And Less Than Kind Read online

  Eleanor Gage's hand had caught at her arm and pressed hard. Eleanor was the queen's lady, sent to serve (and spy on) Elizabeth, but Elizabeth thought Eleanor had come to like her new mistress better than her old. She often did her best to save Elizabeth from doing anything that would offend or annoy Mary. Elizabeth glanced at Eleanor, carefully smoothing a piece of embroidery over her knee and felt a flick of gratitude.

  Likely it was not Eleanor who had told the queen what she said. Elizabeth felt her lips twist wryly. Or if it had been she would certainly have also told Mary what Elizabeth said next, in an attempt to retrieve her blunder. "Oh, how silly I am. It is no business of mine so long as Queen Mary marries to please herself and get us an heir."

  That, too, had been a mistake. In her eagerness to make clear that she would not oppose the queen's choice, no matter what it was, Elizabeth had forgotten Mary's sexual jealousy of her. Her last words, if they were repeated, would only make matters worse. Likely Mary would take them as a sly sexual taunt.

  Yet if that child survives, the acute danger in which I now live will mostly be over. With a clear heir to the throne borne by the queen and raised in the Catholic faith, I will no longer be a threat. Elizabeth's lips quirked again. Far from lifting her spirits, the idea of safety through Mary's child inheriting the throne made her sick and hollow within.

  Elizabeth reached down to the elaborate work basket beside her chair. Marriage, yes, that was certain now. But the growing public disapproval of the marriage was another danger to her. The chance of a child resulting from the marriage was not great. Mary was thirty-seven and frequently ill. If only, Elizabeth thought, she could herself stay alive until her sister's natural demise . . . but her constant presence continually irritated Mary. Between the attacks on her and her own awkward stupidities, to remain with the Court was increasingly dangerous.

  Yet she had so far failed to discover a reason to leave that Mary would find compelling. Elizabeth sighed. It was very strange. There could be no doubt that Mary did not really want her at Court. Someone was influencing Mary to keep her at Court. Who?

  Elizabeth wore away the rest of the morning in blameless occupation, embroidering a book cover for Mary. It was replete with Catholic symbols and Elizabeth did the needlework openly, often showing off her accomplishment to her maids of honor, specially Mary's spies. Embroidery, even for her sister, was calming. Then Elizabeth had to blink hard to clear a mist from her eyes. She had been reminded of how much she enjoyed embroidering for Edward and how much pleasure he had taken in her handiwork.

  The calm brought Elizabeth by setting stitches did not last long. When those invited to dinner were assembled, Mary, as she had done repeatedly in the last weeks, gestured for Margaret Douglas, countess of Lennox, and Frances Brandon, duchess of Suffolk, to precede Elizabeth. And while Elizabeth was swallowing that bitter pill, Renard walked past her, without a bow, and with such a glance that her indignation was swallowed up by shock.

  Elizabeth had not spoken to, in fact had seldom seen the Imperial ambassador recently. Now that he had come so close, she realized he must have been avoiding her. She could remember seeing him near Mary but then seeming to disappear if she approached her sister. Not that she had often approached Mary for the last few weeks; she was too likely to be waved away or insulted in some other manner.

  As was her practice when she had been so slighted, Elizabeth made no protest, bowing meekly as Mary passed. But she never remained in the queen's presence to be further slighted. Erect as a sword, she withdrew to her own apartment, knowing all the young and lively courtiers would soon follow. Elizabeth chuckled bitterly as she sent Mary's spies to fetch refreshments and musicians. Let the queen know that she was not alone and trembling with fear. And let the queen hear that the ladies she had sent to watch Elizabeth had joined her in laughing and dancing and singing with the gallants of the Court.

  But when the dancing and singing was done and the young men departed, Elizabeth made ready for bed silent and withdrawn. She could not rid herself of the memory of Renard's look of hatred, and she was very glad when the door to Blanche's chamber opened softly. Elizabeth saw but gave no sign, sliding under the covers Alice Finch, held up for her. Alice, not too clever and unaware of her lady's tension, smiled, wished her lady a good night and sweet sleep, and drew the heavy winter bedcurtains closed.

