Tudor Rose Page 11

  “Well, that is intriguing,” Rose said more to herself than John. She now knew where to find Dr. Dee! “What else has your servant noticed about him?”

  Something in her eyes must have betrayed her eagerness for information. Perhaps Rose had reached the end of her acting skills. John took a step back. “My father is waiting for me,” he said, and then added suggestively, “Unless there is something I can do for you?”

  “No, no,” Rose said. “Of course, you must run along. I have to get back to my book anyway.”

  “You girls of the palace and your books and your education.” John made a tsk-tsk sound. “Best to stick with things you know best, don’t you think?”

  The question was enough to get her hackles up. Rose had no idea what those things might be. Perhaps tricking bumbling young men into giving up information? “Oh! So true,” she said too sweetly. “All in moderation. Goodbye, Michael!”

  John started to say something, but instead he pushed down his cowlick and scurried down the hall.

  Certain areas of the palace—such as the royal apartments and a few courtyards—were off limits to common people like Rose, and she worried the north tower might be on that list.

  But even if it was, she had hours until dusk, plenty of time she hoped to find a way into the north tower by then. Rose pushed closer to the tower, walking blithely past ceremonial guards as if too distracted by her book to notice she was approaching restricted areas. Not that her act seemed to matter. All the servants and noblemen scurrying here and there seemed wrapped up with their own purposes and didn’t appear to notice her … at first.

  After a bit of walking while half-reading, Rose started to get the feeling that someone was lurking up ahead. When she looked up, however, she discovered the hallway to be empty or that, in a blur of motion, a person had just ducked into a doorway out of sight.

  Was someone watching her?

  Probably John, or one of the other boys she had teased, on the prowl hoping for another encounter. Or perhaps it was Avis spying on her. Or Sybille trying to figure out what Rose might be up to. It didn’t have to be anything overly sinister, she thought.

  But when she caught sight of yet another shadow darting around a corner, Rose was reminded of the tales that Sybille, Robert, Howell, and she would share on gloomy nights back in Gordonsrod … about a creature called a manticore. With a hunger for the flesh of maidens, it was half man/half beast and lived in the shadows.

  Oh, Rose! You need to sit down and get a hold of yourself!

  The pressure of putting on a performance for the queen was clearly causing her to come apart at the seams. Time for a rest. A ladies parlor was just through a door to the left. Perfect, she thought. When Rose entered the room, she discovered three slightly older girls sitting at a long table with stacks of white plates, a mug with paintbrushes, and several palettes of paints in front of them. Rose recognized Jane—the girl with the beautiful braids she had met outside the kitchens.

  “What’s this all about then?” Rose asked, trying for a familiar tone.

  At the sound of her voice, the three girls tensed as if readying to rise for one of their betters. When they saw it was Rose, however, they relaxed and went to back to painting.

  “I’m Rose Castletown,” she said, hoping to start over. “May I join you?”

  The three shrugged in unison. Rose spotted an empty low-backed chair across the room and dragged it over to the long table. The scraping legs over the polished wood floor caused a flurry of grimaces and raised eyebrows among the trio. Finally, Rose settled into her seat. She watched the girls at work, putting her hands at her sides, then on the table, then back at her sides.

  One of the girls, who had an unfortunate hairline that came dangerously close to the bridge of her nose, pushed a plate and a paintbrush toward Rose. “Here, take one. Make yourself useful.”

  Jane shot the girl a look. “Isabelle,” she muttered. She was going too far. They still weren’t clear exactly what Rose’s status in the palace was. Not standing up was one thing, but it was foolish to antagonize her. Rose picked up the brush and looked down at the white plate.

  “We’ve been charged with making plates for Lady Emily’s masque tomorrow evening,” Jane told her, clearly trying to ease the tension.

  “Lady Emily?” Rose asked.

  “She’s a lady-in-waiting to the queen,” answered Isabelle with a cocked eyebrow. “You weren’t aware of that?”

  Rose shrugged. “What should I paint?”

