Chapter One
‘Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,
When men are unprepared and look not for it.’
—Richard III
The Lady Anne was frightened. The light she carried was barely adequate to find her way in this dark and quiet corner of the palace, and she was glad of the reassuring presence of her prayer book in her other hand. She needed its comfort now, for it was long after midnight, and her progress had been slower than she would have liked, because of the necessity of avoiding the guards tasked with ensuring no intruder could enter Her Majesty’s palace.
But Anne was not an intruder. She lived in Whitehall and, though barely seventeen, was already a trusted lady-in-waiting to old Queen Elizabeth, stemming from a good, noble family. She would hardly be suspected of capital crimes against the monarch. No, it was the destruction of her reputation Anne feared most. If she was found to be lurking in these corridors after dark, it would be assumed she was on her way to a liaison. There was some truth in this, of course, but she could hardly confess the real reason for her being there, which would be even more damning.
The idea of making her way to the top of the stone staircase by the small hall had seemed a simple one when it was communicated to her in daylight, but now she worried what would happen if her candle went out, or if someone smelt the tallow and learned of her presence here. And what if he did not come? How long should she wait before returning to her bedchamber? What if the stories the ladies-in-waiting told, about this wing of the palace, were true? There were wraiths here, they said; the tormented spirits of those who had died unnaturally or before their time, victims of murder, who had been stabbed in their bed, or strangled by rivals. They were ghosts now, who waited till the dark hours, when they haunted the corridors of the castle, hopelessly seeking vengeance on those who had so violently robbed them of life, not realising that they themselves were trapped, in spirit form, and those that had wronged them were long dead.
Anne had dismissed these tales as stories the older women dreamed up to frighten the younger ones, who had to walk further at night to get to their own beds. Now though, as she walked down the pitch-black corridors, her way illuminated only partially by that single candle she held, Anne was less sure. What would she do if she met a spirit? What if it mistook her for someone that had wronged that wraith in life? What then?
It was cold here too. They were in the depths of winter, but, in Anne’s haste to quit the chamber that night, she had failed to wear more than she had done during the day. At least then the palace rooms had well-tended fires to keep out the chill. Not so these dark corridors, which seemed to welcome the cold, and she cursed herself for not wearing a cloak.
A harsh sound interrupted her thoughts and Anne froze. It was loud but came from some distance, as if someone had dropped something heavy, possibly made of metal, onto the stone floor and the sound had echoed down the corridors. Anne didn’t dare move for a full minute while she waited to hear what would happen next. Would the guard be called out in response? Would others leave their beds and demand to know who was there?
There was no immediate reaction to the sound though, and none further came in reply. Had a guard fallen asleep and dropped a pike or knocked something over? Whatever it was, the palace slept on, and so, tentatively, Anne continued on her way.
If it had been a guard who made that sound, she had eluded him so far and must continue to do so, lest she be suspected of a carnal encounter. It frightened Anne to think of the queen’s wrath. Her Majesty took a very dim view of her ladies-in-waiting enjoying passionate liaisons, when she herself was denied them. The ‘Virgin Queen’ may have been in her sixties, having ruled over them all for forty years, but she was still apparently virgo intacta, or maintained she was. The ladies of the court wondered if that could possibly be true but rarely voiced their doubts aloud, and never in the queen’s company. To question her at all was to risk releasing that famous temper. To contradict her on such a personal matter would be foolish in the extreme.
on, passed the whole night in her chambers. Supposedly they were playing cards, but what else did they get up to? If not everything, then perhaps something? The Lady Anne, who was genuinely innocent of such matters, and had not yet been touched in that way by a man, could only wonder at such things when they were whispered about by more experienced ladies of the court. They sometimes speculated whether the queen had, in the past, pleased her favourites in ‘the French style’, or whether she had ever allowed male hands to caress her intimately, while preventing a full-frontal assault upon her famous virginity.
Those same women often took lovers themselves. That had shocked Anne when she had first arrived at court. She had sworn to remain pure until her wedding night, saving her virtue for her future husband, whoever that might be. That was for her father to arrange, of course, but she understood enough of these matters to know that if she was considered to be used goods, her new husband might send her home in disgrace. This was why the behaviour of the other ladies had surprised her. There were unmarried women at court who seemed to imagine they could fool a man into thinking they were still virgins on their wedding night. Others held the view that some men didn’t give a damn about their honour anyway, as long as they came to the marriage with a generous dowery and enough land. Some were married already, before God, and yet seemed to think little of breaking the seventh commandment, even though they would surely have to account for this at the end of their lives, when they went before Him.
