Read Online The Quality of Mercy by Faye Kellerman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Faye Kellerman
Tags: Drama, Fiction, General, Historical, Mystery & Detective, Literary Criticism, Contemporary Women, Shakespeare, Dramatists
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up. The juices of his stomach had eaten up the stew hours ago.
The stew, he thought. He recollected tiny pieces of fleshy vegetable mixed with roots, leeks, and mutton.
Mad apple!
He shuddered. Had the stew contained eggplant as well as rat’s bane? Poison was not enough for the doctor’s delight. He was trying to drive him mad as well!
He’d take no more meals with the evil ones!
Suddenly he smiled. He was safe — at least temporarily. How much he had overheard! How many “secret” letters he had read! How much he knew! Lopez had disregarded his own rules — destroy anything written, talk softly, trust no one.
And then there was Nan Humbert — the Ames’s chambermaid. All he had to do was pray with the withered, Puritan biddy and she’d sing much about the family whispers. She had bigger and better ears than he did.
De Andrada started to plan his defense.
Who was Lopez pitted against? Who loathed Lopez as much as Don Antonio…. No, that wasn’t it. Who loathed
Lopez
more than
he
detested the doctor himself —
and
had the power to turn his hatred into action? Certainly not Lord Burghley. He and Lopez had become friends of late. Not his crookback son Robert Cecil either.
Who?
Why, the ambitious red-haired youth with the fair face and the choleric temperament.
Essex!
He would ingratiate himself with Essex. Offer to spy against Lopez in order to secure the lord’s favor.
The smile widened to a grin.
Essex. Such an impetuous cock. He’d do anything to advance his War Party. It was no secret that the lord longed for war — for an astounding military victory over Spain, with him at the head of the troops. How Essex hungered for power, the cheers and adulation of his countrymen, the admiration of his peers. How he ached to win the hand of Eliza. Oh yes, it was the crown of England that the lord desired. It was no secret at all. Even Her Majesty knew his wants.
But the High Treasurer, Lord Burghley, and Lopez were obstacles, both secretly advocating peace with the King of Spain to Her Majesty. Lord Essex was bound to welcome his help, would receive Manuel de Andrada with much cheer, heaping angels upon him as payment for well-executed spying.
Of course, there was the small matter of Antony Bacon, Essex’s spy master. De Andrada would have to convince him that he was trustworthy. Bacon was a clever man, exceedingly wary. But hadn’t he, Manuel de Andrada, fooled other equally clever men? Bacon was but one small obstacle to overcome.
De Andrada felt confident and congratulated himself for a scheme so brilliant.
He hugged himself harder, tighter, squeezing his knees against his chest.
Eat no food. Not even the fruit in the bowl.
But he was hungry.
One bite of apple?
Nay, do not succumb. It is all vile.
A half bite?
Not even a lick
.
He would not give up without a fight! He would scrape and bite and claw and kick, but he would not give up without a fight. If he would lose his head, so would a witch doctor.
Rebecca lay atop her feather mattress, wondering how her father was planning her future. She had no idea how late it was as she couldn’t see the sand glass on the mantel opposite her bed. Yet she refused to light her candle, consuming solace once again from the darkness. Her chamber walls, like those in her uncle’s Great Hall, had been draped in black cloth, hiding the arras work and tapestries. She felt as though she were sleeping in a bat’s cave. The sole illumination came from moonbeams streaking through her bedchamber’s window. They fell upon the table next to her bed, highlighting the pitcher and washbasin on the tabletop. Outside, the winds whistled through the shutters, swayed the boughs of the newly budded trees, kicking up eddies of dirt and dust, a moving sketch done in charcoal and framed by the window sash.
Her future. If only she had some control over her destiny. Her life, always in the hands of another — her elders, her cousins, her brother, God — in any
The stew, he thought. He recollected tiny pieces of fleshy vegetable mixed with roots, leeks, and mutton.
Mad apple!
He shuddered. Had the stew contained eggplant as well as rat’s bane? Poison was not enough for the doctor’s delight. He was trying to drive him mad as well!
He’d take no more meals with the evil ones!
Suddenly he smiled. He was safe — at least temporarily. How much he had overheard! How many “secret” letters he had read! How much he knew! Lopez had disregarded his own rules — destroy anything written, talk softly, trust no one.
And then there was Nan Humbert — the Ames’s chambermaid. All he had to do was pray with the withered, Puritan biddy and she’d sing much about the family whispers. She had bigger and better ears than he did.
De Andrada started to plan his defense.
Who was Lopez pitted against? Who loathed Lopez as much as Don Antonio…. No, that wasn’t it. Who loathed
Lopez
more than
he
detested the doctor himself —
and
had the power to turn his hatred into action? Certainly not Lord Burghley. He and Lopez had become friends of late. Not his crookback son Robert Cecil either.
Who?
Why, the ambitious red-haired youth with the fair face and the choleric temperament.
Essex!
He would ingratiate himself with Essex. Offer to spy against Lopez in order to secure the lord’s favor.
The smile widened to a grin.
Essex. Such an impetuous cock. He’d do anything to advance his War Party. It was no secret that the lord longed for war — for an astounding military victory over Spain, with him at the head of the troops. How Essex hungered for power, the cheers and adulation of his countrymen, the admiration of his peers. How he ached to win the hand of Eliza. Oh yes, it was the crown of England that the lord desired. It was no secret at all. Even Her Majesty knew his wants.
But the High Treasurer, Lord Burghley, and Lopez were obstacles, both secretly advocating peace with the King of Spain to Her Majesty. Lord Essex was bound to welcome his help, would receive Manuel de Andrada with much cheer, heaping angels upon him as payment for well-executed spying.
Of course, there was the small matter of Antony Bacon, Essex’s spy master. De Andrada would have to convince him that he was trustworthy. Bacon was a clever man, exceedingly wary. But hadn’t he, Manuel de Andrada, fooled other equally clever men? Bacon was but one small obstacle to overcome.
De Andrada felt confident and congratulated himself for a scheme so brilliant.
He hugged himself harder, tighter, squeezing his knees against his chest.
Eat no food. Not even the fruit in the bowl.
But he was hungry.
One bite of apple?
Nay, do not succumb. It is all vile.
A half bite?
Not even a lick
.
He would not give up without a fight! He would scrape and bite and claw and kick, but he would not give up without a fight. If he would lose his head, so would a witch doctor.
Rebecca lay atop her feather mattress, wondering how her father was planning her future. She had no idea how late it was as she couldn’t see the sand glass on the mantel opposite her bed. Yet she refused to light her candle, consuming solace once again from the darkness. Her chamber walls, like those in her uncle’s Great Hall, had been draped in black cloth, hiding the arras work and tapestries. She felt as though she were sleeping in a bat’s cave. The sole illumination came from moonbeams streaking through her bedchamber’s window. They fell upon the table next to her bed, highlighting the pitcher and washbasin on the tabletop. Outside, the winds whistled through the shutters, swayed the boughs of the newly budded trees, kicking up eddies of dirt and dust, a moving sketch done in charcoal and framed by the window sash.
Her future. If only she had some control over her destiny. Her life, always in the hands of another — her elders, her cousins, her brother, God — in any
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