The Tudor Vendetta (8 page)

He turned to her, dazed, as if he had forgotten she was there. “I cannot, Your Majesty. Though it does appear to be a letter, its code is unfamiliar to me.”

“Then it must be deciphered,” said Cecil. “And while that is being done, Her Majesty must leave for Windsor at once, the coronation postponed until we can ascertain—”

Elizabeth held up her hand. “No.”

Cecil gaped at her. “But Your Majesty, I must insist. An attempt has been made on your life. This monster could try again and Whitehall is too large to protect you. We have too many people coming and going; if we restrict access to your person or post extra sentries, it will rouse suspicion that something is amiss—which is not the impression we wish to convey.”

She regarded him as though she were counting seconds under her breath. I knew that look; I had seen it before. Elizabeth was not going anywhere.

“I am afraid,” she said. “Terrified, in fact. But I’ll not be chased from my own city before I have even been crowned, with every sovereign in Christendom expecting me to fail. A queen who flees at the first sign of trouble is not long on her throne.”

“This isn’t mere trouble,” I said, bringing her attention to me. “If it’s what I suspect, Your Majesty’s life could indeed be in grave danger. We both know Philip of Spain employed a secret agent to see you imprisoned by your sister.” I did not add that the agent had been Sybilla, unable even now to voice her name aloud, even as I stood in midst of a chaos that had her mark.

“Yet seeing as no evidence could be found against me,” she said, “I was freed.”

“Precisely my point: Philip may have interceded on your behalf with Mary but only because he hoped to eventually win your hand and retain England as his vassal state. He wanted to be your king-consort, and now he has failed.” Her eyes flared at my assumption that she had already discarded the Spanish king as a suitor but I ignored it. “You will not wed a Catholic,” I added. “Philip knows this; he fears that in time you could become his enemy. Therefore, he must eliminate the threat. Though we do not know whom he has hired this time to do his deed, I think it is safe to assume the assassin had his consent. As it did not succeed, then my lord Cecil is correct in assuming that he will probably try again.”

Elizabeth arched a brow. “Then we’re fortunate that my knowledge of Philip surpasses yours. He may fear my enmity but he has one important reason to keep me alive, though I may reject his suit. Should I die without an heir of my body, the succession dictates my Catholic cousin Mary of Scots stands next in line to the throne. Under any other circumstance, I am sure Philip would rather she rule here than me; but Mary is wed to France. Philip would crown me with his own hands to keep the French from overtaking this isle.” She let her words sink in. “This cannot be his doing; but someone clearly wishes it to
appear
as if it were. You said earlier you thought the box had been altered in some manner; I would hear your reasoning first, before we call his ambassador to task and further risk our already tenuous relationship with Spain.”

I nodded, gathering my thoughts. As I turned back to the box, aware that Cecil and Walsingham observed me, I said, “There is a problem with the seal.”

“What of it?” said Elizabeth.

“If it had arrived from Spain, after such a long voyage, it wouldn’t have cracked so easily. It might have been brittle, fallen into pieces. But look: It broke apart in distinct sections.”

“Ah, yes,” said Walsingham. He sounded pleased. “Which could indicate it was recently applied. How clever of you to notice.”

“And see here.” I pointed to a faded area where the seal had been affixed. “There are still flecks of wax, but of a different color. That may indicate the original seal was taken off and replaced.” I returned my gaze to Elizabeth, who regarded me intently. “Whoever did this could have removed the first seal, added poison to the tissue, and then resealed the box. Therefore, the gloves, one of which Kate touched, are not poisoned. The dog died because it grabbed the glove
inside
the tissue. Biting into the paper killed it, not the glove itself.” I held back my suspicion that the poisoning of the tissue was not intended to be lethal but merely to sicken and frighten. If the assassin had wanted Elizabeth dead the gloves would also have been tainted, to ensure her demise. Whatever ultimate motive lay behind this attempt, fear was its primary goal.

Elizabeth turned to Cecil. “Can we find out who brought this gift? We must have some record of its delivery, an inventory, perhaps?”

