The Queen's Secret (16 page)

Elizabeth made an impatient gesture. ‘Speak! And get up off the floor, I cannot continue to address your head.’

‘Your ladies must be hungry too,’ Robert pointed out mildly. He rose and brushed down his knee with his feathered cap. ‘Though if you prefer to hear this trifling matter first, Your Majesty, I am your humble servant.’

Elizabeth looked about the room, seeing what he saw. Some of her women lay on the warm rushes as though in a faint; others still sat on the floor as ordered, but were fanning themselves against the heat, one or two with caps slightly askew, a fine sheen of perspiration on cheeks and foreheads. She noticed that none of them dared so much as glance in the direction of the table where
the
food waited, neatly set out for her to examine. Only her official taster stood beside the table, thoughtfully chewing a few morsels of each dish before nodding and moving on, eyes bright in his wizened face.

Robert watched the man with a frown, then turned away, his casual gaze taking in the chamber and its occupants – rather too swiftly, Elizabeth thought, as if he was trying to avoid eye contact with one woman in particular.

‘Let us talk and eat at the same time, then!’ she said sharply.

She tore a thin sliver of duck from its bed of rosemary sprigs, dipped it in a fragrant bowl of oils and spices, and nodded to Lettice to pass her a selection of the remaining dishes. She hesitated over venison served with green pears in red wine, then turned instead to the baked lapwings, drawn by their delicate aroma.

‘Speak,’ she commanded him again. Robert took up a position by the carved marble mantelpiece, discreetly not looking at her while she ate. He rested one booted foot on the base of the hearth’s marble surround. ‘What is this matter that kept you away from your more pressing duty to me all morning?’

Robert glanced at her ladies-in-waiting. But since she had not dismissed them, he merely lowered his voice. ‘Your Majesty will be aware, I’m sure, of various threats against your life this summer.’

‘Walsingham said something of this the night I arrived at Kenilworth. What of it?’

Her proud chin in the air, Lettice Knollys passed him with the rest of the duck, and Robert watched with undisguised interest as the ladies gathered round the dish to pick hungrily at the remaining meat.

‘There may have been a development, Your Majesty.’

She raised her eyebrows, turning her head slightly to gaze at Robert. He looked up and their eyes met for a moment. He nodded, his expression grim.

‘There was an attempted attack on a woman out in the Brays last night.’ He left the mantel and came to her side, leaning down so he could not be heard by the other women. ‘A commoner, but one of your own household, Your Majesty. The woman was
unhurt
but there may be a link between what happened last night and these threats of which Walsingham spoke. Indeed, we suspect …’

She stared at him as Robert’s voice died away. ‘For the love of God, man, what do you suspect? I am safe enough here, surely?’

Robert spoke in a passionate undertone. ‘These walls at Kenilworth are thickly guarded by your most loyal subjects, Your Majesty. But I fear you are not safe anywhere while you remain unmarried. Your enemies’ greatest hope is to seize the throne of England and put a Catholic back in power before you can produce an heir to bring stability to this country. And their power grows every year. That audacious creature Ridolfi, who turned Norfolk’s hand against you, remains at large in Rome, and may yet have other secret followers at your court. It seems we welcome more foreigners every year into Your Majesty’s presence, until we cannot tell Catholic from Protestant, friend from foe.’ He drew a shuddering breath, his dark gaze fixed on her face. ‘But you know my solution to this problem, and have only to say yes.’

Oh yes, Elizabeth knew his solution. To take his hand in marriage and sign her throne over to an upstart Dudley instead of the noble house of Tudor.

Lettice must have overheard his last remark. She had come with a deep curtsey to remove the untouched venison, but now stood still and white as a carved figure on a tombstone. Then she turned abruptly and carried the heavy platter back to the ladies-in-waiting without so much as a glance in his direction.

Robert flushed and changed the subject. ‘The woman who was attacked last night is in need of safe lodgings, here in the inner court. We have cause to believe she may be attacked again. Do I have your permission to house her with some of your own household staff, Your Majesty?’

