The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [40]
“The queen’s apartments?” I frowned. “His Majesty isn’t married.”
Peregrine shook his head, as if I were hopeless. “That’s just what they’re called. Old Henry’s wives used to reside there. Guess who’s lodged there now? Jane Grey and her mother, the duchess of Suffolk: I think our man is a Suffolk hireling.”
I suppressed my disquiet. Had the duchess set one of her men to trail me? If so, she was probably learning at this moment about my enforced visit to Cecil’s manor house.
“What does he look like? Is he big or small? Tall or short?”
“He’s taller than you,” said Peregrine, “but not by much. He has a pointy face, like a ferret.”
“A ferret.” I gave him a wry smile. “I’ll remember that. Excellent work, Peregrine. I’m sorry I can’t repay you the coins you used to get that coat, but maybe later, eh?” I ruffled his hair, about to turn away when I heard him scoff.
“I don’t want your money. I can earn extra coins whenever I like. There are plenty of lords and ladies willing to pay for information. What I want is to work for you. I’ve had enough of mucking out stables. I think you’d make a good master.”
I was taken aback, though of course I should have seen it coming. The boy had clung to me like a clam since we’d met. Regardless of how I might view my circumstances, to him I was worth impressing—the personal squire to the duke’s son, in his debt for saving me from a potentially lethal stalker, with money to throw his way.
Then I thought of another possibility.
I smiled. “I’m flattered, but I can’t afford you.”
“Why not? I don’t cost much, and you must earn a decent wage. Secretary Cecil always pays his men well, and— Stop that!” He yanked away from my pinch to his ear.
I glanced about the stables. The grooms were too busy to pay us any mind, and the stalls partially concealed us in any event. Still, someone could be nearby, listening.
I pulled Peregrine close. “I never said who was paying me,” I hissed.
He recoiled. “You didn’t? I … I must have thought…” He chewed his lower lip. I could practically see his agile mind conjuring up lies out of thin air. “You were taken to his house.” He stopped. That didn’t sound convincing, and he knew it.
I regarded him without visible reaction. His stare shifted to the stall gate. In the second before he bolted, I registered panic on his face. Jerking forward, I snatched him by the collar. He was stronger than he looked, being little more than gristle and bone, but I got a firm enough grip to hold him dangling off the floor, like an errant pup.
“I think,” I said, “it’s time you told me who you work for.”
“No one!”
I tightened my grip, making an overt move for my dagger with my other hand. He sang out in a shrill treble, “I can’t say. He threatened to kill me if I did.”
That sounded better. I slackened my grip, letting a moment pass before I let him go. To his credit, Peregrine didn’t make a run for it.
“I’m disappointed. I thought you were my friend.”
“I am your friend,” he retorted, with an impressive indignation, all things considered. “I helped you, didn’t I? I warned you about being followed, and I followed that Suffolk man here. No one paid me to do that.”
“Oh? If memory serves, I believe I paid you. Four times, I might add.”
“I still risked my life.” He puffed out his chest. “And for what? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’d not make such a good master, after all.”
I smiled coldly. “It was Walsingham, wasn’t it? He told you to guide me to that path so I could be overtaken. You didn’t happen to see my abduction. You knew about it beforehand. Did he also tell you to make sure I caught you pretending to try to rob me, or did you think about that yourself? That was a nice touch, actually—disarming, yet it engendered contact and rapport.”
Peregrine shuffled his feet in the straw and lowered his eyes, a portrait of abject misery, which I was not buying for a second.
“Then you came after me,” I went on, “and, according to you, happened to chance upon this Suffolk man dodging