The Tudor Conspiracy (20 page)

“Well, well.” He put a hand on his hip, eyeing me. “Imagine my surprise when I was told I had a visitor.” His voice was tauntingly familiar, as if we’d only seen each other a few hours ago. “I’ve wondered what became of you and what it would be like to see you walk in here like a dog returning to its own vomit. But I never thought you’d actually do it. I never thought you’d be that stupid. Oh, and the guard downstairs? He isn’t going to lift a finger to help you, so don’t think of yelling. Whatever you paid him, I offered double.”

I didn’t doubt it. I refused to react to his threat, even as my heart started to pound. I pointed to the bag on the table. “I brought your linens.”

“I see. Is that who you work for now? Are you Courtenay’s latest bum-boy? You certainly move fast. They only let him out of here two months ago. Were you loitering outside the gates, waiting for the first pair of noble boots to lick?”

My anxiety faded. I should savor this moment. The wheel of fate had turned. Once, I’d been the defenseless one and he had all the power to strike against me at will, but I’d done him one better. I had won. It was time he knew it.

“I serve Princess Elizabeth now. I’m here to collect something of hers.”

His lip curled, as if it meant little to him, but I sensed the violence lurking in his broad shoulders. If he decided to charge me, I’d have a time of it. He might look underfed, a shadow of the gorgeous favored son he’d once been, but he had the strength of a lifetime of privilege to draw upon, honed by years of horsemanship, archery, jousting, swordplay, and other costly recreations only the rich could afford. He’d always been gifted, both in his beauty and prowess. Six long months spent in this cage must have stoked his temper to a fiery pitch. After all the luxury and expectation, the aspirations of grandeur when his father ruled the realm, Robert Dudley had become a cornered man.

Cornered men were always dangerous.

His smile sliced across his lips. “So, you serve Elizabeth now. When did this occur, exactly? Before or after you betrayed me?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me. I should never have trusted you. I should have known a runt like you would have no concept of loyalty.” He swerved to the sideboard and reached for a tarnished decanter. As he poured wine into a goblet, he kept his back to me. If he thought to lull me into lowering my guard, it wasn’t going to work. I knew him too well.

“Let me get this clear.” He turned around with a frown, as if I had presented a particularly vexing issue. “You work for her and she sent you here, to me? I find that odd, considering the last time she and I spoke she insulted me to my face. What were her words again?” He stared at me. “Surely you must remember. Though I didn’t see you at the time, like the snake you are I’m sure you were hiding somewhere in the brush.”

“I believe she said she’d rather die than let a lowborn Dudley rut in her bed,” I replied, and I braced my entire body for his charge.

His face hardened, so that the bone structure under his taut skin seemed to show. “So, you
were
there. I’m impressed. You played me like a courtier. Just look”-he flung out his arm, sloshing wine from his goblet-“you’re now free to hire yourself out to whomever you please, while I’m locked up waiting for the same ax that killed my father.” His voice darkened. “And all because my family took pity on you, rather than throwing you down a well like you deserved.”

“Are you blaming me for this?” I arched my brow. “Because if so, you do yourself a disservice. I didn’t put you or your brothers in here. You did all that on your own.”

His goblet froze halfway to his mouth. I had struck at his core; he could not refute that, more than greed or ambition, the Dudley belief in their infallibility had been their ruin.

“You speak the truth,” he said at length, his voice dead quiet. “It’s not as if you did anything but seek your advantage. Elizabeth always did have a weakness for subservience; she likes nothing better than to be fawned upon.” He drank. “You said you came for something of hers. What is it?” He held up a hand. “No. Don’t tell me.” He smiled. “A letter.”

The contempt in his tone enraged me. I had to stop myself from being the one who lunged first. “Because of that letter, she’s in grave danger. Ambassador Renard seeks evidence against her. He suspects her and Courtenay of plotting against the queen. Your own head also stands to roll if you don’t help me. I know very well that you’re behind it.”

“Oh? I fail to see how I can be suspect. Am I not a prisoner already?”

