At the House of the Magician (18 page)

‘But something more occurred,’ I said as soon as the woman was out of earshot. ‘Something strange happened so that I found myself saying more than I should have done.’

She looked at me, puzzled. ‘Why should you have done such a thing?’

‘That’s just it – I don’t know,’ I answered. ‘I was arrayed in my grave-clothes and appeared just as I was supposed to. The girl’s father spoke to ask forgiveness, I said my part, then … then instead of vanishing, I told them that it was too late for me, but that they must save the life of the queen.’

Isabelle pulled herself away from me, looking at me strangely. ‘
Save the queen?
’

I nodded. ‘And … and at the same time I saw the image I’d seen in the show-stone: the jewelled flask. It has something to do with that, but I don’t know what.’

Isabelle shook her head. ‘I mislike this.’

‘So do I.’ My hands twisted together nervously. ‘But I feel that this message is with me now; is mine to pass on. It … it’s as if it’s been given into my safekeeping.’

‘What did you actually say? The exact words?’

I had no trouble remembering: ‘
’Tis too late for me, but save my lady. Save my royal lady!
’

‘And you are quite sure that you were talking of the queen?’

I nodded emphatically. ‘Alice Vaizey was maid of honour to the queen. She would have laid down her life for Her Grace.’ As most of us would, if asked, I thought to myself.

‘And doesn’t your master – doesn’t Dr Dee – seem inclined to do anything about this message?’

I shook my head. ‘They think it’s merely a girlish fancy on my part. A wish to make myself sound more important.’

‘Well.’ Isabelle thought for a moment. ‘Can’t you just forget about it?’

‘I’ve been trying to,’ I said wryly, ‘but I don’t think it’s going to let me.’

I had another vivid dream that night. Not about Ma this time, but one in which I saw our queen lying on a bed hung with black velvet curtains, while above her was placed a wooden shield which bore the royal coat of arms draped in black sarcenet. Twelve maidens knelt around the bed, the sounds of sobbing filled the air and
there was solemn music playing, so that I knew she must be dead. As I looked on, one of the kneeling girls turned and stared straight at me, and I knew in my soul it was Alice Vaizey.

‘Lucy,’ said the image, ‘I cannot, but
you
must save my lady.’

‘And how shall I do that?’ I asked her. ‘For no one will listen to a low-born maid.’

‘You must try. You must save my royal lady!’ she said again, more urgently, and I remember feeling the great weight of this responsibility, and, weeping and struggling, trying to get away from the room in which the body of the queen lay, and in doing this I succeeded in waking myself up.

I thought long about the matter and, Dr Dee being on his own that morning, I went to him to recount the dream. I’d thought that perhaps he’d take note of it and tell me what it meant, for the well-to-do citizens of the town consulted him on their dreams regularly, seeking to know if a certain one was a good portent or no. My employer was hard into a book, however, for a new and seemingly important volume had arrived that day, and hardly noticed my presence in the room until I made it felt.

‘Excuse my presumption, Sir,’ I began, standing full square before his desk, ‘but I’ve had a dream which I feel may be of some import.’

He didn’t raise his head but merely waved a hand to dismiss me.

‘’Twas about the queen, Sir, and her safety.’

He glanced up for an instant. ‘Not that again.’

‘But it seems most important to me, Sir, and in my childhood I often had dreams which …’

His attention returned once more to the book and he began tracing along a line of strange symbols with his fingers. ‘I’ve already heard these attempts to draw attention to yourself. I’ll have you know that there’s no more money forthcoming.’

‘I don’t speak for the sake of money, Sir, but for love of our queen!’ I said with some indignation.

‘Begone!’ he said. ‘Or I shall do what Mr Kelly suggests and dismiss you from the house.’

I opened my mouth to speak further but then gave up and turned away. I’d realised that it was just as I’d thought all along: that it was only the dreams of the wealthy and powerful that were significant; the dreams of servant girls were as nothing.

Another day went by before I could get out to try to see Isabelle, and by that time I’d had the dream again, exactly as before. But I couldn’t find her at the market that morning and was told by a woman selling pies that she was at home, boiling up candle ends, and would be there on the morrow.

Another night meant another dream, every detail the same as before, and it came to me that I was going to continue having this dream until I acted upon it. Until I acted on it – or until something terrible happened to the queen …

Going to market the following morning I found Isabelle at her usual spot near the well and selling not cabbages nor lavender wands, but wax candles made from scraps and stub-ends of the old. ‘White wax candles for one ha’penny!’ she was calling. ‘Light your way with fine white candles!’

I smiled as I approached her. ‘If a maid waited long enough, she would find you selling everything she ever wanted to buy.’

She laughed, patted the box beside her and I sat down. ‘Is all well with you?’ she asked with some concern. ‘You look very pale.’

‘I do feel somewhat strange,’ I admitted. And I told her about the dreams concerning the queen, and how I felt I should do something,
longed
to do something, but couldn’t think what this should be. ‘I’ve tried to speak to Dr Dee,’ I said, ‘but now that he no longer needs me for his masque, he hardly bothers to acknowledge my presence in a room, much less listens to me.’

‘What are you going to do, then?’

I shrugged. ‘What indeed?’

‘Maybe you should take heed of the dreams and go and warn the queen.’

I looked at her and could not help but laugh. ‘Oh, of course! I’ll go to the palace to seek an audience. The queen will receive me graciously and offer refreshment, and then I’ll tell her the whole story.’

