The Tudor Conspiracy - Gortner Christopher W. (книги онлайн без регистрации полностью .txt) 📗
“Begging your pardon,” I said, “but what I have to say is for your ears only.”
“Oh? You are among friends here. I have no secrets from them.”
Panic knotted my throat; I had to clench my fist to stop myself from ripping out the tube of letters from my cloak. I couldn’t simply hand them over; if she dismissed me without hearing what I had to say, I was doomed. Renard’s terse stare warned me that he knew why I was here and if he could manage it I’d be dead before the day was done, the queen’s suspicions be damned. I must explain to Mary personally what I had deduced before Renard spun his own take on the letters and she bayed for blood.
“It concerns your sister-” I started to say.
Renard leapt to his feet. “Majesty, please, do not indulge this man further! He is a liar. I told you, he cannot be-”
“I believe I’m perfectly capable of judging his ability to tell the truth,” said Mary, her glance withering. “Come, Master Beecham.” She motioned me to her study. As I passed her ladies, Jane Dormer gave me an apprehensive look, her dog growling on a lead at her feet.
I did not acknowledge Renard as he hastened to follow us into the wood-paneled study and closed the door, though I felt his stare boring into my back.
“Well?” Mary turned to face me, standing before her desk. “You have your privacy. Tell us this urgent news about my sister that cannot wait. Best be quick about it; my patience is sorely tried. I still have my council and the Hapsburg delegation to attend to, as well as my upcoming move to Hampton Court. The air here does not agree with me. I need a change of scenery.”
With an incline of my head, I took the tube out.
She went still. “Pray, what is that?” she asked, and though she remained outwardly composed, I heard the tremor in her voice.
“More trickery!” Renard lunged to snatch the tube from my hand.
Holding it aloft from him, I said to the queen, “This is evidence of a conspiracy against Your Majesty-evidence Don Renard himself hired me to obtain.”
Renard came to a halt, his face draining to a chalky hue. Mary regarded him for a lengthy moment before she held out her hand. She took the tube from me, turning to her cluttered desk to unfold it, perusing and discarding each letter in utter silence, until she’d let all eight fall from her ringed fingers to the blotter and had gone rigid, her gaze fixed on me. When she spoke, her voice was calm, which only increased my admiration for her.
“Are you certain of this?”
“I have been most diligent in my task.” I paused, despising the fact that I had to protect Dudley and sacrifice the earl in his stead, even if it was for Elizabeth’s sake. “I believe those letters prove my lord of Devon has been led into a rebellious plot aimed at forcing you to accede to his demands or suffer the consequences.”
Her jaw tightened. “So it appears. Yet you said this matter concerned my sister. How?”
“When he hired me, Don Renard expressed belief that she, too, was involved,” I replied. “I have found no evidence of it.”
Mary swerved to Renard, her voice sharp. “You assured me otherwise.”
“Your Majesty, I am as taken aback as you are,” he replied. I almost envied his self-control. He seemed impervious, though his future hung in the balance. I wished I could tell Mary what kind of man he truly was-what he had done to Sybilla Darrier and her mother; what he might yet try to do to Elizabeth-but I, too, had secrets to hide. I could not risk being exposed as Elizabeth’s agent until I was sure the princess was safe.
Sarcasm tinged Mary’s tone. “I find that hard to believe, Don Renard, considering all your spies and expense. I cannot count the number of times I myself have provided funds for your endeavors through my own privy purse, so intent were on you on this theory of my sister and Courtenay’s falsehood. Yet now you’d have me believe you had no idea that the earl was plotting to betray me with these other lords, many of whom I’ve received with honor at this court and forgiven past grievances?”
To my satisfaction, the ambassador was starting to look panicked. “Your Majesty must forgive me,” he said warily, “but compelling as this so-called evidence may seem, we cannot yet be sure it offers proof of anything. We must verify the letters’ authenticity. And even if they prove real, this rebellion must be disorganized at best, seeing as I indeed gleaned no rumor of it. Perhaps the earl has managed to rally a handful of malcontents, but it’s hardly cause for-”
“Hardly cause!” Mary exclaimed. “It is treason, senor, treason of the highest order. And they shall pay for it, make no mistake. I will see every last one of them in the Tower.”
Renard pursed his lips. In that chilling moment, I divined his ploy. He would dismiss the very proof before his eyes, delay even Courtenay’s arrest if he could, if it meant Elizabeth might still be taken. A rebellion offered possibilities; something might yet be found to prove her involvement.
Mary was staring at him in astonishment, recognizing his diffidence, though she didn’t understand the reason behind it. “I can hardly believe my ears! Time and time again you warned me of treachery in our midst, yet now you disregard the very man we hired to uncover it? Disorganized or not, it is still a planned uprising by nobles of this realm-subjects all, who’d dare arm themselves against me. They must be apprehended, an end put to their schemes.” She suddenly faltered, reaching for the back of a chair. “God save us, should the emperor learn of it, he’ll refuse to let Philip come here, for fear of his very life!”
As Renard’s face turned thunderous at this, her open admission before me of her plan to wed the Spanish prince, I despised him even more. Despite what I knew of her religious intolerance, of her antipathy for Elizabeth and cherished dream of returning England to Rome, I couldn’t find it in myself to dislike her. Mary Tudor wasn’t a cruel woman, only a deeply misguided one. Renard was the serpent. Just as he’d assiduously worked toward Elizabeth’s downfall, so had he preyed on Mary’s innate lack of guile, stirring up the torments of the past and undermining her fragile confidence.
My sentiments had no place here, though. Only with the queen focused on Courtenay and his accomplices could I hope to fulfill my mission.
“We could question the earl,” suggested Renard, as if the option had just occurred to him. “If it is your command, we can arrest him and obtain the information we need. This plot cannot have gone so far that we cannot stop it before we announce the betrothal at Hampton Court. By the time word reaches the emperor, it will be over. Your Majesty will have asserted your might, the conspirators will have been imprisoned, and neither the emperor nor Prince Philip will have anything to fear.”
Mary released her grip on the chair. “Then do so. Have the warrant prepared this very hour; I will sign it before the council.”
Renard bowed, curtly motioning to me to accompany him.
Mary said, “No. Master Beecham stays. I would have a word with him. Alone.”
I couldn’t have hoped for more. Renard knew it. For a telling fraction of a second, his gaze met mine in fury before he stalked out, closing the door on the anxious women in the antechamber, all of whom must have heard the queen’s outcry, if not her actual words.
Mary dropped onto her chair. She didn’t speak, regarding me with an opaque intensity that seeped under my skin. “Why do you defend my sister so unremittingly?” she finally asked. “Don Renard has been convinced from the start that she’s had a hand in a plot against my person, indeed that she despises me and seeks my throne. He has many more years of intelligent judgment in such matters than you.”
I cleared my throat, realizing I stood on a knife’s edge. “I only did as I was bade, Majesty. Don Renard hired me to investigate both the earl and the Lady Elizabeth, and I found no evidence of her participation. She is innocent of any wrongdoing, though the ambassador may claim otherwise.”
