The Marlowe Conspiracy (28 page)

In the middle of the table, smiles broke across faces with greater frequency. Conversation steadily grew louder. Kit took a step forward and listened to a plump woman talking gravely with her friend – a lady in a blue dress.

“...no,” said the plump woman miserably. “I haven't seen my son in months. But that doesn't stop his gambling, of course.” She grabbed a leaf of romaine lettuce and cut it into strips. “At this rate we'll be destitute come July.”

Her friend sniggered in reaction.

The plump woman stopped slicing the lettuce and looked at her askance. Her friend shut her eyes, tried to fight it, but her lips cracked into a smile. She sniggered again.

“Forgive me, Sarah,” said her friend. “I don't know what's wrong with me tonight.”

Over the other side of the table, the staid features of the guests were more at ease. Giggles everywhere now ruptured the polite conversation. In one particularly vocal section, a young wife nattered to an older man seated next to her.

“...oh, not at all,” said the wife, batting the air with her hand. “Actually, John's a lousy lover.”

The older man raised his eyebrows in surprise. People around them grew quiet and waited to see how the nearby husband would respond. With dilated eyes, the husband looked at the older man and nodded.

“Yes, she's quite right, I am!” he said merrily.

All three of them erupted into a fit of laughter. Everyone seemed to raise their voices in response. Men sat back in chairs and slowed their eating. Women sipped at their wine and waved their hands ardently as they spoke. Like a tiny earthquake, laughter rumbled over the sedate tranquility of the tables and fractured the surface formalities with great rifts of giggles, smirks, and hysterics. Their eyes wide and shocked at their own success, Kit and Will turned to each other and exchanged a guilty look.

For minutes on end, Kit and Will observed the scene, utterly mesmerized. Will smiled a little. In contrast, Kit looked pallid and uncomfortable. He seemed cut by everything he heard. Will glanced at the Queen and noticed that she too wasn't laughing. Instead, she had furrowed her brow at the hysterics and stopped eating.

“What's wrong with Elizabeth?” Will asked.

“Her food's prepared separately,” said Kit with a miserable expression. He wiped the sheen of grease from his forehead and tried to loosen his collar. His eyes returned to the tables. “They're all so wretched,” he complained. “I had no idea their lives could be this way.”

Will spotted Audrey rise from her seat and slink towards the door. He nudged Kit. Once Audrey was gone, Kit paced along the tables and followed her out of the room. With all the wine, laughter, music, chaos, and cavorting no one noticed them leave.

SCENE NINE

Outside Banquet Hall.

K
it found Audrey waiting around the nearest corner. She stood in the recess of the corridor, her hands knotted, her feet shifting. A look of nervous intensity tempered her face. Her cheeks seemed devoid of their usual shapeliness. Her alert eyes kept watch over the serving men that passed to and from the hall. As Kit approached and opened his mouth to speak, she stopped him with a gesture of her hand.

“Follow me,” she said under her breath. She turned and beckoned him with her forefinger.

In silence, she led Kit from one wing of the palace to another through a confusing network of halls, lobbies, and corridors, until they reached a broad flight of stairs. While hitching up her gown, she climbed the stairs and kept her pace just in front of him. He followed close behind and tried to ignore the memories flashing back through his head. At every ruffle of her gown he heard her voice in the tailor shop, the sound of her breathing as they stood snagged together by the brooch. At every footfall on the stairs he wandered back into the secret passageway at Scadbury, rediscovered the arousals of her figure, the temptations he fought against as they searched through the study.

Before long, Kit and Audrey approached two giant oak doors flanked by a pair of guards. Both guards were tall, with barrel chests and wide hands. Each held a pike. Without hesitation, Audrey smiled casually as if she knew them.

“The Queen requests her favorite cushion,” she yawned.

One of the guards nodded.

“Certainly, my good gentlewoman,” he replied. He reached down to his ring of keys and unlocked the door.

Audrey pushed the door open and stepped inside. Kit followed her and passed between the guards without making eye contact.

The room they entered was a bedchamber, but it was not like any Kit had ever known before. A fresco depicting the classical scene of Leda and the Swan spread across the lofty ceiling and from the center of the fresco dropped a long chain weighted at the end by a silver chandelier. Cataracts of light poured down from the chandelier, tripping onto wine-colored rugs covering the floor; the light rippled outwards to the edges of the room, streaming over velvet-covered chairs and gilt stools and marble pillars by the fireplace and flowing drapes at the windows. In the corners, light pooled around screens decorated with flower prints. A gilded dressing table sparkled in a bay window. Beside the table, a large golden dressing mirror stood on the floor with rounded feet. The center of the mirror's glass reflected a crimson blaze from the rosewood bed across the room. Finally, atop the subdued wood panels that covered every wall, tiny currents of light glinted on the varnish of gold-framed pictures. Some pictures were large and rectangle, others were small ovals. If any doubt remained about whose bedchamber this was, one had only to note the subject of the pictures: all were portraits of Elizabeth.

