A Queen's Spy, - [best books under 200 pages .txt] 📗

cross-country, following in the steps of the messenger.

When they arrived at Burton Manor the courtyard was the scene of smooth, controlled activity, filled with Gardiner’s men who had ridden from London to join Fitzwarren. Their leader, a man Jack had no liking for, Edward de Lacon, was there now as they prepared to leave.

“Sir, you are just in time. Your man reports that Walgrave approaches and we are off to spring the trap,” he announced.

“Excellent,” announced Richard exuberantly. “Come, Jack, let us fall on the bishop like the hounds on the fox.”

Twelve men waited in the sanctuary afforded by the trees. The carriage took longer to arrive than it should have as Henry Walgrave had made an unscheduled stop. For his safety, he had changed places with Captain Davis. The riders fell on the band, hoods pulled up, kerchiefs hiding their faces.

Richard led his men in on one side of the coach whilst Edward brought his companions swooping down, yelling and screaming on the other.

Richard uncharacteristically did not play a leading part in the highway robbery, taking up a stance to the rear of the coach, his sword point bidding two of Captain Davis’s men to remain where they were. Edward, whooping, held aloft a leather bag, the signal that the deed was done, and as quickly as they had descended, they disappeared into the veiled shelter of the forest, leaving the men to regroup and speed the carriage from the ambush.

Back at Burton, Edward tipped the contents of the leather pouch onto the table. Three documents of rectangular folded parchment fell from within, all sealed.

“It appears that you have been successful, Sir,” Richard idly reaching for one of the documents.

“No Sir. These are sealed and will remain so, so there is no chance of the villainy they contain escaping.” Edward scooped the papers from the table.

“Surely you have some curiosity as to what they may tell us,” Richard replied slyly.

“None whatsoever. They contain only slanderous lies and tales of deceit,” Edward de Lacon replied indignantly.

“Well the answer is simple then,” Richard declared. “Burn them. I lay my own fire at your disposal.”

“You have no appreciation of what we have done here tonight, have you? I will not be goaded into opening these letters for you to slaver over,” Edward’s tone told everyone present he had no respect for Richard Fitzwarren.

“Come on, man, we’d all enjoy a bit of entertainment.” Richard received an affirmative murmur from his men in the hall. He turned back to Edward. “Come now, man, we have worked with you. Share the spoils.”

“You, Sir, are a dangerous and most treacherous wretch. Lord knows what use you would put these papers to. I can see now why you were not most wholly trusted, and I care no longer for your company,” Edward replied, signalling his men to leave.

“You do not trust my company now that you have your precious letters! I am most deeply hurt,” Richard proclaimed, a wounded note in his voice. “I craved a little scandal and some entertainment, the same as any other poor soul. Come now, humour us before you leave. Can I be the only curious cat?”

Edward sensed the challenge in Richard’s words, as he was supposed to, and detected the slight slur in his speech. “Sir, you are drunk. I will not continue this conversation.” Walgrave’s cargo protectively held under his arm, Edward left. He wished very much to be on the road now he had his prize. He might not have been so hasty if he had known that his departure was also in the mind of the man who had goaded him.

Jack sidled up to Richard. “Do you think he will open those letters and we will be soon undone?”

Richard seated himself on the end of the table, one foot idly swinging as he considered the question. “No, I rely on the fact that when the discovery is made they cannot complain too loudly as they risk implication as traitors. Gardiner knows he implicates himself and Renard will still receive from me what he will hopefully believe are the originals that the Bishop of York held.”

“I do hope you are right,” Jack said over-cheerfully.

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

Richard broke the seal with his knife. He sat cross-legged in front of the fire in the silent privacy of his own room, the door locked against unwanted intrusions. The first packet revealed a single sheet of parchment. Holding it to the flame’s light, he scanned the contents. It was a neatly penned confession in a clerk’s hand, detailing the lewd acts committed between this tortured lover and Anne Boleyn. There was nothing in the text of any significance. It was a standard extracted confession statement prepared without the confessor’s participation and with the sole purpose of having him sign it.

He turned the page over. The neat text continued to fill the reverse, at the bottom was the signature. The blotted, scraped pen strokes clashed wildly with the clerk’s tidy and calmly prepared sentences. He stared at the signature. It was a long dead agony now that stared at him from the page and he felt nothing for that tormented soul. He discarded the paper on the floor and turned to the next. He had to admit mild surprise at the second confession; he had certainly never heard of its existence. It was written in the hand of Anne Boleyn. He read the document thoughtfully.

 

On the 11th day of the month of September, I did lie with him again in mine own bed. Between this time and finding myself with child I did not lie with my husband nor any other man.

