The Queen's Captive (54 page)

They both gave terse nods of ascent.

Honor tried to calculate Isabel’s arrival. Adam’s letter alone would take months to reach Peru. “How long does the voyage take?” she asked him.

Adam shrugged. “Storms in the Atlantic this time of year. Then they’ll make landfall first in Spain. So, months before they get here, certainly. Maybe by late summer.”

They’ll see England at harvest time, she thought. Fragrant apple orchards. Fields of green barley. “You must both be there,” she said again. “There on the wharf to greet her and Carlos and little…” Her voice broke. Nicolas. The grandson she would never see.

Richard looked at her with pain in his face. He came to her and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We will. Don’t worry, my love, we’ll be there.”

She laid her own hand over his and looked up at him. Grenville had kept Richard in his lockup, standing tethered to the wall by wrist chains so short he could neither lie down nor sit. For two days and two nights. Whenever Honor thought of it she wished she could stab Grenville one more time.

The bells rang on. Adam got to his feet quickly, as if the sound was too irritating. He plowed a hand through his hair. Gave Honor a look of desperation. Sat down again and poured himself another cup of wine and drank it fast. His third in half an hour. There was a scuffling sound in the corridor outside the door. Then voices, loud but indistinct. “Another fight,” Adam said. “I’ll go see. I don’t want them brawling near here.” He went out to the corridor.

Honor and Richard looked at each other.

“Books?” he asked hollowly. “Do you want any more books?”

She shook her head. “Elizabeth sent some last week.” Strange, she thought, that when she had first met the Princess, Elizabeth was the prisoner and had asked
her
to bring books. Now, they had traded places. Except Elizabeth had finally been set free.
I will not.

She shook off the thought. “Now,” she said, eager to settle another matter, “has the Princess sent the money to rebuild the house? Has it arrived?”

He nodded.

“Good. When can you have the carpenters begin?”

He shrugged. Looked away.

She stood. “Richard, you need to get started. Soon there’ll be snow.” He and Adam were living aboard Adam’s ship in Colchester Harbor, partly to save the last of their money. Joan had asked them to move in with her at Blackheath, but Richard insisted on being near Honor so that he could visit her every day. “Please, promise me you’ll hire the workmen tomorrow.”

“Can’t do that,” he said tightly.

“Why not? You have the money. Elizabeth has been generous.”

“I can’t because…I won’t.”

“You can’t keep living in the harbor.”

“There are other places.”

“Where?”

He groaned, hating this. “I’ll go to Antwerp.”

“Antwerp?” she said in horror. “No! Speedwell House is our home. I want you to live in our home.”

“I don’t want to live there without you!”

They stared at each other. She groped for his hand.

“Oh, don’t do this. Please, Richard. If you leave England, what’s it all been for? I did it.…. I killed him…for you. For you and Adam. And Isabel and her children.”

He was shaking his head in misery.

“Please,” she begged. “You once told me you would
never
leave. That day we fought at the inn. You said you wouldn’t let them make us run away again. You vowed to stay and fight. And you were right. Don’t let them win now. Stay, Richard. Rebuild. Give a home to Isabel and—”

He laid his hand over her mouth to stop her. She could see how hard he was fighting for control. He lowered his hand and smiled bleakly. “You’ve forgotten your own vow.”

She was lost. “Mine?”

“When we both came home from Grenville’s treatment in the Tower. Don’t you remember? You made a promise. You said you would never fight me again.” Tenderly, he took her face in his hands. “What a liar you are.” Tears gleamed in his eye.

She struggled to hold back her own hot tears. She would not cry. Seeing her cry would kill Richard.

The door opened. Adam came in, his face ashen. “Barnes,” he said. “He’s coming.”

Honor shivered at the name. The jailer.

The three of them looked at the door. As they waited in dry-mouthed silence, the city bells sounded all the more clamorous. Richard held Honor’s hand so tightly it felt like he would crush it.

