Assassin (9 page)

Lord Worthy sat politely and I got the impression he was waiting to talk to the Queen on his own, so
as another song came to an end, I rose and curtsied and asked to be excused to go to my bed. The Queen kissed me goodnight on the cheek and I went upstairs quite slowly, feeling sorry for Lord Worthy.

The other girls weren’t there yet, they were playing cards in the Presence Chamber, but Ellie was sitting on my bed looking very perky.

“How did it go?” I asked her. “Did you get the sleeping draught?”

“Yes. You gave me lots of money—look, I got a whole bottle of laudanum for it.” She held up a small green bottle. “I got all wrapped up in a striped cloak and went to an apothecary in Westminster.”

I looked sideways at her. “Where did you get a striped cloak?” (Only harlots wear them—it’s a sort of uniform for them. The City Fathers make them do it.)

“Oh, we do a little extra laundry on the side,” Ellie said casually, “and one of the strumpets at the Falcon got a new one when we were washing hers, so she didn’t bother to collect it, said we could keep it. It comes in quite useful sometimes.”

I nodded.

“Here’s the change.” Ellie dropped the coins on my bed. “Now remember not to drink any of the wine on the sideboard there—I’ve put several drops
of laudanum in it so the two twitter-heads will sleep well.”

Ellie can’t bear most of the Maids of Honour, which is hardly surprising, considering how rude they are to her when she collects their dirty linen.

“Me and Masou will meet you by the kitchen,” she continued, “an’ if you don’t turn up by the time the moon is over the trees in the Orchard, we’ll go and ’ave a look at Sir Gerald ourselves. He’s already in St. Margaret’s Chapel but I don’t think he’s laid out yet—they need to do the inquest first.”

Ellie hopped off the bed, gathered up a couple of smocks lying in a twist on the floor and one ruff that had been stamped on, stuffed them in her bag, and headed off down the passageway. So I cleaned my teeth, changed into my hunting kirtle, pulled a smock on over the top of it, and here I am. And now, at last, I can hear Lady Sarah and Mary approaching. Soon I will set off on my midnight adventure.

For now, I will pretend to be asleep.

Lord preserve me, I am in the most terrible trouble. I hardly dare think how angry the Queen was. At least, as I am sent to my bedchamber in disgrace, I can write this.

To begin where I left off. Last evening, the two twitter-heads came back quite late, about ten of the clock. They had been playing Primero and were arguing over who had given her point-score wrong. Olwen, their tiring woman, helped them out of their gowns. They glugged some of the drugged wine after they’d cleaned their teeth and got into their beds, still arguing about the Primero game. I gathered they’d lost to Mrs. Champernowne.

Olwen bustled about hanging things up and brushing things and folding things until I wanted to shake
her, and then she left, at last. Very soon, I could hear the twitter-heads snoring.

I waited impatiently for the guard to change at midnight outside the Queen’s Privy Gallery. When I’d heard the changeover I slid out of bed, leaving the curtains closed, and pulled off my smock. I’d already left my horrible wool stockings off. Then I crept out of the door and down the passageway, dodging into a doorway when a cat came past with a mouse in her mouth.

The first frightening part was climbing out of a window into the Privy Garden. That bit over, I slunk through the gate into the Orchard: it was kept locked, but I knew that the gentleman who held the key hid it under a stone next to the gate so he didn’t lose it. I went through the Orchard to the compost heaps, where Ellie and Masou were waiting for me.

Ellie was already wearing boy’s clothes—borrowed from one of the women at the laundry whose son had died of plague the year before, she said, which made me shiver. She’d brought another set for me, but I refused to wear them. Only people like Ellie, who’ve already had plague and got better, aren’t scared of it, because you can’t get it twice.

Masou shrugged. “If we are caught, my lady, it
will go better for us if they can see you are one of the Queen’s women,” he said.

I didn’t really want to hear about that because I think half the fun of a midnight adventure is getting disguised. I frowned. “I’ll have to wear my kirtle then,” I concluded. There was nothing else for it. I could hardly climb the Orchard wall in my shift.

We climbed over the compost heap and the old bean staves covered in bindweed, and found the bit of wall that’s crumbling. Masou had brought a rope to help us and we scrambled over.

The next courtyard was behind a row of houses that were rented by the room to the young gentlemen of the Court. It was a mess of brambles, beer barrels, broken horn mugs, broken clay pipes, tables, a broken lute, half a dozen chairs that must have been in a fight, and a piece of petticoat caught on a nail halfway up a wall.

We crept through the clutter, with Masou muttering in his own language when he caught himself on a thorn; then we slid along an alleyway that gave into New Palace Yard. Westminster Abbey loomed over us as we passed through the gate leading to the chapel where Sir Gerald’s body lay.

Masou crept ahead noiselessly to see if any of Lord Worthy’s men were still awake.

“They’ll be snoring,” whispered Ellie behind me. “I found ’em hanging about waiting for his lordship to finish supping with the Queen, so I took their flasks down to the buttery for ’em. Aqua vitae and laudanum. Wasn’t that kind and serviceable of me?” She grinned.

Masou crept back, his white teeth shining in the moonlight. “Sleeping like babes.”

We picked our way past them—they were rather sweetly propped up against each other on a bench inside the church porch—and carefully, carefully opened the heavy wooden door into the chapel.

There were six black corpse candles around the body, which had been wrapped in a shroud and was laid on a trestle table covered with damask. No doubt a very special elaborate coffin was on order but it hadn’t arrived yet.

