The Queen's Lady (57 page)

“Richard!” Honor sprang out and flung her arms around his neck, knocking him backwards a step. “You came!”

Bridget Sydenham turned away with her candle and softly closed the door.

In the darkness, Thornleigh pulled Honor away from him. He had seen the glint of metal as her arms went around his neck. He disarmed her and tossed the dagger onto the barrel.

They looked at one another. To Honor, Thornleigh’s face in the shadows appeared expressionless. But he had come to her!

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I am now.”

“Honor, I—”

“Oh, Richard, I’m so sorry. For the dreadful things I said.”

“No, it was my fault. I acted like an idiot.”

“But you were right! I should never have left. I don’t even know what’s happening anymore. You were so very right.”

“No. I was wrong to demand . . . to say what I did. I should have helped you, not tried to stop you. God knows I don’t want you to change. And I will from now on. Help you, I mean. Whatever you want to do.”

“I only want to be with you. All this . . . it’s madness. I’m finished with it. Forever.”

He gathered her to him and kissed her long and hard. As they caught their breath, she hugged him, pressing her cheek against his chest. He smelled of horses and sweat, and she could taste salt from his kiss. She drew back and pulled him into the shaft of moonlight to look at him. His clothes were spattered with muck. On his chin grime was smeared over stubble. His eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue. She calculated the speed with which he must have made the journey. She had sent Jinner galloping north with the news as soon as Mrs. Sydenham had taken her in, but Jinner could not possibly have reached Great Ashwold much before noon. “My God,” she said, “you must have ridden without a stop.” She caressed his cheek. “My love,” she whispered.

He grabbed her hand and kissed it. His face betrayed his worry, and when he spoke his voice was low and urgent. “We’re leaving England. At first light.”

“What?” Her eyes widened. “What have you heard?”

He held her hand between his, as if to steady her. “I stopped to change horses in Chelmsford. I saw . . .” He looked down for a moment. “Honor, they burned Frish.”

The tendons in her knees dissolved. Thornleigh caught her by the elbows and held her up. She buried her face in her hands. “My God,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

He drew her to him and held her and stroked her hair. “You have done nothing. Others, though, have done nothing less than murder.”

She looked up into his eyes. She was suddenly so cold that her head shivered and her teeth began to chatter. “It was I who delivered him up to them!”

“No. You could not have known.” He tightened his hold on her arms. “It’s not your fault. Frish wanted to come. He knew the dangers. He’s always known the dangers.”

The injustice of it, the pure, black evil of the atrocity swept her. She beat her fists on Thornleigh’s chest. “Bastards! I’ll find them! I swear, whoever is responsible—”

Thornleigh shook her. “No!” He held her steadily. “Honor, this is not the hill to die on. There’s nothing we can do now for Frish. We’ve got to leave.”

Fury and remorse tore at her heart, but she knew that he was right. Frish was gone. Nothing could change that. And screaming at the man who loved her and had rushed to her side was a waspish child’s response. A solution to their crisis was what was needed. She swallowed her rage, and nodded to show him she was rational again. “But leave England? How can we?”

“How can we not? They’ve killed Frish and they’re after you. We can’t stay.”

“What about Adam?”

“He’s safe with my sister for now. We can send for him. When all’s calm.”

“But what if I’m being watched? Richard, I think I was followed from Cromwell’s.”

“If you were, you must have given them the slip before you reached this door. Otherwise, what could they be waiting for?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know who’s after me. Or why. I’ve done nothing illegal in months.”

“Except bring Frish back. An arch-heretic,” he grimly reminded her.

“Brought him at the King’s command! No, it makes no sense. Who could possibly be behind this?”

“It has to be a man of the Church. You and Frish have no other enemies. The Bishop of London?”

“Why would he bother now? He’s capitulated to the new order along with all the other churchmen.”

“Archbishop Cranmer?”

She shook her head. “He lives to oblige the King, and I was acting for the King.”

“Well it can’t be Cromwell. Why would he betray you when you were only following his orders? Unless,” he scratched his chin, thinking, “unless his own orders were changed.”

“Changed? How?”

“Do you think the King could have had second thoughts? About Frish? If so, maybe he and Cromwell had some kind of falling out.”