The jailer appeared at the open door and, absurdly, gave it a soft, polite knock with his knuckle. “Mistress Thornleigh?”

“Master Barnes,” she managed.

He walked in looking very grave. He held a rolled paper scroll. Honor could see that its red wax seal was broken. An official confirmation of the execution? From the mayor?

“I’ve come to tell you—” Barnes stopped and shook his head. “God’s blood, I can’t hardly hear myself with those bells going at it.”

It unnerved Honor despite her effort to be brave. Were they ringing bells to announce the execution? Was that common?

“They’ve already set bonfires in the market square,” the jailer went on. “And what with all the dancing in the streets and feasting and drinking and such, I’ll be lucky to keep even one of my turnkeys on the job today.”

Honor could not fathom what he meant. She was trying with all her might to stay strong, to hear the time decreed for her execution and acknowledge it with some dignity.

“Bonfires? Feasting?” Richard asked, his voice raw. He glanced at Adam, who seemed just as lost.

Barnes looked at the three of them, his eyes going wide. “You didn’t hear the news? God’s blood, the old queen’s dead. Aye, Queen Mary died in her bed just past midnight. And this morning in London the lords and gentlemen of Parliament proclaimed the new, young queen. Queen Elizabeth. Folks have gone stark mad, rejoicing. Listen to them bells!”

“Good Lord,” Adam said in awe.

Honor felt a moment of deep satisfaction. The burning of heretics would stop. The country would suffer no civil war. The young woman she had counselled and cajoled had survived her sister’s hate. “Queen Elizabeth,” she said almost to herself, liking the sound of it. “I am right glad of it.”

“Aye,” Richard murmured hollowly. She looked at him, knowing his mind was still fixed on her imminent execution. This joyful news did nothing to cheer him.

“Aye,” Barnes echoed. “The new, young queen is mistress of the lot of us now, and I must do her bidding. And she wastes no time in making us jump.” He raised the scroll. “This here is my order, delivered straight from her hand.” He put on a sober face and puffed out his chest to make a declaration. “Mistress Honor Thornleigh, in the name of Queen Elizabeth, the first of that name, I release you from my custody.”

She blinked at him, not understanding.

Richard asked warily, confused, “Is my wife to be taken to another jail?”

“God’s blood, man, no. No jail at all. She’s to have her freedom. Her life. Your good wife is pardoned.”

34

Two Ships

December 1559

F
og—a cold, wet, winter fog—lay heavy on the River Thames, making some in the small crowd on the London wharf shiver as they waited. But the gathering, the usual mix of merchants’ agents, customs officials, ale sellers, chandlers, lightermen, scavenging boys, pickpockets, and whores accepted the discomfort. Every arriving ship was a floating opportunity to make money.

Honor felt the cold not at all. She was too eager to catch the first glimpse of the Spanish galleon through the river fog; her first sight of Isabel and Carlos and their little boy. Storms had delayed their landfall for weeks. Now, they were coming home. Not to Speedwell House—the rebuilding was still going on. In the meantime, Honor and Richard, befitting their rise in the world—thanks to Elizabeth, and the astonishing new wealth that came with it—had bought a London house on fashionable Bishopsgate Street. Joan, part of their household now, was there, getting everything in order for the feast to welcome Isabel and Carlos back to England. Honor and Joan had had a spirited difference of opinion this morning about whether to have the cook serve goose with preserved cherries as the first course, or pheasant. They had resolved it by ordering both.

How quickly we get used to a life of luxury, she thought now with some amusement. And yet, every day she gave silent thanks for her great good fortune. And her gratitude would be boundless at the sight of her daughter after five long years. A friend of Richard’s at the customs house had alerted him about the ship en route from Seville. The ship’s boat had come ahead with the passenger list, and Richard’s friend confirmed that Isabel and Carlos were on board.

