The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [97]
“They are not, as you can see.” Though her voice remained terse, her rigid posture eased somewhat. She moved to me, saying over her shoulder to the others, “Leave us. I would speak alone with our friend.”
I had passed her test, though it did not ease my apprehension. The council had persecuted Mary without mercy because of her religious faith. My association with them, however tenuous, had put me at a perilous disadvantage.
She paused at the table. “I’m starting to wonder about you. You come out of nowhere and neglect to give us a name. Then you risk your life to help us escape. You’re considered reliable enough to carry confidential letters yet feign ignorance of matters you should, in fact, know a great deal about. I would know exactly whom it is I am dealing with.”
I swallowed against my dry throat, measuring my words: “Your Majesty, I assure you I am of no importance. I did what I was paid to do. As for my risking my life, you should know that Lord Robert’s men had already decided to abandon him. And you must know by now that my name is Daniel Beecham.”
“I do, though not by you.” She fingered a quill. “Why were you chosen to deliver the council’s missive? There are surely others they might have sent, men I would know personally.”
I heard Elizabeth in my head: I love my sister, but she is not a trusting woman. Life has made her that way.
I mustered a smile. “Your Majesty must know how such matters go. I’d done a few errands in the past and was offered a fee, the lords being disinclined to travel. In addition, should anything have befallen me on the road … well, I’m not easily linked to any one in particular.”
She snorted. “In other words, you are expendable—a man for hire?”
“Aren’t most men, Your Majesty?” I replied, and she stared straight into my eyes.
“I’ve little experience with men, Master Beecham. What little I do possess tells me there’s more to you than you care to let on. Life has taught me a thing or two about hidden motives.” She held up a hand. “But, there is no need to say anything else. I will not query further. Barnaby Fitzpatrick speaks highly of you, and you’ve proven your fealty. You will, of course, be welcome at my court once I’m proclaimed queen. For make no mistake, queen I shall be. Not even the duke can prevail against those whom God has ordained.”
“I pray it will be so,” I said. I believed her conviction. No matter what else she might be, Mary Tudor was no coward. Dudley had underestimated more than one princess, it seemed.
With a brittle smile, she retreated to a chair, putting more than mere distance between us. Her next words were spoken with the remoteness of a woman who has more important concerns to attend to. “As I’m sure you can appreciate, I’m not in the position to reward you at this time. However, you have my solemn word that you will be compensated as soon as I secure my throne. Until then, if you require anything, you must let Rochester know.”
I bowed, resisting the sudden urge to retreat. I might never have another chance.
“I expect no reward for having served my queen,” I heard myself say, and I marveled at the calm in my voice, for my heart had quickened. “But there is something I would ask of Your Majesty, if I might be so bold?”
“Oh?” She set her hands on her lap, her head tilted in curiosity.
“A few questions, is all; an indulgence.” I paused. Though I knew it wasn’t visible, I could feel myself start to tremble. “Your father King Henry the Eighth, he had two sisters. The Duchess Mary of Suffolk—was she the youngest?”
“She was. Margaret Douglas, dowager of Scotland, was the eldest.”
“I see. Your Majesty, I don’t mean to pry, but was your late aunt, Mary of Suffolk, also known as the Tudor Rose?”
She regarded me with that unwavering stare I now knew stemmed less from an innate perspicacity, such as Elizabeth commanded, and more from a basic goodness of nature tainted by years of corrosive