“But when I went to Cromwell’s I heard laughter from his hall, and music. A strange way to carry on if he’d fallen foul of the King.”

“Cromwell’s a man who’d land on his feet no matter what the fall.”

“You mean, if something happened to turn the King against Frish, then—”

“Then Cromwell would cut you off as neatly as the bishops have cut off the Pope. Their bread is buttered by the King, and so is Cromwell’s. He’d sacrifice you.”

“But to whom? The King? Oh, Richard, can the King be so vindictive?”

Thornleigh shook his head as if to clear his mind of everything but essential facts. “Look, we can’t wait to find out any of this. Our best chance is to get out now. I’ve sent a message to an old friend, a merchant of the Hanse. He’s sailing to Rotterdam tomorrow.”

“From the Steelyard?” She felt a surge of hope. The Hanse merchants of the Baltic enjoyed special privileges, including their own autonomously controlled riverfront territory with warehouses and wharf called the Steelyard. Because of the invaluable trade they brought, the government was always loath to harass them, even when they had sometimes illegally imported heretical books. If she and Thornleigh could make it to the Steelyard, Honor realized, it would be a kind of sanctuary from which they could embark to safety.

“We must be there at dawn,” Thornleigh said. “And trust that my friend Guttman has received my message.”

“But do you think he—”

She stopped, hearing a noise outside the attic door. They both stood still and listened. Feet shuffled on the stairs. A fist knocked on the door. Bridget Sydenham opened it and entered with her candle.

“Master Thornleigh,” she said, “it may be nothing, but I’ve been watching a man outside the gate. He’s been lurking there for some time.”

Thornleigh strode to the door. “Stay here,” he told Honor.

He went out with Mrs. Sydenham and closed the door.

Honor waited in the silence. She paced until she could stand it no longer. She had to know what was happening.

Softly, she went down one flight of stairs. She heard the crash of the front door slamming. She ran to the landing and looked down. Thornleigh was hauling in a man by the collar. The man turned, tossing back long black hair streaked with silver, and Honor saw his face. He was a stranger to her.

“I tell you, sir,” the man protested, “I was only looking for a haven! I was told—” He stopped abruptly, as if afraid he had said too much.

“Told what?” Thornleigh demanded.

The man hesitated, then closed his eyes and blurted, as if to hazard all, “Told this was a safe house.”

“Who said so?” Thornleigh shoved the man hard, making him stumble back against the wall, cringing. Bridget Sydenham stood at the front door to block his escape.

“Oh, please, sir, it was at a secret meeting, and he didn’t give his name. But he told me, if ever I had need, this house would hide me.”

Something in the man’s voice caught Honor off guard. It was a low, rumbling voice, unhurried even in his extreme agitation, and it tugged at some string of memory. Yet his face, coarse and red, meant nothing to her.

Thornleigh was watching the intruder with clear suspicion. “Why have you picked tonight to come?”

“Oh, sir, as God is my witness, I have need of a haven now!”

That’s it! Honor thought. This was the voice from the hold of the
Dorothy Beale
—the guard who had searched with his whining mate while she crouched in the pit.

As if he had heard her thoughts, the man glanced up at the landing where Honor stood and she realized that he had seen her; it was useless to hang back any longer. She started down the steps.

“My lady!” the man cried. His face lit up, as if with recognition. The surprise of it made Honor stop.

The man bounded over to the foot of the stairs and threw himself on his knees below Honor. Steel scraped as Thornleigh drew his sword from its scabbard and lunged. The man’s hands flew into the air like a caught felon. Thornleigh halted his sword point an inch from his throat.

Though the man held his head rigid above Thornleigh’s blade, the black hair that flowed to his shoulders quivered with tension. “I beg you, my lady, save a drowning man!”

“Who are you?” she asked warily. “How do you know me?”

“From Yarmouth, my lady,” he cried happily. “No, you don’t know me, but I’ve seen you. And you do know my master. Dr. Pelle. I’m with his harbor patrol.”

Honor and Thornleigh exchanged tense glances.

“Yes,” the man cried, “I know of your secret work.”

He flinched as Thornleigh’s sword jerked to his throat and the tip pricked his skin. “Please, my lady!” he cried, “I am one of you! For months I’ve kept my true heart hidden from Dr. Pelle!”

