The Queen's Dwarf A Novel (43 page)

She read the missive, then raised her eyes to him. “Master Ware, we have heard grim tales even here. The Protestants in La Rochelle are living skeletons. Buckingham must sail if he is to save them.”

“His Grace and the king are reluctant to have the fleet embark until it is provisioned with more supplies than they could need. But after what happened on the duke’s last foray, the sailors are mutinous devils, refusing to risk boarding Buckingham’s ships even with such generous provisions. They stalk the streets of Portsmouth, some of the curs even daring to chant ‘death to the duke.’”

“A French king would never suffer his subjects to do such a thing. His Majesty is too forgiving.”

“He sends out guards to nab the ringleaders, but the crowd protects them. I’ve never seen the like of it. Even the most staid housewife would shield one of the duke’s detractors in her flour bin and give him her egg money to aid his escape.”

Why would they not? I thought. Many women in the port town must have lost loved ones in the failed assault. Sending more of their men with the same commander must seem the height of idiocy.

The duchess of Buckingham grew even more drawn at Ware’s words. “Master Ware, how does my husband fare under such strain?”

“His Grace does not let rabble interfere with his endeavors.”

“Would that I could do something to shield him. I beg you tell him I love him. Tell him I commend him to God’s care.”

Lady Carlisle muttered wryly, “Kate prays so often, I begin to fear that God might obliterate His Grace just to get some peace.”

The queen and the rest of the ladies gave Lady Carlisle quelling looks. “Lucy, I know you do not mean to be unkind,” Henrietta Maria said.

“Oh, I do, Majesty, though I am sorry afterward. It is because I do not get enough sleep. It makes me grow so surly, my husband will not even approach me.”

“If only other women’s husbands would follow his example,” I muttered.

Lady Carlisle’s sneer grew more pronounced. “This from the paragon of virtue who attempted to steal his best friend’s betrothed.”

My cheeks stung. “They were not married, Your Ladyship. Unlike—”

“Jeffrey! Lucy!” The queen clapped her hands to silence us. “I cannot bear this bickering. Can you not see how upset the duchess is? How worried I am? If you wish to snip at each other, withdraw to the far side of the room, where no one can hear you. The duchess and I get news of our husbands without such trivial blather!”

I moved to where Pug, the monkey, sat, pulling crystal prisms off of a candlestick. Lady Carlisle stood her ground. “Majesty, I consider it my duty to tell you that Kate scarce sleeps anymore. She keeps us all awake with her pacing in the middle of the night.”

The duchess looked away. She swallowed hard. “I do not dare sleep, for fear what might happen to my husband. I have dreams.…” She stopped. Shuddered.

“I know what it is to miss a beloved husband.” The queen’s mouth softened. “You must go to His Grace, Kate. Join him for whatever time is left before the fleet sets sail.” Her eyes grew sorrowful. “I do think there are times that the king would like to sail with him. Have an adventure as he and His Grace did when he was still a prince. Do you know, the first time I saw my husband, they were returning from Spain. Charles fancied himself in love with the Infanta Maria. When diplomatic negotiations stalled, he and the duke raced off to woo her without King James’s permission.”

“The escapade did not end well,” Ware said.

“I danced for them—one of the entertainments my brother planned for their visit. I remember stealing peeks at the English prince, thinking what sad eyes he had. He never had gotten over losing his brother. I remember wondering what it would be like to have such a prince do something so reckless and romantic for love of me. Perhaps that is what every woman wishes for.”

“His Majesty is an English Protestant who married a French Catholic. That was judged a gamble by all of Europe at the time.”

It was becoming more obvious all the time that both factions thought they had lost the roll of the dice. The alliances the royal marriage had been meant to forge had shattered in French eyes and in English. The Pope’s desire for England’s return to the fold had proved a futile one. France and Spain had combined their might, and not even the hint of a child had appeared to root in the queen’s womb. Yes, there were plenty who claimed the king had made a bad bargain. I would not be counted as one of them.

“Wedding Her Majesty makes the king the most fortunate of men,” I snapped.

