Deception (11 page)

Matthew began fumbling for his purse.

“Do you think he's getting counterfeit coins out?” Ellie whispered in my ear.

Matthew looked round to make sure no one was listening. “I've had a bit of trouble,” he muttered.

“Trouble?” The stranger did not sound pleased.

“I haven't got all the money yet.” Matthew slapped some coins on the table. “You'll have to make do with these for now.”

I leaned forwards, trying to see what he had put down, but I couldn't. My heart was thudding like horses' hooves. Were we going to learn something of the counterfeiters at last?

The man took one look and stood up angrily, knocking his chair flying. “I'm never doing business with you again, Matthew Tibbit!” he shouted. “When I made you that fine cap, you swore to pay me the whole fifteen shillings by last Friday se'nnight. And all you can give me is two measly
groats and a penny!” He pushed the table aside roughly, snatched the cap from Matthew's head, and barged his way out through the crowd.

Ellie and I looked at each other.

“I don't think Matthew Tibbit has anything to do with the counterfeiting,” I said sadly. “He just likes to give the impression that he's involved in grand schemes. But he isn't clever or cunning enough to manage a counterfeiting scheme as grand as the one we've discovered.”

“He's nothing but a braggart,” agreed Ellie.

“There's naught in his head but air.”

“We've had a wasted evening,” I sighed wearily.

“Let's go back to Whitehall.”

“Look on the bright side, Grace,” said Ellie as we left the inn. “At least he's one less suspect to worry about.”

And now here I am back in my chamber, and scarcely further forwards with my investigation. And I have but one more day! I hate to think that I may fail the Queen when she has put so much faith in me and defended me to Sir Thomas Gresham. And it makes my blood boil that someone is seeking to defraud Her Majesty and our country. I think it is downright treachery!

Ellie and I have arranged to meet Masou in the morning to think about what to do next. But at the moment I am mystified. Perhaps a good night's sleep will help. I am tired enough to sleep for a fortnight. I pray we find out something tomorrow.

THE TWENTY-SEVENTH DAY OF NOVEMBER,
IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1569

I am writing this while sitting upon my bed, trying not to fall asleep. I am so tired this morning. Last night I had just got into bed and begun to feel warm when I remembered I had forgotten to dampen the fire. I had to leave the comfort of my bed to do it, which woke me right up, and I swear I heard the clock strike three before I finally fell asleep. And now I have this one day to solve the mystery and I fear I will never do it!

After breakfast I put on my black kirtle and cloak and collected the Queen's dogs—for it is one of my duties (and pleasures) to walk them.

They looked surprised and not too pleased that I would take them out on such a bitter morning, but I needed the excuse. And when they found that they
were not just going to chase round the lavender hedges in the Privy Garden, they soon forgot the cold and began to bark excitedly, straining at the leashes as we went down the passageways to the Tilting Yard. They could smell their favourite walk beyond—the park at St. James's. I threw frosty sticks for them until Henri, the Queen's favourite, found a rabbit hole. That kept him and Philip and Ivan (who really is rather terrible, like the Tsar of all the Russias) busy for an age. I love Her Majesty's dogs and they always cheer my spirits no matter how doleful I feel.

Masou and Ellie were under some trees. I wondered what excuse Ellie had used to leave the laundry room. She was shivering with the cold. Masou was peeling the bark back from some sticks so that they looked like miniature fountains.

“What are you up to?” I asked.

“You'll see,” said Masou. He laid the sticks in a pile and got out his tinder box and flint.

I laughed. “You'll never make a fire like that. The wood's far too damp.”

“Oh, won't I?” he said, with a wink at Ellie. A thin spiral of smoke was rising from the sticks and in no time at all they were aflame.

Ellie clapped and huddled up to it.

“Is it some sort of African magic?” I asked.

“Nothing so mysterious,” Masou said. “It is only the bark that is damp. Inside, the wood is quite dry.”

“Fie on you, Masou!” Ellie exclaimed. “You make it sound like you thought of it yourself, when it was little Gypsy Pete that taught you to do it!” She gave Masou a push.

Grinning, Masou pretended to overbalance, did a backflip, landed nimbly on his feet, and stuck his tongue out at us.

“Well, perhaps Master Clever Clogs can ask Gypsy Pete to solve this problem,” I said as we squatted by the fire. “I have but today to catch the counterfeiters and no clues! We found nothing at the Tower, or at Derek Anthony's workshop, or from Matthew Tibbit, or from Will Stubbs's cottage. I thought, when I saw Mr. Anthony wearing the ruff made by Mrs. Stubbs, that we would soon have this matter solved.” I sighed, remembering the bereaved family. “At least Mrs. Stubbs can keep her children by her sewing. She was so kind, when we visited. There she was, newly widowed, and yet she took the trouble to make us welcome and offer us fine ale and sweetmeats.”

Ellie's mouth dropped open. “Fine ale and sweetmeats?”
she queried. “You never said that before. Watermen's families don't have enough money for fine ale and sweetmeats. Especially now the river is frozen and they can't ply their trade. And the earnings of a seamstress are paltry. They must have money coming from somewhere else. Perchance it is from the counterfeiting!”

