Love's Labyrinth (31 page)

“Don’t you think it’s all changed now?”

“Liv, if we don’t go back in two weeks, we won’t be able to go back for almost thirty-eight years. We could die in that time!”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t go back, Allie. I just don’t want to go back yet.”

“Me go back without you? How could I—” Alison broke off. “Liv, you’re just upset. You’ve been through a terrible experience. This whole thing has just been an awful experience for both of us. We’ll all put our heads together and do the best we can to get Nicholas released and this whole awful mess resolved, and then—” She became silent. “And then I guess we’ll see.” Alison patted Olivia’s hand, and in her blue eyes Olivia read a troubled sort of acceptance. “I—I guess I sort of understand how you feel.”

“You do?”

“Well, not about staying here.” Alison waved a dismissive hand. “I think the first thing I’m going to do when I get home is take a three day shower. But I guess I understand about Nicholas.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

Alison shrugged and looked sheepish. “Geoffrey’s really sweet.”

At that, despite everything, Olivia burst out laughing. “He’s sweet? That’s a real change of heart!”

“Well, um. Yeah. It is. I guess he’s the sort of person who grows on you, you know?”

“He is?” Olivia giggled at her friend in spite of herself. “Are you telling me that Alison O’Neill has been swept off her feet by a sixteenth-century geek? Alison O’Neill, who’s broken hearts more times than the Yankees beat the Red Sox? This is one for the history books!”

“Oh, cut it out.” Alison cuffed Olivia on her uninjured arm. “How about you, Miss I-don’t-want-to-leave-my-love-in-jail?”

“Sounds like a country-western song.” The two women exchanged grins, and then reality crashed down on Olivia once more. Tears filled her eyes and she brushed them away. “I just don’t want to see anything bad happen to him, Allie, and I don’t think I could stand not to know.” Alison gathered Olivia in a motherly hug. “I know, honey. I understand. Try not to worry, though. Mother O’Neill’s here now, and we’ll make it all right. I promise.”

And clinging to Alison like a child, Olivia desperately tried to believe that was true.

“What word, Miles?” Geoffrey ran his fingers through his hair. It stuck up in all directions, but for once, Alison didn’t think it the least bit funny. Olivia had finally fallen back to sleep, and the night watchman had announced midnight on his rounds through the nearly empty streets. Empty of humans, that is. Dogs skulked in the shadows, snarling over bones, and alley cats slunk up and down the ledges of the buildings, eyes glowing green on the hunt. Even the raucous noise in the tavern below had faded, as the patrons had stumbled in twos and threes out the door and down the street, most by ten or eleven.

Miles Coddington shifted on his feet. His face was gaunt with fatigue, and his limp was even more noticeable. Dark bags hung below his eyes. “Lord Leicester’s in Sussex with Her Majesty, Master Geoffrey. They are not expected to return to London for another week or more.”

“A week. And the women must be back at Talcott Forest in less than a fortnight,” Geoffrey breathed.

“Did they let you see him?” Miles asked.

“They told me to come again tomorrow at noon.”

“Now what do we do?” asked Alison. “We’re not going to just sit and wait for a week to pass, are we?”

“No,” sighed Geoffrey. “But I wish I could think of some way to ensure that Dee’s letter would be delivered to the Queen. There’s always the possibility she might not read it—or be given it—until it’s too late.”

“If Lord Leicester gave it to her—” Miles began.

“Aye, but how to ensure he gets it? How to make certain he understands how important it is?” Geoffrey stroked his chin and rubbed his temples.

“Can’t you just show up and ask for an audience?” Alison put in.

“Oh, certainly. But will we get one? That’s the question. While she’s on summer progress, the Queen refuses to be troubled by requests from petitioners. Nothing must interfere with her sport and her delight. And she’s sure to be besieged by such requests by those who seldom, if ever, have an opportunity to come to court. So though we might get the letter to her, how to make sure she doesn’t let it languish…” Geoffrey rose to his feet and paced to the window, his long strides as restless as a caged tiger’s in a crowded cage. “There’s the rub.”

“Well, we should at least show up, don’t you think? The squeaky door gets the grease, as my mother always said.”

“Ah, but it will be all for naught if the Queen’s humor—” Geoffrey stopped and slammed a fist against the wall. “I’d like to wring his neck.”

“This is a matter of life and death,” Alison said. “She wouldn’t interrupt her sport for that?”

“The Queen answers to no one, Mistress Alison.” Miles looked grave. “According to Lord Leicester’s agent, the Queen may be at Greenwich one week hence, but that is the soonest anyone expects her.”

“Greenwich, hmm?” Geoffrey stroked his chin. “Perhaps there….”

“Why? What’s so great about Greenwich?” Alison asked.

“’Tis one of her own residences, mistress,” Miles answered. “Once she’s there, the pressures of her councilors will begin to bear on her. She may be more open and receptive to requests, although she’s sure to be besieged by court business—”

“Well, this is court business, too,” Alison snapped.

“We’ve a better chance of an audience, Alison, that’s true. But she may keep us cooling our heels for who knows how long.” Geoffrey’s voice trailed off and he stared into the fireplace. Finally he shook his head, as if to shake off the worry, and turned back to face them both. “All right, Miles. Let’s to bed. We’ve done as much as we can do this night.”

“I’ll come with you to the Tower, tomorrow, if you will, Master Geoffrey.”

“Of course.” Geoffrey nodded a dismissal. “Good night, Miles.” He looked at Alison when the older man had gone. “The hour’s late, Allie. We’d best go to bed.” Their eyes met and held, and Alison felt the color rise in her cheeks.

She picked up the candle. “I’ll be right next door, then. With Olivia.”

