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

Jack grinned back. “You’ve no idea, and he doesn’t give a damn.”

†

When they arrived at Burton the gates were closed, but the two men on guard duty hurriedly moved to open them to admit Jack and Catherine. The hour was late, and apart from those on watch they saw no-one else in the enclosed yard. Jack unbuckled his pack from his horse and handed both the horses to one of the men who had opened the gate.

A guiding hand on Catherine’s elbow he led her to the main door of the tower. There was a route to the third floor that avoided the hall, opening the heavy wooden main door he hurried her up the wide spiral stairs. As they passed the door that opened onto the hall the sound of the company’s voices met their ears. They passed another door leading to the rooms and when they reached the next one Jack pressed it open, relieved that they had made it without encountering any of the men.

Behind the door was a wide corridor with two doors off it on the left-hand side and ahead of him another door that led to his room. Letting go of Catherine’s arm Jack produced the key he needed and applied it to the lock, a moment later they were both in the dark room that Jack had taken as his own at Burton.

The wooden shutters were open, but the moonlight provided little light. Catherine stood alone in the middle of the room while Jack busied himself lighting an oil lamp that sat near the fireplace.

“Right lass, there’s a tinderbox on there, get the fire lit. I need to go and see the men, let them know I’m back.” Crossing the room he used the key again to lock the door they had entered by, though in the opposite corner was another, smaller door. “Drop the latch on this one after I’ve gone, I’ll not be long.”

Before Catherine could complain, he’d gone. The smaller door lead to a tight spiral staircase set into Burton’s thick walls, and it led all the way down to the main hall.

Jack listened for a moment before he pressed open the door and stepped into the hall. Rush lights lit the interior, and the fire, well fuelled, added its own light to the interior. Cold air spilled into the room from the stairwell and Mat, seated with several of the other men near the fire, sensing the draft, turned.

“Jack! When did you get back?” Mat said loudly seeing him in the doorway.

“Just now,” Jack replied, pushing the door closed behind him. He crossed the room to where a barrel sat on a trestle table, selected one of the pewter cups sitting next to it and slopped the contents from the cup onto the rushes. He filled the cup from the barrel, pulling the bung away and tipping the wooden cask forwards. “I hope there is more than just this left.”

“There’s more, down in the cellar,” Mat said, then asked, “how was London? We’ve heard about Wyatt, news came in earlier today from Lincoln.”

“Come and join me Mat,” Jack had dropped into a chair on the dais, away from the main group of men.

Mat reluctantly cast in his hand of cards and, collecting his ale cup, moved to join Jack.

Mat was one of the only other men, apart from Dan, who had seen Catherine at Hazeldene, and Jack needed to talk to him before he became aware that the girl was here.

“I’ve something I need to talk to you about,” Jack said, his voice serious.

Mat’s brow furrowed, leaning closer he said, “Go on.”

“You know the girl I helped get away from Assingham?” Jack asked, his voice quiet.

“Yes, the de Bernay lass,” Mat said, sounding puzzled.

“Don’t ask why, the story is too long to tell, but she’s here,” Jack said quickly.

“What for?” Mat asked. “Did the Master send her here?”

“There was fighting in the streets in London, it wasn’t safe to leave her,” Jack answered.

“The fighting was bad then?” Mat took a large swig of ale. “There were riders came into Lincoln today, so we heard about the rising.”

“I had no choice but to bring her with me,” Jack said, his voice resigned.

“What’s she like?” asked Mat, a lascivious grin on his face.

“You can take that look off your face for a start,” Jack’s voice was low and serious.

“Oh come on, a woman here? The lads aren’t likely to leave her be are they?”

“She’s little more than a child, Mat, but yes, she’s going to be trouble,” Jack replied morosely.

Mat grinned. “You should get on well together, having something in common.”

Jack ignored Mat’s comment. “So guess who’s got the bloody job of making sure she stays in one piece?”

“Good luck to you,” Mat laughed, “the only women round here are Tilly McDrew in the kitchen and she must be ninety and her niece Ada whose soft in the head and has a face that looks like a goat’s arse.”

Jack leant across the table. “No, it will be a joint effort, Mat. Pass the word that she’s too precious for horseplay. Richard will start lopping limbs off if it’s otherwise.”

“And how do you propose I do that?” Mat enquired, his eyes opened wide.

“Tell them she’s Richard’s niece…” A smile suddenly crossed Jack’s face, “No… tell them she’s his sister; that’ll stop anyone going near her.” It was partly Richard’s fault that her life was in ruins, so she might as well join the family properly.

“His sister!” Mat laughed, snorting beer back into his cup. “I’d like to see Master’s face when he finds out about this. But I agree; it’ll stop the lads going within spitting distance of her. His sister…” Mat continued to chuckle.

