To Kiss A Spy (23 page)

Dear God, she couldn’t bear to think of it.

Eighteen

“Robin? I’m glad I ran into you. I want a word.” The Duke of Northumberland loomed out of the shadows in the great hall, stepping out from behind a pillar, almost, Robin thought, as if he’d been lying in wait.

Robin stopped, not sorry to have some distraction from the turmoil of his own thoughts.

“My lord?”

Northumberland glanced around. The hall was crowded even at this hour. “Come to my privy chamber in half an hour.” He walked off on the instruction.

Robin shrugged. It struck him as rather late for such a summons even from Northumberland, who had no schedule for his scheming, but it was not a summons to be ignored.

Exactly half an hour later he presented himself to the sentry who stood at the door to the duke’s privy chamber. The sentry, obviously warned to expect him, opened the door for him immediately.

He was not at once acknowledged by the three men in the chamber, who continued their conversation.

“The marriage date is fixed for Whitsunday,” Northumberland said. “The young people should improve their acquaintance in the meantime. Guildford will wait upon Jane in the next day or two. . . . Ah, Robin, there you are, good.” Northumberland from the carved seat behind his massive oak desk waved him to an armless chair.

Robin bowed to the Duke of Suffolk and the Earl of Pembroke, who were standing together beside the arched window that looked down onto the torchlit courtyard.

They nodded at Robin and went to take chairs on either side of the desk. He thought they both looked tense, and he sensed an air of expectation in the chamber.

Robin took his seat, none of his speculation apparent on his countenance. He’d had his suspicions that Northumberland was planning to marry off his youngest son to Lady Jane Grey, Suffolk’s daughter, and now he had his confirmation. But what was the marriage designed to achieve, apart from the simple uniting of two ducal houses? Northumberland would have something more devious in mind, Robin was convinced.

“We are to celebrate a marriage, my lord duke?” he inquired placidly.

“Aye, my son and Jane Grey,” Northumberland said, rubbing his chin. “The king has given his blessing.”

“My felicitations to both parties,” Robin said, even as he wondered how poor little Jane was taking the news of her impending nuptials. Not well, he was certain. She had little liking for any of the Dudley sons. They were rough and had often bullied her as a child.

Had this summons anything to do with the wedding? For the moment he forgot his preoccupation with Pen and Owen d’Arcy. These three men were the most prominent members of the Privy Council. He knew them well but had never before been invited to participate in their deliberations.

“Well, enough of that,” Northumberland said, steepling his fingers. “Robin, we would talk of your sister.”

The preoccupation flooded back. Robin said nothing, but he was now very still, every nerve stretched.

“Lady Pen still keeps close company with Chevalier d’Arcy,” Northumberland continued. He raised an inquiring eyebrow. “That is still the case, I believe. They were much together over the Christmas season.”

“Aye, very close,” Suffolk put in. “Lady Pen shows a distinct partiality for the chevalier’s company.”

“What of it, my lord?” Robin demanded, his tone curt to the point of discourtesy.

Northumberland waved Suffolk into silence and stated as if answering Robin’s question, “The chevalier is a French agent.”

So that was it? Northumberland had finally come up with a way in which Pen’s connection with the spy could be turned to good use.
In grim silence Robin waited for enlightenment.

Northumberland leaned forward over the desk. “Is your sister aware of that fact?”

“Of course not, my lord duke,” Robin replied, his gaze clear, his expression calm as a millpond, no hint of his inner turmoil as he sought the best way to protect Pen.

“My sister knows nothing of spies. She has had a great deal of tragedy in her life in the last few years and it seems that the chevalier has offered her some distraction. Her family have seen no harm in it.” His voice was bland and only someone listening for it would have heard the challenge running deep beneath.

Northumberland was not listening for it. He drummed his fingers on the desk, the great ruby on his finger glowing ruddy in the light of the lamp. “I see a way to turn the situation to our advantage. We need to get some information to the French . . . information that’s not exactly true.” A thin smile flickered over his mouth.

Robin’s nostrils flared as he sensed what was coming but he waited with every appearance of polite attention.

