The Thorne Maze (7 page)

“Name anything I can do for you, Your Grace.”

Their eyes met and held. It bucked Elizabeth up to have an attendant and friend who helped fill the void left by Mary Sidney’s absence and Kat’s decline. Though the queen had never said such aloud, she admired Rosie’s no-nonsense attitude toward men. The maids of honor, her unwed ladies, were always being swept away by the gentlemen of her court, who had seduction at worst, marriage at best in mind.

Rosie’s admiration of Jamie Barstow notwithstanding, the maid alone seemed to see masculine flatteries for what they were and steered the steady course of spinsterhood. Even when among the queen’s married attendants, her ladies of the bedchamber, Mary Radcliffe, dubbed Rosie, was a touchstone reminding the queen of her necessary virginity, however much Elizabeth loved being cosseted and courted. Soon, she should invite Rosie to become a member of her Privy Plot Council. This task would be a sort of test.

“The favor is simply that I ask you,” Elizabeth said, gathering her robe closer about her neck, “to collect personally the gowns and masks from the ten ladies who played the parts last night, even their shoes, stockings, and especially those distinctive garters, and clearly note which things come from which woman.”

The queen fully intended to see who came up short garters, but she also meant to peruse the hem of each gown and every slipper for soil or grass stains. Surely, discerning her attacker would be easily accomplished.

“The garters? Those slippery things? But Kat made so many of them and even handed the extra ones out at random, to men and women, too. It did keep her happily busy half a day, and we’ll probably see them pinned for a jest on men’s sleeves or as tippets on hats or … Whatever is it, Your Grace? What have I said?”

Deflated and furious, the queen almost couldn’t speak. So much for easily finding her strangler.

“It’s a disgrace that Templar and Bettina Sutton were allotted those small chambers on the ground floor beyond the kitchen wing!” Elizabeth groused to Cecil as they walked toward her withdrawing room mid-morning. Cecil was toting a pile of bills, grants, and dispatches she’d just signed.

“Your Grace, you know your palaces are cheek-by-jowl when you are in residence, not to mention that the threat of growing plague in London makes the salubrious air here an attraction to your courtiers—as much as your presence is, of course.”

“I want the Suttons moved. Templar is your mentor and friend, and I may owe Bettina my very life. See that some better chambers are opened by sending someone to their country seat. ’S blood, my courtiers long for their own homes in these warm summer months when the roads are good, do they not?”

“They do indeed, Your Grace,” he said in such a heart-wrenching tone she stopped walking and turned to face him.

“You too, my Cecil?”

He shrugged slightly and frowned down at his armful of papers. “I visited Stamford in the spring, but it is my new land and building project at Theobalds I long for. But never,” he added, nodding to enunciate each word, “at the price of leaving my queen when she has need of me. And with this nearly fatal attack upon your royal person, we must be steadfast and vigilant.”

Touched, she placed a hand on his arm. “Indeed, Sir William, Principal Secretary Cecil, Master of the Court of Wards, Chancellor of Cambridge College—and many more honors yet to come—your queen ever has need of you, and especially now. But when I soon visit Cambridge as we’ve planned and stay at my old home of Hatfield en route, Theobalds is but a scant few miles’ ride. And so, I shall go to see your land and building project there.”

She was amazed that tears glazed his eyes. “It’s not worthy of your presence yet,” he insisted, “though I intend to make it so someday when the Cecils can house the queen’s majesty and your court for a fine visit. So far, despite the spacious grounds, it has but an old moated manor house I’ve scarce spent a night in—and, they say, it is haunted.”

“Haunted?” she repeated, as her mind flashed to her strange experience in the chapel corridor yesterday.

“And a further curiosity I hope to take Templar to see,” Cecil went on, “though I warrant you would fancy it, too, Your Grace. A water maze.”

“Indeed? I’ve never seen such. Flooded by a stream or moat?”

“A sturdy stream feeds both maze and moat. The hedges are planted in barrels with stone ballast, and one must row oneself through the shrubs. Templar will love it.”

“Speaking of Templar, I had asked Bettina not to tell anyone what happened last night, but I never intended for a wife to keep such from her husband, so I must correct that, if she hasn’t told him already.”

