On the last Tuesday of June it was more than guesses that Denoriel brought to the Inn of Kindly Laughter. Elizabeth, who usually did not come because she still avoided Pasgen when she could, had received so peculiar a visit from Chancellor Rich that she accompanied her lover. For once Pasgen was waiting for them, standing close to Rhoslyn with a hand on her shoulder. Both wore expressions of concern and Harry held Rhoslyn's hand.
The whole party went toward their favorite corner and the table, which was for four, obligingly enlarged itself and sprouted two more chairs. They all sat down together. The server glanced in their direction and then ignored them as if it knew they were not ready to order.
"I am beginning to think that Northumberland has gone mad," Elizabeth said, looking around at her companions. "He—it must be he because he controls the Council, but to do something so stupid . . . He is not a stupid man . . ."
"I am not so sure of that," Pasgen said in a hard voice. "What did he do to you?"
"He sent Chancellor Rich to me to propose that if I would come to London and there give up my claim to the throne he would reward me with rich lands and heaps of gold. The Chancellor brought two brooches and a tiara as earnests of the treasure that would be mine."
"You did not touch them did you?" Pasgen asked sharply.
"No, you may be sure she did not," Denoriel replied; Pasgen had once set a spell into a jewel that nearly killed Elizabeth. "Nor was Rich himself allowed to approach her, although he tried. He asked the honor of kissing her hand, which she could not allow because she was shielded. She said she was afraid to transmit her illness to him. Elizabeth has used the excuse of that attack I told Harry of to take to her bed."
"How can you give up a claim you do not yet have?" Harry asked, frowning. He had been thinking about the political implications of Rich's visit.
"That is the answer I gave to Rich," Elizabeth replied. "I told him that they must first make their agreement with Lady Mary since during her lifetime I had no claim or title to resign."
"Oh, Holy Mother," Rhoslyn sighed, "nothing will make Mary resign her right to the throne. That much Northumberland clearly understands. He is taking another tack with Mary." She looked around the table. "He is trying to kill her."
"I warned you," Denoriel said.
"Oh, keep good watch," Elizabeth cried. "If anything happens to Mary . . ."
Rhoslyn nodded. "Your warning was just in time, Denoriel. If I had not been made so anxious, likely I would not have watched the food. After all, Mary's servants have long been in her employ and all of them love her. But there was poison." Rhoslyn shivered. "I upset the platter on which it was served so no one could eat from it, but one of Mary's little dogs licked the stuff from the floor . . . and it died."
Elizabeth's eyes had grown large. "But you said her servants love her. Surely they would not—"
"No, not Mary's servants, but when they were hard pressed to answer for the dog's death, we discovered there were very loose practices in hiring casually acquired helpers. And one of them had disappeared soon after the dog died." Rhoslyn's lips thinned to a hard line. "That practice is now ended."
"You need not worry, Elizabeth," Aleneil said. "Since the attack no one is allowed into Hatfield except those who are your own servants. Produce and other supplies are delivered to the gate and our servants carry it in."
"Very wise," Rhoslyn said. "I wish we could convince Lady Mary to take such precautions. On Sunday there came to Hunsdon an elderly man. Susan Clarienceaux admitted him and when I objected because I did not like the way his eyes glittered, she said he was old and weak and wished to talk to Mary of God. Susan thought such a discussion would be a good distraction for our lady."
"What happened?" Harry asked.
"I felt a long knife with ill substance on it concealed in his clothes, so . . . so I stopped his heart before he ever came into Mary's presence."
"Good!" Elizabeth said emphatically, "But you should have made the threat clear."
"Oh, I did. I made sure that the knife fell out of his doublet so everyone recognized the threat. Mary then agreed to be careful about whom she permitted to petition her." Rhoslyn sighed and shook her head. "She is afraid, but she has never allowed her fears to interfere with what she felt was her duty. She has the courage of a martyr."
"Well, watch her close," Denoriel urged irritably. "I do not want her to drag Elizabeth into martyrdom with her. She will be a terrible queen, but she must rule before Elizabeth."
"But what am I to do?" Rhoslyn asked anxiously. "That one elderly man, clearly intense and excited, should die is nothing to raise any comment, but if another and then another die, surely Northumberland will use that, call Mary a witch or say she used her faith to curse those who came to remonstrate with her."
