Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (128 page)

“De Noailles,” Will said, naming the French ambassador. “You are spying for him?”

George nodded and backed away when Will once again advanced on him with raised fists. “Think before you try to throttle me again. We’ve been forced to accept Philip as Queen Mary’s consort. Open rebellion cannot succeed. But the queen is barren, and in spite of her efforts to eliminate the Lady Elizabeth from the succession, to the common people of England, King Henry’s younger daughter remains heir to the throne.”

“What does that have to do with the French?” I asked.

“A very great deal, but it should be the ambassador who explains the situation to you, not I. Will you meet with him?”

“He wants to see me?” Will looked thunderstruck.

“No,” George said. “He wants to talk to Bess.”

49

F
rançois de Noailles, bishop of Acqs, French ambassador to England, was a stocky, soft-spoken man in his late forties. Close-cropped, receding, light brown hair, a short fringe of a beard, and a drooping mustache surrounded a plump, pale face with a high forehead and sad eyes. George took me to a nondescript London house in Lawrence Lane to meet with him, a place clearly used only for such assignations. The rooms were nearly bare of furnishings and the rushes on the floors were in dire need of changing. I lifted my skirts clear of the moldering, vermin-infested straw, and was glad I had worn sturdy boots.

De Noailles spoke excellent English and for my benefit conversed in that language. He had with him only one servant, a man he introduced as his secretary. He did not waste time on meaningless pleasantries.

“I will tell you of a grave danger to your princess,” he said when we were seated facing each other on hard wooden stools. My brother stood by the window, while the secretary guarded the door. “For some time now, King Philip has hoped to marry the Lady Elizabeth to his kinsman, Emmanuel Philibert, Duke of Savoy, in order to bind England to one
of his allies in the event of Queen Mary’s death without children. The princess’s refusal to consider the suggestion is responsible in large part for the queen’s recent treatment of her. The entire household at Hatfield has been reorganized with the intent of leaving Her Grace friendless. A widowed gentlewoman has replaced Her Grace’s beloved governess. Sir Thomas Pope, who is in charge of the household, is under direct orders from the queen to allow no frivolity.”

Impatient, I interrupted. “What has this to do with me?”

“The king and queen hope the Lady Elizabeth, made melancholy by such a tiresome existence, will come to court, there to be wooed and wed.” The ambassador gave an expressive shrug. “And if they cannot convince her by pleasant means, they will use threats.”

The picture he painted alarmed me, but I did not see what I could do to help the princess. “I cannot prevent this,” I objected. “I have no influence at court.”

The ambassador had a charming smile. In spite of my determination to avoid taking risks, I found myself hoping that there
was
some way I could come to Elizabeth’s aid.

“The princess has, through various convoluted means, sent to me to explore the possibility of flight into France. There are those, even some with Her Grace’s best interests at heart, who encourage this idea, but it would be folly for her to leave England, most especially now. The queen is not well.” He looked to George for confirmation and received a curt nod.

“I have seen Queen Mary in council meetings,” George said. “She is not on her deathbed, but I doubt she will last another year. That is why King Philip is so anxious to push his wife’s heiress presumptive into a marriage with someone who owes him fealty.”

“The Lady Elizabeth must be in England when her sister dies.” The ambassador went on at some length to explain why, but the only fact that mattered to me was that if she were elsewhere, married or not, England would be thrown into chaos upon Queen Mary’s death.

“What do you want of me?” I asked, resigned to the inevitable.

“Someone the princess trusts must deliver my message, advising her to resist all efforts to spirit her out of England, whether they be made by friend or foe. She must also continue to refuse to marry any man chosen for her by the king or the queen.”

“And how am I to accomplish this?”

I expected the ambassador to have an answer for this question ready, but de Noailles surprised me. “I leave that to you, my lady. I believe you possess the skills you need to succeed. And the friends to help you.”

I gave George a hard look, wondering what stories he had been telling.

