The Queen's Lady. Barbara Kyle

stand between you and your heart’s desire.” She turned on her heel. Edward, suddenly bold, barred the door with crossed arms. She punched him on the shoulder. The blow was nothing, but he blinked in surprise and unfolded his arms. She stepped around him.

      “Stay!” It was Mrs. Sydenham’s voice again. Honor turned. The woman’s face was stark with worry; her former hardness had vanished. “Please, tell my husband what you know,” she said. “I will alert our friends.”

      Amazed though she was at this about-face, Honor sighed with relief.

      Sydenham had already taken a step toward the meeting. “No, Humphrey,” Mrs. Sydenham said brusquely, “if you speak you’ll cause panic. I’ll do it.”

      She hurried toward the gathering. The excited people, still unaware of any disturbance, were chattering and laughing around the preacher. Mrs. Sydenham pushed through to reach him. She bent to whisper in Frish’s ear while the people babbled on. Frish shot a look back at Honor. Under his scrutiny she was uncomfortably conscious of the richness of her clothing in contrast to the drab group he stood with, and she turned her head away. As she did, she noticed, above the huge rear door, an odd movement in the air, as if dust were sifting from the roof, dislodged from the rafters to drift and sparkle down through the torchlight. The people sensed it too and hushed. Mrs. Sydenham looked up. Everyone turned breathlessly toward the wide, closed door.

      There was a creaking, like giant wagon wheels beginning to move. For one frozen moment Honor saw the wooden door bulge. Then it burst. Huge splinters flew. Men-at-arms swarmed in. Cries of men and women pierced the rafters and ricocheted off the vats. The ragged ring of torches burst apart and their flames flared in the wind of rushing bodies. Honor turned to flee the way she had come, but an officer stood in the open door beckoning behind him to armed men running along the passage. She whirled around. Beyond the crush of people the splintered rear door lay open. If she could make it there she could escape. She dashed into the melee.

      It was madness. Women snatched up children and were in turn snatched by officers. Men dropped under cudgel blows. Honor saw Sydenham running to reach his wife. Mrs. Sydenham stretched out her hand to him. As their fingers touched, a young officer lunged for Sydenham and hauled him sideways. He pinned Sydenham’s belly against a vat, and scraped his cheek bloody along the surface. Mrs. Sydenham was engulfed by screeching people herding for the rear door. Honor glimpsed Edward among them, his orange hair flying. She could see that the first people outside were instantly trapped by officers in the alley, but a few who went after broke through and bolted into the night. It was the only way out. She groped her way around a vat, eyes on the door.

      From behind, an arm locked around her head, covering her eyes. She was jerked backwards, lost her balance, and fell against her attacker. As he hauled her by the head, she had to clutch his sleeve to keep her neck from being wrenched. His other hand pushed brutally down on the top of her head, forcing her to the ground. She was dragged along the floor on her back, then bumped over a ridge that banged her backbone, then hauled into a narrow passage. Her captor crammed himself behind her and stopped. They lay together on their sides, her back against his chest. She felt his leg kick at something, then heard a sound like a metal door snapping shut.

      His arm dropped from her forehead to her waist, pinning her arm. His other hand clamped her mouth. His palm was slippery with sweat. She sucked breaths through her nose. The smell of the place was foul, but she could see nothing in the pitch blackness around them. They lay with knees bent, as tightly packed as spoons, breathing together and sweating together in a grotesque parody of spent lovers. Honor could hear screams and scuffles outside their fetid cage.

      The man’s hand on her mouth lifted, but hovered as if ready to muzzle her again. “They’ll leave soon,” he breathed. “Hold on!” Even in a whisper the sterling voice was unmistakable. Frish, the preacher.

      “Where…”—she coughed—“…where are we?”

      “Under the vat. Sydenham built a false bottom. For the Bibles.”

      Of course! The hides, the smell…it was animal fat, rendered for soap-making. This was the same stench that had drifted over Smithfield from the butchers’ yards the day Ralph was burned. The rancid reek of death. Nausea swelled in her and she almost retched.

      “Hold on,” he urged. “Just hold on!”

      Outside, the cool rain tasted delicious. Honor and Frish crouched in a muddy alley against a wall of the emptied warehouse. A lantern in the neighbor’s stable yard cast the faintest of beams over them. The downpour had lightened, and Honor lifted her face with closed eyes to let it drizzle her skin and wash her clean.

      “‘As cold waters to a thirsty soul,’” Frish murmured, watching her.

      “Proverbs,” Honor said, and found herself smiling, for despite the cramps in her muscles and the residue of nausea and fear, she was aware of a light-headed clarity, an exhilaration that came with the joy of escape. She ran her tongue over salty lips. It was good to be alive!

      She looked at Frish. Instantly, he lowered his eyes. It was the first time she had seen him close-up. His frame was very slight, his features small, his face fragile-looking. And every inch of it was cratered with pockmarks. Under her gaze he hunched into himself, and she realized that he was used to people shrinking from his ravaged face. Down from his makeshift pulpit, alone with her, all his sparkle and fire was snuffed out.

      “Lady,” he stammered, “I thank you. For the warning you brought. Mrs. Sydenham told me only that much. May I…”—he plucked at his frayed sleeve—“may I know your name?”

      Honor hesitated. “Brother, it is I who must thank you,” was all she could muster. But her gratitude was heartfelt, for she could imagine the consequences if she had been caught: at the very least, expulsion in disgrace from the Queen’s employ and shame brought on Sir Thomas, and at the worst…she shuddered, thinking of the worst. “What happened to Master Sydenham?” she asked. “And his wife and son?”

      “I saw Edward run out the back. Then I looked for you. In those clothes, you were not difficult to spot. I only hope the Sydenhams escaped, too, after Edward.”

      Honor watched him, wondering…

      “Brother,” she blurted, “did you know Ralph Pepperton?”

      “Pepperton? No.”

      That was all.

      “I must go,” she declared suddenly. “I have been away too long. If Her Grace finds me gone—”

      “Her Grace? Do you mean . .? Have you a place at court?”

      “Yes,” she said, drawn by his stare. Despite his ugliness, his pale blue eyes shone with a power both mesmerizing and disturbing. “I wait on the Queen.”

      “I knew you were worth a risk!” Enthusiasm lit up his face, sweeping away all his shyness. “Lady, hear me. I have come from exile with Tyndale in Antwerp—”

      “Exile?” she interrupted cautiously.

      He shrugged as if to say that his personal situation was of no importance. “Arrested for preaching in Lincoln. I slipped the Bishop’s bonds. But,” he resumed in earnest, “I’ve returned to rouse support for the English Brethren. So many of us are poor—scholars, bookbinders, glaziers, bricklayers. Oh, we’ve attracted a sprinkling of well-to-do merchants like good Master Sydenham—God help him, now. But we need more friends, powerful friends. And with your ear at court you could do much to help us find them. No, do not draw back!” His small hands grabbed her shoulders. “I am not mad, I promise you. I know that there are men at court who would support us. You could sound them out. I have heard whispers that an influential gentleman sympathizes with us—a man on Cardinal Wolsey’s staff, no less. A Master Cromwell. Alas, I cannot reach such men. But you can. And there are others. Even the Lady Anne Boleyn, so I have heard—”

      “What?” She pulled out of his grasp. “You’d have me plot with my mistress’s enemy? Brother,” she said severely, “I was glad to bring a warning tonight for I would