Harry said, "We spoke of this before. The next attack, if there is one, must be ended by ordinary means. I assume you must be with the attacker to . . . ah . . . terminate him. If you are always there, you might be tied to the deaths. Can you not put in one of the guards' minds a compulsion to kill anyone who is a danger, Rhoslyn?"
Rhoslyn shook her head vehemently. "Not unless I take the man over completely, and then he could never succeed in stopping a determined attacker. To use someone else's body . . . that is very difficult. If I just made him want to kill a petitioner, he would wonder why he felt that way and try to reason himself into doing the deed—but by then, likely the attack would have succeeded."
Pasgen sighed heavily. "I suppose it is now time for me to do my part. I will go to the mortal world with Rhoslyn so she can point out the guard most commonly closest to Lady Mary. At need I will take on his appearance and do the killing and Rhoslyn will make the man's memories match what I have done."
Harry laughed. "I wish I had Rhoslyn's persuasive powers when I was in the mortal world. Heaven knows no one seemed willing to believe the reasons for my most innocent excursions."
"Were they innocent?" Rhoslyn looked up at him through her long black lashes.
"More innocent than I wished," Harry said, blushing and returning her teasing glance with one combining pleading and admiration.
"Do you want me to bind an air spirit to you Rhoslyn, so you can let Pasgen know when you need him?" Aleneil asked.
For a fleeting moment Pasgen's expression darkened with regret as he remembered how he had killed one of those innocent sprites when he was still serving Vidal, but all he said was, "No air spirit will come to me. It does not matter, Rhoslyn and I have a way of knowing when we need each other."
His hand rose and touched the small furry snakelike creature that nestled under the collar of his shirt. He knew that a similar construction was concealed somewhere on Rhoslyn. If either of them were alarmed or in danger the little construct would tremble as would its counterpart. The greater the danger, the more violent the quaking.
That had been sufficient until the time Rhoslyn had lost the Gate and been temporarily trapped in an Unformed land. Pasgen had nearly gone mad because he knew Rhoslyn was afraid and in danger—and he did not know where she was to come to her rescue. Later, when she had extricated herself from her difficulties, he bespelled the constructs so that he would also know where Rhoslyn was when she was in trouble.
Pasgen had not told Rhoslyn at first because he did not want her to come to face danger with him; later he realized how foolish that was. If she knew he was threatened from the convulsing of the furry snake and she could not reach him and he died . . . No, he could not inflict the grief and horror that would cause on his twin. Not after how she had suffered because of Llanelli's death. He was all she had. Better they be dead together, he thought, and bespelled her construct so she would know where he was.
Denoriel noticed the movement of Pasgen's hand, but he asked no questions. Pasgen was strong in magic, possibly strong enough to be considered a Magus Major, but he kept his abilities to himself. Denoriel understood. For a Sidhe raised in the Unseleighe Court everyone, including his blood relations if he had any, was an enemy. If Pasgen revealed his secrets to anyone, he would be sure that person would use the secrets against him. In fact, his mind might well know that was not true, that his half-sister and half-brother would not want or try to hurt him, but suspicion was trained into him.
He also noticed Harry's concern for Rhoslyn. There was something brewing there, Denoriel thought, absently replying to a question from Elizabeth. Harry had been living with him since Mwynwen had taken a new lover. Denoriel was pleased and relieved that Harry and the healer had parted so amicably, that Harry was not mortally wounded by the loss of his Sidhe lover as so many humans were.
Harry had never been much of a student, but he was clever about people. He had come to understand that what Mwynwen sought in him was the child she had called Richie, Harry's simulacrum. And while Harry was still very sick with elfshot poisoning, he had been dependent, like a child. But as the years passed, Harry was cured—and grown into an adult in his mind, no matter how young Underhill kept his body. Thinking and acting like a man had reduced Harry's appeal and made Mwynwen indifferent.
Luckily Harry had been growing indifferent too, tired of being regarded as a child. He had made friends among the elder Sidhe and engaged in some very risky enterprises that absorbed him completely—until he met Rhoslyn. Denoriel thought she might have attracted Harry at first because she was dark like Mwynwen and also very beautiful. But what drew Harry most was that Rhoslyn was a lonely, vulnerable creature, who had rejected the Unseleighe Court but was not acceptable to the Seleighe.
