Witchstruck (14 page)

‘Have you,’ Sir Henry Bedingfield thundered, ‘or have you not, madam, received any visitors or news without my permission and knowledge during your time here at Woodstock?’

‘No, sir, I have not.’

Her gaoler stood a moment, his jaw working furiously, then stormed out of the room, kicking one of the Lady Elizabeth’s hounds out of the way as it tried to slink through the doorway.

Elizabeth waited a moment, listening to the noisy retreat of his boots down the stairway. Then she strode restlessly to the window and stared out across the palace grounds in the gathering dusk. Her back was very straight, her head thrown back in defiance. I heard her mutter something under her breath. The long white fingers of one hand tapped repeatedly at the cracked glass as though with some secret code.

When Elizabeth turned back to face us, I saw she had been crying.

‘Blanche,’ she said hoarsely, ‘I am unwell, you must help me to my room at once.’ She dried her damp cheek with the back of her hand, not quite meeting my eyes. ‘Meg, where is Alejandro? I need . . . I need someone to read the scriptures with me. There is a passage in Paul’s Epistles that I must have explained to me. Fetch young Alejandro to my chamber. Hurry!’

I curtseyed, dodged past the guard on the door and ran along the corridor to the small back room where the priests lodged. It had been Bedingfield’s own room before Father Vasco and Alejandro had arrived, but now Elizabeth’s gaoler had reluctantly set up a room for himself in the old gatehouse, allowing the two priests a more comfortable place in the lodge.

I knocked on the heavy wooden door and called out hurriedly, ‘Alejandro!’ I wondered what on earth Elizabeth could be planning.

She was not ill, that was for sure.

The door was thrown open within seconds and Alejandro himself looked out at me, rightly surprised to see me knocking there at dusk. His long white shirt was undone and worn loose, his dark robe discarded. I averted my eyes from his bare chest, feeling myself flush. Behind him, stretched out on his narrow bed, I could see Father Vasco already asleep.

‘Meg?’ Alejandro frowned. He glanced over his shoulder at the old priest and kept his voice low, presumably not wishing to wake his irascible master. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

Briefly, I informed him of Elizabeth’s odd request but did not mention Bedingfield’s accusations. Alejandro already disapproved of me, of that I felt certain, and I did not see why he should also disapprove of Elizabeth.

‘It’s lucky my master shows no signs of waking,’ Alejandro whispered, and reached for his coat and his sword. ‘I will come.’

I waited outside until he was respectably dressed, his shirt fastened and the sword buckled about his waist, then led him down the corridor to the Lady Elizabeth’s chamber.

To my surprise, there was no guard on her door. Could Elizabeth have bribed the man to turn a blind eye that evening?

My heart was beating fast – though with excitement, not fear. We had led such a narrow, stifling existence at Woodstock over the hot summer months. Now it all seemed
to
be coming to a head. Suddenly I was filled with a terrible restlessness, an irresistible itch in the palms of my hands that I recognized as the desire to work magick.

I scratched softly at the unguarded door, and heard the princess herself call ‘Come!’ immediately.

I had expected to find Elizabeth in her nightclothes, collapsed in bed, with Blanche Parry hovering at her side with some refreshing herbal concoction. Instead, she was standing against the wall, a few feet away from the now shuttered windows, fully dressed and wearing an old patched and hooded cloak I recognized as one sometimes worn by Joan, the simple-minded kitchen maid who had accused me of witchcraft. Blanche was fussing about the princess, tucking Elizabeth’s hair back under the hood.

Elizabeth met Alejandro’s surprised gaze with a level stare I had not seen since the day she had asked if I was truly a witch.

‘Will you help me, sir?’ she asked him directly. ‘I am in trouble and must go to the Bull Inn at once. There, I must meet with one who awaits me secretly and then return unseen. Blanche will guard the door here and tell anyone who asks that I am sick with the toothache and can speak to no one. But if this fails and Sir Henry discovers that I have left his custody, I shall be taken back to London, perhaps to my death.’ Her dark narrow eyes seemed to search his face. ‘All I ask is your help in seeing me safely there and back. Will you do it?’

I was astonished. If Alejandro and his master had been sent here by Queen Mary, the most likely explanation was not that she was concerned for Elizabeth’s soul but that she wanted her watched and reported on. Now Elizabeth was planning to trust the spy in their midst with this most dangerous of secrets?