The lines on Cecil’s face deepened, making him look older than his years. “I believe envoys brought the majority of these gifts,” he said haltingly. “My staff accepted them, of course, and recorded the date of arrival, but…” His voice faded. Elizabeth tapped her foot. He swallowed. “I cannot guarantee we annotated every one. There were so many messengers in those first days, so much confusion. The former secretary to your late sister had files we had to look through and store; we had papers everywhere to sort through.…” His voice turned brisk, to compensate for his deficiency. “I believe that at the very least, we have no other alternative than to question the Spanish ambassador.”

“Then do so,” said Elizabeth. “Only be discreet. Remember, His Excellency the Duke of Feria is a confidant of Philip’s. Moreover, if this gift came directly from Philip and was not a mere token of his esteem chosen by some menial, why did His Excellency not deliver it to me in person? The other royal envoys presented most of these gifts, as is the established custom. Yet seeing as Feria did not, indeed that he has shunned all but the most obligatory contact with me, is it possible these gloves did not come from Spain at all?”

Walsingham gave a grunt of consideration; Cecil looked even more troubled. To me, her question was valid. If the new reign’s bureaucracy was as unsettled as Cecil described, anyone with knowledge of the inner workings of the palace could have hired someone to deliver the box. Her mention of Feria unsettled me, however. I recalled him well, a rigid Spanish nobleman I had met during my time in Mary’s court. He had stood by and watched Peregrine die in my arms. I also knew he bore Elizabeth no love. Could he have orchestrated the assassination attempt at Philip II’s behest? I had to doubt, if only because it was so obvious an attempt. Feria would surely have anticipated suspicion falling upon him and covered his tracks. Given what we knew thus far, taking into account the lack of poison on the gloves, it increasingly felt to me as if this would-be assassin was taunting us. Which left—

“The message,” I said to Walsingham. “We must decipher it. If the culprit wants us to know his intent, it is there. He will not make it easy for us.”

“So it would seem.” Walsingham cleared his throat. “I’ll work on it at once, Majesty—”

Elizabeth did not let him finish. “I will see to it.” She extended her hand. “Lord Robert spoke the truth about Dr. Dee; while the man is an eccentric, I’ll grant you, he is also a marvel with ciphers. Robert can bring the message to him. In the meantime, you will perform the necropsy and assist Cecil with searching the delivery records and questioning Feria.”

Walsingham inclined his head, giving her the parchment. Though he must have been taken aback to have his own expertise supplanted by the seer dubbed a “madman” by Cecil, he did not comment on it, and neither did I. It was evident Elizabeth sought to entrust Dudley with a weighty task that would satisfy his ever-urgent need to feel important.

“And your women?” asked Walsingham. “Are they all familiar to Your Majesty or is it possible that one of them could have slipped this box among the other gifts? It would not be difficult, with so many to keep track of and your time in the palace so recent. And if you have strangers in your employ…”

“Do you imply that I cannot trust my own household?” Elizabeth sounded brusque, but she was not questioning his judgment. He simply confirmed a fear she already harbored, that anyone in her life could be suspect.

“I merely suggest the women should be questioned as well,” replied Walsingham. “We cannot be too cautious. May I request leave to arrange it with your chief gentlewoman?”

For a moment, I thought I saw Elizabeth falter. Then she said, “Yes, of course. Though I fear Lady Parry, who oversees my women, has gone to visit relatives, while my other matron Mistress Ashley is still at my manor of Hatfield. However, you may apply to Mistress Stafford, who was nearly poisoned here today. She has served me many years and I trust her implicitly.”

“Majesty.” Walsingham made his retreat to the door. Cecil lingered. Realizing he desired to talk with her in private, I decided to join Walsingham. I might be of help to him, though the thought of cutting up the dog made my stomach turn. As I made my leave, sidestepping the jumble of caskets, coffers, and other items littering the floor, the white pelt of Sweden flung in a corner like a melting snow, Elizabeth called out: “Brendan.”

I halted in my tracks. Walsingham had already left but her uttering of my first name startled me anyway. It conveyed an intimacy that until now she had evaded. Standing like a pilaster sketched in silver against the windows, her red-gold mane escaping the net at her nape to curl about her face, she said softly, “Do not stray far. I may have need of you.”

