The Greatest Lover in All England Page 27

  “Ye’re a yellow-backed coward, aren’t ye?” the commander commented as his men rubbed Sir Danny from top to toe. “Bring th’ clothes Sir Cecil sent, an’ let’s get him up t’ th’ palace afore Her Majesty has another one o’ her royal fits.”

  “Will you send word to my daughter, the dearest daughter in all England, that I’ve gone to my death unfairly accused of treason?” The soldiers handed a shirt to Sir Danny, and the material was soft as butter and twice as slippery. He fingered it as he pulled it over his head. “Tell her I died bravely.” While he donned hose and garters, he mused, “Possibly you shouldn’t say I died bravely. I fear my Rosie knows me too well for that.” Picturing himself dangling at the end of a rope, his feet kicking while children threw stones, he shuddered. “Nay, tell her I died for the safety of the kingdom.” The soldiers jerked him in a circle as they dressed him in a waistcoat, canions, and doublet and finished him off with a stylish cap.

  The commander marched in front, the soldiers on either side of Sir Danny as they left the gatehouse. When they realized he couldn’t keep up with their rapid pace, the commander cursed and gave an order, and the soldiers formed a chair with their hands and carried him.

  Odd behavior, Sir Danny mused, but perhaps they always so assisted the condemned.

  “Don’t like this,” one of them complained. “They say there’s a crazy old man on th’ grounds, an’ his eyes burn like fire. Might be he could attack us, an’ we’ve got no hands free.”

  “I’ll protect ye from any old men, crazed or otherwise,” the commander said. “Ye’d best be more worried about getting th’ prisoner t’ th’ palace.”

  A low fog swirled around the garden paths, and Sir Danny longed for one last glimpse of the world. If he looked straight up, he could see stars, bright and friendly as ever. The half-moon, too, grinned with partial amusement, and this evidence of eternity gave him the courage. “Oh, lighthouses of heaven, twinkling in a globe of nothingness. Eternal lights, eternal night, eternal death, and precious life, snuffed like a candle by men who, gripped by the madness of treachery, do attempt to wrench England’s rudder from the hand of her oil-anointed captain.”

  “Thirteen years I been workin’ at Whitehall, an’ I’ve never spoke t’ th’ queen,” the commander mourned. “An’ this sheep’s head is complainin’ in his fancy talk.”

  Wrenched from his poetic haven, Sir Danny asked, “Is this Whitehall Palace?”

  “Ain’t ye been listenin’?” one of the soldiers demanded.

  The commander rapped on a tiny door set in a looming stone wall. The door opened slightly, and a bony hand grabbed Sir Danny’s wrist and jerked him inside. A hunchbacked man, all in black, held a single candle and whispered hoarsely, “Hurry.”

  Sir Danny hurried.

  Despite the man’s unprepossessing appearance, he wore his air of command with confidence. He led Sir Danny up stairs and through halls and rooms furnished in tapestries and woods and ivories. Sir Danny was, he realized, actually in Whitehall Palace, and he moved closer to the stranger and asked, “Is it only those condemned of treason that you treat with such grace?”

  The gentleman looked at him oddly.

  “I’ve never been executed before.” Sir Danny excused himself. “I don’t know the protocol.”

  “Didn’t they tell you why they were bringing you here?” The man spoke softly, as if he wished to avoid detection.

  Sir Danny chuckled, and found himself surprised he could still laugh. “To see the queen, they said.”

  “Then play not the fool. Bow when you enter the room, speak only when spoken to, and answer the questions in a forthright manner, but with the proper reverence.” The stranger opened a narrow door set into the wooden paneling and shoved Sir Danny ahead of him.

  The richly appointed chamber blazed with candles. The flames reflected off the diamond-shaped window-panes, the waxed woods, the mirrors, the wrought gold, and the polished silver. Tapestries draped the walls and a carpet of dazzling color and intricacy covered the glossy wood floor. Beside an immense blazing fire stood a massive, carved chair. Surrounding it, like disciples waiting for enlightenment, squatted benches and stools. The chair drew Sir Danny’s eye, and for the first time, awe prickled along his spine.

