seeing as the court would be lumbering out of London, and everyone occupied watching the queen’s procession.
I donned my borrowed clothes and kept my head lowered under my cap when we were detained at the gate, where Shelton spun a magnificent yarn about his time in the Scottish wars of Henry VIII, claiming he’d thus earned his impressive facial badge of honor. The sentries were duly impressed. One of them-a gnarled old man whose uniform seemed to wear him, rather than the other way around-had fought in the same wars and proudly pushed up his sleeve to display a ragged scar on his arm. He waved us out, excusing us the exit fee. Soon we were cantering down the rutted road, the city behind us.
I took a long look at London over my shoulder. Though I could not see it, I conjured the Tower in my mind-its White Keep looming over the surrounding walls, the narrow parapets over the leads-and lifted a prayer for the safety of the four beloved women I had left there. I would be waiting when they were released. I would be waiting and I would be ready. Sybilla Darrier had imparted a lesson I would not squander; the time had come to embrace who I was: a spy for Elizabeth, devoted to her welfare. Next time when danger struck, I would not be caught unawares.
Then I cast my thoughts to the church where Peregrine lay.
“Farewell, my friend,” I whispered. “I’ll never forget you.”
Shelton and I rode in quiet companionship through hamlets where people were recovering from the aftereffects of the rebellion, turning our faces from the gibbets where dead rebels swayed. Urian ran before us in delight, romping through woodlands and open meadows, splashing into streams fed by the thaw.
Finally I breached the silence. I’d had plenty of time as we rode to come up with an opening salvo; instead, I found myself asking hesitantly, “Was my mother beautiful?”
He let out a sigh. “Oh, she was. Like no other woman I’d ever seen. There was a reason her brother King Henry called her his Rose. She could bring his entire court to a halt just by walking into the hall. But it was more than that: She had a light in her. It shone even when she was sad. And she was loyal to those she loved. She was never discourteous or demanding; she treated everyone as her equal.”
I stared at him, fascinated. He had known her. He had known my mother.
“Were you…?” My voice faltered; I couldn’t say the words. I felt abruptly as if I were intruding on deeply cherished and private memories.
He kept his gaze fixed ahead, but recollection softened his face, so that I could envision the burly young steward he’d once been, all those years ago.
“Naturally I was,” he said at length. “Any man who met her must have fallen in love with her. She invited desire, through no fault of her own.” He paused and cleared his throat. “But it’s not what you think. It wasn’t a love affair like minstrels sing about.”
The air about me seemed to solidify. “But you and she, you were…?”
He finally turned his head to me. For what seemed an eternity he did not reply. Then he said, “Yes. It happened when her husband, my master the duke, Brandon of Suffolk, went to France with the king and Mistress Boleyn.”
“Elizabeth’s mother,” I clarified. “Queen Anne.”
“Yes. But she wasn’t queen yet. Your mother wouldn’t allow anyone in her presence to call her by any other name. She hated her, you see; she blamed her for stealing the king from Queen Catherine. She was mistaken. Henry wanted what he wanted and didn’t care whom he trampled to get it. He obliged your mother to surrender her best jewels to adorn Mistress Boleyn for the French trip. Your mother was enraged; she and the duke quarreled bitterly over it. I was there. I heard them shouting at each other in the hall.”
A muscle in his face twitched. “Mistress Boleyn had heard of the jeweled artichoke, and she wanted to show it off, to prove to the French king, in whose court she’d served, that she was worthy of being England’s future queen. My lady would not hear of it. When the duke went to retrieve it she locked herself in her chamber and refused to come out. Later she sent me to court to deliver her other jewels. Mistress Boleyn understood the insult and turned her wrath on Queen Catherine, stripping her of every last jewel she possessed. My master, in turn, vented his wrath on me.”
“On you? Why?” I began to understand his prior behavior, when he first brought me to court to serve the Dudleys, his taciturn attitude, his insistence that I obey my betters.
