Perfect Shadows (35 page)

I had just lowered the unconscious Richard from my horse to the
waiting arms of his brother when I stiffened and looked wildly over my
shoulder, back toward London. I gave hurried instructions to care for the boy,
and turned the horse back the way we had come, but Rhys tangled a hand in the
reins, nearly dropping his brother in the process. “You’ll need afresh mount,
my lord,” he grunted, and Jehan stepped forward, indicating with a jerk of his
head to Rhys that he would see to it. I paced nervously while the fresh horse
was readied, swinging into the saddle to spur the animal into a canter before
we had cleared the courtyard.

The call was plain, tugging at me, guiding me. It was Hal, of
course, and something was wrong, more than just being lied to about my
attendance at the Masque. I followed that inner call, not to Whitehall, as I
had expected, but to Essex house, in the Strand. There was revelry in the
kitchens here, too, and the porter nodded in his cups at his post. I left the
horse in the shadow of the wall and slipped past the drunken man like a wraith.
The call was plainer inside, and I made my way up the dark stairs and through
several rooms to a locked door at the end. The door was made of stout oak
panels with a heavy iron lock affixed to it. I was happy to see that I would
not have to try my strength against those thick planks—the key was in the lock.

The lock turned easily, but the hinges made a faint protesting
squeak as I slowly pushed the door open. There, in the light of a wildly
guttering candle, I saw Hal, the lower half of his face muffled by a gag, his
eyes nearly starting from his head as he watched the slow swing of the door. He
recognized me and sagged against the ropes that held his hands bound over his
head to the heavy bedstead. Swiftly crossing the room, I pulled the scarf from
his face, plucking the gag from his mouth, and paused a second to kiss his
bloodless lips before setting to work on the ropes.

“Thank God you are here, Kit! They took my costume to trap you,
Robin and Cecil. Robin said I would come to thank him for his saving of me,
when I understood it,” Hal said hoarsely, the words tumbling from him. He was
clad only in his shirt and hose, and fumbled around on the floor for the rest
of his clothing. “How did you know? Thank God you did not go—did you go to
Whitehall? What has happened?” he shrugged into the doublet, ignoring the
points that would tie it to the trunk-hose he pulled over his long legs. He
stamped his feet into his boots and snatched the cloak that I held out to him.

“It’s rather a long story, I fear, too long to tell you now. We
should go.” He nodded, and followed me from the room. The porter still dozed at
the door, but as I stepped into the courtyard I saw a groom leading my horse in
through the gate. The man had probably stepped out to relieve himself and spotted
the animal. I cursed my luck and lunged forward, my fist connecting solidly
with the man’s face. I felt bones break beneath my hand, and my opponent
slumped to the ground. The porter roused, opening his mouth to cry out, and Hal
spun lightly, lashing out and dropping him neatly across the threshold.

He turned back to see me awkwardly trying to tie a kerchief
around my bleeding hand while holding the reins of the shying horse. Hal took
the cloth, and raised my hand to his lips for a moment, to lick the bittersweet
blood from my wound before binding it. I leaned forward to kiss him deeply,
tasting my own blood in my lover’s mouth, then mounted and reached down to pull
him up pillion behind me. I could hear raucous shouting from the kitchens, rude
comments about the size of the missing man’s bladder, as we bounded away into
the darkness.

Northumberland gazed at the smoldering ruin with unseeing eyes.
The faltering servant had told him how the building had seemed engulfed within
seconds of the blaze being discovered, how the intensity of the heat had
forestalled the attempts to quench the fire, and how a blast had rocked the
ground and shattered the windows of facing buildings. The latter did not
surprise him, as he had had powder stored there in the chapel. He stood
stolidly, waiting for the embers to cool enough to permit examination of the
ruins. Sommers appeared at his elbow, muttering curses under his breath.

