Automatically I clapped my hands to my arms, seeking the cool metal of my knives. All I encountered was bare flesh.
Twenty-Six
THE YOUNG MAN RAISED HIS SWORD. BEHIND HIM, his companions watched without expression. My eyes darted around the room, searching for a possible weapon. Framed paintings, heavy drapes, white marble busts, and candles in their holders—a motley assortment, but they presented distinct possibilities.
“Come now, she’s only a girl,” Robert said. He looked at me and Lady Katherine and mouthed, Run!
We didn’t move. Through the brown wool doublet of the young man I had stabbed I could see the outline of something long and cylindrical. The vial. It had to be. As long as it was in this room, I wasn’t going anywhere else.
I turned my head a few degrees to the left, catching the shimmer of candlelight on the walls. An iron bracket was only a dozen feet away from me; an instant’s work, and it would be in my hand, a serviceable weapon.
“Your friends seem to have abandoned you, Your Grace,” said the tallest man in a heavy Yorkshire accent; he was the one Robert had called “Sir Vaughan.” His sword rang against his scabbard as he pulled it free.
The young man moved toward me, holding his sword outstretched so its tip grazed my bust. Through the layers of my clothes I could feel the point of the sword, icy cold and sharp. One thrust of his wrist and I was dead. I couldn’t rip my eyes from his—they were as angry as I remembered, dark brown, the fragile skin beneath them smudged with fatigue.
“I will enjoy this,” he said. “I hope you suffer as much pain as you put me through.”
“Don’t hurt her!” Robert shouted. Lady Katherine screamed my name.
Footsteps thundered from the corridor. The three men looked toward the entryway. This was my chance. I jumped backward. With a guttural cry of rage, the young man slashed the empty air where I had stood seconds ago. He advanced on me, cutting wildly at nothing. I stumbled back again to avoid the arc of his blade. From the edge of my vision, I caught the pale gleam of a life-sized carved marble head. Only a foot away.
I seized it. The bust hadn’t been affixed to its display pillar, and it lifted easily in my hands. The accursed thing was so heavy I stumbled backward a few paces, my arms buckling under its weight. The young man came closer, his teeth bared in a snarl. Without another thought I flung the bust directly at his stomach as hard as I could.
The bust glanced off his belly to land on the floor, breaking in two with a resounding crack. He let out a harsh cry. Behind him, men raced into the room, their swords already in their hands. They were Robert’s friends who had ridden here with me—he must have alerted them before leaving the ballroom. Robert shouted something I couldn’t make out, and the newcomers flung themselves at Sir Vaughan and his men. The air filled with the sound of steel hitting steel and muffled grunts.
The young man sank to his knees, clutching his belly and gasping for breath. The vial! I had to get it before he fell on his stomach and crushed it!
I shoved him onto his back just as someone else landed on the ground at my feet. It was the fair-haired boy who had escorted me into Buckingham’s home. He had collapsed face-first, his wig pillowing out on either side to hide his face. Blood seeped from beneath his body, in a widening arc of dark red.
Something hot and sick swooped in my stomach. I looked away. Sir Vaughan’s young man lay on his back, whimpering. His hands rubbed his belly; his eyes bulged. Around his neck was looped a white string; it disappeared beneath his clothes. I grabbed the string, giving it a hard yank. Its knotted ends broke, the string slackening in my hands. I pulled on it, drawing something from beneath his shirt. It was a leather pouch, no bigger than my hand, and the color of dried mud. I closed my fingers around it. Inside was an object that felt hard and roundish—the vial.
He made a wild grab for it. I pushed him aside with my free hand, then jumped to my feet. Lady Katherine stood beneath the archway, her hands knotted in her skirts. In the center of the room, Sir Vaughan and his remaining assistant stood back to back, their swords flashing silver. Robert and his friends had surrounded them. As the men parried and thrust, they shuffled up and down the aisle created by the rows of pillars, their shouts and the clash of their blades so loud it was a wonder the houseful of ballroom guests hadn’t come running yet.
