Queenbreaker: Perseverance (The Queenbreaker Trilogy Book 1) (24 page)

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

June
1533

“Mistress
Shelton!”

I
continued crossing the crowded Watching Chamber for surely another Mistress
Shelton was being called.

“Mistress
Shelton!”

Something
brushed my left sleeve with too much force to be dismissed for an accident.

I
slowed and glanced at the frothing crowd, looking for the likely culprit. A
man, with a bulging Adam’s apple, caught my eyes. He accomplished a polished
bow in the midst of the jostling and extended a black leather purse to me.

My
breath slowed. I held out my hand and he laid it in my palm with the care of a
mother setting a new babe in the cradle.

“With
my master’s compliments, mistress,” he said and stepped back amongst the crowd.

I
palmed the purse and hurried back to the gallery. I opened it, turned it over
and a small black pearl rolled across my palm.

“Oh,
my God.”

I
pulled out the note.

O,
she doth teach the torches to burn bright
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.

Excitement
and dread wrestled for supremacy in my stomach.

Jewelry
was beyond the rules of Pass-the-Time. Flowers, poems, brave deeds on the
tourney field—these were the appropriate tokens of the game. Jewels, and
especially coin—except when offered at the gaming tables—implied a
different relationship between the giver and receiver.

Anne,
Semmonet had told us, had returned every one of King Henry’s gifts before his
proposal of marriage—an entire year of jewels, furs, coin, cloth,
giltware and furniture—all sent back with such delicate skill that the
King never took offense. Instead she said, his esteem had grown til he offered
his hand; he would win her no other way.

The
pearl gleamed, small as a pea, unadorned as if just plucked from the sea. It
was so tiny, so humble. If it broke the rules, did it truly break them so far
as say—a bag of gold sovereigns? If I kept it…did it mean we played
another game?

“You
cannot keep it, ninny,” I murmured. “Mother would beat you.”

Why
had he given it to me? Did he mean to compromise me? Harm my reputation?
Whyfor?

“I
need Bess. She will unravel his meaning.”

I
spilled the pearl back inside the bag, tucked the note in after it and pulled
the strings.

I
trod the heels of the servant in front of me and meant to apologize, but a hand
snagged my wrist and pulled me aside on the threshold of the Presence Chamber.

“Sweet
Jesu!” I gasped.

“Give
it here.” Mrs. Marshall held out her other hand, palm up for my prize.

Madge
had warned me.

But it’s not a bribe—she has no
right to it!

Marshall
plucked the purse
quick
as a scullion stripped a bird
for the pot. She let go of me, pulled out the message then overturned the bag
in her palm. Her fist closed around the pearl.

Her
lips thinned like the waning moon as she read then disappeared altogether.

“Christ
in heaven,” she said then tore the note in two.

“Wait!”
 

Her
fingers rendered the parchment down to scraps then palmed the pieces.

“Who
handed this to you?”

The
lie came so quick I knew it was God-sent. “I-I
do
not
know. I’ve never seen him before.”

“Was
he handsome?”

Handsome?
Enowes’ unfortunate goiter made it impossible to know.

“I-I
think he was a gentleman,” I said.

Marshall
snorted. “Then not.” She put her face in mine. “Lord John de Vere is not for
you.”

I
threw off my fright and gave her the practiced simpleton’s smile all the
Maidens used when she was wroth.

“It
is just a game of Pass-the-Time,” I said.

Marshall
snorted. “That’s why Weston looks like curdled cream every time Lord John
enters the Queen’s Presence Chamber.” She folded her arms. “Give up your
fantasies, mistress. You will never be Countess of Oxford.”

“I
never dared think of it,” I said, sweet as the honey pot.

“Best
not,” Marshall growled. “If there’s blood shed over this the King will see
everyone dismissed.”

“Sir
Francis is honorable,” I countered. “He would challenge Lord John to a proper
duel—if need be.” A giggle escaped me. A duel?
Over me?
Gabrielle and Emma would beat their heads against the floor when they heard.

Marshall’s
face spoke thunder. “This is not a game.”

Of course it is a game!