She frowned at the impropriety of such a request. ‘Who is this woman? What is her name?’

‘Lucy Morgan. Your Moorish songbird.’

Stunned, Elizabeth stared at him. ‘That sweet young girl was nearly …?’

‘If Lucy had not had the good sense to run and hide herself
from
those pursuing her, I fear she would have lost her life along with her virginity.’

Avoiding Robert’s gaze, Elizabeth pretended to examine the bowl of fresh-picked summer fruits that had been set before her. They had looked so tempting outside, clusters of tart red berries nestling artfully against a heap of luscious silken apricots. Now she could barely bring herself to lift a single berry to her lips.

‘She may sleep with the household women, if there is a place for her,’ she decided, not wishing to have the young girl’s death on her conscience. ‘You may speak to Mistress Darnley on her behalf. She always knows where there is room for one more. And whoever these men are, I want them found and taken under guard. Even if they turn out to be your own guardsmen.’

Robert grew pale at that deliberate insult but said nothing in retaliation. Instead, he bowed very low, thanked her, and withdrew from her presence, unsmiling.

Elizabeth watched her kinswoman closely throughout the rest of the meal, hoping to see some sign of pain. But if Lettice felt any emotion at having overheard Robert’s barely veiled declaration of marriage, her beautiful face reflected nothing but a polite, customary boredom.

Eighteen

TOM LOOKED UP
from his painstaking adjustment of the saddle girth to where Lucy sat side-saddle on the back of the brown mare. His broad, generous mouth twitched. ‘You look terrified.’

‘I am terrified.’

He laughed and leaned across her stiff body, rapping her knuckles like a child’s. ‘Don’t grip the reins so tight. You may be scared, but you don’t want your mount to know that. Light hands, loose fingers, remember?’ He watched her critically as she turned the pony in a painfully slow circle. ‘Better.’

‘And if I want to go the other way?’ She struggled with the reins and the mare skittered sideways. ‘How would …?’

‘With your knees, if you were a man. A woman needs to use a switch.’ He handed a thin-stripped birch rod to her. ‘And try to smile. She knows when you’re not smiling.’

‘The horse knows when I’m not smiling?’

‘She’s a pony, not a horse,’ he reminded her. ‘They always know and they don’t trust you. So smile.’

Lucy did not believe a word of this, but she forced a reluctant smile, glad to do anything that might help this lesson go a little better. An old man sitting across the green, chewing on a long stalk of grass, smiled back at her, revealing a gappy mouth with only one or two teeth. She stopped smiling and fiddled with the switch.

‘What am I to do with this?’

Patiently, Tom showed her how to brush the birch rod across the mare’s rump to keep it at a steady pace, or sting it with a smart tap when she wanted the pony to trot. ‘You won’t need to canter yet, of course. Unless you intend to hunt.’ When she giggled, he paused in his explanation and stared. There was a quiet dignity in the dark eyes that searched her face. ‘Did I say something amusing, Mistress Morgan?’

‘No,’ she said quickly, feeling an unexpected heat creep into her cheeks. Had he noticed? To distract him, she practised stroking the pony’s sturdy rump with the birch rod, not sure she would ever be able to bring herself to beat the poor animal. ‘Though I am plain Lucy, not Mistress Morgan. I was just trying to imagine myself following the hunt like one of the court ladies, with a feather in my cap.’

Frowning, he took her hand and demonstrated again how to flick the crop, jerking her wrist and catching the fleshy part of the rump.

‘Do it more sharply. Don’t worry about hurting her.’

She thought of the men who had chased her last night, what crimes they might have committed on her body if they had caught her, and snatched her hand away. ‘I’ve got it now.’ She saw his offended expression and did not know what to say, how to explain herself without risking shame. ‘I should stop now and go back inside. There are duties I was meant to attend to.’