The high prize of virtue and virginity at court never stopped the men there from trying to bed the queen’s ladies-in-waiting at every opportunity. They were all undoubtedly fair, chosen as much for their pleasing countenance as their accomplishments. The queen valued skill on horseback, the ability to play a musical instrument, to fashion something delicate with a needle, to converse with her in Latin, French or Spanish and to dance a volta or a galliard with grace. Some of this Anne could do, to the satisfaction of Her Majesty. It helped that she was small and light, and she had to admit it was exciting to be lifted high in the air like that during a volta, especially when one man in particular had done it during the recent masked ball to mark the queen’s Ascension Day. He had been both strong and fair and Anne’s heart had raced from the proximity of his body to hers, a feeling she was unused to. She had at least denied his request to see him again later in private, though he had insisted on bestowing a favour upon her and she had kept it. Sometimes she thought idly about what might have happened if she had said yes to meeting him, to her lasting shame.
She may have secretly longed for an intimate encounter, and more than a few of the loftier men at court had hinted they desired one with her, but Anne’s father would not have been appeased if she was disgraced. Baron Percy, younger brother to the Earl of Northumberland, had given the queen four hundred pounds for the honour of making his daughter one of her ladies at court. The queen had readily taken that immense sum from one of her northern nobles, not realising the true reason for his generosity, and exactly what he expected to receive for it in return. A good marriage was supposed to be the outcome for any girl who managed a few years in the queen’s inner or outer chambers without causing a scandal, but his ambitions involving Anne were far greater.
Subsequently, it was scandal, and its accompanying shame and disgrace, that Anne feared now, as she made her way carefully and hesitantly along the corridor, trying not to stumble in the semi-darkness. No one must see her coming this way at such a late hour for there could be no satisfactory explanation for her presence. Her Majesty would simply brand her a whore, and she would be exiled or worse. The queen had even imprisoned those who broke her strict rules against liaisons or dared to marry their lovers without the monarch’s permission, but the man Anne would meet tonight was less interested in her body than in what she carried about her person.
On his instructions, Anne had forced herself to be patient, delaying her departure until she was certain the queen’s other ladies-in-waiting were all abed and sleeping – something she had made sure of, in fact. Not an easy task, when she had to share her accommodation with the other younger ladies who served Her Majesty in the privy chamber. At seventeen, Anne was not yet old enough to wait on Queen Elizabeth in her bedchamber. That would come one day she hoped, but only if she could avoid being seen by anyone tonight.
Moments later, and without encountering an evil spirit or palace guard along the way, Anne finally reached the top of the staircase and glanced about her to ensure she was at the right place. An enormous tapestry, depicting a
hunting party pursuing a stag, hung on a wall to one side. That scene was surrounded by allegorical religious images in separate panels at its borders. Here was a unicorn depicting Christ’s presence at the hunt and next to it, a pelican, showing motherly love, presumably associated with the queen. She was further represented by the presence of a lion, signifying courage and nobility. Finally, the devil was represented as a monstrous figure with red skin, a horned head, spiked tail and huge wings. He lurked on the edge of the scene, hoping to tempt people into evil. Perhaps this was not the best place to meet after midnight, with the devil himself so clearly in view.
But where was the man who had urged this meeting upon her? She was perhaps a little late, but this errand was so important, surely he would have waited in the shadows for a while? With a heavy heart, she realised he was nowhere to be seen. Had he been and gone already? Surely not, when she was carrying such a prize. He would have waited, she was certain of it, so he had to have been delayed for some reason. Perhaps he too had been forced to take extra care to avoid the palace guards and that explained his delay. Unless…
She did not want to think about unless. That would mean he had been taken. What if he had already been arrested? What would it mean for her if he confessed under torture, as surely all men did, and she was implicated too? Was this a capital crime? If it was, would she be executed using the axe? Or even burned at the stake? Would a mercy of sorts be granted with a sentence of merely life imprisonment? She had heard of such things, but Anne knew she would be driven mad if she was locked up for the rest of her days. All of this could happen, even to a well-born maid like her, if she was discovered.
Anne felt a great wave of fear come over her then. She was too young for this and too unschooled in the ways of the secret world, but then she remembered why she was here. Was it not for the realm, and her father too? Anne told herself to put a stopper in her fear and harden her resolve. What she was about to do could well turn out to be the single most important act of her life, even if she lived to be as old as the queen.
She would stay here awhile then, though every bone in her body was screaming at her to flee and return to the relative safety of her bed. Anne would see this through till the end, despite the danger she was in. She hoped the
guards would not be back here for a while. Once he arrived, and arrive he surely must, for he had sworn it to Anne, then all would be well. All she could do was wait, but where in God’s name was he?