“She’s gone, my lord. Maudie’s gone. The groom that had the
watching of her said that she vanished during the confusion of the fire. I set
the men to search for her,” Sommers gabbled hoarsely. He knew, none better, the
purpose of the night’s thwarted ritual. They had but a few hours before dawn,
before the moon turned its phase, in which to accomplish that purpose. He
shifted his weight from his deformed foot, and tried to frame the words to
remind Northumberland that their time was short. The earl turned his pebbly
eyes on his companion for a few seconds, then looked back at the destruction before
him.

“It matters not, old friend. There will be other nights, after
all.” He stepped forward, but the ashes under the soles of his thin court shoes
were still too hot for comfort, driving him back. He strode away to the house
without another word.

Hours later, sifting the ruins with the help of Sommers and two
trusted grooms, Percy came upon the pitiful remains shackled to the floor; the
bones were seared and twisted, the fetters buckled by the heat, and the lot
crushed by fallen beams. The earl stood and brushed the soot from his clothing,
giving instructions that the bones be removed and thrown into the river without
delay. The sound of hooves caught his attention, and he turned to find a groom
approaching dressed in the livery of his brother-in-law Essex.

Robert Devereux, second Earl of Essex, paced in his study much
as the captive animals in the Tower menagerie paced their cages, occasionally
throwing himself down to rest, only to be up and pacing again but moments
later. At a diffident knock he threw the door open violently, sending the
startled groom leaping back into the passage. The man handed over the folded
paper that he held then vanished towards the kitchens. Essex broke the seal,
stepping to the window to read Northumberland’s message. He crumpled the paper
and tossed it into the fire with a curse. Would no one help him? He had
returned last night in a foul mood: the deceitful prince had not come to
Whitehall after all, and the strain of waiting had made him irritable and
sulky, which caused the Queen to remark acerbically upon his temper and
increase his ill-humor.

He had returned to free Hal from his confinement, and to try to
explain what had driven him to such extraordinary measures, only to find the
captive gone. The servants were in an uproar, having found one of their number
dead in the courtyard, drowned in the blood from his shattered face. The porter
had been rendered unconscious, and had, upon awakening, identified the Earl of
Southampton as his assailant.

“Well, jolly Robin, is there something you wish to tell me?”
Essex whirled at the sound of Hal’s honey and acid voice, and gaped at the long
pistol held leveled at his heart.

“Do you intend to shoot me then, Hal,” Essex asked, managing a
tone of polite inquiry even though his heart was thumping against his ribs like
a rabbit in a box. He crossed to the heavily carved sideboard and poured two
glasses of wine, intensely aware of the pistol swiveling to follow him.

“Not at all, Robin,” Hal answered easily. “I merely intend to
keep myself free of your enforced hospitality while you try to satisfactorily
explain last night’s mummery to me.” Essex set the glass within Hal’s reach and
retreated to the other side of the room. “I am waiting, Robin. You assured me
last night that when you made your reasons plain I would agree with you. I
doubt very much that I will, but I am sure that I shall enjoy your efforts.”
Essex gulped his wine, then laid bare the bones of the plot against the foreign
prince.

“So, you see, Hal, it was to keep you safe. Cecil will bring him
down, and I did not wish that you be caught in the ruin. He has bewitched you,
of that I am certain. How did you get loose, last night? Was he here? Did he
kill my groom? Old Tip, the porter, says that you hit him, and that he did not
see anyone else. I reported that the man had been set upon by ruffians, because
I thought that you had killed him, but it was Kryštof, wasn’t it?” Though the
fire cast little heat to the far side of the room, a sheen of sweat glistened
on Robin’s brow. Hal considered his friend for a time before replying.

“No, Robin, it was I. I worked the knots loose and when the
groom tried to hinder me, I killed him, or left him to die, it comes to the
same thing. If you wish to alter the tale that you told to the watch, you will
find me with Kryštof.” He shoved the unloaded pistol through his baldric and
departed the house without another word, leaving Robin to his uncomfortable
thoughts.