Alejandro glanced sideways at me, his eyes filled with a kind of subdued laughter, as though mocking my surprise. He looked assessingly at Blanche Parry’s worried expression, the handkerchief she was fretting at nervously, then at the Lady Elizabeth, standing cautiously with her back against the wall.

‘Madam, is this visit treasonous?’

Defensive, she shook her head. ‘It is not, sir.’

He bowed. ‘Then I am at your service,’ he said simply. ‘When do we leave?’

‘Straight away.’

Blanche pulled at her lower lip in distress, her face beginning to quiver. ‘I beg you not to go, my lady. It is too dangerous. My husband is staying at the Bull tonight, with others of your faithful followers who could not bear to be parted from you. Let me bear a message to him, pray do not go yourself.’

‘I must go in person. This is not something that can be written down and given to another person to carry.’ Elizabeth turned to me sharply, ignoring Blanche’s little whimper of despair. ‘Meg, you will accompany me to the
village
. We will take the back way, it will be safer. But if the guards see me in this cloak, with any luck they will believe I am Joan. You must tell them she is visiting her sick mother in the village, and that she is too upset to speak.’

I nodded.

‘Sir, you must follow without being seen until we have left the palace grounds,’ Elizabeth instructed Alejandro. ‘I will be one hour at the Bull in a private room, and afterwards will return here. I trust we shall not be discovered on the way. But if we are, you may be required to use your sword in my defence.’

Alejandro said nothing, his face sombre, but he rested his hand lightly on the hilt of his sword.

I spoke up at last. ‘Where is the guard on your door?’

Elizabeth hesitated. ‘Blanche offered him a hot posset to keep out the chill. As soon as he had finished drinking it, he had a sudden urge to . . . to visit the privy. The poor man may be gone for quite a while.’

This confession broke the tense atmosphere. Blanche giggled into her handkerchief. Even Alejandro smiled, then went to the door and opened it a crack, his eyes alert for danger.

‘Shall we go?’

The Bull Inn was livelier than I had seen it before. The arrival of chilly autumn weather must have drawn men from the village to the inn’s roaring fires and cosy backrooms, to
the
blood-heating tang of its ales. As we approached quietly by a side alley, the battered front door was yanked open, throwing a stream of smoky light across the road. Two large, burly men spilled out of the inn, cursing each other for fools, their mangy dogs underfoot, barking and snarling as their owners argued.

Over their heads, the sign of the Bull swung in a sharp breeze, creaking.

I shivered, and saw Alejandro’s eyes on me. My chin rose another inch and I looked away, trying to appear unconcerned.

Yes, I was afraid of being captured along with the disgraced princess. The memory of Marcus Dent’s interrogation still prickled under my skin, the knowledge of how close I had come to death.

But I would not admit that to him.

Cautiously, we moved out of the shadows at a signal from Alejandro, who had rejoined us after we had successfully forded the stream without being seen. It would have aroused too much suspicion for us to be seen leaving the grounds with the young Spaniard. But if we had been stopped and questioned alone, no one would have questioned our story: two girls hurrying to the bedside of a sick relative.

Alejandro led us to a side door and guarded it while we hurried through, both of us hooded and cloaked, only a few strands of Elizabeth’s reddish-gold hair peeping out to suggest her true identity.

He went through into the noisy taproom to speak to the harassed landlord, and returned a few moments later with a stinking tallow candle, gesturing us towards the unlit stairs.

‘The first room on the left upstairs,’ was all Alejandro said, but I caught a flicker of disapproval in his eyes.

I turned to the stairs, but there was a man descending, swaying slightly as he came. I glanced up and froze in shock at the sight of that familiar face.

My father!

My first impulse was to throw my arms about him, for I had not seen my father since he had taken me to Woodstock that spring to serve the princess. But then I remembered our secret mission, and the disguised princess at my side. I could not endanger Elizabeth’s life by announcing myself to my father, knowing our meeting might be observed by her enemies.

My heart beating hard, I drew back hurriedly into the shadows and threw my hood further forward to hide my face. Elizabeth too shrank back, burying her face in my shoulder.