‘That may be the only way,’ Isabelle said seriously. She closed her eyes for a moment as if she was thinking
hard. ‘Are you sure you aren’t cursed with the Sight?’

I shook my head and then looked at her sideways, somewhat embarrassed to confess. ‘But – well, I have sometimes dreamed of things which later came true,’ I admitted.

‘You have?’

‘As a child, yes.’

‘So what if coming to live in the magician’s house has somehow enhanced that gift.’

I stared at her. ‘There is another thing: I share the same birthday as Alice Vaizey,’ I said.

‘Which surely means there is a further link between you – that is, if those astrologers who cast birth charts are right.’

I was silent, thinking. ‘We have a wise fool living in our hamlet,’ Isabelle confided, ‘an old woman who sometimes speaks perfect sense and at other times babbles without meaning. Once she told me that the spirits of the dead are unable to leave the earth if they still have work to do on it.’

I looked at her with some considerable interest.

‘What if Alice Vaizey, feeling that the queen is in danger, is unable to move on to a higher state?’ she asked.

‘Might such a thing be possible?’

‘I’ve heard it said that the veil between this world and the next is but wafer thin, and that sometimes – in times of need – it can disappear altogether. Perhaps,
by pretending to be Alice Vaizey, you’ve somehow attracted her spirit to yours. Perhaps she’s trying to speak through you.’

‘Through me …’

‘Isn’t that just what Mr Kelly does – gives the dead voices? They talk through him, do they not?’

‘He says so.’ I thought about this fantastical supposition for a moment. ‘Even so, what can I do?’ I asked helplessly. And then added, ‘Unless I could write and tell the queen that I believe her life to be in danger …’

Isabelle shrugged. ‘Her life is permanently in danger from those who would put her cousin on the throne. Besides, you and I are not capable of penning a letter which would merit the queen’s attention. ’Twould just be dismissed as the ravings of a mad person.’

I sighed. ‘And neither do I own parchment nor pen.’

‘So you will have to go and seek an audience with her!’

‘And how should I do that?’

‘There’s a way,’ she said, ‘for every Sunday when Her Grace is in residence in Richmond she passes through the Presence Chamber, and it’s there that the public gather to petition her or just to look upon her and see some of the wonders of her reign: the fine tapestries, paintings and furniture she’s collected.’

‘I’ve heard of that,’ I said. ‘But can anyone go? Could
I
go?’

She nodded. ‘Of course. And you’d not be alone, for I’d go with you. I’ve long wanted to see inside the palace!’

‘So I’d try to speak to her …’ The whole idea was exceeding alarming. But then, if I ever again wanted to have a sound night’s sleep without dreams of death, it seemed that I might have to attend on the queen at Richmond Palace.

During the next week, Alice Vaizey stole into my head at every opportunity. I dreamed of her at night and she crept up on me during the day, whether I was playing with the children, scouring the pots with sand or listening to Mistress Midge berate some poor tradesman or other. I could hear her voice whispering in the trees, ‘
Alas, poor Alice
’, or pleading, ‘
Save my lady!
’ within the clip-clop rhythm of the hooves of passing horses. She had entered my life and did not seem inclined to move from it.

The days were growing shorter, the weather danker, and despite the various tonics which cook had prepared, Mistress Dee seemed not to be improving. To stir her from her lethargy, therefore, Mistress Midge proposed that she should take an excursion to see her mother, the dowager, who still lived in the family house in Greenwich. Even this might not have stirred her, but
for the fact that Mistress Midge also suggested that the babe be brought from his wet nurse so that he, along with his sisters, could visit his maternal grandmother. Dr Dee was to go as well, which rather surprised me, but I heard from the children that Mr Kelly had gone to Nottinghamshire to scry for lost treasure, so presumed that my employer must have time on his hands.

A boat and waterman were hired, for the journey to Greenwich was to be made by river, and it was arranged that they would travel on the Saturday and come back late on the Monday. The boat was just large enough for five, so the only servant going would be Mistress Allen. This was very good news for me, for it meant that I’d be able to go on my own excursion.

I asked Mistress Midge for the Sunday off, telling her that I was going to try and set eyes on the queen and see her fine possessions, and she didn’t demur at this, no doubt thinking of the cronies she’d have over to gossip and share a few mugs of ale with while the house was empty.

In the market place on Friday, Isabelle and I made final plans. What we should wear was the most consuming question, for people went in their costliest gowns and jewellery and competed with each other as to who could look the wealthiest and most fashionable. She said, too, that the palace guards were fussy about who was allowed through the gates and kept out beggars, the poorer sort and anyone who smelled.

I giggled, sniffing the air. ‘Then today they wouldn’t
allow you in!’ I said, for that day she was selling herrings from a basket. These herrings, unfortunately, had come downriver from the city in a barge and taken a day or so in the travelling, so were not at their freshest.

She looked at me impishly. ‘But this is a goodly catch, for I’ve bought the herrings ten for a penny and am selling them at a penny each!’ She continued, ‘And I shall scrub my hands with soapwort tonight, rub them afterwards with rose water, and tomorrow be dressed as fine as everyone else.’

I laughed, for a moment forgetting the seriousness of my mission. ‘And so shall I!’

‘We’ll see some excellent sights, Lucy,’ she continued, ‘for people going to the palace will do anything in order to be noticed by Her Grace. They say the very sight of the clothes and jewels worn is dazzling to the eyes.’