Traitor's Kiss by Pauline Francis Read Free Book Online Page B

Seymour’s new house, still half-built. Garlands of cream and green ivy dangled from the wooden scaffold right to the rooftop. Then we came to Durham House, the London residence of the Dudley family.
    Guildford Dudley was a year or two older than Jane, sulky-mouthed and flabby-skinned. He and Robert sat at the prow of the barge, beyond the canopy. Robert turned to shout, “Jane, I thought that if the King didn’t marry you, Guildford might.”
    Jane pressed her lips tight. “I shall never marry.”
    â€œThen he might do for you, Bess?”
    â€œI think not. You know that I don’t want to marry either. Look what happened to my mother.”
    Robert laughed, uneasy. “Brother, we’re in the presence of two unwise virgins.”
    Jane blushed. Kat tut-tutted. Mistress Ellen called, “Watch your words, sir, or I’ll wash your mouth out with water.”
    â€œNot this water, I hope, madam,” he shouted back, “for I’d not live long enough to annoy you again.”
    As we approached the water steps of Whitehall Palace, the oarsmen slowed and turned abruptly, cursing as they almost collided with a small rowing boat.
    Jane screamed.
    We all looked down, permitting us a sight that I shall never forget, the sight of a corpse being hauled into the boat – the corpse of a young woman, belly big with child, her head flung back so that she seemed to gaze up at us with horror-struck eyes. I followed the arch of her swollen body. Torrents of muddy water gushed from her mouth.
    Mistress Ellen put her hand over Jane’s eyes and Kat’s hands were raised to mine, but I pushed them away. Lady Catherine made the sign of the cross. We all did.
    I knew the boat. I knew the boy in it. I knew the strange woollen hat.
    He was Francis.
    â€œCharon,” I mumbled.
    Guildford spoke at last. “Who’s he?” he asked. His voice still lisped like a child’s.
    â€œHe’s the ferryman in hell,” Jane explained, still crying. “He rows the souls of the dead across the rivers of the underworld to the Elysian Fields…well…to paradise. That’s why the Ancient Greeks placed a golden coin in the mouths of their dead. Otherwise, the ferryman wouldn’t take them.”
    Dreadful thoughts raced through my mind. I had believed Francis to be a gentleman in disguise, but no gentleman would do this death work. The hands that had touched my mother’s perfume box were tainted with death. Yet, in the midst of the horror, I was relieved. Francis was real. I had not dreamed him any more than I had dreamed the perfume box. Now I knew where to find him.
    But how would I ever be able to speak to him?
    Robert Dudley leaned over the barge rail, shaking his fist, cursing, “Do your death work somewhere else!” he shouted. “It’s the King’s birthday today.”
    â€œSomebody has to do it,” Francis called back. “Do you think you could take your fancy barges up and down the river if I didn’t? Anyway, the dead don’t care for celebrations.”
    The front oarsman shouted, “Doff your cap to the King’s mother and sister.” He reached over, pulled off the woollen hat, and Francis’s hair sprang out, as red and as gold as mine. He quickly snatched the hat back, sat down with his companion and rowed towards London Bridge.
    And I sank into sombre thoughts.
    If Francis truly earned his living in this way, did Alys live in a rat-filled hovel somewhere on the river? If she did, then there would be no rose petals and marzipan and honeyed milk for me. Well, I would face it for my mother’s sake. I would take fresh lavender in my pomander.
    It was a sad party that greeted Edward at the water steps of Whitehall Palace. My heart turned over at the sight of his serious little face. Poor Edward – whom I could no longer scoop into my arms and smother with kisses, because he was now the King. He was peevish at