Maid of Deception (33 page)

Instead they eased me down onto my bed and drew the covers up close. “Hush now,” Anna said, laying a cool hand to my brow. “Morning will be here soon enough, and you are too tired to think. We will protect you this night, Beatrice, so set your thoughts away.”

I stared at her another moment, the urge to laugh bubbling up in the back of my throat. They couldn’t protect me—nobody could protect me. Not from the Queen, not from myself. And not from what I had to do.

No one could protect me anymore.

A moment later I was asleep.

I woke the next morning with the kind of start that had me sitting upright in my pallet before I was fully aware of my surroundings, gasping and whirling, ready to do battle. A thin, reedy light streamed in from our high windows, announcing that dawn, at least, had awakened before I had.

Well, not only dawn.

Four sets of eyes now regarded me in varying states of repose. Jane, as ever, sat up on her pallet, her back against the wall. On our first day at Windsor, she’d dragged her bed over to the wall facing the door of our room, and I doubted she ever truly slept for longer than a few hours at a time. Meg and Anna were still curled up in their covers, awake but trying to convince themselves that they could still take their rest with their eyes open. And Sophia sat fully dressed, her hands in her lap. I darted a glance down at those small white fingers, worrying her obsidian jewel, and then up again to her eyes.

Swallowing, I nodded to her. “Good morning, Sophia,” I said. “I have so much to share with you.”

She stilled then, and in her hand the ball of obsidian rolled and spun. “I—” She hesitated. “I know, Beatrice,” she said in her quiet voice. “I felt so nervous, when you didn’t return. We all of us were frightened, and I—I could not bear the not knowing anymore.” She gave a little shrug, and the
ball in her fingers rolled and rolled. “I am so glad that you are safe.”

“I am safe,” I said. But I found myself staring at the gorgeous black orb glinting against Sophia’s white fingertips.
What does she mean, she could not bear the not knowing? How could she—

And then it hit me.

Sophia had turned the obsidian stone into a showstone. Somehow, some way, she had figured out how to use the large black crystal for scrying, as the old Traveler woman had doubtlessly intended.

In doing this, however, Sophia had committed a crime against the church—and I knew suddenly that this crime would not be her only transgression, and that this path might well be her undoing in the coming months and years. She had decided to use her gifts.

“Well, what is it, then?” Anna asked, yawning broadly. “There is so much that went on last night, I suspect you scarce know where to begin.”

“First and perhaps most important . . . ,” I began, and hid my own wince. My second sentence of the day, and already I was lying. Not an auspicious start. “I expect the Queen will later today quietly and firmly advise Lord Brighton that he will not remain betrothed to our Sophia.”

Sophia smiled beatifically, as Meg clapped her hands. “Bravo!” Meg said. “It was a masterful play, Beatrice, and I doubt that few took note of your part in it.” Her expression turned a little coy. “Other than Alasdair, of course.”

“He did more than take note,” scoffed Jane. “He took
Beatrice right on out to the North Terrace.” She glanced at me, an unusual curiosity in her eyes. “It was a bit chilly out on that terrace, I should think.”

“It was at that,” was all I allowed, trained well enough to stay the blushes that would have climbed up an ordinary maiden’s cheeks. “Unfortunately—and I may as well let you know this, since you’ll hear it soon enough—the Queen has decided that there’s more I might get out of Alasdair as his betrothed than simply as his conquest. She plans to announce our intention to wed as soon as it is politically expedient to do so.”

That stone landed with a thud in the middle of our small group, so shocking that silence ringed the room for one long second. . . .

Then two.

Then everyone started speaking at once. “Your intention to wed!” Anna exclaimed, catching up her hands to her breast. “You cannot be serious!” Her eyes were both shocked and intrigued, in that curious way of Anna’s that allowed any twist of fortune to be better endured as long as romance played a part in it. “He’s nowhere near the man of political standing that Lord Cavanaugh is.”

“But he’s several times more the actual man,” Jane put in, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

“Is this some sort of new political ploy the Queen is testing?” Meg asked, tilting her head as her agile mind jumped through the drama Elizabeth was about to unravel for her court. “She seems to be making a game of it with all the men she’s been setting up in betrothals, only to knock them
down again. I cannot think Alasdair will take kindly to her machinations—unless he first approached her to ask for your hand?”

“Hardly,” I said, snorting. “Alasdair MacLeod is many things, but a man willing to prostrate himself before the Queen to ask for an Englisher’s hand is not one of them. And to your question about political plotting, Meg, I have to think it’s exactly that.” Well, I knew it was exactly that. The Queen wanted me close enough to pry off a scrap of cloth from the Scot that was probably no more sacred than his torn trunk hose. Still, that was the only political merit to this betrothal. A marriage between one beggared noblewoman and an unmanageable Scot would not prove anything to anyone about the predisposition of England toward its neighbor to the north, and the Queen had to know that. So that left me with a balder truth: As far as Elizabeth was concerned, I was sure, the true value of this betrothal was that it might merely serve to ruin my life.

Bankrupt my family.

Shame my name.

No wonder she liked the idea.

But, though I could never share this, there were other issues with a marriage to Alasdair. It put me in the path of the one man who could cause my heart to beat like a clatter of stones, my hands to sweat, my eyes to fill with tears, and my breath to come fitfully between my lips, like he was both poison and cure in one heady form. I could not predict Alasdair—I could not guess his movements or prepare for his words, and I could no longer trust myself around him
without sharing too much. It made the idea of spying on him absolutely ludicrous.

I still had a chance to set things right, however. I could get her the Fairy Flag, but since I didn’t believe the thing actually existed, that was a problem. I explained the flag to the other maids, and they promised to keep a sharp eye for the relic, but I did not hold much hope for that. However, if I could find out what Alasdair’s role was within the Scottish delegation and the Lords of the Congregation, then perhaps the Queen would lose interest in this insane betrothal and allow me to find some other man who could protect my family and preserve my name. Someone who could never touch my heart, let alone break it. Yes, surely that was the wiser course.