  "Parachoro drimuz," Elizabeth whispered, and suddenly the sound of the brocade bedcurtains sliding out of their folds was as loud as a rushing river.

  Elizabeth bit her lip. She had asked to learn a spell for keen hearing and Mechain had warned her it would be of little use unless she learned to direct and fix the spell. That was beyond Elizabeth's ability, but ever-indulgent Elidir had taught it to her anyway.

  Elizabeth had soon learned that Mechain was right; the spell was useless. She had intended to use it to eavesdrop on conversations in the Court, but when she invoked it, the uproar had almost battered her brain numb. She did not only hear those conversations in which she was interested but every sound in the audience chamber—footsteps, the rustling of clothing, everyone's breathing, all mingled in a mind-rattling roar.

  Since she and Alice were alone in the bedchamber, the results of the spell were not as catastrophic. Elizabeth had quickly recognized the sound of the curtains moving and now she identified a series of loud thuds as Alice walking to the truckle bed. The leather straps twanged and groaned; there were crackling sounds and a rustling as loud as a boar running through brush which Elizabeth reasoned must be Alice settling herself in bed. And at long last, the steady roaring that must be the maid of honor's breathing.

  "Bod cyfgadur," Elizabeth whispered, pointing toward Alice.

  The roaring of Alice's breathing became louder and deeper.

  "Metakino parachoro drimuz," Elizabeth said hastily, quite aloud and beginning to breathe rather hard with nervousness.

  The words were like cracks of thunder. How long could she endure such noise in her head? Tears of fear sprang to her eyes. Usually when she worked a spell the first few times she was Underhill where Mechain or Elidir could save her if she did something wrong. This time she had been too impatient to wait until she was sure Alice was asleep naturally before she added the sleep spell; she wanted to hear when the girl got into bed and started to doze and she had used a spell tried only once before.

  However before Elizabeth's tears could gather the room fell silent. She breathed a long sigh of relief . . . which she barely heard. She had cast and removed the keen hearing spell successfully.

  "Come," she called softly toward Blanche's door, holding back the bedcurtains.

  Lady Alana slipped through the barely open door and hurried across to the bed. Elizabeth breathed another sigh of relief as Alana climbed into the bed. Once she was behind the curtains, none of Mary's spies could see her and if someone came to the bed, Alana could use the Don't-see-me spell.

  "The 'messenger,' " Lady Alana said, looking up toward the ceiling to indicate she meant the air spirit, "told me you were very upset. I am sorry, my love. The queen is a silly woman. Not even her own courtiers take Lennox and Suffolk seriously. And all such spitefulness does is wake more sympathy for you and admiration for your dignity and restraint."

  Elizabeth shook her head. "I wasn't upset by Mary's putting Lennox and Suffolk before me. It was Renard." Her breath came a little faster when she remembered the Imperial ambassador's eyes. "Mary does not like me, but I have never seen such hate as looked out of Renard's eyes." Elizabeth shivered. "It was terrible."

  Aleneil sighed. "Yes, I saw. Elizabeth, I have no idea what to do about Renard. Perhaps—" now she shivered "—I should stop his heart, but—"

  "Stop his heart," Elizabeth repeated in a horrified voice. "That would be murder. No. Why should you even think of such a thing? Killing Renard would not change Charles's mind about me."

  "Emperor Charles has nothing to do with why Renard hates you."

  "That is ridiculous. The feeling cannot be anythin
g to do with him and me. I have done my very best never to offend Renard. Why should he hate me? His dislike can only be by order of his master, but Emperor Charles should have no objections to me—not compared with having Mary of Scots as heir."

  Aleneil only looked even more worried. "This has nothing to do with Emperor Charles. I fear that Renard is not only the emperor's servant."

  "I cannot believe that!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

  Aleneil sighed. "Not of his own will or for gold or favor. Rhoslyn sees a great deal of him. He is forever with the queen. Rhoslyn believes Renard is bespelled and stinks of Vidal Dhu."

