Queenbreaker: Perseverance (The Queenbreaker Trilogy Book 1) (48 page)

Do I truly wish to see John killed?

Fire
filled my belly. A large part of me did wish it. More than it wanted to be a
countess. I searched my heart and plumbed the hole John had carved there. It
felt bottomless. Would his death fill it?

Maybe.

But
what would happen if it went the other way? What would the King do to those
involved in Fitzroy’s death? What might he do to the one who’d brought Fitzroy
and John together?

Fitzroy
pressed John again. John tried the same trick of turning his back, but Fitzroy
anticipated him and cut off the ploy. John threw himself away from Fitzroy’s
sword and stumbled. Fitzroy leapt.

Frances’s
second scream roused the dogs next door.

John
went down on the edge of the stairs and disappeared under the mist. Fitzroy’s
sword reared back, catching the moonlight then plunged.

“No!”

Mariah,
Surrey, and Clere’s shocked faces blurred as I ran past them. My mind held no
plan and no recourse for escape.

“Hold!”
A solemn voice commanded. It’s uncanny power almost turned me, but momentum
carried me through to the end.

“Mary!”

Tom
Clere’s voice was the last I heard as I launched myself at Fitzroy and carried
us both into the silver-dark river below.

Thames
River, London to Greenwich

Early
Morning Sunday, September 14
^th
1533

The
Earl of Northumberland settled his marten lined cloak around my shoulders. I
pulled it close to my neck as another tremor shook me.

“You
seem determined to meet your end by water, Mistress Mary,” he said without a
hint of humor.

I cannot meet my end by water.

He
had seen it. He must have. He had pulled me out of the water where I floated
flat on my back, eye to eye with the clear cold stars above. I had floated…
as
a witch would do.

The
Earl sighed. “Thank God for your skirts, mistress,” he whispered. “They caught
enough air to raise you. But if you’d stayed much longer, they would have
soaked through and dragged you down to the river bottom.”

My
heart crawled out of the grave. Did he say so from kindness or because it was
true?

I
clenched the goblet and asked. “Wh—why—how do you know that?”

His
bleary eyes fastened on the goblet. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

“When?”
I asked, but he turned away and held his hands to the brazier.

The
earl’s barge surged away from the water stairs at Shelton House. It rowed
against the tide, meaning it would be a long night before we reached Greenwich.
I kept my head down so I would not have to look at the others. None of them had
looked at me askance when Northumberland had fished me out of the Thames.
Surrey and Clere held both of Fitzroy’s arms as he cursed John. Frances wept as
she bandaged her brother’s hand with her handkerchief. Mariah stood apart from
all of them, staring at the upper windows of the house. I prayed to God that
Smeaton did not lie dead on my bedroom floor.

Mariah
and Lady Frances shared a cushion on the floor inside the cramped cabin.
Mariah, for the first time since I’d met her, appeared dazed. She slumped
against Lady Frances, eyes glazed, unmoving.

If
she’d intended to see John killed then flee across the bridge to Bridewell and
to a new life in France, her chance was ended the moment Lord Northumberland
appeared in the garden. Smeaton had wisely taken his chance and fled the house
before the earl arrived; Gabrielle and Emma too had shown some sense and done
as Tom Clere told them.

I
was too cold, too stunned to feel any satisfaction for Mariah’s loss. It might
come later, after I’d digested my own.

Fitzroy
and Surrey shared the padded bench to the Earl’s left. Clere crouched beside
Surrey, tending the floor brazier that spewed more smoke than heat. Lord John
sat on the opposite bench, alone. The curtains were drawn against the night air
and the eyes of the oarsmen.
 

I
shared the Earl’s bench. Though he’d given me time to change to a dry gown and
wring my hair, I still shivered as if I were halfway to the bottom of the
Thames. He pressed a goblet on me.

“
Uisge
. It will take the chill away,” he
said and waited for me to take a sip before he turned his attention to the
others. The stuff burned every inch of my throat, but I got it down.

“This
was a private quarrel—you had no right to interfere!” Fitzroy cried,
petulant as any four-year old denied his favorite thing.

“I
had every right, Your Grace,” the Earl sighed. “Your continued good health is a
matter of state.”

Fitzroy’s
face purpled. “I had the villain! It was his health at risk—never mine!”

John
snorted. Surrey kicked his foot.

Northumberland
went on in the same weary tone. “And, if you will forgive me, Your Grace, the
affair was ended by Mistress Shelton, not I.”

Fitzroy
turned his bulldog glare on me. “Mistress Shelton slipped when she came between
us, my lord. I tried to catch her and failed. Naught more.”

Northumberland
nodded, accepting Fitzroy’s lie for sworn truth—as he should. “I will
report such to Her Grace.”

Fitzroy’s
boy face pinched. “Her Grace?”

“Aye,
my lord. The Queen sent me to fetch Mistress Shelton back to court. She expects
her before the next tide.” Northumberland’s steady eyes took us in one by one.
“And since I have found her in your company, she might expect you as well.”

Fitzroy’s
rosebud lips quivered. Surrey’s blank stare bade him be silent.