  The childish sense of wonder which had never abandoned him drew him now, and he almost expected to see a regal figure materialize in the chair.

  Instead, a querulous voice jerked him around to the pile of cushions thrown in the corner. “What have you brought me, Master Cecil?”

  The black-robed figure bowed deeply and in tones of reverence, announced, “Your Majesty, I bring you Sir Daniel Plympton, Esquire.”

  Sir Danny gaped. It was the queen. Of course he recognized her from the coins that circulated with her likeness etched on them.

  The cushions that surrounded and supported her were silk, satin, wool. Embroidered, woven, sewn. Cobalt, scarlet, amethyst. Likewise, the queen’s clothes were magnificent creations, overwhelming in their opulence. And the queen herself seemed insignificant. Nothing but a skinny old woman.

  Until Sir Danny looked into her eyes.

  The color had been muddied by age, but they glittered with interest and acumen.

  Conquered, Sir Danny fell to his knees. “God save Your Majesty!”

  “Want me to pardon you, do you?”

  Her shrill voice fell on his ears like water on the parched earth. “There is no need.” Removing his cap, Sir Danny worshiped her with his gaze. “Simply seeing Your Majesty’s beauty one time before I die makes my sacrifice worthwhile. In sooth, all call you Gloriana, monarch of England and chosen of the gods, and verily, it is true.”

  “He’s a charmer, isn’t he?” She spoke to Cecil, but she watched Sir Danny steadily, and her mouth had curved into a slight, closed-mouth smile. Then the smile disappeared. She winced and pressed her hand to her cheek. “Have you questioned him?”

  Cecil tucked his hands in his wide sleeves and watched Sir Danny’s homage with approval. “Nay, madam, I waited for you.”

  She pointed a long, clawed finger at Sir Danny. “We want to know about you and Essex.”

  “Your Majesty, I will tell you whatever you require.” Sir Danny noted the lines of stress between her brows, the tension in the hand she still held against her jaw. Tentatively, he said, “However, if you would forgive my imprudence, you seem to be in pain.”

  Her hand fell away from her face, and she said, “I’m healthy as an English war-horse.” She said it as if she’d said it before, many times.

  “Your Majesty, again forgive me, but you look nothing like an English war-horse.” Slowly, Sir Danny approached, walking on his knees. He’d always known the safety of his sovereign was his destiny. Was it also his destiny to give her ease? “Your magnificent health glows from you like a fire that warms you from the inside. You are a morning rose, protected by the thorns of duty and nobility as you open to delight your subjects with vigorous beauty and sweet perfumes.”

  Queen Elizabeth relaxed even as he spoke. She lifted her chin, the lines smoothed from her fair complexion, and he caught a glimpse of the young goddess who had captivated the hearts of her subjects even before her coronation.

  The cushions bumped his knees now; he bent to keep the top of his head below hers and gazed at her most earnestly. “Yet the rose, if not tended by the loving gardener, might be harmed by the overzealous sun or the attentions of greedy parasites.”

  “Too true,” the queen murmured, and she glared at Cecil.

  Primming his mouth, Cecil retorted, “If you would allow me, Your Majesty, I would call the tooth drawer back. He thought to relieve your pain, but you changed your mind before he’d even entered the door.”

  She sat up with all the vigor she claimed. “Am I not the queen? May I not send a charlatan away if I see fit?”

  Cecil drew breath to retort, but Sir Danny placed one hand behind his back and made a gesture. A rude gesture, and Cecil saw it, for he moved in a huff to t
he fireplace, there to fold his arms across his chest.

  When Sir Danny looked back at Queen Elizabeth, he realized with a jolt she had seen it, too. She looked as satisfied as a peahen presented with a strutting display of feathers. “Good,” she said, “He’s offended.”

  “He is young,” Sir Danny said soothingly. “He’ll learn the correct manner to treat his monarch.”

  “He is not his father. I do miss my dear Burghley, the greatest statesman of my reign.”

  Sir Danny bowed his head in respect.

  “You remind me of him.”

  He looked up.

  “Not in your appearance, of course, but in your tact and good sense.” Plucking at the silk tufting that decorated her massive puffed sleeve, she asked fretfully, “Do you think I should summon the tooth drawer?”

