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did they have to travel. Of her illness, there was no doubt. Following two more reports from Effingham, there was a feeling that Elizabeth was not long for this mortal world. Mary, devout and pious, convinced herself that Elizabeth must be afforded a final opportunity to save her soul and sent a priest to accompany her on her journey. Elizabeth believed her ploy would save her, but a twisted fate would soon force to her to tread the same cold stone steps of The Tower that her mother had walked upon.

 

Chapter Nineteen

 

†

 

A letter had been dispatched by a rider to Catherine’s lodgings in London, bearing the lady’s word that she was safe outside the city. A second brief note was sent to Richard, at Jack’s insistence, telling him that she awaited news from him at Burton. Meanwhile, Catherine remained within Jack’s rooms, reading what books there were, occasionally playing chess and arguing.

Convinced that Richard would send for her as soon as the city was safe, Jack forbade her to leave the rooms, having reservations about Catherine’s continued security. There was, in fact, little else to do; the weather was foul. Gales hugged the manor for a week and rain tried to penetrate every room, and in some places it had a good degree of success.

Jack found Catherine seated on the floor by the fire in his room, legs drawn up and chin on her knees.

“I hope this is good news,” he announced, holding out the parchment that had just arrived from London, the handwriting on the outside unmistakably Richard’s.

“So do I. Another week in here and I shall go mad. My chess has improved though.” Catherine tore the seal open without looking up.

“That wouldn’t have taken much, you’ve gone from terrible to just bad,” Jack hovered expectantly, trying to read the words over Catherine’s shoulder, hoping that very soon he would be rid of his responsibility.

The note was a brief one from Richard, he bid her to remain where she was until he sent for her. There was a postscript for Jack, telling him in no uncertain terms what he thought of his actions in taking Catherine to Burton.

“Come on, what does it say?” Jack said impatiently.

Catherine looked sheepishly up at him, holding out the letter for him to take, “It appears your brother likes us not at all on our own and combined, well…”

Jack took the letter and read for himself. “What!” he exclaimed, looking down at her accusingly. “You said he would send for you! Sweet Mary, I knew coming here was a fool’s idea.” Angry he cast the letter towards her and ran his hands through his untidy hair.

“I thought he would. You know him better than I do. Don’t lay the blame on me,” Catherine replied angrily, standing to face him, her hands on her hips. “Do you think I want to spend any longer locked in here?”

“What the hell am I going to do now? Richard in a bad mood is not good. I told you he would object to you coming here,” Jack complained, more to himself than to the girl in the room.

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

Robert tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the edge of the desk. This was news indeed, but how to use it? He could not confront Richard; if he did that he risked being undone. No, it had to be someone else. But how? Richard, he now knew, had been seen visiting Elizabeth’s house twice. He knew about the time Richard had spent at Thomas Seymour’s house, and how he had taken the blame for that man’s assault on the young princess. That Richard had kept in touch with Elizabeth surprised him a little, but the reasons for his actions could be none other than his brother’s own treasonous intentions. All he had to do was prove it, and prove it to the right man. Harry had been right, his father did know Cecil, but that was of little help, his father was becoming useless as his invalidity increased. He also had a secret worry that his father, if he saw his younger son’s success, may revel in it to Robert’s detriment.

That left Renard, the Spanish Ambassador. Robert did not know the man, but it was clear from what he had heard that he was pushing hard for Mary to consign her sister to the block. Others, like Gardiner, were still erring on the side of caution, arguing for the marriage of Elizabeth to Courtenay. Robert cared little, but wondered if Renard would be interested in a man, professed as loyal to the crown and to Mary, who sought out Elizabeth’s company.

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

Jack’s bad temper continued, during which time he avoided Catherine’s company. This wasn’t difficult as Catherine remained confined in the room he had appointed to her. If she thought his moodiness was solely directed at her, she was wrong: Jack’s thoughts were on his family. While he accepted the truth of Richard’s arguments that his father would want little do with him, and that there was a real danger from Robert, he could not help but dwell upon what could have been. It would have been such a simple thing for his father to correct. Why hadn’t he? Why had he left Jack to struggle through life? Was there a chance that he would recognise him as his son now? Or was it, as Richard maintained, too late?

Since Framlingham, some seven months ago, they had met only once. Thereafter, Jack was sure Richard had made efforts to avoid another meeting.

Jack stood now in the open doorway of the room Catherine occupied.

“So, have you recovered your humour then?” She spoke from where she sat on the floor, idly turning a bishop in her hands from the chess set.

