firmly.
“Surely you were not taken in by her playacting?” Renard frowned.
“I was not,” Mary assured him. “Like you, dear friend, I believe she will bring about some great evil unless she is dealt with. But there is no proof, and my conscience will not let me proceed against her without any evidence.”
“You will have her watched?” the ambassador urged, his face full of concern.
“Naturally. I will have spies placed in her household,” the Queen said. “You need not fear.”
“An excellent plan, madam,” Renard approved, relaxing a little. “And so that she does not suspect anything, may I suggest that Your Majesty takes leave of her in sisterly fashion?”
Mary sighed.
“I suppose I must,” she said. “Yet I can scarcely believe that she is my sister. She is no longer the sweet, winning child whom I so loved when my father was alive. I fear that vanity, heresy, and ambition have changed her. I can no longer think of her as my dear sister, but as a viper in my bosom.”
“Holy Mother, give me the strength to go through with this marriage,” Mary prayed. “Make me a good wife, as you were, and intercede with your Son to grant me the blessing of children.” A tear came to her eye as she imagined herself—at long last—holding her own baby in her arms.
She was alone in her closet, kneeling at her prayer desk, and so deep in prayer that she did not notice the door behind her opening slowly, or the soft patter of feet retreating. She heard the thud, though, and she smelled the dead dog before she swung around and saw it, lying there obscenely on the rush matting, its jaw slack, its eyes staring.
Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle the scream, but when she saw how evilly the wretched cur had been mutilated, she began to whimper in fear. Its head had been tonsured, like a priest’s, its ears slit, while the rope pulled tightly around its neck was evidence enough that it had been suffocated.
It was a warning, no less, a harbinger, perhaps, of more violence to come. Mary was in no doubt that the dog had been flung at her in protest of her impending marriage. She ran to the door and looked out—moments too late. There was no one there. In all her large household, there would be no hope of tracing the culprit.
Sobbing, she hastened to seek out Renard.
Elizabeth noticed that the Queen looked pale and drawn—nothing like a happy bride who was soon to be married. Her manner, however, belied her appearance, for it was warmer than it had been in weeks.
“Rise, Sister,” she said. “God keep you on your journey.”
Elizabeth remained kneeling. Encouraged by Mary’s kinder demeanor, she felt emboldened to make an appeal to her.
“Your Majesty,” she said, “I beg of you not to believe anyone who spreads evil reports of me in my absence; and if you do hear such false and malicious reports, I pray you will do me the honor of letting me know, so that I can have a chance of proving them slanders.”
There was such sincerity in her face and her voice that Mary was momentarily nonplussed.
“I will do as you ask,” she said briskly, despising herself for being suborned by this clever sister of hers. “And before you go, I have New Year gifts for you.” From a lady-in-waiting, she took a warm sable hood and two fine ropes of glowing pearls, and presented them to Elizabeth. For a moment, their eyes met, then Mary looked away.
“I thank Your Majesty most humbly for these beautiful gifts,” Elizabeth said, genuinely touched.
Mary bent forward and quickly embraced her.
“Go with God,” she said.
The December wind was icy, and the journey northward arduous, but as she sat in the jolting litter, Elizabeth felt a little warmed by her sister’s affectionate farewell and the unexpected gifts. She must build on this, she decided, with increasing certainty of success, and as they neared Ashridge, she summoned a courier and ordered him to ride back to Whitehall.
“She asks for copes, chasubles, chalices, and other ornaments for her chapel,” Mary told Renard thoughtfully.
“Madam,” he urged, “do not be deceived. She but thinks to lull you into a sense of false security. I know her tricks.”
“You still think her a hypocrite, then?” Mary asked. “I was rather hoping that she had indeed come to the truth.”
“Your Majesty is too full of goodness to believe evil of others,” Renard purred, “but you cannot afford to