“What
will you tell the Queen, my lord?” Surrey asked for all of us.

I
took a long, slow sip while Northumberland considered.

“What
should I say, my lord?” he finally asked.

“Nothing,”
Fitzroy barked.

“I’ve
no doubt the priests at Blackfriars heard your swordwork, Your Grace,”
Northumberland said.

“A
friendly contest,” Surrey said. “We all went to dine at Mistress Shelton’s
house because we knew her parents were away…we ate, gambled, and as my lord
Fitzroy has said, Mistress Shelton stumbled in the darkness.”

“Easily
done as that, eh?” Northumberland’s frown wiped away Surrey’s grin. “I want the
word of my Lord Fitzroy and my Lord de Vere that they will never engage in any
combat with each other—friendly or otherwise—again.”

Fitzroy
folded his arms. “If the whoreson gives me no cause—“

Northumberland
glanced at Surrey. Surrey tried his winning smile on Fitzroy.

“Mariah
does not love him, my lord. You saw how things were tonight. He came to tup
Mistress Shelton—“

“My
lord,” Northumberland growled. “It does not help your cause to defame Mistress
Shelton.”

“My
apologies, my lord. Mistress Shelton,” Surrey said and bowed his head to me. “I
humbly beg your pardon.”

My
hand twitched. Northumberland plucked the goblet before I might launch it.

Surrey
smirked. “By God, you’re a fearless wench.”

“Silence!”
Mariah’s shout silenced everyone. She threw off Frances’s arm. “Fitzroy and
John will both give you their word. We will all give you our word not to speak
of what passed tonight, if you will do the same, my lord.”

Northumberland’s
brow inched upward. “And why should I swear such, my lady? I’ve done nothing
this night to bind me to you.”

Mariah’s
eyes flashed as she stared at him. “The Queen did not send you to fetch
Mistress Shelton. It was Margot. And I know whyfor you obeyed her.”

Northumberland
blinked, but held her withering gaze. “Lady Margaret knows less of me than you
do, lady.” His voice crackled like the fire eating the charcoal in the brazier
at my feet. “I came to end your folly before it ruined everyone about you. Lady
Margaret’s absence this night tells me she does not support your cause.”

Mariah’s
gaze wavered.

Northumberland
leaned his elbows on his knees. “I had thought you were accounted the more
sensible.”

Frances
ducked her head as Mariah bristled.

“Then
who sent you?” Mariah demanded.

“It
is enough that I came—and no one else,” he said. “I will keep silent,
lady.
But not for your sake.
Nor any of yours.” He
looked at everyone, but me. He leaned away from them and brushed my shoulder as
he settled his back against a cushion. “Youth is a madness only cured by time.
God willing, you’ll all live long enough to know it.”

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

Sunday,
September 14
^th
1533

A
frantic scratching at the door roused me. My eyes opened on the windows. Dark
clouds showed behind the glass.

Janet
started up from the pallet I’d made her put against the door. She looked at me,
waiting to know my mind.

It cannot be dawn so quickly.

My
head felt as though it had just met the pillow moments ago. My eyes held none
of the grit of sleep.

The
journey from London had taken almost three hours. I’d crept up to my chamber to
find only Janet within. I startled her awake. She said that Bess slept in
Greenwich town at the Duke’s house, and that Joan, not wanting to sleep alone
had begged a pallet in Mary Wyatt’s chamber next door.

“Mary?
Mary.
‘Tis Joan.
Are you in there?”

I
rolled over, put my back to the door. The scratching re-doubled.

“Mary.
Please let me in. Madge has been calling for you this past hour. Mary, please,”
Joan wailed. “She’s told Mrs. Marshall to find you.”

Marshall’s
name floated weightless through my mind.

I have no fear of her.

In
fact, I feared nothing. I felt nothing. Fear, anger, grief, even hunger were
nowhere to be found. My body felt hollow and raw as if my insides had been
scraped out, shucked like an oyster. My heart still beat, the blood traveled my
veins, lungs pulled and pushed the air, but every higher sensation was gone,
washed away by an icy dunking in the river. If this was madness, I was content.

I
was not ready to feel anything yet. Not even hope. Though that was what
Northumberland had given me. His silence brought that of everyone
else—for everything that had transpired between us. Pluck one thread and
the tapestry of lies and secrets between us would unravel.

But
why had he done it? Did he seek some advantage over Fitzroy? Surrey? And why
had he come when Cromwell had not?

“Holy
Mother,” I swore.

I
tore out of bed. Janet barely got the pallet away before I threw open the door
and pulled Joan inside.

“Janet.
Out. If you please.”

Janet
bolted. She darted past us and shut the door. I barred it again then grabbed
Joan’s arms.

“Did
you give my message to Cromwell?”

Joan’s
shoulders crumbled like stale cheese.

“Sweet
Jesu,” I cried. “Why? Why did you give it to your uncle?”

Joan’s
head fell. “I-I had to, Mary. Lady Margaret Douglas made me.”

Shock
instantly folded my anger for keeping.

