And Less Than Kind Read online

  "Yes." Mary smiled wanly. "I give you all leave to go."

  The room emptied quickly, but Mary signed for the three ladies who had been with her and had all defended her against the attacker to remain behind. She then went to kneel at her prie-dieu to thank God for her escape, her ladies kneeling behind her. Rhoslyn strangled a sigh but bowed her head, seeming also to pray. What she thought was that Denoriel might know what was going on at Court and whether Edward was dead already. Eventually Mary rose to her feet.

  "We will leave tomorrow, as early as possible and go to Hoddesdon," she said, casting a glance over her shoulder at the crucifix hanging on the wall. "That is a safer house and it is on a good road that goes south to London." She hesitated, then went on with a twist to her lips. "Let whoever passes news to Northumberland and must tell him that the attacker failed also tell him that I seem to be moving toward Greenwich. But the road from Hoddesdon also goes north to Newmarket and Thetford toward Norfolk."

  A letter carrying the same news and order as that delivered to Mary was also delivered to Elizabeth on the fourth of July, but in Hatfield it elicited no more than a sigh from Elizabeth. She had long since given up any hope of seeing her brother ever again. She showed Kat and Sir Edward the letter. Neither one raised the question of obeying Northumberland's order or discussed the possibility of going to London or Greenwich. She did not tell her ladies what the message said. Perhaps they guessed. If so, none spoke of it.

  The messenger had not been allowed to see Elizabeth and was hustled out before the letter could possibly have been read. When he was gone, the household went about its business much as if no message had been received. The state of the king's health was not mentioned. No spy from Court or Council could report any reaction at all to the announcement that Edward was dying.

  Only when all were asleep—Dorothy Stafford in the truckle bed bespelled not to wake—Elizabeth crept from her bedchamber to that of Blanche and sat on her maid's bed, waiting for her Denno. When Denoriel stepped through the Gate, she ran to him to seek shelter in his arms.

  "Is poor Edward already dead?" she whispered, her voice catching on a sob.

  "I do not know," Denoriel replied. "I think it likely but no announcement has been made, and I still have no safe friend at Court. More than one among the Councilors wear bespelled gems, which means that Vidal has his talons well into them. I dare not inquire too openly lest light gossip carry my interest where I do not want it to go."

  "Still nothing from Cecil?"

  Denoriel shook his head. "Northumberland is planning something desperate and he has always known that Cecil is your friend. I sent Cropper on an errand to Canon Row—not to Cecil's house but to another who does business with the mercer Adjoran—and Cropper reported that at least one man was watching Cecil's door to see who called or whether any footmen or other messengers came. He could not see any other watcher, but said he was sure the back door was also watched. In fact, I do not believe Cecil is at home and I know Matilda is not. She went to stay with her father some time in May."

  "Can we get no news?"

  "I can think of no way until Tuesday. Perhaps Rhoslyn and Pasgen will come to the Inn of Kindly Laughter. Rhoslyn will at least know what is happening in Mary's household and it is possible that Pasgen can discover what, if anything, Vidal is doing."

  "Vidal? The illness that has killed Edward is his fault, or perhaps mine for not protecting my brother well enough."

  "Elizabeth you were a child and what happened was no fault of yours."

  She blinked away tears and asked angrily, "What more has Vidal to do with Edward's death?"

  "With that, nothing, I believe. There was enough conflict and misery in Edward's reign to keep the Dark Court well supplied with power. But Vidal has always wanted Mary to reign. He thinks she will summon the Inquisition and so much trouble will be caused, perhaps even civil war will be raised in your name to free the people from that scourge, that the Dark Court will gain enough power to overwhelm the Bright. It has happened in the past."

  Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment. "Civil war . . . No. Even if it is successful and I am so raised to the throne, it will be endless as long as Mary lives." She closed her eyes again. "I could not . . . I could not order her killed."