For a moment Pasgen thought that Denoriel would ask about the means he and Rhoslyn had for communication, but his half-brother did not ask, just looked from Harry to Rhoslyn. And then the server approached the table and everyone's attention was riveted. This time it looked like a besom broom stood on its handle. Two sturdy twigs extended from the pole to make arms and hands and the pole had somehow been split to form two legs. That was odd enough, but the besom itself seemed to be brightly on fire.
"What will the patrons have?" The words hissed and crackled.
"Does it occur to anyone," Pasgen said, "that we have never had the same server twice. Can working here be so fraught that new servers are hired every week?"
"It's the same one," Rhoslyn said after studying it for a moment. "I mean, whatever it looks like, it's the same construct."
"Don't you know it is not polite to make personal remarks, even about a lowly server?"
There were two black places in the burning besom that stood for eyes, an upright slit between them for a nose, and a larger, round black place for a mouth. Burning strands around the top and bottom of that round place moved up and down and in and out when the besom spoke.
"I would like to meet your maker," Rhoslyn said, her voice full of concern. "Clearly you are self-aware."
"Of course I am self-aware. I am my maker, and I am not a construct," the besom snapped.
"I beg your pardon," Rhoslyn exclaimed, flushing painfully.
"Your forms are extreme," Harry said quickly, with a touch of anger. "I must admit it did not occur to me that you were alive."
"Are you going to have steak with mushrooms and onions again?" the server asked.
"It certainly is the same being," Harry said, dryly, "and one with a very good memory. I had that to eat some time ago."
"And the blond one had stew that same day."
"Yes, I did," Pasgen agreed. "From what are you hiding that you alter your form so drastically and so often?"
The besom turned it's hollow black eye-spots on Pasgen. "Unseleighe," it said. "Only Unseleighe think that way." The burning head shook back and forth and turned to Denoriel. "Do you think that way?"
"I, too, wonder why you do it," Denoriel replied.
The besom sighed heavily, causing flames to gyrate wildly and a burning sliver fell from its mouth to the table. Elizabeth put out a cautious finger to feel the heat, but there was no heat, and the flame winked out when her finger touched the burning thing.
"You have been too long among mortals," the besom said. "I do it because it amuses me. Any Bright Court Sidhe should know that. Think of the things you do for amusement. Now what do you all want to eat and drink. I do have other patrons to serve."
Aleneil suddenly laughed. "It would amuse Ilar too." She shook her head. "What is your normal form? None at all, I guess, but you have a perfect memory. How strange. I will have a clear soup and a cold collation."
Elizabeth, who had been very quiet, looking at the scrap of . . . something . . . that had been burning, gave her order, for roast venison, new peas, and baked turnips last. When the server had stalked away, she said, "Things are often not at all what they appear, not only here but in the mortal world too."
"Whatever do you mean, my love?" Denoriel asked.
"Have you not heard what Rhoslyn said about Mary? That there were actual attempts on Mary's life?"
Denoriel lifted his brows. "So? What is your problem? Do you envy Mary the attention?"
"Denno!" Elizabeth protested, laughing because he often said she craved attention, then sobered. "Do you not realize that if Rhoslyn was not there with her special abilities, either of those attempts might well have succeeded? Both were well planned and almost impossible, I suspect, to be traced to their initiator."
"That's true, Bess, but what is so significant . . ." Harry frowned and then added, "Oh, I see. You think the attempts on you were not so well planned."
Elizabeth nodded. "Not that Denno did not protect me better than anyone else, but even if he had not been there, my guardsmen would have routed the men who attacked us. There were not enough of them and they were not trained soldiers. And there is another thing, even more significant. If Northumberland wanted to take me prisoner, why did he send the messenger at all? Why did he simply not send a troop of guards in Royal livery? To fight them would be treason."
"Likely he did not want anyone to see you taken by Royal guards." Harry said.
"Why not, Da? It would not be strange for the king to send a Royal guard to escort his sister. Who would know I was being taken unwilling?"
"That is a very reasonable question," Pasgen said, "and when coupled with the gift of jewels . . . Are you sure Prince Denoriel that it was Northumberland who sent the troop to attack and sent Rich with such a stupid proposition and . . . hmmm . . . jewels?"
"That is a question I have been asking myself," Elizabeth said, nodding at Pasgen; it was the first recognition she had given him and considering they were talking about bespelled jewels significant. "I think we have two threads tangled. The messenger was, indeed, from Northumberland, but the attackers and those stones . . ."