  Without glancing up from her work, Jane said, “The theme is snowflakes. All you have to do is make it pretty.”

  “Or ugly,” Isabelle suggested.

  “Or simply paint a horse’s giant—” the third girl started to say but was interrupted by a horrified Jane who cried, “Ellie!”

  The girl named Ellie chortled. Her angelic face paired with her gravelly, manly laugh made the most bizarre combination. “Doesn’t really matter what we paint on it, does it?” Ellie rasped. “The queen will never see it. Nor anyone in court, no one who counts that is. Her Majesty herself will make sure of that.”

  Rose nodded along as if she completely understood what they were talking about. The laugh had triggered a memory for Rose—Ellie was one of Avis’s friends. She had been part of the group that had welcomed Rose so memorably on that first night in the palace.

  Fighting the dueling temptations to flee the room and confront Avis’s minion, Rose rolled the paintbrush between her fingers, and examined the plates the girls had finished and set aside to dry. She could see they were downplaying their work. Each plate was a small work of art with light blue brushstrokes creating dramatic snowflake patterns made of intricately-drawn objects and handwritten words.

  Noticing Rose’s wonder, Jane tittered happily. “The shame of it all, even if Her Majesty does attend Lady Emily’s masque, the plates will be covered with food and the guests will never even see them.”

  “Unless they’re slop-hungry enough to get to the bottom,” Ellie said.

  “Well, no matter who sees it, that one is gorgeous, isn’t it?” Rose waved her brush toward Ellie’s plate. Something told her Ellie was the leader of this little group, and Rose would be wise to win her over. “What do all the patterns mean?”

  Ellie eyed her for a moment. “What’s it all mean?” she asked and jabbed a finger at the plate in front of her. “Well, that’d be a pretty flower. So, I guess that means pretty flower. And here, this? Tree means tree. And that’d be a berry. So, hmm, I guess that means … Oh, I can’t do it. I’m not nearly smart as all that.”

  Ellie’s words were an open challenge, daring Rose to jump into an argument.

  Sybille probably would’ve smashed the plate over the girl’s head at such a taunt, if for no other reason than to establish herself at the top of the pecking order.

  But that wasn’t Rose’s way. Instead she just laughed. Ellie squinted as if appraising Rose anew, and then she released another merry, gravelly chortle.

  The air seemed to come back into the room, and the girls all took a breath as the confrontation passed by.

  Now that we’re all friends, I might as well start digging.

  “Tell me,” Rose said as casually as she could, which she realized wasn’t very casually at all. “Do you think Dr. Dee will be at the party this evening?”

  “Dr. Dee?” Isabelle asked, and then nodded. “Might be. Now that’s a man who enjoys a fancy party.”

  “Oh, true, he is a very fancy sort,” Jane agreed with a wicked grin. “And by fancy I mean someone who’s not at all interested in anything we at this table might have to offer.”

  “Now, now,” Ellie said, putting the final strokes on beautiful blue snowflake that was formed by a pattern of exquisite tiny fish. “The poor man has bad eyesight and can’t see small things.”

  “How do you know that?” Jane asked.

  With a nod, Ellie said, “Why else would he heap all his attentions on on
ly the male courtiers of magnificent size?” The way she drew out the last word made its meaning clear. And while it wasn’t the height of wit, Isabelle and Jane twittered.

  Before she had a chance to even think, Rose said, “Maybe we should be putting that particular horse part on the plates!”

  The other girls looked at her, feigning shock, and then burst into giggles. Jane stopped laughing, and laid her hand on Rose’s arm. “But don’t really put a horse thing on the plate, Rose,” she said somberly.

  For a split second, they all went quiet. Then, for some reason, Jane’s seriousness sent them all back into giggles.

  When the mild hysteria had subsided a few moments later, Rose said, “Not to worry, Jane. I have just the pattern I want to use. It’s a bit of nonsense from a diary I have in my purse. You just have to promise that the plate I make will be the one Dr. Dee uses at the masque.”

