The Spymaster's Daughter (38 page)

They drove on, the morning sun rising to their right, and held the keg between them with the queen of Scots' cipher secure once again in the bunghole.

G
REENWICH
P
ALACE

T
he moonlit ribbon of road led south to the riverside castle of Greenwich, clouds gusting across the moon, the wind moaning like spirits escaping hell. At last, they were through a rear delivery gate into the sheltered stable yard. Usually quiet at such a late hour, the yard was full of carts, horses, and hostlers running from wagon to castle doors, carrying into the palace masses of gown and jewelry chests, chairs, tables, and parts of Elizabeth's huge bed, her arras tapestries, her big case clock, the picture of her father, Henry VIII, and every other thing a queen must have to travel on her progress comfortably.

Frances jumped down and went to Will, who held the lead horses, Claudius and Marcus. Standing on her tiptoes, she gave the gentle giants hugs. “If ever I have my own carriage, I will have you to pull it, with fine hay, apples, and pears every day in your stalls.”

“They will remember your promise,” Robert said, then drew Frances into the overhanging shadows. “Her Majesty has returned early, perhaps at your father's request, since he hopes to bring the Scots queen to her end…and soon. Now haste to your chambers before we are discovered. We cannot lose all now.” He held her tight against his chest, his one good arm as strong as two. “I must take the keg with Mary's cipher to your father at once. Come to his office later”—he grinned—“fully recovered from your measles.”

She nodded, dreading that they must part, hoping to stay a moment in the strength of his embrace, though she was careful not to touch his wound, seeking his stubbled face with her lips. “How can I live without you near?” she whispered.

“I ask myself that same question and receive no satisfactory answer.”

“‘What if you new beauties see?'” It was the question that had been worrying her heart for all the trip from the inn.

His gaze was intense. “They will not stir my affection, sweetheart. There will never be another to me as you are now, Frances. You are the queen of my heart—forever.” He knew her. Kind, determined, courageous, daring, an intelligencer to her boots! “No other woman has your eyes, your beautiful face, your mind. If I had been born my father's rightful son, I…”

She drew in a breath to calm her pulsing heart. “What? What would you do?”

“I would come to your father and beg for you.”

Surely this was a game. “And what dowry would you ask?”

“None but you,” he said softly.

“That is not done…no dowry.”

“Then I would be the first. Only in my dreams…”

“You have dreamed of me?”

“More than I've slept since that first day.”

His voice was solemn. This was no game to him, nor to her, though there were no winners, just pawns.

He whispered, “Remember…forever.”

“The queen of England will be filled with jealousy,” she whispered, trying to jest. They moved into deep shadow, and she stood against his body to keep him close for one last moment, until she heard the clock tower begin to chime. She tilted her lips to his and he met them with his own, exploring her mouth.

“I must away, Frances…your father.”

“And I must speed to my chambers and quickly recover,” she said, smiling. “Her Majesty may call me at her pleasure.”

“Speak not of pleasure, lest I cannot leave you.” His arm about her shoulder, he took her a few steps to a small, darkened staircase.

“Robert, you must see a doctor about your shoulder.”

“Aye, I will, but I think I have had the best surgeon in all England.”

“Apprentice,” she corrected. “When will I see you?” She had to have some assurance.

His chest heaved with a deep breath, though he winced. “Soon…soon, but we must be cautious. My ruin would be great but yours much greater.” His hand slid down her arm, prolonging the stroke until at last their fingers touched and parted.

He called to Will, pulled a flare from its sconce on the castle wall, and handed it to the boy. “With good care, light your mistress's way. She will direct you when you reach the upper corridor.”

After their close days and nights, she was lost without the near heat of him, the sound of his breathing in her ear, the security of his love close to her heart. With one last, long gaze, she tore herself away and stumbled up the stairs, back to the life of Lady Frances Sidney. Although she knew she should not, she looked behind and glimpsed him walking away. Her heart aching, she knew this must be her life to the end of it…leaving Robert.

As she must needs, she turned herself to what came next. “Will, go before and make fair certain that the corridor is empty. I would not be seen dressed in this way. I sense my disguise is at its end.”

Cautiously, they made their way, clinging to deep shadows, stopping without a breath when palace guards marched by, then slipped at last into her chambers and heard the lock click shut. What had made her think she could do what she had done these last days? And yet she had done her work and done it well. A thrill of triumph filled her. It seemed an entire lifetime since she had last left Greenwich. “Wait here in my receiving chamber, Will.” He sank into a chair, exhausted, his eyes closing. “Meg! Meg!” she called, throwing off her doublet.

The girl appeared, her night shift deeply wrinkled, scrubbing sleep from her eyes. She stared beyond her mistress at the ragged boy behind her. “Mistress, ye be home and yet whole…though yer shirt has lost its sleeves and ye bring a stable boy, from the smell on him.”

Frances managed a weary smile. “Aye, Meg, all in good time. Now I must needs recover quickly from my measles. The morn will come soon enough. Have any inquired of me?”