Robert had a cut on his cheek. Above the wine-dark line, his eyes were narrowed and fierce. As I watched, he plunged his sword into Sir Vaughan’s stomach.
Sir Vaughan fell to the floor. A dark hole had appeared in his doublet. Blood began pouring from it, black against the brown wool. He scrabbled at his belly, trying to hold the severed flesh together. “My God,” he gasped out.
My hands started shaking. Dazed, I staggered backward a few steps. Robert crouched beside Sir Vaughan and grabbed the man by the front of his doublet. “Where is it?” he demanded. “Give it to me!”
“I have it!” I shouted. “We have to get away from here!”
I turned and fled. Get out, get out, get out, each beat of my heart screamed. I barreled past Lady Katherine through the chamber entrance. “Come with me!” I shouted at her.
The corridor was empty. No, I couldn’t return in the direction from which I had come—the king and Buckingham might be walking along that portion of the passageway even now, believing they were heading to their meeting with Sir Vaughan and his assistants.
I ran in the opposite direction, my cursed skirts wrapping around my legs and nearly pitching me headlong onto the floor. I kicked myself loose and kept going.
Somewhere behind me, someone was shouting my name—it might have been Robert. Up ahead, a door sharpened into focus; an oblong of varnished wood, it stood at the end of the passageway. I flung it open. Cool night air wafted over my face. I had reached a garden, its manicured hedges and grass shining with moonlight.
I raced down the steps. I must have come through a side door, for I didn’t recognize my surroundings. The hedges rose all around me, forbidding and dark, walls within which I might easily lose my way. Overhead, stars pricked the black veil of the sky, casting a pale sheen of silver over the grass that I ran across. I kept the leather pouch clutched to my chest, my grip tight as a vise.
Footsteps thudded in the grass behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. Robert. He was running hard, his hand clapped to his sheathed sword to keep it from banging into his legs. The moonlight had drained all color from his face, except for his dark eyes and the cut beneath, which was still dripping.
“Elizabeth!” he yelled. “Get to the street—I have a carriage waiting!”
I reached the Strand. Skidding to a halt on the pavement, I cast a desperate look up and down the street. It was lined with carriages, probably those belonging to the ball guests. A handful of groomsmen stood several feet away, smoking and talking in low voices. Where was Robert’s? I took a step forward just as a hand clamped onto my wrist. I twisted around to stare into Robert’s face.
“Are you hurt?” He lifted a hand to touch my cheek, the gesture so gentle and so unexpected that I started in surprise. “Come into the carriage with me—we have to get away before my father figures out what has happened.”
“Where’s Lady Katherine?”
“I told her to return to the ballroom. Hopefully no one noticed her absence, and she can pretend ignorance once those men are discovered in Buckingham’s Great Chamber.”
The front doors of Buckingham’s mansion opened. A couple of footmen stepped outside, their heads turning as if they were looking for someone. Buckingham appeared behind them. He was yelling something unintelligible and gesturing wildly. We had to leave at once.
“Let’s go,” I said.
Robert grabbed my arm, directing me toward a nearby carriage. Its doors were emblazoned in gold paint with a coat of arms: a lion and a unicorn, like the king’s, but linking these two animals in flowery script was a massive L, for “Lockton.” It must be Robert’s.
The groomsman stiffened to attention and
opened the carriage door. Robert scrambled inside first, then turned to help me up. Together we sank onto the cushioned seat just as figures appeared on the pavement outside: it was the remaining four of Robert’s friends. Without a word, they clambered in after us. Robert thumped the roof of the carriage.
“Go!” he shouted.
The carriage rumbled forward. For a moment, the six of us said nothing, filling the carriage with only the sound of our ragged breathing. We were crammed so tightly into the small space that I could barely move. I kept my hands wrapped around the leather pouch in my lap.
Gauden sat opposite me. He glanced at my bundle, his eyes narrowed. “Don’t open it,” he said sharply.
“Surely we can look at the substance we’ve sacrificed so much to obtain,” said the dark-haired fellow sitting next to me. On my other side, Robert sighed and shook his head.
