—how could it ever have come from Anne? It must be Madge’s plot.
If so, no matter what she promised, I wanted no part in it.

Mother will set Madge straight. I won’t
lose my place for her meddling.

After
Joan and Bess had left for Mass, I scribbled the hasty note. My fingers fumbled
tying the string. What if this little slip of paper cost me my chance to be
with John?

It’s
just a book, I told myself.
Full of poetry and nothing
dangerous.
But I could not work my conscience and better sense past the
Queen’s need to steal it.

I
handed the note to Janet.

“For
Mother and no one else,” I commanded.

Janet,
curtsied, tucked it in her sleeve and hurried for the public water stairs in
Greenwich town.

I
spent the rest of the day trying to hide my frenzy. I let Joan Percy babble
about the quality of northern wool, and even allowed Jane Seymour’s hiccoughing
to go without mockery.

Janet
returned on the evening tide. I tore the message from her hand and ripped it
open.

Obey the Queen.

“That’s
all?” I turned the page over and back looking for something, anything more.

Obey
the Queen.

I
handed it back to Janet. “Toss it on the fire.”

Obey
the Queen. Steal Lady Mary Howard’s book.

I
heard the fire snap as Janet stoked it.

“Janet,”
I said. “I need your clothes.”

_____________

Lady
Mary Howard’s lodgings were a short walk down the hall from the Queen’s own.
They had once belonged to the King’s sister, the Duchess of Suffolk, before she
went to France and married old King Louis Capet.

I
hiked Janet’s skirt again before turning the last corner to my destination. The
plain homespun was not as rough as I’d imagined. Janet must have some Flemish
trick for softening the wool. She had asked to accompany me, but I could not
allow it. This was not sneaking about Shelton House eavesdropping on my
parents. What would I say if we were caught? One maiden sneaking about in
homespun might be excused, a maiden and her servant looked like conspiracy.

Why
had the Queen chosen me? She must have servants prepared to steal for her?
Madge would probably do it for a pat on the head.

Mother’s
unequivocal answer to my letter had stunned me. If this did not compromise my
honor then what would? Mother had to know something I did not. I must rely on
it.

I
shifted the willow basket against my hip, turned the corner and nearly collided
with the Countess and Jane Seymour. The basket tumbled from my arms, throwing
soiled clothes in their path. I dropped beside it, head down.

“Beg
pardon, m’ladies,” I mumbled in a broad Norfolk accent.

The
Countess cuffed the back of my bent head. “Slattern!”

Jane
Seymour hiccoughed. I bit my tongue.

The
Countess kicked the clothing out of her way. La Seymour finished by trampling
my good blackwork shirt and one of Joan Percy’s damask sleeves.

I
shot their retreating backs a Scottish dagger, snatched up the clothes before
more harm was done and kept on.

Madge
had done her part. Lady Mary’s porter was not at his usual post, slouching
beside the door. How she’d lured him away I did not want to know, but could
guess. All the porters loved gambling.

Nevertheless,
I knocked. I put my ear against the door and heard no movement on the other
side. I took a breath. It was now or not at all.

I
grasped the door handle and pushed. A wave of fresh jasmine washed over and
beyond me into the hallway. I shut the door before it all escaped.

No wonder she smells so grand. She
breathes the stuff!

I
had thought Mother’s chamber at Shelton House the apogee of taste and comfort.
I felt embarrassed by my limited knowledge of the world’s possibilities.

The
receiving room was a miniature of the Queen’s Privy Chamber as decorated by an
Eastern potentate. There was not a French thing anywhere.

The
wood paneling was painted the soft rose of sunrise. Three small
portraits—one done by Holbein—hung in a row on the far wall. A
dozen strange, silver lanterns embossed with stars and crescent moons, dangled
from the ceiling. A low, round table inlaid with ivory and mother of pearl took
pride of place before the fireplace. Half a dozen enormous cushions surrounded
it.

The
enormous Turkey carpet made it easy to sneak across the room to the closed
bedchamber door. I listened again and again heard nothing.

I
cracked the bedchamber door and poked my head inside. More jasmine greeted me.
The window curtains, halfway drawn blocked most of the wan afternoon light. I
eased around the door with my basket. My eyes went to a writing desk on the
wall to my right. A stack of three books sitting atop looked promising. I set
the basket down on the padded stool and reached for the topmost book. A soft
rustling started behind me.

Jesus God, she’s still abed!

“My
lady—“ I gasped just as the rustling exploded with a shattering scream.
Wind rushed me. I dove and the scream sailed overhead. Something scrabbled
across the fireplace mantle. Glass shattered against the brick grate. I crawled
under the desk as the screaming came at me again. I peeked out from my
hidey-hole as a glossy brown-gray feather drifted to the carpeted floor.

“A
falcon!”

Mariah
Howard had a peregrine for watchdog.

The
bird shrieked. I peered out from beneath the desk again. His perch, standing in
the dark corner between the bed and windows, had fallen against the wall.
The jesses
and hood dangled from it. The bird was completely
loose and uncontrollable.

“Sweet
bird,” I said in a low, soothing tone. The falcon quit flapping its wings. His
head cocked trying to find me.

I
leaned out further from under the desk. “Gentle bird,” I cooed.

The
falcon dove for my head. I lunged back knocking the top of my head against the
underside of the desk. My hair caught. I reached to disentangle it and felt a
thump as the bird landed on the desktop. Its talons scrambled across the wood
surely scoring it. Mariah’s writing tools hit the floor one after the other:
inkwell, quills,
ivory
letter opener.