Jack changed the subject. “Anything happened while I’ve been away that I need to know about?”

Mat shook his head. “Nothing. Marc was in Lincoln yesterday so we heard about the rising against Mary. What’s happened in London? Is it true that the rebellion has been put down?”

“You probably know more than me, there was fighting in the streets, and I left and brought the girl north.”

“And the Master, where’s he?”

“In the thick of it, would that be a fair bet?” Jack growled.

†

Elizabeth’s household was preparing to move again. It was a regular occurrence and the packing arrangements were well practised, the disruption just part of everyday life.

She had received a correspondence, delayed somewhat, from Wyatt who had urged her to move to the more fortifiable residence at Donnington. His messenger, the Earl of Bedford’s son, had arrived with a flourish born of his unwavering belief that Wyatt would triumph over Mary, believing he was bringing Elizabeth the first news of her succession.

Elizabeth had greeted him less than enthusiastically, dismayed by this direct contact, damning Wyatt for his carelessness. Her sense of foreboding had been proved right when a letter arrived, summoning her to Mary’s court. It seemed that, as Elizabeth had feared, Mary was well aware of the communication Bedford’s son had delivered.

Elizabeth had taken to her bed, convinced at last that she was undone. Wyatt had unwittingly linked her solidly to the uprising. She was convinced Mary would condemn her to the Tower and shortly after take her head. Kate could not shake Elizabeth’s melancholy and urged her to go to London and state her innocence before Mary. To do otherwise was to confirm her guilt; it was her only chance. Elizabeth refused and lay in bed succumbing to a severe depression. She remained in bed and pleaded illness as her reason for ignoring the summons, which had arrived from the Privy Council on 29th January.

“Please, Elizabeth, you have ignored them for long enough. They will not tolerate it much longer. Ride to London and plead your case with Mary,” Kate begged; she was beside herself now.

“I daren’t,” Elizabeth wailed from beneath the bed sheets. “I wish I had advisors to tell me how to act.”

“We have waited long enough; we must make our own moves. By staying here you are just playing into the Council’s hand and confirming your guilt.” Kate was close to tears brought on by days of fruitless reasoning, cajoling, threatening and arguing. She had slept little since the summons to court. Leaving the princess, she made her way to the kitchen and found Alice running to meet her, skirts held high and a look of terror on her face.

“Alice! Slow down. What news?” Kate said taking the girl’s shoulders.

“A delegation from the Queen, my lady, to see Mistress Elizabeth. They have just ridden in. Lord Effingham is with them and they demand an audience.”

Kate, too weary for hysterics herself, squared her shoulders and sighed. “I will see them, Alice. Go to the kitchen and make sure Cook is aware of our new guests.” Alice turned to obey. “And, Alice, find out how much wine we have left. I intend to serve a quantity to our guests tonight.”

†

Kate rose from her curtsey. Lord Effingham came forward from the delegation, all still standing in their travelling clothes in the hall. “I insist on seeing my niece,” he said without pleasantries.

“She is greatly unwell, my lord, and has been in bed for two weeks,” Kate said, eyes downcast: the picture of obedience.

“Go and see your lady and tell her that the time for excuses is long past. I demand an audience. Tell her if she will not see me I will personally have the door to her bedchamber broken down,” Lord Effingham said.

Kate bobbed a departing curtsey. “I will go and see how she fares, my lord.”

“My God, they’ve come to convey me to the Tower.” Elizabeth’s face was stricken.

Kate was taking no more of Elizabeth’s excuses and bullied Elizabeth to dress. “I have ordered wine for your guests, told them you have just woken and will see them presently. You will apologise for your delay and insist they stay at Ashridge as your honoured guests. Have strength, Elizabeth. Take courage; all will be well. Your illness was a little convenient following on so soon after Wyatt’s failure and suspicions have been roused. You must play your part well, lady,” Kate said. “You can do it.”

Elizabeth, finally forced into a corner, came out fighting. She did indeed play her part with brilliance. Lord Effingham, on leaving his audience with her, announced to his son that he believed Elizabeth would remain a thorn in Mary’s side for not much longer at all. A messenger was dispatched to London and Mary, stating that the princess was indeed in ill health, and perhaps even mortally so.

Elizabeth had turned the tables brilliantly on Effingham. After their second meeting, he conceded that she was too ill to travel and said she should remain at Ashridge until more fully recovered. Elizabeth insisted that she must go to London and see Mary. She told him it was her dearest wish, punctuated with so much coughing that Lord Effingham had backed away from the bed. He was convinced she wished to make her peace with Mary and that this could be her dying wish. Elizabeth smiled widely when he was gone, feeling she had managed to reassert a small degree of control over the situation. While she continued to remain at death’s door, preparations for her departure took three days to complete and the journey to London, a scant thirty miles, took a further eleven, so slowly