Life
at court was a game. A wild, dangerous, volatile contest to fly above the
constraints of rank and birth. We all played to win; even priggish Marshall.

She’s
only concerned with losing her position, not preserving my chastity.

Everyday
I grew less afraid of Marshall’s weapons—glares, threats, cajoling. She
was not my mother. She was no one’s mother. That was her downfall. She had no
experience in how to manage girls without resorting to beatings. And if you had
to beat a girl, you lost all respect.

Marshall
clapped her hands under my nose. “Wake up.”

“Your
pardon, Mrs. Marshall,” I said, collecting myself. “The heat’s made me drowsy.”

Marshall
pinched the back of my arm.

“Ouch!”

Marshall
pinched the same spot again. “Any girl who falls asleep here is ruined. Do you
comprehend me?”

“Yes,
yes,” I said before she could attack me again.

“Stay
away from trouble,” she said. “I may not be close enough to rescue you again.”
    

Marshall
drew away. The hand containing the pearl moved to a hidden pocket in her skirt.

“My
note—might I at least have that?”

Marshall
held my eyes as she shoved the shards in another pocket and walked back to the
Watching Chamber.

What a witch!

I
stormed into the Presence Chamber to my usual seat in the sewing circle between
Joan Percy and Bess. Joan touched my shoulder.

“Mary,
you’re shaking.”

“I
know,” I snapped, snatching a shirt from the pile. “God hang her!”

Bess
tugged the makework in my hands. “So, you’ve heard about Honor Lisle.”

I
frowned at Bess. I’d forgotten all about Honor Lisle since her departure three
weeks ago. “Heard what of Honor Lisle?”

Bess’s
fingers covered her lips. “Madge is keeping secrets from her kin. Tsk. Not well
done.”

“What
does Madge know?” I pressed.

Bess
gave me the pained look that always precedes bad news. “Honor Lisle’s begged a
place for her step-daughter, Lady Grace, on the Summer Progress.”

I
rolled my eyes so relieved I giggled. “Anne won’t have her. Lady Rochford won’t
allow it. Whatever gifts she sent for it were wasted.”

Bess
sighed. “Not so, lambkin. The Countess bade Honor send her gifts to the King.
And since Lady Grace is his own cousin, the King is going to grant the request.
Lady Rochford near had an apoplexy when she heard.”

The
blood rushed from my head. My fingertips went so cold I couldn’t feel the shirt
they held.

“B-but
what does it mean for Summer Progress?”

Bess
laid her hand on my shoulder; a gesture of comfort so unlike her I knew what
she was next to say.

“Since
the Queen means to take only six Maidens with her, and five of those are
already known, Lady Grace takes the last place.”

My
place.

Grace
Lisle was going on Summer Progress.

With
Lord John de Vere.

And
I would go rot in Norfolk with my sisters.

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

June
1533

I must go on Progress!

John
had already told me he would be going in the King’s household. We could not be
separated the whole summer. Not when things were proceeding so well.

I
wrote Mother of Madge’s withholding news of Honor Lisle’s maneuver. I wanted her
to finally acknowledge Madge was no friend of mine. She worked for herself,
then the Sheltons when and if it served her. Mother’s reply bade me speak with
Madge again. I tore that message to scraps and tossed it on the fire.

I
would not go to Madge with my troubles.
Never again.

Instead,
I went to John.

I
found him dicing outside the King’s Watching Chamber with a handful of grooms.
He quit the game the moment he saw me, tossing his winnings to his man Enowes.
We went away from the bustle around the King’s door to a curtained alcove down
the hall. He shut the curtains, but I opened them again.

John
sighed, a teasing light in his eyes. “I am not Weston, mistress.”

“No,”
I said. “Weston obeys the rules of Pass-the Time. Mostly.”

John
grinned. “You did not like it then?”

I
shook my head, holding off the rising grief. “I could not say, sir. Mrs.
Marshall snatched it from me just moments after I’d received it.”

“That
feckless bitch,” he growled.

“Mayhap
it was well done,” I heard myself say. “It was beyond the bounds…and, and as
there will be no Progress for me I—“

He
frowned, took a step closer. “Wait. What d’you mean, no Progress?”

