The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [43]
I counted to ten under my breath before I slipped forth. The parchment was fine, of an obvious expensive grain. But it was the seal which captured my attention: That filigreed wax E encircled by vine tendrils could belong to no one else. I had to stop myself from tearing it open. There could be something in it I needed to know, something that would affect the course of my mission. But I couldn’t just break the seal on a letter from the princess intended for Robert. Not unless …
I scratched the edge of the seal with my fingernail. It was still tacky, easily lifted. With my heart hammering in my ears, I unfolded the parchment. Two brief lines were inscribed there in an aristocratic hand, followed by an unmistakable initial.
My lord, it seems there is a matter of some urgency we must discuss. If it suits your discretion, pray reply in kind by the established route, and we shall meet tonight, after the stroke of twelve, in the pavilion. E
I stood, breathless. I almost failed to hear the staccato footsteps marching down the passage outside, until they were suddenly at the door, sending me diving once more into hiding.
This time, Robert strode in, still in his riding gear, his features contorted. “Why must I always be the one to do his dirty work?” He yanked off his gauntlets, flung them aside.
Behind him, poised and immaculate, was his mother, Lady Dudley.
My throat tightened, even as my fingers quickly resealed the note. She clicked the door shut. “Robert, stop this. You’re not a boy anymore. I’ll not countenance a tantrum. Your father can request obedience, but I demand it.”
“You have it! You’ve always had it. I even wed that stupid Robsart wench because you and Father thought it best. Everything you’ve ever asked of me, I’ve done.”
“No one said you weren’t an exemplary son.”
He laughed harshly. “Excuse me if I beg to differ. In my experience, exemplary sons aren’t sent off on fool’s errands.”
“It is not a fool’s errand.” There was something eerie about the bland inflection in her tone. “On the contrary, what we ask implies significant trust in your abilities.”
“What ability? To ride off at a moment’s notice to arrest some old maid, which any idiot with half an escort could do? It’s not as if she’ll put up a fight. I’ll wager she has no more than a dozen retainers with her, if that.”
“Indeed.” I was relieved to hear Lady Dudley’s voice revert to its familiar cold severity. “And yet that same old maid could be our undoing.” Her eyes fixed on him. “Mary has demanded a full accounting of her brother the king’s condition. Otherwise, she threatens to take matters into her own hands. I need not tell you that this can only mean she’s receiving information from someone here at court.”
“No doubt. She’s not stupid. And there are still enough papists about to wish her well.”
“Yes,” she replied, “and the last thing we need is for one of those papists to help her flee the country so she can throw herself on her cousin the emperor’s mercy. Mary must be captured and silenced, and you’re the only one we dare send. None of your brothers has your training. You’ve ridden in battle; you know how to command men to your will. The soldiers will not question your orders when it comes time to take her.”
I clenched my teeth. They were talking about Princess Mary, the king’s older sister. I recalled what Cecil had said about her, about her staunch Catholicism and how she threatened the duke. I leaned closer to the curtain, slipping the missive into my jerkin. It did not escape me that I was, at this very moment, indulging in the very rite of passage of the court Cecil had mentioned, for the second time. Only if I were caught, I could forget getting out of here alive.
“I understand all that.” As Robert raked a hand through his tangled hair, he resembled an uncertain youth, caught between