C. Gortner - The Tudor Conspiracy

I took a deep breath and sauntered over to them, swiping off my cap as I crouched down to pet the little dog. He leapt up to lick my face.

“Blackie,” Jane exclaimed, “stop that!” She flushed, giving me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do with him! He won’t listen to a word I say.”

The dog lavished me with affection even as I examined the knot tying the lead to the collar. The knot was weak, as I had supposed, and easily loosened.

“Poor thing,” I said. “All this noise and so many people-it must be terribly confusing for him.”

“You have a way with dogs,” Jane remarked.

“Yes,” I replied with a smile. “I sometimes prefer them to people.”

Jane frowned. “They warm our bed on a cold night and keep fleas at bay, but they are soulless creatures. How can you prefer them to us?” I heard a rustle of skirts as Sybilla turned to us.

“There are some who claim that those who prefer the company of animals are apt to be the most honest,” she said. “Is that the case with you, Master Beecham? Her Majesty seems to think so. She has spoken rather highly of your integrity and valor.”

I couldn’t take my eyes from her. She was, if possible, even more beautiful in candlelight, the flickering shadows heightening the smoky lapis of her eyes and the carmine of her lips. Her mysterious half smile was also unmistakable. I knew that look. I’d seen it before on other women’s faces-a seductive invitation.

I rose to my feet. “I am honored by Her Majesty’s praise,” I said carefully.

“As well you should be,” she said. “And I hear you may soon be granted a post in Ambassador Renard’s service. He, too, has been quite a favorite of the queen’s.”

I detected an undertone in her voice, alerting me to a motive I couldn’t decipher. Was she warning me or merely making conversation? I sensed the latter possibility was unlikely. Sybilla Darrier struck me as a woman with a purpose for everything she did, and as I saw her gaze shift to where Elizabeth sat immobile on her chair, I tensed.

She said, “Differences of faith can tear apart even those who should be closest.”

Her words caught me off guard, as did Jane’s vehement response. “She hardly deserves our pity. Everyone knows she’s a heretic who has refused to convert, though the queen has ordered her repeatedly to submit.” She stared at Sybilla. “Were she not the queen’s sister, I daresay she’d be in the Tower by now. And you, my lady, should be more careful, given your family’s history. Surely you, of all people, would not wish to defy our sovereign.”

I caught my breath at the malice lacing Jane’s voice. Sybilla, however, seemed unperturbed. “My dear,” she said, “you speak without thinking. Admirable as such fervor be, it ill becomes a maid, especially if one still has hopes to wed.”

Jane’s expression faltered. At her side, Blackie started barking again. I did not betray my curiosity as I leaned over to pet the dog. The contention between Jane and Sybilla intrigued me, as did the fact that Sybilla’s time abroad could be due to a familial disgrace.

“Ah,” said Sybilla, “and now it appears we’ve aroused Don Renard’s interest.” Following her glance to the group with the queen, I caught sight of the ambassador staring at us, his eyes smoldering as he took in Sybilla’s and my proximity. Bent over Blackie, ruffling his ears with one hand, I lifted my gaze. This time, I found covert complicity in Sybilla’s regard.

“Audentes fortuna juvat,” she whispered, and her eyes gleamed.

Fortune favors the bold.

She had seen my hand shift surreptitiously from Blackie’s ears to his collar. Without looking away from her, I untied the lead. With a high-pitched bark, Blackie dashed forth. Jane came to her feet with a cry of dismay; I watched with my heart in my throat as the dog made his way directly toward Elizabeth, just as I hoped he might. Catching sight of the loose dog-something strictly forbidden at court and especially in the hall-the surrounding courtiers laughed and began stomping their feet. Frightened by the sudden pounding of their heels all around him, Blackie changed direction and swerved, his tail and ears tucked as he scampered in a full-blown panic toward the nobles idling by the hearth.

Jane screamed. “No! Stop him! The fire!”

Hearing her young lady-in-waiting’s outburst, Mary frowned, half-rising from her chair to peer at the creature running past her. With her compromised eyesight, the queen seemed unable to identify the reason for the commotion and let out a startled gasp-“God save us, a rat!”-for with his small size, shadowy color, and furtive speed, Blackie was indeed rodentlike.

I started to regret having let him loose. Clearly I had overestimated Blackie’s ability to get through the crowd to the princess and thus gain me the opportunity I needed to approach her. As I saw Renard make a disgusted moue and step aside, opening a path to the hearth, I ran forward to cut Blackie off before he reached the painted screen shielding the fire and found himself trapped between the hearth and the queen’s company. He swerved again-and this time, to my relief, Elizabeth stood and called out to the dog.