  Rose stayed with the girls painting plates and gossiping until just before dusk. With one final reminder to put the first plate she had designed in front of Dr. Dee, Rose left the three girls, knowing she had made real headway in forming new connections and friendships in the palace. And Rose was happy for the insurance the girls provided: if Rose wasn’t able to track down Dr. Dee, at least the plate would do the communicating for her.

  Through several more passages, Rose found herself at the base of the palace’s north tower, surprised and relieved that no guards stopped her on the way. After two wrong doors that led to giant closets, Rose found the spiral steps that lead up the inside of the tower.

  Rose leaned back into the hallway to gauge the light that streamed through a nearby window. Outside the sky was an orangey blue. Had she missed dusk? Had Dr. Dee already gone inside the tower?

  One way to find out.

  Rose climbed the stairs, going around and around as the steps spiraled upward. After a minute, she reached a dead end. The last step was actually a large platform with an attached ladder that led up through an open hatchway.

  A moment’s hesitation threatened to halt her progress, but Rose pushed it aside. She had come this far. Why not keep going? She climbed through the hatchway and onto an open-air circular watchtower, eight stories in the air. An icy wind bit into her bare neck and arms, but she hardly noticed. Without turning, she walked straight to the railing, drawn by the seemingly endless view of London under the dark orangey sky. Oh. This wasn’t a view one got in Gordonsrod. She wished Sybille were here to see it. The sprawling, dirty city looked somehow more manageable from up here as candlelight danced in windows. Even the black smoke that rose from hundreds of chimneys had a lovely, softening effect.

  With an almost audible pop, the first evening star appeared on the horizon.

  “Well, hello,” a thin voice said.

  Startled, Rose turned and found Dr. Dee on the other side of the tower, gazing in the same direction as Rose. She had been so overtaken by the view she hadn’t even bothered to do a full scan of the tower.

  “Dr. Dee … ” she said tentatively.

  The man ignored Rose as he jotted something down in a book he held. Had he actually been greeting the star and not Rose?

  “I’m wondering … ” Rose started timidly. “I’m hoping we might speak about the diary … ”

  With her last word, Dr. Dee’s focus changed, and he stared at her blankly, as if he didn’t recognize her. The gusting wind sent shivers through Rose as Dr. Dee’s eyes slid off her. In that instant she knew she had made a horrible mistake. He had warned her when they first met. She wasn’t supposed to be talking about that book with him. Not yet. Not until she had unlocked its secrets.

  Without responding or acknowledging she had even spoken, he moved past her and began to climb down the ladder. Thinking fast, Rose tried a correction. “I mean, can we talk about the books in your library?” A silly ploy to act as though she had been talking about his library and not the diary, but she didn’t know what else to do, and kept going, “I need to do some background reading for the masque I’m presenting to Her Majesty.”

  Still, Dr. Dee continued his slow descent. Desperate, Rose went on, “I hear your collection of books would make even the ancient Greeks weep.”

  Finally, she had said the right thing. Dr. Dee stopped mid-way down the ladder so his shoulders were still up through the hatchway. Without looking at her, he nodded, and then confoundingly shook his head. “It’s not the language of the Greeks that interests me,” he said.

  It was hard to hear him but Rose remained where she was, not wanting to startle him.

  “Your interests lay in something more elevated perhaps?” she asked, trying out a few sizeable words she would normally only use in her head. Rose felt like she was treading water in this conversation and she could go under the surface at any second.

  “More elevated would not be possible.” Dr. Dee turned to stare up past her at the stars. “What will you tell them when they come calling for you? What are you telling him right now? Will you be willing to take a chance?”

  Rose was stunned into silence by the cryptic questions. Who were they? And him? Was Dr. Dee quoting something from the Bible or another ancient text? His eyes clouded over, and before Rose knew it, Dr. Dee had sniffed dismissively at her confused silence and continued all the way down the ladder.