“As my lord Cecil mentioned, I am entirely at your disposal,” I said, and with another bow, I slipped from the chamber.

I wanted to dismiss it as more of my overwrought imagination, kindled by the turmoil, but the raw entreaty I had glimpsed in her eyes assured me otherwise.

Elizabeth was not only afraid.

She was hiding something.

Chapter Seven

The antechamber was quiet, Walsingham nowhere in sight. He had not tarried, and I moved past the sentries at the doors into the privy gallery.

Most of the courtiers had dispersed, save for a few desultory figures feigning games of cards or walking leashed dogs in the stubborn hope that the queen might yet make an appearance. Cecil had demonstrated his usual efficiency and tact; word had obviously not spread or the gallery would have been swarming with officials and gimlet-eyed ambassadors, eager to garner news of the near catastrophe for their masters.

Wondering where the cellars might be and how I might access them (for while I could get around Whitehall well enough, I had not explored its entirety), I started down the gallery, turning into a corridor leading to the great hall. I thought of finding my way to the kitchens; the cold storerooms would surely be near any cellars and—

A shift in the shadows caught my eye. Spinning about, I gleaned movement before I had the chance to whip my blade from my boot. A fist crashed into my face. As I gasped, darkness exploding behind my eyes, the fist hit me again. The brine of blood flooded my mouth. Hands grasped me by the shoulders, dragging me into a recessed alcove.

“Finally!” Dudley flung me so hard against the wall that my teeth rattled. “I have you.”

Blinking back whirling stars, my head pounding, I met his ferocious stare. He was palming a dagger. “To what do I owe this honor?” I managed to utter, even as I debated whether it would be worth trying to go for my knife before he slashed me open.

“You know what.” He thrust the blade at my throat, hard enough for me to feel it nick my skin, preempting any idea of reaching for my own weapon. “Move an inch and it’ll be the last thing you ever do. You will be singing chants in hell while I set your balls in a bag at her feet. No matter how highly she may regard you, she cares for me more.”

I took a moment to gather my composure as he jutted his chin at me. “What? Have you nothing to say?” He paused, eyeing me. The dark timbre of his voice stirred the hairs on my neck. “I’m of mind to gut you here and now, like your friend Walsingham is about to gut the queen’s dog. That would teach them a lesson they’ll not soon forget.”

“Oh?” I remained still. “And what lesson might that be, my lord?”

“That I am not to be trifled with,” he bellowed, and then he went quiet, trembling. He might think to prove his prowess to the world, but I had the disquieting impression the lesson he sought to impart was for me alone. I had humiliated him too many times. Now, he wanted to rouse fear in me again, the same fear I had felt when he had terrorized me in my youth.

I waited for his next move, my breathing gone shallow. If all else failed, I could resort to Walsingham’s training; all Dudley need do was ease back on his dagger and I could bring my knees up and hit him in the groin, double him over long enough to—

“You should never have come back,” he said suddenly. “But you always were more cur than hound; and like the cur, you always return to your own vomit. The question is: What to do with your body?” He pressed on the blade. I was becoming quite alarmed. I could feel a trickle running down the side of my neck, seeping into my collar. He had cut me. I had to do something.

“If you harm me,” I said, freezing the murderous contempt on his face, “you could come to regret it. You have forgotten how much I know about you.”

He chuckled. “As I said, more cur than hound. Once you are dead, who cares what you know? And besides, what proof have you?”

I had nothing to lose, save my life. Forcing out a smile, I said, “Proof enough.”

His mouth contorted. “What are you saying?” he hissed. “Tell me now before I slice your throat and leave you here to bleed.”

I made myself smile. “Just know that if I should disappear, I’ve left word for a certain packet of information to be delivered to Cecil, detailing everything I learned about your plot to depose our late Queen Mary. I daresay, Cecil will be most interested. Indeed, your past misdeeds could give him the very means he seeks to undo you. Treason runs in your family, my lord. Her Majesty will be obliged to act. So, either you kill me now or we reach an understanding that can benefit both of us.”

His eyes glittered. Not for the first time, I wished Elizabeth could see him as I did—the feral ambition, usually tethered under his polished countenance, rising to the surface, so that he resembled nothing more than a ravenous wolf.