The Queen's Secret (23 page)

‘The right man may do such work for pay,’ she commented idly, wincing as his hands bit into her arm, whirling her round. ‘Let me go!’

‘Don’t say that. You must never say such things.’

‘Or what?’ Her eyes dared him. ‘Will you have me toppled from the head of the stairs, my lord, or stifled in my bed? But you must forgive my womanly stupidity. I see now your ambition knows no checks or bounds, and our love-play here this evening was nothing but an amusement on the way to greater things. It was wrong of me to mention my husband, for I cannot advance you by marriage. Not like Elizabeth.’

His eyes had narrowed on her face. ‘You’ve been speaking to someone,’ he declared, releasing her arm. Calm settled back around him. She had given him a problem and he was worrying at it like a dog in the undergrowth. ‘Who?’

She rubbed at her arm through the sleeve of her gown, and knew she would have to be careful when undressing tonight. There would soon be bruises for sharp eyes to see.

Robert straightened the feather on his cap, his gaze speculative. ‘I can always call in my spies if you will not tell me yourself.’

‘Do you have
everyone
watched?’

‘Only those who can harm me.’

She sat down in the chair and slipped her shoes back on, not caring if he knew or not. The boy was Robert’s own nephew, after all, and a great favourite of his. There could be no hurt in telling him the truth.

‘Very well,’ she shrugged easily. ‘It was Pip.’

Robert frowned. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Then wait for your spies to tell you,’ she spat irritably, and was
a
little shocked and even frightened by his expression, though she hid it well. ‘What? Did you think your nephew a saint, never to discuss his uncle’s business?’

‘I thought him loyal, yes.’

‘Oh, I doubt he would drop such heavy hints to anyone who was not sleeping with you, my lord.’ Lettice smiled at his muttered oath but kept a careful eye on him as he prowled the small room, knowing how quickly a squall could blow up in those dark eyes. ‘Pip was being a friend. He wanted to warn me about you … and what happens to the women who surround you. As if the whole world did not already know you had your wife killed, leaving you free to marry Elizabeth. Though the Queen has been strangely slow in taking you up on that offer. Perhaps she is afraid a similar fate awaits her once you tire of her companionship.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said drily, stopping by her chair. His voice was clipped, unpleasant, but he was back in control. ‘I am surprised that, thinking me a wife-murderer, you should so ardently wish to have me to yourself.’

‘My husband is a wife-beater who hates me. Yet I’ve borne him children and kept his bed warm for years. We are not so very different, you and I, whatever Pip may say. I can understand your desire to be free of your wife,’ she said, looking up into his eyes, ‘if you can understand mine to be free of my husband.’

His hand dropped from her shoulder. ‘I must go.’

‘Of course you must.’

‘I am the host and will be missed.’ He pulled on his leather boots. ‘I’ll send word when we can meet privately again. I may have found us a new go-between, by the way. Someone who is not also being paid to report back to Walsingham.’

Lettice frowned. ‘Who?’

He seemed amused, but shook his head. ‘If it works out, you’ll see soon enough. Now I really must leave. There will be music tonight, out on the lake, and I have to speak to one Master Goodluck before I go to the Queen.’

She looked askance. ‘One of your men?’

‘Walsingham’s. But Goodluck is a sensible man, thank God. He’ll work wherever the pay is good. I believe he has some plan to catch these conspirators we’ve been looking for.’

She raised her eyebrows mockingly. ‘So you didn’t engineer that little alarm last night yourself, my lord, in order to get the Queen into bed? Rather a dangerous gamble, I’d say. Imagine if she had fallen from her galloping horse and been killed.’

A dark red flared in his face and he strode to the door, not looking back. ‘Some days I wonder why I still bother with you, Lettice Knollys,’ he threw over his shoulder.

Unbolting the door, he flung it wide and left it open behind him, not caring who should look in and see Lady Essex sitting in a torn gown, a clutch of livid bruises on her arm, more like a whore than a countess.

