The Queen's Secret (19 page)

All we want is the gold we were promised, and before the thing is done. Not after
.

But what was this ‘thing’?

Finding no easy answers, Goodluck crossed a small clearing in the woods, raising his face to the generous warmth of the sun.

When did the Italians plan to carry out their attack?

My people have already acted for your master
.

Now this had a sinister ring to it. Yet Goodluck doubted that Walsingham could act on this information, for they still did not know what was being planned, nor who to arrest.

Goodluck sighed, his heart heavy with foreboding. He knew only too well that if a high-ranking English nobleman was behind this latest plot to assassinate the Queen, Walsingham would wish to discover that individual’s name before making his move, even if it meant baiting a trap with the Queen herself.

Twenty-one

HIDDEN AWAY AT
the rear of the hunt with the other ladies-in-waiting, Lettice sat sore and limp, exhausted by many tedious hours of jolting side-saddle over rough terrain, following Kenilworth’s hounds up and down steep banks and even through briar patches. Her hands trembled with fury on the reins, but she kept a smile pinned to her face. Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester – her lover, the man she would call husband if she were not already shackled to the unspeakable Essex – had not so much as glanced in her direction the whole afternoon.

And why? Because Elizabeth, with her wrinkled face and false red hair, had been monopolizing him for hours. Indeed so deep had her talons been buried in his flesh that Robert had been unable to leave her side for even a moment. Powerless, Lettice had been forced to watch as Elizabeth, the bastard daughter of an adulterous whore, had ridden in state with the leaders of the hunt, laughing and shouting out to the huntsmen on foot, her voice loud and coarse as that of the commonest fishwife.

Lettice was not even sure that Robert had noticed her, despite her extravagant, low-cut gown – the furthest she could push Elizabeth’s peevish injunction that none of her ladies should wear anything but black or white. This, she had claimed, was to preserve their chastity and protect them from vanity. Chastity! Elizabeth was, Lettice knew, no more a virgin than she was. And as for vanity – it was plain to Lettice that Elizabeth wanted to be
certain
that none of her ladies-in-waiting outshone her at court.

Even little Kitty, with her mousy brown hair and simple smile, could outshine a woman so clearly past her prime. For all her gorgeous silks and jewels, her fantastical gowns and hair dressings, Elizabeth Tudor was old enough to be a grandmother – had she served her country with proper female submissiveness, that is, and married some virile prince while still young enough to bear him heirs to the throne of England.

Lettice bent to avoid a low-hanging branch. It turned her stomach to think of her own darling Robert having to touch Elizabeth’s wrinkled breasts and kiss her sharp red lips, while her ladies-in-waiting sat scarlet-faced over their embroidery in the Privy Chamber, pretending not to know what was going on inside their mistress’s bedchamber.

Of course, she knew Robert performed such services for advancement only, that he felt no physical desire for the Queen – and never had done.

It was growing dark among the trees, and torches had been lit ahead of the hunt to show the way back to the castle. The woods shone with their smoking light. Lettice looked up and shivered. In the strange billowing glow, the leaves on the trees looked as though they were made of metal, a thousand glinting spear tips above her head.

‘My lady, at the back again? This is too modest for a countess. Surely you should be riding at the head of the hunt, alongside Her Majesty and my uncle?’

It was young Philip Sidney, his smiling wink conspiratorial as he reined in his horse alongside hers.

She smiled at him wanly, careful not to give any impression of discontent or unhappiness that could be taken back to Elizabeth. For all she knew, he had been sent to spy on her.

‘I am happy enough here with the other ladies,’ she murmured. ‘Have you come to a decision yet? Will you accompany the court to Chartley when we leave Kenilworth? I have written to my Penelope, to let her know you may be among the Queen’s party. She is eager to see you again. And grown so tall, you will not recognize her. She is almost a woman now.’

‘I have spoken to my uncle on the subject, my lady, and he sees
no
reason why I should not stay on with the court a little longer. There is some business in London I will need to attend to, but nothing so pressing it won’t wait until the end of the summer.’

He bowed his head, but she saw the flicker of deception in his eyes. She was disappointed, but not surprised. Few could live at court more than a few months and not become corrupted by its dazzle, however pure they had begun.

‘So add me to your list of guests at Chartley, my lady Essex. And let me know if there is any other way I can serve you.’

Dear sweet Pip. But what was he hiding from her? She continued to smile while her mind ran through the possibilities. Had Elizabeth drawn him into her service already?

She lowered her voice, conspiratorial. ‘Serve me?’

Philip looked startled but swiftly recovered. ‘In any way you desire, madam. Just say the word.’

‘Would you spy for me?’ she asked lightly.

Philip’s face seemed to pale in the gloom, and his eyes widened in shock. ‘Spy? My lady, I cannot countenance—’

‘Don’t look so alarmed. I only mean for you to spy on your uncle Robert for me. He and I—’

She checked herself and looked about again, but it seemed safe enough. One of the huntsmen had begun to sing and some of the women were humming along with his tune, their faces lightening as the hunting party approached the end of the Chase. Already they could see the torches, set on the castle’s outer defences to guide them home, flaming ahead on the hill.

