Maid of Secrets (27 page)

I pulled my hand back with as much decorum as I could muster, and James straightened. “You never know when a troupe of rogues and villains might be of service to a fair lady,” he said with a smile. “With words or blades to cut your enemies down.”

“Then do not stray far,” I said, surprising myself with my response. I looked at him, so fierce and sure, and I thought of Jane. Instantly, the cramping in my stomach stopped, a sense of rightness restored.
I should introduce him to Jane
. That was safe. That was better. That was . . . easier to think about. And yet . . . I suddenly didn’t want what was safer or easier. “You never know when a fair lady might have need of rogues and villains. Or a lady who’s a villain might have need of a rogue.”

He blinked at me, but Tommy’s desperate tugs won out, and the two of them were gone.

I allowed my gaze to swing lazily over the crowd, as if the chance meeting meant nothing to me at all, in case anyone were watching me. Not that I thought Cecil cared what I did with my days, as long as I stayed out of his way. Walsingham,
I’m sure, would have preferred me to be applying myself to one of my many assignments, but who was to say that I wasn’t in the Lower Ward for exactly that?

A sudden fear stole through me, far too belatedly. If Cecil and Walsingham were watching, however, would they think I was plotting some escape with the Golden Rose? A midnight flight through the city, down to the river, and then off to Londontown?

The answer to that was chillingly simple.

Yes.

Fool, fool, a hundred times the fool!
I kept my manner easy and light, desperately searching through the crowd for another familiar face, someone to explain my presence here in the Lower Ward, someone who would capture the interest of Cecil and Walsingham far more than my encounter with my old friends.

I swung my gaze to the right, and my concerns bloomed into horror. Cecil and Walsingham were out strolling through the Lower Ward as if they were bosom friends. Neither walked with a sense of purpose, but I knew them both well enough not to give their apparent meandering any weight. They could have easily been on their way to a beheading, and their easy strides wouldn’t have faltered a half step.

Had they seen me with Master James or Tommy? Had I risked the troupe’s safety with a simple conversation? And if they hadn’t already, would Cecil and Walsingham realize who was playing to the crowd in the Lower Ward, and draw their own conclusions?

I felt a firm hand close around my arm, and I nearly screeched with terror, my teeth clamping down so hard on
my tongue that my eyes sparked with tears. I whirled around, recognizing the familiar face immediately as my heart galloped with the nearness of Cecil and Walsingham’s approach.

A cry of exultation went up from the crowd—act 2 was beginning—and I saw my next move as plain as if it had been written into the script.

I dropped like a stone into Rafe’s arms, my body as limp as a rag.

Not even Sophia could have bettered that swoon.

“What are you about, Meg?” Rafe demanded, staggering back under my not inconsiderable weight. When he realized I was going to slide to the ground, unresisting, he cursed under his breath in Spanish. A few of those words I even knew.

I felt myself hoisted up into his strong arms. I flopped convincingly, and that earned me another curse. It was everything I could do not to grin.

Rafe turned and stalked away from the crowd, and I dared to open my eyes. I couldn’t see much, with my head tucked into Rafe’s chest, but I could reason from the slant of his stride that he would be walking right in front of Walsingham and Cecil. No doubt those two men would be far too curious about what I was doing in Rafe’s arms to give any thought to what I’d been doing before those arms had obligingly shown up.

When Rafe had stomped another twenty feet, I stirred.

“Rafe?” I said weakly, fluttering my hand. I risked a glance, but saw only his jaw for a moment, and a large muscle twitching in his neck. Then he stopped, and I realized we were at a
shaded bench, which had no doubt been cleared by his scowl.

“You’ll sit here,” he commanded, and he dropped my feet with surprising gentleness, easing me down onto the bench.

“I’m well, really,” I began, surreptitiously glancing right, then left. A slash of black caught my eye, and I knew without looking more closely that I’d located Cecil.
I see you, old goat.

“You are about fifteen strides away from being questioned by your keepers,” Rafe said tersely. “What is the story here? Are you overcome with the heat of the crowd? Sick with the plague? Frightened witless by that man who just kissed your hand?” He quirked his lips. “In love with me?”

I blinked. “Those are my options?”

“Choose, or I choose for you. And that is a god-awful gown you’re wearing.”

“It was the heat!” I hissed at him, and he nodded, sitting down to fan me. I dared not wrench Beatrice’s ruff off, though I wanted to, desperately. “And if you must know, they cannot know I spoke to anyone from the acting troupe. My even
being
in the Lower Ward with members of the troupe is the world’s worst luck.”

“Not so unlucky for me,” Rafe said with a grin. “And you owe me.” He reached out and clasped my shoulder, as if he thought I would collapse at any moment. “We are skilled actors, Meg. It’s time to act the part.” He snapped his fingers in front of my eyes, as if recalling me to life, and a flash of milky green distracted me. One of his rings?

