“Indeed. Do not flog yourself for not being tortured in the Tower with the others.”
Colby’s eyes flashed with recrimination at himself. “They have not named me. They truly believe they die for the betterment of England, but they wish to leave enough of us alive to try again.”
“Try again?” I echoed in renewed excitement.
“Good Lord, Eloise, you sound eager. Women should cringe in their chambers, not dash to be in the middle of things.”
“You do not know women well then,” I said. “We are far more ruthless than the gentlemen, when we see a need. I am willing to fight for Elizabeth. She is my lady. Why should this puzzle you?”
A smile crossed his lips. “Thinking of my mother, I well believe in the ruthlessness of women.”
Learning that Colby had something so human as a mother made my interest quicken. “Your mother? Have I seen her at court?”
“No, no. She died years ago. My father as well, the better for this business.” Colby shook his head. “If something happens to me, I cannot harm others connected to me, because I have no more connections.”
Colby had lost his wife, and he’d never spoken of brothers or sisters. A man alone in the world. Sorrow should hang heavy on him, but he was resilient.
“Is that why you are willing to risk your life for all?” I asked. “Because you have nothing to lose?”
He shrugged. “Not the only reason, but the fact that no one else will be punished for my crimes allows me to act more resolutely.”
“Well, I should be sorry if you were put to the block.” I strove to keep my tone light. “Even though you have dragged me into your plot—quite literally at times. But I should not like to see you suffer, so I am happy they have not named you.”
Colby studied me, his unruly hair framing a strong face, his chin dusted with golden-red stubble.
“I am sorry now that I did drag you into it.” Colby brushed my cheek with the backs of his fingers, his hand warm despite the coolness of the passageway. “You ought to be creating famous costumes for queens, not mucking about in conspiracies.”
“Elizabeth’s downfall would likely be mine,” I said without hesitation. “I may as well help keep her safe.”
Colby let out a breath and removed his touch, my face growing colder without it. “Take care, Eloise.”
“I always take great care, Master Colby,” I returned with sincerity. I walked away from him then, feeling him watching me all the way.
We remained at Whitehall for three weeks without word from Mary, to Elizabeth’s growing frustration.
Thomas Wyatt went to his trial, was pronounced guilty, and condemned to die. Wyatt admitted to sending messages to Elizabeth but constantly declared she’d provided him with no answer or made no sign of condoning, or even knowing about, the rebellion.
Elizabeth’s gentleman who’d gave Wyatt her response admitted to it, but the council had nothing in writing and nothing could be proved. It began to seem as though Elizabeth might be spared.
I dared hope Mary would simply send Elizabeth back to Ashridge and ignore her again. As the days dragged by and nothing happened, my hopes increased.
But I had not calculated the influence that the Spanish ambassador Renard and Bishop Gardiner had on Mary.
“She brings evil to this realm,” they whispered into Mary’s ears. “Courtenay and Elizabeth should lose their heads,” Renard stressed. “It is the only way to keep peace.”
Bishop Gardiner had always been fond of Edward Courtenay, and it was likely that only his affection saved the young man. Gardiner had no affection for Elizabeth, however, and fed Mary malevolent thoughts.
A few days after Wyatt’s trial, I heard hurrying footsteps in the passageway outside the room where I sewed with Aunt Kat. A maid I’d asked to report to me what went on in the castle outside our chambers burst in upon us.
Out of breath, her hair straggling from its pins, she panted, “They are coming. They are coming for Her Grace. We are undone.”
She began to weep loudly until Aunt Kat shook her to be quiet.
I hurried to the inner chamber and found Elizabeth rising from her chair, the books she’d been reading falling to the floor in a flutter of pages.
“Quickly, Eloise, my gown.”
I knew what she wanted. I hurried to the wardrobe and gathered up a velvet and gold ensemble I’d finished after our arrival and hastily laced it on her. I positioned her near the window, angling her body to catch the light on the fabric, her overskirts coyly revealing the glittering brocade of the underskirt.
