He dismounts and pulls his hat from his head and bows low to me. Not very low, I notice. “My lord Shrewsbury?”

I nod. I recognize him as one of the men that I sometimes see at court, standing behind Francis Walsingham, when he, in turn, is standing behind William Cecil. So he is a spy, yet another spy. So he is an enemy to the freedom of the people of England, however plausible and charming he will try to be.

“I am Herbert Gracie. I serve Master Cecil.”

“You are welcome,” I say politely. I see by his clothes that he is a gentleman, this is one of the hidden men of Cecil’s affinity. God knows what he wants here with me. “Will you come into the house?”

“I won’t delay you,” he says, nodding to my horse. “Are you about to ride out with the queen?”

I smile and say nothing. I do not need to tell Cecil’s servants what I do in my own house.

“Forgive me,” he says. “I will not delay you. I wanted to speak with you for only a moment.”

“You have come a long way for only a moment,” I observe.

He has a rueful, merry smile. “When you serve my lord you soon get accustomed to long rides and scant results,” he says.

“Do you indeed?” The last thing I want to hear is the hardship of Cecil’s service and the rigors of life as a dirty spy.

“A word only,” he says. I go to the corner of the stable yard with him and wait.

“A servant of your wife has met with three conspirators and plotted to release the queen,” he says flatly.

“What?”

“He reported back to her, and she gave him two guineas and told him to go on with the conspiracy.”

“This isn’t possible.” I shake my head. “Truly. Bess would never free the queen. I am more likely to free her than Bess.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Bess dislikes her,” I say unguardedly. “Women’s jealousy... They are like the sea and the shore; they cannot help but beat against each other. Two strong women under the same roof, you cannot imagine...”

“Only too well! Does she dislike her so much she would try to get rid of her by helping her run away?”

I shake my head. “She would never plot against Queen Elizabeth, she would never go against Cecil...” As I protest, a truly horrible thought strikes me as to what Bess might be capable of. Would she, overactive, businesslike, spiteful as she is, try to entrap Queen Mary in an unsuccessful escape attempt? So that she would be taken from us? “I had better speak to her.”

“I’ll have to come too,” he says carefully.

I bristle at once. “You can trust me, I should hope.”