"Vidal is a great one for using amulets," Pasgen said. Then he looked fully at Elizabeth. "I am not trying to excuse myself for what I did. I should have refused. It was a terrible thing to do to a child . . . and I am sorry for it. I wished to say that."
Rhoslyn briefly touched her brother's cheek and Elizabeth again nodded. "He was your lord. It was your duty to obey him. It is a very hard thing when your lord orders something you know is wrong. I saw that in my father's Court more than once."
It was not the same thing at all, Pasgen knew, but he was glad of the raprochement with Elizabeth and felt no inclination to make himself less in her opinion. But it was not duty but fear and self-interest that had made him obedient to Vidal. And then he shrugged mentally. Was it not, except for a few noble souls, the same in the mortal world, that fear and self-interest made men obedient to their king?
Before Pasgen needed to decide what to say, the server was again approaching their table. Remembering the little hands on the broad arms which had delivered plates the previous week, Harry craned his neck to see the server, but the burning besom was wheeling a service cart in the most ordinary way. The only extraordinary happening was that the server did not need to ask which dish went to which person. Each was delivered correctly and when Rhoslyn, guiltily, said "Thank you," the server nodded its burning head and said, "Accepted. Enjoy," and went away.
"I am free of Vidal now," Pasgen said when the creature was gone, then he smiled at Elizabeth. "How did you resist those jewels? Aleneil has told us how you love them."
Elizabeth shivered slightly but cut and lifted a slice of the venison without any diminution in her appetite. "I assure you they did not tempt me. Even wrapped in silk there was . . . something ugly about them. And the ring on Chancellor Rich's hand, the beautiful yellow diamond, that too had . . . I do not know how to explain it, but it was like seeing though an illusion, only it was not with my eyes that I saw. Something is in that diamond. But how could Chancellor Rich get a diamond bespelled by Vidal Dhu?"
"Too easily." Pasgen swallowed his mouthful, and his lips thinned. "While I was still Vidal's servant, I established a human 'sorceror' called Fagildo Otstargi and made him quite fashionable at Court. Otstargi predicted the future and gave advice to King Henry's courtiers. I suppose when I decided to leave Vidal's service, I should have 'killed' Otstargi in some very public way, but truthfully I had lost interest and forgot about him. Now Vidal is using that character—I think for the same purpose I used it."
"But how could Vidal hire a troop of humans to attack Elizabeth?" Harry asked. "No. If one of them should have been taken prisoner, Otstargi would have been exposed."
"Vidal might have done that before the mist trapped him," Pasgen said. "He acted then as if the whole world was blind, deaf, and stupid. But he is much more cautious now. There is also a human healer who lives in Otstargi's house. Currently he is attending on the little king—"
"Not harming him!" Elizabeth exclaimed.
"No, no. I think he is doing all that he can to keep King Edward alive. Vidal wants Mary on the throne, but the uncertainty about Edward's health and the succession is providing the Unseleighe Court with plenty of power."
"Not 'us with plenty of power'?" Elizabeth asked, but there was curiosity not animosity in her voice.
"Elizabeth!" Denoriel protested. "One does not ask about another's source of power."
"I beg your pardon," Elizabeth said easily, "but since it is impossible for me to encroach on Pasgen's source . . ." And she addressed herself to her plate.
"That is true," Pasgen said complacently, spearing a last few remnants on the point of his knife. "But I doubt anyone could encroach. I have my own sources of power and owe nothing to the mortal world."
Aleneil looked interested; Denoriel indifferent. With the power-gathering spell that Mwynwen had given him, the ambient strength of Underhill filled him quickly and completely. Then he cocked his head.
"You haven't found a way to take power from the mortal world, have you?" Denoriel asked, also cleaning the last bits from his plate with some of the Inn of Kindly Laughter's very good bread.
"No. And I thank you for your warning about that white lightning. I barely touched it and was well scorched for my temerity. I am thinking about it, though. I promise if I find a way, I will tell you."
"I will be very grateful," Denoriel said. "I try not to do magic in the mortal world, but circumstances can build a trap that makes magic necessary."
"Which brings me back to Albertus—that is the mortal healer who lives in Otstargi's house. I brought him Underhill to see if he could cure Aurilia's headaches. I found him in the basest slum of the city, tending on the whores and criminals. He has an acquaintance that could make the hiring of thugs easy."
