young Devereux says abruptly. “You will be questioned on oath in London. How soon can she be ready to come?”
“I will ask Bess,” I say. I cannot speak to them; my tongue is dry in my mouth. Perhaps Bess will know how we can delay them. My anger and my shame are too much for me to say a word. “Please, enter. Rest. I will inquire.”
1569, OCTOBER, TUTBURY CASTLE: MARY
I hear the rattle of mounted men and I rush to the window, my heart pounding. I expect to see Norfolk in the courtyard or the Northern lords with their army, or even—my heart leaps up at the thought—what if it is Bothwell, escaped from prison, with a hardriding group of borderers, come to rescue me?
“Who is that?” I ask urgently. The countess’s steward is beside me in my dining hall, both of us looking out the window at the two travelstained men and their army of four dozen soldiers.
“That’s the Earl of Huntingdon, Henry Hastings,” he says. His gaze slides away from me. “I will be needed by my lady.”
He bows and steps to the door.
“Hastings?” I demand, my voice sharp with fear. “Henry Hastings? What would he come here for?”
“I don’t know, Your Grace.” The man bows and backs towards the door. “I will come back to you as soon as I know. But I must go now.”
I wave my hand. “Go,” I say, “but come back at once. And find my lord Shrewsbury and tell him that I want to see him. Tell him I want to see him urgently. Ask him to come to me immediately.”
Mary Seton comes to my side, Agnes behind her. “Who are these lords?” she asks, looking down at the courtyard and then at my white face.
“That one is what they call the Protestant heir,” I say through cold lips. “He is of the Pole family, the Plantagenet line, the queen’s own cousin.”
“Has he come to set you free?” she asks doubtfully. “Is he with the uprising?”
“Hardly,” I say bitterly. “If I were dead he would be a step closer to the throne. He would be heir to the throne of England. I must know what he is here for. It will not be good news for me. Go and see what you can find out, Mary. Listen in the stable and see what you can hear.”
As soon as she is gone I go to my desk and write a note.
Ross—
Greetings to you and to the Northern lords and their army. Bid them hurry to me. Elizabeth has sent her dogs and they will take me from here if they can. Tell Norfolk I am in terrible danger.
M
1569, OCTOBER, TUTBURY CASTLE: BESS
They can have her. They can take her and damn well have her. She has brought us nothing but trouble. Even if they take her now, the queen will never pay us what she owes. To Wingfield and back, with a court of sixty people, perhaps forty more coming in for their meals. Her horses, her pet birds, her carpets and furniture, her gowns, her new lute player, her tapissier; I have kept her household better than I have kept my own. Dinner every night with thirtytwo courses served, her own cooks, her own kitchens, her own cellar. White wine, of the best vintage, just to wash her face. She has to have her own taster in case someone wants to poison her. God knows, I would do it myself. Two hundred pounds a week she costs us against an allowance of fiftytwo, but even that is never paid. Now it will never be paid. We will be thousands of pounds the poorer when this is finished and they will take her away but not pay for her.
Well, they can have her, and I shall manage the debt. I shall write it at the bottom of the page as if it were the lost account of a dead debtor. Better that we are rid of her and us halfbankrupt, than she stays here and ruins me and mine. Better that I account of her as dead and there is no reckoning.
“Bess.” George is in the doorway of my accounting room; he is leaning against the door, his hand to his heart. He is whitefaced and shaking.
“What is it?” I rise at once from the table, put down my pen, and take his hands. His fingers are icy. “What is it, my love? Tell me. Are you ill?” Three husbands I have lost