His ears perked as if he’d heard the clarions of salvation, Blackie flew to her. She scooped him up, murmuring as he went limp in her arms, his tongue lolling. I moved rapidly to her through the guffawing courtiers, knowing Jane Dormer would be right behind me. I had only seconds. As I neared, I extracted the folded note from my doublet.

I held out my hands. Elizabeth extended the dog to me; our fingers touched. Her eyes widened slightly when she felt the note, and then she took it. Cradling the panting dog, I bowed to her and took a step back.

Jane hurried up to us. “Oh, thank you! I’m so sorry! I had no idea Blackie would slip his lead. If it hadn’t been for Your Grace…” She seemed to have forgotten her prior disparagement of the princess, who regarded Jane with an impassive expression. I gave her Blackie. Jane clutched the dog, tears of relief spilling from her eyes. “Naughty dog!” she scolded softly in its ear. “You are a very naughty little dog! You scared me half to death.”

Elizabeth did not speak. She shifted her regard to me with the impersonal courtesy she might have shown any well-intentioned stranger before she turned to her chair.

Jane murmured to me, “I am indebted to you. If it is ever within my power to help you, I promise you need only ask.”

“He was hardly in danger,” I said. My heart’s erratic hammer subsided. It had worked. Elizabeth had my note.

I did not hear the queen’s approach until her voice startled me. “What is the meaning of this unseemly ruckus?” Jane and I reeled about, and I saw Mary lift her virulent stare past us to where Elizabeth stood, as if frozen, by her chair.

“You have our leave to retire, madam,” the queen said coldly. “We’d not wish for such excitement to aggravate your already delicate constitution, nor, God forbid, induce another illness. And I suggest you think hard on what we have repeatedly asked of you. Remember, while we may be sisters, our patience is not without its limits.”

Elizabeth’s entire face hardened. For a second, I forgot to breathe. I half-expected her to retort something inflammatory enough to truly seal her doom. Instead, she performed a curt curtsy and, with her hand closed over my note, strode without a word toward the hall doors, her slim black figure scything through the whispering courtiers.

Beside me, Jane started to stammer out an apology.

“Mistress Dormer,” cut in Mary, silencing her, “I’m not interested in your excuses. You are to make sure that lead is fastened henceforth. I only let you bring your dog into the hall tonight because you were so worried about leaving him alone. As both Mistress Darrier and I advised you when she gave you that dog, owning a pet is a responsibility. If you cannot care for it, then tell us now and we will find another person who can.”

“Oh, no,” said Jane, with genuine concern in her voice, “I can care for him, Your Majesty. I promise you, it won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” Mary eyed her. “Now, pray return to your seat.”

Jane clutched Blackie to her chest. With another grateful look at me, she scurried back to her stool. I only had a moment to wonder why Sybilla Darrier would have given the dog to a girl who so clearly disliked her before Mary turned the full force of her gaze to me.

“I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness,” I said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Her face was inscrutable. “Master Prescott, you’re quick on your feet. It is an admirable quality I have come to appreciate, as it often averts disaster. But it seems to me that you need reminding of your proper station here. You are my servant. So take heed: I expect my servants to remain as far as they can from my sister. Do I make myself clear?”

She did not wait for my reply. With a lift of her chin, she returned to her chair, as if I had ceased to exist.

Dwarves tumbled in. The entertainment had begun, and Mary’s entire countenance lightened. She clapped her hands in delight as the dwarves, clad in spangled suits and belled caps, wrestled each other with abandon, slapping each other’s buttocks and exchanging ribald jests. I’d not have thought she’d enjoy this rambunctious display, but she seemed thoroughly pleased, shouting encouragement and tossing coins from a purse held by Lady Clarencieux even as the knot of black-clad Spaniards gathered about her frowned at such undignified behavior.

I retreated to the cover of a shadow-drenched wall and seized a goblet from a passing wine server. I drank it down in a gulp, my hand trembling. Elizabeth had my note; now all I had to do was get through my appointment with Renard. It was clear to me that whatever was happening at court, the princess was indeed a prisoner. Mary had denied her leave to depart and treated her with a palpable disdain. I didn’t know for certain that Renard was responsible for all of it, but I’d seen him whisper in the queen’s ear moments before Elizabeth arrived. He’d alerted Mary to her sister’s absence, knowing it would infuriate her.