  "God's Grace support me," Elizabeth breathed. "Could those attacks on me be Renard's doing?"

  "It is possible." Aleneil said, nodding as if she had the same idea herself. "When I told Denoriel about the man who died, he said the lack of a tongue, the scarring on his back, and the calluses on his hands sound like what might have happened to a Spanish slave. If he had been promised his freedom, he might even have taken so desperate a chance as an attack on you in full Court. And the poisoning . . . that is not unknown in the Spanish Court too. What is more, if you twice thwarted Renard's attempts to kill you, he could be growing quite exasperated."

  Elizabeth began to tremble. "Mary thinks of Renard as the Mouth for Emperor Charles. And Mary is absolutely and utterly convinced Charles's is the only advice worth taking." She rubbed her arms as if she were cold. "If Renard tells Mary Charles wants me dead . . ."

  "I do not think Renard dares go so far as that," Aleneil said offering comfort. "He is still too aware that Charles does not want you dead."

  Elizabeth drew a deep breath. If Vidal's influence could not make Renard tell Mary Charles wanted her dead, she was in less danger of being executed. Although she had been repeatedly warned against overconfidence, she had so often bested Vidal's attempts on her that knowing he was behind Renard made the ambassador's hatred less frightening.

  "No, Charles would not want me dead. The next heir—setting aside Mary's silly notice of Lennox and Suffolk, which the country would not abide—is Mary of Scotland, who will soon be the wife of the French dauphin. Compared to Mary of Scotland and her French husband on the English throne, Charles would think of me as an angel of deliverance."

  Aleneil nodded. "So far Vidal's influence has not gone beyond making Renard constantly tell Mary that you are a danger to her rule. Unfortunately I think Mary believes him, but he suggests things that would throw the Court into an even greater uproar when added to this Spanish marriage. If he should begin to hint that Charles wants you gone, Rhoslyn would let me know at once. Then between us—" Aleneil shivered again "—we will stop him." She sighed. "Is there not some way to make Mary less enamored of Renard's advice?"

  "I do not think so," Elizabeth said slowly, considering; then shook her head. "I cannot blame Mary for being so dependent on the emperor. He has been the only support she has had since her mother was set aside. Charles has always counseled her, and even went so far as to threaten war if she were deprived of her Mass."

  "Harry says Charles is no real problem for now," Aleneil said. "The emperor is very cautious and has been preaching the greatest moderation in everything since marriage to Philip has been proposed. Harry thinks Charles does not care how long it takes to make England Catholic or even if it ever becomes Catholic. His concern is to make England an ally against France."

  "Likely Da is right. He usually is about Court politics. And I know that Charles often writes to Mary himself. That should be some protection for me. Renard would not dare go farther than the advice Charles himself gives to Mary."

  Suddenly Elizabeth fell silent. She wanted to ask how Vidal had managed to bespell Renard, but no sound passed her lips. By Titania's geas she could not speak of spells or magic while in the mortal world. The frustration added to her fear, and misery overwhelmed her. Her eyes filled with tears.

  "I miss Denno," she whispered. "Thank God that you can be with me, but I miss my Denno." She swallowed, sniffed.

  "You have the amulets he gave you, have you not?" Aleneil asked. "So call him."

  Elizabeth shook her head. "I dare not. We thought I would be able to put a token in a safe place." Two tears ran down her cheeks. "But there is no safe place, nor even in the dead of night a safe time. It is barely safe to whisper to you because you are my lady. Strong efforts will be made to discover what we said. Someone will have seen you coming to me and tell the queen. But if Denno appeared in my chamber or I was absent from it . . . Nothing can be kept secret in this palace. Nothing."

  Aleneil sighed and nodded. Perhaps she should have used the Don't-see-me spell to come to Elizabeth, but she hated to use any magic in the mortal world. Even the tiny spell that made her look so plain drained her. And in the mortal world there was no way to restore her power. All she could do was to lean over and pat Elizabeth's shoulder.

