To Ruin A Queen: An Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's Court by Fiona Buckley Read Free Book Online Page B

their counterparts in France. Elizabeth was their representative, and the two were one and indivisible. Elizabeth the woman had once betrayed me, but Elizabeth of England could ask of me whatever she wished and I could not refuse her. I sighed again, giving in. “I know,” I said.
    It was really most aggravating of Rob, at this point, to add: “I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself when you get there.”

4
The Castle on the Hill
    Cecil, in a final briefing before I set out, told me that according to Lady Mortimer, Sir Philip intended to approach the queen later in the year. “He’s heard that Her Majesty is to make a Progress to Cambridge toward the end of the summer. He studied at Cambridge University and has friends in the town with whom he proposes to stay. Then he will try to find a way of presenting himself to the queen.”
    “Does he really think … ?”
    “I doubt very much,” said Cecil, “if one could call it thinking. Whatever it is, it’s a delusion. But Lady Thomasine thinks he is hanging his crazy ambition on some kind of solid peg.” He considered me thoughtfully and made an ominous joke. “He could hang himself instead of his ambitions if he isn’t careful. That’s what she fears, and I use the word
fear
very deliberately. She’s very frightened—brittle with it, if you understandwhat I mean. She will be glad to see you at Vetch, and I am glad you’re going.”
    I left for Vetch the next morning.
    It was difficult to travel swiftly. For one thing, I had baggage and for another, Dale had never really got over that dreadful experience in a French dungeon, two years before. She was in her midforties now, and feeling her years. The rough sea voyage and the fast ride from Southampton had tired her out. I had few secrets from either her or Brockley and they understood our errand and my wish for haste. But nevertheless, for Dale’s sake alone, we would have to journey at a moderate pace.
    At least this enabled us to take our own mounts all the way. When I went to France, I had left two horses in Rob Henderson’s stables, telling him to use them until I returned. He still had them. I was glad to be back in my own familiar saddle and riding my pretty mare, Bay Star, once again. Brockley was equally glad to be again riding Speckle, the flea-bitten gray cob I kept for him. Dale traveled on his pillion, happy just to perch behind her husband on the long road to Herefordshire.
    Rob provided us with packhorses and an escort, including himself. “I’m coming along to join my wife; it will seem quite normal,” he said. “Besides, I think I should be at hand, just in case.”
    The journey in the end took five slow days, mostly in wet weather. We spent the final night of it in the cathedral town of Tewkesbury, beside the rich river meadows of the Severn, where sheep grow fat. The Hendersons had friends in Tewkesbury, a prosperous wool merchant andhis wife, who lived in one of the smart new timbered houses which were being built in the town. The Woodwards would gladly accommodate us, Rob said. However, we had some trouble in actually reaching them for we had to wait half an hour on the outskirts of the town, in heavy rain, until a bleating, woolly river of sheep had finished pouring through the main street.
    “What in the world is going on?” Dale asked wearily, from the depths of her soaked hood, as we crowded into such shelter as a wide oak tree could give us. “Where are they taking all those sheep to? There are thousands of them.”
    When, dripping and cross, we eventually reached the Woodwards’ house, our host explained. “The pastures to the west of the town often flood in wet weather. The Severn runs beside them and it can overflow. The sheep are being moved as a precaution. You can see from the upstairs windows how lowlying the meadows are.”
    When we were shown up to our chambers, we all looked out of the windows at the flat green river meadows and understood what he meant. Already there were