hysteria no doubt—”
“Enough!” the Queen snapped.
Ellie panted into the antechamber with Rosa behind her—her face washed and her white cap tied on tightly. She looked terrified, as well she might.
I knocked on the door and called softly, “She's here, 'Your Majesty.”
“Call all your attendants together and we shall see which one of them brought the ale,” said the Queen to Cecil.
Sir William bowed and withdrew.
I brought Rosa in and she kneeled to the Queen.
“Now, my dear”—the Queen spoke softly and gently—“be not afraid, only show me honestly, when they are gathered, which was the man that brought the double ale.”
A few minutes later, all Cecil's secretaries and clerks and serving men were lined up in the orchard.
At a gesture from the Queen, who was standing in the shade of an apple tree, Rosa went along the row of men, frowning at each face. She was shaking so hard she could hardly walk, so I went with her, holding her hand.
The tension mounted. Sir William, watching from beside the Queen, looked nervous and unhappy.
Rosa walked from one lad to the next, looking searchingly at each face. At the end of the row she stopped and shook her head. “Not one of them is the lad that brought the ale,” she said.
Cecil didn't look very relieved. “One is missing,” he said. “Which is it? Ah, yes, fetch Alan Yerd.”
Two of the others sped off to get him. They didn't come back for ages—and when they did, they brought a tall man, wrapped in his cloak, with only his shirt and hose under it.
“Is that the man?” demanded Sir William.
“No, sir,” said Rosa.
“Why did you not come when you were ordered to?” demanded Cecil.
The man looked very embarrassed. “Somebody stole my livery doublet and jerkin, and I've no other that's fit,” he said nervously.
“What?”
shouted both the Queen and Cecil together.
“Yesterday morning, before I got dressed, I went to the Wardrobe men—for I had asked theni to brush out my doublet for me. Only they said they had already given it back to my friend who came for it. But I never sent no one to get it and so—”
The Queen was laughing with relief. “My dear Sir Spirit,” she said, using her nickname for Cecil, “I am so glad that I was mistaken,” and she held out her hand to Sir William for him to kiss.
“Indeed, Your Majesty, so am I,” Cecil replied.
And I felt glad also. For though Sir William Cecil is, assuredly, the most boring man in England, I have always believed him honest and would have been sad to find him otherwise.
“Now we must find out who stole the livery,” the Queen said decisively.
Rosa was dismissed, and a short time later the Wardrobe's Chief Tailor and his skinny apprentice were standing in front of the Queen.
“Well, Your Majesty,” said the tailor, “it was Martin here what let the suit of livery be stolen, though he's a good lad and able as any of us with a needle—”
“Quite so,” agreed the Queen. “Now, Martin, be not afraid—tell me what happened.”
Martin stood on one leg and scraped the otherone up and down the rush mat. “I'd brushed it out, see, Majesty—the livery I mean, Mr. Yerd's livery from Sir William Cecil, see. And then the gentleman what came and got it was tall like Mr. Yerd and had his hat pulled down, and he gave me a penny for the good job I'd done, and I thought it was Mr. Yerd, see—”
“Did you see his face?” asked Cecil.
“N-no, sir,” stammered Martin. “My eyes aren't too good, that's why I was 'prenticed at the Wardrobe.”
So that was a dead end.
I will continue my investigations as soon as I can escape from this tedious play. At least I have removed a suspect. I am now convinced that Sir William Cecil had nothing to do with the accidents, though somebody went to considerable lengths to implicate him—stealing his livery to wear.
In spite of the gossip, like the Queen, I simply do not believe that the Earl of Leicester himself can be behind the
“Enough!” the Queen snapped.
Ellie panted into the antechamber with Rosa behind her—her face washed and her white cap tied on tightly. She looked terrified, as well she might.
I knocked on the door and called softly, “She's here, 'Your Majesty.”
“Call all your attendants together and we shall see which one of them brought the ale,” said the Queen to Cecil.
Sir William bowed and withdrew.
I brought Rosa in and she kneeled to the Queen.
“Now, my dear”—the Queen spoke softly and gently—“be not afraid, only show me honestly, when they are gathered, which was the man that brought the double ale.”
A few minutes later, all Cecil's secretaries and clerks and serving men were lined up in the orchard.
At a gesture from the Queen, who was standing in the shade of an apple tree, Rosa went along the row of men, frowning at each face. She was shaking so hard she could hardly walk, so I went with her, holding her hand.
The tension mounted. Sir William, watching from beside the Queen, looked nervous and unhappy.
Rosa walked from one lad to the next, looking searchingly at each face. At the end of the row she stopped and shook her head. “Not one of them is the lad that brought the ale,” she said.
Cecil didn't look very relieved. “One is missing,” he said. “Which is it? Ah, yes, fetch Alan Yerd.”
Two of the others sped off to get him. They didn't come back for ages—and when they did, they brought a tall man, wrapped in his cloak, with only his shirt and hose under it.
“Is that the man?” demanded Sir William.
“No, sir,” said Rosa.
“Why did you not come when you were ordered to?” demanded Cecil.
The man looked very embarrassed. “Somebody stole my livery doublet and jerkin, and I've no other that's fit,” he said nervously.
“What?”
shouted both the Queen and Cecil together.
“Yesterday morning, before I got dressed, I went to the Wardrobe men—for I had asked theni to brush out my doublet for me. Only they said they had already given it back to my friend who came for it. But I never sent no one to get it and so—”
The Queen was laughing with relief. “My dear Sir Spirit,” she said, using her nickname for Cecil, “I am so glad that I was mistaken,” and she held out her hand to Sir William for him to kiss.
“Indeed, Your Majesty, so am I,” Cecil replied.
And I felt glad also. For though Sir William Cecil is, assuredly, the most boring man in England, I have always believed him honest and would have been sad to find him otherwise.
“Now we must find out who stole the livery,” the Queen said decisively.
Rosa was dismissed, and a short time later the Wardrobe's Chief Tailor and his skinny apprentice were standing in front of the Queen.
“Well, Your Majesty,” said the tailor, “it was Martin here what let the suit of livery be stolen, though he's a good lad and able as any of us with a needle—”
“Quite so,” agreed the Queen. “Now, Martin, be not afraid—tell me what happened.”
Martin stood on one leg and scraped the otherone up and down the rush mat. “I'd brushed it out, see, Majesty—the livery I mean, Mr. Yerd's livery from Sir William Cecil, see. And then the gentleman what came and got it was tall like Mr. Yerd and had his hat pulled down, and he gave me a penny for the good job I'd done, and I thought it was Mr. Yerd, see—”
“Did you see his face?” asked Cecil.
“N-no, sir,” stammered Martin. “My eyes aren't too good, that's why I was 'prenticed at the Wardrobe.”
So that was a dead end.
I will continue my investigations as soon as I can escape from this tedious play. At least I have removed a suspect. I am now convinced that Sir William Cecil had nothing to do with the accidents, though somebody went to considerable lengths to implicate him—stealing his livery to wear.
In spite of the gossip, like the Queen, I simply do not believe that the Earl of Leicester himself can be behind the
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