The duke continued, gesturing to Suffolk and Pembroke, “My lords and I have decided that we will use Lady Pen in this business. Whatever she tells the chevalier that is pertinent to French interests, he will inevitably pass on to his masters. We need right now to give them something that will keep them too busy to meddle in our real business.” He chuckled. It was a sinister sound, quite without humor.

“Robin, you will use your sister to pass on certain information to her lover.”

He rubbed his hands together and the ruby flashed red fire. “Through your sister we shall tell the French that we are promoting a marriage between Mary and the Duc d’Orleans. It’s a project dear to their hearts and it’ll keep them off the true scent. They shall hear through Lady Pen regular bulletins about the king’s health . . . that he grows stronger by the moment . . . and that his sister is now definitely looking to wed with France and not with Spain.”

“A splendid falsehood,” Suffolk said, nodding vigorously. “There is nothing that France would like better than to dance on the grave of an English–Spanish alliance.”

Robin straightened his ruff, which seemed to have found its way to the side of his neck. Did this have anything to do with Jane’s marriage to Dudley? It had to. Northumberland never dabbled in random schemes.

“And what is the true scent, my lord?” he inquired.

The duke seemed to consider before he said with an assumption of geniality, “All in good time, Robin. You shall know all in good time. For the moment let us concentrate on your sister’s part.”

Robin wondered fleetingly if Pen would agree to such a thing now that she knew the truth about her lover. Not that he intended to find out. It had been many months since he had begun to distrust Northumberland’s commitment to his country’s well-being, and several years since he had understood the depths of the duke’s personal ambition. He had offered his services to the duke as a result of his close connection with Suffolk, in whose household Robin had passed most of his youth. But now it was time to declare those old loyalties dead.

Whatever he thought of Pen’s relationship with d’Arcy, Robin would not involve her in Northumberland’s dirty business. Whatever the duke was planning, it was to the greater glory of the house of Northumberland. Let him find some other way to manipulate the French spy.

He stood up and said quietly, “My sister is no spy, my lord. I will not make one of her.”

Northumberland stared at him in utter disbelief. He couldn’t remember when anyone had had the temerity to deny him. “What did you say?” he demanded, cupping an ear as if questioning his hearing.

“I said, my lord duke, that I will not involve my sister, wittingly or unwittingly, in any such scheme.”

There was an indrawn breath followed by a taut silence in the chamber. The fire crackled, candlewax dripped onto the table. Robin held his ground against the duke’s livid glare.

Then Northumberland spoke, his voice soft and deadly. “Make no mistake, Beaucaire. If your sister fails to pass on this information she will find herself in the Tower. There are many pretexts on which she, as the princess’s closest confidante, could be arrested. If you cannot persuade her to cooperate, she will pay the full penalty for treason. Not even her family will protect her.”

Robin was in no doubt that the duke would carry out this threat. It was, of course, much more effective than threatening Robin himself. There was little else that he could say, so he bowed and left the chamber.

Northumberland frowned at the closed door for a minute. Then he shook his head, dismissing the odd notion that his threat had not achieved Robin’s cooperation.

“The king is working on what he calls his
Device for the Succession,”
he said after a minute. “He is preparing to leave the throne to Suffolk’s daughter. But the new deed of succession must be signed and ratified by the entire council before the king’s death.”

The Earl of Pembroke sighed. “I doubt it will be easy to get the council’s agreement.”

“Oh, they’ll agree,” the duke said impatiently. “After all, they will have the fine example of the most loyal Earl of Pembroke to follow.”

Pembroke flushed slightly but said nothing. He rose to his feet. “I give you good night, my lords.”

“The woman, Goodlow, is she doing the king much good, do you think?” Suffolk asked when the door had closed behind the earl.

“He seems worse if the truth be told. But something’s keeping him alive,” Northumberland replied. “He’s working frantically on this
Device,
and perhaps he’s rallied a little. I think he’s probably living on his determination not to see his country returned to the Catholics.”

Suffolk shook his head. “His sufferings are so great, Northumberland. I can barely endure to see them.”

“Well, as long as he does what’s necessary before God has mercy on him,” the other said coldly.