“And kept on working for him?” Thornleigh growled.

“It was wrong, I warrant, to dissemble and still do his bidding.” His face creased with the strain of his guilt. “Wrong to do—” he paused and looked at Honor with intense contrition “—to do many of the bad things I’ve done. I’m heartily sorry for it. But, you see, I’m a poor fellow, my lady, and a father. I pray God will forgive a sinner with a wife and five babes to feed. For since the blessed day when I first heard the Word of God at that secret meeting—”

“Get to the point,” Thornleigh said, letting the cold steel prod again, “or you’ll feel an inch more of mine.”

The man continued to speak directly up to Honor. “I don’t know how it happened, but somehow Dr. Pelle suspects me. He knows! I’ve run off . . . brought my family to London. But I’m sure he’s on my heels. I came searching for this house where I was told I would find help. And now, praise be to God, I have found
you
!”

While he spoke, Honor had cautiously come down to the bottom of the stairs. Thornleigh had also drawn back his blade a little, and the man took the opportunity to snatch up the hem of Honor’s skirt and kiss it. “It’s like a miracle,” he cried. “Oh, my lady, I must get away across the Narrow Sea. You can do it. I know you can. Please, do not forsake me. You are my only hope!”

“You expect a great deal of me, sir,” she said, eyeing him, still wary.

Thornleigh had not sheathed his sword. “Any man of Pelle’s could come up with a story like this,” he scoffed.

“Please, sir, you must believe me!”

“Give me one good reason why.”

The man’s eyes flicked between Thornleigh and Honor several times. He swallowed. “Because of the Bible,” he said evenly.

“Bible?” Honor asked, on guard. “What do you mean?”

“That day Dr. Pelle had us search your ship, the
Dorothy Beale
, I knew you were hiding in the hold.”

Honor stiffened.

“I knew it wasn’t you that left in the skiff under that cloak of yours. I knew it, because I saw orange hair fly out from under the hood.”

“My God,” Honor whispered.

“And later, during the fire, I found your Bible. Full of names, it was.”

She looked at him with a mixture of astonishment and delight. “
You
found it? I always wondered—”

“So you found it,” Thornleigh cut in. He was not so easily swayed. “Why haven’t you contacted us before this? You’ve had months.”

“I was afraid, sir. I have a family to think of.”

“What did you do with the Bible?”

“Got rid of it, sir.”

“How?”

“Burned it.” The man looked back to Honor. His deep voice became a plea. “I ask you, my lady, would I have done all that if I meant you harm?”

Honor was moved. “I am right glad to know you, sir.” She held out her hand to him with a disarming smile. Thornleigh allowed the man to take her hand and kiss it.

“And,” Honor said, “I’d like to help you in return for what you did for us. If you can be ready to leave in the mor—”

Pain flared up her arm as Thornleigh jerked her by the elbow. He pulled her aside.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered roughly. “Even if he’s telling the truth, we don’t need this now. Let me get rid of him.”

“Richard,” she said, “we owe him for keeping that evidence hidden. He saved us from Pelle. He’s proved he’s a friend. Now Pelle’s after him. And I would not let a dog who had bitten me fall into the hands of Pelle, let alone have it happen to a friend. Besides,” she said, so softly it was almost to herself, “we’ve already lost one friend today.”

Thornleigh rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t like it.”

“But would you call him a liar? The facts are too plain.”

Thornleigh only shrugged.

It was enough for Honor. “Richard,” she said fervently, “if you insist, I’ll turn this man away. I’ll not go against your will again. But I truly believe he needs us. Can’t we help?”

Thornleigh, though looking far from convinced, finally said, “I told you I would. I meant it.”

She smiled. “It’s the last time. I promise.”

He nodded.

Honor went back to the petitioner. He was still on his knees. “Master . . .”

“Legge,” he said quickly, gratefully. “Leonard Legge.”

“Master Legge. Come at dawn to the Steelyard wharf. If you don’t mind traveling as our servant,” she smiled, “we’ll get you across to Rotterdam.”

Thornleigh groaned as he came beside her. “At least,” he urged her in a tense whisper, “let me hold him in this house overnight.”

Legge heard this. For a moment the eyes of the two men met and reckoned one another.