Sir Gauden scowled. “The only people known to have looked at its contents were Mr. Galilei and Mr. Milton, and they both went blind. It may be a coincidence . . . but it may not.”
Something about his words pushed a gear within my mind. Frowning, I looked out the window, watching the darkened streets roll past. Gauden was correct, of course; my father and Galileo had lost their sight, and at this juncture we could only guess at the cause of their ailment. Robert had warned me of the same thing when we found the vial in the Physic Garden.
But that didn’t make sense. In my mind, I could see Robert standing in the spare room at the Bodleian Library, his arms crossed over his chest, listening as Antonio and I discussed my father’s sonnet about a young shepherdess tending a non-native plant. He had interrupted when Antonio brought up Galileo’s knowledge of astronomy. Who’s Signor Galilei? he had asked. Before we could offer an explanation, he’d continued, You needn’t seek any heavenly ground in Oxford. The only special land around here is the Physic Garden.
Yet only a couple of hours later, after we had dug up my father’s box, he warned us not to open the vial. Mr. Milton complained of a headache after viewing its contents, and we mustn’t forget both he and Galileo went blind.
It was impossible for him to have known about Galileo’s blindness. Robert, Antonio, and I had spent the afternoon at the inn, closeted in our own chambers, until Antonio brought me supper. Antonio hadn’t had the opportunity to tell Robert about Galileo, and I knew I hadn’t.
The only way Robert could have known about Galileo’s blindness was if he had already studied the man.
Which meant Robert had lied to us.
I sucked in a breath. There could have been no rational reason for Robert to feign ignorance about Galileo . . . unless there was something else he was hiding from me. Something that would come to light if I discovered he was knowledgeable about Galileo. Something he wanted so badly to hide that he had told a seemingly inconsequential lie.
My eyes darted around the carriage. Robert and his four friends sat in silence. One of them wiped blood off his sword on the leg of his breeches; another had produced a flask and was handing it around. Robert sat so close the bones of his shoulder ground into mine. He stared at the pouch on my lap. Passing lantern light illuminated his eyes, turning them into blank, gold discs. Smiling, he looked at me.
“We should reach Lady Katherine’s home soon. With luck, she and Antonio have already left the ball and will meet us there. Then we can figure out our next step.”
My voice sounded hoarse when I replied. “Yes. A good plan.”
The carriage continued rattling through the streets. My mind was spinning. I gazed out the window at the timber-framed houses winding past. What could Robert be concealing from me?
Memories streamed through my head. Robert finding me in the woods, explaining he had learned our route from Francis Sutton. Robert pretending he hadn’t heard of Galileo. In the Physic Garden, Robert rushing off to ask the Oxford tutor which apple trees were not indigenous to England. I could still hear the tutor’s loud voice; could still hear his Yorkshire accent. . . .
And then I knew. There had been one tutor and two students. Three men in total, one of whom had spoken with a Yorkshire accent—just like Sir Vaughan.
Vaughan and his men had not only attacked us in the fields outside Oxford, they had been in the Physic Garden earlier that night, too. And Robert had gone to them. He had spoken to them on the pretext of seeking their counsel on non-native apple trees. He had talked with them at close quarters; he must have seen their faces clearly, both in the garden and later in the fields, for the night had been bright with moonlight.
Yet Robert had never shared this detail with Antonio and me. And he had feigned ignorance about Galileo.
He was a liar.
I looked down at my hands cupping the leather pouch. Instinctively they tightened, showing the delicate blue tracery of veins under my skin. Beside me, Robert shifted slightly. His long legs, encased in yellow satin breeches and white stockings, pressed against my skirts. He was so close to me. On my other side, the dark-haired boy stretched out his legs, the tip of his scabbard scraping on the carriage floor. Across from me, the three other men passed a flask, talking in low voices about how furious Buckingham would be when he found the dead bodies in the Great Chamber, their blood splattered on his precious statues.
Nausea roiled my stomach. So they had killed Sir Vaughan and his assistants. I could hope for no mercy from them. Probably the only reason I was still alive was that I hadn’t yet given them a reason to kill me.
