Tudor Rose Page 25

  With that revelation, everything started clicking into place.

  Sybille thought of the whispers from the back of the cathedral just as Holstan lost control of his horse—that must have been Rose. She thought of the bump on the nose of Avis’s chair carving and how Rose must have gripped Sybille’s hands so the dough would get on her fingers. She thought of the dress Rose was wearing now. She had made Sybille believe that the dress was for Sybille so that she wouldn’t destroy it. She thought of the closing of the monastery—and the burning of this building.

  Everything Rose had been doing for the past two weeks had gone far beyond simple lying, she had brutally manipulated and maneuvered Sybille as if she were a puppet.

  Now Sybille possessed the power to take Howell. She had the boy’s pendant.

  Sybille wondered if Rose meant the pendant as an explanation, an apology—or was it part of another challenge? Was it her way of abandoning her childish infatuation with Howell and moving on? Was her coded message that Sybille could have her leftovers, that Howell wasn’t worth Rose’s time? Or was Howell the most important thing to Rose and she was making a gift of him to Sybille, begging for her forgiveness after so much had been done and said?

  But Sybille guessed it went beyond any of that. The pendant was Rose’s way of saying that she knew what Sybille would do all along. That Sybille would use the pendant to get Howell and she’d be too busy snogging him to sabotage Rose’s evening by making a scene with the queen.

  Well, Sybille didn’t give a shit what Rose did and didn’t want.

  She had a choice to make. The queen or a deeper revenge. If she caused a public fuss, Sybille could damage her own standing with the queen and destroy her chances of winning the Challenge. Yes, those chances were slim but it was still possible.

  Just then, Avis let out another cry of rage, clearly furious Rose’s gala was a success … so far. And that rage answered Sybille’s question. She would leave the sabotage and the queen to Avis.

  She locked eyes with Rose and pulled her gaze over to Howell. Then holding up the pendant, she strode across the room to the boy. The happiness on his face when she gave him back his family’s lost pendant was doubled when she took his hand. As Rose watched, Sybille pulled Howell into the short hallway and then into the chapel.

  Into the confessional they went. She lifted and pushed his robes aside and, Oh! There!

  There it was. The source of power she loved more than any other. She could make a man helpless, she could make herself his queen. If Rose ever thought she had a chance to win Howell’s heart, that chance was now gone forever.

  “My love,” Howell breathed into her ear.

  “Give my hair a tug,” Sybille commanded.

  He did, and she moaned. She could train him.

  In the end, it wasn’t Avis or Sybille who made a scene that brought Rose’s masque to a premature close. It was Robert.

  He arrived late, with only a few minutes remaining. By then the queen was down from the platform and speaking warmly with two of her ladies in waiting. They stood laughing, having the merriest of times, as Rose watched from the side.

  “I know you!” Robert said drunkenly, pulling the hood back from little Absurd’s head. “You’re that little thief!”

  Within seconds, the queen’s guards surrounded Elizabeth and swept her out of the room, leaving behind stunned guests and an uncertain host.

  The bells from a far-off church began to toll. It was midnight. The Challenge had officially ended.

  SEVENTEEN

  The next morning, the three girls were lined up—Rose, Sybille, and then Avis—in the great hall of Richmond Palace, gazing out the floor to ceiling windows. They faced the same direction, standing stiffly, as if awaiting their executioner. All the insults, the hatred and the rage, the conniving and trickery had sapped them of their vitality.

  The summons from the queen had come just after dawn. With barely time for a quick cloth across the face and a hasty change of clothing after a near sleepless night, Rose had found herself out of wardrobe options. She was back in the gown she had worn that first night in London. And no matter how many times Rose washed it, she couldn’t get the sickly smell of cheap red wine completely out of the cloth.

  Rose flashed to the first time she had been in this room. Had it only been about three weeks? Was it possible that she felt even more exhausted and filthy now than she had that night?

  At least then she had Howell as a dream and her friend Sybille as an ally.

  Avis was also showing the strain. The bright morning light of the room illuminated the cracks in her porcelain veneer, the dark circles under her eyes and drawn cheeks. With a slight pang, Rose wondered if Avis could still feel her skin burning where Fulke had touched her … all the while believing Avis was someone else. Rose could see that Avis was digging her nails into her palms, perhaps as an attempt to control her rage. When Avis’s maid Maggie peered through the doorway curiously and Avis waved a hand for her to shoo, Rose watched a drop of blood fall from her palm to the rug.

