believe me.
‘You know why he was sent here, of course,’ she bit out, still staring out of the window. ‘He and his “holy” master.’
‘To . . . to instruct you further in the ways of the Catholic faith?’
‘To spy on me!’ Her jewelled hands gripped the windowsill convulsively, then Elizabeth seemed to force herself to relax. She beckoned me closer and lowered her voice again. ‘My sister does not trust me. Nor does Prince Philip, her Spanish husband-to-be. These two Catholic priests have been sent here to watch whatever I do and say. I am observed at every turn, and my movements reported to my sister. Who then tells me she keeps me prisoner here for my own safety and well-being!’
Father Vasco was a hostile and unpleasant man who seemed to hate Elizabeth and the Protestant faith she had professed under her brother’s reign. I could well believe he was here to make mischief for the princess. But could Alejandro be spying on Elizabeth and sending secret reports back to London? Was such a thing possible?
I thought of those cool dark eyes, his swift and calculating intelligence, the way he had bribed that guard so he could speak to me last night . . .
Oh yes, it was possible.
‘I have no proof,’ Elizabeth continued under her breath, her voice bitter. ‘Nor can I send them away without sinking myself deeper in trouble, for I promised to offer hospitality to any priests who should come to instruct me. But I would have you befriend Alejandro, since he finds you of interest. Watch him for me, both him and Father Vasco. Let me know if my suspicions are correct. Only be cautious. Do not grow too close to him. These priests are dangerous and not to be trusted, you understand?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
She turned away from the view, seeming to shake off her anger. ‘Now, I imagine the boy is still waiting outside to discover the outcome of this interview. Better call him in quickly, before Bedingfield returns.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
I curtseyed and opened the door to find Alejandro de Castillo waiting there, two guards blocking his way with crossed pikestaffs. His dark eyes searched my face.
‘The Lady Elizabeth wishes to speak with the priest,’ I told the men coldly. They dropped their pikes aside and let him enter.
I closed the door in their faces, though I knew that as soon as Bedingfield returned he would demand the door be left open, so there could be no secret discussions between us. Elizabeth was, after all, still under suspicion of treason herself.
‘Alejandro de Castillo,’ she addressed him formally, and signalled him to rise from his respectful bow. ‘You came here with your master to keep us all in the Catholic faith when we are far away from court. But will you pray for this girl too, priest?’ He began to reply, but Elizabeth cut him short. ‘Will you watch over one who has been accused of practising the dark arts?’ She looked at me, her voice shaking slightly, and I did not know why I had always thought her cold and distant. ‘I believe Meg to be innocent of those charges. But her immortal soul stands in some danger, I fear.’
We could hear Bedingfield returning. His familiar tread echoed up the wooden stairs, heavy in his outdoor boots. Blanche Parry’s voice was raised as she followed him, perhaps as a covert warning to her mistress that she would soon be under observation again.
Alejandro bowed again, his face solemn. ‘It is a great honour to serve you in this way, Your Highness. I shall indeed pray for Meg Lytton, and watch over her immortal soul while I am here at Woodstock.’
Elizabeth’s mouth twisted in a smile. ‘Sir, I thank you, but you must address me as “my lady”. I am no longer a princess.’
‘You are the daughter of a king, Your Highness. Until you are Queen yourself, you must always be . . .
una princesa
.’
‘Hush, sir, are you trying to land me in trouble too?’ But Elizabeth laughed, and already she looked better, her cheeks lightly flushed,
‘You know why he was sent here, of course,’ she bit out, still staring out of the window. ‘He and his “holy” master.’
‘To . . . to instruct you further in the ways of the Catholic faith?’
‘To spy on me!’ Her jewelled hands gripped the windowsill convulsively, then Elizabeth seemed to force herself to relax. She beckoned me closer and lowered her voice again. ‘My sister does not trust me. Nor does Prince Philip, her Spanish husband-to-be. These two Catholic priests have been sent here to watch whatever I do and say. I am observed at every turn, and my movements reported to my sister. Who then tells me she keeps me prisoner here for my own safety and well-being!’
Father Vasco was a hostile and unpleasant man who seemed to hate Elizabeth and the Protestant faith she had professed under her brother’s reign. I could well believe he was here to make mischief for the princess. But could Alejandro be spying on Elizabeth and sending secret reports back to London? Was such a thing possible?
I thought of those cool dark eyes, his swift and calculating intelligence, the way he had bribed that guard so he could speak to me last night . . .
Oh yes, it was possible.
‘I have no proof,’ Elizabeth continued under her breath, her voice bitter. ‘Nor can I send them away without sinking myself deeper in trouble, for I promised to offer hospitality to any priests who should come to instruct me. But I would have you befriend Alejandro, since he finds you of interest. Watch him for me, both him and Father Vasco. Let me know if my suspicions are correct. Only be cautious. Do not grow too close to him. These priests are dangerous and not to be trusted, you understand?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
She turned away from the view, seeming to shake off her anger. ‘Now, I imagine the boy is still waiting outside to discover the outcome of this interview. Better call him in quickly, before Bedingfield returns.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
I curtseyed and opened the door to find Alejandro de Castillo waiting there, two guards blocking his way with crossed pikestaffs. His dark eyes searched my face.
‘The Lady Elizabeth wishes to speak with the priest,’ I told the men coldly. They dropped their pikes aside and let him enter.
I closed the door in their faces, though I knew that as soon as Bedingfield returned he would demand the door be left open, so there could be no secret discussions between us. Elizabeth was, after all, still under suspicion of treason herself.
‘Alejandro de Castillo,’ she addressed him formally, and signalled him to rise from his respectful bow. ‘You came here with your master to keep us all in the Catholic faith when we are far away from court. But will you pray for this girl too, priest?’ He began to reply, but Elizabeth cut him short. ‘Will you watch over one who has been accused of practising the dark arts?’ She looked at me, her voice shaking slightly, and I did not know why I had always thought her cold and distant. ‘I believe Meg to be innocent of those charges. But her immortal soul stands in some danger, I fear.’
We could hear Bedingfield returning. His familiar tread echoed up the wooden stairs, heavy in his outdoor boots. Blanche Parry’s voice was raised as she followed him, perhaps as a covert warning to her mistress that she would soon be under observation again.
Alejandro bowed again, his face solemn. ‘It is a great honour to serve you in this way, Your Highness. I shall indeed pray for Meg Lytton, and watch over her immortal soul while I am here at Woodstock.’
Elizabeth’s mouth twisted in a smile. ‘Sir, I thank you, but you must address me as “my lady”. I am no longer a princess.’
‘You are the daughter of a king, Your Highness. Until you are Queen yourself, you must always be . . .
una princesa
.’
‘Hush, sir, are you trying to land me in trouble too?’ But Elizabeth laughed, and already she looked better, her cheeks lightly flushed,
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