Maid of Secrets (16 page)

“It’s all I can think of anymore,” I said. So far, I’d not spoken of Marie to any of our small group except Sophia. Her death was a mystery I had to puzzle out without tipping my hand, at least until I had a real lead.

Sophia nodded. “I knew the guards would find her that night—or, I should say, I was not surprised when they discovered her,” she amended quickly, her cheeks going pink as she caught me staring at her in surprise. “I dreamed it, I think. Before it happened.”

I felt my eyes go even wider. This was new information
to me. “You dreamed it, Sophia? As part of your gift? Why didn’t you say anything?”

She gave a pretty shrug, dismissing her own abilities. “Mine is no gift worth wanting.”

I thought of my own skills, and the flaw that the Queen had so callously assigned me. “Sometimes we don’t get to choose our gifts,” I said, and she sighed.

“But my dreams don’t always come true. They
never
did when I was a child. And most still don’t, in fact, so it would do me no good to share what is so often false—or to claim a skill where none exists.”

She fell silent, and we walked a few steps more. Then she continued speaking quietly, as if she were talking to herself, not to me. “I dreamed about Marie three days before . . . before it happened,” she said. “A horrible dream that I remembered too well. I was so frightened! Then nothing happened for a bit, and I thought it was another false vision. I even thought to warn Marie, but . . . ” She looked away quickly, and my heart twisted. When you couldn’t trust your own instincts, what could you trust at all?

Sophia shook her head. “When the alarm went up that Marie had been found, I knew how it had happened exactly. Or I believed I did. But several days passed without any word on her killer. So once again I feared that I’d been wrong.”

I felt my breath quicken. “Can you remember your dream about Marie Claire? Can you share it with me?”

She bit her lip. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”

I nodded. I’d never been more certain of anything in my life.

“Well, it’s just . . . ” Sophia stopped, her head tilted, apparently unaware of the odd pose she struck. I glanced
around to see if anyone was paying attention, but the cloisters were blessedly empty. Then Sophia began to rock a little, and I looked at her in alarm. Rocking I could cover, even a little humming. But if she started screaming or bleating like a sheep, I didn’t know what I’d do.

Then Sophia began to speak, and her voice was startlingly different and gorgeously lyrical, almost like a bard’s. The words that tumbled out of her rooted me to the ground.

“Great excitement marked her steps.

She was moving fast,

The kind of pace that starts with ease

But can never last.”

I blinked rapidly, focusing on Sophia’s mouth, on the words washing over and through me. Something powerful was happening here, something almost magical. I knew I had to memorize Sophia’s words exactly. There’d be time to understand them later.

“The darkness came down far too quick,

A light put out, she turned.

Her face, it spoke of sly delight,

The power of what she’d learned.

But then he bore down swift and still,

His hands about her neck.

His blade it flashed into the night,

No pity or regret.

His task was only that she died.

His cuts, howe’er, were those of pride.

And as he stole away, he smiled,

His light eyes dead, his dark hair wild.”

Sophia stopped talking, and in the sudden silence I felt as if a chasm had opened up between us. She looked at me, a blush crawling up her cheeks.

“That’s it, I’m afraid,” she said quietly, her voice dropping back into normal cadence. “I know it makes no sense—it was a dream, nothing more.”

I fought to keep the excitement from my voice, drew her hand back into mine, and started walking again with her. “You’ve told no one else this? Not Cecil or Walsingham?” I asked.

“No one at all,” she said, biting her lip. “It offered no real clues, other than the light eyes and dark hair—and that could be any of a hundred men.”

“But from what you say, she
knew
the man who attacked her,” I said. “She smiled at him, let him get close. And she was clearly coming from somewhere specific, still flush with excitement from what she’d learned.”
What had you overheard, Marie? What had you learned?

Sophia was unconvinced. “There is too much that can be discredited,” she said. “I can only recall it in verse. It sounds like a bad play. No one will ever believe me.”

I snorted. “I know far more about bad plays than you do.” I quirked a smile. “Heavens, I know a certain troupe master who’d put you to work tomorrow if he could get you to write whole plays in rhyming schemes. Much easier to memorize that way.”

Sophia laughed wistfully, and the look she gave me was far too wise for one so young. “I’m afraid I’m not meant for traveling theatre troupes. You’ve no idea how lucky you are, Meg, to have lived the life you have.”

“Your life’s not over yet,” I said, squeezing her arm. I thought of Cecil’s excitement as I’d recounted the conversation between de Feria and Rafe. I thought of Walsingham and his careful eyes and deceptive manner, his many twisting demands. These were men who thought of us as tools, Sophia included. But neither the Queen nor her advisors would marry off a
useful
tool. “If your dream helps lead us to Marie’s attacker, then your gift is something rare indeed. I doubt Cecil and Walsingham would allow you to leave the court for wedded bliss, with such a gift as that.”

Sophia frowned at me, then sudden comprehension dawned, bright in her eyes. She clasped her hands together like the child she still was, and my heart twisted again. Who in their right mind could marry this girl off to a man such as Lord Brighton!

“I—I would do anything, Meg, anything to remain here, and not cause anyone harm.” She swallowed, looking around. She moved closer to me, and I took her hand in mine again, two careless maids going for a stroll through the Middle Ward. “I fear for Lord Brighton’s safety,” she confessed in low tones.

I still could not quite reconcile this idea, and it made me impatient. “It’s not Lord Brighton I’m afraid for. It’s you.”

“No, no.” She shook her head resolutely. “He is in danger—I can feel it. But I just don’t know why.”