I
swallowed a cold lump of bile before it choked me. “The King means to give my
place in the Queen’s entourage to Lord Lisle’s daughter.” I cast my eyes at the
floor. “So, you see, I will be sent back to Norfolk for the whole summer and
not see court again til the Queen’s confinement at least.”

I
kept my head down, but lifted my eyes as I’d seen Anne do when she asked
something of the King.

“I
need a friend to speak for me,” I softly said.

John
nodded. “You do.”

“I
need someone to speak to the King,” I murmured, softly treading toward my only
hope.

John
shook his head. “The only one I would trust to speak for you is George, but he’s
still in France.”

I
licked my bottom lip and said what I’d intended from the start. “Could you not
speak to the King, my lord?”

John’s
face darkened. “My father, if he heard of it…would not be best pleased. He
might send me back to Oxford.”

My
heart flew at my ribs like a moth trapped under glass. “Your father has some
objection…to me?”

I
knew what it must be—my relative penury. Lord Oxford’s disapproval was no
small thing, but if Anne could overcome the opposition of the Pope himself,
surely there must be a way around John’s father.

John
shook his head. “No, his objections fall solely on my head.” John tucked his
lower lip under his front teeth. “It will have to be the Queen.”

My
hopes crashed to the floor broken and torn. I stared at them dying against the
rushes.

“I
have no one to speak to the Queen for me,” I softly said.

Surprise
raised his voice. “Your sister Madge?”

I
could not look at him. “She will not do it.”

John’s
finger slid beneath my chin, but he did not raise my head. “Then she is not
worth the trouble to call kin.”

“God
knows it,” I said.

He
moved closer and his warm smoky scent of clove and sandalwood soothed the outer
edge of my distress. My skin hummed. If he put his arms around me, it murmured,
all would be well.

“You
must go to Mariah.”

My
chin leapt off his fingers.

“I-I
cannot go to her, my lord. She does not care for my company.”

John’s
dark eyes probed mine and quickly found the hurt.

“I
know Mariah is proud, short-tempered like all her blood, but not unkind. If you
go to her in my name she will help us.”

“Would
it not be best if the request came from you? You are her
foster-brother—her friend,” I said.

John
sighed. “It would, but I am bound for London with the King any moment. He has
business at Whitehall, which will keep him overnight at least. This should not
wait. See her today.”

John’s
words only fanned the fear burning my heart. I could not approach Mariah. I
would rather go to the Queen myself and suffer her personal rejection.

“I
will think on it,” I said with no conviction.

“Speak
with her, mistress.” His wide smile smothered the fear. “I want to ride with
you through Windsor this summer.”

____________________

I
stalked Mary Howard through Greenwich like a prized stag. Since the Queen’s
reprimand, she had held herself aloof from the chatter in the Presence Chamber.
She made no attempt to enter the Privy Chamber though it was not barred to her.
It drove me mad. She sat four feet away in the sewing circle, but I could not
speak to her. The chasm between our ranks could only be crossed from her side.

So
I watched her. She kept her eyes on her work. When they did drift away they
alighted on nothing but the view of the orchard out the windows. Since she
outranked every lady in the Presence Chamber she worked in silence.

Did
she prepare for the nunnery?

If
so, my pursuit was pointless. I might as well try my luck winning over the
Countess.

I
throttled the shirt I held and pictured Madge’s bony neck.
And
the Countess’ as well.
And Honor Lisle’s.
My
life would be a pleasure with the three of them in winding sheets.

“Has
that piece of cloth offended you, Mistress Shelton?”

Lady
Lee’s stoic face reminded me I was not alone.

“No,
my lady. I am not offended only worried.”

Lady
Lee’s fingers moved in crisp strikes putting down stitches like a bricklayer
laying a stout wall.

“This
Summer Progress is a short one. We’ll all be back at Greenwich in August.”

I
made myself smile for her kind effort at reassurance.

“If
you’d like a distraction Urian needs a walk.”

Anne’s
hound napped across two floor pillows under the window. It felt cruel to wake
him, but a turn through the garden did sound fine. I needed a moment out of the
chicken coop.