“Several, mistress, but only one said he be returning today, wishing to see you.” The girl grinned. “My lord Essex come back from the war in the Low Countries, but yesterday…and from his horse straight to your door.”

“God's grace! What did you say to him?”

“As ye instructed, that ye could accept no visitor, lest ye infect the castle.”

“As you see, I am recovered, praise be,” Frances said wryly. “Now, Meg, I must bathe and ready myself for the day. Did you get the new wig?”

“Aye, though quickly done.”

“Let me see it,” Frances said, staring down in exhaustion. “It will be a new day soon enough.”

Dressed in her bathing chemise, she sank deep into the tub dragged into her inner chamber before the fireplace by sleepy-eyed servants called from their pallets in her father's apartment. The water was yet warm despite its long trip from the laundries below the castle. She sank into it, her knees resting on her chest while a disapproving Meg stood nearby.

“Ye have already had one bath this summer, mistress, and many washings. Me mam says ye tempt Satan for vanity with two baths of a summer.”

“I tempt the queen's nose to rebel without a bath and clean hair,” Frances said, leaning back and sluicing the water over her breasts and stomach. “And when I am finished, put the boy Will in and see he scours the stables away…the straw from his hair, as well.”

“He will defy me, mistress.”

“It is my command, and he must learn obedience no matter how I send my orders. If he is to be of my servants, he must know that I do not ask for more than he can do, nor for more than is my right as mistress.” She slumped in the tub. The tutoring of servants had been Aunt Jennet's business, but now must fall to her. She wished her old nurse with her once again. Then, trailing the cooling water one last time over her shoulders, Frances motioned Meg to add more lavender petals. “I charge you to go to my father's chambers and ask his steward for a suit of livery to fit Will. Then inform him of his duties as a groom of my chamber.”

Meg looked confused. “What be his duties? He looks good for nothing as a lady's groom.”

“He will learn to bring my meals hot from the flesh kitchen, accompany me about the castle and to the garden unless I am with the queen, guard my door, empty the close stool, bring in coal for the fireplace, carry messages—”

At that, Meg's eyes sparkled, and her mouth turned up knowingly.

Frances made her face disapproving. The girl was too quick to think herself clever, and that was always dangerous in a servant who knew as much as she did. She must speak sharply. “Meg, you did good work for me while I was gone, but now that I have returned, you become my chambermaid once again and not my protector.”

The girl hung her head, though her mouth yet simpered. “Aye, my lady.”

It was amazing to Frances how quickly a maid could think above herself. Holding amusement inside, Frances thought how like herself the girl was. Were all women ready to leap their bounds, given the chance?

“When Will is dressed in livery, show him the kitchens. I will break my fast early with some small pullet eggs, bread, and cheese…and a tasty Spanish orange would not go amiss. I am close to starved. After which, you may take him to the servants' hall and see the boy fed.”

“Boy? Mistress, he be near to a man, if I see a'right.”

Frances stood. “Man, then.” Meg wrapped her in a blanket. “Now I will dress and don my new wig.”

After days in a youth's loose clothes and a night without any, Frances thought her gowns a fine embroidered prison, tight and burdensome, though she approved of her reflection in the big steel mirror. Standing straight, she saw a new confidence in her appearance.

The wig was spectacular with a few more curls pulled out to the sides…and it was black, not red, thanks be. Fortunately Meg had found the wig maker short of red dye, the bear garden having called for it all to dye Harry Hunks, its popular old fighting bear who had lost too much fur to the attacking dogs.

As dawn reached through her windows to better light her chambers, she reluctantly applied the white Mask of Youth and
cochineal red for her lips and cheeks. The mask dried rapidly and felt tight. How effortless it had been to be without anything at all covering her face, open to breezes and sky.

Working rapidly, Meg had her ready when the queen's call came.

“You are a fine lady's maid, Meg. None better. When you leave me, you will make your way very well.”

“I thank you, mistress, but I hope never to leave you.”

Frances bowed her head. “None know what the future brings.” It was a hard truth spoken aloud, echoing about the chamber and back to her.

Will, clean and smelling suspiciously of lavender, strutting a bit in his green livery, followed Frances toward the presence chamber, his gaze darting everywhere. “I never seen halls so grand, my lady, or roofs so high…with gold and jewels set as stars. By the rood, be they no thieves about?”

“With the queen's guard around every corner and in every doorway…do not play the bumpkin, Will, or the other grooms will have you for their toy.”

She smiled. “I be watchin' for them,” Will said, and the way his chin went up caused Frances to cease her worry for him. The boy had learned to battle in the hardest way.

“Will, do not speak so readily unless spoken to,” Frances warned.

“That be harder still, my lady…who was yesterday a boy.” He grinned.

She shushed him. “Never speak of my disguise, and lower your voice, or even better, do not express your opinion.” Will had too quickly found his wit. Still, she was happy that he would make his way.

Everywhere, Frances looked eagerly for Robert's face, but he was nowhere to be seen, not around any corner, nor in any alcove. Disappointed, she took her place in Elizabeth's entourage,
motioning Will to join the other grooms waiting in the corridor. Her feet fairly itched to rush to her father's office, but the queen must come first.