The kitchens! she thought suddenly. Everyone would be gathered there, telling stories, servants and gentlemen together, in the warmth of the ovens. It was the only explanation. Focusing on the hope rather than the nagging feeling that such a thing could never be true, she hurried for the stairs that led to the great kitchens underneath the palace.
Down the winding stairs she went, and down again, deep, deep down, leaving the stark regiment of the palace for the sumptuous underworld. She could hear the crackle of the fires under the ovens and the hiss of the pots boiling on the top, the clank of their lids as they were lifted by the steam, smell the aromatic after-scent of the evening's dinner, the capons boiled in a broth of oranges, sugar, mace, cloves, nutmeg, and cinnamon, rich and powerful, intermingling with the strong notes of the strawberries soaked in red wine and ginger.
Her senses were overwhelmed, so much so that she was not wholly aware that she heard no human voices. Only when she bounded excitedly from the stairs into the vast brick vault did she see it was empty. The light from the candles danced up the orange-red walls and sent shadows rippling along the roof.
The remnants of the dinner's preparation were still scattered across the great oak tables that ran along the centre of the kitchen, juices dribbling from the edges onto the flags. The cooking pots were piled high, still unwashed.
Grace's shoulders grew taut. The kitchens should not be empty at that time; indeed, they ought to be an industrious hive of activity. The kitchen master would have his staff working hard to clear everything away so that all would be left clean and ready for the breakfast.
She looked around. Jars were unstoppered. Pans almost bubbled dry. Cheese lay uncovered. It was as if everyone in the palace had disappeared in an instant, their tasks left half finished, the ghost of their presence still haunting the place.
Grace moved slowly through the kitchens, feeling the blood pound in her head. All the signals she received from the environment were conflicting. A disappearance of so many people without a hubbub? So quickly?
The black, brackish waters of fear she had managed to suppress for so long began to rise through her.
The fires off in the dark. The grey shadows loping across the fields. What was coming? She tried to laugh at her anxiety, couldn't. She should run, hide. But where would she go?
Instead, she crossed to the largest oven. The fire inside it was roaring out of control as if the flue had been jammed open. As she stood before it, she could feel the flames burning harder, faster, with each passing moment, a furnace, and the heat in the room rose accordingly. After a few seconds of fascination, she realised that the heat was increasing faster than the oven could account for, the air becoming dense and dry. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead. It became hotter than the hottest summer day.
Although she had heard nothing, she realised she was no longer alone. She whirled, her breath catching in her throat. Several figures stood at the entrance to the kitchens, shimmering as if seen through a heat-haze. They were watching her, as still as statues.
'Who are you?' she gasped.
CHAPTER 31
ursting into the great banqueting hall at Hampton Court Palace, Will hurled Carpenter against a wall and punched him in the face three times before Carpenter had even realised he was there. Mayhew and Launceston threw themselves forward to restrain Will, but even the two of them combined struggled to contain him. His anger was like a storm, his face filled with lightning.
Blood flooded from Carpenter's nose and lips. Picking himself up, he wiped his face clean with the back of his hand and turned on Will angrily.
'Enough!' Walsingham strode into the room, and though his face remained as cold as ever, there was a crack of anger in his voice.
Will continued his furious attempts to throw off Launceston and Mayhew, but gradually calmed. As the fury drained from his face, he spat, 'You were supposed to protect her!'
'I did all I could,' Carpenter snarled.
'All you could? You ate and drank and idled your time with the women in the kitchens!' Launceston and Mayhew were forced to renew their efforts as Will strained at their grips.
'I did the work with which I was charged!' Carpenter raged. 'I brought her here undercover, and secreted her in a room, and kept watch.'
'Then how did Grace disappear under your nose?' Will snapped. He ignored Walsingham who waited at his side, as if he were incapable of understanding the degree of emotion being shown. 'Or did you finally decide to act upon the grudge you hold against me?'
In a rage, Carpenter attacked. Launceston interjected himself, knife drawn.
Knowing Launceston would use his weapon without a second thought, Carpenter stepped back and contained himself. 'You think I would sacrifice a woman to pay you back?' he snarled. 'I am not like you.'
'You were charged to watch her.'
'And I did. Her dinner was brought to her room. She ate it. I remained in the room next to hers, with the door open at all times. No one came to her room. No one left. Yet when I knocked upon her door an hour later, there was no reply, and upon inspection the room was empty.'
'You fell asleep!'
'No!' Carpenter's eyes blazed. Will tried to tell if he was lying, but as always Carpenter was impossible to read.
'How did the Enemy know she was here?' Containing a quiet power, Walsingham's steady voice cut through the angry atmosphere.
'I do not know,' Carpenter replied, dabbing at his bloody nose. 'No one here knew, nor anyone in Whitehall beyond our trusted circle, and his assistant.'
Will brought his struggles to a slow halt as Carpenter's words settled on him. His head still pulsed with the beat of angry blood, but through it cut cold mistrust. Looking around the group, they all met his eye.
Never trust a spy, that was the joke when they were all in their cups. After Reidheid, Will was starting to wonder if he could trust anyone.
'That is enough for now,' Walsingham said.
'No, it is not,' Will replied, ignoring the flicker of wrath in Walsingham's eyes. 'Grace is gone. The Enemy have her.'
'I share your concern,' Walsingham said insincerely, 'and I understand she was important to you. But there are more pressing matters. For now.' He fixed an eye on Will that was supposed to be reassuring. 'Trust me, we will not let her languish in the hands of the Enemy. No Englishman or Englishwoman will suffer at the hands of our foes while I exert influence over this office.'
Will understood the harsh reality. Grace was his personal priority, but she meant little against the great affairs of state. Deep inside him, the feelings he had kept locked down for so long threatened to tear him apart. He thought of Grace, saw jenny, couldn't help but imagine what terrible things were happening to her now, what would happen in the days, months, years to come, unless he saved her.
Walsingham was speaking, but Will heard none of the words. His head buzzed with the pulse of his blood, and thundered with his anger and selfloathing at his failure to protect Grace when she needed him most. But he would not give in to despair. His task now was to balance the demands placed upon him by his work with his need to find Grace before something monstrous took place. Yet he recalled clearly the plain cruelty in Cavillex's words in the Fairy House in Edinburgh. The Unseelie Court had embarked upon a path of torture. Their aim was to cause him pain, and to twist it and magnify it. The theft of Grace was only the beginning.
'Will?' Walsingham questioned. 'You are with us?'
'Of course.'