“How could a woman keep that in? To rescue and revive her queen?”

“Perhaps if we put Templar’s and your fine minds together—with mine, too—we shall discover not only someone we suspect but someone we can question and imprison. When we restage the crime tonight, I intend to take Templar and Bettina with us.”

With Cecil in her wake, the queen swept into the room where the Suttons awaited. As he bowed and she curtsied, Elizabeth found herself assessing them as she had everyone so far this morning by their height and musculature. Her attacker had been tall enough to easily reach those garters over her head and strong enough to throw her down. Templar was tall enough, but his body seemed almost frail, however firm and resonant his voice. Bettina was not only petite but had breasts like a shelf—though they were bound up last night to get her in that dress. Yet, she surely would have felt Bettina pressed up against her back. No, her attacker had either been a muscular man or a tall, spare woman of some strength.

Elizabeth welcomed them and indicated they should sit across the small, round table from Cecil and her. The Suttons’ eyes grew wide as Cecil put down his papers to pour wine and the queen herself passed the plate of sweetmeats.

“This privy audience is a great, great honor, Your Majesty,” Templar said.

“Master Sutton, I believe you retired to bed directly after the masque last night,” Elizabeth began.

“As ever, I lull myself to sleep by concocting legal conundrums for my students to debate. After dinner each night at Gray’s Inn, I write out a legal problem and place it before the salt, so that two of the inner benchers may argue it, and I retire to bed immediately after hearing their
pros
and
contras.
But I wish to extend an invitation to you to visit our law school at the inn, Your Majesty. You have graced us with your presence on holidays, but you would honor us even more if you would come to see the daily making of an English lawyer.”

“I believe I have your curriculum and encouragement to thank for the fine men and advisors I have around me—my lord Cecil, especially, of course. Indeed, the Inns of Court are a finishing school, our third great, if unnamed, university. Certain of my long-time courtiers, members of Parliament, and lately, Chris Hatton and Jamie Barstow, are the fine products of your tutoring.”

“Ah yes, those two young bloods,” Templar said with what Elizabeth construed to be a rueful shake of his silver head while Bettina fidgeted, crossing her legs and rearranging her skirts yet again.

“Perhaps,” the queen said, “you will also favor me with assessments of each man’s strengths and weaknesses—and hugger-mugger stories of their student days with you.” To her amazement, now her serious, serene Cecil looked like the lad caught with his hand in the plum pudding. “On occasion I need something to hold over all their heads,” she added with a forced laugh.

“It would be my greatest pleasure to tell you tales out of school, Your Majesty,” Templar said with a solemn nod. “But I must add, despite some youthful indiscretions and tomfooleries, you have chosen your chief secretary well. He is my ideal of the perfect lawyer: detached yet dramatic, persuasive yet practical, and cautious yet challenging. And I assure you, there is no profession where an ignoramus or impostor is more easily detected and exposed than in the pursuit of a calling to the law.”

Elizabeth sensed she was hearing one of Templar’s lectures. “Then let me lay out a problem, a conundrum, as you say, Master Sutton.” He sat intently, as she explained what had happened last night and how Bettina had been her salvation. It touched her to see Templar reach out to grasp his wife’s hand in pride of what she had done. And it moved the queen deeply to sense these two such different people had evidently built a strong marriage, when she had known so many fragile or fragmented ones.

“I can tell that Bettina did not inform you of this before,” Elizabeth told Templar. “I especially admire anyone who can hold his or her tongue on such a thing and will reward it—judiciously.”

“Ah, Your Majesty,” Templar replied, “your wit is a match for any lawyer I have seen called to the bar. Now, since Bettina and I—and obviously Cecil—know of this terrible and treasonous attack on your person, what can we do to help ferret out and bring the perpetrator to queen’s justice?”

“Come, Kat,” the queen commanded that afternoon as she sat with her ladies in her withdrawing room. “We shall take a walk outside to the Thameside gardens. Ladies …”

Like colored flowers turning to the sun, her maids of honor and ladies of the bedchamber popped up from their seats, where they had been bent over embroidery, reading, or whispering. Elizabeth had included Bettina in their company today and motioned for her to attend also. She’d have asked Mildred along, too, but Cecil said that she’d gotten pounding head pains during the masque, and had since been keeping to her bed.

