Maid of Deception (31 page)

I had all of ten minutes to compose myself as we stalked through the halls of Windsor Castle in the dead of night, heading God-only-knew-where. Meg and Jane might have whiled away countless hours wandering the castle, mapping its every inch, but I’d never taken the time to learn much of what they’d discovered. I’d been too busy dancing and flirting and ferreting out secrets held within the
rooms
of Windsor Castle to pay much attention to the actual
walls
of the place.

Now I felt the dry clutch of panic seize my throat, and for once it was for someone other than myself or my own family. I found I didn’t much like it. With my own family there was a sense that no matter what, we could get ourselves out of a scrape—be it financial, legal, royal, or otherwise. The lot of us had always been fast talkers, and we knew the power of a well-timed compromise. We’d suffered with poor grace, perhaps, but we’d suffered with a purpose: because we believed that eventually we would be back on top.

With someone like Sophia Dee there was no such assurance. She was alone, save for the wardship of John Dee and
her betrothal to Lord Brighton. Dee had not shown his face at Windsor for an age, and with my actions of this evening, Sophia was quite effectively un-betrothed. This was what the Queen had meant by saying I had harmed Sophia’s prospects, certainly. But how could I have known the girl was in actual danger?

My mind skipped over all the possibilities even as we paused at a doorway I’d never really noticed before, a door that really seemed much more wall than passageway. Two guards now stood on either side of it, but I couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone quite positioned in that exact spot. In any event, the door stood wide now and revealed a curving stone staircase that led down and away from civilization.

The Queen lifted up her skirts and glided through the doorway, leaving me no choice but to follow.

What is it she wants me to say?
I wondered as we twisted our way down into the bowels of the castle. It smelled curiously wetter the farther we descended, as if we would come out into some ancient cavern dripping with dew. Instead the stairs opened into a reasonably sized stone chamber—mercifully dry—with rushes on the floor that looked like they’d lain there for at least half a century. There were a few wooden chairs scattered around the room and a long table pushed up against one side, but the main attraction of the chamber was not its furniture but the six men in hoods who stood at attention as we entered. They bowed to the Queen, murmuring their greetings and—shockingly—she curtsied back.

This was bad.

The Queen could use a curtsy to coy and flirtatious
effect, it is true, but a curtsy was also an acknowledgment of power, one to another. You did not curtsy to underlings. And to a Queen, anyone other than another monarch was an underling.

I somehow doubted that we had lined up six kings of the Continent before us. So who were these people and what power did they wield, to command such respect?

I lifted my chin under the combined scrutiny of the men beneath their shadowy hoods, moving my gaze from one to the other. I could not identify any of them by height alone, and their peaked hoods looked like the stuff of nightmares. I suspected they were men of the cloth . . . but not priests, exactly. The Queen would never have troubled herself over the censure of the Church.

Her richest lords, however, would be a far different story. But if these were her richest lords, then I should know them. I peered into the gloom, trying to see through both cowls and shadows.

“Thank you for meeting with us, Your Majesty.” The first man’s voice was slickly insinuating. It slithered out into the space between us and coiled there, like a snake ready to strike. “You do honor to our service to rid the realm of those who would bear false witness against God.” He paused, breathing for a moment as we waited. “But who is this you bring with you into our presence, when we seek only to question you?”

“You seek it, and yet you dare
not
question me,” the Queen said. Her words were regal but mild, and the more damning because of it. “I am your Queen. Therefore, I can be questioned by no one except Parliament, on punishment of death
to my accusers. I daresay you do not represent Parliament, so surely you see the problem here?”

Silence greeted her words, and in that moment even I could have cheered Elizabeth. This was not a woman to be cowed by those who skulked around in cloaks and hoods. These men had believed they would force her to the question? They were learning their mistake.

Of course, if she wasn’t going to answer questions, then . . . who would?

“Beatrice Knowles is dedicated in service to me and to the Crown.” The Queen supplied my answer for me. “You may ask her any questions in my stead. She has complete knowledge of the subject, having been a part of my retinue since I took the throne.”

“She is a worthy witness.” This came from the fourth man in line, a fatter man whose girth strained his simple black robe. “I have seen her with the girl.”

“Very well,” the snake-voiced man oozed. “Then it shall be our pleasure to see her serve God.” I felt his gaze upon me intensify. “On your knees, girl.”

I stiffened, looking at the Queen in alarm. I saw her mouth tighten, but she nodded, once.
Of all the insufferable, idiotic, ridiculous . . .

I stifled a sigh as Snake Voice drew in a sharp breath to deliver a reprimand, and I knelt on the floor. The Knowleses had never been a devoutly religious family, although we followed all the forms of whatever faith the Crown preferred. This had gotten a little more challenging over the last several years, but at least all the royal faiths had one thing in
common: They loved to make their adherents kneel. I’d gotten quite good at the process, learning how to keep my back straight, my head lifted. And I had the advantage of voluminous skirts, which I deftly folded over so that my knees would not bruise on the dusty floor. I rued the ruination of the silk, but I’d find a way to eke the money out of the Crown another way.

Before I’d fully settled myself, the questions began.

“Where did you meet Sophia Dee?” Snake Voice slithered. “How long have you known her?”

“I met her in early December, my lord,” I said, pleased at the sound of my voice as it cascaded off the close walls. “I had not met her before.”

“She was not a member of court?”

“No. I served under Queen Mary, and in the court of her brother, King Edward, as well.”

“Half brother,” rasped another man, I think standing at the far end. I inclined my head.

“Half brother,” I agreed. I thought about saying more, but held my tongue. When you are being questioned by curs in hoods, it’s best not to betray too much, lest you betray yourself.

