Witchfall by Victoria Lamb Read Free Book Online Page B

Elizabeth?’
    I shrugged helplessly. ‘He said not, but I do not know for sure. We must return to court as quickly as possible. The princess will wish to hear what I have learned. If you want to help me, call a link boy to light us back to the barge.’
    Alejandro did as I asked, then turned back, still frowning. ‘You are cold.’ He removed his cloak and swung it about me. His hands lingered on my shoulders. ‘I wish you would trust me, Meg, and tell me what has upset you so much.’
    ‘It’s just the stink of this place,’ I muttered, and huggedmyself into his fine cloak, still warm from his body. ‘I can’t stomach it.’
    ‘Hampton Court does not smell much better,’ he pointed out.
    ‘But the court is there and the Lady Elizabeth, and it is my duty to serve her.’ I tried to distract him with my chatter. ‘At least summer is nearly upon us. Perhaps the Queen will finally allow us to depart for the country before the stench of the palace infects us all with some plague.’
    I felt safer once we were on board the barge and heading back along the dark Thames towards Hampton Court. The ancient timbers creaked and protested beneath us, oars struggling against the current, the return journey far slower as we hugged the central streams of the river, avoiding jetties that we knew to be watched by the Queen’s spies.
    Wishing to avoid the winks of the bargemen, bribed to keep silent about our secret journey, I stood apart from Alejandro and gazed out over the blackness that was London asleep. Once or twice a small boat approached us, with men and torches on board who looked to be portsmen, and I feared we would be discovered. But each time I raised my hand and softly spoke, ‘Depart!’ in Latin, then watched as my power steered the boat away from our barge and sent it dancing violently across the current, leaving them no chance to turn in pursuit.
    As we left the city behind, I gripped the barge rail and stared down at the water, sick at heart. There was little profitin telling Alejandro that the astrologer had conjured a semblance of my poor dead aunt, nor had I any desire to discuss what I had seen in John Dee’s scrying bowl. For from what I had been shown in that last terrifying vision, it seemed I had neither future nor husband ahead of me – and no head either.

FOUR
Dead Queen
    Another day and an evening went by before one of the Queen’s physicians finally agreed to visit the Lady Elizabeth, by which time I had managed to beg more logs for the fire and warmed the room as I remember Blanche used to do at Woodstock when the princess was sick. A tall Spaniard with a domed forehead and bulging eyes, his skin the colour of beaten copper, he examined the drowsy Elizabeth with only mild interest. It was clear he thought little of her Protestant leanings.
    ‘A disease of the spirit,’ he proclaimed, straightening from his cursory examination. ‘Very common in young women of an hysterical disposition, and hardly worth calling me away from the care of Her Majesty for such a trifling matter. Your mistress will recover with bed rest and good care. Meanwhile, let her take a cup of wine every three hours, and perhaps some mutton broth if she can keep it down.’
    ‘And the swelling?’
    The Spanish doctor shrugged. ‘It is a simple imbalance of the humours. The Lady Elizabeth is melancholic and suffers from an excess of black bile. An hourly application of cold cloths steeped in hyssop should help to alleviate the swelling in her lower limbs.’
    I stared as he packed away his instruments and turned to leave the room. ‘Señor, is there nothing else you can do for her ladyship? She suffers badly.’
    ‘You could pray for her soul,’ he suggested helpfully after a moment’s pause. ‘In my opinion, this affliction is a punishment from God for the wicked heretical views she has embraced in the past. Let the Lady Elizabeth do penance to our Lord Christ with constant prayer and daily communion. Then she may see