My Lady Jane(38)

Mistress Penne, still holding the bowl of broth, clucked her tongue in disapproval.

Edward imagined the nurse’s less-than-slender form stretched on the rack while he dropped poisoned berries into her mouth.

From beside the bed, Pet gave a low growl. Mistress Penne eyed her warily and then exited the room, taking the broth with her.

Edward’s stomach rumbled. He groaned.

Pet whined and licked his hand. He couldn’t quite bring himself to pet her.

He picked up the letter from Jane and read it again.

“My confidant,” he murmured to himself. “My most beloved friend.”

He wondered if he would ever see her again.

That afternoon, his sisters came to visit him, without Dudley or Mistress Penne or even a servant to accompany them.

He couldn’t believe his good luck. He had almost forgotten his sisters in this whole mess, but here they were, Mary and Bess in his room, each holding a box, a present of some kind, both averting their eyes from him as if they couldn’t bear to see how wasted away he had become.

Help had arrived at last, he thought.

His sisters, Mary especially, had connections. Mary’s uncle was the Holy Roman Emperor, who Edward usually counted as a bit of an enemy, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Mary could rally an army for him, a few soldiers, at least. She could oust Lord Dudley, if it came to that. And Bess was tremendously clever. She’d studied books on herbs and medicines, he thought he remembered. Perhaps she could find an antidote for the poison.

“I am glad to see you both,” he breathed, smiling weakly.

“Oh, Eddiekins, we’re so sorry this has happened to you.” Mary put her box on the little table in the corner and moved to sit at the edge of his bed, sending Pet scrambling out of the way of her voluminous skirts.

Mary ignored the dog. She took Edward’s hands in hers and leaned toward him earnestly. Her breath smelled of wine. “I want you to know that I will look after England,” she said, her voice overly loud, like she was making a speech to the masses. “I will restore our country to its former glory. There will be no more of these blasphemous reformational ideas that Father spread in order to justify his own sinful lifestyle. We will root out this E?ian infestation, starting with that horrible Pack that everyone’s talking about. I’ll see them all burn. We will be free of Father’s impurity. I swear it.”

Well, Dudley had been right on that count, Edward thought. Mary hated E?ians. But he had bigger problems at the moment.

He glanced at Bess, who was staring at him intently, then back to Mary. “Listen, both of you.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t have ‘the Affliction.’ Lord Dudley has been poisoning me.”

Mary pulled free of Edward’s grasp.

“Eddie,” she said soothingly. “No one’s trying to harm you. Lord Dudley least of all.”

He scrambled to sit up. “No! He is! You must arrest him!”

Mary’s brow rumpled. “Eddie, my dear boy. The duke has been your trusted advisor for years.”

“He wants the country for himself,” Edward insisted. “He wants me dead.”

There was a moment of heavy silence.

“Why do you think Lord Dudley is attempting to poison you, Edward?” Bess queried then, softly.

“My dog,” he said breathlessly, winded from all this excited talking he was doing. “My dog could smell the poison in my blackberries.”

Both ladies turned to look at Pet, who was sitting on her haunches across the room. The dog rose to her feet uncertainly.

Mary’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Eddie, please. Now is not the time for jokes.”

“I’m not joking,” he protested. “I’ve never been more serious in my life. My dog will tell you. Won’t you, Pet?”

He looked pleadingly at Pet.

She cocked her head at him quizzically.

“Come on, Pet. It’s all right. Show them,” he urged.

They all stared at the dog.

“You think your dog can talk?” Bess said slowly.

“Yes. She’s . . .” An E?ian, he was about to say, but the word died on his lips. Mary had just been talking about how she wanted to purge E?ians from the country.

Pet whined and lay down on the floor, her brown eyes worried.

Mary shook her head. “Edward,” she said even more solemnly than usual. “You’re not well.” She stood up and went to the table where she’d laid the box. She undid the ribbon and opened it. “Lord Dudley thinks of you as a son, you know. He is devastated by what’s happening to you.”

Edward fell back, flummoxed. He could not think of anything else to say that would convince them.

“He said you haven’t been eating,” Mary said, as if this entire outburst of Edward’s was forgotten. “So I brought you something.”

She reached into the box and lifted up . . . a blackberry pudding.

“Your favorite,” she said brightly.

The sweet smell of the berries filled Edward’s nostrils. His stomach clenched. “Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said?” he gasped.

“Now, Eddie, don’t be difficult.” Mary produced a little silver knife and a china plate and cut him a hefty portion. She sat down next to him and lifted the fork to his mouth.