“You are too cold,” Seymour announced. “You must come with me and warm yourself.”
I did not answer, my heart pounding as I pretended that etiquette prevented me from conversing with my betters.
My thoughts, in contrast, were roiling, my previous fear of Seymour mixing with rage. This man had intruded on my person—I had no doubt he’d thought himself doing me a favor—and I trusted him not one whit. He was busy manipulating Master Parry and Aunt Kat, and by extension, Elizabeth, to obtain all that he wanted.
He was a lofty man not caring who he stepped on to make himself still more lofty.
Seymour’s teeth worked his lower lip, making his beard move. He seemed in no hurry, and his men assumed the stoic expressions of soldiers awaiting orders.
“You must have passed the gates of Durham Place to reach here,” Seymour said. “A magnificent house, is it not? Even if the stink of the river mars it.”
He obviously wanted some response, so I murmured, “Yes, my lord.”
“Our lady would rejoice to see it once more for her use, I believe.” Seymour didn’t bother to modulate his voice, no matter how many stood in the street around us. “As I have discussed with her clever Master Parry. It shall be, and so much more, very soon.”
He gave me a nod, perhaps expecting me to utter words of delight. Or maybe he wished me to rush straight back to Elizabeth and share with her the intriguing hints the Lord High Admiral had dropped to me in the middle of the Strand.
I contrived a blank expression, pretending not to understand him. Seymour’s eyes narrowed, and his ingratiating smile faded.
“You will come with me, little seamstress. I have need of you.”
Seymour did not reach for me but instead jerked his head at his attendants. The men wheeled about with precision and proceeded to herd me back past Temple Bar and along the Strand the way they had come.
I intended to slip away the first moment I was able, but for now I was hemmed in by guardsmen with swords and pikes. My maid and footman had vanished, and I hoped they’d fled back to Aunt Kat for help.
I wondered what Seymour meant to do—confine me in one of his houses until he pried out of me what he could about Elizabeth? Or were his designs darker than simply wanting information?
I believed Seymour was not above holding me captive until Elizabeth agreed to aid him. Speculating what he would do to me while I was in his power reawakened my direst fears. Seymour was a ruthless man, and I was no one very important.
“Eloise Rousell, where do you go?”
Never had my uncle’s deep voice sounded so beloved. The tall figure of Uncle John broke through Seymour’s retinue, he the most welcome sight in the world.
“Why are you in London, niece?” Uncle John went on, as though Seymour and his men were not there at all.
Seymour scowled at the interruption, but I watched him check whatever sharp words had sprung to his tongue. He knew Uncle John for a trusted gentleman of Elizabeth’s household, one he could not manipulate.
“Ashley,” Seymour said in a neutral tone.
Uncle John bowed diffidently. “Your lordship.”
I wondered what excuse Seymour would offer for attempting to kidnap me, but he did not bother to explain. His flattering, beguiling manner returned, though I could have told him it would not work with Uncle John.
“The seamstress is a credit to you and your good wife,” Seymour said.
“Your lordship is kind,” Uncle John replied stiffly.
“I will make you a gift. Some trifle, to express my appreciation for looking after Her Grace so well.”
Alarm flickered through me, which I saw reflected in Uncle John’s eyes. Accepting a gift, even a small token, could be interpreted as conferring loyalty to Seymour, and pledging loyalties was a dangerous pastime these days.
“You are kind, my lord,” Uncle John repeated. “But serving the princess is reward enough for us.”
Seymour made a negligent flick of his fingers. “A bauble, perhaps, that your niece might present to the princess. I will send a messenger to her at Whitehall.”
A man of single-mindedness was Seymour. He sought even now to learn whether we had traveled to London in Elizabeth’s company.
“Her Grace is not at court,” Uncle John said without changing expression. “I left her in Hatfield.”
