The Traitor's Daughter (9 page)

“Owen, Robert is back in England.”

“Who?”

She pulled back, but kept her arms around his waist. “My brother. It's a secret, though, and you must tell no one. I got a letter from our old tutor. He says Robert is living in Lewes. He's a physician. Imagine, Robert caring for the ill! When I last saw him he was a frightened little boy. It's such wonderful news.”

Owen frowned. “A secret, you say?”

“Yes. He and Master Prowse, that's the tutor, have become friends, and he explained that Robert has taken another name. Robert doesn't want anyone to know his true identity.”

“I can understand why.”

“Our mother. I know.” Her bitterness welled up again. “Her children cannot escape her taint.”

“Not both children.”

“You said no one censures me for her crime, and surely the same holds for my brother.”

“You have not been raised by her,” he said darkly. “He has.”

His implication shocked her. She let go of him and took a step back, forcing him to release her. “I know Robert. Know his heart. He was once the only friend I had. I will vouch for him to anyone who doubts him, even to the Queen herself.”

His frown deepened. “Why did this tutor contact you?”

“He thought it only right that someone in Robert's family should know. Robert actually told him not to. I hate that he feels he has to go to such lengths to distance himself from our mother.”

“Maybe he's not.”

“Not what?”

“Distanced from her.”

The statement fell between them like a tree. Ice touched the back of Kate's neck. A moment ago she had delighted in the afterglow of making love, but now his accusation had chilled that. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

“Kate, think. He has been raised among England's enemies. He should be brought in for questioning. Interrogated.”

She felt a stab of fear for her brother, as if she had betrayed him. How she wished she had kept this to herself! A fierce desire to protect him surged through her. “Robert is an innocent in these battles. He only recently reached manhood yet clearly he has cut all ties with our mother and that took courage. I am going to see him as soon as I can to offer my support.”

“Don't. You need to stay well away from him until he can be questioned.”

She bristled. For the second time today a man was issuing her a command.

Owen groaned. “Oh God, let's not quarrel, Kate. Not tonight. Your brother may be the soul of goodness and charity for all I know. If I am too cautious about your safety and conjure danger where there is none, forgive me. Heaven knows we have enough
real
dangers to occupy us.”

With thankfulness, her anger drained. Owen was her rock, her love. To wrangle with him was churlish. “True. Let all my troublesome relatives keep their distance from us this night,” she said, hooking her arm in his. “And let us, my love, to bed.”

But as they left the library she cautioned herself that her brother was someone she would not mention to Owen again.

6

The Ambassador

“H
ow delightful,
chérie!
” Marie de Castelnau spread wide the jade taffeta wrapping and lifted out the baby's gift Kate had brought. It was a teething coral, the coral's spines buffed down to smooth knobs, mounted on a curving silver handle fashioned like a dolphin. It also served as a rattle. Marie shook it, making its tumbling stone granules whisper a soft
swoosh.
“Ha!
Merveilleux!
” Her laughter was clear and high, like a cluster of silver bells. She was a pretty woman of twenty-two, her birthday and Kate's just seventeen days apart. She beamed at the baby in his cradle. “My little angel will soon need it, as you can see.”

Kate did indeed—and
felt
it. With his slippery gums the baby was gnawing her knuckle like a starved creature, his tiny hands clamped on her wrist. She laughed, too. “What an appetite!” She jested, “Do you not feed the poor babe?”

“Oh, his appetite is prodigious. I pity the wet nurse when my angel
does
grow teeth.”

They left the baby happily gumming his new rattle, and withdrew to the parlor. The London residence of the French ambassador was a spacious old house on Salisbury Court just south of Fleet Street and near enough to Ludgate to the east that Kate could hear, through an open window, faint voices and the clatter of wagon wheels as traffic moved in and out of the city. The house was an active place of business. Kate had passed through the great hall where merchants and lawyers milled with the ambassador's clerks and secretaries and then a maid had ushered her upstairs to the family's private apartments. The two ladies sipped spiced wine in the parlor fragrant with vases of blowsy, late-summer roses. Kate kept their cheerful conversation on topics Marie enjoyed: her children, her planned visit home to her parents in Rouen, the baby gifts sent by other friends and well-wishers.

“From the Countess of Leicester,” Marie said, displaying a bolt of exquisite ivory silk on the low table before them. “For a christening gown.”

“It's lovely. Have you seen the countess lately?” Kate knew how Marie, the heiress of a family of French royal secretaries, loved to gossip about courtiers nearest Queen Elizabeth.

“We dined with her and Leicester last week,” Marie said with satisfaction. “August was the first time she has lived openly as his wife, you know.” The secret marriage of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, to the Queen's cousin Lettice Knollys four years ago had been the talk of London when the secret came out. The Queen had been furious, for Leicester, a very handsome man and a friend of hers since childhood, was one of her favorites. She had raised him to great heights and many had thought she would one day make him her husband. So irate had she been at his marriage she had banished his new wife from court, and for three years Lettice had lived quietly with her relatives in Oxfordshire. But for the birth of her son she had finally moved into Leicester House, the Earl's palatial mansion on the Strand. Young, beautiful, married to one of the most influential men in England, and now the mother of his heir, Lettice had reached a pinnacle of female status outside of being royal. Kate's sympathy was with Elizabeth. Now forty-nine, she had apparently decided to remain single, and would surely remain childless.