“Mrs.
Dyngley, Urian’s leash please,” Lady Lee said.

“I
will take him, Lady Lee.” Mariah was on her feet, hand out for the leash.

I
stared, helpless as Joan Dyngley attached it to Urian’s collar and handed the
loop to Mary Howard.

Mariah
twisted it around her wrist as Urian pulled. She glanced at me. “You may come
if you like.”

“O-of
course, my lady.” I tripped over the pile of shirts. Someone, it sounded like
the Countess, tittered.

“Keep
her away from the river if you don’t want her drowned.”

I
heard Lady Lee sighing as I went after Mariah. “The Queen will remember you, my
lady Worcester, the next time Urian needs a walk.”

I
caught up with them at the bottom of the halpace and decided it was fair to
walk beside the Lady Mary Howard. She was not Queen, and I was not her servant.

The
silence between us felt absolute. We spoke only to return the greetings of
those we passed. Sir Francis Weston walked by and winked at me. I ignored him
and his laughter trailed me down the hallway.

I
covered my eyes as we came outside into dazzling summer light. The lush scent
of mature roses perfumed the breeze. For an instant, squinting against the sun,
I thought myself back in the garden at Shelton House. I ran beside the rose
bushes, crushing fallen petals against the gravel, waiting for Tom Clere’s
hands to grasp my waist and pull me to the grass for a kiss.

Not here!

I
stamped the memory down before it could adhere itself to this place. Tom Clere
was no part of my life here or anywhere. Not anymore. Not if I wanted to be a
success. Not if I wanted Lord John de Vere.

I
took a deep breath as we turned left and took the path through the orchard that
led to the South Gate. An odd breeze blew kitchen smells our way. Acrid smoke
smothered the cloying scent of rose. I swallowed another lungful and choked.

Mariah
looked at me.

“Your—pardon.”
I coughed into my sleeve.

“You
are the worst spy imaginable.”

A
second, harsher cough took me.

“Stop
following me about court, Mistress Shelton.”

“My
lady, I—“

Mariah
tugged Urian to a stop behind a dense and towering hedge clipped into the shape
of a dragon rampant.

“Do
not insult me by denying it. You’re like some moonstruck boy. You embarrass
yourself.”

My
skin flamed. “Forgive me, my lady. I had not realized I was so disturbing you.”

“I
know you only do as you are told,” Mariah tightened her grip on Urian’s leash.
“But Anne should know I will not take you up just because she throws you under
my nose.”

My
heart sailed clear of my body and smashed to earth. This could not be
happening. But Mariah Howard’s stony face said it was.

“I-I
cannot apologize for the Queen’s intentions, my lady.”

Mariah
laughed. “Anne intends to have an informant in our little circle.”

I
gaped. “Not me. On my honor, I am no spy.”

“But
you are a social climber.”

“Well,
who is not?” I asked, baffled. “Why else does one come to court?”

“I
am not.” Mariah declared. “None in our circle are. That is the point. And how
we mean to keep it.”

I
felt her slipping away though she hadn’t moved an inch. My shiny hopes for
Progress turned to filthy rust right before my eyes.

Mary
Howard glared. “The quickest way to favor is through betrayal. Information is
the currency of the court. Secrets are gold. Ferret them out and sell them to
the highest bidder.”

“That
is beneath me!” I looked her in the eye, all meekness burned away by the
accusation. “I seek advancement, true. Friends in high places, true. But I will
not win them through deceit. Not like some.”

Scornful,
Mariah shook her head. “Proud words. I’ve heard them before.”

We
jumped as Urian barked.

Mariah
gave his leash a vicious tug. “Hush, you worthless cur!”
Urian’s
barking fell to a malevolent growl.

“I
should let him loose to chase you back to Norfolk.” The leash trembled between
her hands. “Avoid me for the rest of your time at court. I promise you I will
see that it is short.”

Urian’s
head jerked around so fast I heard his neckbones snap. He howled as Mariah
stalked back toward the palace. I watched them disappear. Shock rooted me as
deeply as the dragon tree.

“Mary
Howard hates me.”