Maybe Jane is planning to poison him?
The thought gave me
unaccountable cheer. “Well, do not worry about it,” I said with conviction. “You won’t be marrying anyone, anytime soon.”

“You’re sure?” Sophia asked hopefully, and I thought inexplicably of Tommy Farrow, all morning-bright eyes and tow-headed trouble. How long ago it seemed since I had seen the boy . . . or his gallant troupe master. And where would they be now?

We passed under the archway of the Norman Gate and into the Upper Ward, the more private area of the castle grounds welcoming us home. I realized that I was no longer sure of anything in this place, especially for a girl as remarkable as Sophia. I couldn’t change her fate any more than I could my own. I should have told her she had better chance trusting in the stars than to trust me. I was only one petty thief, up against the whole Queen’s court.

“I’m sure,” I said instead.

“Go for his eyes!”

I heard the barked command, but I was already punching my assailant’s nose. He deflected me with a grunt of anger and unleashed a torrent of blows. He was stronger than me by far; I would never win this. Instead I crouched low and leaped toward my attacker, wrapping my hands around his waist and slipping behind him in one swift move. I straightened, pulled my arms up and clasped tight, kicking out his knees. As he dropped, I repositioned my arms around his neck and clenched him in an iron grip. He flailed at me, fingers stretching for my eyes now, and I tucked my head down then tightened, tightened, tightened until he spit with rage and pounded the dirt floor.

“Again!”

I rolled away to the right and he to the left, and then both of us staggered up. The guard eyed me malevolently. His nose was already streaming with blood from the last round’s direct hit, and I couldn’t blame him for being irritated. In the corner, the short, stout fight master conferred with Cecil, then sent Jane jogging across the small space.

Wonderful.
I blew a strand of hair out of my eyes, reluctantly getting into ready position. “What now?” I asked grumpily. Jane routinely beat the stuffing out of me, and I was already tired. It felt like we’d been at this for hours. I slid my gaze to where Anna, Beatrice, and even little Sophia were working on clawing their attackers’ eyes out, the guards wearing protective masks against the girls’ nails. “I’ll go for his eyes next time, I promise.”

“You never go for his eyes,” Jane retorted.

“Attack!” shouted the fight master.

We came together then, blocking and thrusting with the short, jabbing punches that would be our only defense in a fight. We were strong, but we were women. We would neither outweigh nor outmuscle a man, but we could hold our own if we were shrewd.

Jane cracked me on the skull, making my head ring, then darted back again. She was faster than I ever wanted to be, I decided, but there was nothing for it. I was not a killer; I was not a thug.

You don’t know who you really are,
I heard the Queen’s voice accusing me.

Jane came at me again, and I slipped away barely in time, managing to land a glancing blow as we shifted our positions once more. Breath was coming fitfully for me now, and I blew out hard as I lifted my arms, my wrapped fingers already swollen.

“You’re distracted,” she said harshly. “Drift, and you die in something like this, Meg. You know that.”

Anger flashed through me. Since Sophia had told me about her dreams three days earlier, I’d spent every free
moment listening at doors and skulking in corners, trying to find out more about Marie’s untimely death. I now had several theories about who might have been staging the court disruptions that so irked the Queen: a member of the Spanish delegation, an Englishman with Spanish connections, an Englishman with Catholic sympathies, or simply an Englishman who intensely disliked his new Queen. That didn’t much decrease my number of suspects, and I was no closer to finding Marie’s killer. I felt time was running out, the sands in the hourglass at a constant pour. If I was going to put any of the girls in danger, it would be Jane. She could take care of herself better than most. “I have learned—possibly—some new information,” I said, my words sharp whispers in between swings. “About Marie. And her killer.”

Jane grunted, her swing going wide but the movement carrying her close to me. She went for my throat, and we grappled together until she slid around me. “Good. That death has gone too long un-avenged.” She pulled me back, exposing my neck.
Uh-oh.
“We can talk here,” she said. “What did you learn?”

“Wait!” I lifted my hands and gripped her shoulder while hurling myself forward. We somersaulted off the woven-rush mat and to the straw-covered floor, breaking apart easily. No one noticed, and we sat for just a moment as if we were merely discussing the finer points of strangulation.

“Two things,” I said. “First, I’ve learned that Marie’s attacker was in fact male, and I suspect he was known to her. He was aware of her work with the Crown, was possibly an informant. Light eyes, darker hair. Emotional. Proud.
Operating under some kind of vendetta against her or against . . . something. The killing was not strictly professional. He was glad to do it.” I paused. “And this I’m less certain of but still believe to be true: I suspect that whoever did the killing is also behind the disruptions we’ve experienced in the court. Certainly the theft of the baubles and the soaking of the women’s gowns.”

“Why?” Jane asked, glancing to me sharply. “There is a fair distance between petty theft and murder.”

“But the same result, in the end. The court in disarray, just to a greater degree. And it is the women of the court who were targeted.” I paused, considering. “How many days did it take to quell the speculation about Marie’s death? I certainly heard nothing of it.”

Jane tilted her head, considering. “A fortnight, nothing more. The story was passed about that she’d been robbed by a townsperson.” She pursed her lips. “They moved her body outside the castle gates to avoid suspicion falling on the court. That’s why I found it where I did. Everyone was more than willing to forget.”

I nodded. “And when did the small disruptions begin again after that?”

“Mid-May. They’ve been increasing in frequency but not severity, other than the vestments-burning.” She shrugged. “And that could be something entirely different. It was so much more violent than the rest, just like Marie’s death.”