‘He and I have an understanding,’ she continued more softly, ‘as I’m sure you must be aware. Yet your uncle still looks elsewhere, even though he can have no hope of success. You are an intelligent man – I don’t need to speak the name aloud – but it grieves me to watch their intimacy, just as it grieves others.’

He seemed to choose his reply carefully as he looked along the mane of his horse.

‘My lady, I’m honoured that you should confide in me with so delicate a matter, but I cannot help you. No – let me explain: more influential men than I have tried and failed to stop this
intimacy
, as you put it. Unless it directly affects the succession, as a courtier, what happens behind closed doors is none of my business and I
shall
not interfere, though I see how it must grieve you to witness such hurts at first hand. But you are a married woman, my lady Essex, and your husband has his own spies here at court. Nor have you been entirely discreet since your arrival.’ He raised his head to look at her, and she was shaken by the frown in his eyes. ‘To be blunt, I would strongly urge you to drop this matter – unless you are not afraid for Essex to discover it.’

‘And is this your only answer? That I should give up what little I have and cede it to
her
?’

‘It must be so. I’m sorry.’

Her face flushed with anger. ‘What do I care if my husband learns of this?’ She did not expect a response, for to tell the truth her heart was thudding at the thought of Essex’s reaction to the news that she and Robert were lovers. She felt a wave of nausea but kept her head high, her back straight in the saddle despite her weariness. ‘My husband does not love me. I am merely a brood mare for his stable. He will not care what I have done.’

‘You are mistaken, my lady, and I advise you to be cautious what you say. There are those who might overhear you and mistake your meaning.’ Philip’s voice had dropped to a stern whisper.

Lettice looked behind her and saw a rider in black and silver nudge past, as though he had only now caught up with the rest of the party. She did not recognize him at first, then caught the glint of his gold chain as his head turned, the curling black hair under his feathered cap. Massetti, the young Italian who had only recently come to court and now seemed to be working for Walsingham. Could he have overheard their conversation? Handsome and charming he might seem, but Massetti would no doubt repeat every word to his master as soon as the hunt returned to the castle, and then she would have to answer for her disloyalty.

At her side, Philip leaned towards her, looking grim. ‘You must be aware of how things stand with the Queen. Her life is in constant danger.’ He gathered his reins. ‘Until she agrees to marry, she will be the target of every crazed Catholic assassin and mercenary in Europe. Her stubborn insistence on clinging to a virgin state destabilizes England as surely as if we were at war.
And
if the man who has the honour of sharing her throne should be my uncle …’ He shook his head. ‘In truth, I cannot think of a better husband for our queen than Robert Dudley.’

Lettice drew breath to respond but Philip pressed her hand warningly.

‘Remember what happened to poor Amy Dudley, my lady, and have a care what you say,’ he muttered in her ear, then set spurs to his horse and rode to the head of the hunting party, leaving Lettice on her own in the dark.

Twenty-two

‘COME, BESS, LET
us race for home!’

Elizabeth had not ridden so recklessly since she was a child. Branches whipped at her face under the low-hanging trees, her cap tumbling off as they raced back to the castle. Bent low along her horse’s neck, with only Robert ahead and two of his men riding behind, she thrilled at this sudden, unexpected burst of freedom. All that mattered was this wild gallop across rising ground to the safety of his fortress. Its dark towers loomed ahead, and she could see some kind of commotion along the walls: men were pouring out from the gatehouse, the guard dogs were being brought forward, and a long row of Warwickshire bowmen had already assembled on the battlements in their distinctive green and black livery, their vast yew bows drawn back and trained on the woods. Why the display of force, she wondered.

As they approached the gate the guard barked out a warning, and pikes flashed down to bar their way into the castle. Then Robert shouted the password, swiftly the pikes were withdrawn, and their horses clattered noisily under the sombre archway lit only by wavering torches, their smoke thick and acrid.

A boy ran forward to help them dismount, but Robert waved him away. ‘We’re riding on,’ he seemed to be saying, his voice muffled by the stone walls all around them. ‘Tell those who follow that the Queen is safe inside.’

He turned in the saddle to look at Elizabeth, and she caught his
excitement.
He spoke without his usual deference, his tone as direct and intimate as it had been in the days before her sister Mary died, before she had come to the throne of England. There was a boyish exhilaration to his voice that she had not heard for many years.

‘Bess, do you trust me?’

‘With my life.’

‘Then follow me, and keep low on the horse. Whatever happens, look at no one and stop for nothing.’

Dismissing the two guards who had followed them from the woods, Robert spurred his horse across the outer court, where tents and hammocks hung among the ancient oaks. Elizabeth kept close by his side, bending low as he had instructed her. Men scattered before them, and curious faces peered out from under tent flaps as they passed. One or two shouted after them, but none dared get in their way. A moment later they were thundering across the narrow wooden bridge into the inner court.

Again, the guards on the entrance raised their pikes in surprised obedience to Robert’s staccato command, clearly taken aback by the sight of their lord and queen entering on horseback unaccompanied.

‘Allow no one to pass until the entire hunting party has returned,’ he called out, and the men saluted.

The inner courtyard was deserted.

Dismounting from his sweating horse with uncharacteristic carelessness, Robert turned to help Elizabeth. ‘Come.’ He pulled off his feathered cap and handed it to her. ‘Cover your hair, and follow me. Draw your cloak tight. Not a word, understand?’