  And in the middle, Sybille appeared to be ill, teetering back and forth. Rose could imagine the cause. Too much wine. Too much beer. Too many men. Too much defeat. And too much Rose?

  Rose reached for her.

  “Get away from—” Sybille growled and her mouth snapped shut.

  The queen had entered the room without any fanfare or announcement. She just walked through the open doorway. Stunned momentarily, the girls lurched into awkward curtsies. A wicked smile danced on the queen’s lips as if to say, Didn’t know I could do that, did you?

  Today she wore a long coat that glittered unevenly with blue jewels. There was no pattern to the jewels’ placement. Just like the queen’s behavior, Rose thought. People were always trying to connect her actions in order to predict what she would do next—and she would surprise them every time.

  Rose couldn’t help herself. She knew the idea was ridiculous, but she watched the queen carefully searching for any signs of herself. The hair, maybe? So hard to say the way the queen had it tightly pulled back from her face. The nose? The cheekbones? Was there something there, or just a trick of the light? After so many games—often of her own design—Rose was having a tough time trusting her senses or figuring out what was real.

  “Forgive me for making you wait, my fair warriors,” the queen said as she moved slowly between the girls and the windows. “I’ve had news this morning that has kept me from you. News that would most likely interest you.” She tutted and held a finger to her lips for a moment before dropping her arm back to her side. “But it would be unseemly for me to act upon it at this time. Instead, let us talk of Challenges and what a recent one in particular has wrought.”

  She looked just over the girls’ heads as she spoke. “I have studied many wars over the years. Great generals plotting their way through the intricacies of battle. I do believe that one day perhaps I shall be reading of the battlefield exploits of one of you fair, delicate maidens. Then again, who knows? You may be consigned to the oblivion of crushing history and not even the blood spilled here will be remembered.”

  The queen brought her gaze down to the girls’ faces. “So many talents have been revealed these past days. I hear Spanish is nearly a first language among you, and that one of you enjoys a crowded bath, and another enjoys rewarding our rather large, returned soldiers with welcomes they so richly deserve. So talented in so many different ways.”

  The queen smiled. Without any warning, she announced, “You are the winner.”

  And she was looking at Sybille.

  “If I were to say that to you,” the queen continued smoothly before anyone could react, “have you given any thought to your betrothed, Valentyne Scarcliff? How could I take on a lady-in-waiting who was simply a lady waiting to leave me? You would have to delay your wedding.”

  Looking the queen in the eyes, Sybille said, “I don’t think that would be an issue, Your Majesty. My fiancé
’s parents have determined he is too ill to marry until at least the fall. My father will attempt to enforce the contract but if you were to order the delay, that’s what we’d do.”

  Avis winced and Rose could guess why. No one outside of court had ever spoke this casually or at such length to the queen. But Elizabeth just continued to smile.

  “Well, no matter,” she said pleasantly. “You are not the winner.”

  The queen turned her gaze upon Avis, and studied her for a few moments. “Were I to say that you have won, my delicate maiden, what would you do with those words? Would you plant them deep inside yourself and let them rot and fester until they became just another type of poison in your mind? Your pale skin reveals your every emotion. Perhaps we’ll make you a gift of rouge. You may consider it a war paint, my darling savage.”

  The queen spoke to Rose next. “And for you, I have no words.”

  Rose’s mouth went dry and her heart sank. After all that she had done and with all that was at stake. The book from Dr. Dee, the secret promised by Walsingham, her very future, perhaps her identity.

  The queen unbuttoned her jacket, and bent to lay it across the back of a nearby chair, all without assistance. She gave the girls another quick look that once again said, Didn’t think I could do that either, did you?

  When the queen stood to her full height, she was wearing a gown covered in all-white jewels that sparkled in the light from the windows, a spectacular contrast to her rich red hair. “Do you like this dress? Lord Northwood had it made for me as a gift.”

  The girls all nodded. Indeed, it was magnificent.

  “Now what to do about choosing a winner of this Challenge?” the queen mused.

  “Shall we look to the heavens for the answer?”

  She brought her arms up to chest level, and the six of the largest glittering stones along her sleeves and bust line formed an unmistakable pattern.

  Sybille cursed under her breath, and Avis joined her.

  The Elizabethan Constellation. Astraea Magnifica.

