Queenbreaker: Perseverance (The Queenbreaker Trilogy Book 1) (32 page)

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

June
1533

    
Madge caught my arm as I left the Chapel
Royal after the Queen took a late Mass. Weary from a sleepless night and long,
silent voyage back from London I was too slow to avoid her arm sliding around
my waist. She neatly turned me as if demonstrating a new step in the
pavane
toward a small windowless alcove.

    
“Lord John was not abed this morning,” she
prompted.

    
“Well, he was not in mine,” I muttered.
Madge’s hand closed around my wrist. Her fingernails tapped at my veins.

    
“Was he in hers?” Her unwavering stare
confirmed what Mother had told me. The Queen truly thought Lord John was
Mariah’s lover.

    
My bowels turned liquid.

    
“Never,” I hissed. “And never under my
parents’ own roof.”

    
Madge snorted. “The very best place for an
assignation.” She dropped my wrist. Her lips pursed, considering me. “Did you
three share a chamber?”

    
I nodded. “My old bedchamber. Lady Frances
babbles in her sleep.”

    
Madge’s eyebrow lifted. “Anything of
interest?”

    
“Babble, Madge. Like a baby might speak.
Nothing I worth remembering.”

    
Madge sighed and started picking at her
velvet sleeve. “The Queen’s disppointment will be acute.”

    
I dipped my chin. “I am sorry for it.”

    
Madge’s eyes sharpened. “You will be if you
do not bring her what she wants.”

    
“There is nothing I can do. He did not come
to the house. Is he not being followed?”

    
Madge quit picking at the one sleeve and
started on the other. “The fog was to his advantage.”

    
My heart lurched. “Who follows him?”

    
Madge threw her sleeve away. “See to your
own business, Mary. You are not the only Shelton available to do it.”

    
“I will—I am—“

    
“Then hurry up! Mariah is too hot for him,
she will make a mistake.”

    
She
already has.

_______________

The
instant Madge left, I hid myself in the Chapel Royal with my writing stuff. I
settled in a quiet spot, prepared the ink, smoothed the parchment, and waited
for something to come. Mother expected a letter reporting our return to court.
But what could I say?

I am the Queen’s spy and Mariah’s cat’s
paw. Is this not success?

The
chair dug at my sit bones even through the cushion. The same pain worked its
way behind my eyes.

I
put my pen down, capped the inkpot and set all on the floor. I had nothing to
say to Mother.

I
stared at the ornate cross standing on the altar. Why had God let me walk into
this wilderness? Every step since from my first at the water stairs had led me
deeper into danger. Did He test me? Did He doubt my faith, my commitment to
carry things off with John? Or did He he
seek
to curb
my pride, my temerity at reaching so high as the Earl of Oxford’s son?

“Dear
Lord,” I murmured. “Please lead me out of these wilds. I do not care how. Let
it be done. Amen.”

“A
pleasant afternoon to you, Mistress Shelton.”

His
amiable voice hurled me back to the night on Tower Green. He entered the
chapel, alone; a solitary, humble figure in his plain black law robes.

The
blood drummed at my ears. “M-Master Cromwell. Good day.”

Cromwell
doffed his cap as he entered my row of seats. “May I have a word with you?”

My
mind tumbled over itself trying to make sense of it. I had not been in his
presence—not exchanged a word with him since that night on Tower Green.
He came often with the King to the Queen’s rooms, attended her entertainments,
but had never sought me out. Despite Lord Northumberland’s warning, I had forgotten
Cromwell’s “heavy” eye, but now, here it was, fixed upon me like some cold,
slick lamprey.

Dear God, what did I do?

He
stood silent. I realized he awaited my answer.

“O-of
course, Master Cromwell.”

He
sat beside me, austere in his plain lawyer’s garb, formidable in the gold chain
of office hanging round his thick shoulders. “I frighten you.”

He does not expect me to answer that?

Cromwell
hung his cap on his knee and sighed. “I frighten most. It is a consequence of
the power I hold from the King, of course. Any man in my position would be
feared. Even the godly Sir Thomas More was in his time.”

Cromwell’s
black eyes thinned. “Of course, his penchant for burning people accounts for
much of it,” he sighed again. “Nasty business. Burnings are inhumane. If execution
is required, beheadings are to be preferred. Unless one needs an example.”

Cromwell
glanced at the altar. “How did you find the work at Tower Hill?”

My
heart beat so loudly I almost missed half of his question.

“I-I
thought—I thought it was well done, sir.”

Cromwell
nodded. “So you should, child. Counterfeiting the coin of the realm strikes at
the heart of governmental authority. If the people cannot trust their
sovereign’s coin, how can they trust their sovereign?”

We
sat a moment, seeming to contemplate such a thing. Then Cromwell sighed.

“Those
who serve the King receive rewards beyond the monetary. It is God’s work we do
to bring the King’s will to completion.”

He
waited and I forced myself to make an answer. “As you say, sir.”

“Indeed,
mistress. And I say that you interest me. Beyond your youthful charms.” He
chuckled. “Though they are enticing, I am more intrigued by your current
placement at court.”

“The
Queen has been very good to me.”

Cromwell’s
nod was earnest. “The Queen is a gracious lady to her true servants. Would it
surprise you to know that we share several?”

He
didn’t wait for me to answer. “I would like you to become one of them.”