Anne did not hear anyone come up behind her. He moved so quietly, and when he grabbed her, there was no time even to scream. One strong, burly arm went around her torso, in the same instant a hand was clamped over her mouth and nostrils, making it impossible for her to cry out, and her candle fell to the floor. She struggled helplessly, as she tried to wriggle from the unseen man’s grip, but he was far too strong for her and she was terrified now.
Had she been grabbed by a guard? Surely this could not be the man she had promised to meet, but who was it? An assassin, a wraith, a demon from hell? Anne wanted to scream, but the sounds she made were instantly muffled beneath his gloved hand and she found that she could not breathe. Was he going to kill her?
In her terror, Anne managed to kick out in the hope of unbalancing her attacker, but her feet swung impotently ahead of her, as he lifted her off the ground and moved forwards with a sudden, deadly haste towards the staircase. God, he was going to throw her down the stone steps. She had only moments to think on what was about to happen to her, while she also struggled to understand why it was happening at all? Had she not done all that was asked of her? Who even was this man who had so easily overpowered her? Was it the one she had agreed to meet or another who had taken his place and now seemed intent on killing her? It scarcely mattered now. Not when he was already bearing down on the stone staircase? Of far more importance was her inability to cry out for help or plead with her assailant for mercy. She had to fight for her very life and she struggled even harder, but Anne was already weakening from lack of breath and knew she might never break free from such an unrelenting grip. Anne kicked and struggled, fighting the man with all of her strength, clenching her fists and jabbing back at him hard with her elbow, but he didn’t even flinch. It was as if he was made of stone.
Just as they had almost reached the steps, he veered off to one side and, to her intense relief, Anne realised he was not about to throw her down the staircase. Instead, her attacker pulled her to the right. She assumed he was about to drag her along the landing, but what would he do then? If he was not the man she had arranged to meet, what were his intentions? Would she be taken into a room and
raped, despoiled forever in the eyes of future husbands and the queen? Her Majesty would surely blame Anne, for allowing herself to be violated in the middle of the night. Her father would never forgive her; not after paying those four hundred pounds.
Anne did not have to worry long about her father and his money. Her attacker didn’t drag her far and there was no room nearby. Instead, he released his grip from around her waist and pushed Anne hard in the back, until she was thrown forwards and pressed against the parapet, which was the only thing preventing her from falling to the ground some twenty feet or more below. Was he trying to take her here in the open? She would bitterly resist the assault, but how? There was no time to think on that further because her attacker bent lower and grabbed her by the legs, crushing them together. Then he hoisted her up and, to her terror, pushed Anne forwards until she was hanging perilously over the edge, the lower part of her body catching against the stone parapet, the upper half free of it already. Oh Sweet Jesus, now she understood, and a great wave of fear passed through her. He was going to throw her over, down onto the hard, stone floor below.
The Lady Anne had just enough time to let out a little scream then, before he pitched her headfirst into the darkness.
Chapter Two
‘What’s done cannot be undone.’
—Macbeth
Sir Robert Cecil stood by the body for a full minute, staring down at the lifeless figure of Lady Anne Percy. She had been brought into the physician’s room, though he had not yet been notified of her presence, for she was long past help. The queen’s spymaster was alone with her, aside from one of his most trusted men, William Wade, who stood silently waiting for his master to pronounce upon the matter. Finally, Cecil spoke.
‘Who found her?’
‘A sergeant of the watch.’
‘He came to you?’
‘He did.’ Wade confirmed.
Cecil’s great power at court came partly from his ability to know who to enlist to do his bidding, and how to amply reward such men. Their loyalty was only partially to the crown but always to him, which was why the sergeant sought Wade out first, knowing him to be Cecil’s man.
‘And informed no other?’ Cecil asked. ‘The queen does not yet know of this?’
‘It was not my place to inform the queen, my lord.’
‘No, it was not.’ Cecil seemed satisfied by that answer, but then he asked, ‘Who ordered her body moved?’
It sounded like a rebuke, so Wade was forced to explain himself. ‘I had her taken from the stairwell, for her dignity, Lord. All would see her once the ladies began to rise, and I feared they would be distressed.’
Cecil seemed to accept that explanation. ‘Describe the position of her body most carefully.’
‘She was lying on the ground at the very foot of the staircase. It appeared she fell.’
‘Or was pushed?’
‘It’s possible, my lord, but who would wish such a young maid dead?’