Someone
must hear the ruckus and come.

I
eyed the ivory handled letter opener lying under the stool. Could I be quick
enough?

I
wiggled my way close to the stool. My hand darted and came back with the prize.
I tested the edge. A tiny dot of blood swelled on my thumb.

I
gripped the handle in the proper way for dispatching a maimed animal. I might
only have one chance. When he flew at my face, he’d get the sharp end in his
belly.

I
eased into a crouch. I needed to surprise him. The book I’d first picked up had
landed beside me. I grabbed it by the cover and tossed it against the
fireplace. The falcon keened. His talons scraped the table as he launched
himself after it.

I
rushed out and to my feet. My left knee locked and I fell against the bed. The
falcon whirled like a child’s top. I waved the knife, praying it hit some part
of him. The bird dodged, but veered too sharp left and crashed into the desk.
He tumbled to the floor, eyes blinking slow and stuporous.

We
stared at each other, both breathing as if we’d flown a hundred miles. Then I
dropped the knife, scooped the two books still on the table into my basket, and
ran.

______________

That
evening, Jane Seymour came to table with a carefully doleful face.

“Have
you heard?” she asked.

The
rules of court required the Maidens of similar rank dine together. Only Bess
Holland and Lady Mary Howard could safely ignore the stricture. But Bess was
present for once and looking sour to be among us instead of dining privately
with the Duke. Her
ill-humor
made her first to answer
Jane.

“You’ve
been dismissed?”

Seymour
looked at Bess, eyes dark with pity.

“I
had thought you might know, Mistress Holland. It being so close to you and
yours.”

Mary
Wyatt jumped in before Bess erupted. “Just say what you mean, Jane.”

“Someone
broke into Lady Mary Howard’s lodgings and stole her property.”

Bess
scowled. “You lie.”

Joan
Percy whimpered. “Who would dare?”

“What
did they take?” I asked.

Seymour’s
pale eyes brushed me. “Jewels and coin. The Chamberlain is furious. He wants
Lady Mary’s servants racked in the Tower for the truth.”

My
mind lost the rest of Seymour’s report. I scanned the first table just below
the salt. My eyes flew over the Countess, Lady Zouche, and Lady Lee. Madge
stood behind Lady Lee sharing a cup with Sir William Brereton.

“Your
pardon,” I murmured and darted from the table. Their eyes burned my back. I
could only hope they thought nothing of my leaving when they saw Madge was my
goal.

Brereton
saw me first. He saluted me with the cup. “How does the object of Lord John de
Vere’s admiration this evening?”

Madge
snorted. “Do not forget Weston, Sir William. He made his suit first.”

Brereton
chuckled as his close-set grey eyes roamed my person. “Weston’s a fine point
hound.” He offered me the cup. “But too slow to make the kill.”

Madge
giggled.

I
ignored the cup. “Sister, I would speak with you. ‘Tis important.”

The
mirth bled from Madge’s eyes. She pushed the cup back toward Brereton. “The
ale’s gone stale, Sir William.”

Brereton
frowned. “It was satisfactory a moment ago.”

Madge
put her hand on his arm, tilted her head. “And it shall be again, once it’s
refreshed.”

Brereton’s
frown shifted. “I take that for a promise, Mrs. Shelton.”

“A
sworn oath,” Madge laughed, raising her hand. Brereton grabbed it, planted a
fierce kiss against her palm, and walked away.

A
lace handkerchief appeared from Madge’s sleeve.

“We
would have spoken later,” she said, dabbing her hand.

“Seymour
has the story.”

Madge’s
glare cut the distance between them. “She’s a sucking lamprey for gossip. I
don’t know how she affords it.”

“They’re
saying jewels and coin were taken.”

Madge
nodded. “Good.”

“Good?
I took nothing more than the books.”

Madge
checked her eyes as they started to roll. “Lady Mary knows what was taken. She
does not want others knowing.” Madge pursed her lips. “Just keep your wits. Act
normal. Say nothing. And do not seek me out in public again. I will find you if
I need you.”

I
grabbed her sleeve. “But what of Progress?”

Madge’s
lovely smile chilled me. “Did you find the book?”

“Well,
no, but—“

“Why
would the Queen reward failure?” she asked with a quiet sincerity. “Why would
you expect her to give you something when you’ve brought her nothing?”

“But-but
if she gave me another chance I would—“ I managed before she grasped my
shoulders, turned me around, gave my back a little push and set me adrift in
the hall. Every noise faded to nothing as I stumbled back to the Maiden’s table
where Jane Seymour still held court.

Joan
Percy made space for me on the bench. “Why Mary, your cheeks are crimson.”

 
   
Bess
sniggered. “Did Brereton make his suit? He wagered Sir Richard Page a crown
he’d have your favor before Progress starts.”

Joan
recoiled. “He’s vile!”

“What
did Madge say of the thing?” Mary Wyatt asked.

I
mustered a passably casual shrug. “She bade me ignore the gossip.”

Bess
beamed at Seymour. Seymour’s heavy lids dropped, cloaking her eyes. Joan Percy
pouted.

“She
would not say it is true?” Mary Wyatt prompted.

A
fortuitous yawn came over me. I played it out so long Bess jumped into the
pause.

“The
truth will out in the Tower.”

Joan
shrank against me. “Some of Lady Mary’s servants are old. Would they truly be
put to torture?”