“Leicester especially invited my husband,” Marie went on with pride. “His wife has all his affection, and he introduces her only to those to whom he wishes to show a particular mark of attention.”

Kate tried to think of some morsel to add to the gossip, but her mind had already slipped ahead to the purpose of her visit. She had come prepared.

“Marie, could I ask a favor? I would be grateful for a few minutes of conversation with Monsieur de Castelnau. I hate to disturb him on an obviously busy morning, but it is for my husband's sake.”

Marie reached out to touch Kate's arm with concern. “My poor
chérie.
” They had carefully avoided speaking of Owen's time in prison, but Kate knew that Marie detested England's laws against Catholics. A devout Catholic herself, she and her husband enjoyed special privileges due to his position; they were allowed to hold mass within the embassy for their family and servants. She had named her young daughter Catherine-Marie in honor of two pious French queens, Catherine de Medici, the present French king's mother, and Mary Stuart, who had once been the queen consort of a previous French king. “Of course,” Marie assured Kate. “If there is anything my husband can do for Monsieur Lyon I am sure he will be pleased to do so.” She added a gentle but firm warning: “Within reason.”

“I understand.” Kate knew that no ambassador could flout the laws of his host country, or even its social mores, without stirring up the host government's fury. And Owen Lyon, the convict, was officially suspect. “I would only ask him to consider recommending my husband as a tutor, discreetly, to some of his merchant friends. Nothing more.”

Clearly relieved, Marie patted Kate's hand and rose to go to her husband. “It is an excellent time of day to ask,
chérie.
He is always in a good mood after his breakfast.”

With a whisper of her satin gown she was gone.

Kate sat waiting. She felt nervous, and very alone. Owen was on his way to Petworth in Sussex. Mounted on his new horse, a handsome silver chestnut with a blaze down its chestnut nose, he had trotted out through the gates of Lady Thornleigh's courtyard before dawn, leaving Kate in bed with his last kiss on her lips. After their moonlit moment in her grandmother's library they had had just one day together, and Owen had spent much of it visiting the man he had befriended in prison, a kinsman of Northumberland, hoping he would vouch for him to the earl. Matthew had arranged the man's release for this very purpose. Meanwhile, Kate had visited Matthew at his house on St. Peter's Hill neighboring Paul's Wharf to further her own purpose.

Surprisingly quickly—before Kate even felt ready—she was ushered by a clerk into the ambassador's downstairs study. She found him standing at his desk with his back to her, bent over some papers. She heard the scribbling of his pen. A couple of clerks or secretaries moved in and out of the room with dossiers, scrolls, messages. Kate waited, her mouth so dry with nervousness she longed for a sip from the decanter of wine on Castelnau's sideboard. Never would she have imagined when she'd spoken briefly with him at that banquet her father had hosted four years ago that one day she would come to him in this capacity. But she had been well briefed by Matthew. Michel de Castelnau, Sieur de la Mau-vissière, was a former soldier and a seasoned diplomat with a reputation for tact and moderation. He had been France's ambassador to London for seven years and had once used his influence to promote a marriage between Elizabeth and the French Duke of Alençon, hoping to strengthen the ties between the two countries. Elizabeth had at first actively encouraged the negotiations, but eventually declined.

He turned and smiled. “Ah, Mistress Lyon, what a pleasure. You have gladdened my wife with your thoughtful gift to our son.”

“A sweet babe, sir. He is fortunate in his gentle mother. And, if I may say, sir, he has your eyes.”

“Ha. I hope that attribute of this rough face is all he will be saddled with,” he said with wry good humor. “He would have been wiser to inherit all from my wife.” He was sixty-two and there was no denying the bluff aspect of his craggy features. His thinning hair of crinkly brown curls lay like a threadbare cap. But his good humor spoke of a man whose life was rich and full. He put down his pen and motioned to a chair for Kate to sit.

She was too keyed up to sit. Besides, she had an intuition that her chance of success would be better if she remained upright in the role of petitioner. Her marriage to a lowly playwright had severely reduced her status; if she were not Marie's friend, and a baron's daughter, Castelnau might not have agreed to see her. “Thank you, sir,” she said, declining the invitation to sit, “but I will not take up any more of your valuable time than necessary.”

He glanced at a clerk who was carrying in a gift box fancifully wrapped in gold satin and tied with a silver cord. “From Lord Burghley, sir, for your son,” the clerk said. Castelnau motioned for him to put the gift on the desk, then turned back to Kate. “Now, what's this Marie says about your husband? Master Lyon has concluded his term in the Marshalsea, I understand. I hope he is well despite his ordeal?”

