Deception by Lady Grace Cavendish

Author:Lady Grace Cavendish [Cavendish, Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-53645-7
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2005-09-25T04:00:00+00:00

THE TWENTY-SEVENTH DAY OF NOVEMBER,

IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1569

I am writing this while sitting upon my bed, trying not to fall asleep. I am so tired this morning. Last night I had just got into bed and begun to feel warm when I remembered I had forgotten to dampen the fire. I had to leave the comfort of my bed to do it, which woke me right up, and I swear I heard the clock strike three before I finally fell asleep. And now I have this one day to solve the mystery and I fear I will never do it!

After breakfast I put on my black kirtle and cloak and collected the Queen's dogs—for it is one of my duties (and pleasures) to walk them.

They looked surprised and not too pleased that I would take them out on such a bitter morning, but I needed the excuse. And when they found that they were not just going to chase round the lavender hedges in the Privy Garden, they soon forgot the cold and began to bark excitedly, straining at the leashes as we went down the passageways to the Tilting Yard. They could smell their favourite walk beyond—the park at St. James's. I threw frosty sticks for them until Henri, the Queen's favourite, found a rabbit hole. That kept him and Philip and Ivan (who really is rather terrible, like the Tsar of all the Russias) busy for an age. I love Her Majesty's dogs and they always cheer my spirits no matter how doleful I feel.

Masou and Ellie were under some trees. I wondered what excuse Ellie had used to leave the laundry room. She was shivering with the cold. Masou was peeling the bark back from some sticks so that they looked like miniature fountains.

“What are you up to?” I asked.

“You'll see,” said Masou. He laid the sticks in a pile and got out his tinder box and flint.

I laughed. “You'll never make a fire like that. The wood's far too damp.”

“Oh, won't I?” he said, with a wink at Ellie. A thin spiral of smoke was rising from the sticks and in no time at all they were aflame.

Ellie clapped and huddled up to it.

“Is it some sort of African magic?” I asked.

“Nothing so mysterious,” Masou said. “It is only the bark that is damp. Inside, the wood is quite dry.”

“Fie on you, Masou!” Ellie exclaimed. “You make it sound like you thought of it yourself, when it was little Gypsy Pete that taught you to do it!” She gave Masou a push.

Grinning, Masou pretended to overbalance, did a backflip, landed nimbly on his feet, and stuck his tongue out at us.

“Well, perhaps Master Clever Clogs can ask Gypsy Pete to solve this problem,” I said as we squatted by the fire. “I have but today to catch the counterfeiters and no clues! We found nothing at the Tower, or at Derek Anthony's workshop, or from Matthew Tibbit, or from Will Stubbs's cottage. I thought, when I saw Mr.

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