The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [31]
“Have you broken your fast?” asked Cecil.
I wiped at the blood on the side of my mouth. “I lost my appetite.”
Cecil smiled. “You’ll recover it soon enough—a young man like you, with no gristle on his bones. When I was your age, I ate at all hours. I gather by your tone, however, that you are displeased with me. I did apologize.”
“For what? Dragging me here by force?” I asked, before I could stop myself. I clenched my jaw, hearing the anger in my voice. This was not a man to reveal myself to. He must want something from me, if he’d gone to the trouble of tracking me to the stables and having me abducted. And if last night was an indication, he held the princess’s trust. That he also served the duke only complicated an already complex situation.
In the final say, a man can only have one master. Which one did Cecil serve?
He busied himself at the sideboard. “I’m not Her Grace’s enemy, if that’s what you’re thinking. Indeed, I regret to say I may be her only friend, or at least the only one with any influence. Please, sit.” He motioned to an upholstered chair before the desk, as if he were receiving a guest. I sat. Handing me a plate and goblet, which I deliberately left untouched, he returned to his desk, an assured presence in his black breeches and doublet. “I believe Her Grace is in danger,” he began, without preamble. “But then, I think you already know that.”
I hid my mounting apprehension. I wouldn’t be cajoled, graciously or otherwise, into admitting my thoughts about the princess’s situation.
Cecil reclined in his high-backed chair. “I find your reticence curious. You were listening in the garden last night, were you not?” He raised his hand. “There’s no need to deny it. Eavesdropping is a time-honored rite of passage at court. We’ve all done it at one time or another. Only, sometimes what we overhear can be misinterpreted. Particularly when we fail to get the details.”
A bead of sweat trickled between my shoulder blades. What an incompetent I was. What on earth had possessed me to creep so close? Of course Cecil had known I was there. I’d probably made enough noise to alert the entire palace guard. Had I overheard more than was good for me?
Cecil was looking at me. I had to say something. “I … I was sent there by my master.” I sounded hoarse, my voice barely making it past the knot in my throat. I could die today. This man took the business of protecting Elizabeth seriously. He could have me killed, and no one would ever know. Squires who failed their masters must disappear often enough.
“Oh, I do not doubt it. Lord Robert always has an agenda, and he doesn’t care who he uses to accomplish it.” Cecil sighed. “A squire new at court, with everything you owe the Dudleys: What else could you do? And I must admit, you exceeded yourself. Gaining Her Grace’s confidence without rousing her suspicion is no easy feat. I hope Lord Robert paid you well. You certainly earned it.”
It occurred to me that Cecil might wish to know about the message I carried. If so, then feigning ignorance could convince him I posed no threat. I’d best play the part for all it was worth, at least until he revealed his hand; for a hand he most certainly had to play.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I said.
“No. Why would you?” He had a stack of ledgers to his left, an inkwell rimmed in jewels to his right. “I, on the other hand, am in a position to know a great many things. And what I don’t know, my intelligencers find out for me. You’d be astonished at what can be bought for the price of a meal these days.” He met my stare. “Does my candor surprise you?”
Play the fool. Play it for all it is worth.
“I’m wondering what any of this has to do with me.”
He chuckled. “I should think a clever boy like you will figure it out. It’s not every day you gain Elizabeth Tudor’s notice. Indeed, I look for those with your unique talents.”
I absorbed this in silence. Just when I thought matters couldn’t get any worse, here I was about to get another offer of employment. No use acting the bewildered rube now.