Jack moved in and closed the door. “My present problem is you, sweet lady.” Jack eyed her critically. He was sure no one would believe there was a woman’s body beneath the clothes she wore; in fact he was not entirely sure there was. The appearance was a gangly youth whose limbs had not yet filled out, and a good covering of grime had removed any polish there might have been.

“It appears we are most wholly stuck with each other, until I hear otherwise. However, you cannot stay up here any longer.”

“I tried to tell you that before,” Catherine replied a little petulantly.

“I know. The persuasion, however, for my change of mind has come from elsewhere.” Jack smiled. “You are ruining my reputation as a rogue and a womaniser.”

“How?” Catherine was not following his reasoning.

“It’s thought I am keeping you up here for my own lewd pleasure.” Jack grinned as he saw revulsion on her face.

Catherine said nothing.

“Oh don’t look so struck.” Jack moved to sit opposite her. “I am, as it happens, teasing you, which is nothing compared to what those beggars down there will do to you. However, they believe that you are Richard’s sister, and you can be fairly sure fear of him will keep their hands off you.”

“Sister! Is that the best you could come up with?” Catherine looked horrified.

“Welcome to the family,” Jack said, smiling evilly.

“And you are only fairly sure that will keep me safe?” Catherine asked, real concern in her voice.

Jack laughed. “How fast can you run?”

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

Elizabeth’s fears were finally quietened when she was installed with her household at Whitehall. However, she resided there under heavy guard. “A precaution for her safety,” Lord Effingham had said lightly. Mary’s plans to wed were now taking shape; Phillip had arrived in England and the wedding was scheduled for July. The Queen was, on the advice of her council, taking great pains in the time available to finally quash all traces of the rebellion. Wyatt was in the Tower and as yet had not implicated Elizabeth in his plotting. Courtenay, as Richard had predicted, was also residing there; Wyatt had obviously felt he should not share his final months alone. His implication of Courtenay frightened her yet further. She knew well that the means existed within the confines of the Tower to extract any convenient confession. Elizabeth waited for the moment when he would break and sign the document that would include her as a co-conspirator in the plot to overthrow Mary. The Council, not finished with Wyatt, had yet to examine Elizabeth for her version of events. She knew their summons would indicate that Wyatt had finally been forced to make a confession. There was nothing to do but wait.

 

 

 

†

 

 

 

“She can’t play!” Mat announced loudly as Jack and Catherine joined him at the table in the hall where a card game was about to start.

Catherine took an automatic step backwards, but her retreat was halted by Jack’s firm hand on her arm.

“Sit down next to Martin,” Jack instructed. Martin obligingly made space and Catherine slid into the space next to him, her eyes nervously flicking between Jack and Mat.

“She can’t play!” Mat said again, his voice louder this time. “It’s against the law.”

Jack glowered at Mat. There was a brown ale jug in the middle of the table, Jack picked it up and put it down in front of Catherine, his eyes holding hers. “There’s a barrel in the corner over there, fill that and then make sure Mat’s cup, and everyone else’s is kept topped up all night.” Then returning his attention to Mat, he asked brusquely, “Happy now?”

“It’s still bad luck,” grumbled Mat.

Jack produced a handful of coins and put them down with a loud chink on the table, Mat’s face split into a wide grin at the sight of them. “Now I’m happy,” he announced. A few minutes later the cards were spinning across the table and in the dim light from the fire and the rush lights the card game ran on for hours. Catherine didn’t see the end of it, her head pillowed on her arms she fell asleep on the table, one hand still linked through the handle of the jug.

Martin, fearing the jug would be tipped over by the sleeping girl, pulled it from her grasp, and Catherine woke with a start.

“Go to bed, lass,” Jack said as she raised her head, his eyes on his latest hand. He didn’t pay her much attention as she rose and headed for the small door in the corner of the hall leading to the two floors above them.

Jack lost again. Casting his cards on the table, he pressed his palms to the wood and rose. “I’m not playing another hand in the dark, the fires burnt down and I can hardly see what cards I hold.”

Mat was grinning as he raked his winnings towards himself. “Ah well, you can try and win these back from me tomorrow night if you like.”

“More like tonight,” Jack said quietly as he made his way towards the door Catherine had used.

The stairwell was nearly black, the small windows let in a little moonlight but, not enough to see the steps clearly. They were even, and Jack, one hand on the stone newel post in the centre made his way up them steadily.

The first floor up had the room where the books of account were kept, where a small chapel still existed and there were two rooms that had been adopted by Dan and Mat as the more senior men with the troop. About to pass the doorway he paused, beyond it