  Picking his words with caution, Sir Danny said, “Your Majesty, you are a glorious monarch with the resources of all England at your feet, but might not so many resources be as big a problem as not enough? Might the selection of physicians and barbers who long to serve you be so large, you are unable to find the best among the crowd?”

  Cecil proved he had been listening. “What are you babbling about, man?”

  Elizabeth pointed a restraining finger at her secretary of state. “I want to hear what he has to say.”

  “Why, simply, madam, that I have a reputation as a physician among my lowly compatriots.”

  “Lowly indeed,” Cecil snapped.

  “Shut your maw, Cecil.” The queen leaned forward and looked into Sir Danny’s eyes. “Tell me more.”

  “Among the actors I am known for my skills at physicking, and if you would perhaps allow me to try, I might be able to draw the tooth without pain to Your Majesty.”

  “Madam, I must object!” Cecil strode forward. “This man is under suspicion of treason. He can’t be allowed to give you some magic potion which turns out to be poison!”

  “I see no obstacle. I’ll have you taste it first.” Elizabeth burst into unrestrained laughter at Cecil’s expression, laughter so wild Sir Danny flinched.

  She had been too long without sleep. She was balanced on the edge of madness, and she needed him in a way he’d never imagined. If he could not serve England with his knowledge of Essex, he could at least serve her with his skill.

  “I use no potions, madam, but I will have to touch you.” He glanced apologetically at Cecil. “There’s no other way.”

  “This is outrageous,” Cecil fumed. “Dismiss him at once.”

  Elizabeth ignored Cecil with all the stubbornness of her sixty-seven years. “What do you have to do?”

  “Just touch your face and hands,” Sir Danny said reassuringly. “However, if the tooth pains you, it must be drawn, and for that I’ll need the tools of a tooth drawer.”

  “Cecil.” Elizabeth snapped her fingers. “Get the tools from the tooth drawer.”

  Stiffly, Cecil said, “Madam, he has gone home.”

  She scorned his falsehood. “Nonsense, he remains within the palace on your pleasure until he’s done the deed. Now get his tools.”

  “I can’t leave you alone with this charlatan.”

  “I’m not giving you a choice.” Regally, she drew herself up. “Sir Cecil, seek the tooth drawer. It is your queen’s command.”

  Cecil didn’t like it, but neither did he have the presumption to defy a direct order. In a softer tone, he begged, “Might I at least have a guard remain within?”

  “You may station one directly outside the door. Should this treasonous actor attack me, your conscience will be clear. Now be off, and shut the door behind you.” She watched until he had gone and Sir Danny remained alone with her, then said, “You realize if you fail to draw my tooth painlessly, I’ll have your head cut off.”

  Sir Danny permitted himself a smile. “Your Majesty, if you cut off my head, it’ll be an improvement over the hanging you have planned for me right now. What have I to lose?”

  An answering smile played around Elizabeth’s mouth. “Aye, what indeed? So tell me what you heard from Essex that proves his treason.”

  She had changed the subject so quickly, Sir Danny’s head spun before he realized her brilliant tactics. She’d relaxed him, given him the illusion of control, then slapped him with a sharp query designed to knock the truth from him. More than that, she’d removed Cecil from the room, so no audience gawked with smug delight as she listened to the proof of treason by her favorite courtier.

  It was a totally understandable desire, and Sir Danny told his story quickly, explaining how Essex had boasted of his plan to overthrow the queen and wished to have the play Richard II played by the Chamberlain’s Men to induce an atmosphere of rebellion.

  His fellow actors would not recognize him, Sir Danny thought, as his very restraint lent a veracity to his words and Elizabeth’s head sank onto her chest.

  Distressed, he wrung his hands. “Madam, I have given you pain when I thought to ease it.”

  “Nay, ’tis not you who gives me pain.” She touched her fingertips to her papery eyelids. “’Tis the sunset of my reign, and all around me I see death and betrayal as my powers fade into nothingness. ’Tis a bitter thing to grow old, Sir Danny, a bitter thing.”

  “I see no sunset. I see no peacock display of colors that announces the approach of night, nor could I ever perceive the anguish of such a fading. When future generations remember Queen Elizabeth, they’ll still bask in the warmth of your legacy. What you have wrought can never fail.”