I sat in the brightly lit room where the unconscious boy rested,
the cause of his coma obvious in the odor of the drugs borne on his shallow
breath. He had scarcely stirred when Sylvana had cleaned and dressed the burns
on his chest, and had lain still and pale all the day with only the faintest
sign of breath on a mirror to show that he lived. His breathing had deepened as
night fell though still feeble, and he stirred now and then. I had sent the
exhausted Rhys to rest, but the man would obey no further than to doze in his
wolf ’s shape near the fire. Many candles had been lit and the sweet smell of
the wax blended agreeably with the fruitwood of the fire, and the kettle of
broth that warmed there. When Richard cried out and struggled out of his dark
dream I was holding him even as he opened his eyes, and the candles served to
allay his fears almost at once. He collapsed sobbing against my chest, clinging
as a small child will when delivered out of a nightmare.

The angry tapping sound of her heels was audible for some time
before the figure of the Queen became visible in the dancing shadows of
Whitehall’s Privy Gallery. I slipped out of my concealment and waited for her,
watching the intermittent glitter of her jeweled gown as she moved through the
pools of light scattered the length of the gallery. I dropped to one knee
before her, and she clouted me lightly over the ear before grasping my hair to
tug me to my feet.

“I pray you be brief, my lord, since you will be secret,” she
snapped. “I have set the entire court to playing hide-and-go-seek, like a pack
of children, and it will not be long before some booby finds his way here. They
think that my brain is going soft,” she added, a sour smile quirking the corner
of her mouth. She reached for my hand, dropping the ring I had sent her back into
my palm. I watched my knuckles whiten as I held it tightly for a moment before
returning it to my finger. She nodded occasionally as I spoke and then
dismissed me with the promise that the matter would be seen to. I melted back
into the shadows as muttering voices signaled the approach of others, and
stifled a gasp as the Queen chose to join me in my concealment.

“It may not be too late,” Percy’s harsh tenor voice was
unmistakable. “Her Majesty must take such an accusation seriously, even if the
girl herself is missing. We must say that he has spirited her away, and killed
her.”

“And then if she is found? Old Bess may be fast slipping into
her dotage, but her brain has not yet completely gone to mush. This is finished
and I’ll have no more of it; I have in mind something quite different for our
night-crow,” Essex retorted, and I, hoping that the movement would not be
noticed, caught the enraged Elizabeth to my chest, clamping her arms to her
sides and tightly covering her mouth with my own to keep her from crying out.
She struggled furiously for a moment before relaxing into my kiss. When the
gallery had been quiet for a few minutes I released her, dropping again to my
knee as she stepped back from me, then reeling with the blow that she cracked
across my face. I raised one hand to my cheek, forestalling a second blow with
the other.

“Majesty, wait!” My voice was hoarse with emotion. She glared at
the hand gripping her wrist, crumpling the starched ruff into a limp ruin. I
loosened my hold, and she stood over me, the unspoken question of why she
should not call her guards plain on her face. “Majesty, it came to me that they
could kill you then, and blame me, and who would disbelieve them?” My voice
shook with the force of the vision that had overwhelmed me the moment that
Elizabeth had begun to step from the arras. Her eyes flashed for a moment, then
softened.

“It was my lord of Northumberland, then, that imprisoned you
last summer? No, you need not reply, I see the answer plainly enough in your
face. But you do wrong my lord Essex, cousin. My person, old and bent as it is,
is safe with him; he will not harm me, whatever he thinks of my wits. I forgive
you your rough care of me, for I see plainly that it was care, and your
impertinence has already been punished. Your fears for your safety seem well
grounded, cousin, and I agree that your plan is a good one. The letters you ask
will be delivered to your house in Chelsey tomorrow. My lord,” she continued in
a tone so quiet that even I was hard put to hear, “why did you kiss me when you
could have kept me still another way?”

“I wanted to,” I answered, not sure if the surprise in my voice
was due to the rare vulnerability she showed by her question, or to the
unexpected truth of my answer.

“Go now, before I discover a reason to take you back behind the
arras,” she spluttered, and as she turned to go, I saw the unmistakable glint
of a tear on her painted cheek.