So little made sense. Why hadn’t Robert told us that the “tutor” and “students” in the Physic Garden and the men who attacked us had been the same people? By concealing this truth, what had he gained? I felt as though I held one half of a picture; the rest had been ripped away.
“Miss Milton,” Gauden said, “you look unwell. Have you fallen ill?”
“I—some fresh air. Stop the carriage, please.” I prayed they didn’t notice my voice was shaking.
“We can’t stop here,” Robert objected. “Breathe deeply, and you should feel better.”
The men stilled. As one, they fastened their eyes—narrowed, suspicious—on me. Had they guessed I had figured out that Robert was up to—what, exactly? The lie he had told me might have seemed meaningless, but a small lie usually concealed a greater one.
“Very well,” I heard myself saying. “Thank you, Robert.”
Get out, said a voice in my head. Slowly I craned my neck to peer out the window again. Our carriage was moving at a steady clip, but not so fast that I couldn’t jump to the pavement. Around me, the men were talking and laughing, but their voices had retreated to tinny echoes, as if I stood at the opposite end of a long tunnel. My breath crashed in my ears. Get out, said the voice again. Motionless, I watched the street trundling past, thinking. These wealthy men probably didn’t know these streets as well as I did; their money had likely kept them pampered in their homes and their carriages. If I was quick enough, I might be able to get away from them.
No more time to think—I had to act now. I might not have another chance.
I jumped to my feet. As Robert shouted “Elizabeth!” I scrambled over the men’s legs to get at the carriage door. Someone grabbed me around the waist from behind; I kicked at him, my heel connecting with his leg. He released me with a muffled curse.
I wrenched the carriage door open. Wind flung my hair over my face, so all I could see through the waving strands were the cobblestones rushing away beneath us. Taking a quick breath, I squinted at the stones bleeding together and threw myself at them.
The ground surged up to meet me. I landed hard. The instant my feet hit the ground, I was racing forward, making for the swinging beams of lantern light up ahead. Behind me the carriage driver yelled “Whoa!” and the horses’ harnesses jingled as they were pulled. I risked a glance over my shoulder. The carriage was rocking to a stop. Already Robert and his companions were pouring out of it.
I whipped my head around, concentrating on the road ahead. In the distance, a line of lanterns hangi
ng from the fronts of houses shone brightly. A large black gap showed between two of the houses. An alley. With luck, it would twist and turn before spilling into another lane so I could lose my pursuers. I ran faster.
My heel caught in a groove between the cobblestones. With a sharp cry, I pitched forward onto my hands and knees. My palms were on fire. At once I scrambled up, hissing in pain. I started to run, but an arm wrapped around my waist. Even as I struggled in my captor’s grip, a part of my mind registered the fact that it was too late: the men—breathing hard, their swords raised—had surrounded me.
With my free hand I clawed at the man’s arm around my waist. His grip was like iron; I couldn’t budge him at all. I twisted and kicked, straining to break free.
Two of the men stepped back. Robert slithered through the space between them. His eyes were hard. With two strides he reached me, and he grabbed my chin in his gloved hands, turning my face this way and that.
“Why did you run?” he growled.
I said nothing. Blood roared in my ears, so loudly that Robert’s voice sounded tinny and far off, as if he were calling to me from the end of the street. I took a deep breath, the air burning as it traveled down my throat. Be calm, I ordered myself, but my hand holding the pouch to my chest shook badly, the vial knocking against my sternum.
“Very well, stay silent, it doesn’t matter what you have to say.” Robert snapped his fingers at the other men. “You know what to do to her.”
As one, the men moved closer, their circle tightening around me. Frantically I looked up and down the street for a night watchman on his rounds, someone, anyone, but the place seemed deserted, the windows on all the houses shuttered and dark. I opened my mouth to scream for help just as Gauden rushed toward me in such a fast blur of movement that I had only enough time to throw up my free hand for protection before his fist connected with my jaw and the world exploded in a shower of stars that quickly faded into silver pinpricks before vanishing altogether in a pool of black.