“You must come with me, Bess,” Grandmother Jane said.
But I balked at that. “I dare not risk attracting the queen’s attention.”
As it turned out, the queen would not have noticed had I danced naked in the gardens at Whitehall. According to Nan Bassett, the only courtier with whom I dared communicate, Her Grace had sequestered herself after receiving word that her husband, King Philip, would not return to England as soon as he had promised. He had his own lands to rule, and his enmity with the French to pursue, with or without English help.
Grandmother installed herself in her son’s house, along with her ladies and her young second husband. He made himself useful soliciting information in the taverns and alehouses of Westminster, but otherwise was as much a part of the background as any of Grandmother’s servants. I felt a little sorry for him until I learned that she was not his first wife and that he had gained a considerable fortune by that earlier marriage.
Grandmother Jane was nothing if not tenacious. She visited us often during the months that followed to keep us apprised of her lack of progress. In contrast to the previous summer, when we’d been inundated with rain, this one was blighted by widespread drought. I found the dry, still air more unnerving than I had the constant damp. So dismal was my outlook that I felt no surprise when my uncle was indicted for treason, even though it had taken the Crown six months to decide to charge him.
Grandmother was frantic. She increased her efforts to find supporters at court. She even ignored my advice and went to the Spanish noblemen’s wives. She railed for days about their superior attitude and their refusal to help.
Little changed until March, when King Philip did, at last, return to England. Within days, he granted my grandmother an audience. John, Lord Bray was released in the first week in April, with the promise of a pardon to follow. His Most Catholic Majesty, it seemed, was still intent upon building an English army to fight in France.
When Grandmother Jane went home to Eaton Bray, Will and I breathed a sigh of relief and celebrated by spending an entire day in bed. The servants took that in stride. We had always reveled in the physical side of marriage, although many people regarded it as odd to be so affectionate with one’s own spouse. I might have been thirty years old, but Will could always make me feel like a giddy girl again.
“Are you content, my love?” I asked him when we were temporarily sated.
The brief hesitation before he assured me that he was told me more than his words.
“You miss being at the center of power,” I murmured. “You enjoyed life at court, even with all the pettiness and backbiting.”
He sighed. “I was brought up to it, Bess. I value having you in my life more but, yes, if I had all I desired, I’d be at court again with you at my side.”
“Queen Mary will not live forever. Someday—”
He touched a finger to my lips. “Hush, Bess. Speak no treason, not even here.” He caught me at the waist and rolled until I was on top of him. “We have better ways to occupy us in our own bed than longing for what cannot be. I would rather enjoy what we have.”
As always, our lovemaking both reassured and distracted me. But afterward I found myself brooding. I wanted Will to be happy, to have everything he desired. And I had to admit that, occasionally, I, too, missed our old life. Who would not relish being wealthy and influential?
At Easter that year, we talked of paying a long overdue visit to my family in Kent. Mother’s letters were no substitute for spending time with her and she wrote that she was sure Father had given up the idea of marrying me off to someone other than Will. Since the queen appeared to have lost interest in us, we deemed it safe to go.
Before we could make any firm plans, however, my brother George came to call.
The last time I’d seen him, he’d just been freed from the Tower. He looked considerably better now, and his clothes, though plain, were finely made and expensive.
“Whatever your duties at court, they seem to agree with you,” I commented after I’d provided him with a tankard of ale and a bowl of nuts.
Will stood by the empty hearth, his own tankard in hand, his eyes narrowed suspiciously at my brother. I could hardly blame him. It had taken nearly a full year to rid ourselves of the last family member who’d sought us out. “What is it you do, George?”
“As it happens,” George drawled, amused by the wary reception, “I am an undersecretary to the Privy Council.”
I exchanged a startled look with Will. The post might be minor and lack influence, but it was one of trust. I was amazed George had been given it, considering that he’d once been condemned for treason for taking part in Wyatt’s uprising against Queen Mary.
As if he read my thoughts, George grinned. “Do you doubt my loyalty to England, Bess? I obtained my position by showing proper gratitude for the pardon Her Gracious Majesty granted me, and by reminding certain influential parties that Father was taken prisoner by our wicked cousin Wyatt. I told them of how that showed me the error of my ways, and Father was pleased to confirm that I helped him escape from the rebel camp so that he could make his way into London with crucial information about Wyatt’s armament and manpower, thus giving the queen’s men an advantage.”
Some of that was likely true, but not all. George was too glib in telling the tale. And he had been too passionate a follower of our cousin, Tom Wyatt, before the rebellion failed. “I never thought to see you support Spanish rule in England.” If I had not been watching him closely, I would have missed the brief tightening of his jaw and the spark of anger in his eyes. I smiled. “Why are you here, George? The truth, this time, if you please.”
He glanced at Will first, then fixed his steady gaze on me. “England needs you, Bess.”
I blinked in surprise. “England does?”
“It is true that I am employed by Queen Mary’s Privy Council,” George said, “but I have also been serving my country in another way, as an informant.”
Will pushed away from the hearth, no longer the casual observer. He reached George in three long strides and seized him by the collar, jerking him to his feet. “Serving England? How does it serve England to be a spy? Who is your master?”
“He cannot answer you while you are choking him.” I circled warily around them, having no desire to get in the way if they began to exchange blows.
Will released my brother. George coughed, then held both hands in front of him in surrender. After a moment, when he could speak normally again, he directed his words to me. “Call me spy if you must, Bess, but what I do, I do for England. I have been trying to prevent the spilling of English blood in this accursed war between France and Spain.” As soon as he’d returned to England, King Philip had once again begun to recruit an English army to fight with the Spanish against the French.
“De Noailles,” Will said, naming the French ambassador. “You are spying for him?”
George nodded and backed away when Will once again advanced on him with raised fists. “Think before you try to throttle me again. We’ve been forced to accept Philip as Queen Mary’s consort. Open rebellion cannot succeed. But the queen is barren, and in spite of her efforts to eliminate the Lady Elizabeth from the succession, to the common people of England, King Henry’s younger daughter remains heir to the throne.”
“What does that have to do with the French?” I asked.
“A very great deal, but it should be the ambassador who explains the situation to you, not I. Will you meet with him?”
“He wants to see me?” Will looked thunderstruck.
“No,” George said. “He wants to talk to Bess.”