The Betrayal (12 page)

I found this amusing at first – and indeed they were very funny and droll with their rouged cheeks and drawn-on eyelashes – but they seemed to see themselves as rivals for my attention and began to squabble about which one I liked the best, so I became rather embarrassed. When someone tapped me on the shoulder, therefore, I was more than ready to leave the dispute that had broken out and was only a little surprised (for my meetings with him always seemed to
be unexpected) when, on turning around, I saw Tomas and Juliette standing before me.

They were both masked, but I knew Tomas masked or not now, and recognised Juliette because of her beautiful hair, gleaming with chestnut lights under the candles and easily outshining all the wigs and false-hair switches in the room.

Facing them, I immediately sank into a curtsey, but to my great astonishment
she
sank into an even deeper one. I rose, but she remained in position for a moment longer than I did, which caused me so much wonder that I believe my jaw dropped open in surprise, for the strange and wonderful dream I’d had was come true.

As she rose, I couldn’t help but notice that Tomas was hiding a smile as he introduced us. ‘Mistress Juliette Mackenzie, Mistress Lucy Walden,’ he said.

Juliette inclined her head to me gracefully. ‘May I compliment you on your gown, Madam. It’s by far the most beautiful in the room.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, rather surprised, ‘but …’

‘And Mistress Juliette especially admired your jewels,’ interrupted Tomas, still with the half-smile on his lips. ‘We saw them glittering across the tiring room and she insisted on being brought to see them at close quarters.’

‘Yes …’ I began again.

‘The emerald in your hair decoration is a most excellent size,’ Juliette said breathlessly, ‘’tis almost as large as the Taja emerald owned by the queen.’

‘But the queen’s emeralds are real!’ I had to say. ‘This is not. Neither are the diamonds at my wrists nor the pearl necklaces.’

She looked at me, astounded. ‘
None
of your jewellery is real?’

I touched the coin around my neck, which had been completely concealed by the mass of pearls Mistress Hunt had fitted me out with. ‘Apart from this groat.’

She looked at it in astonishment and not a little disgust.

‘I am decked out in all these to play the part of Mistress Mistletoe,’ I explained. ‘Didn’t you see me on the stage?’

Tomas shook his head. ‘Unfortunately we were delayed at Whitehall. We took a carriage and set off as quickly as we could – for I was anxious to see your stage debut – but I fear we missed you. We only caught the last half-hour of the performance.’

‘I see,’ I said. I hadn’t noticed anyone arriving late but this was not remarkable because – as had happened before – the audience had moved around throughout the play; changing seats, standing up and coming and going with much laughter and banter between them and the players. ‘I was on stage twice,’ I said, rather regretting that Tomas hadn’t seen me.

‘Then unfortunately we missed you twice.’

Juliette had been staring in astonishment from one to the other of us during this conversation. ‘So you are an
actor
?’ she asked at last. ‘And all the jewels and
accessories you wear are false?’

‘I’m afraid they are,’ I admitted.

She looked disappointed, then rallied. ‘Then by your leave, Sir, you make a mighty fine lady. Almost as fine as my patron and aunt, Lady Margaret Ashe.’

‘Your aunt is Lady Ashe?’ I asked in surprise and some excitement. ‘Then you are indeed fortunate, for she’s a fine and noble lady.’ I didn’t add that she lived close to my home village and that once I almost worked for her as a maid.

Tomas began to laugh and I could not help but do likewise, for usually I was the one who was being teased and it felt a good deal better to be in on the joke. He coughed behind his hand. ‘Mistress Juliette, there’s something else about the mighty fine Mistress Mistletoe that you should know …’

I looked about us, but the two ‘women’ who’d been pursuing me had left to go and annoy someone else and there was so much talk and bluster in the room that no one would overhear us. I was sorry, however, that she had to know, for I very much liked the idea of Tomas and I sharing a secret.

‘And what is that?’ Juliette asked.

‘She is not a he.’

Juliette stared, first at him, then at me. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Or should I say he is not a she?’

Juliette tutted with annoyance.

‘I beg your leave to explain,’ I said in a low voice.
‘What Tomas means is that although this company of players think I am a boy, I am actually a girl.’

‘A female actor?’ she gasped. ‘Never!’ She fluttered the fan she carried. ‘I am truly appalled!’

‘But ’tis not so shocking, surely,’ I said, ‘for on feast days the ladies of the Court – and even Her Grace – take part in masques and plays.’

‘But what the aristocracy do is a thing apart. And besides,
you
are not a lady of the Court!’

‘By your leave, I am not,’ I admitted.

She fluttered the fan some more. ‘But how did this come about?’

‘I went to a play disguised as a boy,’ I explained, ‘and Mr James picked me out in the crowd as someone he thought could act a girl’s part.’

‘But had you knowledge of the stage? What are you in real life?’

‘I’m a nursemaid,’ I said simply.

She looked over her fan at me, rather as if she had a bad smell under her nose.

‘Lucy is nursemaid to Dr Dee’s children,’ Tomas explained. ‘We met in Mortlake – you may remember I stopped to speak to her on the roadway as we rode out.’

‘I really don’t recall.’

‘She has assisted me once or twice in different ways, and will no doubt do so again. She can be trusted in all things, for she has a particular love of Her Grace.’

‘As do we all …’ murmured Juliette. She stared at me coldly, unblinkingly, no doubt wondering how I
looked when I was myself, without the jewels and the hairpiece and the glorious gown (and probably coming to the only truth: that I could not hold a candle to her).

