Queen of Ambition (31 page)

“The letters don’t say exactly how the deed is to be done, sir, but if you are to be positioned in some special way during the playlet, out in front of the dais, isn’t it likely that the idea was to shoot at you, very likely from an attic window above the pie shop and then take shelter in the hidden room? If it hadn’t been there …”

“One could say
if only
for evermore,” Cecil said. “Having a house with a secret way out of it doesn’t necessarily turn people into criminals!”

Sybil sighed. “I suppose not. It might not have happened either if Mistress Grantley had never put me forward to present those wretched flowers! Once my brother-in-law knew that I was Mistress Smithson, he decided to use me as a bribe to persuade my husband to help him. A better bribe than money, though money was at the root of it. My father’s will turned my husband
against me, and so I fled, and thus I gave Giles his weapon. Both he and my husband … are unreasonable men. Giles is not balanced concerning Lady Lennox and Roland is not balanced concerning me. And yet … oh, my God, I used to love Roland. He fathered Ambrosia! I’d save him, too, if I could!”

“Honorable feelings,” said Dudley, “but apart from the plot against
my
life, he and his brother threatened and assaulted Ursula here, and Wat as well.”

“And one of them probably murdered Thomas Shawe,” I added.

“Though I don’t see how,” Cecil said. “From what you’ve found out or seen for yourself, Ursula, Woodforde was in his rooms, suffering from the marsh ague, under the eye of his man at the time when Thomas Shawe was killed, and you told me, Ursula, that Jester was at home under
your
eye.”

“I daresay Woodforde’s man is in it, too,” said Dudley.

“He’s left now,” I said. “My servant Brockley has taken his place. I suppose we could track the fellow down if we wanted to. I don’t think he
was
in it, though.”

Cecil glanced at me sharply. “You have a reason for saying that. What is it?”

I hesitated. The moment that I found the bloodstained table arm hidden in the cupboard, an idea had moved in my mind, and gradually, through all the hours since then, it had been clarifying. I thought I now knew who had killed Thomas and how. But I could be wrong. I needed proof. “I do have a reason,” I said slowly. “But before I talk about it, there is someone I must speak to.”

“Who?” demanded Cecil.

“Well—it’s Jem, the groom at Radley’s stable.”

“The groom at where?”

“Thomas kept his horse there,” I said. “And I want to know whether the groom was late in to the work on the day that Thomas Shawe died.”

Cecil surveyed me thoughtfully. “You want to know whether a stable groom was on time at his work. Is the groom your suspect?”

“No!” I said, in some alarm. “I’m sure Jem wouldn’t harm a fly. I just want to know if he was late that morning. That’s all! I do have a reason.”

“For a woman,” Cecil said, “you have one of the most tortuous minds I’ve ever come across. The only one I know who is worse is Her Majesty herself. But I’ve learned to trust your instincts. I’ll let you have your way. At the moment I am much occupied and my gout is a nuisance. Report to me when you have questioned this man, and learned whatever it is you wish to learn. For the moment, I must have you and Mistress Jester escorted back to your lodgings. You will not mind sharing your room with Mistress Jester?”

“No, of course not. The landlady may object, though.”

“The landlady,” said Cecil, “will do as the Secretary of State tells her. My clerk will accompany you.”

Cambridge was en fete for the queen. The dais in Jackman’s Lane had been hung with brocade of blue and gold, and spanning the streets through which Elizabeth would ride were strings of flags and pennants, some of
them elegant and official and gracefully festooned, some of them homemade and haphazard. But it would not matter, for Elizabeth had always appreciated a nosegay of wildflowers as much if not more than any gracious bouquet of cultivated roses; she would probably like the sagging strings of homemade pennants best.

At two o’clock on Saturday the fifth of August, her expected hour of arrival drew near, and the townsfolk gathered in force to greet her. I doubt if there was a stall or shop left open for business. All the tradespeople wanted to see her go by and so did their customers. No one was going to be out buying milk or onions when they could be jostling for a view along her route. The sun shone on an array of best clothes; even humble folk who had no silk or satin could still produce jerkins and kirtles, glass beads and brooches in vivid colors, and they had.