‘I was commanded to teach you to ride,’ Tom reminded her, drawing her reins forward over the pony’s head. ‘I’ll lead you out to the village green, so you can try it on your own.’

It was cooler and quieter outside the castle walls. On the green that sloped gently towards the church, Lucy was able to concentrate on holding the reins in the correct manner, sitting awkward but upright as he had shown her, and balancing the switch across the bulky skirts of her gown. She wondered if she would ever see her old gown again, or the rest of her meagre possessions left behind in her room in the Brays. But Master Goodluck had promised he would send a man to fetch them before nightfall, and she had never known him to fail her yet.

Left alone on the brown mare, with Tom retreating to what felt too dangerously far away for him to save her, Lucy gathered the
reins
in her left hand and stroked the pony’s rump with the switch. Nothing happened, though the mare did seem to sigh at the contact, its fat belly and back shifting like a mattress being turned under her. She gave a little shriek and clung on, swaying in the saddle. ‘What did I do?’

‘It’s just a touch of wind,’ he called back, and she saw his mouth twitch again. ‘It happens all the time. Try to sit still.’

‘I’ve forgotten—’

‘Smart tap on the rump. Pull the reins to the right.’

Lucy followed his instructions, keeping her hand as light on the reins as possible. This time, to her great delight, the brown mare not only turned in the correct direction but took several steps forward. Unfortunately, it then bent its head to crop the rough grass. Lucy tried to drag its head back up but the mare stoutly refused, ripping the reins free of her too loose grip.

Nearly unseated by this last move, Lucy was secretly relieved when Tom pulled the reins back over the mare’s head, and handed them to her with a smile.

‘I did it,’ Lucy pointed out unnecessarily, trying not to sound triumphant. ‘I got her to walk.’

Tom nodded, and she caught a flicker of something in his face which she did not understand. Then he gestured over her shoulder. ‘Your friend’s here,’ he murmured. ‘Perhaps I should get back. The hunt will go out soon.’

She turned and saw Master Goodluck heading towards them across the green. ‘Goodluck!’ Dropping the reins, she tried to get down from the mare’s back and found herself falling instead.

Tom caught and steadied her. ‘Careful now, Lucy Morgan, it’s a long way down for a lady. You must wait to be assisted from a pony, not throw yourself off like that.’

He was right, and she was vaguely aware that she was trembling, as though the fall had frightened her more than she knew. Over Tom’s shoulder, she could see that Goodluck had reached them. He held out his broad arms and she ran into them, not caring what Tom thought.

‘Master Goodluck!’ She closed her eyes, leaning against his striped and slashed doublet. ‘I am learning to ride.’

‘So I see.’ Frowning gently, he held her at arm’s length for a
moment,
examining her face. ‘How are you today? Much improved since last night, it seems. Everything has been arranged as I told you it would be. You are to seek out a Mistress Alice Darnley, who is in charge of the court ladies’ lodgings. She knows of your situation and will find you a quiet corner somewhere.’

‘And my things?’

‘A man has already been sent to retrieve them.’

Lucy felt enormous relief. ‘I knew you would help me.’

‘You did the right thing, coming to me. I have few friends and countless enemies, but those friends I do have are in high places.’ All the same, Goodluck continued to frown, stroking his thick beard. ‘We were unable to find the tent you described, though. No doubt the men who followed you had packed up and left by the time the camp was searched.’

‘But you said you knew who might have been involved.’

‘When you told me what your pursuers looked like, I thought the Italian bear-tamer must be behind it. But it can’t have been him as he was seen out here at dusk last night, practising tricks with his bear on the green, and came back through the gatehouse at last call. One of my own men was watching him.’

‘But surely he and the men who followed me must know each other?’

‘It’s not enough for us to guess at such a serious matter as conspiracy. We must know it absolutely.’ Goodluck shrugged. ‘My men will continue to watch the bear-tamer, have no fear of that. But without more conclusive evidence, and only the word of a girl to go on, it will be difficult to do more.’