“At least on his death we’ll be done with the drunken posturing of that fool Bryanston. For as long as his creature tends the king, he can claim access to the highest realms of the court. He seems to have decided he’s my dearest friend and confidant. Everywhere I go he’s on my heels, whispering into my ear, looking around to see who’s remarked him in such close company with
Northumberland
.” His lip curled.

“I’m sure you’ll think of some way to have him lodged in the Tower,” Suffolk observed somewhat aridly.

“Oh, never fear it.” Northumberland got up. “I take it you’ve had no trouble with Jane over the betrothal.”

“Some small resistance, but nothing her mother and I could not deal with.” Suffolk followed him out of the chamber. “The wedding plans are well under way.”

Robin knocked on Pen’s chamber door. There was no answer. Softly he opened the door and slipped into the darkened room. He knew immediately that Pen was not there; there was no sense of her presence. The cat on the bed opened one eye, then closed it again.

Could she be with the princess?

Robin looked around and with a shaft of despairing frustration saw that her cloak had gone from its hook by the door. He had had but one thought: that he had to get Pen out of the palace and safely under his father’s roof by morning. The Earl of Kendal would protect her even from Northumberland, whatever the duke might say. They would have to take her far from London to evade the consequences of the duke’s wrath but Lord Hugh would know how to do it.

“Where in hell are you?”
he demanded of the room in general and the inattentive cat. But he knew the answer. She would be with that damned spy. Was she so infatuated with him that she couldn’t bear to spend a night apart? Or had she gone to confront him with the information Robin had given her?

Either way, she wasn’t here. But she would have to come back by morning.

He sat down to wait for her beside the dying fire.

What lay behind the marriage of Suffolk’s daughter to Northumberland’s son?

It was an interesting enough puzzle to occupy his restless mind as the night wore on.

“Which one?” Pen stared down the dark, fetid alley set back from the South Bank of the Thames. The ground beneath her feet was thick and rank with mud and the contents of the overflowing kennel. The lane was so narrow that the gabled roofs of the opposing houses almost met above their heads, offering some slight protection from the steady drizzle.

“We’ll start with the first one.” Owen gestured to the closest of the two lamplit doorways.

Pen shivered. She didn’t think she had ever been anywhere so wretched, so utterly desolate and filled with menace. She glanced up at Owen and saw that he had his knife in his hand. She could feel his body as he stood close to her. The taut alertness of every muscle and sinew was quite at odds with the hunched and somewhat furtive posture he had assumed with his disguise.

They approached the first doorway and a man pushed past them on his way out into the wet night. He was straightening his doublet, lacing his hose even as he went. He cast Pen a swift appraising glance.

“Keep your eyes off her, she’s mine,” Owen said in a voice so harsh and rasping that Pen could barely believe it belonged to him. He reached for her wrist and encircled it tightly. “Come here.”

She obeyed the sharp jerk on her wrist with a frightened little whimper. The stranger gave a sly half-smile. “Mebbe I’ll find ’er ’ere one of these fine days.”

“Aye, maybe,” Owen said and stepped into the dimly lit hallway, dragging Pen behind him.

“Well, well, what can I do fer ye, dear sir?” A woman spoke from the door of a parlor. “Come you in an’ see what I’ve got.” She gestured behind her even as her sharp, calculating, bloodshot eyes assessed her visitors.

“I’ve come to sell, not buy,” Owen stated, “but I’ll take a look at what you’ve got.” He entered the parlor, still dragging Pen behind him as if she were a dog on a leash.

She kept her head down and tucked sideways into her shoulder, finding it shockingly easy in these surroundings to act like a beaten woman. She listened for the sound of children.

A cry came from an upper floor and she stopped, pulling back against Owen’s hand. He jerked her forward again and raised a hand. She shrank. The cry came again but it wasn’t a child’s. Pen felt cold and sick as she pictured what was going on upstairs.

The parlor, if such it could be called, was a sparsely furnished chamber. A sullen fire smoldered in the grate, tallow candles flickered in sconces. There was a smell of cheap perfume and rank flesh.

Three women sat on stools beside the fire. Each wore only a chemise, unbuttoned to reveal her breasts. They regarded the new arrivals with blank stares from dull eyes gazing out from tangled masses of lank, greasy hair.