The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [90]
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I said. Her terse smile revealed bad teeth. She’s not had much occasion to smile in her life, I thought, as I drank deeply of the warm ale.
She waited.
I said, “Your Majesty, my companion … he is just a boy. I trust he’ll not be harmed?”
“Of course not.” She faced me now without trepidation. “Tell me honestly: Is my brother King Edward dead?”
I met her stalwart gaze. “Yes.”
She was quiet, as if she contemplated something she had already accepted. Then she said, “And this letter from the council: Is it a ruse, or can I trust what these lords say?”
I measured my response. “I haven’t been at court long, but I would say, no, you should not trust them.” As her face tightened, I added, “However, you can trust their letter. Lady Jane Grey is indeed the duke’s pawn. She’d not have assumed your throne given the choice.”
She snorted. “I find that hard to believe. She did marry Northumberland’s brat.”
“Your Majesty can believe in her innocence, if you believe nothing else. The duke has devised this situation to secure his own power. He is the perpetrator. He—”
“He should be drawn and quartered, his head stuck on a pike,” she blared. “How dare he contrive to steal my realm, which is mine by divine right! He’ll soon learn that I am not a queen to be trifled with—he and every other lord who dares to exalt my cousin over me.”
The fervor of her declaration animated her person. She might not possess her sister’s charismatic appeal, but she was still Henry VIII’s daughter.
“I gather Your Majesty intends to fight for your crown,” I said.
“To the death, if need be. My grandmother Isabella of Castile led armies against the infidel to unite her kingdom. Nothing less can be expected of me.”
“Then Your Majesty has answered your own question. The council’s offer to support you is trustworthy only as much as you make it so. If you forgive their past transgressions, then you will have their loyalty.”
Her eyes turned cold. “I see you’ve mastered their art of double-talk.”
I felt a prickle of fear in my belly. Her face was drawn, closed. Elizabeth had warned me to be careful. I was struggling to find the right response, when Rochester strode in. “Your Majesty, we found this cur lurking outside!” He stepped aside, revealing three others dragging another man between them. As they threw him facedown on the floor, his cap slipped off his head. Mary prodded him with her foot. “Your name.”
I could not contain my relief when the man lifted his face.
“Some call me Durot, Your Majesty, but you would know me as Fitzpatrick.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Mary said, “Barnaby Fitzpatrick, my brother’s servant?” From behind her I interjected, “Your Majesty, he’s been working to keep the duke’s son Lord Robert away from you. Whatever news he brings must be important.”
Barnaby came to his feet. Streaks of his natural hair color showed through his walnut-juice stained mop. At Mary’s nod, he said, “Robert Dudley and his men are fast closing in. I was sent ahead as a scout, because a local sheepherder swears he spotted you riding in this direction. Your Majesty has less than an hour to make your escape.”
Rochester said, “Where is your proof?”
“My lord steward,” said Mary, before Barnaby could reply, “Master Fitzpatrick served my late brother loyally for many years. He was often whipped for Edward’s transgressions. I don’t require further proof.”
She returned to the table, Huddleston at her heels. She gathered her map and papers, thrust them at him. “We ride for Framlingham Castle. It’s a Howard seat, and they revere the True Faith. If God is with me, I’ll gather my supporters there. Otherwise, it’s not far to the coast. My lord Huddleston, you must come with us. Your house is no longer safe for you.”
White as the papers he clutched, Huddleston hastened after Rochester and the other men, who bolted from the hall shouting orders. As the manor erupted in pandemonium, Mary called out, “Clarencieux, Finch!” and two