"But I am sure the men who attacked me were not brigands," Elizabeth pointed out.
"No," Aleneil agreed. "I thought then and think now that they were idle young gentlemen, possibly men recruited to fight for a cause."
"Cause?" Rhoslyn asked.
"Reestablishment of the Catholic Church," Harry said. "Mary will subject England to the pope again."
"No!" Rhoslyn exclaimed, then added, "Oh, yes, Mary will bring back the Catholic Church as fully as she can, but Mary would never hire men to attack Elizabeth." She flushed slightly. "She does not . . . love Elizabeth, but—"
"That was not what I meant," Harry said quickly. "I doubt, if the men were hired for the Catholic cause, that Mary knew anything about it. God knows, there are enough men who follow the old religion in their hearts, some of them right beside Northumberland. Any one of them could have made up a plan to take Elizabeth prisoner."
"For what purpose?" Elizabeth asked, tensing.
Harry shook his head at her. "Only so that Mary could come to the throne without any challenge. Most of those men fear that the country will rise to keep their new ways and freedom from Peter's pence and push you onto the throne instead of Mary."
Elizabeth shook her head. "That would render the Act of Succession invalid and that Act is what my own claim to the throne rests on."
"Possession is nine-tenths of the law," Harry remarked cynically. And then said, "No, don't think about it. Stay safe. Stay quiet. If Mary and Northumberland fight over the crown, just lie still at Hatfield. If Mary is hurt, I think the country will rise to overthrow Northumberland. Also remember that Mary is many years older than you."
"And she is not strong," Rhoslyn said with tears in her eyes.
"I am sorry Rhoslyn," Harry said, pushing away his plate. "I know you are fond of her—"
"Because she is a good, sweet, kind person."
"Perhaps. But she will make a wretched queen and do great hurt to the country."
Rhoslyn sighed. "I know."
Harry looked at her sadly, then turned back to Elizabeth. "The elder Sidhe and I are going to make another assault on the evil that is lodged in Alhambra and I must go. Is there anything you need from me Bess?"
"No, except your promise to be very, very careful. Da, you have no magic. I do not like to think of you struggling with evil without any defenses."
Harry leaned over and kissed Elizabeth's forehead. "What a silly child you are. I am ringed about with defenders, all rich and tried in magic. And I have my gun loaded with Cold Iron and my silver sword. Do not waste any fear on my account." He rose to his feet.
Pasgen also stood up. "I will Gate to Elfhame Elder-Elf with you. I need to let Gaenor and Hafwen know that I will not be available to them for a few weeks. That mist is doing something, but without going into it we cannot tell what, and none of us is desperate enough to go in after what happened to Vidal." He turned to Rhoslyn. "Making sure Mary is not hurt is not likely to take longer than a few mortal weeks, is it, Rhoslyn?"
"No," Rhoslyn said. "Although Northumberland keeps speaking of improvement, no one believes the poor little king can survive much longer. Lady Catherine tells Mary that the real physicians have given up and that Northumberland has called in any charltan who promises a cure. Poor boy. He is in such pain they keep him drugged almost all the time."
On that somber note they parted, Elizabeth clinging to Denoriel with tears in her eyes and saying, "No, I don't want to go to the market now. Take me home, please, Denno."
Later, Elizabeth acknowledged that she would have done better to go to the market and try to distract herself. Having taken to her bed as a defensive measure against Northumberland, once she was in the mortal world she had little to keep her occupied beyond the wild fluctuations of her hopes and fears. One moment her throat tightened with tears for her little brother; the next a thrill swept her when she realized she would be heir presumptive to the throne when Edward died.
That thrill of eagerness and excitement, however, was always followed by a thrill of fear. Mary did not want her as heir. Mary was rumored to deny that Elizabeth was her father's daughter. Mary was one of the few who had actually believed Elizabeth's mother was a promiscuous whore and that Elizabeth was Mark Smeaton's child—in spite of Elizabeth's resemblance to Henry VIII.
Then her thoughts would skip back to Edward and she would hope a little that the rumors of his mortal illness, which came mostly from Mary's supporters at Court, were only traps to make her seem to desire his death. William Cecil, her own main source of information, so faithful and infallible in the past, had been strangely silent. So maybe Edward was not so desperately ill; perhaps he would recover. A flicker of hope, mixed, to Elizabeth's inner shame, with a hollow regret. Was she a monster after all to desire a chance at the throne at the cost of Edward's life?