When he had gone into the taproom, I straightened again and saw Alejandro’s questioning gaze on my face.

‘That was my father,’ I breathed. ‘Do you think he recognized me?’

Alejandro shook his head. ‘He was drunk.’ He touched my arm, frowning. ‘Let us hurry though, in case he comes back.’

Upstairs, there was a strong smell of urine, and behind
that
, the sweeter smell of something rotting. Elizabeth grimaced and cupped a hand over her nose and mouth. I too held my breath, feeling sick, and trying not to fret that my father was in the Bull Inn tonight. He had not recognized either of us, and he did not know Alejandro, so there could be no harm done. Yet I could not remember ever seeing my father drunk before. It left me uneasy, wondering if there was something wrong at home.

Alejandro knocked at the door. It was opened by a man in his late twenties.

Even in the dim flickering of the candle, I could see that this man was quite beautiful, with flowing hair past his shoulders and intelligent, light-coloured eyes. He looked other-worldly, yet wore a neat white ruff and dark, floor-length robes like a religious cleric.

‘Your Highness,’ the man said at once, turning his eyes to Elizabeth. He dropped to one knee before her.

‘For God’s sake, get up quickly, before someone sees,’ Elizabeth instructed him, and whirled into the candlelit chamber, throwing back her hood.

I followed her in silence, nervous but excited. My gaze moved at once to the broad desk under the window on which were arranged curious instruments of metal and glass, an untidy stack of documents and a small cask of wine with several glasses set out.

‘One hour,’ she told Alejandro firmly, who had stepped inside after us. ‘Hold the door for us, sir.’

Alejandro bowed, withdrew and closed the door behind him. I wondered if he would see my father again, and frowned.

Could there be some other reason why my father had ridden over here tonight, other than to drink in company? I knew he liked to visit the Bull sometimes, and often did so when my brother was at home to accompany him, for it was widely acknowledged to be one of the best inns for miles around. Yet it seemed the height of bad luck that we should have met him on the way up here. Of all the nights to have chosen . . .

Then I forgot my father’s presence as the man turned to me, his long-fingered hand taking mine and opening my palm to examine it.

‘But who is this?’ he murmured, staring into my eyes as he stroked my skin, tracing the lines on my palm, back and forth. I felt mesmerized, a cold chill running down my spine. ‘There is power here. Fear too, but power.’

‘She is no one. A country witch, that is all,’ Elizabeth said impatiently, and did not meet my surprised glance.

Why did she not want this man to know the extent of my powers? Though perhaps Elizabeth really did see me as a simple country witch, nothing more. That idea rattled me, but I said nothing.

‘Pardon, Your Highness,’ he said, ‘but will you introduce us?’

Elizabeth was clearly annoyed by his insistence. Yet she obeyed nonetheless. Again, I was surprised. I sensed that she was a little afraid of this man.

‘This is Meg Lytton, a maid of mine whose mother served at court when I was young.’ She hesitated. ‘Meg, this gentleman is Master John Dee, a great astrologer.’

‘Oh, not great yet,’ Master Dee said lightly, but he was smiling. I stared at him, for even I had heard of the famous astrologer John Dee. His fingers were still stroking my upturned palm, my hand held captive in his. ‘Meg Lytton, you say? Hmm, this one would make an excellent subject for my studies. Tell me, child, have you ever conjured the spirits of the dead and spoken with them?’

‘Sir . . .?’ I stammered.

‘Leave the girl alone,’ Elizabeth commanded him coldly, and he dropped my hand with obvious reluctance. ‘We do not have much time, Dee, so let us get to the matter in hand. In your note, you indicated that you had cast my sister’s horoscope, and had many secret and terrible things to tell me.’

‘Indeed.’ The astrologer nodded. His eyes narrowed to bright slits. ‘Your sister the Queen has not been as generous as I had hoped. I fear she listens to her priests too much, who find my work challenging. And so I have come to you with my findings instead.’

‘You need money?’ Elizabeth asked astutely.

‘To expand my library,’ he agreed smoothly. ‘And for my travels abroad. The most important books are rarely to be found in England, alas. But such endeavours cost me dear, and my family’s coffers are nearly empty.’

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. ‘I am a prisoner of my sister here, Master Dee. I have no money to help you build up your library.’