The Queen's Secret (41 page)

Yet why bother with such a trick? To vault the guarded mereside wall below the Queen’s apartments?

If that were indeed the plan, how did the others in the troupe intend to get over? By using a rope, in plain sight of the guards who would be posted there at all hours?

No, such a plan would be risky and over-elaborate.

Goodluck regarded the woman steadily. There was a surprising strength in those legs, and her acrobat’s sense of balance held her steady on the bear’s shoulders as the animal swayed forward and back in response to muttered commands.

For several minutes, a low rumbling sound had been growing steadily louder at Goodluck’s back. Thinking it the wheels of some rough trader’s cart on the nearby road to the castle, he had ignored it. Now he realized his mistake and turned his head in consternation, hearing the thud of hoofbeats and seeing the flash of gold and silver through the trees.

The royal hunting party!

The road from the castle must run parallel to his hiding place, he realized. He had thought today’s hunt would pass out in the other direction, towards the Chase. But his luck must have changed. For although the riders were at a safe distance, almost invisible through these densely crowded trees, the rehearsing acrobats would be bound to look in his direction as the hunt passed and it was too late for him to seek better cover.

He flattened himself against the creeper-thick oak and held his breath, listening for any sign that he had been spotted by the Italians.

None came, and after a moment the Queen’s hunting party had passed on. The welter of yelps from the pursuing hounds faded into the distance as they dropped further into the wooded valley.

For another few moments Goodluck waited in silence, the trunk against his back, staring at the green forest.

Then slowly, with the utmost care, he turned his head – to find the blade of a knife six inches from his eyes, and the unsmiling, dark-eyed face of an Italian.

Forty-three

IT WAS ALMOST
twilight when Lucy woke. She realized with a tremor of fear that her ‘short rest’ had turned into several hours’ sleep. She had only put her head to the mattress for a brief spell, overwhelmed by exhaustion after days of late nights and early mornings, attending the Queen, learning the words of the song Leicester had set her to perform, and trying to avoid drawing attention to herself in case it led to some betrayal of his lordship’s faith in her.

How late was it? Where was everyone? Had she missed the hunt?

Groggily, she stumbled out of bed and dressed in the half-light, the stiff fastenings of the unfamiliar court gown almost defeating her. One of the seamstresses had helped her to narrow the waist, let out for some larger woman in the past, but the task had been performed too well and now she could barely move. Lord Robert had procured it for her, saying she must look ‘at her finest’ tonight, when she was due to sing his love song before the Queen and court. If she was not too late …

Why had no one woken her?

Her heart juddered in her chest at the thought of missing her performance before the Queen. And tonight of all nights. Leicester would be furious with her, and rightly so. There were to be fireworks, and a water battle out on the mere, with vast fantastical creatures from legend – some of which she had seen
being
prepared that afternoon, the enormous creations dragged on rollers down to the lakeside and rowed out to the central raft.

Peering out of the window, she could see only the Brays’ side of the mere, barely visible in the warm, smoky twilight, but she could hear distant shouts just north of the castle and knew the evening’s entertainments were still being prepared out on the lake. So it could not be too late. Nonetheless, if she did not hurry, she would be unable to join the Queen’s ladies for the procession out to the lake, and for that she would be in serious trouble.

Hurriedly, she smoothed out the thick, heavy folds of the gold-embroidered underskirt, and wished again that she had someone to help her; there was still the extravagant white ruff to attach. ‘I want you to look like an angel from heaven,’ his lordship had told her, and she knew she must not disappoint him. An angel with sore fingers, she thought. Attaching the ruff was a fiddly business and by the time Lucy had slipped on her tight white and gold shoes, donated to her by the beautiful Lady Helena herself, the women’s quarters were so dark she could barely see her way to the door. But at least the corridors in this wing were well lit with torches, so she was able to find her way across the building to where the ladies of the court would be assembled – if they had not left yet.

‘Lucy!’

She turned, fearing a reprimand for her lateness. But it was only Catherine, her friend from Norfolk, who had run up behind her in the flickering torchlight. They had been close before arriving at Kenilworth, where it seemed to Lucy that she had been separated from almost everyone she knew and made to live among women who were her social betters. Since moving into the inner court, she had felt too nervous to speak or even take her fair share of food at mealtimes, in case her behaviour was considered impertinent. So she greeted Catherine with relief, glad to see a friendly face.

‘Catherine,’ she said, and hugged her. ‘I’m late. Are you coming on the procession to the lake?’

The younger girl shook her head. ‘I’ve been sick. I’m to watch from the windows with the other servants.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had been sick.’ Lucy stared at her
friend’s
pale face, exasperated. If only she had time to talk properly. Concerned, she picked up her heavy skirts to ascend the staircase to the royal apartments. ‘Will you walk with me, Catherine? I was told to attend the Privy Chamber before the procession began. I only hope the court hasn’t left yet.’

‘No, the Queen is still in her rooms. She’s been there since they returned from the hunt. And in a fine old temper, they say.’

Lucy bit her lip. ‘I was supposed to ride out to hunt today. I hope no one missed me. I was stupid and lay down to rest, but I fell asleep and almost didn’t wake up in time to dress. I was so exhausted. And I’ve hardly seen you these past few weeks.’

‘You must be happy, though.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Being the Queen’s new favourite?’ Catherine flushed, looking away. ‘It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it? To sing before the Queen? The others are saying you’ll never return to the troupe, not with Lord Leicester looking out for you. He’ll be the new king, you know. They are to be married come autumn.’

‘
What
?’