  "Let us hope she feels the same about you," Denoriel said, his voice harsh. "For I fear there will be rebellion against her attempts to force England back under the pope's rule and that rebellion will be blamed upon you. You must have nothing to do with any attempt to overthrow Mary—not by word or look and most certainly never in writing."

  Chapter 9

  King Edward was not yet dead when Northumberland sent his letters to Mary and Elizabeth on July 4th—in that much he told the truth. Had they hurried to Greenwich, they might just have been in time to see Edward breathe his last, and perhaps to see guns carried up into the Tower and men hired to fight.

  On Tuesday, July 6 1533, Edward Tudor was at last released from his lingering agony. Northumberland forbade any person, on pain of death, to spread news of the king's demise, and made clear to his Council that his preparations to ensure the ascendency of Queen Jane—to which they had all agreed—were not yet complete. The greatest problem was that Lady Mary had not responded to his letter. She was still free, and he needed to secure her to prevent any rising against Jane in Mary's name.

  Privately, Northumberland ordered his son Robert to ready three hundred men and ride to Hunsdon to take Mary prisoner. If she tried to escape, the duke said, she was to be taken by force, even killed, for in the hands of her cousin, the Emperor, she would be a knife poised at England's throat. Undoubtedly Emperor Charles V would use the change in succession as an excuse to invade England and with Mary in his hand could claim he was not invading but restoring the natural order.

  Robert Dudley was brave and clever but, partly owing to having been the indulged son of the most powerful man in the kingdom for years, not much given to acting in secret. Moreover, he soon realized it was impossible to gather and arm three hundred men very quickly or completely in secret. Robert was not ready to ride to take Mary until midday on July 7th.

  Long before then, in fact as soon as Lord Richard Rich heard of the king's death and the need to keep it quiet, the yellow diamond on his finger began to flash and glitter. Rich was not completely happy with Northumberland's attempt to set Mary aside, although he had voiced no protest. Deep in his heart he believed in the old rite. As he admired his ring, he remembered his interview with the sorcerer Otstargi who had told him that Mary would be queen, that all plans against her would fail.

  Rich knew that the trap Northumberland had laid for Mary and Elizabeth had already failed. That further shook his confidence in Northumberland's arrangements. And when he soon caught wind of Robert Dudley's collecting men and arms he was even less happy. Otstargi had said that whatever expedients were used, Mary would be queen and Rich could save himself only by betraying Northumberland's plans to Mary. Was there no way, Rich thought desperately, in which he could show himself Mary's friend without exposing what he had done to Northumberland?

  He would not risk himself by trying to send a message, but before the king's body had grown cold, Rich bethought him of Sir Nicholas Throckmorton. Sir Nicholas was a man of no importance a hanger on at Court but one who had barely escaped punishment for his strong leaning toward the catholic rite. Throckmorton, never trusted, had not been near Edward, had no close cronies among Northumberlands's few confidants, and thus was unlikely to have heard of the king's death or other dangerous secrets. No one would think it significant if Sir Nicholas left the palace.

  Rich drew Throckmorton aside and told him of Northumberland's plan to replace Mary and take her prisoner. The man's eyes lit, first with rage and then with enthusiasm. When Throckmorton left the palace, he did so quietly; he did not take his horse—and indeed, no one noticed him. He walked into town and to the shop of a goldsmith with whom he had done business and in whose house it was sometimes possible
to hear Mass.

  Throckmorton passed along his information; the goldsmith, who had reason to trust his visitor was horrified. When Throckmorton explained he did not dare leave Greenwich lest his purpose be suspected, the goldsmith agreed and pressed his hand. He would go, he said, eyes bright with a fervent hope. He saw Throckmorton out and for a few moments watched as he walked back to Greenwich Palace. Then he turned to his journeyman and said he had to run an urgent errand.

  The goldsmith left his shop by the back door. Unremarked, he made his way to a livery stable—he did not own a horse although he had been raised in the country and rode very well—and thence to the gate to the London road. At the first crossing out of the sight of the guards, the goldsmith turned north.