‘But we must go,’ Tomas said to me, ‘and not keep you from your friends and players.’

I looked round to see the two ‘women’ bearing down on us, waving what looked like a bottle of Rhenish. One had his wig of golden curls tipped slightly to one side, showing a bald patch beneath.

‘But won’t you stay?’ I asked.

Tomas shook his head. ‘Sadly, we cannot. The queen is entertaining a deputation of gentlemen from Ireland.’

‘So we have a party of our own to attend,’ Juliette said. ‘I must go and put on my finest gown. And my
real
jewels!’ she added with a sweet smile.

‘We will see you again soon, Lucy,’ Tomas said. ‘Her Grace is minded to have a picnic in St James’s Park to celebrate spring, and would have the Queen’s Players perform for her. I’ve already spoken to Mr James, so if you’re still with the players when this takes place …’

‘I certainly hope to be,’ I said.

We said our goodbyes and I dropped a deep curtsey to them both. Tomas bowed in return, but of course Juliette did not return this compliment now that she knew my humble status, but merely nodded at me and turned on her heels. I’d had my moment, though, just as my dream had foretold, and had very much enjoyed it.

I could not play the actor for the next few days, so I felt very dull. The agent that Dr Dee had appointed visited the house and gave instructions to various workmen to replaster, paint and repair as he saw fit. I was kept busy moving those of the master’s books we’d brought with us from place to place so that they didn’t get marked or dusty, and also watching the workmen so that they didn’t slacken in their duties or steal away with anything. I sent Sonny to Mr James with apologies for my absence, fearing I might lose my place with them, but he returned with a verbal message (which he delivered in Mr James’s grand style) to say that Richard James, actor-manager, sent his compliments and would be happy to see me whenever it suited.

Sonny was gone for some time on this errand and eventually arrived back to explain that he was late because Mistress Hunt had asked him to help sort out
her dressing-pins.

‘I had to upend her work-basket on the floor and sort the pins into boxes of small, middling and large,’ he said proudly. ‘It took a long time but she said I did it very nice and proper. When I’d finished, she gave me a big slice of pumpkin pie for me trouble. She’s nice, she is.’

I smiled, pleased he was happy and making himself useful, but a little concerned as to what would become of him once Dr Dee and Mr Kelly arrived in London.

Having time on my hands meant I had more leisure to think about things, and my thoughts were divided pretty evenly between Tomas on the one hand and Ma on the other. When I was not fretting about one (did Tomas care about me? How, then, did he feel about Mistress Juliette?), I was filled with anxiety about the other (was Ma managing to stay out of the workhouse? How was my father treating her?). These worries lodged themselves in my head and it did not seem that they would be easily resolved.

The following week I had a note from Tomas – a rather formal and correct note. It asked, provided Mistress Midge could spare me, if I would spend Friday dressed as a boy, working as a stable hand at Whitehall Palace.

There is a tilt planned for Saturday and the stables are being cleaned in readiness,
the note said.
One ostler more or less will not be noticed amid the servants, and you may overhear something which will be of use to us in our continual endeavours against Her Grace’s enemies.

I searched the note carefully for something personal or the mark ‘X’, which I knew meant a kiss, but looked in vain. Still, I thought, I was sure to see him there, and at least he must be thinking about me to send for me.

Mistress Midge, fortunately, had always shown a surprising lack of curiosity about what I did outside the house, and, as I’d been very helpful to her by more than once going out selling her sugared mice on a tray, was happy to let me have time off.

Unlike, probably, any other stable hand that day, I spent a considerable amount of time planning how I should look, wanting to look authentic yet not too unattractive. When it came down to it, however, I still only had Mistress Midge’s old jacket and Sonny’s breeches to wear, but I topped these with a battered flat cap found in the street (a remnant of a struggle between two groups of rival apprentices) and put a red paisley kerchief around my neck inside my white shirt. Thus clothed, I set off very early on Friday and was at the palace stables before seven of the clock in the morning, ready, in the service of our queen, to garner as much information as I could.

I found the stable yards full of men, youths and horses; more horses than I’d ever seen together before, large and glossy and in colours from black to white and every shade of brown in between. As I mingled there it struck me that, although supposedly a stable hand, I did not know how to care for a horse: at which end to start grooming and which broom, brush or polisher
to use where (for at least I knew there were certain conventions about such things). However, I soon realised that these aristocrats’ horses were mightily prized, highly expensive animals and each one had a dedicated set of ostlers who’d no more allow a common servant boy to touch their precious horse than they’d allow a beggar to sup at their table. I did not have to worry, either, about not looking as if I belonged, for many extra staff had been taken on to cope with the numbers coming for the joust the following day and everyone seemed to presume I belonged to someone else.

I made myself busy carrying buckets from pump to stables and back again, and as I carried I listened. I heard talk about the queen and Sir Robert Dudley (though nothing that I didn’t know already), about Mary, Queen of Scotland, and the place where she was currently imprisoned – and also heard some interesting new gossip about the varied and colourful love life she’d enjoyed. I heard much about Sir Francis Drake – on the one part regarding whether or not he’d presented the queen with the blue diamond, and on the other some speculation as to whether he was a serious contender for her hand. A swarthy blacksmith’s lad insisted to me that, Drake being somewhat of a hero figure because of all he’d plundered, was well worthy of the queen, while his master was equally insistent that because Drake was younger than Her Grace and from a humble background, he must be
ruled out. Listening to all these opinions and speculation, I reached the conclusion that men enjoyed to gossip every bit as much as women did.