  “I have no words,” the queen repeated to Rose, and then she added, “Only my hand.”

  Rose didn’t move. How could she?

  “Take it,” Her Royal Highness commanded.

  Rose grasped the queen’s hand. It was cool and smooth. Rose curtsied with a bow so low that her chest brushed against her thigh.

  Removing her hand, the queen said, “We shall spend—”

  Elizabeth clapped her hands lightly, interrupting herself. Her dashing secretary Joseph entered the room as if he had been waiting for this moment. He carried a portable desk which he placed in front of the queen with a bow. Elizabeth went on.

  “—each day together as we journey on the most elaborate progress ever birthed upon this planet and see sights of which only foolish girls from small villages dream. It will just be my tired old face for you to gaze upon.”

  As the queen spoke, she selected a blank white card from a small drawer in the desk. She dipped her quill into the miniature inkwell and wrote something on the card.

  “Well, there will be a few others, such as our Lord Northwood, and certainly his mother. Such a dear friend and trusted advisor. Oh, and one more spot has opened. Another secret wedding of one of my ladies-in-waiting. There is no time for another Challenge, though it was such excellent sport, eh, Joseph?”

  The queen waved the white card once, twice in the air to dry the ink. She slipped it into an envelope and stepped away from the desk. Joseph poured a dab of wax onto the envelope. Elizabeth pressed her ring onto the wax, sealing it, and handed the envelope to Rose. “The girl named inside this envelop shall also be joining us on the progress. I leave it to you to inform her. Perhaps it will help you mend fences.”

  With the smallest of winks, the queen swept out of the room followed by her secretary, carrying her coat and the desk. The instant the girls rose from their curtsies, Rose spun and took Sybille by the upper arms, the wax seal still warm as the envelope pressed into Sybille’s skin.

  “Oh, Sybille, we did it,” Rose said. “If you only knew why I acted that way. No matter what, we showed them, and a powerful man now owes me a secret—”

  “No.” The one syllable was said with such promised violence that it silenced Rose. “You burned it yourself, didn’t you? The priory? And not just that, Rosie. You torched everything. What will your Howell—my Howell—say when he finds out you burned him out of his home like a sewer rat so you could use it for a party! You tricked me, you lied to me, you stole from me. Do you remember what I told you I would to do you if I found out that you were the thief? Unlike you, I keep my word.”

  Rose bit her bottom lip and searched for just the right phrase that would make this all right.

  “You two are meant for each other,” Avis snarled and plucked the envelope out of Rose’s fingers. She brought it closer to the window and turned the envelope so the seal was face-up.

  No matter the name inside the envelope, Rose knew that her life was about to get much more difficult … and dangerous.

  With a vicious snap, Avis broke the seal, and unable to resist, Sybille went to stand next to her. As Rose watched, together the two girls leaned in to read the name the queen had written there.

  There was a gasp and then a cry of victory.

  Rather than relief, Rose felt fear grip her heart.

  EPILOGUE

  February 1566

  Walsingham,

  Now that it appears your dream of a palace with clear walls is coming true—all those wonderful secrets laid bare—shouldn’t we just call each other by our true names?

  My talents have been drowning in these walls. Time to pull them out of this mire and put them on the road of a grand expedition. A progress perhaps?

  Forever your spy,

  Robert

  Acknowledgements

  This book would not have happened without the insight, persistence, and patience of Georgia McBride. I know authors say things like this all the time, but in my case it’s absolutely true. Thank you, Georgia. My deep gratitude also goes out to Cameron Yeager, whose powerful grasp of the overall picture helped fine tune the manuscript, and to Emily Midkiff, Christine Hogge, Jennifer Million, and, of course, my agent and friend, Allison Cohen.

  W. H. Doyle

  Growing up in Michigan, W. H. Doyle raced past the usual chapter books and went straight to reading YA. His writing career, however, took the opposite path. For over two decades, Doyle’s been writing best-selling books for younger readers with major publishers under the name Bill Doyle. Now, with over two million books in print, he’s making his YA debut as W. H. Doyle with the intrigue-filled Tudor Rose.

  While working toward his MFA in Dramatic Writing from NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, Doyle was taught by the likes of Arthur Miller and David Mamet. He’s written for Rolling Stone, edited several magazines, created interactive experiences for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and developed critically-acclaimed digital storybooks. He lives on Manhattan’s Upper West Side and you can learn more about him at whdoylebooks.com.