Those who could afford better were as fine as peacocks. I was in green with silver embroidery (though I had my usual pouch inside the overskirt, naturally). Sybil Jester’s belongings had not yet arrived from Brent Hay but she and I were much of a size and I had lent her my cream and tawny ensemble, which, she said, was far better than anything of hers, in any case.

The beadles and university dignitaries who had escorted Cecil from his lodgings to Jackman’s Lane had taken charge of Sybil and separated her from me. I was waiting just in front of the dais, in the company of Rob Henderson, with Brockley and Dale in attendance.

Cecil himself was already on the dais, ready to step
down and hand the queen to her place when she arrived, and Dudley, after a morning of formal greeting ceremonies and orations, had set forth in his capacity of Master of the Queen’s Horse, to meet her at the city boundary and escort her in.

Dudley was in good spirits, Rob told me. The discovery of a plot against him hadn’t shaken his nerve overmuch. But neither Cecil nor Rob Henderson himself were in a happy mood. Both were finely clad, Cecil in a formal gown of black velvet and Rob in a dashing black doublet and hose, slashed and striped with gold, and Rob himself was now properly recovered from his illness. Both, however, were annoyed because so far there were no reports that Woodforde and Jester had been sighted. The pursuit along the roads and the riverbank had yielded nothing. Our quarry had either got farther than we thought, or else they had taken shelter somewhere along the way. Cecil had sent messengers off to order searches of all ships leaving port at Norwich and Lynn and no one doubted that the fugitives would be found. Until they were, however, neither Rob nor Cecil were likely to feel happy.

I regretted the escape, too, but to a lesser degree because I had had a small success of my own. The exhausting day when Wat and I barely escaped alive from the pie shop, and the cipher was broken in the evening, had been Thursday and today was Saturday. On the Friday, I had done as I intended and visited Radley’s stable to talk to the groom, Jem. He had confirmed what I had guessed. As soon as Cecil was free to listen, I would explain it to him.

Meanwhile, though, the original plans for the queen’s welcome were going ahead after all. There was no danger now either to Dudley or to Sybil. She was to present the flowers as planned, and even the playlet was to be performed. Cecil had countermanded his order to cancel it. Young Francis Morland, nervous but determined, was waiting nearby with his band of students. Costumed as outlaws and rustics, they were all assembled in front of the house belonging to the bronzesmith, Master Brady. The locked and shuttered pie shop beside it had now had bars nailed across its street entrances.

Dudley had spared two hours on the Friday in order to practice the pretended duel with Morland, which would be enacted while Sybil was whisked, not into the pie shop, but into the bronzesmith’s house instead. Rob and I would join her there, and so would most of the neighbors and we would all partake of refreshments provided by the college kitchens. This was a last-minute plan that Cecil had created. “Mistress Jester was nearly the victim of an ugly deception,” he had said. “We will make it up to her—and do it with style.”

The refreshments, therefore, included pork and veal pies of Paris with ginger and raisins, all enclosed in delicate pastry, with pastry doves on top; a march-pane model of King’s College Chapel, cold capons with a bread and pepper sauce in a separate dish, a honey and saffron quiche, and a magnificent molded blancmange. There was a choice of fine wines, too. All this had arrived in covered trays during the morning, borne by college servants, and it had sent Mistress
Brady into ecstasies involving clasped hands and actual tears of joy.

It was hot. The sun beat down on the dusty lane and my green satin felt heavy. Lookouts had been posted to watch for the queen, and now, in the distance, we heard trumpets welcoming her as she entered the city, and a moment later, church bells rang out all around us, exultantly clanging up and down the scale to add their voices to the trumpets.

The lane was becoming more crowded every moment. A large merchant with an equally large wife and a crowd of children came shouldering past me and Rob, intent on getting a good view. Brockley, behind me, clicked a disapproving tongue and I half turned to exchange rueful,
yes, how impolite
, glances with him. As I did so, the frontage of the pie shop came briefly into my line of vision and my gaze swept casually over it.

It could have been a trick of the light, the reflection of a rippling banner, or even of one of the many faces peering out of the windows across the street. It could have been my imagination.

It was none of those things. I went rigid, body and face alike, and Brockley saw it. “Madam? What is it?”

“Up in the pie shop,” I said quietly. “In the attic. Somebody’s up there. I’ve just seen a face glance out of one of those dormer windows!”

“Master Henderson!” said Brockley sharply. Rob moved quickly toward me and I told him what I had seen.