  "You need not worry over curiosity about what we were saying to each other. I have an excellent story about why I came secretly to see you. A surprise you are planning as a gift to the queen."

  Elizabeth smiled faintly. That was a good excuse and Lady Alana would surely come up with some elegant trifle that she could present to her sister. But it did not solve her basic problem or suggest a way for her to spend an hour or two in Denno's arms.

  The smile disappeared and two more tears ran over. "I must ask again for permission to leave the Court. I cannot think of why Mary will not let me go home. Can Rhoslyn help?"

  "I don't know, but I will ask," Aleneil replied, then more grimly, "Renard tells her that the moment you are out from under her eye you will conspire with the rebels who are writing broadsheets and rousing fear of Spanish domination among the people. You will put yourself forward as a 'mere English,' Protestant queen to save them from the Spaniards and the pope."

  "That is ridiculous. I would do nothing of the kind. I am not an idiot. Aside from that, which Mary may not believe, I will have to take home with me the new servants with whom Mary presented me. She will doubtless know how often I turn in my bed, not to mention whether I conspire with rebels."

  Aleneil laughed. "She does not trust her spies. She fears you have lured their devotion away from her And Renard keeps talking about your enchantment of spirit. Would it not help if you simply converted to Mary's faith? Are you as set against being Catholic as she was against the reformed rite?"

  "No, of course not," Elizabeth said, wiping away her tears and smiling slightly again. "I do believe in God and in Christ who died to redeem us all. But I cannot believe that our Merciful Redeemer cares a jot by which rite we worship Him, whether we have candles and incense or bare walls and a simple table as an altar. My faith is in Christ. All the rest is details."

  "Then give Mary her candles and incense."

  "I actually like the candles and incense," Elizabeth said rather sadly. "But they are an offense to those who took to heart the reformist rite. I need to hold out some hope for the reformists. Besides, it does not matter how sincere I am or am not in Catholicism. Mary will never believe I have changed. She could not and she does not want to believe I could."

  Aleneil nodded and sighed. "She is a fanatic."

  Elizabeth shrugged. "I show myself to have yielded. I attend Mass regularly. There was no other choice for me but the axe. I have no emperor uncle to threaten war to save me. But as long as I do not flaunt my attendance at Mass or other Catholic observances, the reformists will have hope. There are many in the realm who cheered Mary's accession because she was the heir assigned by my father but who do not want the Catholic rite. They look to me in hope that if I come to the throne I will bring back the practices of Edward's reign. I must sustain that hope."

  "Elizabeth," Aleneil said warningly, looking troubled, "Mary is . . . is not quite sane on the subject of her faith. Rhoslyn cannot touch her mind on that subject at all. She has tried. That is something burned so deep into Mary's soul that only complete mindlessness or death can change it."

  "I know th
at." Elizabeth shivered and rubbed her arms again although the room was warm enough. The cold came from inside her. "I will be walking the edge of a sword between martyrdom and rejection. I must be Catholic enough that Mary does not call me traitor or heretic and have an excuse to kill me, but I must do it in such a way that those who think of me as the upholder of Protestantism will not abandon me."

  Aleneil wrinkled her nose. "Since most of the courtiers have shifted their faith several times already for the sake of their skins and their purses, they should understand."

  "I hope so," Elizabeth sighed. "I hope I can balance on this bridge of swords."

  Chapter 16

  "Whatever am I to do about Elizabeth?" Mary said, her brows drawn together in a worried frown and her lips downturned.

  It was now after midnight a week after Parliament had been prorogued, but the queen's days were so full that she had no other time for a private word with the ladies who had been her support and companions through good and ill to her final triumph. They were forgathered in the queen's bedchamber, Susan Clarencieux, Jane Dormer, Rosamund Scot, and Mistress Shirley, one of Mary's personal maids. Jane Russell, the other maid, had carried in a flask of sweet wine and a plate of cakes and then taken herself into one of the queen's tiring chambers to sort out the queen's dresses for the morrow.