The Elizabethan Secret (Lang Reilly Series Book 9)

BOOK: The Elizabethan Secret (Lang Reilly Series Book 9)
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PRAISE FOR GREGG LOOMIS’S MOST RECENT LANG REILLY THRILLER
,
THE NASSAU SECRET

 

“Who wouldn’t want to read a book set in Nassau, especially if you enjoy World War II-themed thrillers such as Gregg Loomis’s intricately plotted eighth Lang Reilly thriller.

“The great weather is far from the only thing on the minds of the exiled Duke and Duchess of Windsor, one or both of whom may be Nazi spies. A pair of murders spur Reilly into action against a cultish group sworn to protect the royal family at all costs.

“Loomis deftly handles his historical subject matter with a seasoned hand, fashioning a classic spy thriller that reads like a hybrid of Alistair MacLean and Graham Greene at their level bests. Solid in all respects.”

-
-
The Providence Journal

 

Available in paperback and in Kindle format.

 

THE ELIZABETHAN SECRET

 

 

 

 

Gregg Loomis

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wayland Square Editions

Providence / New York

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE ELIZABETHAN SECRET

 

Copyright c 2015 by Gregg Loomis

 

 

All rights reserved. This book or any parts thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

 

Wayland Square Editions is a subsidiary of The Chris Fortunato Agency. For further information, please go to www.publishersmarketplace.com.

 

This is a work of fiction. All characters or events in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

 

ISBN: 978-0-9864389-2-9

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This book is for Suzanne

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Elizabethan Secret

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1.

Royal Palace at Hatfield

Hertfordshire, England

Late November, 1558

 

             

              The fall rains and heavy traffic had rutted what was left of the old Roman road from London, and the coach’s non-existent suspension seemed to magnify, rather than diminish each jolt. John Dee was thankful the trip would be less than half a day.

              Other than the discomfort, there was much to occupy his mind. The last time he had visited Hatfield, its present occupant had been a prisoner in all but name. Elizabeth Tudor, recently released from the Tower, was confined to the palace. Confined in relative luxury but confined nonetheless.

              The air had figuratively reeked with the stench of burning Protestant flesh as the princess’s older half sister, Mary, sent what seemed an endless stream of non-Catholics to the stake. Even Elizabeth’s future had been in doubt.

              Mary, the daughter of good King Henry by the Spanish-and very Catholic- Catherine, viewed her parents’ annulment as a nullity even though it had  resulted in Henry naming himself head of The Church of England rather than the Pope in Rome.

              To the Catholic Church, that made Mary’s half brother, Edward, and half sister, Elizabeth, bastards.

              Upon the death of the sickly Edward at 15, Mary had proclaimed herself queen, deposing and beheading Edward’s choice of successor, Lady Jane Grey, 17, the nine-day queen and her husband, Dudley, 19. Thereafter had followed the burning at the stake of an estimated three hundred Protestant souls.

              But now that was over. Mary had died a few days ago, leaving Elizabeth the undisputed monarch who was holding her very first council meeting today. She had asked Dee to consult the stars for an auspicious Coronation date.

              And he had: January 19 next.

              And he had a surprise for her.

              He smiled.

              The last time he had charted the now-Queen’s fortune as revealed by the stars, it had nearly cost him dearly. The then-princess had asked not only for her own fortune but for that of her half-sister, Mary.

              Revealing the stars’ predictions regarding a ruling monarch was a risky business. It was known that words, once committed to writing, were likely to become true. Therefore, an ill forecast for the throne could be construed as treason. Not to mention the church’s view of interpreting the stars as witchcraft.

              Somehow, the local bishop had learned of his astrological observations and predictions. Time in the Tower of London and trial by the Star Chamber Court had followed. He was one of the very few to be acquitted, although he had been turned over to Bishop Bonner for “religious examination.” In the end, he and the cleric had become fast friends.

              The coach jounced from the ruts of the road to a smaller and much smoother one.

              Dee stuck his head out of the window. Before him were the multiple chimneys and red brick of Hatfield Palace. On the other side of the coach, a manicured boxwood garden was a green blur.

              Minutes later, the coachman surrendered control of the two-horse team to liveried grooms. Dee was climbing down when a commotion caused him to turn his head.