Had the enforced idleness lasted long, Elizabeth would likely have made herself truly ill. Within the week, however, warning came from the closed gate of Hatfield that there was come a messenger, not wearing royal colors but openly from Northumberland. Sir Edward came to the gate himself and put out his hand for the packet. The messenger—not the dolt who had carried the order for Elizabeth to turn back from her intended visit to Edward, but a wiry gentleman of middle height with crisp, dark hair and sharp features—did not deliver.
He dismounted from his saddle as the gate was closed behind him and asked, "What is the meaning of locked gates and the guards? Are you arming for war?"
"Not war, defense. My lady was attacked on the road only last week," Sir Edward replied as they started for the house. "I am Sir Edward Paulet, captain of the guard here and taking no chances that the attack was no accident. You may give me the message."
"No, I may not," the messenger replied. "I was sent by the duke of Northumberland himself. My name is Richard Verney and I am enjoined to place this message into Lady Elizabeth's hand and no other."
"Lady Elizabeth is ill and lies abed. She was sadly shocked by the attack, which brought on an inability to eat. She is very weak."
"I have my orders from His Grace," Verney said stubbornly.
"Well, you may come and speak to Mistress Ashley, but I doubt she will give you news other than what you have had from me."
The messenger said nothing more until Sir Edward saw him into the reception room and gave his name to Kat, who rose to greet him, holding out her hand for the message. However, he clutched it tight against his breast and repeated that his orders were to put it into Elizabeth's hand alone.
"Then you are likely not to deliver it at all, Master Verney," Kat said calmly. "Lady Elizabeth is most unwell. She has not risen from her bed since we were attacked on the road."
"I am sorry to hear of the lady's illness," Verney said, "but I am commanded by His Grace of Northumberland to give this message into her hand, and I assure you that it will be the worse for her if she does not have it."
Kat looked at him for a long moment, but he did not offer the packet and she sighed and said, "I will tell her you are here and see if I can get her to attend to me."
"I will come—"
Verney stopped as the guard at the inner door made an ugly sound in his throat and stepped forward, his hand on his sword hilt. Kat raised a hand and shook her head at Shaylor.
"Very well," she said, "come then."
First Verney felt a fool because he clearly detected a note of satisfaction in Mistress Ashley's voice. She had wanted him to insist, to act as if he thought they were hiding something. But then he swallowed hard. Sir Edward was pacing him behind Mistress Ashley to the door and he had drawn his long knife from its scabbard on his belt. Perhaps they were hiding something and if he detected it he would never leave that inner chamber.
"You will not approach the bed closer than Mistress Ashley leads you," Sir Edward said.
It was not Lady Elizabeth in the bed, Verney thought, that is what they are trying to hide. But it was Lady Elizabeth! She lay still and white under a thin coverlet. And Mistress Ashley only stopped him about a foot from the bed. The curtains were drawn back all the way. He could see her plainly.
Verney's glance flickered down the outline of her body under the coverlet. It was nearly as flat as the bed itself. Not the smallest rounding of the belly to hint at the sin she might have inherited from her mother.
"Lady Elizabeth," Kat crooned. "My dear. Open your eyes, do."
A long moment passed. Mistress Ashley repeated herself. The thin lids twitched, twitched again and opened over dark eyes, almost as black as those of Ann Boleyn.
"Here is a messenger from the duke of Northumberland, Lady Elizabeth, and he says he must give his message only directly into your hand."
"His Grace," Lady Elizabeth breathed.
Verney saw her right arm move a fraction, as if she were trying to brace it to lift herself on her elbow. She did get the elbow bent under her, but slipped back to lie flat at once. Finally, very slowly and with great effort, she raised her hand.
"Give me the message," she whispered.
Sir Edward moved forward with Verney, the point of his knife now pressing hard into Verney's side. Verney hesitated and the knife passed through his clothing and pricked his flesh, a warning and an impatient prod. He withdrew the packet from the satchel in which he had carried it. Elizabeth's hand had fallen to the bed, but it lay palm up to receive the message. And then, to Verney's surprise, a glowering maid took a quick step forward and laid a heavy silk kerchief over Lady Elizabeth's hand, as if contact with the message would in some way contaminate her.