Ware straightened his cuff. “I only speak frankly because I know of Her Majesty’s propensity for playing cards beyond the limits of her purse. Gambling for coins and trinkets is one thing. A generous friend can cover Your Majesty’s excesses. Overreaching the limits of a kingdom’s patience is another. It is important the queen know of the discord her husband faces in his kingdom. There are rumors Your Majesty has enticed the king to attend Mass.”

“Her Majesty has done no such thing,” the duchess of Buckingham protested.

Henrietta Maria touched a gold cross at her throat. “No. But I wish that I could. If I could make the Church whole again, it would unite the opposing sides. The fleet would not have to sail, the Huguenots would not have to starve, and my brother’s troops would not have to fight. I cannot understand why people find that a wicked hope. Perhaps our children—His Majesty’s and mine—will not have to face this divide. If …
when
God grants us babes.”

“I have heard that God grants worthy prayers,” Ware said with a bow. “Now, if Your Majesty will excuse me, I will not waste any more of your time. I have vital business to attend to for the good of England.”

“I have a charge for you, as well,” the queen said. “Master Ware, you and your men will deliver Her Grace safe to her husband.”

“I am certain the rest of His Grace’s men will be happy to escort the duchess. I am not returning to Portsmouth. My lord has charged me with some other business to see to in his absence. The duke’s other interests do not cease needing attention because he has gone off to war.”

“I hope you may spare a little time for Jeffrey before you leave. The misunderstanding between Jeffrey and Sergeant Evans has caused them both pain. It helps to talk such matters over with a sympathetic friend.”

I tried not to let Her Majesty see me wince. “Master Ware is far too busy for such confidences,” I said, my vulnerabilities stripped bare.

Ware tugged at his neck cloth, his mask of calm seeming to slip a fraction. “Jeffrey, you are mistaken. Tonight, nothing could be more important than private conversation with you.”

The queen smiled at both of us, pleased with herself. Resentment filled me. Could she not sense my reluctance to speak to Ware? “Go with him now, Jeffrey. I wish to reread my husband’s letter and write back to him. Tell him how fervently I pray for a child. Kate,” she said to the duchess, “you will want to set your servants to packing. You may have my silver-lace hat with the green feather. It would look well on you.” The duchess curtsyed, then all but tripped on her way out the door, feverish eagerness in her eyes.

Ware bent down to place a hand on my shoulder, almost empathetic. “Shall we go to your private chamber?” he said as we exited the room. “I have heard you are not welcome in the menagerie’s lodgings anymore.”

“There is no point in avoiding my fellow curiosities. We perform together nearly every day.”

Besides, I could always find work to seem absorbed in, while staying close enough to listen to the other members of the menagerie talk. I knew that Sara had a toothache but that Robin’s kindnesses were making her smile anyway. Boku was working on a new illusion. Rattlebones was having trouble training the fluffy white dog he had gotten from Phineas when he’d delivered the letter regarding John’s death to Samuel at the Saracen’s Bane. I knew that Will Evans still watched Dulcinea, love heavy in his eyes.

“You will not wish your fellow curiosities to hear what I have to say.”

I took him to my chamber. Griggory struggled up, sleepy, from his seat by the fire. “Master Hudson, may I serve you and your guest some wine?”

“The gentleman will not be staying that long,” I said. “Leave us.”

Griggory gave Ware that shrinking look so many did when faced with ugliness or a scar. He bowed, then did as I bid him.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well? What fresh misery does your master hope to stir up? Shouldn’t he be concentrating on how to get all those mutinous soldiers onto ships bound for France? It’s like herding animals into the shambles to be slaughtered. Doomed creatures are smarter than one thinks. They get a whiff of blood and terror and they panic.”

“You say that with some satisfaction.”

“It would not grieve me overmuch if His Grace met with a few well-aimed hooves. From your tone in our earlier discussion, you would not be overly sorry yourself.”

“What His Grace lacks in wit and subtlety he makes up for in boldness. He loves England.”

“England does not return the duke’s affection.”

“There are those who would if they knew the perilous stand His Grace is willing to take.”

“What, pray tell, is that?”

“The king is eager to return to his wife’s bed.”

“Her Majesty is beautiful, spirited, and she loves the king very much. It is an intoxicating brew few men would be able to resist.”

