its usual ear-numbing cacophony. Flurries of snow pirouetted in the icy air; I could see my own breath coming in puffs from my mouth and sensed this winter would be as frigid as the last time I had been in London, when the Thames froze over and children took to it with skates made of bone strapped to their feet.
Above me, the morning’s brisk exhalation washed the sky clean of its pall of smoke, revealing a patina of crimson and gold flushing the horizon. After presenting my credentials to the yeomen at the gates (ever-efficient Cecil had enclosed a note in my doublet pocket bearing his signature and seal, stating I was in his employ), I stabled Cinnabar and paid the sleepy-eyed groom to brush him down and feed him. I then made my way through the palace to my room, holding my nose and resisting gagging as I passed the reeking jakes. The overcrowding would require a move soon, if only because Elizabeth had a sensitive nose.
I expected to find Walsingham waiting. Instead, the chamber was empty, his few belongings gone. He must have moved to the house he had said Cecil was renting for him, I thought, wincing at the persistent throb in my temples as I unclasped my cloak. I really should not ever drink ale again. Nan was right: I had no tolerance for it.
A knock came at the door just as I was splashing water on my face from the ewer on the table, having shed my court garb for my comfortable, worn clothes.
Cecil stood on the threshold.
Dark circles under his eyes betrayed an anxious night. The gravity of his expression, too, doused the aftereffects of my indulgence with remarkable efficacy. Looking at him, I felt stone-cold sober. I also found myself bracing for the worst, thinking something terrible had happened while I had been gone.
“She wants to see you,” he said. “Make haste.”
We went together into the privy gallery without saying a word. At first, I thought he was angry that I had wandered off after such a calamity, when he might have found need of my assistance, but the terse line of his jaw was not indicative of any particular anger toward me. He would have had no problem venting his spleen if it were. Nevertheless, I could not abide his silence any longer and ventured, “Is something amiss?”
“I take your meaning to be, is anything else amiss besides the fact that someone tried to poison our queen?”
“Yes,” I said, resisting a roll of my eyes.
“Indeed. Well, fortunately for you, it was an uneventful night. She stayed in her rooms, despite ceaseless badgering from the court, which seems to think she must now make appearance every night in the hall, dressed to the teeth with roast at her table, eager to strew her favor.”
“Have you any indication of who might be the culprit?”
“We do not. We did question His Excellency de Feria at length and had his rooms searched, rousing his outrage, but we found nothing to indicate he is party to any plot, instigated by his master or otherwise. Of course, these Spaniards always have a few knives up their sleeves, but Walsingham is of mind that in de Feria’s case, his outrage is genuine. The duke swore to lodge a complaint with King Philip himself and take ship for Spain on the next tide, of course, but we reminded him that he requires royal leave. As you can imagine, he is not pleased.”
“No, I should think not. And the delivery records…?”
He scowled. “That infernal gift seems to have materialized out of nowhere. I’ve had my assistants devise a new system for tracing everything that arrives for her henceforth, and to detain anyone suspicious, but in the meantime we have no clue as to who brought such an abomination into the palace.” He paused before the doors to the royal apartments, clearing his throat. “I’ve been up all night, poring over every possible route in and out of Whitehall, both official and unofficial. All doors and passages not currently guarded are now closed. I also spoke to the queen’s women at length. All swear
Above me, the morning’s brisk exhalation washed the sky clean of its pall of smoke, revealing a patina of crimson and gold flushing the horizon. After presenting my credentials to the yeomen at the gates (ever-efficient Cecil had enclosed a note in my doublet pocket bearing his signature and seal, stating I was in his employ), I stabled Cinnabar and paid the sleepy-eyed groom to brush him down and feed him. I then made my way through the palace to my room, holding my nose and resisting gagging as I passed the reeking jakes. The overcrowding would require a move soon, if only because Elizabeth had a sensitive nose.
I expected to find Walsingham waiting. Instead, the chamber was empty, his few belongings gone. He must have moved to the house he had said Cecil was renting for him, I thought, wincing at the persistent throb in my temples as I unclasped my cloak. I really should not ever drink ale again. Nan was right: I had no tolerance for it.
A knock came at the door just as I was splashing water on my face from the ewer on the table, having shed my court garb for my comfortable, worn clothes.
Cecil stood on the threshold.
Dark circles under his eyes betrayed an anxious night. The gravity of his expression, too, doused the aftereffects of my indulgence with remarkable efficacy. Looking at him, I felt stone-cold sober. I also found myself bracing for the worst, thinking something terrible had happened while I had been gone.
“She wants to see you,” he said. “Make haste.”
We went together into the privy gallery without saying a word. At first, I thought he was angry that I had wandered off after such a calamity, when he might have found need of my assistance, but the terse line of his jaw was not indicative of any particular anger toward me. He would have had no problem venting his spleen if it were. Nevertheless, I could not abide his silence any longer and ventured, “Is something amiss?”
“I take your meaning to be, is anything else amiss besides the fact that someone tried to poison our queen?”
“Yes,” I said, resisting a roll of my eyes.
“Indeed. Well, fortunately for you, it was an uneventful night. She stayed in her rooms, despite ceaseless badgering from the court, which seems to think she must now make appearance every night in the hall, dressed to the teeth with roast at her table, eager to strew her favor.”
“Have you any indication of who might be the culprit?”
“We do not. We did question His Excellency de Feria at length and had his rooms searched, rousing his outrage, but we found nothing to indicate he is party to any plot, instigated by his master or otherwise. Of course, these Spaniards always have a few knives up their sleeves, but Walsingham is of mind that in de Feria’s case, his outrage is genuine. The duke swore to lodge a complaint with King Philip himself and take ship for Spain on the next tide, of course, but we reminded him that he requires royal leave. As you can imagine, he is not pleased.”
“No, I should think not. And the delivery records…?”
He scowled. “That infernal gift seems to have materialized out of nowhere. I’ve had my assistants devise a new system for tracing everything that arrives for her henceforth, and to detain anyone suspicious, but in the meantime we have no clue as to who brought such an abomination into the palace.” He paused before the doors to the royal apartments, clearing his throat. “I’ve been up all night, poring over every possible route in and out of Whitehall, both official and unofficial. All doors and passages not currently guarded are now closed. I also spoke to the queen’s women at length. All swear
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