“I have no friends at Hatfield,” I said. “As far as I know, I am not acquainted with any members of the princess’s household. Not since the queen sent Mistress Astley and the princess’s ladies-in-waiting away.” I frowned. “You said someone there sent word to you, my lord. Who was it? Will they help?”

But he shook his head. “There will be less chance of compromising us all if you find your own way in. And there can be no repetition of this meeting,” he added, “although you may send word to me through your brother if needs must.”

He had little more information to offer, other than that a garrison of soldiers guarded Elizabeth at Hatfield. She was not a prisoner the way she had been at Woodstock, but the comings and goings of visitors were noted and no doubt reported to some higher authority at court.

I would be walking into danger. I could easily end up in the Tower, charged with treason.

“You would be doing nothing more rebellious than visiting an old friend,” George pointed out after de Noailles left with his secretary and I’d voiced this fear to him.

The little house seemed more dilapidated than ever with just the two of us there. “Visiting the princess would call attention to me,” I argued, “and from me to Will. We cannot bear close scrutiny from the Crown.”

“If you go as plain Bess Brooke, there is nothing to tie you to Will. Not anymore.”

I prowled restlessly while we debated the issue, circling the small
upper room. “What if someone questions where I have been living since the duchess died?”

“Father will swear you’ve been at Cobham Hall.” George sat on the stool I’d vacated and propped one foot on the other.

“Will he?”

“He will if I ask him to.”

“He knows what you’ve been doing?”

George grinned at me. “Whose idea do you think it was in the first place?”

“I had hoped to avoid intrigue. Will and I have been safe in our obscurity.”

“You think none of the queen’s men know where you are?”

His question chilled me. “Who? Who knows?”

“Any number of courtiers and councilors. For God’s sake, Bess, stand still. You’re making me dizzy watching you.”

Hands on my hips, I glared at him. “You are attempting to frighten me into doing as you wish.”

“I am trying to help us all survive longer than the queen.”

Looking into his eyes, I could not doubt his sincerity, but what de Noailles had asked of me had me quaking in my boots. “I have hidden away in Blackfriars for so long that I no longer know how to do anything else.”

George’s voice gentled. “You helped Grandmother Jane.”

“Only with advice. I did not have to venture out where I might be recognized.” I began to pace again.

George stood and crossed the small, dusty room to put his hands on my upper arms. “Bess, think. If we do nothing, others may convince the princess to leave England.”

“Perhaps she should go. Perhaps we should all go into exile.” I could hear the rising hysteria in my voice and clamped my lips together.

“Running away is no answer.”

I closed my eyes. I felt uncertain and afraid. I had learned from sad experience how easily plans could go awry. “Take me home, George. I need to talk to Will about all of this.”

“Do you need his permission, Bess?” Gentleness abandoned, now my brother taunted me. “Can you not act without his approval? You never used to be afraid of a challenge.”

“We are not children any longer, wagering on the outcome of an archery contest.”

“But it
is
a game, Bess. And a game of chance, too. Wager on the winning side and you profit.”

“A careless wager can cost you your life,” I shot back.

George gave me a shake before he released his grip on my arms. “I suggested you to the ambassador for a reason, Bess. Your aim is true. The same clearness of mind that allowed you to hit Tom Wyatt with your arrow from the battlements of Cowling Castle is just what you need to reach Elizabeth and warn her.”

“My arrow bounced off Tom’s chain mail and did nothing but make him angrier with Father.”

“But you hit your mark,” he insisted, as if that was all that mattered.

“Why is it that men think comparisons to sports are so compelling?” I muttered.

Turning my back on him, I went to stand at the window that overlooked Lawrence Lane. It was a busy street, crowded with horsemen, pedestrians, and carts—noisy, smelly, alive. The upper floors of the houses on both sides jutted out over the ones below and were only a few feet apart at this level. I found myself staring into the solar across the way. A merchant’s wife and her maidservant sat together sewing while three small children played at their feet. I envied her the simplicity of her life.