Twenty-five

‘WHERE IS HE?’
Elizabeth screamed, hurling a wooden stool at the vast velvet-curtained painting on the wall. The picture crashed to the floor, the curtain pole rolling away to reveal Leicester in full armour, one fist resting on his hip, at his most regal as he posed for his Italian painter. Elizabeth jerked away from the portrait in fury, knowing every face in the room to be turned towards her in fear and astonishment. ‘Don’t just stand there. Fetch him, you fools. Wherever he is, find Leicester and bring him to me.’

‘Your Majesty,’ someone said soothingly. She spun round to find Francis Walsingham bowing his head, neat in his customary black suit. ‘You are not well and must sit down. Pray take my arm, allow me to guide you to a seat.’ He turned his head and spoke softly to one of her young ladies-in-waiting. ‘Some wine for Her Majesty, and be quick about it.’

‘He is with
her
,’ Elizabeth muttered savagely.

But Walsingham’s look silenced her, and she sat down heavily at the table.

In truth, her legs were trembling so hard she could barely stand. Robert had been gone for hours and she knew, she
knew
, where he was. She knew she ought to control herself, that it was not the first nor the last time he would absent himself from her side without leave. Yet the restless fury inside her refused to abate.

Suddenly, she saw the Moorish girl staring at her wide-eyed from a corner and remembered that she had come to sing.
Robert’s
absence had put all thought of entertainment out of her head.

‘Come hither, child,’ she demanded shrilly. Her eyes narrowed on the girl’s innocent face. ‘Are you still a virgin?’

‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ Lucy stammered in response, clearly terrified.

‘See you stay one, then, and never marry,’ she hissed, glancing contemptuously at the other unmarried women in the room. Not a virgin among them if rumour was to be believed. ‘For no man is to be trusted in affairs of the heart, not even the most loyal, the most loving—’

Elizabeth broke off hoarsely and sank her head into her hands, only stirring when Walsingham touched her arm. He had pushed a glass of wine across the table, but she waved it away with a grimace.

‘You need to drink something,’ Walsingham told her frankly. He waited until she had taken several sips before continuing, his voice discreetly low. ‘Leicester is on his way. I have seen to it that he knows of your concern over his whereabouts. When he arrives, Your Majesty, for the sake of your reputation with the foreign ambassadors, you could perhaps attempt not to scream and throw things at him. At least, not until you can be private with the gentleman.’

‘Am I such a fishwife?’

He hesitated. ‘You are a woman, Your Majesty.’

‘And your queen,’ she reminded him sharply, throwing him back the same stern look that had silenced her earlier.

Nevertheless, she straightened her spine and glanced about the chamber, daring anyone to meet her gaze. Her ladies-in-waiting had scattered to the four corners of the room, some sewing feverishly with their heads lowered, others pretending to play at dice while covertly listening to the Queen’s conversation. Even Lucy had found a large, silver-tasselled cushion to lie on, and was staring up out of the closed window as though wishing herself far away from the stifling confines of the state apartments. Only Mary Sidney dared to watch without pretence, and she lowered her head to her book when she caught Elizabeth’s glance.

‘They mock me with these public absences,’ Elizabeth
volunteered,
turning back to her adviser, ‘flaunting their illicit affair before me.’

‘What do you intend, Your Majesty?’

Elizabeth looked at him directly, biting her lip. She was still hopeful that something could be done to separate them, and swiftly. She could not pretend otherwise, even though she knew others to be listening. At that moment she would have listened to anyone who could promise her that Lettice would be gone and Robert’s affections restored.

‘What can I do?’

Walsingham spread his hands sympathetically. ‘Nothing that will not earn you the disapproval of the people, Your Majesty,’ he murmured, careful not to be overheard by the others. He saw her look of dislike and shrugged. ‘You would be within your rights to send my lady Essex to the Tower for adultery. But there is not a man, woman or child in this kingdom who would not see a darker purpose behind that.’

