whose jobs entailed gathering information far more compelling than that of the romantic hopes of ladies-in-waiting.
The queen had been strumming her lute and singing for more than an hour, but Bess was not paying attention. She’d returned to the poetry she’d been forced to abandon that afternoon. The music room in Elizabeth’s private quarters was full of admiring courtiers, so it seemed safe to assume that no one would notice her, tucked into a window seat, staying quiet. She wasn’t actually focused on the poems, retreating instead far into her head. “What are you reading, Bess?”
“Spenser, Majesty,” she replied, startled to see the queen standing in front of her. She hadn’t even noticed the music had stopped. “Well I must complain to him about the quality of his poems,” Elizabeth said. “They’re not holding your interest.”
“I—”
“You’re distracted, Bess. You held the book upside down for half an hour before you realized it and I know precisely why.”
“Distracted, Majesty? No, I—”
The queen dropped next to her on the long bench. “It’s our new friend, Raleigh. He’s terribly distracting. You would deny it?”
“Raleigh? Yes—no—I wouldn’t deny it. He’s distracting.” She loved the sound of his name, and remembered his devastating smile, his rich voice. How had he so quickly filled up the space in her head?
“We’re amused by him, too, Bess. I think we shall have him back soon.”
Chapter 4
“I may need you to do more,” Walsingham said, handing a piece of paper to the man across from him in a forgotten room hidden deep in the hallways of Whitehall. He’d hired Thomas Phelippes as his cipher secretary, and working with him was nothing short of a pleasure. His skills as a cryptographer were unmatched in all of Europe. He was infinitely clever, motivated, and discreet. All of this was important, but it was his discretion that mattered most when it came to his latest assignment.
“I’m at your disposal,” Phelippes said, taking the paper and leaning forward, resting his chin on his hand. Walsingham funneled to him all of the coded messages his agents intercepted between Mary Stuart and the men who hoped to place her on England’s throne. The scheme was working flawlessly; the cipher had given the conspirators a false sense of safety. They were holding back no details, confident that their code would protect them.
By analyzing the frequency with which each character occurred in the letters, Phelippes, a brilliant linguist, shattered completely the privacy of the correspondence, providing Walsingham with a fast-growing mound of evidence against the former Scottish queen.
“The copies you’ve made of the original letters are flawless,” Walsingham said. Phelippes not only deciphered the messages, he copied them with all the skill of a master forger. The original letters he returned to Walsingham and the copies were delivered to Mary and her friends. “We’re quite certain they’ve raised no suspicions.”
“I’m most pleased,” Phelippes said. “I’ve been extremely careful.”
“And it is much appreciated. Things are moving along quickly, but in the future, I may need you to do something more.”
“Of course. Anything.”
“We may need to add a postscript to some of the letters.”
“A postscript?”
“Only if we’re unable to persuade the devilish witch to write what we need. Her very existence is a danger to the queen.”
“You need only ask.” Phelippes’s eyes were sunken in a face ravaged by smallpox. “My loyalty is absolute and I will do anything necessary to protect England.” Walsingham looked at the man and saw nothing but sincerity. He trusted Phelippes, not only out of instinct, but because he had checked carefully to make sure there was no reason not to. It was good to know there were some people in whom he could place absolute faith. Loyalty was a rare thing.
Mary was dangerous. His agents in Spain
The queen had been strumming her lute and singing for more than an hour, but Bess was not paying attention. She’d returned to the poetry she’d been forced to abandon that afternoon. The music room in Elizabeth’s private quarters was full of admiring courtiers, so it seemed safe to assume that no one would notice her, tucked into a window seat, staying quiet. She wasn’t actually focused on the poems, retreating instead far into her head. “What are you reading, Bess?”
“Spenser, Majesty,” she replied, startled to see the queen standing in front of her. She hadn’t even noticed the music had stopped. “Well I must complain to him about the quality of his poems,” Elizabeth said. “They’re not holding your interest.”
“I—”
“You’re distracted, Bess. You held the book upside down for half an hour before you realized it and I know precisely why.”
“Distracted, Majesty? No, I—”
The queen dropped next to her on the long bench. “It’s our new friend, Raleigh. He’s terribly distracting. You would deny it?”
“Raleigh? Yes—no—I wouldn’t deny it. He’s distracting.” She loved the sound of his name, and remembered his devastating smile, his rich voice. How had he so quickly filled up the space in her head?
“We’re amused by him, too, Bess. I think we shall have him back soon.”
Chapter 4
“I may need you to do more,” Walsingham said, handing a piece of paper to the man across from him in a forgotten room hidden deep in the hallways of Whitehall. He’d hired Thomas Phelippes as his cipher secretary, and working with him was nothing short of a pleasure. His skills as a cryptographer were unmatched in all of Europe. He was infinitely clever, motivated, and discreet. All of this was important, but it was his discretion that mattered most when it came to his latest assignment.
“I’m at your disposal,” Phelippes said, taking the paper and leaning forward, resting his chin on his hand. Walsingham funneled to him all of the coded messages his agents intercepted between Mary Stuart and the men who hoped to place her on England’s throne. The scheme was working flawlessly; the cipher had given the conspirators a false sense of safety. They were holding back no details, confident that their code would protect them.
By analyzing the frequency with which each character occurred in the letters, Phelippes, a brilliant linguist, shattered completely the privacy of the correspondence, providing Walsingham with a fast-growing mound of evidence against the former Scottish queen.
“The copies you’ve made of the original letters are flawless,” Walsingham said. Phelippes not only deciphered the messages, he copied them with all the skill of a master forger. The original letters he returned to Walsingham and the copies were delivered to Mary and her friends. “We’re quite certain they’ve raised no suspicions.”
“I’m most pleased,” Phelippes said. “I’ve been extremely careful.”
“And it is much appreciated. Things are moving along quickly, but in the future, I may need you to do something more.”
“Of course. Anything.”
“We may need to add a postscript to some of the letters.”
“A postscript?”
“Only if we’re unable to persuade the devilish witch to write what we need. Her very existence is a danger to the queen.”
“You need only ask.” Phelippes’s eyes were sunken in a face ravaged by smallpox. “My loyalty is absolute and I will do anything necessary to protect England.” Walsingham looked at the man and saw nothing but sincerity. He trusted Phelippes, not only out of instinct, but because he had checked carefully to make sure there was no reason not to. It was good to know there were some people in whom he could place absolute faith. Loyalty was a rare thing.
Mary was dangerous. His agents in Spain
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