Maid of Secrets (40 page)

That stopped me. “What?”

“Those picklocks of yours, pure gold?” Jane asked. “Rafe told us they bear King Henry’s seal.”

“Well, he said that, but—”

“And your grandfather would never let your troop perform in major cities?”

“Well, no, but— What is this about?”

Beatrice clasped her hands together. “It’s almost—but not quite—as exciting as my betrothal.”

“Your what?” Had the whole world gone mad?

Anna laughed, then reached forward and tapped the book. “This, Meg, is one very long letter. A letter from your parents. Written in code. About their work with the king.”

“The king.”

“King Henry. Elizabeth’s father. It’s all in there. They wanted you to know their story, but they had to flee.” Anna hugged herself, in love with her own tale. “They knew they could not keep you safe, in the end, and you were just a babe. They left you with your grandfather and asked him to give you the book when it was safe.”

“Safe?” It had never been safe enough for Grandfather, apparently. Another thought struck me, hard and fell. “Are they dead?”

It was Jane who spoke into the sudden quiet. Jane, who knew more of death than any of us. “Don’t think of it as death. They are travelers to a distant land is all,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact. “You will meet them again, when your journey here is done.”

I nodded, but I suddenly couldn’t see. My eyes were covered with a dull grey film. “A distant land,” I whispered. And I knew her to be right. They had passed from this world to the next. An emptiness opened up within me. I think it had always been there, but now it had a name.
A distant land.

I folded my hands over the book. There would be time to read it later.

There would be time for everything.

After.

I blinked, hard, surprised to find my face was wet. “Marie’s killer will be there tonight,” I said. “He won’t stop
at just harming Lady Amelia. It’s not enough for him. He demands another death.”

Jane snorted. “He should be careful what he wishes for.”

“We have to find a way to capture him.”

Anna pointed to the book. “And so we shall. It’s in your blood.” My fingers tightened on the book, and I looked down at it again.
My parents . . .
A recent memory tugged at me, an old woman at the edge of the Presence Chamber, startled to see me at court again. “Again,” as if she remembered me, from a long, long time ago. Had she known my mother? Could I seek her out? The thought was almost too much to bear.

“How did you know I was imprisoned?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “How did you free me?”

Jane answered. “On any other occasion,” she said wryly, “Cecil would have been proud. For Sophia found you with her visions, Anna thought of the plan to use the Golden Rose as an excuse to get you out of that hole, and Beatrice put the plan into motion. Well, Beatrice, Anna, and Anna’s young man.”

“Her young man?” I blinked at them both. “And you’re betrothed?” I asked Beatrice. “Lord Cavanaugh, I presume?”

Beatrice fluttered her right hand at me. It was sporting a heavy gold ring with a ruby the size of a robin’s egg. Though not every man pledged his suit with a betrothal ring, Lord Cavanaugh apparently wanted to claim his prize for all to see. “The Queen needed some good news to counter Lady Amelia’s sudden . . . indisposition,” she said. “I was handy.”

“It helped that you’d badgered the good lord into a frenzy with your flirtation with Alasdair MacLeod,” Jane observed dryly.

“Alasdair MacLeod?” I remembered the roguish Scot, with his thick beard and broad shoulders and hungry eyes. “But he’s so unkempt!”

“And
big
,” Anna sighed.

“And foul-tempered,” Beatrice agreed grimly. “But at least he has the manners of a pig.”

“And the tentacles of an octopus,” Jane gibed back. “Lord Cavanaugh took one look at MacLeod monopolizing your time at the masque, and he made sure he was first in line to the Queen when she was looking for a distraction, with a ring for you and a coffer of gold for her.”

Beatrice held out her hand, admiring it, all thoughts of the offending Scotsman gone. “My Lord Cavanaugh did do well, didn’t he?” She sighed. “It was almost as exciting as finding Meg’s old sweetheart.”

That brought me up short and I fought to focus. “My what?” Ever since I’d crawled out of that pit, I’d had the feeling that the world was working at a pace far faster than I could manage. I looked from her to Anna. “My what?” I asked again.

