The Betrayal (3 page)

We fell silent for a moment, then there was a shout
ahead of ‘Wagons, roll!’ from the driver of the repaired cart.

The young lady on the white pony gave a little cry. ‘Tomas! By your leave we should depart. My pony grows impatient.’

I glanced at her. Did she wonder for just a moment who Tomas was speaking to, or had she looked at me, summed up my lowly status and presumed he’d stopped to amuse a simple maid with his falcon?

‘At once!’ Tomas leapt back on to his own horse’s back, pulled at the cord to bring the white pony closer and flicked it on the nose. ‘Be steady, my boy, or you will unseat your little mistress!’

Beth came up and tapped his leather boot. ‘Don’t forget your falcon!’

Tomas looked up at the sky and gave a long, low whistle, causing the bird circling above us to fly down. Reaching into his jerkin pocket Tomas pulled out something small and dead, and threw it into the air. The bird swooped upon it and swallowed it in a gulp, then resumed its place on Tomas’s gauntlet to applause from Merryl and Beth and others nearby us in the crowd.

I smiled at the display, but thought only of the queen; our poor, heartbroken queen.

Tomas gave me his hand in farewell. ‘We will meet in London,’ he said formally.

I bobbed him a curtsey and extended this to the young lady on the pony, spreading my skirts and dipping very low, for she was of the nobility.

She didn’t acknowledge my courtesy, however, for she was sharing a joke with Tomas, and when I straightened up their horses had joined the vast, winding trail of travellers going towards London. Above the noise of the crowd I could hear the clip-clop of their hoof-beats and her laughter, tinkling on the chill air.

I could think of nothing but Tomas all the way home, despite reproving myself for doing so, reminding myself yet again that just because he’d paid me some attention it need not mean a thing. At Court people kissed, flirted, paid lavish compliments and even wrote sonnets to each other just as means of passing the time.

Things were very different in Hazelgrove, the little country village where I’d been brought up. There the choice of sweethearts was few, and a girl would usually marry a boy she’d known from the cradle. Life there was quiet, my sisters were fully grown and had left home, and I’d worked every day with my ma making gloves for the gentry. Nothing very exciting had ever happened to me – until I’d run away.

I’d run away
, I reflected, still amazed at myself for having dared do such a thing. I’d had no real alternative,
though, for I regret to say that my father is a drunken, violent brute, and my choice was between staying in the village and continuing to be bullied by him, or leaving home. I’d chosen to leave and – save for missing my ma – had never regretted it for a minute.

As we neared the magician’s house the wind began to blow off the Thames, cold enough to make us gasp.

‘Will it snow today?’ Beth asked as we huddled further into our shawls.

I looked up at the sky, which was darkening, but not with the leaden tinge a snowy sky usually takes on. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘If it does, can we make blocks of it and build an ice house?’ asked Merryl. ‘Then we can make snowballs and keep them until next July.’

‘If you wish,’ I said, smiling, for with all the extra padding against the cold she was wearing, she was as round as a snowball herself.

We turned into the lane running alongside the river to reach the back door of the house, for only Dr Dee’s clients went in the front way.

‘Did you think that lady was pretty?’ Beth asked.

‘Oh,
very
pretty,’ Merryl answered immediately. She looked at me. ‘Did you think she was pretty, Lucy?’

‘Whoever do you mean?’ I asked.

‘The new lady-in-waiting!’ they chorused.

‘I can’t say I noticed.’

‘I liked her pink boots and cap,’ said Merryl.

‘They call that
cerise
,’ said Beth. ‘I expect that’s the
latest colour from Paris.’

‘But
velvet
!’ I said, and sniffed. ‘Velvet is hardly practical in this weather. One spot of mud and those boots will be ruined.’

They both looked at me curiously. ‘I thought you didn’t notice her,’ Merryl said.

‘Things like getting your boots marked don’t matter if you’re a real lady,’ said Beth, ‘because you’ll have a maid to clean them for you. And anyway, she’ll probably get picked up from her pony and carried into the palace, so she won’t have to tread in any mud.’

‘Yes,’ Merryl nodded solemnly. ‘I expect Tomas will carry her in.’

They both looked at me again and I forced myself to smile and say that he probably would do, and yes, now that I’d thought about it, the new lady-in-waiting was quite passably pretty.

Letting ourselves in the kitchen door we found Mistress Midge sitting with her feet up in front of the fire. Mistress Midge is a large and rather dishevelled woman, her stockings bagging around her ankles and her dress and apron covered in spots and blotches of this and that – so much so that our meals for the last week might well have been discerned from a careful study of them. It was most unusual to find her sitting quietly before the fire, for she has a fidgety nature and hot temper, and these things usually combine to make her a woman not often to be found in a good humour.

The girls’ pet monkey, named Tom-fool after the jester, was in the grate, as close as he could get to the fire without being burned, holding out his little monkey-hands to the flames. I looked at him pityingly; I was not at all sure where monkeys came from but reasoned it must be one of those countries with palm trees and hot sunshine, so the poor animal must have been feeling the cold dreadfully.

When I’d first come to live in Mortlake it was not long after Beth and Merryl’s little brother had been born and the whole house had been in a topsy-turvy mess, for the nursemaid had run away with the valet and several other members of staff had walked out. At first I thought they’d gone because they hadn’t been paid, but – although this must have been a factor – Mistress Midge maintained that it was also due to the fact that, knowing they were working for a magician, their imaginations had run away with them. In other words, they’d looked into dark corners and seen wraiths and ghosts where there were only cobwebs and shadows. Mistress Midge, at that time, was acting as the Dee family’s cook, housekeeper, parlour maid, housemaid and nursemaid. Her only help was that small amount given by Mistress Allen, who was Mistress Dee’s companion (and who rarely left the upstairs rooms), so I’d come along at just the right time.

