The Fugitive Queen Read Online Free Page B

thinking of Pen’s unremarkable looks. “With Pen—no, it isn’t very likely.”
    â€œI, however,” said Dudley, “am willing to help.”
    Hugh and I continued to gaze at him, but now it was with astonishment. Dudley was a very wealthy man and could be generous; he gambled a good deal but had a reputation for paying his debts on time. He was not, however, known as a philanthropist, and I had never heard before that he went about providing dowries for plain young women who had no connection with him.
    â€œI have a parcel of land in the north of England, about fifteen miles from the castle of Bolton,” he said smoothly. “It’s on the edge of a wild place called Saddleworth Moor. I was left it by a former employee who had no family of his own to will it to. It’s a fair-sized stretch of land, with arable fields, a big flock of sheep, and both meadowland and hill grazing for them. They’re valuable. The wool is good. It all amounts to a very respectable piece of property or so I understand. I have had reports of it, although I haven’t seen it myself. I have little time or, to be honest, inclination to travel north and inspect it personally. In fact, in many ways, it’s a nuisance to me. I am willing, as it were, to donate it to a good cause. It might well help to attract a husband for the girl.”
    â€œWe understand that her mother would prefer a household with Catholic beliefs,” observed Cecil. “Provided, of course that he has a loyal reputation and attends Anglican services at least once a month, as the law states. There are many Catholic adherents in northern England. A suitable man might be easier to find there. Mistress Penelope should perhaps go to see her dowry lands in Yorkshire.”
    He finished on an odd, thoughtful intonation. I recognized it. I’d heard him use it before. I looked at Dudley. “The place is near Bolton, you say, my lord?”
    â€œReasonably near,” Dudley agreed suavely.
    As soon as the word Bolton was spoken, I had come alert.Mary Stuart was about to be moved to Bolton Castle. Something was coming; I knew it. There was more to this than just making arrangements to marry off a wayward Maid of Honor.
    â€œMary Stuart of Scotland will shortly move to Bolton,” said Elizabeth, echoing the words that were already in my head. “You met her, did you not, Ursula, when you went to Scotland a few years ago?”
    â€œI . . . yes, ma’am. I did.”
    â€œAnd I believe she liked you? You were her guest at Holyrood in Edinburgh for a while?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” I said with caution.
    â€œNo doubt she is finding life strange and limited in my northern castles, compared with life as a queen,” said Elizabeth gravely. “Her representative, Lord Herries, is at Richmond now and would like us to receive her here but my good Cecil is much against the idea of bringing her to London.”
    â€œShe has a charge of murder hanging over her. She is not a fit person to associate with the Queen of England until her name is cleared,” said Cecil, his voice now quite colorless. The words over my dead body were not spoken aloud but hung in the air like an overripe ham from a ceiling hook.
    â€œWe think,” said Elizabeth, smiling sweetly, “that it would be an excellent idea, Ursula, if my lord of Leicester’s generous gift could be signed over to Pen at once, and if you took the wench north to inspect it. You could look for a husband for her in that district—and while you are about it, you could visit Mary Stuart. We can arrange that Sir Francis Knollys, who has charge of her, will admit you, though I shall tell him only that you and she have met before, and that since you chance to be in the district because you are accompanying Mistress Penelope, I wish you to present my compliments to my cousin.”
    â€œI see,” I said uncertainly.