 

The document rambled through dates and events, but it seemed to lack passion and rage, both of which were Mistress Boleyn’s most defining characteristics, and yet there was something about it that would not allow him to dismiss it as a fake. Its existence had surprised him. He knew the lady had hoped for mercy from Henry right up until the moment she was led to the block. He wondered at her motivation for writing it, if in fact, she had penned it. Possibly she had written it in return for a promise to keep her daughter safe.

The next letter was from Renard to the Archbishop of York, outlining the repeal of the act of parliament that contained Henry’s will. Richard discarded this straight into the flames.

The next document was older than the rest, the penmanship archaic, the paper yellowed.

Richard read it a second time, carefully, not believing what he held in his hands. He had certainly never heard of this rumour before, and scandal, like smoke, had a talent for escaping.

Richard closed his eyes for a moment, making a physical effort to still his breathing. What he held in his hands now could strike at the very heart of the succession. His hands still shaking he folded the document carefully back into its original square.

It seemed it had not been the documents relating to Elizabeth that had been of interest to Renard at all. What he held in his hand had been the precious cargo, but the question was, who knew about it?

Richard sat for a long time before he reached a decision.

 

Chapter Twenty-one

 

†

 

 

 

Richard was briefly back in London and bent to light the flame in the lamp holder in the attic room. He had duly delivered the papers to Renard’s keeping as he had promised to do, receiving thanks for countering Gardiner’s plot. Now, he had news for Elizabeth that she should hold her ground. It looked like Gardiner had continued to beg the Queen for clemency with Courtenay, and that he still persisted with his plans for Elizabeth’s marriage with the Earl.

“The line is a fine one,” Elizabeth was not smiling, “and it is I who am treading it not you.”

“I have given you all I have, there is no more news, if there were I hope you would trust that I would bring it to you.” Richard replied.

“Elizabeth, please. I know this is not easy,” Kate took a step towards her mistress.

Elizabeth shifted her gaze from Richard to Kate and her expression immediately softened. “Kate you are right.” Then to Richard she said, “I am assailed from all sides. Effingham was here this morning again, they are all convinced that I have some backing that they are not aware of.”

“I wish you did have,” Kate sighed.

“I am afraid they believe that you have coherent support and that you are in contact with them. This is partly what keeps you safe, lady. Derby cannot prove or disprove the extent of your support, and while they feel that alienating your faction poses a significant political risk they cannot move against you,” Richard explained.

“But I don’t have this, and they are tying me and themselves in knots trying to find it.” Elizabeth was exasperated. “I am asked the same question a dozen times over, and the slightest variation is pounced upon.”

“I know you can play your part well, so please trust me… You are safer while they believe you are a threat to the political stability,” Richard said. “The greater danger will come when they can see behind the smoke and gauge the full extent of the support you have.”

“This is your doing isn’t it?” Elizabeth demanded.

“It is always harder to fight an enemy you cannot see,” Richard replied simply.

“I think perhaps you should share your plans before you action them,” Elizabeth’s voice held a note of rebuke.

“I am afraid I cannot do that, and even you have to agree with me that what you do not know you cannot unintentionally impart,” Richard said.

There was a silence between them for a moment.

“Everyday I stand on the gallows platform and wait for the door to open. It does little for either my patience or my sense of humour,” Elizabeth said. Her arms were wrapped around her body and she turned her back on both Richard and Kate and paced across the room.

Kate smiled apologetically at Richard. “It is not easy, she is living on her nerves.”

Richard smiled. “I know, you both are. I hope that it will change soon.”

 

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

 

Richard was not the only one to have found himself in close communication with the Spanish ambassador. His brother also had been awaiting news from the same quarter.

“It seems my brother is untouchable,” Robert snarled, pulling riding gloves roughly from his hands. He was at Harry’s London house where he had freshly returned from a meeting with Renard.

“That I don’t believe!” Harry exclaimed, wiping dribbled wine from his flabby face with the back of his hand.

“Well he seems to be, and I don’t know why. I met with Renard weeks ago; he was most interested in a man proclaiming himself loyal to the crown who is visiting Elizabeth in secret. I contact him again and what do I get? A curt note that he has made enquiries and what I allege is of no matter. He wouldn’t even see me,” Robert’s eyes blazed. “The bloody bastard must have Renard round his finger as well, or else he’s blackmailed the Spanish runt.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me, not after what he did to me,” Harry said, not heeding the implication of his words.

The taller man turned narrow eyes on Harry. “What did you just say?”

Harry’s face fell as he realised that he