“And the girl appeared in early December—how?”

“I had been chosen as a maid of honor to the Queen upon the death of her sis—half sister, Mary. Late last year I came to Whitehall Palace to serve the Queen. While I was there, I was present when Sophia Dee, ward to her uncle, John Dee, came visiting. The Queen chose her as a maid of honor as well.” The mention of John Dee was met with thick
disapproval, and I fought to keep myself from rolling my eyes. The Queen’s astrologer might have been a few bricks shy of a sturdy keep, but he was one of the smartest and most learned men in England. He had tutored Elizabeth on all manner of sciences, and his library at Mortlake housed a collection of books that was quickly on its way to becoming the most celebrated intellectual treasure in all of Christendom. He was
not
a threat.

“Why did the Queen choose her?” came the next sharp question.

I paused for just a moment, as in truth I’d wondered the same thing in the early days. “I—I believe the Queen pitied her,” I said, gratified to feel the change in the temperament of the woman beside me. The Queen would not look at me, but she clearly marked my careful words. “Sophia Dee was painfully shy, quiet, and all but forgotten in the care of her uncle. The Queen sought to put her to work, that she might serve worthily in the new royal court.”

“Hmmph.” Snake Voice mulled that over a bit. “And how does she spend her days?”

“She fetches. She sews. She studies languages and music and dance. She takes her meals with the other maids and ladies. But most of all she serves the Queen.” I thought it prudent to avoid mention of our select group’s study into poisons, garroting, and thievery. As spies to the Queen, we’d traded embroidery for espionage most of our days, and Sophia had taken these lessons alongside us. She was quick-witted and sly, and could almost disappear into any room she entered. But those were not the attributes of a
polite young woman of the court, so I had no intention of sharing them.

Snake Voice must have sensed my hesitation. “Your response here must be utter truth, on penalty that you sin against both God and England,” he said, edging forward toward me. I could smell the scent of sweet smoke around him, like incense laced with opium, and I felt my resolve harden. Another addict . . . and a telling weakness that I might be able to use one day. He was breathing heavily, and I recognized the dry sound that I had not been able to place before.

My mother breathed like that.

“Does Sophia Dee worship Satan?” hissed Snake Voice, and the intensity of his question brought my focus sharply back to him. “Does she study his black arts?”

“Sophia Dee worships God and serves the Queen,” I said solidly. “No one else.”

“You’re not answering the full question, girl.” This voice was almost melodic after Snake Voice’s snarl, and I tilted my head to discern where it originated. The man next to Snake Voice, as thin as a sapling, stood hunched in his robes as if he were constantly apologizing for being a bit too tall for any room he occupied. “Does Sophia Dee partake in any activities that are unnatural—be they scrying, praying to false icons, concocting potions or brews to heal the sick or harm the healthy, or studying the mystical arts? Does she consort with other false prophets, Egyptians, or heretics, even if for the purported purpose of academic study? Her uncle is a great scholar and mathematician, and a professed student of
the arcane, though he has proven his devotion to God. There would be no surprise in her working alongside him to expand her own knowledge. What know you of any of this?”

I know that you are the real danger in this group
. However, I also knew that the best lies were ones seeded with truth, and that these men had not come idly by their questions. Sophia had been raised by a man considered by many to be a heretic and blasphemer, the stepson of Satan. She’d been in the man’s house, she’d studied in his library. And, let’s be plain, Sophia was not exactly the most normal of people, even on her best day. I considered my next words carefully but quickly, as too much of a pause was worse than none at all.

“Sophia was John Dee’s ward, and as such she was well aware of her uncle’s interest in the mystical arts,” I said. “She learned to be a very quiet girl, as he studied all the time. She learned to exist without much social interaction, and so now crowds disconcert her and she prefers to work alone on her embroidery above all things. She is an indifferent reader, and shows no inclination to texts on religion or spirituality. She is a devout Protestant, however, and a dutiful servant of God.” This last bit jarred against my own ears, and I smiled to smooth it over. “Sophia Dee is very humble and quiet, my lords. If you wanted me to name ten people in the court who might be heretics, I could—but she would not be one of them.”

“What is this?” Another of the men, hitherto silent, perked up at the idea of other courtiers to interrogate.

“Who?” chimed in the last man, shuffling forward eagerly.

“We are not here to discuss anyone but Sophia Dee,” the Queen retorted, her voice like iron. “You have asked your questions, and been answered. Are you satisfied?”

“We will not be satisfied until the realm is rid of those who are a crime against God,” Snake Voice replied. “Be careful that you do not go too far with your policies of tolerance that you allow the derelicts of spirit to gain power in England, Your Majesty. You must remain ever vigilant. We serve as your watchers, but we are also watching you.”

“And exactly what do you mean by that?” The Queen’s voice had turned as chill as death. “Your threats do you no service here.”

“Threats have no place with a daughter of God such as yourself,” the tall man interjected smoothly. It was a verbal set-down to Snake Voice, who visibly stiffened as if he might have been swallowing his own forked tongue. “We seek only to ensure that your reign be both long and fruitful, that you might serve as Gloriana for decades to come.”

“Mm.” Gloriana wasn’t fully mollified, but as usual, flattery was the best avenue to her good graces. “Then you would do well to curb your dog.” The tall man merely inclined his head. Nobody seemed to notice that I was still kneeling on the stones. I didn’t dare look in the direction of Snake Voice, but I could feel his hatred emanating out through the room. Surely the Queen could feel it as well. “Are we finished?” she demanded.

“For now, my Queen,” the tall man said. “For now.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE