Chapter 76: The Grey Lady's Bargain

The room beyond the threshold smelled of old lavender and older secrets. Edmund stepped inside first, his hand resting lightly on the dagger at his belt, though he had not the faintest intention of using it unless absolutely necessary. He was, after all, an earl, and earls did not brawl in strange chambers before dawn unless the circumstances were truly desperate.

The Grey Lady closed the door behind them with a soft click that sounded, to Edmund's ears, uncomfortably like the turning of a key in a lock.

"Your reputation precedes you, Lord Morland," she said, moving to the table where the letter lay. "They say you are the laziest man in England."

"They say a great many things," Edmund replied. "Most of them true. I had intended to be asleep three hours ago."

"And yet here you stand, in a house that does not appear on any map, holding a conversation with a woman who has been dead to the world for twenty years."

Cecily had not moved from the door. Her knife was in her hand now, held low and casual, but Edmund knew her well enough to recognise the tension in her shoulders. "The letter," she said. "How did you come by it?"

The Grey Lady—who had given her name as Margaret Howe, though Edmund suspected that was as false as her death—lifted the sealed parchment. The Essex crest caught the candlelight: a red lion rampant on a field of gold. "It was delivered by a boy who did not know what he carried. He was paid a shilling and told to leave it at the crossroads oak. I have been watching that tree for six months."

"Watching for what?" Edmund asked.

"For the sign that the Falcon had found me." She set the letter down and turned to face them fully. In the candlelight, Edmund could see the fine lines around her eyes, the pallor of a woman who had spent decades in shadow. "I was Norfolk's eyes in the Queen's household. When he fell, I should have fallen with him. But I had one thing of value—a knowledge of every secret passage, every whispered confidence, every letter that passed through the royal bedchamber. I bargained for my life with that knowledge."

"With whom?" Cecily's voice was sharp.

"With Walsingham." The name fell into the room like a stone into still water. "He let me vanish. In exchange, I fed him what I could from the shadows. But I was not the only one who knew how to bargain."

Edmund's mind, sluggish with exhaustion, nevertheless began to turn. "Blanche."

The Grey Lady nodded slowly. "She was my maid. My creature, I thought. But she had ambitions of her own. When Norfolk died, she found new masters. She has been in the Queen's bedchamber for fifteen years now, and she has been waiting for the right moment to strike."

"And the Earl of Essex?" Edmund picked up the letter, turning it over in his hands. The wax was unbroken.

"He is not what he seems." The Grey Lady's voice dropped. "I have watched him for two years. He is not merely ambitious. He is the Falcon's creature, whether he knows it or not. The Falcon has promised him the crown—or the power behind it. Essex believes he is using the Spanish to advance his own cause. He does not understand that he is being used."

Cecily stepped closer, her knife still drawn. "Why should we trust you? You admit you served Norfolk. You admit you have played a long game. How do we know this is not another trap?"

The Grey Lady met her gaze without flinching. "Because I am dying, Lady Cecily. The physician says I have perhaps a month, perhaps less. I have spent twenty years waiting for a moment when my death might mean something. This is that moment."

She crossed to a chest in the corner and lifted the lid. Inside, wrapped in oiled cloth, were a dozen letters, each sealed with a different crest. She drew one out and handed it to Edmund. "This came from Plymouth three days ago. The Spanish fleet has sailed. They will reach the Channel by the twentieth of August, as the ledger said. But there is worse."

Edmund broke the seal and scanned the contents. The handwriting was cramped, hurried. His blood ran cold.

"What does it say?" Cecily asked.

"The Falcon knows we have the list," Edmund said slowly. "He knows we are hunting Blanche. And he has taken steps." He looked up at the Grey Lady. "Where is Blanche now?"

"At Greenwich. The Queen has removed there for the summer progress. Blanche is with her."

"Then we must ride at once."

"You cannot," the Grey Lady said. "The roads are watched. The Falcon has men at every inn between here and Greenwich. You would be taken before you reached the first milestone."

Edmund sank onto a stool, suddenly aware of every ache in his body. He had not slept properly in days. His lute was somewhere in the river, his best doublet was ruined, and he was fairly certain he had not eaten since the previous afternoon.

"Then what do you suggest?"

The Grey Lady smiled—that same sad smile. "I suggest you do what you do best, Lord Morland. I suggest you be lazy."

Cecily frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Edmund said slowly, the pieces clicking into place, "that no one expects a lazy man to do anything. They expect him to sleep, to hunt, to play his lute. They do not guard against him. They do not fear him."

"Exactly." The Grey Lady crossed to a cabinet and withdrew a leather satchel. "Inside you will find a uniform—the livery of a royal messenger. And a letter of passage signed by Walsingham himself. It will get you through the checkpoints. But you must not ride openly. You must travel as though you have all the time in the world."

Edmund took the satchel, feeling its weight. "And when we reach Greenwich?"

"Find Blanche before she finds the Queen. She will strike on the twentieth—the same day the Armada is expected. The chaos will cover her escape." The Grey Lady touched his arm, her fingers cold through his sleeve. "There is one more thing. The Falcon is not merely a spy. He is someone you know. Someone close to the Queen. Someone who has been in her shadow longer than I was."

"Who?"

She shook her head. "I do not know his name. But he knows you. He has been watching you since you intercepted that first letter. He told me so himself."

Edmund's blood froze. "He told you?"

"He came to me three days ago. He offered me the same bargain Walsingham once did—my life for my silence. I refused." She smiled again, and this time there was something like triumph in it. "I have been dead for twenty years, Lord Morland. I am not afraid to die for real."

Cecily moved to the window, peering through the shutters. "We should go. Before dawn breaks."

Edmund rose, the satchel heavy in his hand. He looked at the Grey Lady one last time. "If we survive this, I will ensure you are remembered."

"Remembered?" She laughed softly. "I have been forgotten by everyone who matters. But thank you, Lord Morland. That is more kindness than I have known in two decades."

They slipped out into the grey pre-dawn light, the door closing behind them with that same soft click. The mist had thickened, swallowing the street, the houses, the world. For a moment Edmund could see nothing at all.

Then a shape emerged from the fog ahead—a tall figure in a grey cloak, a scarred face, a blade already drawn.

The Falcon had found them.