The Siren Queen: An Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's (27 page)

“That’s interesting.”

“It’s suggestive. I think that Robin Dudley isn’t privy to de
Spes’s more dubious schemes but that he does suspect their existence. I fancy he’s becoming uncomfortable about his own dealings with Mary Stuart. You need only go to the end of the Strand to see him.”

“And I am to say—what?”

“Warn him, Ursula. Confirm his suspicions. He and I are not friends and never have been. He has become entangled in this . . . this octopus of a plot . . . because he sees it as a chance to injure me. He will not take advice from me but he knows you well and he knows of the work you have done. To you, he may listen.”

“He started me on my secret work,” I said. “It began when he wanted someone to watch over his wife. I failed then. She died anyway.”

“But you went on to give worthwhile service to the queen and you found out what really happened to Amy Dudley. He respects you.”

“Is he another who knows of my parentage?”

“I don’t know, but probably. The queen has few secrets from him. Tell me, Ursula, does Meg know?” Cecil asked suddenly.

“Not yet,” I said stiffly. It was so very difficult to talk to Cecil in a normal manner. Every time I looked at him, the memory of Matthew’s name emerging from that cipher came surging back. “One day, perhaps,” I said.

“I think you must, eventually, or someone else will. She’s nearly grown up, you know. However, to return to the matter in hand; getting Leicester to withdraw his support for Norfolk’s marriage and Mary’s reinstatement really is important. I don’t like him any more than he likes me, but to the queen, he is Sweet Robin, her Eyes. While he . . . I think he long since gave up hope of marrying her, but oddly enough, I think that he loves her now more than he did when he saw her as a way to power.”

“A good deal of power still goes with being her friend and one of her favorites,” I remarked distantly.

“Oh yes, that’s true. Probably Dudley himself doesn’t know where love ends and self-interest begins. That,” said Cecil, “is mainly why I don’t like the man. He isn’t honest with himself.
But the queen will be bitterly hurt if she thinks he has betrayed her, and if he gets any deeper into this business, that is what could happen. He’s acting behind Elizabeth’s back. I want to get him out of it.”

“You want to avoid arresting him?”

“Or anyone. Oh, Walsingham would like me to have all the known conspirators—Norfolk, Leicester, Ridolfi, and de Spes as well—seized and thrown into the Tower, but I have said no. I will
not
tear the whole structure of the council apart, not if I can avoid it. I would rather make these wretched schemes just wither away. I think I can deal with Norfolk. I mean to see that that lawsuit of his goes in his favor. He’ll be grateful. He may even pay heed to my advice. That,” said Cecil, “will scupper the marriage. It still leaves the possibility of Mary’s reinstatement, but if Leicester then backs out as well, the first step in this horrible scheme will lack two vital supporters.”

“And the rest may then lose heart?”

“With luck, yes. So there is your task. Show the truth to Elizabeth’s Eyes. Try to convince him that the price of damaging me could be too high.”

“I see. When shall I go?”

“Tomorrow, if you will. Today, I have no doubt, you are tired and upset and need rest. Ursula . . . ”

“Sir William?”

“We have not mentioned the matter that caused you to quarrel with me this morning. But untreated wounds can fester. When Mildred fetched you, did she mention Matthew de la Roche?”

I looked away from him, through the square leaded windowpanes at the garden below. There were beds of rich color: phlox and lupin, hollyhock, gillyflower, and rose. But the misery of the deception that Cecil and the queen had practiced on me was between that fair garden and myself, a more effective barrier than any panes of glass.

Cecil was waiting for an answer. I turned back to him. “Yes. She pointed out—that there were reasons.”

“I asked her to do that. There is something, though, that I wish to say to you before we let the matter fall into silence. You
were married to Matthew virtually by force. You were in love with him, but force was needed because you knew he was our queen’s enemy. Later, you left him and lived apart from him for a long time, because of that. Is that not true?”

“Yes. It is true.”

“I have just criticized Robin Dudley of Leicester because he is not honest with himself. I will do you the honor, Ursula, of believing that you won’t make that mistake.”

“You are trying to tell me that I may be better off without Matthew de la Roche.”