It was very cold and very frightening. The moon was shining through the old Papist stained-glass windows, making pale blues and yellows on the shroud, and there was a nasty smell. Ellie shivered and crossed herself, while Masou clutched a little amulet he wears round his neck and muttered in his own language.

I gulped, stepped forward, and nearly tripped on a step. Heart beating fast, I then went right up to the body. Up close, the smell was truly awful, a bit like
an unemptied close-stool. But there was something else as well: another, much fainter odour—dusty and bitter, it caught inside my nose. Curiously, it made me want to cry. Why? I didn’t understand it. Although it’s sad when someone dies, I certainly hadn’t loved Sir Gerald.

He was lying on his back—they’d taken the knife out of the wound, of course. I held my breath and slowly drew the shroud back from his face.

There were pennies on the eyes to hold them shut. I took them off. The lids were half opened. His eyes were like jelly. I held a candle close, but I could see no reflection of a murderer in Sir Gerald’s eyes. I wanted to look at the dagger wound again, but I didn’t want to actually touch the corpse in case I was cursed. I reasoned with myself that Sir Gerald’s ghost should be pleased we were trying to discover his murderer. But then I remembered that Sir Gerald wasn’t a very nice man in life, so you could hardly expect his ghost to be. And then I noticed a slight yellow crusting at the corners of his mouth.

I blinked in surprise. My heart began to thud. That same yellow crusting had been on my mother’s lips when she died. Now I knew where I’d smelled the dusty bitter odour on Sir Gerald. I had smelled
it at my mother’s deathbed. The smell of darkwort poisoning.

I stood for a moment, trying to understand. It seemed lunatic, but what if Sir Gerald had already been killed by darkwort poison when he was stabbed with the dagger? That would account for his not bleeding when stabbed, would it not? For if he was already dead, the tides in his blood would have stopped, and thus no blood would have streamed from the dagger wound.

Suddenly there was the sound of voices and heavy footsteps. Masou and Ellie and I froze, staring at each other. There was a scrape at the church porch, an angry shout. The door latch rattled. They were coming in.

I felt so sick I thought I was actually going to vomit, and my legs felt as if they would bend sideways like a rag doll’s. Ellie had her hands to her mouth. Masou looked grey. Both of them would get really badly beaten if anybody saw them—especially Masou. Lord save us, they might even flog him properly! Both of them might be dismissed from the Queen’s service, they would probably starve—whatever Masou said about making his fortune in Paris Garden. Whereas if I got caught …

“Hide,” I whispered. “I’ll manage this.”

They hesitated, then slipped into one of the box pews. I could hear scraping as they hid under the bench.

I stayed exactly where I was near the body of Sir Gerald and started to cry. I don’t find it easy to cry when I want (though Lady Sarah and Mary Shelton seem to find it so. They often grizzle to win sympathy and favour). But as soon as I thought about getting birched, or the Queen telling me off (which would be worse), the tears came. I helped them along by sniffing hard and sobbing and pinching my fingers on the middle of my nose.

The chapel door was thrust open and the guards marched in, along with Lord Worthy. They all looked very fierce—but, as I’d hoped, they came to a halt in the aisle when they saw me, sobbing by the body of my dead suitor.

Lord Worthy hurried forward looking flustered, and perhaps a little suspicious. “Well … well … Why did you not just
ask
to pay your respects, my lady? And why at night? It would have been far more … fitting … for you to come during the day, properly attended…”

“I … I wanted … to be alone with him,” I
gulped, giving the performance my all. “I didn’t want people flapping handkerchiefs at me.”

“But how did you get here? Did someone help you?” Lord Worthy demanded.

“No, no!” I shrieked, terrified in case he searched the chapel. “I came all by myself, and it was very frightening.”

Lord Worthy paused, staring blankly at Sir Gerald’s corpse. I stood there, thinking how very hard-hearted of Lord Worthy not to try to comfort me. He is supposed to be my guardian, after all!

“Come, now, my lady,” he said at last. “This is all highly unsuitable. With no escort …It is really very improper. I shall have to accompany you back to Court myself and hand you into Mrs. Champernowne’s care.”

Oh no! I thought. I hung my head and sobbed quite genuinely now.

“Come along,” he said. He took my arm, pinching a bit, and led me out of the chapel by the other door, followed by his henchmen, who were gawking at me as if I had grown a bear’s head. They clearly didn’t know what to make of it all.

We walked through the churchyard and up through another gate into King’s Street. On we
went through King’s Street Gate, and entered the palace at the end of the Privy Gallery. There, Lord Worthy spoke to the two gentlemen on guard. One of them walked off, looking highly amused.

We stood there, Lord Worthy tutting to himself and playing with a handkerchief in his pocket, me changing from one leg to the other. My heart would have been in my boots if I’d been wearing any. But I wasn’t. I was wearing an old pair of dancing slippers. I really hoped Masou and Ellie had had a chance to get away from the chapel. I thought I’d seen a dark shape flit behind us as we went through the courtyard, but I wasn’t sure.

After what seemed like ages, Mrs. Champernowne appeared in the door, her hair in curling papers, dressing gown wrapped around her against the cold. There was a mixture of astonishment and fury on her face, which would have been very funny if it had been aimed at somebody else.

“What is the meaning of this, Lady Grace?” she snapped.

I just muttered and stared at the ground.

“Out of bed, at this time of night … Was there any sign of a young man?” Mrs. Champernowne demanded of Lord Worthy suspiciously.

“No, there wasn’t!” I shouted. “I was visiting the corpse of my—”