The
pounding in my ears sparked tears. I ducked my head to hide them. A deeper,
darker wilderness opened under me. God had truly abandoned me.

“I
am the Queen’s sworn servant, sir. I cannot betray her.”

Cromwell
chuckled. “I do not ask it of you, mistress.
Not at all.
In this matter the Queen’s interests run parallel to mine.”

I
licked the inside of my lower lip, tasted iron.“What would you have me do?”

“Oh,
nothing burdensome, mistress. You enjoy the company of Lady Mary Howard, and
Lady Surrey, do you not?”

Everyone
knew of Mariah’s antipathy. So far none had guessed how much was pretended.
Clere had said that Cromwell knew methods of torture that left no telling
marks. The fear stabbing my belly proved it.

“Sometimes,
sir.”

“And
Lord John de Vere.”

All
of my muscles tensed, ready to flee or throw myself on the floor in a faint.

“The
same, sir,” I whispered.

Cromwell’s
black eyes twinkled.
 
“Oh, many
times, I am certain.” He rubbed his hands together.

I
froze. He expected me to prompt him, so I did. “Is there something in
particular?”

“I
wish to know about a book they possess and share.”

An
image of a capstan cover rose in my mind’s eye.

“You
may remember, an unfortunate situation in Lady Mary Howard’s chambers not so
long
ago
…” he prompted.

Silent,
I nodded.

“Well,
I believe that the culprit’s true purpose was to acquire this book.”

“I-is
the book so valuable?” My voice wavered like candlelight.

Cromwell
grinned. “Well, given the lengths the culprit went to, I believe its contents
may be. Do you know the book I speak of?”

The
cold feet tramping through my stomach stamped down my urge to lie.

“I-I
once held it. Master Wyatt’s play—I learned my lines…” I trailed off.

Cromwell
beamed. “Why, this is fortuitous. Then you would know the book, if you saw it.”

The
muscles at the back of my neck clenched so hard I could not look away.

“I-I
might, Master Cromwell.”

Cromwell
gently cleared his throat. “I know that the Queen believes the Lady Mary Howard
has taken a lover.”

Like
Madge, he paused after his delivery. But this time I knew better and remained
perfectly still.

The
corner of his mouth twitched. “But, I think, we both know her to be mistaken.”

“She
is entirely mistaken, Master Cromwell. Lady Mary has no lover.”

Cromwell
frowned. “Unwise, mistress. Deny what you can reasonably expect to carry off.
Dissemble where you can, admit what you cannot.”

“I-if
Lady Mary has a lover—I do not know who it is.”

Cromwell
tapped his knee. “Very good, mistress. I will not press you. Lady Mary’s
activities serve the good of the realm, so I will not curtail them.”

Jilting Fitzroy serves the realm?

“So,
mistress. The task is light. The reward will be heavy. What answer will you
make?”

I’d
escaped the cruel box of family in Norfolk for one crueler and tighter still.
Everyday it shrank, drawing tighter and tighter around me, crushing my chances,
my hopes. I’d worn holes in nearly every one of my skirts. Mrs. Marshall had
threatened to carry a rod to the Sewing Circle and rap my knuckles every time
she caught me at it. Every upward turn in fortune carried a downward fall that
erased all pleasure in the success. I was not the ball on the tennis court, I
was the net and the real players at court were cutting me to pieces.

Cromwell
was a real player. Following Anne and the King he was the most formidable.

I could not refuse the Queen. Nor Mariah.
How can I refuse Cromwell?

I
took the most important breath of my life and said, “I do not think I can,
sir.”

Cromwell’s
jovial look shifted to surprise. “No?”

“No,
sir. I cannot help you.”

Cromwell
regarded me a moment from under his heavy eyelids.

“Disappointing,
mistress. I had thought you had more of a care for your future.”

“I-I
do
, sir.”

Cromwell’s
eyes softened. “With Madge Shelton for patron? Your parents have done you a
disservice putting you in her hands.”

That
worthy observation almost moved me to change my mind.

“Why
do you say so, sir?”

“Mrs.
Shelton serves her own interests, and some of those run counter to the
Queen’s.”

Madge is a traitor? Holy Mother of God.

Cromwell
sighed. “Is there aught I might do to change your mind?”

Anything
less than Mariah and Madge in the Tower would not move me.

I
dropped my head. “Naught, sir.”

Cromwell
stood and made me a polite bow. “I respect your loyalty, mistress. But, if ever
you have cause to alter your decision…the King is ever in need of true and
loyal servants.”

I
leapt up and curtsied in the tight space. “I am that, Master Cromwell. Always.”

Cromwell
set his cap on his head. “I have no doubt, mistress.” He turned to leave, but
then said over his shoulder. “Master Clere spoke very well of you.”

Shock
tumbled my brain. “Clere? Thomas Clere?”

Cromwell
nodded. “Indeed, mistress. You were good friends—before your disagreement
at the Tower—were you not?”

“We
were never the friends I thought we were, sir.”

Cromwell
gave one slow, soft nod. “That is a shame, Mistress Mary, and often the case at
court. Friendships are made, preserved, and ended by need. There is no personal
affection to it only opportunity. My friendship is your opportunity, mistress.”

Some
tiny scrap of clarity moved my tongue.

“For
what?”

“Safety.”
He turned again, broad shoulders drooping under his back coat. “Relish your
time on Progress, mistress. You are too young to know it, but summers are so
swift to end.”