“I think you should ask yourself that. There’s no need to discuss it with me. Your father, Ursula—your royal father . . . ”

“Yes?”

“It has always seemed to me,” said Cecil, “that he was given to self-deception, even more than Dudley is. I was not yet twenty when Queen Anne Boleyn was executed; and no more than a boy throughout the years when King Henry was trying to rid himself of his first queen, Katherine of Aragon, in order to marry Anne. But I did learn the facts, some of them then and some later, when I entered into court life, and it has long seemed to me that although he swore that he wished to divorce Queen Katherine only because God had denied them a son, and he thought that perhaps their marriage was flawed because she had once been married to his brother Arthur, and perhaps he even convinced himself that that was true—well, the root and heart of the matter was that he desired Anne, and she wouldn’t give in to him, not until he could offer her marriage.

“It was when I first began to realize that, that I also began to understand how much harm self-deception can do. The queen knows, as well. She deceives others often enough . . . ”

“I know,” I said bitterly.

“Quite. But not,” said Cecil in a gentle voice, “herself. That, I have never known her to do. I beg you not to deceive
your
self, either. What you tell Hugh Stannard is of course your own business. And now, let the subject be closed between us. Perhaps you would like to dine with Mildred. I shall not be there. A tray in the study will do for Walsingham and me. We have work to do.”

“There’s something I’d like to ask,” I said. “Has anything further been discovered about the deaths of Julius Gale and the boy Walt? Is anything further even being done?”

“It certainly is. Norfolk’s household have been questioned again. But asking questions is one thing. Getting answers is another. So far,” said Cecil, “there have been no answers. No one saw anything. No one knows anything. The mysteries remain unsolved.”

 • • • 

Over dinner, Mildred said to me: “Your marriage to Hugh really is legal, you know. It’s a good deal more legal than any marriage between Mary and Norfolk would be! She hasn’t had the wedding to Bothwell annuled yet. What are you going to tell Hugh about—Matthew?”

“The truth,” I said. “What else?”

 • • • 

Paget Place was very much a nobleman’s house. De Spes must have been furious at having to leave it. Four splendid gables gave elegance to the roof and there was a tower, with battlements, as though the owner of the house were prepared to resist attack if necessary. I and the Brockleys did the dignified thing and arrived on horseback, with Dale on her husband’s pillion. We were received graciously at the gatehouse, where my name was recognized, but when I said that I had urgent business with my lord of Leicester, the butler into whose care the gatekeeper handed us asked if I would mind following him to the stableyard.

“A consignment of young horses from the west country has been sent here for his inspection, and the stableyard is where we shall find him. If you are willing to wait, Mistress Stannard, I will show you into the great hall and I’m sure that his lordship will join you as soon as he has finished but you say your business is urgent. When callers come with important business, he prefers them to be brought to him at once. It’s not unusual, with him.”

Leicester was still the Master of the Queen’s Horse and he was obviously at work. I had undertaken this task because it was my duty; but I didn’t like it. I had slept badly because of worrying
about it. It meant broaching a subject so delicate that I could hardly see how to mention it without virtually accusing the man of something very near to treason. I wanted my errand to be over as soon as possible.

“I will speak to my lord of Leicester wherever he may be,” I said. “If he truly has no objection.”

The butler led the way, with Dale and myself behind him, and Brockley leading the horses after us. The stableyard was beautiful, the stone-built stable block and tack room in good repair, the cobbles swept, with not a single dandelion or blade of grass showing between them. The yard had a well and a pump of its own, protected by a low wooden screen to avoid accidents, if a horse became excited.

At present, two very good-looking animals, a blue roan and a chestnut, were tethered to a rail on the stable wall, while a bay gelding with black points and a coat that glistened with grooming was being trotted around the yard by a young groom. By the look of him, the gelding was also young and he was very full of himself. Seeing our horses, he whinnied excitedly at the prospect of new friends and half-reared, almost lifting the lad off his feet. Another groom hurried out of the tack room and beckoned Brockley and his charges into the stable and out of sight.