‘Who indeed?’ He already had his suspicions.
Cecil leaned in closer then and examined the body most intently.
‘Her neck is broken,’ Wade informed him.
‘If this was a fall, then she was most unfortunate. That staircase is not so very steep and there is a balustrade at the bottom, before the final steps curve round. It would likely break her fall before she could end up at the very foot of the stairs, don’t you think?’
The question sounded rhetorical to Wade, so he didn’t answer, but his master seemed doubtful, as if he was truly pondering whether this could actually have been an accidental act or not?
‘Put it out that the Lady Anne’s death was a dreadful misfortune, for now. She likely fell in the dark.’
‘And if the queen should hear of this?’ Wade meant before she was told.
‘I shall inform Her Majesty anon.’
‘Do you wish enquiries to be made?’ Wade asked his master.
Cecil considered this for a moment. ‘Not by you. Not this time. This requires delicacy.’
‘As you wish, my lord.’
‘I know the creature I need.’ He seemed to be saying this softly to himself rather than Wade. ‘Go now.’ He dismissed his man with a wave of the hand.
Wade made for the door and as he turned back to close it behind him, he could not help but overhear Sir Robert, though his voice was quite low. At first, it seemed he was talking to himself, but then it became clear his words were meant for the ear of the dead girl he stood over, though he could not hope to receive a reply.
‘Oh, dear sweet Lady Anne, whatever did you do?’
Chapter Three
‘Trifles light as air are to the jealous confirmations strong as proofs of holy writ.’
—Othello
Will had been in a state of great excitement for much of the day. He had tried to write, several times in fact, but his mind kept wandering from his work to other thoughts, most of them carnal, and all of them about his dark lady. She should be here with him by now. He paced the upstairs room of the inn restlessly, pausing once again to glance out of the window, while hoping to witness her approach and having those hopes dashed once more. The best he could hope for now was that she would be quite late, if she was coming at all.
What had gone wrong? Was his raven-haired beauty delayed at court? Worse, had she been detained by her husband? What if he had discovered their trysts and was even now threatening her life or reputation, perhaps both? Will tried to banish that thought. He didn’t like to consider her husband at any time, lest guilt reignited the last residue of shame he felt over their union. Will knew his Matthew; What God has put together, let no man put asunder. This dance with Avisa was wrong. Very wrong indeed. And that was to consider only her marriage vows, let alone his own to Anne, taken sixteen years ago before God. Will sometimes wondered what form of hell might await him in the next life for being unable to contain his earthly desires in this one? But he could not help himself and neither could she. How could he worry about a future debt now, to be settled before God in the afterlife, when he was about to see the woman who had made these past months bearable in this one? She was the only one who had been able to ease the pain in his wounded heart, and allow him to, if not forget his grief, put it aside, for a time at least?
Yet still Avisa was not here. She had never been more than a few minutes late before. Her husband has found out, Will felt sure of it now. The last time he had seen her was at court and Avisa had said she would most surely come to him here at the allotted time or, if not, allow herself to be proclaimed a liar in the street. With that, he had kissed her, sheltered by the arras he had quickly pulled her behind, before she broke free and told him, ‘Patience, my love.’ The first word had been a disappointment, but the last two had kept him thinking on her for days since. My love? Was he really her love, or had she used the word more lightly than he would? She was most definitely his love. That much was true. He waited for her now ardently, and without any real or lasting shame, for how could God deny them both? Though admittedly wanton, this love of theirs also had a purity which brought them both so much truth and meaning.
And here she was!
Will bent closer to the window and saw Avisa coming towards him now, walking swiftly, as if she knew she had kept him waiting and wanted to be in his arms the sooner. God, but she was beautiful. He tried to compose himself. He didn’t want to look like a fool. He wasn’t one of those lovelorn young boys who would swoon over a maid, then write terrible verse for the object of their affections, which would be received with amusement but little love and still less respect. No, he would act the part of the preoccupied writer of plays, he hoped she would take him for. He quickly sat by his table, took up his pen, dipped it into the ink and was poised to write something, even as he knew she must be through the inn door now. Moments later, he heard light footsteps on the wooden stairs, then on the landing outside his room, delicate still but hasty, as if the longing in her was equal to his. Will could not help himself now and he rose, still clutching his quill pen.
The door opened and she stood there framed by the doorway.
‘Forgive me, I could not easily quit the palace. The court is in uproar. A girl has been—’
But before she could continue, he was on her, stopping Avisa’s words with a long kiss. Whatever she was about to say about a girl at court was forgotten now.