  He rode hard, changing horses as necessary, sustained by the hope that, as queen, Lady Mary would restore the true religion. He was riding for Hunsdon, but when, in the late afternoon, he came to Hoddesdon he saw a concourse of folk around the manor house and the guardsmen were wearing Lady Mary's colors. The goldsmith made his way through the crowd, asking for the Comptroller or the captain of Lady Mary's guard.

  As she came down from her own horse, Rhoslyn felt the goldsmith's anxiety. She did not know whether he was another assassin, but Pasgen was no great distance. Together they went to where the goldsmith was now surrounded by suspicious guards.

  "Why do you want to see Lady Mary?" Pasgen asked.

  The other guards, knowing it was he who had saved their lady's life only a day since, stepped back so he could ask his questions.

  The goldsmith, clinging to his horse for support, shook his head. "I do not demand that honor," he said, "only to speak to someone who has her ear."

  Rhoslyn stepped around Pasgen. "I am Mistress Rosamund Scot, maid of honor to Lady Mary." She looked at the man trembling with weariness, at the lathered horse. "What news do you carry?"

  "Desperate news. The king is dead, and Northumberland has sent his son with a large troop of men to take Lady Mary prisoner. He has a 'device' signed by every Councilor and almost every man of note in the Court to declare Lady Mary and Lady Elizabeth bastard and of no condition to take the throne. He will make Lady Jane Grey queen."

  "God help us," Rhoslyn breathed, and then, "How do we know this is true?"

  "I have no proof," the goldsmith admitted, and went on to identify himself and mention Throckmorton who brought him the news of the device to set Jane Grey on the throne in Mary's place and to take Mary prisoner to prevent her from contesting his plans. "But," he finished, "I have no purpose beyond bringing this warning. I have no suggestions for Lady Mary. She can ignore my news or she can go in any direction. You have no cause to trust me, but you have no need to trust me. I can tell no one anything, except that I found you at Hoddesdon. If I go now, I will not even be able to say whether you left or stayed."

  "I will go to Lady Mary now," Rhoslyn said. "You—" she looked at Pasgen, fumbled in the purse that hung from her belt for some coins, which she pressed into Pasgen's hand "—take this good man into the town and to a good inn and buy him drink and supper. When he is thoroughly rested, let him go his way."

  "I will tell the captain where you are," another guard said.

  Pasgen thanked him, took the tired horse's rein from the goldsmith so that he could not mount and ride away, and drew him out of the milling crowd of arriving carts and servants toward the town. He could feel his lindys stiff and slightly quivering and knew the little creature was reflecting Rhoslyn's tension and anxiety. He did not expect that to change very soon.

  Rhoslyn hurried into the house and pushed through the bustle in the reception room to the bedchamber where Mary had just sunk into a chair. Brushing by the other maids of honor so roughly that Mary's attention was drawn, Rhoslyn curtsied deeply and then simply sat down on the ground beside Mary's left hand. Straining upward, she muttered "Northumberland intends to set a usurper, Lady Jane Grey, on the throne and has sent a large troop of men with his son to take you prisoner. Likely they are on their way to Hunsdon, but they may pass here and stop to enquire because of your retinue. What shall we do, my lady?"

  Mary paled, then flushed. "No one will usurp my throne," she said through her teeth, and then, "Are you certain of this news?"

  "Not at all, madam. A man says he has ridden from Greenwich. He claims to be a goldsmith of that town and a true believer, that Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, also a true believer, told him the news and bade him ride to warn you."

  "Throckmorton," Mary murmured. "I do not know Nicholas, but I remember Sir George Throckmorton, who was trusted by my father." She blinked. "Sir George had a passel of sons. Sir Nicholas may have been one of them. But that does not tell me whether to believe this warning."

