The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins - [28]

She paused, quite furious. Half the world knew that Henrietta Howard was the king’s mistress – but it was an unspoken fact that could be ignored by the court and parliament. Charles Howard’s threats to expose the affair in such a public and sordid manner, and to involve the Church, could not be dismissed lightly. At the very least the king would appear ridiculous, at worst, weak and vulnerable. Not a favourable situation, barely six months into his reign.

The queen, meanwhile, seemed to have recovered herself. ‘Now. I shall tell you a fine tale, sir. It will shock you. A few weeks ago I was working alone, there at my desk, when the door was flung open boof! and Mr Howard burst in, snarling and snapping like a rabid dog. Raving drunk of course – the man is seldom sober. He must have his wife back. He insists upon it. If I do not give her up at once he will drag her from my carriage by her hair the next time we venture out. “Well, sir,” I said. “Do it if you dare.”’ She squared her shoulders at the memory. ‘He stormed up and down, comme ça,’ she pointed with her finger, whisking it back and forth, ‘raving and cursing and threatening to throw me out of the window if I did not oblige him. Well. I informed him that he should do no such thing. But he is in truth so brutal, as well as a little mad, and always so very drunk. And the sash was open. I did half expect to find myself sailing out of the window at any moment.’ She crinkled her lips, amused by the thought.

‘Your Majesty! Was he not arrested?’

She shrugged. This was a private matter. ‘I said, “Why, Mr Howard, we are both rational beings.” I flattered him there, did I not? “Mrs Howard is a loyal and obedient servant and I could not bear to part with her. Let us settle this as reasonable people, sir. Tell me what you desire and be plain about it.” Well, once he had recovered from being called rational and reasonable he presented his demands.’ She took another candied fruit. ‘Three thousand pounds per annum to compensate for his prodigious loss. Else he will seize his wife at the first opportunity and in a most violent and outrageous fashion.’ There was a pause while she ate. ‘The King is not inclined to pay.’

So much for gallantry. Mrs Howard had been the king’s mistress for ten years. Three thousand pounds was a great fortune – but the king could afford to pay it if he wished. Instead he was prepared to let her live in constant terror, trapped in the palace. I’d heard the king was a miserly man – but this was cruel.

‘Poor Swiss has not left her rooms for weeks,’ the queen added, unmoved. ‘And His Majesty is quite furious. He describes his fury to me at great length, every evening. It is an intolerable situation.’ She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she stared directly into mine with a fierce, unblinking gaze. ‘You will resolve it for us, Mr Hawkins.’

‘Your Majesty…?’ Sweat trickled down my back as the room closed in on me.

‘Come now, sir – I did not summon you here to admire your calves, handsome as they are.’ She gave Henrietta a sidelong glance. ‘My dear Howard, you have entertained us with your celebrated wit long enough. Pray leave us.’ She flicked her hand to the door.

Mrs Howard gave a low curtsey, then two more, and backed from the room without a murmur of protest. I had to struggle not to run after her – flee the room, the palace, the city, without turning my head once. I knew what this audience had become – an interview for a position I did not want and could not refuse.

‘You are a trifle pale, Mr Hawkins,’ the queen said. ‘Is it your mother’s Scots complexion, or are you palpitating in my glorious presence?’

‘Both, Your Majesty.’

She smirked. ‘A glass of claret for the boy, Mr Budge.’

Budge brought me the claret in a crystal glass that sparkled in the candlelight. I drank it gratefully.

‘You were a friend of Samuel Fleet,’ the queen said.

‘He was my cell mate.’

‘He was my servant. Odious, treacherous little man. I was quite fond of him. He resolved a few trifling situationson my behalf.’

My heart thudded hard against my chest. Fleet had confessed to me – shortly before he died – that he had been a spy and an assassin for many years. He’d also told me that he had collected too many secrets along the way – that he had thus become too useful to kill and too dangerous to keep alive. So he had been thrown in gaol to rot. I’d guessed his master was powerful, that much had been plain. I’d never suspected his master was the queen.

‘It is a great pity Fleet died in gaol.’ Her lips tightened at the inconvenience. ‘He must be replaced. His brother believes you might serve.’

Fuck James Fleet to hell – I should have guessed this was his doing. ‘Your Majesty, I fear I would be a grave disappointment-’

‘-Come now, sir. I cannot abide false modesty. You discovered Mr Fleet’s killer, did you not? And you fought off Mr Howard unaided. Have you not realised you were being tested that night? Well. Perhaps that is disappointing.’

‘Forgive me, Your Majesty…’ I fell silent, gathering my thoughts. Mrs Howard had not arranged the meeting? No – of course not. It had been a bold move to engage James Fleet and organise a secret assignation in the middle of the night. Mrs Howard was not a bold woman. The queen, on the other hand…