Her hand grasped the thin iron rail nailed into the wall as she climbed the stairs. At the top, she moved towards the only room with a glimmer of orange candlelight beneath the door. She tapped on the door using their code, two quick knocks, then three small light ones.
The door opened quietly, and Emlyn stood with a hand on her hip, a satisfied smile on her face.
“We did good, Gwynnie. That guard never suspected me.”
Gwynnie stepped into the room, walking past her mother, who closed the door. The chamber was little more than a cupboard, with barely enough standing room between the two cot beds.
“So? How did we do?”
“Ma…” She managed to croak out the word, but Emlyn wasn’t listening. She reached for the leather pouch at Gwynnie’s waist and grinned at the weight.
“This is it, Gwynnie. It’s what you always wanted, is it not?” Emlyn sat down on the edge of one of the beds, tilting her head back and revealing her full smile. The crow’s feet around her dark eyes were more noticeable these days, as were the lines around her chin. “We’ll be free at last.”
“Ma…” Gwynnie tried again, but her mouth was dry, and no words came.
Emlyn tipped the contents of the pouch out onto the bed. She gasped in awe and ran her fingers over the gold brooches.
“These are beautiful,” she whispered. “We can sell it all, Gwynnie. Start somewhere new, just as you wanted. Where do you want to go? Ireland? Scotland? Maybe even France?” Emlyn laughed suddenly. “The world is open to us now, my girl.” She held her arms wide. “Never have we made such a steal before.”
“Ma, I need to talk to you.”
“I think maybe France.” Emlyn nodded to herself, sifting through the various pieces of jewellery. “I’d like to see the Continent. Wouldn’t you?”
“Ma?”
“We could leave next month.”
“God’s blood, Ma!” Gwynnie snatched up the leather pouch and shook it in front of Emlyn to get her attention. “I have seen something tonight that I cannot unsee.” She closed her eyes as a tear slipped down her cheek. “I saw a murder.”
CHAPTER 4
“Well?” Having changed into a warm woollen chemise, Gwynnie sat huddled in the bed with the blanket around her. Her light brown hair was loose around her shoulders.
“We must think,” Emlyn whispered as she paced up and down the small room, her hands on her hips.
“You have been thinking for hours,” Gwynnie murmured. “Clearly without success.”
“Thank you for the reminder.” Emlyn halted by the window. Between their two beds was a small stone windowsill with a window no bigger than a child’s face, looking out over one of the courtyards by the stables. The lead-lined lattice cast shadows on Emlyn’s strong features as the sun rose over the rooftops. “We could run.”
“Run?” Gwynnie repeated. “Run where? How?”
“Gwynnie, think about it. Whether this Renard or Fitzroy recognised you last night in that kitchen is beside the point. You are a witness. If you can point the finger at Fitzroy, then you are too much of a risk to go free. They will hunt you down.”
Gwynnie pulled the blanket over her head, wishing she could hide from the world.
“You haven’t done that since you were very small,” Emlyn said, reaching for the blanket and trying to tug it off Gwynnie.
“I’m still small!” Gwynnie pointed out in frustration.
“Well, you get your petiteness from your father.” Emlyn succeeded in pulling the blanket off her head. “He wasn’t very tall either.”
It was so rare to hear Emlyn talk of her late husband that Gwynnie waited with bated breath to see if her mother would say more, but she did not.
“We cannot run,” Emlyn said instead, answering her own question as she returned to the window. “The Thames has burst its banks, and the flood has cut off the road on the south side of the palace. Woolwich Road is completely under water and Blackheath is unreachable. The wherrymen aren’t working because of the cold, and there are tales of the river freezing in places. No, our best way out of here would be to swim and in this cold, we’re likely to die in the attempt.” She looked at Gwynnie.
“I cannot keep sitting here.” She knelt forward. “Ma, I have to do something.”
“Do what?”
“Tell someone. Anyone! If someone knew what had happened last night, what Henry Fitzroy is capable of —”
“Shh!” Emlyn clamped a hand over Gwynnie’s mouth and looked toward the door. “And who do you expect will believe you when you make such a claim, my miting?”
Gwynnie managed to pull her mother’s hand off her mouth. “Do not call me that. You know I hate being called that.”
“You’ll always be my miting, my little one.” Emlyn smiled softly and ruffled Gwynnie’s hair. “Even though you have your first grey hair.” She plucked a hair from Gwynnie’s head.
“Ma!” she complained to little effect. She’d seen her twenty-seventh summer the year before, yet at times Emlyn still treated her as if she was a child.
“Gwynnie, listen.” Emlyn’s face turned serious. “No one will believe the word of a maid over the word of the king’s own son. No matter what tale Fitzroy gave to his father, it is he they would believe. You breathe a word of what you saw, and…” Emlyn trailed off.
“And what?” Gwynnie asked, noting the fear in her mother’s eyes.
“And they’ll hang you for lies. Maybe even for treason.”
“What about those?” Gwynnie jerked her chin toward the other bed where the jewels she had taken from Fitzroy’s chamber still lay.
Emlyn laid a hand on the jewels. “We must hide them,” she whispered. “If we have to stay in the palace for longer than we expected, then we do not want these found in our possession.”