Anna beamed at her role in the plot. “Chris Riley helped too—the vicar’s son? He lives in Windsor proper, near the center of town. When Beatrice determined to find your acting troupe, I asked him first!”

“As if she needed an excuse to talk to the boy,” Beatrice teased, and Anna blushed.

“He not only knew of your acting troupe, he knew where they performed!” she said excitedly. “His father is friends with the owner of the Fox and Hound, who’d been crowing about the Golden Rose for weeks by the time we asked about them. He took us to meet them! At an inn!”

I laughed at her excitement. How bold a walk to an inn must have seemed for a member of the court. “But what did you say?” I asked. “How in the world did you get this arranged?”

“Beatrice handled everything,” Anna gushed. “She spoke with Master James and told him you’d
begged
her to come fetch him to Windsor, to perform for the Queen. And then she told the Queen that it would be such a terrible shame for you to miss the performance, that surely she could bid you to appear. And so she did!”

I’d stopped well before the end of Anna’s tale. “You told Master James what?”

“Well, he
is
quite handsome, Meg,” Anna said, her eyes wide and filled with romance, her favorite subject. “And he seemed quite taken with the idea. I don’t think Rafe will be as pleased.”

“He won’t,” Sophia chimed in. I looked at her in alarm, and she giggled. “A joke.”

I rolled my eyes, but it didn’t change the issue. “You told Master James that I’d
begged
for him to come?”

Beatrice shrugged. “I could hardly say you were a spy being interrogated in the dungeon. I wanted him to be excited about coming here, and to flatter the Queen outrageously, not accuse her of torturing one of her Maids of Honor.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again. Beatrice had a point, and she continued to press it home. “And I needed Master James to have a reason to ask for you specifically to watch the performance, so that it would seem the height of awkwardness if Cecil and Walsingham didn’t produce you.” She shook her head. “I think the Queen was looking for an
excuse, honestly. She agreed before I’d even gotten out the words. I don’t think she believed Cecil’s explanation that you were merely . . . indisposed.”

I frowned. “And Master James agreed to this . . . production. He didn’t question it?”

“On the contrary, he was quite accommodating!” Anna enthused as Beatrice regarded me with amusement. “Beatrice was very convincing.”

“I’m sure,” I said dryly, and Beatrice grinned.

“Master James is actually an enigma unto himself,” Beatrice said archly. “I would swear I’ve seen him before—or if not him then a relative of his. And I can assure you it wasn’t in the open streets of Windsor.”

“What are you saying?” I asked. “How can you know him?”

Jane chuckled. “Beatrice is convinced that your Master James is the by-blow of one of the highest families in the land. Don’t get her started, or she’ll begin hauling out enough family trees to seed a forest.”

“Mark my words, I’m right,” Beatrice insisted. “I know I’ve seen that bone structure before. He is not just some dockmaster’s whelp, I am telling you plain.”

“That’s impossible,” I said firmly, and Beatrice just laughed.

“Everyone comes from somewhere, Meg,” she said. “Even you.” She pointed to the book. “As we have all learned.”

Who am I, truly?
I tightened my hands on my grandfather’s—no, my
parents’
book.

I shook my head to clear it. It was too much for me to take in—the Queen knowing why I’d been held prisoner,
my fellow maids gaining my freedom, Master James thinking I’d begged for him to do
anything
, Beatrice convinced that James was some aristocrat’s unclaimed son. Beatrice’s betrothal. Rafe . . . That thought jogged another memory in my dungeon-addled mind. “Speaking of family histories, what of you?” I asked. “Did you talk to Rafe about his ring?”

Beatrice blinked at me. “His what? What ring?”

I grimaced. “The ring I gave you last . . . the other . . . whenever it was I saw you. What is today again?”

“Wednesday,” Sophia said helpfully. “But what ring?”

Beatrice shook her head. “You gave me no ring—”

“I put it in the slashed lining of your sleeve, when I embraced you that night. When you came in and I was with Cecil.”

She frowned. “You did?”

And suddenly I knew. I almost laughed at Rafe’s audacity. “What happened, exactly, after you left me?” I asked.

“I returned to the Queen and told her you were being attended to by Cecil.”

“And you saw no one?”