“Yes, sir, he is again a free man, and he is well, thank you for your kind concern. As he said to me, it would have taken more than six months of cold gruel to break his convictions.”

The ambassador flicked a glance at the departing clerk, then a look of mild warning at Kate. It was not wise to speak in public, even lightly, of flouting the law. But she saw a hint of approval in his eyes.

She had bet on this approval; Castelnau was as devoutly Catholic as his wife. But would he take the colossal next step? She, of course, could not let on that she knew his embassy was the depot for letters between Mary Stuart and her powerful friends abroad, nor could she betray any knowledge of Griffith having been the courier. She could only hope that he needed a replacement for Griffith urgently enough for her ploy to work.

Only one way to find out.

“Sir, I have to come to ask, most humbly, if you would vouch for my husband.”

“Yes, a tutoring position, Marie said. There are one or two gentlemen of my acquaintance who might—”

“No, it is not about tutoring I have come.” She glanced over her shoulder. No clerks were in sight, but for how long? She turned back to him and said quickly, quietly, “I seek a recommendation for myself.”

He looked puzzled. “I don't understand. For what purpose? Recommend you to whom?”

“To Her Majesty Queen Mary.”

Surprise stiffened his back. The good humor in his eyes died and dismay flooded in. “Madam, I must warn you—”

“Hear me, sir, I beg you.” She moved quickly to the door and closed it. “I intend to ride to Sheffield and deliver to Queen Mary a letter offering my husband's services in her great cause. I see you are amazed, sir, and well you might be, knowing my father's position. But I was a loyal daughter of the church in Spain's city of Brussels before my father carried me away, and I am now a wife. At my husband's arrest my father, as you must know, turned his face from me. But I care not, for my husband's abiding faith has reawakened mine. We are devoted to the cause of Queen Mary and—”

“Stop.” He held up his hands to forestall her. He looked shocked. “You are too forward, madam! I cannot help you. And I will not hear another word. My position—”

“We crave only to bring England back to God,” she barreled on. “In prison my husband heard rumors that Englishmen loyal to the one true Church are preparing to rescue Queen Mary from her bondage. He wants to ride with them. If you will but put your name to my letter to her, sir, assuring her of my faith, and of my husband's desire to—”

“Stop, I tell you,” he said harshly. “Enough.” He made to move past her toward the door.

She stepped into his path to block him. The desperation she put into her voice was only partly counterfeit. “There is no other way now for me and my husband. He is an outcast in his own land thanks to the heretic queen. And do not doubt my commitment, sir. Look.” She lifted the gold chain around her neck on which hung a locket, the kind used for carrying a beloved's lock of hair. She snapped it open to reveal a pale blue wax disc with the imprint of the Lamb of God over the crossed keys symbol of the papacy. “Yes,” she whispered, “an Agnus Dei.” These medallions blessed by the pope were exceedingly precious to Catholics. And exceedingly dangerous. Possession of an Agnus Dei was a violation of English law. Kate had got this one yesterday from Matthew. It had been stripped from a Jesuit priest who'd recently infiltrated from Rome and had been arrested.

Castelnau looked horrified. “You could be thrown in prison for having this.”

“No, sir, it protects me. God protects me, and my husband. As no one else will in this cursed queen's land. I am taking this precious object to Queen Mary as proof of our devotion.”

“I will hear no more.” He strode past her and opened the door. “Giles!” he called.

Kate's heart was pounding. She had to convince him. “I am going to Sheffield, sir, with or without your assistance. My aunt and uncle live in the north and my ruse is to travel to visit them, but the destination of my letter will be Sheffield Manor, where Mary is held. I want your endorsement to prove myself to her, but believe me, sir, I have credence enough in myself. Everyone knows of my late uncle's attempt, with my mother's help, to remove Elizabeth. My faith, sir, is in my blood.”

He looked at her with what seemed like pity. “You are a foolish woman. And your task is impossible.”

“No, sir, it is not! My husband heard from some of the faithful in prison that Mary receives letters smuggled in to her. I will go to Sheffield and find who does this. They will help me.”

“Do not, madam. You will surely be arrested.” He scowled. “Be thankful I do not call for a constable myself.” He called again, “Giles!” and almost instantly a clerk rushed forward. “Escort Mistress Lyon to the street,” said Castelnau. “Her visit to my wife is done.”

 

You fool!
Kate furiously berated herself as she tramped north on Salisbury Court.
Too forward,
Castelnau had called her, and he was right! She had blundered like an idiot with him by blurting about Mary Stuart. How had she ever expected a veteran campaigner like Castelnau to tumble to her plan? She had thought to spark the idea in his mind that she would be the ideal replacement for his man Griffith—
Matthew's
man Griffith. Had been so sure that by telling him she was hell-bent on going to Sheffield he would come up with the idea himself of using her as the courier. Instead, he had thrown up a wall of caution against her. He would not taint himself by associating with such a hotheaded, reckless, presumptuous woman. All she had accomplished was to make him totally mistrust her.
Fool!