Into the Dim (Into the Dim, #1)(53)

“Madam,” Thomas said. “Surely—”

Eleanor’s voice turned to a malevolent whisper. “I said release her.”

The priest’s fingers burrowed viciously into my skin before he let go. Dropping a choppy bow, he spoke through clenched teeth. “As you say, Your Grace.”

Becket backed toward the door, clearly furious. “If that will be all, madam, I shall get back to the king. I’m quite certain he’ll be interested in what happened here today.”

Still petrified, I wanted to rub my aching arm, but refused to give Becket the satisfaction.

“Ah, yes. I am told that since we’ve arrived, you are always buzzing in my husband’s ear. And that in turn you have a thousand little bees of your own, scattered throughout this city, whom you pay to buzz news of my kingdom to you. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.” The queen’s hand idly caressed her belly as she bestowed a malicious smile on the priest.

At the door, Becket turned and began to stomp toward the door, his earlier arrogant, gliding step forgotten.

“Oh, Thomas,” Eleanor called.

Becket’s lips were white as he swiveled to face the queen.

“You know what they say about bees, don’t you?”

Thomas Becket glowered but said nothing.

“Bees,” she said, “are ruled by a queen. Not a king.”

Thomas Becket jabbed a bow and fled. Dead silence ruled the chamber for a beat, before the tension slowly bled away. Everyone began chattering among themselves, though Eleanor’s eyes remained fixed on the door.

Sister Hectare placed a gnarled hand on the queen’s arm and whispered to her.

Eleanor blinked hard and shook her head as if throwing off disturbing thoughts. “Yes,” she said. “Of course he will. Henry’s always taken my view in the end.”

The nun mouthed a few more words to the queen that I could not hear.

“Tell me your name again, child?” I startled when the queen addressed me. For a moment, I thought she’d forgotten all about me. But her eyes were fixed on me now with a sharp curiosity.

“Mistress Hope Walton, Your Ma—Your Grace.”

Careful. I’d almost said “Your Majesty,” a term that wouldn’t come into play until the reign of Henry VIII.

“The good sister here informs me you’ve come searching for your cousin?”

My gaze shot to Rachel, who stood pale and shaking at my side. She nodded, though, encouraging me.

“Yes, Your Grace,” I managed. “My cousin Sarah de Carlyle.”

“Yes, yes.” She waved her royal hand dismissively and picked up her quill. “After Rachel spoke of you, Sister Hectare made inquiries, I believe. Tell the girl what you’ve learned, Sister.”

The ancient woman’s voice creaked like an unoiled door. “All the barons of the land will be here tonight at Your Grace’s precoronation feast. Lady Sarah’s name is de Carlyle no longer, of course, but she and her husband will be in attendance.”

For an instant, all I felt was an overwhelming thrill of exhilaration. Of triumph. My mother. Here. Then the rest of the nun’s words penetrated, and I could only blink at her.

Husband? The words tangled in my mouth. “I’m sorry, but my c-cousin is not married, sister. You aren’t . . . I mean, you don’t have the wrong person in mind, do you?”

“I don’t believe so, child,” Hectare replied kindly. “Though these old ears could have heard wrong.”

Thoughts of my father laughing quietly with Stella Montgomery began to thread through my mind. Shock turned slowly to anger at how easily they’d both given up.

Apparently I’m the only one in this family with any damn loyalty.

I had to go. Had to get out of there before I puked all over the queen of England’s pretty bejeweled slippers. I had to think this through. I knew my mom. No matter what kind of situation she’d faced, my mother always, always did what she wanted. Sarah Walton didn’t compromise. There must have been a reason. A plan.

A servant signaled to Rachel, who tugged on my arm. “We are dismissed.”

We backed away from the now-distracted royal. As we reached the door, Sister Hectare scrambled around the table and approached us.

“Mistress Hope,” she said, “the queen enjoys interfering with that prying priest. He hates women in general, and learned ones even more. But make no mistake, you’ve made an enemy in Becket here today, so take heed. The queen’s protection extends only so far.” The little nun bestowed a sweet, toothless grin to soften her words. Her face folded into a million wrinkles. “In any case, Her Grace would like to extend a personal invitation for you and your family to attend the feast tonight. There, I believe, you shall find the woman you are searching for.”





Chapter 25


“YOU’RE NOT BEING FAIR, HOPE.” PHOEBE’S TEETH CHATTERED as our rented sled lined up with hundreds of others. Sleds, sleighs, and riders on horseback, filed out the city gate, headed for the Palace of Westminster and its nearby Abbey. “First of all, you don’t even know for sure the woman they mentioned is our Sarah.”

I nodded, though I did know. I knew it in my heart. After we returned to the house and I revealed what I’d learned, I’d sunk into a depression that left me wrung out and numb.