“No!” Beatrice said too quickly, then she paused. “I mean, not really.”

I shook my head.
Damn you, Rafe
. “You saw Rafe.” It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be.

“Only for a moment!” Beatrice protested. “He came up to me just outside the antechamber where you were being held. I just turned and—he was there.”

“He has a skill with that,” I said dryly. “And then what happened?”

“That seems hardly the question—”

“God’s teeth.” I looked up at the ceiling. “He lifted the ring from your sleeve.”

“What
ring
?” Beatrice demanded.

“Why would he do that?” Jane asked from the side of the room. She seemed to be enjoying herself.

I shook my head. “Because he could.” I looked at Beatrice. “He had a ring that I nicked from him, Beatrice, because it looked like your family’s jewelry, same stone, same odd robin’s nest gold setting. I wanted to show it to you.”
He’d wanted me to take it.
“Apparently he saw me giving it to you, though I can’t imagine how.”
And now he has it back.
Insufferable Spaniard.

“But I don’t understand,” Beatrice said. “How did he come by a ring with that stone? They’ve been in my family for generations.”

“He claims
his
mother received it when she was serving as a maid of honor to Queen Catherine of Aragon,” I said. “So . . . maybe your mother must have given it to his mother?”

Beatrice shot me a look. “Have you met my mother? She wouldn’t give another woman the time of day, let alone an heirloom.”

Her eyes went wide at the same time that Jane said, “Uh-oh.”

“He dared to send our treasure overseas?” Beatrice breathed. “That insufferable goat!”

“What?” asked Anna, her eyes wide. “What?” But Sophia knew, and her face seemed suddenly flushed with untold secrets.
What else did Sophia know?

“That goat!” Beatrice said again, and despite my chagrin at Beatrice’s mortification, I felt just slightly vindicated. This almost made up for Beatrice telling Troupe Master James that I’d
begged
to have him come to the castle.

Almost.

Beatrice pressed her hands to either side of her head. “Another slight. Another indiscretion. I thought we were done with him ruining my life,” she muttered. “I thought . . . Lord Cavanaugh’s mother would die . . . I will kill my father when I see him next. I will kill him dead.”

“Have you, ah, seen Rafe?” I asked Jane as Beatrice got that faraway, calculating look on her face, undoubtedly plotting her father’s untimely demise.

Jane frowned at me. “Cecil didn’t tell you?” She sighed at my blank stare. “Since the moment Cecil took hold of you, Rafe’s been secreted in council with the Spanish ambassadors.” She tilted her head. “Though with tonight’s production, he may be freed at last.”

Sophia rustled from the corner. “When Rafe sees James, Meg, he may ask for your hand as well,” she said. We all gaped at her, and her eyes flew wide. “No! No, that was not a prediction, I swear! Just a conclusion—truly, Meg, don’t look at me like that!”

I flushed hot. “First, I have no need of a husband. Second, there is nothing between James and me,” I insisted. I turned resolutely back to Jane. “What did they conclude about the moon-faced Spaniard’s death?”

Jane’s smile was approving. “That you killed him. Bravo, by the way.”

“Me!” I blurted, unsure if I’d heard her correctly. “They believe that?”

“Everyone is doing their level best to act like they do, including the Spaniards, who are willing to concede that you may have been accosted and acted out of self-preservation. And if you didn’t kill the man on purpose, then you
accidentally
stabbed him and he gave up the will to live. Cecil let slip that they discovered arsenic on his tongue. He apparently had a pinch of it at the ready.”

“Arsenic.” The Spaniard had not put arsenic into his own mouth.
Rafe, what are you about?

“A moment here?” Anna asked briskly, drawing our attention. She had sketched out diagrams of the Queen’s Presence Chamber on parchment and was making notations in the margin. “If we have to catch a killer in a few short hours, which is by far our most important assignment to date, we’d best be creating a plan.” She eyed me. “I assume you have something in mind?”

I tightened my hold on my parents’ diary. A love letter from my spying parents . . . to their spying daughter.

I straightened, feeling the strength finally flow back into my body. We could do this. We
would
do this. “I do have an idea, actually,” I said.