The queen had hoped to send Meg to her with a tonic, but her herbalist was still off somewhere. Perhaps she was concocting a new potpourri to offer her women so she could question them about their scents. As far as the queen knew, she hadn’t smelled gillyflowers on a single one of them, for lighter rosewater fragrances, like she herself wore, were now in style.

“A walk,” Kat said, getting up stiffly while the other waited for her to catch up. “I’d like that.”

The queen set a slower pace than usual, for the day was warm and humid. It amused her that several of her maids had already copied the wearing of the soft ruff she wore, but it galled her sore that some had taken, as Rosie had predicted, to gaily wearing Kat’s overmade ribbon and gauze garters on sleeves or at belts.

When they passed the maze, Elizabeth noted well that Jenks and Ned had roped it off. The queen had told Ned to put out the word that it needed to be clipped and raked. Actually, she did not want it disturbed until they had an opportunity tonight—when the moonlight was exactly right—to return to the maze and mime her attack. Bettina met her gaze and nodded. With Jenks and Ned along for guards, the Suttons were pledged to accompany Elizabeth and Cecil to re-enact and reason it all out together.

Everyone chattered about the most frivolous things, the queen realized. How an attempt on one’s life could change one’s outlook, making daily duties seem so trivial. Besides, she was grieved by the plague marauding through her capital city, even encroaching on the southeastern shires. If it came closer, she’d be off early to old Hatfield House, buried deeper in the countryside.

“Gracious,” Kat said and tugged at Elizabeth’s sleeve as if she were a child, “there’s that lad of yours, looking as if he’s up to no good when he should be saddling your father’s horse.”

Heads turned toward Kat and the queen. The chatter stopped, then when Elizabeth did not react, began again. However confused Kat had been, she’d not forgotten names before.

“That’s Jenks, Kat, and I will have a word with him. Wait here with everyone.”

She traipsed off the gravel path to see what he had to say. He bent in a bow, smoothly sliding his swordpoint out of his way so it wouldn’t skewer the ground. She realized she had not felt a man’s sword belt or hilt against her last night from behind either, and most courtiers wore them when dressed—well, to the hilt.

“Pardon, Your Grace, but didn’t think you’d mind if I followed you out here. Lord Dudley says he’ll escort you to the stables when you’re ready.”

“Tell him an hour, and if he’s late, I will marry him to one of the scullery maids. Say on.”

“Your guard Stackpole swears up and down he can’t find the note,” he said, speaking fast and low, though no one could overhear. “Can’t read anyway, it turns out, but the Countess of Pembroke’s tiring girl been taught to sound things out and she read it for him. Stackpole doesn’t know a thing about scents but the girl says it smelt fine. As for that linkboy, can’t find hide nor hair of him—raven-haired, he was, with a red welt on his chin.”

“Was he a boy indeed? Short or not?”

“Tall, Stackpole said, and the tiring girl saw him, too. A lad of middling weight with big shoulders.”

“’S blood, next we’ll learn he was dragging two silver garters about,” Elizabeth muttered.

“And something else, too, Your Grace, something personal.”

“About my person?”

“I guess I never say things right. About me.”

“Say on.”

“I know it’s not a good time, but when e’er I see you, it’s with all sorts of folks about, and I need your permission.”

“My permission for what?”

“You are ever the first lady—queen, I mean—in my life. But I was hoping if I courted a—a woman, you’d give me your say-so.”

She had seldom been more astounded. Quiet, dutiful, straight-arrow Jenks? In love? Ned needed a good watch at all times, and she nearly wore herself out guarding her women from flirtations and dangerous tangles of the heart and body, but she had not fathomed Jenks. And then she knew who he meant, and her heart went out to him. Meg had ever been hopelessly, but foolishly, enamored of Ned Topside.

“And will you name the one you love?” she asked.

“‘Tis Meg Milligrew, Your Grace. I mean, now that she’s widowed and all. Since we both serve you, we would never leave. Like Kat Ashley and her husband years ago, ’fore he died.”

“Jenks, you have my permission to approach and court Meg, if you are certain about your intentions
and hers.”

“Hers—well, I’m clod-foot at women’s feelings, ’cause horses are so much easier to read.”