My hands clenched into fists on the windowsill. Part of me wanted that sort of security and contentment, but there was another part that would never be satisfied until everything the queen had taken from my husband was restored to him. Elizabeth would one day have the power to right the wrongs of her sister. If I did as the ambassador asked, I would be performing a service for the future queen. She would be in my debt.

“If I am to reach the princess,” I said to my brother, “I will need your help.”

“You have it,” George promised.

I thought for a moment. “Find out what houses are near Hatfield and who owns them and what persons are in residence.”

I
EXPECTED OBJECTIONS
from Will when he heard what the ambassador wanted me to do. I was not disappointed. He warned that I was meddling in a matter of the succession.

“This is nothing like Northumberland’s effort to carry out King Edward’s wishes,” I insisted. “No one questions that Elizabeth is Queen Mary’s heir. Even Mary herself accepts that now. All I agreed to do is help keep the princess safe so that she
can
inherit one day. There is no treason in that.”

“The Lady Elizabeth will not be so foolish as to leave England. She does not need you to advise her.”

“The thought of finding asylum in France, safe from forced marriage, safe from being imprisoned in the Tower again, has to tempt her. Her Grace needs to hear the ambassador’s reasoning, to understand the disadvantages of that plan, especially if some of her own people have been encouraging her to flee.”

“Why must
you
go?” Will demanded.

I knew his agitation was for my sake. He feared for my safety. So did I, but I would not change my mind. “I have been chosen because the princess will know I have not been sent by her enemies. I have no reason to cooperate with Queen Mary because the queen will never grant the one thing that matters most to me—the legality of our marriage. Think, Will. If Elizabeth is grateful to me for bringing her this warning, then she will reward us both when she becomes queen. She will give back all that her sister took away from us.”

Will did not try to argue with my reasoning, but neither did he stop worrying. What I had agreed to undertake weighed heavily on my mind, too. The enterprise had an aura of danger about it, and the secrecy necessary to carry out the mission increased my concern that I was risking everything Will and I had managed to salvage. And yet, how could I not try?

It did not take long for George to locate a small manor less than an hour’s ride from Hatfield that was currently occupied by an old friend. I took this as a sign that the fates smiled on my endeavor, but Will was appalled.

“Lady Clinton?” he yelped when George told him her name. “You want to send Bess to a woman whose husband betrayed Northumberland and led the queen’s forces against Wyatt?”

George helped himself to a goblet of wine and left it to me to answer.

“Geraldine Clinton remained my friend while you were in the Tower,” I reminded my husband. She’d written to me, promising to do all she could on Will’s behalf. True, nothing had come of her efforts, but at least she had not shunned me. “She is well known to the Lady Elizabeth,” I continued. “It will not arouse suspicion if she pays a visit to her neighbor at Hatfield.”

“But why should she? And if her husband hears of it, he’ll stop you.”

“
Lord
Clinton does not have to know anything about the matter.”

George lounged in my chair, looking as if he had not a thought in his head beyond the next tennis match or horse race. “You’ve nothing to fear from Clinton even if he does find out,” he drawled. “It will serve him well to turn a blind eye. Queen Mary may not have imprisoned him for his early support of Lady Jane Grey, but neither has she advanced him, and she took away his lucrative post as lord admiral.”

I went to Will and rested my head against his chest, comforted by the steady thump of his heart. “I must go, Will,” I whispered. “Elizabeth is our best hope to regain what we have lost.”

“So long as I have you, Bess, I can live without the rest.”

“You’ll live easier with it,” George said, sotto voce.

Will’s sentiment warmed my heart, but I wanted more for him. More for us. “We can go on as we have been, Will, but think how much better our life together
could
be if I earn the gratitude of our future queen.”

50

T
he next morning I left London, taking only the elderly Griggs for protection on the road. He was hardier than he looked and we reached the pretty little Hertfordshire manor house that was our destination without incident. Such country estates customarily offered hospitality to travelers, even strangers, and soon after we arrived I was shown into a comfortably furnished chamber hung with tapestries depicting scenes from a tournament. A few minutes later, Geraldine Clinton swept into the room.