mark—the quick-acting poison and cryptic message. It’s just like that letter she left in my chamber, the one that killed Peregrine.”
Shelton reclined in his chair. “What exactly are you saying?”
“That if I did not know better, I would think Sybilla Darrier has returned from the dead.”
He whistled through his teeth. “That would indeed be a feat. We both saw her leap willingly from the bridge. It was a hard fall.”
“Precisely. She did it willingly. What if she planned to jump from the bridge in order to escape because I had discovered her true purpose?” Sybilla was a secret Catholic working for Spain, bent on revenge because Elizabeth’s father, King Henry, executed her father and brothers during the revolt against the closure of the monasteries, the Pilgrimage of Grace. “I have never met a woman so skilled at deceit,” I added, as his frown deepened. “I believed she took her own life to evade capture. But, what if that is only what she wanted me to believe?”
“Even if it were true, and I’m not saying it is, where has she been hiding all this time?”
“She … she could have hidden anywhere.” Uncertainty crept into my voice. I realized how ludicrous I must sound, how devoid of reason. Still, I could not dissuade myself. “Her body was never found. If she did plan to survive that fall, she would have had her hiding place arranged in advance.”
He rubbed his chin, with a troubled sigh. “No, her body was never found—or if it was, I never heard of it and I kept an ear out for any word. Most of those who ply the waters for corpses come here to drink; they would have mentioned finding a woman like her. Countless others have been dragged from the Thames since then, but none I heard about matched her description.” He went quiet for a moment, considering. “Perhaps she was never found because she was dragged under by the current and swept out to sea?”
“The river was nearly frozen,” I reminded him.
“Then she was trapped under the ice and when the river thawed, her remains were swept out to sea.” His voice softened. “You cannot chase a shade, lad, not when you have more pressing troubles at hand. Whatever happened to her, whatever evil she caused—it’s over now.”
I wanted to believe him. I had every reason to. I had seen her plunge from the bridge with my own eyes, her last enigmatic smile on her lips before she leapt. She had looked at me in that final moment as if she had won a victory. Perhaps because she had escaped me, because I would now never know what that smile had meant, I had let her haunt me. It was possible that deep inside me, in that dark place where lust twisted into monstrous shapes, I wanted her to be alive because it meant I would see her again. If so, it only proved my weakness, how much harm I might yet bring upon those around me.
I said quietly, “I took her to my bed.”
Shelton started in his chair.
“I disregarded my promise to Kate,” I went on, “everything I held sacred, because I desired her. I wanted her from the hour I first saw her, among Queen Mary’s women. She was so beautiful—” I paused. “Christ, she was unlike any woman I’d ever seen. Even now, the mere thought of her … She used me. She saw my desire and she honed it as a weapon against me.”
He went quiet for a moment. Then he said, “You are but a man. How were you to know?”
“Because it was my duty to know!” To my horror, tears scalded my eyes. I forced them back, summoning the fury I had nourished like an invisible scourge. “I should have known. There were plenty of signs she was untrustworthy, if only I had heeded them. Peregrine’s death alone should have been enough, but it was not. I let my grief for him become so vast, I stepped right into her snare.”
“You are too hard on yourself. No”—Shelton shook his head, silencing me—“you always were. You always felt you had to prove yourself since you were a foundling in the Dudley
Shelton reclined in his chair. “What exactly are you saying?”
“That if I did not know better, I would think Sybilla Darrier has returned from the dead.”
He whistled through his teeth. “That would indeed be a feat. We both saw her leap willingly from the bridge. It was a hard fall.”
“Precisely. She did it willingly. What if she planned to jump from the bridge in order to escape because I had discovered her true purpose?” Sybilla was a secret Catholic working for Spain, bent on revenge because Elizabeth’s father, King Henry, executed her father and brothers during the revolt against the closure of the monasteries, the Pilgrimage of Grace. “I have never met a woman so skilled at deceit,” I added, as his frown deepened. “I believed she took her own life to evade capture. But, what if that is only what she wanted me to believe?”
“Even if it were true, and I’m not saying it is, where has she been hiding all this time?”
“She … she could have hidden anywhere.” Uncertainty crept into my voice. I realized how ludicrous I must sound, how devoid of reason. Still, I could not dissuade myself. “Her body was never found. If she did plan to survive that fall, she would have had her hiding place arranged in advance.”
He rubbed his chin, with a troubled sigh. “No, her body was never found—or if it was, I never heard of it and I kept an ear out for any word. Most of those who ply the waters for corpses come here to drink; they would have mentioned finding a woman like her. Countless others have been dragged from the Thames since then, but none I heard about matched her description.” He went quiet for a moment, considering. “Perhaps she was never found because she was dragged under by the current and swept out to sea?”
“The river was nearly frozen,” I reminded him.
“Then she was trapped under the ice and when the river thawed, her remains were swept out to sea.” His voice softened. “You cannot chase a shade, lad, not when you have more pressing troubles at hand. Whatever happened to her, whatever evil she caused—it’s over now.”
I wanted to believe him. I had every reason to. I had seen her plunge from the bridge with my own eyes, her last enigmatic smile on her lips before she leapt. She had looked at me in that final moment as if she had won a victory. Perhaps because she had escaped me, because I would now never know what that smile had meant, I had let her haunt me. It was possible that deep inside me, in that dark place where lust twisted into monstrous shapes, I wanted her to be alive because it meant I would see her again. If so, it only proved my weakness, how much harm I might yet bring upon those around me.
I said quietly, “I took her to my bed.”
Shelton started in his chair.
“I disregarded my promise to Kate,” I went on, “everything I held sacred, because I desired her. I wanted her from the hour I first saw her, among Queen Mary’s women. She was so beautiful—” I paused. “Christ, she was unlike any woman I’d ever seen. Even now, the mere thought of her … She used me. She saw my desire and she honed it as a weapon against me.”
He went quiet for a moment. Then he said, “You are but a man. How were you to know?”
“Because it was my duty to know!” To my horror, tears scalded my eyes. I forced them back, summoning the fury I had nourished like an invisible scourge. “I should have known. There were plenty of signs she was untrustworthy, if only I had heeded them. Peregrine’s death alone should have been enough, but it was not. I let my grief for him become so vast, I stepped right into her snare.”
“You are too hard on yourself. No”—Shelton shook his head, silencing me—“you always were. You always felt you had to prove yourself since you were a foundling in the Dudley
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