The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [14]
His sharp burst of laughter ended as abruptly as it had appeared. “Yes,” he breathed, as if to himself, “the squire who doesn’t exist. It’s perfect.”
I stayed very still. I did not like the look creeping over his face, the slow calculated malice. He rocked back on his heels. “So, tell me, what would you say if I asked you to do an errand for me tonight that could earn you your fortune?”
The thick air in the room felt like a noose about my throat, cutting off my breath.
“What?” Robert’s smile showed a hint of perfect white teeth. “Have you nothing to say? How odd—a weasel like you. I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime, the chance to earn your way out of service and become your own man. It is what you dream of, is it not? You don’t want to be nobody forever? Not you, not the clever little foundling. Why, I think you must be fully literate by now, what with that old monk Shelton hired. I bet he taught you Latin with one hand while buggering you with the other. Well, am I right? Can you read and write?”
I met his eyes. I nodded.
His smile turned cruel. “I thought as much. I always knew you weren’t as stupid as you’d have us think.” His tone lowered, adopting a sinister intimacy. “And I know our proud Bess will come here tonight, though my lord father pretends to know nothing.”
At these words, I could not stop the rush of excitement that went through me. So, it was true. Elizabeth Tudor was here, in London. I had witnessed her arrival.
Then I saw Robert’s expression darken. When he next spoke, his voice was tainted by a furious heat, as if I had in fact faded to nothing, an invisible being before who he needn’t measure his words. “My father promised me that when the time came, I would not be neglected. He said none was more worthy than I. But now it seems he prefers to heap honors on Guilford, and put me to do his dirty work instead. By God, I’ve done everything he asked; I even married that insipid sheep Amy Robsart because he thought it best. What more can he want from me? When will it be my turn to take what I deserve?”
I’d never heard any of the Dudley boys express anything other than conformity with their father’s wishes. It was the way of the nobility: Fathers sent their sons away to serve in influential posts and assist the family. Dudley’s sons had no will other than his, and in turn, they would reap his fortune. As far as I was concerned, Robert had no cause for complaint. He’d never known a day of hunger or want in his life; he probably never would. I had no reason to pity him; but in that moment I saw that like so many sons who feel helpless, Robert Dudley had begun to chafe against the paternal tether binding him.
“Enough!” He hit his fist into his palm. “It’s time I showed my mettle. And you, you worm—you are going to help me.” He thrust his face at me. “Unless you’d rather I sent you back to the stables for the rest of your miserable days?”
I did not speak. I knew I should prefer the stables, where life was at least predictable, but I did not. I met Robert’s stare and said, “Perhaps my lord should explain what he expects of me.”
He seemed taken aback. He glanced over his shoulder before he looked back at me. He gnawed at his lower lip, as if he had sudden doubt. Then he menaced, “If you fail me or do me wrong, I swear there isn’t a place in all England where you can hide. Do you understand me? I will find you, Prescott. And I will kill you with my bare hands.”
I did not react. Such a threat was to be expected. He had to intimidate me, ensure that I feared him enough to not betray his trust. It made me all the more curious. What did he want so desperately?
“Very well,” he said at length. “The first thing you need to know is that she’s apt to surprise you when you least expect it. I’ve known her since she was a girl, and I tell you, she likes nothing more than to set everyone around her to wondering. She delights in confusion.”
The guarded note that crept into his voice alerted me to an unspoken undercurrent. This sounded more than just a son’s bravura