Lucy could not believe what she was hearing. She had grown so used to the idea of secrecy, that everything must be whispered for fear of being overheard, it shocked her to hear such things spoken out loud in the open corridor. Yet Catherine did not look disturbed, her face quite innocent. It would seem that the whole court knew about Leicester and Her Majesty.

‘Oh quick!’ Catherine grabbed her elbow, pointing hurriedly ahead as the door to the state apartments opened and the two guards at the entrance stood to attention. ‘Look, the court must be moving down to the lakeside. You’d better hurry.’

Her friend had turned to descend the stairs, not daring to block the way. ‘Go on, you don’t want to get into trouble.’

Reluctantly, Lucy ran up the last few steps to join the crowd now thronging outside the Queen’s apartments. It was simple to slip into the procession at the back, dropping a low curtsey to Lord Leicester as he passed, though she felt a little unnerved by the hard glance he threw her. He must have noticed her tardiness. Unless she had displeased him in some other way?

It still weighed heavily on her mind that she had promised to
report
back to the Queen on any messages Leicester had sent to the Countess of Essex, and Lucy did not know how long she could avoid doing so without having to lie outright. And that was not only a sin, but treason, surely? To lie to the Queen would be to risk her own neck, a thought which left her pale and trembling, wishing she could ask Master Goodluck for his advice.

But Goodluck was nowhere to be seen, however much she scoured the massed crowds for his bearded, smiling face. No doubt her former guardian was still angry with her for daring to speak so plainly. Her heart sank as she realized he had not come to watch her perform. What had possessed her to make an enemy of her dearest, oldest friend?

Down at the lakeside, a huge tented pavilion, open on three sides and illuminated by many candles, had been prepared for the Queen in case of rain. For although the days continued hot and sunny, a summer storm had been predicted by the groundsmen. It was clear that Leicester was taking no chances with this very special evening’s entertainments. The main body of the court was ushered under the tented roof, and a raised throne-like seat had been set for the Queen, with cushioned benches below for her ladies and chief courtiers. Unseen in the darkness, musicians positioned out on the lake were already playing a popular French melody as they arrived, while servants were sent to thread their way between the courtiers with spiced wine and trays of sugared fruits.

Hovering outside the pavilion, desperate not to be noticed by the Queen, Lucy caught a sudden glimpse of the lute player appointed to accompany her singing, and her insides knotted with fear.

She felt sick, and took up a cup of wine from the passing tray, hoping to steady her nerves with its spicy warmth.

‘Are you ready to sing for Her Majesty, Lucy Morgan?’

Her hand shook, spilling the wine and nearly soiling her new gold and white gown. ‘Your lordship,’ she stammered, curtseying awkwardly, the cup still held out to one side, dripping like blood over her fingers. Lord Robert took the cup from her gently, handing it to a servant, and she realized he was waiting for her reply. ‘Yes, if you please.’

‘You will not forget the words? And your heart – it will
feel
each word, press it home to the melody?’

‘Yes, your lordship.’

Leicester laid a hand on her shoulder, his voice strained. ‘I need this, Lucy. Woo the Queen for me tonight with your song.’ She glanced up, finding his eyes dark and intense. ‘All is not well between us.’

Silently, she nodded, and the earl’s hand fell away.

A path had been cleared for her through the crowd. She stepped lightly forward, feeling empty, thin as air, her face drained of blood. Between the pavilion and the mere, a small wooden platform had been pushed into place, draped with white silk. There, the lute player sat waiting for her, his face sombre in the flickering torchlight. Lucy climbed the three steps up on to the dais, feeling as if she were going to her execution. She stood facing the court, trying not to look directly at the Queen, though she felt the burden of that sharp gaze on her face and shivered. The heat of the summer’s evening was stifling, and yet still she shivered.

‘Your Majesty,’ she began, and found her voice barely audible above the great hum of the crowd. She cleared her throat and started afresh. ‘If it please Your Majesty, I am to sing a song for you of Lord Leicester’s own composition. Though first I am instructed to ask if you are willing to hear it, Your Majesty?’

The Queen looked at Lord Robert, a long assessing look, while the court held its breath and Lucy stood in full view of everyone, her fingers plucking at her gown. Then the Queen nodded, her white face still and emotionless above her broad ruff.

‘Let us hear this song of Leicester’s.’

Master Oldham strummed the heart-catching opening chords on his lute, and Lucy opened her mouth to draw breath. After that, she remembered nothing but the smell of torches, guttering and flaming, and the silence all about her, until the last throbbing line of the song died away.

The applause came as a shock, almost a knife to her throat, startling her out of her daze. She gasped, and realized that her trial was over, the song was done, and she had not forgotten any of the words nor missed a note as she had feared. Suddenly, like
surfacing
from icy water, she became aware once more of the dozens of curious eyes watching her, and then she saw Leicester, a smile on his face, whisper something into the ear of his betrothed.

The Queen gestured him to stand back, and summoned Lucy with a brief tilt of her head. ‘Come!’

Sinking on to her knees in a deep obeisance before her, Lucy remained in that position while Her Majesty leaned forward to question her. To her surprise, the Queen’s voice trembled slightly.

‘You sang well.’

She clicked her fingers, and a pretty young page boy came forward with his head bowed, carrying a small wooden chest, its lid thrown open. The Queen glanced inside the chest – almost idly, it seemed to Lucy – then drew out a delicate gold necklace, adorned with a large, single pearl. This she threw to Lucy, who fumbled to catch it, almost dropping the lavish gift in her astonishment and dread. The pearl lay cool in her palm, worth perhaps a thousand times more than most performers earned in a lifetime.

‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ she managed, ‘though truly I do not deserve such generosity.’