  “You are a funny little man, and you comfort me.” She stretched. “Can you really draw my tooth, or was that simply a tale to put Cecil out of the room?”

  “I have references, madam, if you chose to call upon my fellows who act with the Chamberlain’s Men.”

  “The Chamberlain’s Men?” The queen lifted her brows. “The company is performing a play for me on Sunday.”

  “A play?” Forgetting himself, Sir Danny leaped to his feet. “Which play?”

  She watched him curiously. “’Tis called Hamlet, I believe.”

  “I wonder if…I hope that…oh, Your Majesty, do you have the list of the players?”

  “Not at all. Should I?”

  “It’s just that my child might play one of the parts. But nay, my son wouldn’t be here in the city. She’s safe now.” He had always concealed Rosie’s gender with such practiced proficiency, he didn’t even realize when he failed. His shoulders sagged. He wanted to weep and instead cursed his weakness. He’d refused to allow himself to think of Rosie, to wonder how she was faring in her new role as mistress of the manor. He’d refused to think of the marriage performed, no doubt, while he languished in prison. He’d felt only joy in her safety.

  But he’d missed her. Od’s bodkin, how he’d missed her.

  The queen watched him fidget, her bright eyes seeing more than he liked, but before she could question him further, someone rapped on the door. “Enter,” Queen Elizabeth called.

  The door swung wide to reveal Cecil with the tooth drawer close behind him.

  “I’m still alive,” Queen Elizabeth said. “More travail to you.”

  “’Tis care for you which causes me concern.” Cecil led the tooth drawer into the room by the hand.

  By the terrified looks the tooth drawer cast toward the queen, Sir Danny supposed she had quite intimidated him. “Let me see your tools,” he commanded.

  The tooth drawer sidled forward and handed Sir Danny the bag, then retreated with great haste to the wall opposite.

  “He begs Your Majesty for another chance to assist you,” Cecil said, glaring meaningfully at the quivering dentist.

  “He’s a maggot.” Queen Elizabeth dismissed the tooth drawer with scorn. Glancing at the tools and the herbs Sir Danny was laying out, her voice turned shrill. “Cecil, I want you to send word to Sir Anthony Rycliffe. He’s to present himself to me tomorrow morning, and no more of this shirking of his duties.”

  “Aye, Your Majesty.”

&nbs
p; “His first duty will be to go to Essex House tomorrow, and tell my lord Essex that I command he come before the Privy Council and give an accounting of his activities.” She clenched a pillow in her fist. “His treasonous activities.”

  “Aye, Your Majesty.” Cecil bowed deeply.

  “I thought that’d please you. Well, come on, come on.” She snapped her fingers at Sir Danny. “If you’re going to do it, do it at once.”

  Sir Danny again crept forward. He’d done this so many times. With Rosie, with Will, with the other members of his troupe. But to the queen? To the lady he’d always worshiped from afar?

  “Well?” Cecil said loudly. “What are you going to do?”

  “Cecil,” Queen Elizabeth barked. “Either shut your maw or get out.”

  Then Sir Danny realized she couldn’t help him, because she was more frightened than he. Her need gave him courage, and using his satin-smooth tone, he said, “With your permission?” She nodded graciously, but he could see her tense as he touched her hand. “You have a beautiful hand,” he murmured. “Such long fingers, such fair skin.” He stroked the back of her hand, then her palm and stared into her eyes. She stared back, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open as long as he could, and she blinked. “Pain is exhausting, and you are very tired. So tired that as I touch you, you can think only of sleep.”

  “That’s very relaxing,” she admitted.

  “May I touch your face?” He reached out with his fingertips and grazed the skin. Slowly, he accustomed her to his touch. “Such beautiful skin. Such regular features. How much it must pain you to have a tooth causing puffiness.”

  “It does.” She slurred her words.

  “Show me the tooth.”

  She opened her mouth. He touched the tooth, and she winced.

  “Think of the pleasure sleep would bring you. Think of how sleep will lessen your uneasiness.” He kept his tones low and regular. “Think of how sleep would lessen any discomfort as I remove it.”