‘What if I were to recall Essex from Ireland?’

‘You mean to tell him?’

‘Nothing so unsubtle.’ Elizabeth took another cautious sip of wine. She did not want to lose control again. Her ears were still ringing slightly and she felt faint. ‘Bring the earl home to England, and it must come to his ears sooner or later that his wife has been sleeping with another man. They have not been
discreet
.’

‘Then let us pray they have been careful, at least.’

She stared, feeling her face go red, her hand suddenly trembling. She pushed the wine aside.

‘A child?’

‘Popular rumour has it she has already been brought to bed of one, though it was stillborn and the body disposed of before even a priest could be called.’ He frowned. ‘But you must have heard this nonsensical tale before, Your Majesty.’

‘Something,’ she agreed, breathless, struggling to keep her voice to a whisper. ‘This is not a new thing, then? They have been lovers a long while?’

‘Robert renewed his attentions early last year, or so I was told. While her husband was away and she was summoned to court without him.’

‘You think me cruel, separating two lovers?’

‘By no means,’ Walsingham asserted. ‘It is only judicious that we keep this affair from blowing up in our faces. A rift between noblemen at the heart of the English court could have dire consequences, as we have discovered in the past. Such a division must be avoided at all costs.’

Elizabeth sighed, forcing herself to think like a prince and a statesman instead of a deceived woman. ‘I know you are right. But I still
hate
them.’

The chamber door was thrown open with a crash. Robert, his face dark with fury, stood in the doorway with one fist on the hilt of his sword, clenching and unclenching his fingers as though he longed to pull it from its scabbard and use it against her. His furious gaze sought hers across the room. Elizabeth met it unflinchingly, and for one brief moment it was as though no one else was there, just her and Robert, his rage beating between them like a black tide.

Several of the ladies giggled, then bent hurriedly to their work. Elizabeth rose from the table, her hands clasped tight in front of her skirts, her voice as icy and controlled as she could manage.

‘What is the meaning of this theatrical entrance, my lord?’

‘You summoned me, Your Majesty,’ he responded, quite unsmiling, and gave her a deep, exaggerated bow. ‘And I am here.’

‘So I see.’ Her voice rang throughout the chamber and beyond, delivering a deliberate and very public snub. ‘We missed you this afternoon and evening. Your duties as host at Kenilworth do not extend, it would appear, to keeping your queen company.’

Robert straightened, and for a moment she saw genuine hurt and anger in his eyes. But he swallowed it, removing his hand from the hilt of his sword.

‘I most humbly beg your pardon, Your Majesty, if you have been left at a loose end during my absence. I was engaged with preparing your entertainment for this evening.’ He bowed. ‘If you would do me the honour of descending to the inner court, I shall be pleased to accompany you and your ladies to the water’s edge where a cushioned barge awaits your pleasure.’

‘Walsingham will accompany me,’ she declared coldly, glancing
at
her women. ‘Come, ladies, put aside your work. His lordship has prepared an entertainment for us this evening.’ She noticed the young Moorish girl hiding at the back and crooked her finger, summoning the child as well. ‘Lucy Morgan, you will walk behind me and carry my train.’

She brushed past Robert in her dark red silk, her embroidered bodice seeded with tiny pearls, knowing how well her pale skin showed against such a gown. She had almost made her mind up to forgive him if he could show true penitence. But then, in passing, she caught a hint of female scent on his clothes, and her back stiffened.

‘Your Majesty,’ Walsingham murmured, ‘you should wait for your bodyguards.’

She remembered last night’s scare and frowned. ‘No one would dare come at me here, my Ears,’ she replied, lingering on Walsingham’s pet name so that Robert might dance in an even greater fever of uncertainty, ‘not in Leicester’s own stronghold.’

‘But last night—’

‘Fiddlesticks!’ She signalled Lucy to pick up the bulky train of her gown, and began to negotiate the stairs. ‘The whole episode was nothing more than Lord Robert’s over-wild imagination.’