“There can’t be anyone in there! It’s been under surveillance ever since it was searched and found deserted,” Rob said. “No one can possibly have got in.”

“I know what I saw.”

“Ursula, are you sure?” He turned and stared up at the windows of the pie shop. Nothing strange was visible now.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “Someone’s in there. Could it be any of your men?”

“No. I said, the place is deserted and it …” He stopped and froze. And then, with somewhat elaborate casualness, turned back to me. “You’re right. I saw a movement myself. It’s impossible, but … wait.”

Ryder and Dodd were among the guards keeping the crowd back. Swiftly, Rob made his way to them. A
moment later he came back, bringing them with him. “The side gate,” he said. “And then the back door. We nailed up the front doors but we just locked the one at the back and we left the side gate on the latch—bait in a trap, so to speak—and posted a watch to guard it. What have they been doing—sleeping on duty? That’s our way in, anyway.”

I sent Dale into the bronzesmith’s house, but with Brockley, I followed Rob and the other men around the corner to the side entrance. Rob checked sharply when he saw that I proposed to form one of the party. “Ursula, you can’t come! This isn’t fitting for ladies.”

“Being tied up in attics isn’t fitting for ladies, either,” I said. “It’s late to worry about that. Look, if Ambrosia is there she may need me. Her mother can’t come to her just now but I can represent her. I will keep behind you and do nothing foolish.”

“Mistress Blanchard can be relied on, Master Henderson,” Brockley said. “As surely you know, sir.”

Rob snorted but said nothing more. Very quietly, we unlatched the side gate and went in, moving at once to the yard at the rear. We looked up at the pie shop but there were no dormer windows on this side. Nothing stirred behind the lower windows. Fortunately, there were no longer any poultry to warn our quarry by cackling, since Master Brady had taken charge of them for the time being. As we reached the back door, Ryder said: “But we haven’t got the key with us.”

I sighed, and fished inside my green satin skirt. “I’ll open it for you,” I said, and brought out my lockpicks. I’m sorry to say that I couldn’t forbear giving Rob a faintly triumphant smile as I let us into the pie shop.

I had some difficulty with the lock and could feel Rob seething with impatience beside me, but after two or three minutes I persuaded it to yield. We filed into the kitchen. It was deserted, the fire out, and the unraked ashes cold. The usual hams were hanging from the beams, though I noticed that one was missing from its hook. I opened the door to the larder and peered inside. I saw a gap on one of the shelves as though something had been removed. Someone had been there, helping themselves.

“They took food when they went,” I said in a low voice. “At least, I think so.”

“I daresay, but the point is, did they come back?” Rob whispered, and led the way cautiously out into the passage. There was no sign of anyone on the ground floor but once or twice Rob paused to listen, holding up a hand to keep the rest of us still and absolutely silent and the second time he did this we heard something creak on the floor above us. Stealthily, we made toward the stairs.

Then stealth became unnecessary, for a joyous uproar broke out in the street: clattering hooves, blaring trumpets, cheers and whistles, and shouted commands. The queen was coming into Jackman’s Lane. As we reached the next floor, I looked into the parlor, found it empty, slipped inside, and went to the window.

Down below, the street was a blaze of color and excitement. Trumpets sounded again and along the lane came a troop of horsemen, armed and accoutred for display. Beyond them, the sunshine flashed and sparkled on something I could not at first see. Then I
glimpsed a tall plume of dark feathers with glints of gold, and a moment later, I saw that the feathers were attached to an elegant black hat, which in turn was poised on a head of pale red hair caught in a gold net. A few paces more and I saw that it was Elizabeth, clad in the sweeping black that enhanced her pale skin, seated slender and upright in the sidesaddle of a white mare whose gemmed bridle gave off blinding flashes. Beside her, in vivid contrast, rode Dudley, crimson-clad on a chestnut gelding.

They reached the dais and the horsemen wheeled to face it, forming a semicircle at a little distance. Dudley dismounted and helped the queen to alight. Someone led their horses aside and Cecil came down to offer his hand and escort Elizabeth up to her waiting seat of honor under the canopy. Someone else stepped forward to read an address and Sybil, holding an immense bouquet of summer flowers, was being brought toward the foot of the dais. The crowd was cheering wildly. Rob touched my shoulder.