  Forcing herself not to chase after him with more questions that would clearly lead nowhere, Rose remained above. As more and more stars burst to life, she turned her gaze up the Thames to the neighboring Richmond Priory, where the very last of the sunlight still glowed in the crevices of the building’s intricate stonework. It was ridiculous, of course, but Rose was hoping for a sign from Howell. She knew he was in that priory somewhere, throwing his unrequited passion at God just as Rose threw her own at him.

  Howell.

  She imagined him at a priory window, gazing past Rose in the tower, up to God, or more likely Sybille, just as Dr. Dee had looked past Rose to the glittering stars. Howell would never really see her—even if she were to somehow win the Challenge and become the shiniest jewel in the queen’s court. She felt that familiar cracking in her chest, as if her heart was disintegrating.

  Oh! The pain was like a trigger that set off a chain-reaction in her head.

  The priory. God. Stars. Jewels. Light. The queen.

  Her gala. Her masque. Maybe she could put together something incredible after all, something that would involve all of those things.

  Before the plan could slip away, Rose scurried down the ladder into the tower and out of the wind. In the dim light, she removed the diary and a piece of charcoal from her purse. She quickly turned to an empty page in the back and jotted down her thoughts about her gala.

  When she was done and had returned charcoal and diary to their place, she started slowly down the stairs, each step bringing her plan to a new level of clarity. She picked up her pace, knowing that after so much time apart, Sybille would be waiting for her, wondering where the hell Rose had gone. Every second that Rose delayed, Sybille’s rage would grow.

  She threw open the door at the base of the tower, rushed out into the hallway, and bumped into a young man who appeared to be in a hurry himself, a young man who smelled like he hadn’t bathed in months. A young man who Rose knew.

  “Robert?”

  Robert Maydestone spun around and his eyes lit up. “Hello, sister!”

  His greeting pushed aside her next question, What on Earth are you doing in this part of the palace? Instead, she latched onto the word sister.

  True. She was his sister. But just barely. Even as this was running through her mind, she was still working on the logistics of her gala. Bumping into Robert could be the best thing that had happened to her since coming to the palace.

  Could she ask him for help with her gala, or would the queen count him as family? She fought back an urge to take out the diary and add a few quick notes to the idea she had just outlined there.

  Robert took her distraction for irritation.
“Are you going to give me an earful as well?” he asked, ducking his head with a sheepish grin.

  Coming out of her thoughts a bit, Rose smiled. “Has Sybille told you off then?” He made a sour face, and Rose laughed. “Well, you deserve whatever swings she took at you. A pickpocket school? Disappearing for days? You’ve been worrying us! In fact, I owe you a few punches myself … ” She went to swat him but he danced out of the way.

  “Don’t you just love London, Rose?” he asked, still bouncing on his feet. As he came in and out of the lamplight, she could see lines of cracked dirt on the side of his face.

  “Oh, Robert, look at you. Have you been bedding down in a stable?” She touched a finger to her tongue and then scrubbed at his face.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Robert said. As she rubbed, he closed his eyes like a barn kitten in a beam of sunlight. She almost expected him to purr, and he didn’t disappoint. Whatever was on his face smeared and began to come off. When Rose had a moment to contemplate all the disgusting things this mystery substance might be, her hand recoiled.

  His grin grew as if he were reading her thoughts and he winked wickedly.

  “Well, here I go!” he announced, like a child about to set off on another great adventure.

  Rose held up a hand to stop him. “Wait, Robert. I need you.”

  Maybe it was her voice cracking that finally made him stop his jittering about. “Nothing serious, right?” Robert asked warily. “All the seconds of my days are full up, Rosie. Father will be here in a couple days for that dinner with the damnable Scarcliffs and there are so many amazing things I want … no, need to do before he arrives. My new friends and companions really do take up all my time.”

  “This will just take a moment.” Rose wasn’t sure where to start though. The vast, complicated plan was still coming together in her head and she sensed how fragile it was in this state. She needed to get off on the right foot.

  “Yes?” Robert prodded, concern seeping into his boundless merriment. “My goodness, girl, has the queen stolen your tongue? You were never this shy. Well, maybe on your wedding day. Where is my Rosie?”