“Condemned men have the least to lose. Courtenay also told me everything.” I watched his feigned indifference slip from his face like a poorly fitted mask. “I know about the other letters you’ve sent, to men throughout the kingdom. You made a mistake with Courtenay. He may cut a fine enough figure, but he’s hardly heroic. How long do you think he’ll hold out when Renard convinces the queen to order his arrest, as he will? I rather think the earl will take one look at the rack and spill his guts. And once he tells Renard what he wants to hear, they’ll come here-for you.”

The visible protruding of Robert’s jaw muscles assured me I’d finally hit my target.

“But they’ll need proof,” I added. “The queen isn’t given to signing death warrants without it. Give it to me and they’ll never find it.”

“You expect me to take your word for it,” he snarled, “after what you’ve done? You betrayed my family!”

“If you don’t, Renard will hire someone else. And if his next agent gets as far as I have, you won’t survive.” I returned his implacable stare. “Give me all your letters and they’ll find nothing. No evidence. What can they accuse you of? Only the earl risks arrest.”

He considered for a long moment. Then he raised his hands and began to clap slowly, in mocking applause. “Congratulations! You’ve become a man. But you’ve neglected to consider one thing.” He showed me his teeth. “What if your precious Elizabeth isn’t quite as innocent as you think? What if you seek to spare her from the very thing she herself helped set in motion?”

My hands coiled at my sides. “Speak plainly for once.”

He chuckled. “I will. It would be my pleasure. Ambassador Renard is right about this much: There is a plot against the queen. It’s the only way to save us from this infernal Spanish prince and Mary’s deluded belief in her duty to return us all to popery and superstition. At the appointed date and time, men I have sent letters to will muster their armies; they will rise up to declare Queen Mary unfit to rule. She’ll be given a choice: If she renounces her throne willingly, her life will be spared. Elizabeth insisted on it; she thinks that faced with an uprising, her sister will heed reason.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But we both know that Mary can’t heed reason, don’t we? We know she’ll fight to the death, as she did against my father. And thus, death she will have, by my word. Her head will join my father’s on the bridge, and then, my faithless friend, I
will
have my revenge.”

I didn’t speak. I stood silent and let his words absorb into me, like painful ink. It was difficult to hear but not a shock: Elizabeth had never been one to back down from a fight, and Mary had threatened her. The queen had even, according to Renard, questioned her legitimacy. She may have misled me as to her full involvement, but she didn’t realize how far Dudley had preyed on her fears for his own twisted ends, not when she found herself in the midst of her own battle for her right to succeed. It was why she’d written to Dudley; why she risked her safety and Mary’s eroding trust; why she indulged Courtenay even after she’d been warned. She thought she could still compel her sister to accept the sacrifice that being queen entailed, to turn away from her Hapsburg marriage for the good of her people.

She didn’t know Mary at all, and regardless of her reasons, she had committed treason. It could cost her, and me, our lives. Not that I was going to let it stop me. I had my own fight to wage: my avenging of Peregrine, who had perished by Renard’s hand.

I had to destroy the ambassador, come what may.

“Your life or death makes no difference to me,” I said to Robert. I took a step toward him, my hand extended. “I want those letters, and you’re going to give them to me.”

He laughed. “I think not. Elizabeth didn’t tell you the truth because, much as she may delight in sending you where you don’t belong, in the end she understands that when a man has no lineage it’s a stain that marks him for life. She knows you’re just a nameless bastard who can’t be trusted.” He crossed his arms at his chest. “Now get back to whatever hole you crawled out of, Prescott, before I change my mind and make sure you regret coming here.”

I didn’t anticipate my reaction to these words. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t said worse, but as if all the memories of my tormented childhood surged up inside me, a violent wave that reduced my entire existence to this one moment, I lowered my head and rushed at him with all my strength, throwing him against the sideboard.

I heard a metallic crash as the decanter went flying. Then he let out a savage yell and started pounding me. I held fast to his waist, dragging him down onto the floor and swiping the poniard from my boot. As he tried to wrap his hands about my neck, I straddled him in one swift move and angled the blade at his throat.

“Last time,” I said. “Give me the letters. Or would you rather bleed?”

