The Virgin's Spy (Tudor Legacy #2)(66)

He clattered into Hampton Court in as much of a lather as his horse and darted through courtyards and up staircases that were less populated than usual, a fact that increased his tension. Finally he spotted someone who could direct him—Lord Burghley’s son Robert—and hailed him.

“We had word from the queen,” Kit said.

Robert, a year younger than Kit, nodded once. “I’ll take you in.”

Not, as it turned out, to Anabel or the queen, but to Burghley himself. He did not look surprised to see Kit. “You came on fast,” he observed. “Your family is with you?”

“A few hours behind.”

“Good. Anabel has been asking for your sister.”

Only for Pippa? “Tell me how she is.”

“Sit down,” Burghley said gently. And when Kit didn’t move, added, “You won’t do her any good looming over me.”

Kit sat abruptly, like a marionette with all its strings cut.

“Good.” Burghley always had an air of calm about him and he seemed to be trying to communicate it to Kit now. “Four days ago Her Majesty and the Princess of Wales had something of a disagreement. Not to put too fine a point upon it, the princess was in a raging temper and determined to leave court at once. She put her household in motion to ride to Ludlow the next day. But by dawn she had been stricken with fever and other symptoms.”

“Tertian fever? Flux? What’s wrong with her?”

“The physicians have diagnosed scarlatina. It is an illness more common in children. It began with a fever and sore throat, and some stomach distress. This morning a rash appeared.”

Kit didn’t like the sound of that. “Spots? They’re certain it’s not smallpox?”

“They’re certain. At this point, it is the fever that is the greatest concern. It’s remained high and she seems to be suffering from side effects.”

Was he going to have to drag everything out of the damned man? With tight jaw, Kit said, “Just tell me the worst.”

For a moment there was an entirely too knowledgeable look of compassion on Burghley’s face. Then the politician returned. “Anabel is seeing things that aren’t there. And she has taken a violent dislike to some of her attendants, accusing them of wanting her to die. The only one she has been completely at ease with is your sister, Lucette. And as I said, she has been asking for Lady Philippa.” Burghley paused. “And you.”

“Then I’m going to her.” Kit stood.

“I don’t think so.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“The queen can, and she will.”

Even while Burghley was speaking, Kit shoved his way out the door, into the corridors that would lead him to Anabel’s chambers. Burghley followed, trying to hold him back.

“Lord Christopher, if you would only listen—”

He wouldn’t listen and he wouldn’t slow. Two guards stood outside Anabel’s door. At Burghley’s resigned signal they allowed Kit through. He stepped into Anabel’s presence chamber and hesitated, disoriented. The high-ceilinged chamber, usually flooded with light from the windows overlooking Clock Court, was shrouded in gloom. Heavy velvet curtains of emerald green gave the space a claustrophobic feel, as though one were trapped underwater. At any given time Kit would have expected to find a dozen or more clerks and courtiers waiting upon Anabel, but today there were only two people—Queen Elizabeth and Lucie’s husband Julien.

Without a word, Kit strode across the presence chamber toward the inner door that would lead him nearer to Anabel. By the time he reached it, Julien blocked his way.

“Sorry,” Julien said.

Kit whirled on Queen Elizabeth. “She wants me,” he said flatly. “I’m going in.”

“Lord Burghley,” she ordered, “summon Lucette to speak to her brother.”

“Lucie can’t stop me any more than you can,” Kit warned. “Burghley told me she’s scared and seeing things—if she wants me, why in God’s name won’t you let me in?”

“Because you haven’t had scarlatina,” Lucette said, easing through the privy chamber door to stand next to her husband. “It’s contagious.”

“I don’t give a damn. And if it’s so contagious, why are you in there? Didn’t your husband try and stop you?”

“I have had scarlatina,” Lucette answered calmly. “So have Stephen and Pippa. I was nine years old—you were five. It was the spring you broke your ankle, remember? You stayed at Tiverton with Father and Carrie while Mother took the rest of us to Wynfield Mote. While the three of us were there, we all had scarlatina together. There’s little danger to me now, but quite a lot to you.”

“I don’t bloody care!”

Not unkindly, Lucie said, “When Mother and Father are here, you can take it up with them. But not now, Kit. I’m sorry. And honestly, I don’t think Anabel would even know you were there.”

Kit looked from his sister’s compassionate and weary face to Julien, who stared back at Kit as though daring him to make a move. Julien’s loyalties were entirely with Lucie—he would keep her brother out by force if she wanted him to.

“Fine.” He forced himself to speak. “I should change anyway after the ride. But the minute Mother and Father arrive, I’m going in there. Is that clear?”