Rafe glanced up, drawing in a quick breath. “Just follow my lead.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Your lead?” I asked, but just then
Cecil and Walsingham were upon us, their censure as chill as death.

“What is going on here?” Cecil demanded. “What are you doing with Miss Fellowes?”

Walsingham spoke up, apparently unwilling to let Cecil steal all of the rebuke. “Should I summon the guard, Count de Martine, or would you like to explain yourself?”

I started to speak, then felt Rafe’s hand tighten on my shoulder in a sharp squeeze.

“I confess, sirs, I don’t know what happened to Miss Fellowes,” he said smoothly. “I met her as she was crossing the Middle Ward and offered to escort her through the crowds here in the Lower. At first, it seemed all was well with her. But the moment we crossed into the Lower Ward, she grew concerned, as if she’d seen something to cause her distress. She asked to leave, but I confess I had caught sight of the theatre troupe and thought it to be a grand adventure.” He waved vaguely to where the crowd had assembled, and I shivered quite sincerely. “She protested, and I am ashamed to admit I pressed on. I had no idea—” He broke off, sounding for all the world like a flummoxed courtier unable to figure out the wiles of women. “I had no idea that she would
collapse
!”

I had to moan to avoid bursting into laughter. Rafe might not have been an actor upon the stage, but he’d clearly had training somewhere. I brought a hand to my head, and I felt, rather than saw, Cecil and Walsingham turn to see the gathering crowd around the players. They made the realization immediately.

Cecil crouched down before me. I looked at him directly, all my feigned terror now gone. I wouldn’t impress Cecil with
hysterics. I would impress him by
acting
hysterical while operating in a coldly rational way.

“I did not realize whose troupe it was, Sir William, until it was too late,” I whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. Obligingly, Cecil leaned closer to me and made comforting noises, like a father might to his infant child. I would have laughed again at the irony, but I struggled to stay focused. Cecil raised me to my feet, and I did a credible job of looking unsteady.

“I appreciate your attention to the Queen’s maid, Count de Martine,” Cecil said, with just the right touch of frost. “I’ll accompany her back to the safety of her rooms. She has need of rest.”

Rafe looked like he was about to protest, but Walsingham didn’t give him the chance.

“Walk with me, boy,” he boomed to Rafe, turning him around in the opposite direction from the Upper Ward and the Golden Rose acting troupe. He clapped Rafe on the back hard enough to send a lesser lad stumbling, but Rafe had apparently braced himself for the blow.

Meanwhile, Cecil had curled my arm into his and was helping me back toward the Upper Ward. I wanted to shy away, but enough people had seen my inglorious swoon; we had to keep up appearances above all else.

All the court was about nothing so much as it was about appearances.

Still, as we turned the corner, I couldn’t help but be pleased by my thrice-won escape. First from being rendered speechless and uncertain by Master James—then from being disgraced by Sir William and Sir Francis . . . and, finally,
from the questioning I knew would have been forthcoming about the Golden Rose troupe from one very confused—but far too intrigued—Count de Martine.

In the space of ten minutes, I’d evaded them all.

But now Cecil was marching me forward with the grim determination of a man on a mission. He had another assignment for me, of that I was certain. One I was equally certain I would not like.

The man would be the death of me.

Close enough, as it turned out.

“He wants me to do
what
?”

Beatrice regarded me with disbelief. We were sitting in the maids’ chamber, and I’d just stripped off her hideous gown. I’d never been so happy to return a gift in my life.

Then again, I’d not exactly received a great deal of gifts to give back.

“Cecil said that the Queen has requested your elevation to lady of the bedchamber, in the very likely event that Lady Mathilde is unable to perform her duties,” I said, indicating the lady Cecil had chosen as most replaceable. “She has not been feeling well.”

This, of course, was a patent lie. The Queen could have had no intention of favoring Beatrice with this assignment, and Mathilde had looked as strong as an ox in the Presence Chamber this morning. Whatever her fateful malady was supposed to be, she’d not yet incurred it. But I continued on with Cecil’s orders, to the letter, exactly as he had delivered
them to me. “The Queen fears Mathilde will grow more ill before she gets better, and Her Grace is concerned that she will in turn fall ill if she remains in Mathilde’s presence.”

“That would be terrible,” Beatrice breathed, though her eyes were bright with excitement. “And she asked for me? Why did Cecil not tell me himself?”

“He felt the request would be less unsettling were it from me.” Another lie, and this even lamer. Beatrice didn’t seem to mind.

“But why?” she demanded, fairly bouncing on her toes. “There are dozens of women who would draw blood to gain this role. Why did the Queen ask for
me
?”

I looked at her as if she were daft. “Beatrice, you’re by far the loveliest and most noble of the maids, whether inside our select group or outside of it. You are the pinnacle of health and grace, and since you
are
a member of this inner circle, you are eminently trustworthy. Whyever would she not seek you out in a moment of need?”

Beatrice turned and stared at me wide-eyed. “The Queen said that?” she asked, breathless.