“Bleed!” he hissed, and he twisted with brutal strength, bringing up his knees and ramming them into my groin. Stars exploded in my head. I lost my grip. I hit him as hard as I could in his face; he hit back, and then we were struggling, tumbling across the rug, fists ramming and fingers gouging as he sought to wrest the knife away or drive it into me. I felt nothing-no pain, no fear, not even when he slammed a fist into my temple and the world went dark. With a ferocious bellow I didn’t recognize as my own, I started beating him, over and over, using my poniard hilt, hearing flesh give and bone crack.

Then my hands were about his throat; he flailed under me as I shut off his wind like a vise. He started to choke. My rage-that boundless, consuming rage, which I had kept tethered deep inside like some beast, fed on years of suffering, of doubt and yearning and helplessness-devoured all caution, all pity.

All reason.

A girl’s frantic wail and the frenzied barking of a terrier barely penetrated my consciousness. A pounding sound echoed; Robert was kicking, his heels banging spasmodically against the floorboards as he fought for air. As I looked over my shoulder, past the blood seeping down my face, I saw figures rush into the room, coming toward me.

I thrust my blade at Robert’s throat. “Any closer and I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”

His brothers slid to a halt. John was in the lead, ashen dismay spreading across his face as he took in our sprawled position, the contents from the sideboard spilled across the floor, the overturned chairs and stools strewn in our wake.

Guilford was the first to recognize me. He cried, “It’s the foundling!” and Henry Dudley spat, “Whoreson. Let the dog loose on him. Then I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”

“You will do no such thing!” rang out a wavering voice; it came from the same girl who’d cried out at us to stop. As I tightened my hold on Robert, I stared through the ebbing haze of my anger to where Jane Grey stood as if petrified on the threshold.

She was looking at me in disbelief. “What … what are you doing here?”

“He’s plotting treason,” I told her. “You’re in here because his father forced you to assume the queen’s throne, and now he would send you all to the scaffold.”

She lifted a hand to her chest, as though she lacked for breath. She said haltingly to John, “I believe he speaks the truth. I know him.”

“So do we!” retorted Guilford. “We reared the worthless shit in our house and then he turned coat and betrayed us-”

I pushed the tip of my blade harder against Robert’s neck. He let out a strangled cry. “He has letters to prove it,” I said. “I want them. Now. Or he dies.”

John Dudley shifted his gaze to Robert. I could see he was unwell, his face sunken and complexion sallow, like an invalid’s. His voice was slow, measured, as if it cost him to formulate words. “Letters? Is this true, Robert?”

Robert tried to raise protest; I cut him off. “It’s true, though he’ll lie to his last breath if he can. Where are they?
Where are the letters?
”

John looked bewildered. “I don’t-” Jane had already moved past him, evading her husband, Guilford, who stood clenching and unclenching his fists. Henry ripped the dog’s lead from him and unleashed the terrier; it bounded at me, baring its teeth.

“Sirius, sit!” Jane snapped. The dog went to its haunches at once, a low growl in its throat as she proceeded to the hearth, groping under the lip of the chimney. She extracted a cylindrical oil-skin tube, which she held pensively before she turned around.

Guilford gasped. “How did you know?”

She gave him a bitter smile. “Do you still think me a complete fool? I’ve been coming here every week to walk and dine with you; I have eyes. I saw books arrive. I saw others leave. I counted them every day. I even tried to read one. But they are useless. The pages have been cut out.” She kicked with her diminutive foot at the pile of books near the dog’s cushion by the hearth, toppling them. “Your brother Robert would see us dead to satisfy his ambition. Even now, he refuses to recognize that our fate has always lain in God’s hands.”

“A pox on God!” snarled Henry Dudley. “And a pox on you, too, you righteous Grey bitch!” He started to lunge at Jane. John stepped in front of her with his hand held up.

“No.” Though he was frail, in his voice reverberated an echo of that unquestionable authority his father had once commanded. “That is enough.” He looked at me. “Let Robert go. You have my word you will not be harmed.”

I hesitated. A room full of Dudleys and one exit: It was my worst nightmare come to life, but it was a risk I had to take. I released Robert, rising quickly to my feet and stepping away. He drew in gulps of air, his face a mass of contusions, his lip split and bleeding. I still couldn’t feel anything, but I knew I would later. I must look almost as bad as he did.