A Queen's Spy by - (black authors fiction .TXT) 📖

replied at last, grey eyes alight with a degree of uncertainty.

“I think it’s time you shared those. Don’t you?” There was a wine flagon on the table along with a set of fine glass goblets. Jack selected two, filled them in silence, and slid one across the table. “Sit down.”

For the first time Richard obeyed a direct order from his brother and lowered himself into the chair opposite Jack, his eyes never leaving the blue ones that were watching him intently from across the table.

Jack lifted his glass and drained half of it before setting it back quietly on the table. “It steadies the nerves, or so they say.”

Jack watched with satisfaction as Richard collected the glass from the table and drank. If Jack had entertained any misgivings about this meeting they were suddenly gone.

“There is nothing left to hide, Richard. I know the truth. I know who I am. And you should have told me,” Jack stated with an iron directness.

“I know,” came the quiet reply, the words heavy with regret.

“Why didn’t you? I thought at the start it was because you planned to expose Robert for what he is and take his place. But now I’m not so sure,” Jack continued, his temper fully defused by his brother's remorse.

Richard’s eyes dropped to the glass in his hands, staring into the depths of the wine. “In the beginning perhaps I did. I wanted what he had, knew that if I had the proof of it that I could oust him and force William to recognise me as heir.”

“But you didn’t,” Jack pointed out.

Richard shook his head. “I realised after a very short time that it was greed that was driving me. If I took Robert’s place, then there was a risk I would become him. He wastes away his life waiting for an old man’s death with no idea what he is going to do with his inheritance when he receives it.”

“But you’re not like that.” That Richard compared himself to Robert at all was wholly objectionable to Jack.

“No, and I didn’t want to be. And I don’t want you to be either.” Richard rubbed his fingers across his forehead, his eyes closed for a moment.

“Do you have any idea how much I want to shake you until you break? I set out from the Abbey with a desire to do nothing more than shatter your bones. We are equals and you’ve never accepted that,” Jack said roughly. It was an honest admission, the edge of anger that would have tinged those words until so recently though was absent.

“What stopped you?” Richard asked.

“The lass, Catherine. It’s hard to remain in bad mood in her company, and if my situation is unfortunate hers is a sight worse,” Jack conceded, then added truthfully, “and you are, for once, treating me with a degree of honesty I rarely receive.”

“Honesty is a trait I find hard to adhere to, it seems,” Richard's voice was filled with a weary resignation.

“Well, honesty is, for the most part, less profitable than dishonesty,” Jack cast back the quick reply.

Richard looked up, delighted surprise on his face. “When I hear you quote Plato to me, I know I have lost.”

“You've lost nothing,” Jack replied, “you have the opportunity to gain a brother, one you don’t need to keep at arm’s length, should you want one.”

Richard's eyes flicked to the fireplace, as if considering the offer.

Jack felt his stomach twist - had he gone too far?

“Trust must be earned, honesty proved and loyalty reciprocated,” Richard's voice was serious.

An uneasy silence settled between them, Jack broke it. “Was that Plato as well?”

Richard smiled, “No, my own poor words. I should earn your trust, prove my honestly and loyalty.”

Jack reached for the wine flagon and blindly filling both glasses, a quantity spilling onto the wood. Raising his glass he said, “You have already. If you were Robert, I would not be here now.”

“There's a truth in that,” Richard accepted, taking his own glass into his keeping. After a thoughtful pause, he asked, “So what are you planning to do now?”

“I was going to ask you that question. You will, I’ve no doubt, have given this a lot of thought,” Jack accepted the change of subject.

“The situation is not an easy one,” Richard sat back in his own chair, firelight playing on the glass in his hand. “William is not likely to admit to what he has done, and if Robert finds out who you are he’ll have no choice but to have you killed,” Richard stated bluntly. “You might think we are doing well, Burton and Chapel Street are a huge improvement on where we were six months ago, but we are not in a position to pit ourselves against William and Robert. Perhaps in time, but not now. Do not dwell too much on what could have been, Jack.”

Jack emptied his glass, studied it for a moment before setting it back on the table and folding his arms. “You have no idea how hard that is.”

“I’ve had a hundredfold opportunities to place myself in your position. Don’t you think I’ve not thought about it as much as well? I couldn’t tell you, I didn’t want to drive you to William’s door. That would have been unfair.”

“I can’t just ignore this,” Jack leaned forward, his hands on the edge of the table, “and you cannot expect me to either.”

“I know,” a slight smile played on Richard’s face. “Trust me, in time, together we will confront them.”