“Margot?
Whyfor? What did she say? How did she
know
?”

Joan
sniffled. “I don’t know. She—she caught me outside Cromwell’s chambers
and turned me round and sent me off to my uncle and told me not to tell a soul.
And now I’ve told you,” she wailed. “She might kill me.”

Something
heavy hit the door, unraveling the last of Joan’s nerves. She threw herself
across the bed, sobbing.

“Is
she in there?”

“I-I
do not know, Mrs. Shelton,” Janet’s stammer carried under the door.

“Fool,”
Madge muttered. Something larger and heavier than a fist cracked against the
door. “Whoever is within open this door now or I’ll have it broken down!”

I
threw the bar aside and ducked away just before the door flew open.

A
Yeoman stood in the doorway, the butt of his halberd raised.

Madge
pushed by him followed by Cousin Mary. Janet, mouth agape, peered inside.

“Get
out,” Madge snapped.

Joan
rolled off the bed and scurried past them, head down so they would not see her
tears.

“Shut
the door,” Madge ordered the yeoman. Janet leapt back as the door slammed in
her face.

I
put my back to the clothespress. Cousin Mary placed herself by the fire,
roaring in the grate, hands folded at her waist. I had never noticed their
delicate bones before.

“It’ll
be all over court by supper,” Madge muttered. “Your parents will hear of it by
Matins.” She started pacing. “They’ll think I had a hand in your debacle and I
won’t have it.”
 

The
room pitched, seeking to throw me out. Had someone broken our pact already? Had
Northumberland’s word been a lie?

“W-what
has happened?”

Cousin
Mary coughed into her sleeve. Her blue eyes wavered. “Mary…well…it seems that
Lord John de Vere has told someone a story…and that person spoke with me…and…”
Her voice crumbled to flyaway ashes.

Madge’s
eyes blazed. “He called you light. He said your virtue was nothing as it was
reputed to be.” Her voice fell into a tense low register that made me hear John
himself. “He stopped short of calling you a whore, but he left “this person” in
no doubt he thinks you ripe fruit ready to be plucked by fresh hands.”

“What?”
    

Cousin
Mary grabbed my wrists, plunging me back into the nightmare of last night.
Enowes cold gloves squeezed my throat. The smothering stench of stale roses
closed my nose. Clere’s sharp fingers dug through my flesh to bone. Icy water
smothered my breath.

“She’s
gone white.” Cousin Mary started chafing my wrists.

“I’m
fine.”

How can I say so when I cannot feel my
feet on the floor?

“Get
a chair, Madge.”

“Wh-who
is this “someone?” I croaked.

Cousin
Mary quit chafing. “Oh, Mary. It is best—“

“—Don’t
spare her, Carey,” Madge spat. “It was that bitch Lady Worcester. She burned a
hole in Lady Lee’s ear this morning after Mass. Lady Lee went to my sister.
She, of course, came to us because we were charged by the Queen to keep you
under our eye back at Windsor, and since Anne never lifted that order we are
accountable for your misdoings.”

“Holy
Mother.” The air rushed out of my lungs. I fell onto the chair Madge put under
me. Boneless, I folded like a soiled napkin.

“Sweet
Christ.” Cousin Mary’s hands shook me.

Madge
slapped them away. “Burn a feather,” she snapped.

I
puddled between them. Shame, disbelief, and horror seared me by turns. The room
faded behind a murky, grey haze. I heard the fire shout whore as it broke and
consumed the logs.

Cousin
Mary waved the lit end of a long tapered pheasant tail plucked from my riding
hat under my nose. The stinking smoke closed it. My eyes watered.

“I-I—it
is a lie,” I got out.

Cousin
Mary sagged, shaking her head. I took a breath and tried the lie again.

“Truly.
I am innocent of what he says.”

Madge’s
look picked me apart. “You are a complete fool.”

Cousin
Mary rubbed her eyes. “That does not help, Madge.”

Madge
glared. “Anne will say worse, so she’d best get used to it.”

Cousin
Mary ducked her head; Madge only spoke the truth.

“Why
would he try to damage you so?” Cousin Mary asked. “Why have you fallen out so
badly?”

I
looked at Madge. Madge looked at the wall.

“What’s
to be done?” Cousin Mary spread her hands. “Lady Rochford must tell Anne
anytime now. And…” She ducked her chin. “Cromwell must tell the King.”

Madge
paced a moment. “There is just one chance to save it.” She finally looked at
me. “You must go to Lord John and say the Queen is displeased. There is the
tiniest chance he has some common sense and will know he cannot afford her
displeasure. He must deny it to whomever questions him about it.”

I
swung my head. “I c-cannot see him.”

Madge
slapped my face. Cousin Mary flinched.

“You
have no choice, mistress. If you don’t make this right you’re soiled goods. Do
you want to be a nun?”

I
started shaking again. Syon Abbey’s stark walls floated across my field of
vision.

“N-no.”

Madge
nodded. “You’d best pray you convince him and Anne takes your part then.” Her
eyes raked me. “I wouldn’t.”