Watching it all from the middle of the yard, in his shirt-sleeves, feet astride and his arms akimbo, was the queen’s Sweet Robin, the swarthy Earl of Leicester. He raised his brows at me and Dale, looking slightly put out by our arrival, but nevertheless, he signed to us to join him, which we did, keeping out of the way of the lively youngster. “Mistress Stannard! What brings you here?” he said as I reached him. Then, without waiting for an answer, he nodded at the colt. “What do you think of him?”

“He’s a trifle spirited,” I said, as the bay decided that the screen around the water supply assuredly concealed a crouching lion, and skittered sideways across the yard, dragging the unfortunate young groom with him. “He needs schooling. And fewer oats, I should think.”

“I meant his conformation. The need for schooling’s obvious!”

“He’s a beauty,” I said sincerely, looking with admiration at the rounded quarters, the jaunty carriage of head and tail, and the smoothly sloping shoulders. “I can hardly see a flaw.”

“Neither can I. I won’t let Her Majesty even glimpse him until I’ve worked some of the ginger out of him, or she’ll want to try him out herself! Catherine de’ Medici,” he added, “has much to answer for.”

I laughed aloud. I did not like Leicester. I knew too much about him, and for some odd reason, which I never did quite fathom, I was unmoved by his unquestionable good looks. He was just as unmoved by any attractions that I might possess. No one can explain these things, but there are times when they do simplify life. Because of our mutual indifference, Leicester and I, on the rare occasions when we had dealings with each other, could negotiate calmly. If he said something amusing, I was free to laugh, and it was not an answer to a sexual gambit.

“You mean the sidesaddle she invented?” I said.

“I do. There was a time when ladies sat quietly sideways in saddles shaped like boxes while someone else led the horse. If they
had
to ride fast, they rode astride, and that was in emergencies only. But then the Queen of France went and designed a side saddle which gave a woman a stirrup and a pommel to grip and let her look ahead, between the horse’s ears, and since then, you’ve all gone mad. The queen rides headlong, like a cavalryman in a charge and so, my dear Ursula, do you. I’ve seen you.”

Dale dodged behind me as the excitable colt plunged again. “I think the boy isn’t heavy enough to manage him,” I said.

“I agree.
Hobson
!” He pitched his voice with skill, so that it carried, and yet it wasn’t a shout. It wouldn’t frighten any nervous animals. The groom who had taken charge of Brockley emerged from the stable again and in the same well-modulated tone, Leicester ordered him to take over the colt. “He’s sweating. Walk him up and down at the end there till he cools off and don’t let him prance about. Tell Jack to trot Blue Taunton round the yard instead.”

A few moments later, as we watched Hobson show the paces of the blue roan, which was better behaved than the bay, Leicester
said: “So, what
has
brought you here, Ursula? It must be important.”

“It’s very important, my lord of Leicester . . . ”

“You’ve known me long enough to call me Robin.”

“I’m here on an errand that’s so vital that formality seems somehow right. It’s also so vital that I let the butler bring me here instead of waiting in formal fashion in the house. A paradox, as it were. My lord, you won’t be pleased with what I have to say, but I can only beg you to listen, and believe that I come in friendship, with your best interests, and those of the queen, in mind.”

Leicester was a tall man. He looked thoughtfully down at me. “How ominous it all sounds! It concerns the queen?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Then you may be sure I’ll listen.” Again, he gave his voice that carrying yet unalarming pitch. “Hobson, Jack, take the horses back into the stable. I’ll see Sorrel Taunton’s paces later.” Again he looked down at me. “But I think we ought to talk in more suitable surroundings. Come.”

It was a warm day. We went through the great hall, a splendid place with an astonishing array of Turkish carpets in it, hanging on the walls, covering the table, and even spread on the floor for people to trample on, but we didn’t stop there. Instead, we went out onto a terrace, not unlike the Ridolfis’ terrace, but wider and longer, overlooking stretches of turf and well-kept knot gardens, extending down to the river. Tables and benches were set on the terrace and we sat down, Dudley and I opposite each other, at a table, and Dale on a seat a little way off. The butler appeared immediately with wine and two glasses, and Dudley promptly sent him to fetch a third.

“I know you, Ursula. You treat your servants as if they were your brother and sister. I had better give Dale some wine as well or you’ll look at me as though you thought me a skinflint.”