the area.
Then she said softly, “It has been many years since I, too, left Lincolnshire. I scarcely remember it.”
She had indeed left quite young, as she appeared to be in her early twenties, not much older than me. I was relieved.
“And how do you find England,” I asked, “after so long an absence?”
Her eyes met mine-piercing, like a cat’s. “I hardly know. I am still a stranger here.”
At that moment Rochester called from behind the room’s curtain, “Majesty, His Excellency Simon Renard requests audience.”
Sybilla cast another enigmatic smile at me before she curtsied and returned to the ladies. As she sat beside Mistress Dormer, I saw the girl clutch her spaniel closer. Sybilla reached out to caress the dog’s ears. It did not snarl at her.
“Ah, Don Renard!” Mary beamed as a trim man in somber black came into the room. “Am I late for our appointment?”
“
Majestad.”
The Emperor Charles V’s envoy, Simon Renard, raised her hand to his lips.
“
If you are not ready for me, then it is I who must be early.”
As I saw Mary smile, I took a moment to gauge the ambassador. He had the effortless carriage of a career court official, with everything about him-from his perfect spade-shaped beard to his polished shoes and manicured doublet of expensive black velvet-denoting a man accustomed to moving in circles of high power. He was of moderate height, unimpressive physically, but his small brown eyes were discerning in his modestly handsome face, and I noticed how he scanned the room with expert dissimulation, taking note of each of its occupants, including me.
This was a man who might appear at ease but was always on his guard.
Mary pouted. “I’ve been looking at samples all morning and having quite a time of it. I do
so
want to look my best when the time comes. What do you think of this?” She thrust the plum velvet sample at him. “Master Beecham says it suits, and my ladies seem to agree. But will His Highness like it?”
Half-glancing at the cloth, Renard froze. Mary seemed utterly unaware of what she’d just said aloud, but as the ambassador shifted his hooded gaze to me, I understood. The portrait in the corner that the queen’s lady had hastily covered: It was of Philip, the emperor’s son, and this preoccupation about her apparel-it must have something do with the prince as well. Was Mary seeking the right hue for her wedding attire?
“Any shade would suit Your Majesty, though I find this one a bit dark.” Renard straightened his shoulders. “You say this … gentleman here selected it for you?” He turned to me. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
Mary blinked in evident disappointment that he hadn’t endorsed my choice, obliging her to return to the tedium of looking through more samples. She barely hid her dejection as she said, “Don Renard, this is Daniel Beecham. You recall my mentioning him to you before? He’s the one Cecil sent with the warning that Robert Dudley was coming after me. Because of his message, I was able to escape to Framlingham Castle, gather my troops, and defeat Northumberland.”
“Ah, yes.” The ambassador’s practiced smile did not touch his eyes. “So, this is the mysterious Master Beecham. I understand you undertook significant risk to assist Her Majesty in her time of need.” He paused. “Do you still work for Secretary Cecil?”
Mary’s terse look indicated she was as interested as Renard in my answer.
I shrugged with deliberate nonchalance. “I left his employ some time ago. Given his reduced circumstances, he could no longer afford my services.”
“I see.” Renard’s stare bored at me. “And these services consisted of…?”
I paused, glancing at the queen. As far as I was concerned, what had gone between us remained confidential. I had no idea how much she had told Renard.
“If Her Majesty would grant me leave, I’d be happy to elaborate,” I said. “Though given our present company, I fear it
Then she said softly, “It has been many years since I, too, left Lincolnshire. I scarcely remember it.”
She had indeed left quite young, as she appeared to be in her early twenties, not much older than me. I was relieved.
“And how do you find England,” I asked, “after so long an absence?”
Her eyes met mine-piercing, like a cat’s. “I hardly know. I am still a stranger here.”
At that moment Rochester called from behind the room’s curtain, “Majesty, His Excellency Simon Renard requests audience.”
Sybilla cast another enigmatic smile at me before she curtsied and returned to the ladies. As she sat beside Mistress Dormer, I saw the girl clutch her spaniel closer. Sybilla reached out to caress the dog’s ears. It did not snarl at her.
“Ah, Don Renard!” Mary beamed as a trim man in somber black came into the room. “Am I late for our appointment?”
“
Majestad.”
The Emperor Charles V’s envoy, Simon Renard, raised her hand to his lips.
“
If you are not ready for me, then it is I who must be early.”
As I saw Mary smile, I took a moment to gauge the ambassador. He had the effortless carriage of a career court official, with everything about him-from his perfect spade-shaped beard to his polished shoes and manicured doublet of expensive black velvet-denoting a man accustomed to moving in circles of high power. He was of moderate height, unimpressive physically, but his small brown eyes were discerning in his modestly handsome face, and I noticed how he scanned the room with expert dissimulation, taking note of each of its occupants, including me.
This was a man who might appear at ease but was always on his guard.
Mary pouted. “I’ve been looking at samples all morning and having quite a time of it. I do
so
want to look my best when the time comes. What do you think of this?” She thrust the plum velvet sample at him. “Master Beecham says it suits, and my ladies seem to agree. But will His Highness like it?”
Half-glancing at the cloth, Renard froze. Mary seemed utterly unaware of what she’d just said aloud, but as the ambassador shifted his hooded gaze to me, I understood. The portrait in the corner that the queen’s lady had hastily covered: It was of Philip, the emperor’s son, and this preoccupation about her apparel-it must have something do with the prince as well. Was Mary seeking the right hue for her wedding attire?
“Any shade would suit Your Majesty, though I find this one a bit dark.” Renard straightened his shoulders. “You say this … gentleman here selected it for you?” He turned to me. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
Mary blinked in evident disappointment that he hadn’t endorsed my choice, obliging her to return to the tedium of looking through more samples. She barely hid her dejection as she said, “Don Renard, this is Daniel Beecham. You recall my mentioning him to you before? He’s the one Cecil sent with the warning that Robert Dudley was coming after me. Because of his message, I was able to escape to Framlingham Castle, gather my troops, and defeat Northumberland.”
“Ah, yes.” The ambassador’s practiced smile did not touch his eyes. “So, this is the mysterious Master Beecham. I understand you undertook significant risk to assist Her Majesty in her time of need.” He paused. “Do you still work for Secretary Cecil?”
Mary’s terse look indicated she was as interested as Renard in my answer.
I shrugged with deliberate nonchalance. “I left his employ some time ago. Given his reduced circumstances, he could no longer afford my services.”
“I see.” Renard’s stare bored at me. “And these services consisted of…?”
I paused, glancing at the queen. As far as I was concerned, what had gone between us remained confidential. I had no idea how much she had told Renard.
“If Her Majesty would grant me leave, I’d be happy to elaborate,” I said. “Though given our present company, I fear it
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