Jack nodded, “Alright, in time. I trust you.”

 

†

 

Richard looked at the girl Jack had left him with, she had her back against the door and her eyes were filled with a volatile mixture of hatred and fear. Letting out a long breath he pulled a chair from under the table.

“Come and sit down, there is no need to stand over there. I’ll not hurt you.” Richard was preparing himself for what was to come: how to answer the expected volley of questions and accusations and the inadequate and unwanted answers he would give.

Catherine dropped, rather heavily, into the offered chair. Richard could see her hands were shaking so fiercely that she dared not take the glass he placed in front of her.

“I am most sorry about the circumstances of your recent life. It was not by my design that you should be here now,” Richard said simply and evenly.

Catherine turned to look at him. Richard saw in the depths of her brown eyes that anger was very soon going to be the triumphant emotion.

“Could you tell me, sir, what happened to my father?” Catherine asked, her voice unsteady.

Richard answered her with a simple statement of fact. “Your father, my lady, appears to be dead and has been since you were placed in the Abbey. His lands and Manor at Assingham have passed to a kinsman, I don’t know who. I know only what Jack has just told me. More I will endeavour to find out. You are, in simple terms, believed dead. It was assumed you had perished when the Manor was taken by Northumberland’s supporters. Do not doubt me, my dear, for it was I who identified your body as one of those in the courtyard. It seemed a good idea at the time because it meant that no one would set themselves to look for you. The hope was to return you to your father unharmed. However, circumstances are such that this cannot be.”

Richard was sorry at his choice of tableware. He neatly side-stepped the expensive Italian glass as it was hurled at him, smashing against the stone wall behind him, a stain spreading down the stone from its ruby contents.

“You, your family… Judith and Edward…they were our friends. We trusted you.”

“Did we not do as friends would have done? We took you to a place of safety away from Assingham.” Richard’s voice held the edge of a patience tried. For a moment he considered telling her that he had not had anything to do with her father’s death, but the expression on her face told him he would never be believed.

“I do not, nor ever have trusted you,” Catherine yelled at him. “I don’t want to stay here with you.”

“Where exactly will you go? This is London. Do you have friends or family here?”

Catherine answered by avoiding his eyes and mutely shaking her head.

“As I thought. So, I will do what I can. Meanwhile, consider yourself my guest, and do your best not to try my patience any further or you will find yourself on the street.” Richard walked past and left her. From the courtyard, he looked back through the window to the room. Catherine was still clearly visible where he had left her, leaning over the table, one hand to her eyes. Sighing deeply, he turned to leave. He would find somewhere for her to lodge and try to contact her family, as he had promised he would.

Then his thoughts turned to Jack. Jack! Damn him. His brother’s timing could not have been any worse. He would have to get Dan to make sure the fool did not get himself killed. Jack’s words might have sounded reasoned and considered, but Richard was not sure how much he could rely on Jack’s newfound restraint, especially if it were introduced to alcohol or argument.

 

†

 

Richard intended to check with his brother again this evening, but he already had an appointment with Sir Peter Carew, and he had no intention of missing it.

The meeting had gone on long enough for Richard after only a few minutes had elapsed. It was clear that Sir Peter Carew was a man who thought a lot of himself and he liked the world to know it. Richard felt like he had just been through the longest sermon of his life, the whole time on his knees, and they had yet to talk about God. By the end of it he knew of Carew’s status at court, of his links to Henry VIII’s sister, Margaret, through his marriage to his wife, of his estates in Surrey and Devon and of his two houses in London, of the military success of his eldest son and of the cleverness of his other son who ran his own legal firm in the capital. Richard was also sure by the end of the summary that Wyatt had made a bad choice, anyone who liked to talk as much as Carew was not a man to trust with secrets.

When Carew had finally finished Richard attempted to instruct him on the methods that ensured the safe transportation of news, of the codes, and how these would, if applied correctly, keep both Carew and the rest of Wyatt’s group safe. It was not an easy task, Carew clearly felt that any form of administration was beneath him, and it was only when Richard reminded him of his obligation to Wyatt and the higher cause that they were aspiring to that he finally got Carew to cooperate long enough for him to explain the process of the cipher.

When Richard left an hour later he was relieved the meeting was over.

In terms of a plan Wyatt’s could only be described as basic at best. That Mary was to have ruined England with her poor choice of husband was not going to be allowed to happen. A suitable candidate for marriage to Elizabeth had been found in Edward Courtenay. With his own royal blood linking him to the throne it was felt that this reinforced both his