When they finally broke from the kiss, she smiled, noticed he was still holding the quill and said, ‘You have been writing, my love.’
He abandoned all pretence then and told her, ‘Not
a word.’
Will let the quill fall to the floor and took her in his arms.
Their embraces were just reaching a most interesting point, when Will realised it might be prudent to lock the door. Before he could do this, however, there came an urgent and persistent rapping upon it.
‘Master Shakespeare!’ called a voice, which had not waited long for him to answer that knocking.
‘Confound it,’ Will whispered in Avisa’s ear, and he let go of his dark lady then, in case the owner of that voice decided to burst in on them. They would then be caught in a scandalous position her husband would likely hear about.
‘Who is there?’ called Will, not really expecting that the door would immediately be pushed open. He was confronted by a serious-looking young man he had never seen before, dressed like a legal clerk or perhaps a steward of matters domestical, who was impatient to deliver his message. He ignored Will’s companion, or at least chose to be discreet about her. Instead, he entreated Will.
‘Good sir, I come to you upon this day and at this hour with a most urgent message from your friend, Cuthbert Burbage.’
‘Whatever that message be, if it is from Cuthbert, it cannot be as urgent as the business I must soon conclude with this fair lady. Tell Master Burbage, if he wants me, I shall come anon.’ A glance at his lady’s alluring smile made him reconsider. ‘I shall come tomorrow in fact.’
‘No, sir!’
‘No, sir?’ He was shocked by the man’s impertinence.
‘I entreat thee, it cannot be tomorrow. He bade me tell you forcefully that if you do not come most urgently, eagerly, hastily and vigorously, then there shall be murder.’
‘He threatens to kill me?’ This seemed highly unlikely.
‘Not you, sir, and not he, sir. His brother, Richard Burbage.’
‘His brother threatens to kill me?’ This seemed even less likely, since Richard Burbage was not only the leading actor in all of Will’s plays,
but also his firmest friend.
‘No, sir. Richard Burbage threatens murder against another, and will do it too, unless your presence prevents it, so swears his brother Cuthbert, who bids me remind you that you are the only man who can calm Richard when his blood is up.’
‘He said all that?’
‘He did and more. “Fetch Master Shakespeare, drag him here if you must,” so says he to me, “for if he does not come then Richard shall kill a man this very day and will likely swing for it in the morning.”’
‘Who is this man Richard threatens to murder?’
‘One Giles Allen, owner of the lease on the land upon which your theatre stands.’
‘I know who he is,’ said Will calmly, ‘and do recall that Richard has threatened to end his life before, on numerous occasions.’ The wrangling, over the cost of a new lease for The Theatre, the first of its kind in London with no need to have another name attached to it, like its successors the Curtain Theatre and the Rose Theatre, had gone on long enough for Richard’s threats to have become a regular occurrence. ‘Go, and remind Cuthbert of this.’
‘He did anticipate you might say this in reply, and does reply to that reply thus; Richard has never gone so far as to reach for his sword, buckle it and march down to the Theatre to await Giles Allen’s arrival.’
‘Giles Allen is coming to the Theatre this very day?’ What could have prompted this?
‘He is. Invited to the tavern opposite, by the aforementioned Richard Burbage, to agree the handing over of the lease of the land to your theatrical company, in exchange for a fair sum of coin.’
‘But Allen has never wavered on his demands for an excessive amount in return for that lease, a sum we are unable to provide, hence we are these past many months locked out of our theatre, since we will not pay it.’
‘Indeed.’ He said earnestly.
‘Then why comes he to the Theatre now?’
‘Because Richard Burbage has given him hope of a rapprochement.’
‘Richard would not reconsider the terms of the lease without involving myself and his other partners,’ explained Will.
oderate his demands, possibly at the point of a rapier.’
‘That is unlikely to bear fruit.’
‘And this is why Richard, on his own admission, is more likely to kill the man, then, says he, “to burn down the Theatre around his rotten corpse”, rather than see the building go to another use.’
Will felt entirely helpless then. Although he wished for nothing more than an hour or so in his dark lady’s company, for which he had waited so long, he could readily imagine Richard Burbage not only threatening such a thing but actually doing it too, then swinging from the Tyburn Tree gallows the very next day.
He glanced at his mistress helplessly.
‘Go,’ Avisa told him. ‘Our business, important though it is, can wait awhile.’
‘I shall return so that it may be concluded this very afternoon,’ he said significantly, but her face told him she very much doubted this.
‘I can wait,’ she told Will, ‘for a time.’ But the firm look accompanying her words made him realise that this time would not be long. ...
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