No sign of them yet, though. Just screehing seagulls and a few wherries either appearing out of the dirty-looking fog or disappearing into it. Beside Honor, Richard had struck up a conversation with the agent of a colleague of the Mercers’ Guild. She glanced back at Frances, waiting quietly a few paces behind them, hugging herself. She already missed Adam, Honor knew. She was with child.

“Cold?” Honor asked her.

Frances shook her head with a quick, reassuring smile. Honor had come to pity her, and also, strange to say, almost to admire her. At her brother’s death Frances had surprised everyone by taking Honor’s part, saying she would never forgive her brother for using her to enable his attack on Richard and Speedwell House. She had made a complete break with the house of Grenville, and was trying hard to fit into the Thornleigh family, although Richard still did not trust her, and spoke to her with strained civility. But Honor could see how much Frances loved Adam. It was pitiful, really. Adam was reconciled to the fact of their marriage and treated his wife with courtesy, and even a modicum of intimacy, but it was very clear that Frances would never have his heart. Yet she made no complaint. Honor found that touching.

A manservant Honor didn’t know approached their little group and bowed. “Your lordship.”

Richard took no notice and kept on talking to the agent, listening with interest to the man’s replies.

The servant tried again. “Pardon, your lordship.”

Oblivious, Richard talked on. Honor watched with amusement. He still wasn’t used to being addressed as a peer of the realm.

The servant coughed to catch his attention.

Honor laughed. “Lord Thornleigh,” she said pointedly.

Richard blinked at her, then at the servant, then remembered—he was Baron Thornleigh now. Elizabeth had ennobled him in the flurry of her first acts as queen, and gifted him with rich lands in Kent and Wiltshire as well as another large manor neighboring their Essex home. Richard, grinning, had told Honor it was Elizabeth’s way of thanking
her.
“Sorry,” he said now to the servant. “What is it?”

“Sir William Cecil bids you come to Whitehall for a meeting, and to kindly come posthaste.” Elizabeth’s very first act had been to name Cecil her principal secretary, the most influential man on her newly formed royal council. “He sends you this, my lord.” The servant handed over a folded paper.

Richard scanned the note. “More talks with Gresham,” he said to Honor. “The Antwerp strategy.”

“Then you must go right away.” Sir Thomas Gresham was Elizabeth’s expert financial agent in Antwerp. Honor knew that England’s financial crisis was dire. Queen Mary had left a bankrupt treasury, which dangerously weakened the country’s security. Elizabeth was facing the first international crisis of her reign. French troops, brought over by the Scottish queen regent, had been threateningly posted along England’s border. But Elizabeth had no standing army, a fleet that was in urgent need of repair, little cash, and a debased coinage. She needed to borrow immediately from the powerful London merchants’ companies in Antwerp to consolidate her debts, buy arms, refit her ships, and rebuild confidence in the pound sterling by removing base coins from circulation. She needed all the help she could get. Richard knew Antwerp, knew the major traders there, and knew Elizabeth, who trusted him. “The lord treasurer, too, will want to see you,” Honor said to him.

The servant bowed to Honor. “Your ladyship’s presence is also requested.”

Richard smiled wryly. “And the Queen will want to see
you.
”

Honor was glad to help in whatever way she could. Elizabeth had called her in for several private discussions to help formulate the act that had begun her reign, an act to establish a truce in religion, a proclamation of tolerance. That had made Honor very proud. She had stood beside her as Elizabeth had prepared to make her entrance into Parliament for the proclamation, while her ladies-in-waiting fussed with last minute touches of her jewels and her robes. Honor’s heart had swelled with admiration for the new queen.

Elizabeth had turned to her with a nervous look, and reached out her hand for reassurance. Honor clasped her hand and gave it a squeeze and said,
“Aspirat primo fortuna labori.”
Fortune smiles upon our first effort. An echo of their very first meeting when Elizabeth had been a frightened prisoner at Woodstock.

Elizabeth had smiled, relaxing. She stood tall and said, matching Virgil with Virgil,
“Audaces fortuna iuvat.”
Fortune favors the bold.

“There it is,” Frances said. “The ship.”