The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [49]
To my disbelief, he turned to the door. I burst out, “If you don’t warn her, I will.”
He paused, looked at me. “Are you threatening me? If you are, let me remind you that squires who inform on their masters are not irreplaceable.”
I met his eyes, held them for a long moment before I slipped the note back into my jerkin. Then I heard a soft thud at my feet.
“For your services,” he said. “I suggest you be prudent where you spend it. Servants eager to flaunt ill-gotten wealth end up at the bottom of the river almost as often as disloyal squires.” Without another word, he strode out. I didn’t want to touch the purse he’d flung on the floor but I did anyway, pocketing it without examining its contents.
I edged back out the door. There was no sign of Walsingham. Turning into the passage, I made for the stairs.
If I had had any doubts before, my mind was made up. I must warn the princess. Robert couldn’t be trusted, and I was beginning to think that neither could anyone else. The purse in my hand might be small but it surely contained enough to buy my silence. Walsingham was Cecil’s creature, and I had no idea what the Secretary’s ultimate purpose might be. I suspected this matter was more complex than I’d been led to believe. I found it difficult to believe Cecil would harm the princess, but perhaps Walsingham himself played a false hand. I wouldn’t put it past him. I also had no idea if she would willingly see me, but if I refused to budge she’d have to. I’d leave her no other choice.
I climbed the staircase, resolved.
A gallery stretched before me, its width leading to a pair of imposing doors, the lintel boasting carved cherubim. To the right, recessed embrasures overlooked a garden. The panes were cracked open to admit the afternoon breeze.
Standing halfway between the far doors and me were three men in court velvets.
I didn’t know them. Nor did I have much time to look, for as I started to take a step back a voice came at me from behind: “By the cross, where do you think you’re going this time?” I swiveled about as a familiar figure swept up to me to wag her finger in my face.
It was Elizabeth’s attendant, the one I’d seen at Whitehall—Kate Stafford.
“Haven’t I told you already the kitchens are not in this wing, you oaf?” she declared. Up close, her curious yellow-hued eyes were alive with an intelligence that belied her careless air. She exuded a heady scent, like crisp apples and gillyflowers. I didn’t know whether to laugh or flee, until I noted the warning in her gaze when it met mine.
“My—my lady, forgive me?” I stammered. “I got lost, again.”
“Lost?” She turned from me in a whirl of tawny skirts to the man who approached. “Horses may lose their way but only mules are likely to return time and time again to the same empty stall. Don’t you agree, Master Stokes?”
“I do.” Master Stokes was of medium height, slim, his face too sly to be called handsome, with elegant cheekbones accentuated by light brown hair slicked back from his brow. On his hands were displayed various gemstone rings; from his left ear dangled a glittering ruby pendant. It caught my attention. I had never seen a man wearing an earring before, though I would later learn it was more a fashion abroad than in England.
“Speaking of which, is this servant bothering you?” His voice was languid. “Shall I teach him not to trouble our pretty damsels, Mistress Stafford?”
Stokes’s insolent stare dropped to her cleavage as he spoke. She flipped her hand, a trill of laughter reeling from her lips. “Bothering me? Hardly. He’s just a servant new to court, who seems to think we keep the kitchens under Her Grace’s duvet.”
His corresponding laugh was equally high-pitched, almost effeminate. “If it will cure her headaches,” he said. “As far as our mule is concerned…” His stare rose over her head to fix on me. “Perhaps I can set him on his way.”
Mistress Stafford turned to him. Though she had her back to me, I could imagine the provocative look she treated him to. “Why waste your time on hired help? Let me see the boy back to the stairs, yes? I