The play has begun.’ He looked at her. ‘Perhaps you could stay and we’ll talk later?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s too dangerous. If the Queen discovers that I have left court without permission, I will be punished.’
‘Of course, forgive me.’ John Twist broke the seal and quickly scanned the letter. He nodded. ‘Are you able to give Goodluck a reply from me? Will you be seeing him again?’
‘I’m not sure. Perhaps.’
‘If you see him, tell him to meet me at the Dun Cow by Bishopsgate the day after tomorrow.’ He rolled up the letter and slid it carefully inside his shirt. ‘Between six and seven o’clock of the evening. By then, I should have what he requires.’
‘And if I don’t see him?’
‘Then I shall enjoy two or three tankards of ale, and go home that night a merrier man.’ He smiled and held out his hands to her. ‘Come, kiss me and get yourself safely back to court. It was dangerous to come this far north of the city. The theatre is no place for you.’
‘I was brought up among players,’ she protested.
His gaze moved over her court gown, an ironic gleam in his eyes. ‘I remember it well. But you are too fine a lady for us now. Quick, they have nearly reached my cue.’ He kissed her warmly on the lips and Lucy pulled back a little in surprise, lowering her gaze before his. To her relief, he did not seem to notice. ‘Don’t forget my message to Goodluck. Do you need me to repeat it?’
‘I have it perfect.’
Twist laughed, sweeping his voluminous black cloak over his arm as he bowed. ‘Farewell then, Mistress Morgan. We’ll make a spy of you yet.’
‘I hope not. Spies have short lives. I’d rather not end up with my head rotting on a pike above London Bridge.’
‘Such a pretty head too,’ Twist murmured, and smiled at her in a way she found rather uncomfortable.
Six
GOODLUCK DRAGGED HIS cloak tighter and set his head against the driving rain, his hat soaked, boots squelching in the muddy quagmire that was Bishopsgate. He was early, and deliberately so. He did not doubt John Twist, but a certain measure of caution was always required when there were others involved in a meeting. The Catholic informant he had asked to meet might have been followed, or even have changed his mind and betrayed them. Either way, Goodluck wanted to look over the place in advance, not least to see whether anyone else was engaged in the same activity.
Lucy’s message had been brief: a time and place only, scrawled hurriedly in code, with no signature. Goodluck had recognized both the hand and the code though, not needing to see the name.
The note had reached him via Lucy’s cloaked and hooded maid, a frightened-looking girl who had handed it over without a word and then fled, not even glancing at the penny Goodluck had held out to her. No doubt the girl had been taught that players were next to beggars, and as likely to rape her and slit her throat as give her a penny for her trouble. And with some players, he thought drily, she would not be wrong.
Lucy had certainly made some powerful friends since that summer at Kenilworth when she had first come to the Queen’s attention. To have her own maid was a mark of the respect and wealthy patronage she must be receiving at court.
Goodluck could not help feeling a little uneasy, though. There had been something brittle about Lucy when they had met outside the Cross Keys Inn. Life at court had changed his ward over the past few years, and not for the better. Lucy was no longer the sweet-faced innocent he remembered from her childhood, that little girl whose smile had lit up his heart. But he was willing to swear she was still untouched, still a virgin.
Goodluck paused outside the Dun Cow, glancing up at the ancient building, which leaned to one side and was so dilapidated it could not be long before it was knocked down to make way for some new hostelry. The mud-spattered door was closed and the narrow front windows had been
‘I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s too dangerous. If the Queen discovers that I have left court without permission, I will be punished.’
‘Of course, forgive me.’ John Twist broke the seal and quickly scanned the letter. He nodded. ‘Are you able to give Goodluck a reply from me? Will you be seeing him again?’
‘I’m not sure. Perhaps.’
‘If you see him, tell him to meet me at the Dun Cow by Bishopsgate the day after tomorrow.’ He rolled up the letter and slid it carefully inside his shirt. ‘Between six and seven o’clock of the evening. By then, I should have what he requires.’
‘And if I don’t see him?’
‘Then I shall enjoy two or three tankards of ale, and go home that night a merrier man.’ He smiled and held out his hands to her. ‘Come, kiss me and get yourself safely back to court. It was dangerous to come this far north of the city. The theatre is no place for you.’
‘I was brought up among players,’ she protested.
His gaze moved over her court gown, an ironic gleam in his eyes. ‘I remember it well. But you are too fine a lady for us now. Quick, they have nearly reached my cue.’ He kissed her warmly on the lips and Lucy pulled back a little in surprise, lowering her gaze before his. To her relief, he did not seem to notice. ‘Don’t forget my message to Goodluck. Do you need me to repeat it?’
‘I have it perfect.’
Twist laughed, sweeping his voluminous black cloak over his arm as he bowed. ‘Farewell then, Mistress Morgan. We’ll make a spy of you yet.’
‘I hope not. Spies have short lives. I’d rather not end up with my head rotting on a pike above London Bridge.’
‘Such a pretty head too,’ Twist murmured, and smiled at her in a way she found rather uncomfortable.
Six
GOODLUCK DRAGGED HIS cloak tighter and set his head against the driving rain, his hat soaked, boots squelching in the muddy quagmire that was Bishopsgate. He was early, and deliberately so. He did not doubt John Twist, but a certain measure of caution was always required when there were others involved in a meeting. The Catholic informant he had asked to meet might have been followed, or even have changed his mind and betrayed them. Either way, Goodluck wanted to look over the place in advance, not least to see whether anyone else was engaged in the same activity.
Lucy’s message had been brief: a time and place only, scrawled hurriedly in code, with no signature. Goodluck had recognized both the hand and the code though, not needing to see the name.
The note had reached him via Lucy’s cloaked and hooded maid, a frightened-looking girl who had handed it over without a word and then fled, not even glancing at the penny Goodluck had held out to her. No doubt the girl had been taught that players were next to beggars, and as likely to rape her and slit her throat as give her a penny for her trouble. And with some players, he thought drily, she would not be wrong.
Lucy had certainly made some powerful friends since that summer at Kenilworth when she had first come to the Queen’s attention. To have her own maid was a mark of the respect and wealthy patronage she must be receiving at court.
Goodluck could not help feeling a little uneasy, though. There had been something brittle about Lucy when they had met outside the Cross Keys Inn. Life at court had changed his ward over the past few years, and not for the better. Lucy was no longer the sweet-faced innocent he remembered from her childhood, that little girl whose smile had lit up his heart. But he was willing to swear she was still untouched, still a virgin.
Goodluck paused outside the Dun Cow, glancing up at the ancient building, which leaned to one side and was so dilapidated it could not be long before it was knocked down to make way for some new hostelry. The mud-spattered door was closed and the narrow front windows had been
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