              In the massive doorway stood the queen, her auburn hair fashionably coifed instead of flowing loose as when he had last seen her. Her gown was green, of velvet and lined with pearls, a far cry from the simple country garments of her forced residency here. But there was an even greater difference, although Dee was hard pressed to describe it: A somber dignity, a gravitas far beyond her twenty-two years.

              On one knee, he bowed so low his long, pointed beard almost touched the ground as he swept the black cap from his head. “Majesty.”

              The young queen displayed perfect teeth as she gently tugged at his elbow, signaling he should rise. “Good morrow, Master Dee. Come.”

              Dee followed his monarch inside, accompanied by a drove of ladies and grooms of the chamber, ladies in waiting, and several men such as Dudley and Cecil he personally viewed as having the sole function of showering Elizabeth with the flirtations and flattery she so loved. As the procession passed through various rooms, the arrival in each was announced by shouts of the halberd-bearing Beefeaters. The Presence room, the palace’s largest, in which balls, entertainment and banqueting would be held as well as audiences with the queen’s subjects had been little more than an empty hall. Now rich furniture was aligned along the walls. The formerly bare carved oak paneling was bedecked with portraits of people Dee only vaguely recognized and Flemish hunting tapestries, all dimly lit through the opaque glass of the tall, narrow windows and a fire in the two huge, elaborately carved fireplaces that barely succeeded in blunting the November chill. 

              He was not given time to ponder how so many changes had taken place so

quickly but was hustled up a staircase and into a much smaller room

adequately heated by a single fireplace. This would be the palace’s Privy

Chamber. When in residence, Elizabeth would receive important visitors such

as ambassadors here.

              On a table surrounded by velvet upholstered chairs were dice. The new

queen had been gaming at hazard, a pastime she dearly loved. Now she could

afford to pay her losses. A carved oak hunt table bore a half moon loaf of

manchet. The coarser wheat/ rye bread mixture apparently would no

longer do. A quarter head of crumbling cheddar and flask of malmsey flanked

the bread.

              The room was quickly filling.

              Elizabeth turned to her increasing entourage. “Go! Leave us!”

              Resentful mumbling accompanied their departure.

              The young queen went to the hunt table, filled two chalices and handed

one to Dee. He noted that wine had replaced ale flavored with berries,

and that silver, rather than pewter, was now in use.

              Elizabeth seated herself on a chair on a low dais that Dee guessed

served as a temporary throne. At her gesture, he also sat.

              “We summoned thee here, Master Dee, for a purpose,” she announced.

              “Seeing your grace happy would have been cause enough.”

              Dee was always aware of the queen’s susceptibility to flattery.

              “It doth perplex us what the years of my reign may hold. Therefore, we

wish thee to consult once again the stars.”

              Dee squirmed in his chair. “Majesty. . ..”

              The queen favored him once more with a smile as she reached into the sleeve of her gown and produced a scrolled document tied with ribbon. She extended it to him. “I know thy uncertainties in such matters. Read this.”

              Dee did as commanded, his expression becoming increasingly incredulous.

“Your Grace has foreseen my reluctance.”

              “Quite right, Master Dee. By this royal decree, any act or publication

of or concerning forecasts, predictions, divinations, or prophecy by one John

Dee shall not be deemed as heresy, treason, or any offense against church or

state but deemed acts specifically ordered by us. As head of both church and

state, we have the authority to designate what is or is not heresy or

treason.”

              Dee was silent a second, overcome by possessing a freedom of which he

had never dreamed. Then he almost fell out of his chair, once again kneeling.

“Your Highness. . . .”

              Elizabeth waved him back into his chair. “’Tis as much for our benefit

as thine, Master Dee. Now, in return, what sage advice might thou have to

impart to the new queen?”

              He didn’t need time to think. “Build ships, majesty, two or three score

tall ships with sea soldiers to man them.”

              “To what purpose, prithee?”

              “To sail the seas of the new world, Your Grace. The Frenchman and the

Spaniard are already doing so. With that number of ships, England can make an

Empire there and around the world greater than even that of the heathen

Ottoman.”

              “An empire?”

              “The British Empire.”

              Elizabeth considered a moment. “’British Empire’. Me thinks the words

possess a nice sound.”

              Now it was Dee’s turn to produce something from his pocket, something

in a shiny brass case. He handed it to the queen.

              She studied it for moment. “It appears to be a compass but . . .”

BOOK: The Elizabethan Secret (Lang Reilly Series Book 9)
11.44Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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