“Do you imagine yourself drinking that brew in His Majesty’s place? I’ve seen the look in your eyes when Her Majesty touches you—and she touches you a great deal. I wonder what commoners would think if they saw it.”

“They would wish to fondle me also, as if I were her monkey or dog. The queen does not see me as a man, and you know it.”

“She does feel quite passionate about the king, however. Absence, combined with that unfortunate accident with the scaffold, has made the queen dearer in the king’s eyes, as well. His Grace says that her letters to the king are quite moving.”

“You are prying into the king’s letters?”

“His Majesty shares them willingly with his beloved ‘Steenie.’ Charles Stuart is quite in love with his wife. Of course, he will always love Buckingham more: the nobleman who took ‘baby Charles’ under his worldly wing when Charles was a callow youth.”

I thought what Will Evans’s friendship had meant to me when I arrived at the palace, clumsy and uncertain in a world I did not understand. Buckingham had helped Charles through a similar ordeal. It forged a bond that Charles would never break, a tie with his father, his brother, his coming of age. Each time Charles had leapt to Buckingham’s defense, he had built a higher wall around the two of them. To surrender Buckingham now would mean those battles he had fought on his favorite’s behalf were meaningless, that the king had been a fool.

Ware broke into my dark musings. “His Grace no longer hopes His Majesty will be swayed by even the most accomplished of Lady Carlisle’s charms.”

“His Majesty prefers gold to dross.”

“The countess would not appreciate such an unflattering appraisal. The duke fears that if this newfound closeness between Their Majesties results in a child, it will be disastrous for the kingdom. You must prevent that from happening.”

“What do you want me to do? Leap into bed with them and kidnap the king’s cock?”

He drew out a packet and forced it into my hand. “His Grace has found a more subtle method. You will place this powder into the queen’s wine. That will prevent anything from taking root in her womb.”

I recoiled from Ware’s suggestion. “Your master might have used this preventative with Dulcinea.”

“He did not consider her important enough to waste such a mixture on. This particular blend will make the womb wither like an old woman’s.” I felt sick as Ware continued. “His Grace wishes to make certain that Henrietta Maria will never have a child.”

I paced the chamber, wishing to get as far from Ware and the ugliness Buckingham proposed as possible. “Do you realize what the queen has been enduring here at Wellingborough? The hours she has spent praying for a child? The cures she has attempted? She is breaking her heart over the fact that she has not been able to give her husband a prince. She is afraid if she does not, they will send her back to France.”

“Buckingham is counting on it. Once the duke is rid of the queen, he can slip Lady Carlisle into place as the king’s mistress. When another queen is found to replace the French disaster, His Grace will make certain she is a plain, biddable creature who will pose no danger to Lady Carlisle’s influence over His Majesty.”

I braced myself, Henrietta Maria’s face and Samuel’s swimming before my eyes. It will never end. The truth struck me. There will always be some new deviltry to do, the price of Samuel’s safety growing greater until I can be of no more use. And once that happened? Would Buckingham allow one who knew such dangerous secrets to wander about the court free? It would be easy enough to drop a scaffold on me. There were a hundred ways to kill a man so small. God only knew what these villains had done to Clemmy.

I clung to the memory of Samuel’s goodness, the feel of Henrietta Maria’s kiss on my cheek. It gave me strength. “No,” I said. “I will not do it.”

“What?”

“Tell His Grace I am finished.”

“That would be a reckless course to take.”

“And feeding a queen of England poison that would shrivel her womb is not?”

“You are mired too deep in plots to resist the duke now. He will have you flung into a dungeon where the rats are bigger than you. They gnaw on the flesh of full-grown men when they are sleeping. They would have no fear of you.”

“I can only hope I would turn their stomachs.”

“Your brother would provide sweeter fare. It is far easier to face such a fate yourself. Harder to see such a fate befall someone you love. It drove my lady mother mad.”

“Prison?”

“The Church fathers sent her there after she sliced out my eye.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph … your mother did that to you?”

The story Buckinghams’s women had told echoed in my mind, and I thought of the boy, being dragged away by the mother who had struck his father down, left him for dead. How had she come to turn a knife on her son? I did not want to feel sympathy for Ware, but I could not help it. The knife had left far more hideous scars that his eye, in places where no one could see them. “I pity you.”