As I began to divest the girls of their outdoor clothes, Mistress Midge turned to me, her forehead and cheeks red from the fire and her hair as unkempt as a
lark’s nest. ‘The doctor and Mr Kelly are in the library and have asked not to be disturbed – and Madam’s gone to see the babe,’ she said, meaning that Mistress Dee had gone into Barnes in order to see her youngest child, who was still with a wet nurse. ‘You might think I’m just sitting here in front of the fire, but I’m working,’ she said self-righteously, ‘for I’m thinking of all the things I’ll need to take to London.’

‘Have you heard when we’re going?’ I asked eagerly, for now I knew Tomas was on his way there, that day couldn’t come quickly enough for me.

She shook her head. ‘It’ll be when Dr Dee says so, I reckon. When he’s secured a place for us on a barge.’

‘In a moment I’ll begin making a list on one of the children’s slates,’ I said (for Mistress Midge could neither write nor read). ‘And then we can be quite sure that we don’t forget anything.’ I took off the girls’ shawls and cloaks, then their hats, hoods and high pattens, the removal of all of which made them shrink down to near half the size they’d been outside.

‘You’re not really going to London without us, Lucy?’ Beth said plaintively. ‘However shall we manage?’

‘Your mother’s companion can look after you girls,’ Mistress Midge said, adding in an aside to me, ‘’twill show the lazy harpy what hard work is all about.’

‘But why have you got to go?’

‘You know the answer to this,’ Mistress Midge answered Beth. ‘Your father is taking lodgings so that he can be close to the queen in Whitehall, and Lucy
and I are to go ahead and get it ready for you.’

‘But why can’t we come too?’

Mistress Midge kicked at a log with her foot to prevent it falling out of the fire, making the monkey jump for his life amid a shower of sparks. ‘Because the lodgings have previously been rented to ne’er-do-wells,’ she said. ‘Besides, there’s scarce any furniture there. Some must be sent for, and some purchased, and all must be put in order, ready for your arrival.’

This removal of furniture and purchase of new stuffs, I thought to myself, was going to cost a considerable amount of money, and money was not something that Dr Dee usually had much of. From standing outside doors and listening to gossip (for I own I am of a very curious disposition), I knew that Dr Dee’s position at Court was not one which earned him a regular sum, and the amounts of money he charged for explaining dreams and casting natal charts mostly went on books for his library, which I had heard said was the most extensive in England. He had, a few months past, earned an amount of gold for the seance at which I’d appeared as a dead girl, but this money would not last long, so I’d deduced that he was following the Court in the hopes of obtaining more rich clients. He also hoped that the queen would give him patronage until he found that miraculous object which all alchemists seek: the philosopher’s stone.

‘Did you see Gloriana?’ Mistress Midge asked.

Beth shook her head. ‘We saw the royal litter,’ she said, coming close to the fire to warm her hands, ‘but the curtains were closed and she never peeped out.’

‘We saw Tom-fool the jester,’ said Merryl.

‘He was with a very pretty lady-in-waiting,’ added Beth.

I clapped my hands briskly to change the subject and to guard against any possibility of debate about that lady’s prettiness. ‘Now, girls, go and get your horn books,’ I said. ‘You must practise your letters so that when Mr Sylvester begins your lessons again you can show him how diligently you’ve been working.’

Obediently they cleared a space at the big table in the kitchen and ran to find their books – which took some time, for they hadn’t used them at all over the festive season and things had become misplaced.

I took off my outer clothes and left my pattens and boots by the back door, then joined Mistress Midge in front of the fire. I longed to speak to her of the queen but knew that I must not – and besides, my feet were so aching with cold that I felt I could have cried. I wiggled them, screwing up my face in agony, and Mistress Midge glanced down.

‘Why, your toes are quite blue!’ she said. She reached up to the string running across the front of the fire and took down some rags and old pieces of towelling. ‘Take these old cloths and wrap your feet up in them,’ she said, and I did so, tying them with string around my ankles so that I appeared to be wearing
steamed puddings on my feet. The girls laughed and I did, too. They might not be as elegant as cerise velvet, but they were warmer.

We hadn’t been back in the house more than half an hour when the bell in the library rang. Mistress Midge had started dinner by then so I said I’d answer it and, first taking off my pudding-feet and putting on my house-shoes, made my way along the dark corridors to see what Dr Dee wanted. As I did so I reflected how quickly I’d become used to the house and its secrets. When I’d first arrived, I’d felt intimidated by the doctor and his library – indeed, I’d not even known what the word
library
meant – and finding myself in it for the first time had been overawed at the amount of learning embodied by the books and terrified by the trappings of magick about me. Now, however, I was able to walk into this room almost as easily as I walked into the kitchen. But I knocked first, of course, went in and bobbed a curtsey, then waited to be told what it was they required.

Dr Dee, very much as usual, was in a world of his own and hadn’t registered my presence. He was not a tall man, but he cut an imposing figure, with white hair and a beard so long that it almost met the furred cuffs of his clerical black gown. He was standing behind his desk, staring at the strange object he held before him: the black mirror through which he purported to contact the dead. He frowned, murmuring under his breath as he twisted it this way and that,
endeavouring to catch the reflection of a candle and then direct this light in turn on to a parchment. This paper, as far as I could see, contained numbers set out in intricate tables: a great many of them, writ very small. These, Beth had once told me, had all been received by Mr Kelly from the spirits and painstakingly transcribed by Dr Dee. Beth also said that once the key to translate these coded messages was found, it would lead to miraculous discoveries.