“I would hold my tongue if I were you.”
“I have no wish to incur your anger, Your Majesty. But you must know your interests have not gone unnoticed. You think me foolish in my hopes. My folly is nothing compared to yours. If you expect to break with France and place a simple girl on England’s throne—”
“You will cease such idle speculation. If relations with France are damaged by malicious gossip, I will hold you and all Protestants responsible. Take care that you do not bring down disaster on your own head.”
William turned on his heel and stalked away as Robert said softly, “I might counsel you the same.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“A man to see you, Your Highness.”
Elizabeth turned, frowning, from appraising two gowns in decision, and said to Kat, “French? I haven’t forgotten an appointment, have I?”
“As if you ever would,” Kat Ashley sniffed. Even the French court could not shake the woman’s imperturbable calm. “No, this man is English. Francis Walsingham, he says. He has brought a letter of introduction.”
She handed it over, and Elizabeth read swiftly the words of praise and recommendation from Lord Burghley. “I’ll see him in the presence chamber, Kat.”
When she swept into the presence chamber set aside for her use at Fontainebleau, Elizabeth saw a tall man with a pointed beard, younger than she’d expected, dressed in the sober style of an academic. His medium-brown hair dipped into a widow’s peak, accenting his frighteningly intelligent eyes. The kind of eyes ever alert to secrets, she thought. Wherever they occur.
He bowed. “Francis Walsingham, Your Highness. Thank you for seeing me.”
“Lord Burghley, a man I greatly respect, wrote in his introduction that meeting with you would be worth my time. Why is that?”
“Because of what I can do for you.”
“How presumptuous.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Despite herself, she laughed out loud and gestured for him to make himself comfortable. They both sat and she said, “So what can a presumptuous man do for me?”
“I can give you knowledge.”
“I have studied many years to gain knowledge for myself.”
“There is knowledge…andknowledge,Your Highness.”
“Speak plainly, Master Walsingham.”
“I am an intelligencer. The knowledge I can give you will be that found in dark streets and far-off palaces, whispers and rumours of whispers in places you could never go yourself.”
She arched her eyebrow. “And I suppose such knowledge will cost me dear.”
“Knowledge is never too dear.”
She leaned back in her chair, attempting to intimidate him with her frank appraisal. Walsingham just looked back at her calmly. “You have worked for Lord Burghley?” she asked.
“From time to time.”
“Anyone else? Anyone outside of England?”
“I am loyal, if that is what you are asking, Your Highness. Loyal to England and its tolerance. Loyal to a stable government without the fanaticism of Popery. Loyal, if you allow it, to you personally.”
And that, Elizabeth knew, was the appeal. To have her own intelligencer, a man of secrets and knowledge to work for her alone. William had any number of such men working for his government—why should she not have the same?
“It should not be too difficult to tease out secret knowledge while I am in France. I will see what you can do, Master Walsingham. Impress me, and I will consider your future.”
He bowed once more, but did not seem overly surprised by her challenge. “It will be my honour, Your Highness.”
