rather see her on the throne than her papist sister. And that, my boy, is what the duke can offer her: England itself. It’s a temptation very few can resist.”
I reached for my goblet, took a long draught. Religion. The eternal bone of contention. People died for it. I’d seen their heads displayed on the gates of London at the duke’s command.
Was he capable of doing the same to a princess? For that was what Cecil implied. In order for Elizabeth to inherit, Mary must be dead. I couldn’t pretend to know the inner workings of a man I’d seen a half dozen times at most, whose values were far removed from my own. Was he capable of it? I wouldn’t think he’d shy away, if it came to his own survival. Still, something here troubled me, an assumption it took me a few seconds to disentangle and put into words. Once I did, I stated it bluntly, with conviction.
“Her Grace would never condone it, not if it meant the murder of her own sister.”
“No,” said Cecil, to my relief. “She and Mary have never been close, but you are right. She’d never let herself become embroiled in treason, at least not willingly. It is, I hope, the one fatal flaw in the duke’s plan. He underestimates her. He always has. She would have the throne, but only when, or if, her time comes.”
So, it was treason. The Dudleys plotted treason—against the king and his two sisters. I heard Elizabeth as though her lips were at my ear.
I’d not wish to be associated with their name, then, not when men have lost their heads for far less.
She had warned me. She wasn’t leaving London to return to her country manor, because she had divined what the duke intended and she didn’t want lives endangered for her sake. She’d come to court fully aware of what she risked.
I took out the ring. “Robert wanted me to deliver this. She wouldn’t take it. He doesn’t know yet.”
Cecil let out a long breath. “Thank God.” His smile had no warmth in it. “Your master has overstepped himself. I’m quite sure his father would not have wanted quite so blatant a gesture. This must be in part why Her Grace has insisted on staying. Now that she knows Robert’s ploy, she will try to exploit it to reach her brother.” He regarded me. “I wish you had more time to consider, but as you can surmise, time is the one commodity we lack. We may have only a few days remaining in which to save her.”
I glanced toward the window. I saw a woman enter the garden, leading a limping child by the hand. She smiled as the boy pointed to something I couldn’t see on the river, perhaps a passing boat or flock of swans. She bent over to kiss his cheek, tucking a stray curl under his cap.
Desolation opened in me. I was reminded in that moment of Mistress Alice and, less tenderly, of Master Shelton. The steward would never forgive me for what he could only deem as a betrayal of the family that had kept me alive. But Alice would have understood. Of all the lessons she had instilled in me, the one closest to my heart was being true to one’s self.
But I’d never had the opportunity to exercise that truth. A foundling and probable bastard, a servant with nothing to my name, I had spent my life struggling to survive. I had never looked beyond the demands of the day, except when it came to studying, and that was just so I could get better at surviving. Still, I couldn’t deny that I craved the freedom to make my own destiny, to become the man I wanted to be, not the one my birth condemned me to.
I returned my gaze to Cecil. “What is it you want of me?”
He smiled. “Perhaps the question should be: What do you want? I should think that at the least you’ll expect to be paid.”
I knew what I wanted. What I didn’t know was whether I should trust him with it, even if the situation told me I couldn’t trust anyone else. The question burned inside me unspoken, demanding an answer I wasn’t sure I should seek. What had he said?
The truth is rarely what we hope for.…
I wondered if he was right.
“You needn’t decide right now,” Cecil said. “For now, I can promise you freedom from drudgery for the rest of