He shrugged. “He wasn’t really angry at me; he was angry at himself. He had supported the king, though he privately disagreed. He did not think Anne Boleyn was worthy of anything more than a bedding, but he also knew telling Henry that wouldn’t be wise. Your mother and he had been at odds for years over it; so much so, in the end it destroyed their marriage. She wouldn’t attend the court, no matter how much Henry threatened. She stayed steadfast to Queen Catherine and made no bones about it. Her husband the duke, on the other hand, bowed to the strongest wind. And he was right. Before they left France, Mistress Boleyn gave in to the king and Elizabeth was conceived.”
I bit my lip, caught between the past and the present. “You did not go to France.”
“No. My master ordered me to his manor in Westhorpe.” His tone lowered, as though even in the midst of these open fields, he might be overheard. “When I arrived, I found my lady, your mother, bereft. She, too, had realized that her brother the king was willing to plunge the realm into ruin for Anne Boleyn, and it caused her no end of despair. A few nights later, a great storm arose, as if God himself showed discontent. One of her women came running to summon me to her chambers. She was having trouble with one of her casements. The wind had thrown it open, and rain was drenching everything. My lady was soaked to her skin, but she kept yanking at that window as if her life depended on it. Her health had been precarious; the births of four children had taken their toll. She didn’t show it outwardly, but I worried she’d catch her death of cold, so I … I tried to-”
He swallowed; all of a sudden, I heard a rupture in his voice. “I was a foolish young man then, lustful and proud, enamored of a woman so far above me in station she seemed unattainable. But that night she was so alone, so lost. She dismissed her maid, and I stayed with her as she sat before the fire. I served her mulled wine, tried to comfort her. She spoke of the past, when she’d been sought after as a royal bride. She told me of how François of France himself had pursued her and why she could never give up that artichoke jewel, because it was all she had left of a time when she risked everything to marry Brandon, the love of her life. Then she smiled and said, ‘And look at me now, Shelton: I’m a sad old lady. No one remembers the girl I was.’”
Heat prickled behind my eyes. I reached over the space between our horses as if to touch his hand on his reins. He jerked away, disdaining my reassurance.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “Let me finish. Let me get this out. I haven’t spoken of it to anyone. I need to tell you as much as you need to hear it.”
He drew Cerberus to a stop beside a stream. As our horses bowed their heads to drink, he dismounted and moved with heavy steps toward an oak. He stood there, staring at it. I slipped from Cinnabar to go to his side. In the distance Urian rolled in a patch of field.
“It was only a few times.” Shelton’s voice turned impersonal, as though he sought to put distance between himself and the man he had been. “That night was the first. I couldn’t help myself. She must have seen it in my eyes. I’d thought myself so clever, keeping my feelings to myself and acting the loyal squire, but she knew what desire looked like. Perhaps it gave her solace, to know she could still rouse such passion, to be young again … but to me-oh, to me, it was paradise on earth! I had never felt anything like it. I pledged my undying love to her, vowed I’d never have another. She laughed, said all men utter such nonsense in the heat of the moment, but I meant it. In a way, I still do.”
His broken mouth creased in a smile. “It’s why I tried to protect you after I found you in the Dudley household, why I sought to keep you hidden from those who might do you harm. It was my promise to her, though I never had the chance to tell her. I know I was hard on you at times, but I believed it was necessary to keep you safe. She wouldn’t have wanted you to suffer.”
I couldn’t move as he swiveled to me, looking at me with his one eye, which could no longer shed tears, though his entire countenance bore testament to his grief. “I returned to court when the duke came back from France. Mistress Boleyn announced she was with child; her coronation was planned in haste. I left your mother at Westhorpe, not knowing she, too, had conceived. She didn’t tell a soul except her herbalist, Mistress Alice, letting out that she had a swelling sickness. I never saw her again.”
“She died because of me.” I sank to my haunches, my head in my hands.
He knelt beside me. “No. Not because of you. She loved her children; she would have loved you, too.” He