  Rhoslyn had sensed the goldsmith's sincerity. It was possible that Throckmorton had lied to the goldsmith; Rhoslyn could not sense that, but Mary had not meant to stay at Hoddesdon and certainly had not meant to go on to Greenwich. To take the man's warning, then, could do no harm.

  "My lady," she said softly, "even if the news is false—indeed, more particularly if the news is false—I believe it is not safe to stay here where we are known to be. Even if he means well, who knows to whom the goldsmith will carry word of your lodging."

  Mary turned her head to look at the crucifix hung over the prie-dieu. Her lips moved silently for a moment, then were briefly bitten together, until she said, "Rosamund, find Rochester, Waldgrave, and Englefield and bring them here, also Jane. Bid Susan to rid this chamber of the other ladies and arrange they prepare to settle in for the night."

  As Rhoslyn left, she saw Mary rise and walk toward the prie-dieu. She was still praying when Rhoslyn returned with the men of the household. Jane, who Rhoslyn had met just outside the door, was kneeling behind Mary. The men genuflected. One of them drew a sharp breath. Rhoslyn did not know which, but she sympathized with him. Mary could spend an inordinate amount of time on her knees.

  This time she did not. She rounded out her prayer with a Ave Maria, rose, and went back to her chair, gesturing to Jane to close the door of the chamber. "Now, Rosamund, repeat what you told me."

  Gasps and mumbled curses met Rhoslyn's news and Englefield asked sharp questions about the likelihood of it being true. Rhoslyn started to admit there was no proof of it, but Rochester made a sharp gesture.

  "I fear the news is all too true. I knew something ugly was brewing. A few friends wrote that they were uneasy but had no sure word, only men who would no longer meet their eyes."

  "Rosamund thinks we should leave here." Mary said.

  "But we are all weary and the horses are tired," Waldgrave protested.

  "I do not think it wise to move the whole cortege," Rhoslyn put in hastily, thrusting the thought of a secret escape into the men's minds. "Surely we can find a dozen fresh horses in the stable here."

  The thought, diluted by the need to impress three minds at once, was somewhat less effective than usual. Frowns wrinkled foreheads.

  Nonetheless Englefield, the least strong-minded of the three nodded. "If the goldsmith betrays our position—or even if he does not, my lady, you made no secret of our coming to Hoddesdon. Say that those seeking you are told by a servant left in Hunsdon or someone from the village that you planned to come here. If they follow and see all your people settled in and you are denied to them because of the hour or for any other reason, I am sure they will wait some time on your convenience."

  "Yes," Waldgrave agreed. "And in the meanwhile, we can be gone in any direction. If we have fresh horses . . . I will go and see about that right now on the pretext of seeing how our own horses traveled."

  "Yes." Now Rochester also nodded. "Have something to eat, my lady, and then say you are weary and wish to lie down on your bed and rest. Then, quietly, we can saddle up and be gone, no one to know any better than that you are here, asleep."

  "Why not?" Rhoslyn said, projecting a feeling of relief. "We can send a messenger back here. If no one has come seeking you, my lady the cortege c
an join us all the better for a few day's rest."

  Albertus had slipped out of Edward's chamber some hours before Edward drew his last breath. He was a good enough physician to know that the boy would not live out the day. While Northumberland was still insisting to the ambassadors from Charles V that Edward was somewhat improved, Albertus went down to the river and hired a boat. From Otstargi's house in London, he Gated to the only place his amulet would take him, the palace of Caer Mordwyn.

  As always he reported first to Aurilia, but she wasted no time bringing him and his news to Vidal. Vidal instantly launched a probe to strip Albertus of everything he knew, but his probe met a block. He snarled at Aurilia but she did not release the shield.

  "I told you before," she snapped, "I value Albertus's mind. I do not want it damaged. You are too rough when you are excited. Albertus will gladly tell you anything you want to know."

  "You are too tender of him," Vidal snapped back. "I do not wish to waste the time with speech."