Surely.

We discussed the rest of the evening’s events—my conversation with the Queen about the Lords of the Congregation, her orders for us not to share our confidences with her advisors. This development did not sit well with any of us. We took our orders from the Queen, of course, but Cecil and Walsingham were around us constantly. If they knew we were holding back, they could make—and had made—our lives extremely uncomfortable. And yes, of course, we were all trained liars, but so were they. And they’d been perfecting the art longer than we had.

I did not tell my fellow maids about the questioning. I would eventually, I was fairly certain. They needed to be aware of everything that took place within Windsor’s walls. We never knew who would be targeted next. But I owed it
to Sophia to let her know first the full extent of the danger she faced. She’d gathered some of it, I thought. At least that was what I’d assumed when I’d seen the shock in her eyes as she’d worried her obsidian stone. But she couldn’t know the details, and she needed to. She needed to understand her accusers, even if I could give her no accounting of what they actually looked like.

The day began in earnest then, and we maids dispersed to our daily chores and requirements.

Anna and Meg were off to our old schoolroom, where they’d been poring over the books Anna had stolen from John Dee’s library. Anna had quickly learned that Meg’s unique ability for memory made her a valuable ally in the study of ancient texts. Anna had but to make a notation aloud, and Meg not only remembered it but was able to recite it back to her at the close of the session.

Jane retreated to the guards’ quarters, where she was learning the arts of fighting with her feet as well as her hands.

Sophia, like myself, was due in the Queen’s chambers. But I had no interest in hastening my immersion in the plots of the court this morning. Especially since I was likely to be the primary topic of conversation. And I did still need to speak with Sophia.

“Walk with me?” I suggested, even as we bid our good-byes to the other girls. Sophia nodded quickly, her morning ensemble a quiet gown of dove-grey silk. I would miss seeing her being outfitted in the latest style from her father/betrothed, Lord Brighton, but of course she could not go on accepting gifts from him if they were no longer to be wed.

We set out, keeping far away from the common area. Once again I wished that Jane and Meg had prevailed upon me to learn more of the secret passages through the castle. I knew the one to the Queen’s chamber, of course, and the one that led to the exterior of the castle walls. But neither of those appealed—they were too close to everywhere we did not want to be.

So we ducked into the Blue Room, and I made quick work of checking the tapestries. Sophia went to the windows that looked out onto the North Terrace, and opened them wide. A playful breeze skittered in, with just the tiniest bite to it. Winter would be drawing down all too soon, I knew. But at least we could breathe in the fresh air in this room, preserved from the elements.

Sophia paused a moment there, her eyes far to the north. “What troubles you, Beatrice?”

I hesitated. The Queen had forbidden me to speak of what had transpired between myself and the six hooded Questioners, but if Sophia herself had seen aught of it, well . . . that was another thing entirely, was it not? “Why don’t you tell me my troubles?” I asked gently.

Sophia bit her lip. “Six men in hoods?” I nodded, and she swallowed. “They questioned you. A-about me.”

I nodded again, and she put her hands to her ears. “It is coming to pass—it is coming to pass,” she hissed. “Oh, Beatrice, there is danger all around!”

“The Queen has no interest in your being singled out by these men, Sophia,” I said firmly, wanting to ease her however I could. “She will not allow them access to you.”
Only to me,
I thought. “But you must have a care. You have spent your entire life in the house of John Dee, and he has enemies.”

“I have not spent my entire life with him.” Sophia’s eyes were fixed on the wide forest, and I paused to consider her words. She had been taken from a loving father and mother—by whom? And given to Dee—why? The story at court was that Sophia was Dee’s niece, but what was the truth of the matter?

Then Sophia disrupted my thoughts by turning to me in a rush. “Can you teach me, Beatrice?” she asked. “Can you teach me to stand like you, to walk like you, as if no one can reach you and no one should try? Can you show me how to be a lady in this court with cool assurance, and how to not act”—her voice broke on her final word—“fey?”

“Of course,” I said immediately, though in truth I was shocked by the question. Shocked and . . . more than a little intrigued. Anna could delight in romance, Jane in death. I’d take court politics anyday. “And Anna can teach you how to respond to your questioners—be they official or otherwise, while Meg can teach you how to read the crowd, to know their actions before they even know them themselves.” I smiled a little, thinking on it. “And if all else fails, I think Jane now knows how to kill someone with her toes.”

“Oh, thank you.” Sophia sighed, then seemed to gather strength. She looked at me in the way I had come to associate with one of her trances, but before I could bring her back to reality, words began spilling out of her. “You are far more gracious to me than you have any idea. A light will follow you where’r you roam. I don’t care what I see around you; I refuse
to believe it. There is no way so much fear and crushing sadness will surround someone so strong as you.” With that, she bounced back and hugged herself, then turned and fled the room—though, where she was going, I could not fathom. I suspected not even she could say. Hopefully she’d end up in the Queen’s chambers, however. Eventually.

Still, I stared after the girl, stupefied, until I finally found the voice to speak into the now empty space.

“Fear and crushing sadness?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I was making my way to the Queen’s chambers when Walsingham intercepted me in the hallway.

“Lady Beatrice,” he said formally, bowing to me in full view of the guards. “Walk with me?”

“But of course, Sir Francis.” I took his proffered arm and fell into step with him, not at all surprised when he angled me away from the Queen’s apartments, though more than a little chagrined. I was not quite up to an interrogation this early in the morning, especially by someone so skilled at the art. As if sensing my discomfort, Walsingham patted my hand with almost fatherly commiseration.