Once Kit had stepped inside, Audrey shut the door behind them. She sashayed into the middle of the room. He peered around nervously and gaped at the portraits.

“You must be out of your wits!” he gasped.

“Careful, don’t shout, you must keep your voice low in here,” she warned in a tender manner.

“This is the Queen's bedchamber!”

“Yes. Do you like it?”

“We’re not safe.”

“Oh, no, it’s the safest place, the safest chamber, in the entire palace. Only a few have license to enter.”

He wandered past the Queen's dressing mirror. On either side of the carved frame, two cherubs held lighted candles. He glanced uneasily at his reflection, then turned and focused his attention towards Audrey.

“What is it you need to tell me?”

“You know, I saw you earlier in the courtyard, but I wasn’t sure. You did so well to get in here.”

“My thanks.”

“Of course, getting out maybe harder. I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.”

“I’ll find a way.”

“I’m sure you will.” She smiled at him. “Your garb is so convincing. It’s such a wonderful disguise.”

“What did you want to tell me?”

Her face grew slightly taut.

“Whitgift met with Thomas again in the study. I went in the passageway – listened as best I could. They're set to have Baines make a series of direct charges against you tomorrow.”

He raised his eyebrows. For a few moments, he stood quietly and didn’t respond. She stepped closer and laid a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“This affair is so galling. I can’t imagine what it’s doing to you.”

“You have Baines’s address?”

She pulled out a note from her sleeve and gave it to him.

He unfolded it and his hands shook a little. He read the words:

“Room Six, Hogg Inn – Shoreditch.”

With a sigh, he read the note again, paused, and stuffed it inside his pouch. His eyes glazed over pensively.

She gave an anxious sigh and fiddled with a ring on one of her fingers.

“What will you do?”

“I'll have to meet him first,” he replied uncertainly. “Convince him against it, somehow.”

She tilted her head down, discouraged by the tone in his voice. He clenched his jaw and turned to leave.

Her heart fluttered in alarm. She looked up and frowned. Her dress swished over the rug as she quick-stepped in front of him.

“Where are you going?” she said quietly. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

He bridled at the question.

“It's too dangerous to stay, my lady.”

She gave him a searching look.

“But everywhere’s dangerous. It's dangerous to live in poverty and it's dangerous to live in wealth.” She raised a hand and gestured dismissively to the room around them. “We're more than all this, Christopher. More than wealth, and titles, and the Queen; more than clothes, gestures, and words.”

A tiny silence passed between them. Kit gulped.

“Do you believe in nothing then?”

“I believe in you.” She stepped closer to him, eyes bright with emotion, and slowly reached out and took his hand in her soft fingers. “Why can't you do the same?”

He stared at her deeply. The flaw in her iris glowed blue. Loose strands of hair around her head caught the light and softened her image. Down beside the corner of her mouth, the outlines of two freckles showed through her make-up and for the first time he noticed a faint cleft in her chin. She turned her head away from the chandelier, so that her face lay divided in half by darkness and light. She had never looked more beautiful. She stood there, holding his hand, and waited patiently for him to act. He hesitated...

She shook her head sadly and rotated her shoulders to turn away from him. Tears had already collected in her eyes.

Suddenly, he lurched forward.

Grabbed her by the arm.

Pulled her close.

Kissed her.

He kissed her the way a drowning man kisses the air. His blood rioted and coursed through his veins, his heart pumped strong inside his chest, his legs felt oddly weak and unstable. He clung to her and kissed her with all his energy. The force of his embrace surprised her at first, but her arms gradually reached up to hold him. Just as she gripped him tighter, he stopped kissing, pulled back and regarded her. With trembling hands, he pinched the hair of his fake beard and tore it from his flesh. His cheeks seared with pain but he didn't care. Gently, he drew her close. Their arms entwined and their lips met and they kissed with rising passion.

Together they staggered across the room, bumped into a stool, and made it over to the bed. Her lips pressed full, warm, and firm against his own; her cheek rubbed his, smooth and gentle; and her sweet breath caressed his face. He breathed in through his nose. Her hair smelt of vanilla powder. They kissed madly and let their fingers stir over the curves of their chests, the flats of their backs, the inclines of their waists, and the undulations of their hips while breathing ever faster, panting, almost gasping for air, as their lips played, hands explored, and fingertips discovered.

He stroked his hands down over her chest, across her bosom, and pawed at the strings of her bodice. His fingers tugged at them lightly, harder, then frantically – he ripped them undone.

She arched her back and quivered with the emotions surging through her. Her fingers slipped from around his back, traced up to his chest, and fumbled with the buttons of his doublet. One by one, achingly slow, she unhitched the buttons and peeled the cloth from his body.

They sunk onto the bed, breast touching breast, thigh rubbing thigh. His lips traveled down, kissing her lips, her cheek, her chin, her nape. Her thighs loosened. Their legs converged. She clutched the sheets and gasped with anticipation...

SCENE TEN