Now Sir Edward laid a heavy hand on Verney's shoulder; as he drew him away from the bed, he sheathed his knife again. "You have delivered your message into Lady Elizabeth's hand," he said. "Your duty is done. Come and refresh yourself."
But his duty was not done. Verney had been told to report on the lady's reaction. "Will not the lady wish to read the message?" he protested. "I am very willing to answer any questions."
Sir Edward uttered a low, indeterminate sound and his lips twisted as he shepherded Verney out. "Does she look as if she could read it or ask a question? If you had given it to me or to Mistress Ashley, you might have had an answer to take back. Now she will insist on reading it herself and that will have to wait until she gathers strength."
"Why did the maid cover Lady Elizabeth's hand? And why did you nearly stab me when I was about to give her the message?"
Sir Edward shrugged. "How did I know that you would not whip out a poisoned pin or even a knife and stab my lady? Nor will you be offered lodging in this house. No strangers are permitted within, lest they do harm. You can have a cup of wine while I watch you, but I will not leave you until you are outside our gate. Someone hired a whole troop of men to take Lady Elizabeth or even kill her. Likely it is fear that has made her so ill. When she is sure she is safe, I hope she will recover."
Verney drank his wine and was escorted out, the gates closed and were barred behind him. No one short of an entire army would be able to reach Lady Elizabeth and do her harm, Verney thought. He himself had no such instructions—and would not have accepted such an order, even from his good friend Robert Dudley's father. But something was brewing connected with the young king's death. Verney rode at a moderate pace, sparing his horse. He would not be sorry to emphasize how well Lady Elizabeth was guarded.
Kat had followed Verney and Sir Edward to the door and watched them through a crack until the outer door of the reception room had closed behind them. Then she closed the bedroom door and said, "He's gone."
Elizabeth popped upright and watched Blanche as she carefully wiped the outside of the message packet with the silk kerchief. "Do you think it is poisoned, Blanche? Do you . . .ah . . . see or smell something? I did not."
She had been about to say "sense something" but the geas Queen Titania had put on her when she was given leave to visit Underhill with her memory intact would not permit her to say anything that would hint of magic or the supernatural. Thus she had to find words natural to the mortal world.
"No, m'lady," Blanche lifted the packet and sniffed at it through the silk. "Don't smell nothing up close either, but the messenger was wearing gloves. No sense in not being careful."
"For the Grace of God, Blanche," Kat said, sounding shocked. "Are you implying that the duke of Northumberland is trying to poison Elizabeth?"
"Don't know, Mistress Ashley. But the men who attacked us wasn't really friendly. Don't know what the men would have done if they'd taken Lady Elizabeth. Maybe, like Lord Denno said, they would've only held her till Northumberland's plans were worked out, but maybe . . . What hurt can it do to be safe?"
"None," Kat murmured. "None. . . . Oh dear."
Elizabeth stared hard at the packet too but could see and sense nothing. She reached toward it, but Blanche told her to wait and hurried off to the dressing room, from where she came back with a pair of gloves. When they were on, Elizabeth broke the seal, turning her head aside so as not to breathe in anything. Then she unfolded the message and read it, crying out softly as if she had been caught by a small pain.
"What is it, love?" Kat asked.
"I am ordered to come to Court to say fare well to Edward. He is dying, Northumberland says. Oh, poor Edward. Should I go?"
"Lord Denno would skin us all alive," Blanche said.
"He would have to be here to skin us, so we are safe enough," Elizabeth said with a spiteful hiss.
"Oh, no, my dear," Kat added, deliberately not hearing what Elizabeth said about Lord Denno and answering the question about going to Edward.
It was true that Lord Denno had left Hatfield as soon as he was sure Elizabeth was calm and Sir Edward had deployed his men and locked the gates so Hatfield was safe. It was also true that Lord Denno had not returned, but by now Kat knew Lord Denno well enough to be certain he was on Elizabeth's business, likely trying to find out who had hired the attackers and/or why the attack had been made.
"There cannot be any question of going to London," Kat went on. "Not after you were so clever at convincing the messenger you were too ill to travel. And . . . and the truth is, my love, that it is more likely the king is already dead than that you will be allowed to see him. I do not think Northumberland would have admitted his key to the royal power was gone until King Edward truly drew his last breath. So why does he want you now, when he did all in his power to keep you away from Court for so long?"