I felt mortified. “I am too used to living at Court to pick up on such clues,” I said sheepishly. “Well done, Ellie! We are getting somewhere at last!”

“Mayhap those who live close by might know something,” said Ellie, huddling close to the fire.

“Then I must go back there and speak with them,” I declared.

“Common folk won't talk to a fine Maid of Honour,” said Masou. “It's not their place, and you will find them close-mouthed in their shyness.” He pulled two flaming sticks from the fire and began to juggle with them. “If you go you must be in disguise, and I will come with you.”

“Not the spit boy's clothes again,” I moaned. “I'm still itching and I got so cold.”

“Spit boy!” Masou's eyes gleamed with mock horror. “Nothing so lowly, my lady! I have a much better notion. We shall dress as pedlars and sell our wares upon the ice, near the cottage. People will tell
pedlars all their secrets—for they are here today and gone tomorrow.”

I wasn't sure that the duds of a pedlar would itch much less than a spit boy's, but I had to own it was a very good plan. “What excuse will you use to come with us, Ellie?” I asked.

“I can't get away again,” Ellie told me. “Mrs. Fadget looked mightily peeved when I pretended you'd called for me to go to your bedchamber this morning so I could come out here. I think she hasn't forgiven me for being chosen over her to deal with the Queen's handkerchief.”

Poor Ellie. I could imagine Mrs. Fadget would deal out some unkindness—and all for a handkerchief that had never been.

Masou kicked the fire out and I whistled for the dogs.

It took me some while to persuade Henri and his band of canine rogues that Mr. Rabbit was not at home. I fair had to drag them back on their leashes. It was amusing to see their paws scrabbling on the slippery ground, but they were no match for me (in the end!).

So here I am in my bedchamber, waiting for Masou and Ellie to sneak up with my disguise. I am planning to pretend to come down with a chill and
take to my bed very shortly. I have stuffed my spare kirtles under my bedcovers and I am pleased that—if someone were to look behind the curtains—it does look as if someone is asleep in there.

I may yet solve this mystery.

We are back from our peddling and I must write all that occurred this afternoon before I have to get ready for supper, for we have made great progress with our investigation. I fear my writing may be something of a scrawl as all my thoughts want to tumble out at once. Mary Shelton has gone to tell Mrs. Champernowne that I am quite recovered from my “chill.” The old buzzard may be suspicious and make mean comments about it being little short of a miracle, but I cannot miss a meal. I have a long night ahead of me.

Just after noon, Ellie and Masou slipped into my chamber, giggling and with their arms full of clothes. At once I could see that these garments had never been near a spit boy.

“I got them from our costume trunk,” Masou explained. He was dressed in bright breeches, jerkin, and cloak.

Ellie held out a full skirt, decorated with ribbons and bells like Masou's costume. There was a short jacket to match, made of a bright but tatty velvet. I was going to feel much warmer as a pedlar than as a spit boy.

I went behind the screen in the corner of my bed-chamber and slipped the clothes on over my kirtle, then put on my riding boots, still muddy from the night before. It was lucky that I had forgotten to put them out for Olwen. “I'm ready!” I said, giving a twirl in my borrowed clothes.

Masou plonked a large floppy hat adorned with three bright feathers on my head.

I stood in the middle of the chamber and struck a pose. “Who will buy my fine wares?”

“That's no good.” Ellie laughed. “You sound like the Queen herself. No one's going to believe you're a pedlar if you talk in your fancy Court voice.”

“I hadn't thought of that!” I grinned. “How should I talk, then?”

“Like me,” said Ellie.

I tried again. “Oo will bouy mee faine weirs? How is that?”

Ellie fell back on the bed and Masou held his sides as they howled with laughter.

“What's wrong with that?” I demanded. “I sounded just like you, didn't I, Ellie?”

“You sounded more like you've swallowed your tongue!” Ellie gasped, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

I tried again. “How woll bay mai feen wars?”

“Now you sound like a half-wit who has swallowed her tongue!” Masou chortled. “Stop, else I shall split my sides!”

“Then I shall not speak at all!” I said crossly, expecting them to tell me it was all a jest. To my horror, they looked relieved.

“You have it, Grace!” Masou exclaimed. “We will say that you cannot speak for you are a tongue-tied half-wit. Think of it—for once I will get to do all the talking with no interruptions from my lady.”

I tried to fix him with a haughty look but he just grinned and, whipping a little pot from his pocket, began to smear charcoal on my face.

“I borrowed this from the fire,” he said with a laugh. “Now you are a dirty tongue-tied half-wit!”

I caught sight of myself in Lady Sarah's looking glass. He was right. Even the Queen wouldn't recognize me. I waved my arms, waggled my head from side to side, and made mumbling noises.

“No different from the Lady Grace we know and love!” declared Masou as Ellie giggled at my antics.

“Beware!” I warned them. “It is lucky for you that we have no time, or the Lady Grace you know and love would clout you both! Now, we are dressed as pedlars but what are we to sell? I have a few sweets left over from the Frost Fair, but that is not enough.”