“Allie—” He held out his hand. “You can stay here, an you like.”

She shook her head slowly. “Geoffrey, that’s not a good idea. We both know that.”
Look at what’s happened to Olivia,
she wanted to say.
She wants to stay in this benighted time, all because of your brother.
But she held her tongue, and smiled sadly instead. “Good night, Geoffrey.”

“Good night, Allie. Sleep well.”

She nearly responded, “Sweet dreams,” before she stopped herself. Surely if any of them dreamt tonight, there’d be no good dreams at all.

“THEY WOULDN’T LET me in to see him.” Geoffrey strode over to the table where Alison and Olivia waited. He slapped his gloves down and stared, grim-faced, into the empty hearth.

“So now what?” asked Alison with her characteristic practicality.

“I was told to return at two o’clock.”

“Will they let you see him then?” Olivia asked.

“I don’t know.” Geoffrey shook his head. He wore an expression that could only be described as disgust.

“May I come with you?” Olivia refused even to consider the possibility that the trip would be for nothing.

Geoffrey glanced down at her, surprise clear on his face. “Mistress, that place—the Tower—’tis no place for a lady, and especially not one—”

“I was there, too Geoffrey.” She reminded him gently.

He heaved a sigh. “An you will, then, mistress. ‘Tis not—”

“That’s all well and fine,” interrupted Alison, “but don’t you think we ought to give some thought to exactly what might be going on? And try to figure out how this happened, and what’s the best way to get him out of there? All this wringing our hands and moaning and groaning isn’t going to help much.”

Geoffrey sat down heavily on the bench next to Alison. “Well, Mistress Allie, what’re your thoughts?”

Even Miles, silent up to now, leaned forward.

“Ok—” Alison began, then stopped, remembering to watch her speech in such a public place. “All right. This much we know for sure. Nicholas—and Olivia, too—was set up by someone, most likely this Christopher Warren, right?”

“Aye.” Geoffrey nodded, stroking his chin.

“All right. We know that Warren knew
something,
because the information he gave Nicholas was accurate to a degree, but that there were things he didn’t know, like the fact that a woman who served Mary, Queen of Scots, was supposed to show up, too, right?”

Again the men nodded, and Olivia plucked listlessly at the embroidery on her sleeve.

“How’d Warren get his information? I mean, who does Warren work for? Is that person Nicholas’s enemy too?” She paused. “It seems unlikely, as far as I can tell. Warren’s the one with the ax to grind. So what if we go to Warren’s boss and tell him what happened? Think that might work?”

The men exchanged glances. “It might,” Geoffrey said, with a puckered brow.

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” Alison looked from one to the other. “I mean, what do you think, Liv?”

Olivia spread her hands. “I suppose that’s a good idea. I guess I’m not sure that it’s going to be as simple as knocking on Sir Francis’s front door and saying, ‘Hi, we’re here to talk about Nicholas Talcott.’ I mean, I just don’t know. What do you think, Geoffrey? Master Coddington?”

“I’ll be happy to take a letter to Sir Francis, mistress, wherever he might be,” said Miles.

“I guess it can’t hurt,” said Geoffrey. “I wish I could get my hands on that Christopher Warren myself.”

“Maybe we should look for him,” Alison suggested.

“And do what? Beat him to a pulp? Force him to tell the truth?” Geoffrey shook his head.

“If this whole scheme was his idea, to bring down Nicholas, the last thing he’ll ever want revealed is the truth,” Alison said. “Especially to Sir Francis Walsingham. He’d go to his grave denying it, and if that happened, then who’s to say Nicholas is innocent?”

“Who’s to say he’s not?” Olivia asked softly.

Alison stared at her. “Are you saying let’s commit murder, Livvie?”

Olivia shook her head. “Of course not, Allie. This whole situation is just a mess. And we’ve got this time constraint thing—”

“Miles will take you back to Talcott Forest when the time comes, mistress,” Geoffrey said. “Have no fear on that score.”

“That’s not what I’m afraid of, Geoffrey.” Olivia took a deep breath. “Don’t you see? The only reason Nicholas was able to get the plans from the Spanish agent was because I was there to tell the Spaniard what he needed to know. That’s the reason Nicholas was found with the plans, and that’s the ultimate reason he’s in the Tower now. We have to find a way to get him out of the Tower, or, when we go back, we might not go back to the same place we left.”

Alison stared at her in dismay. “What are you talking about, Liv?”

“Don’t you remember practically the last thing I did before we went through the maze, Allie? I was checking the Talcott family records. There’s no mention that Nicholas Talcott died a traitor’s death. If this happens, the past we knew will be irrevocably changed. If Nicholas dies, God only knows what the repercussions will be. How can we return?”

With a shocked and troubled stare, as the implications of all Olivia said slowly penetrated, Alison shrank on the bench, her face pale, her eyes wide. “Good grief, Liv,” she breathed. “I think you’re right. What in the name of God are we going to do?”

“Let’s think,” said Olivia. “No matter how silly or ridiculous the idea, we have to think.” She looked up at Geoffrey, who wore a look very similar to Alison’s.

“Nicholas said no good would come of the maze,” he said, so softly it was hard to hear him.

“There’s no time for feeling bad about that now,” Alison snapped. “Two things are going to happen in the next two weeks. Nicholas is getting out of that Tower, and Olivia and I are going home.”

“Has the prisoner signed the confession?” Walsingham paused long enough from his writing to stare up at Warren with his black, deep-set eyes.

There was something of a Spaniard about his master, thought Warren suddenly—the black, piercing eyes that seemed to bore right through to a man’s soul, the thick dark hair, and the sallow, pockmarked skin. “No, my lord, not yet.”