But Father Scroope had scarcely set one foot out the door when there was a sudden splashing and—so close that it seemed to be almost upon them—the sound of heavy breathing and struggling and men’s voices in low muttered curses. Quick as a jackrabbit, the Father jumped back inside and Amber froze where she was, reaching out to grab hold of Nan’s hand.
“What was that!”
“John must have caught someone snooping,” whispered Nan. She spoke a little louder, just enough to be heard a few feet away. “John—”
He answered, his voice also low and cautious. “I’m here—Caught a fellow hiding in the reeds. He’s alone—”
“Go on,” whispered Amber to Father Scroope, and he streaked out the door and disappeared; they could hear the loud sucking noises of his feet as he hurried away through the mud. “Bring him in here,” she said to Big John, and went back herself into the small room out of which she and Father Scroope had just come.
There she and Nan turned to see Big John come in dragging by the nape of the neck a thin angry little man who still kicked and flailed out with his arms, though each time he did so Big John gave him a rough shake that quieted him. Both of them were muddy almost to the knees and splashed with water. John tossed him into a heap in one corner. He began to shake himself and to straighten his clothes, ignoring all of them with an elaborate pretense of being alone.
“What were you doing out there?” demanded Amber.
He neither looked at her nor made an answer.
She repeated the question and this time he gave her merely a sullen glare as he pulled at his coat-sleeve.
“You insolent wretch! I think I know a way to make you find your tongue!”
She gave a nod of her head to Big John and he stepped to a table, opened one of the drawers and took out a short whip having several narrow leather thongs, each of them tipped with lead.
He continued silent and Big John raised the whip and slashed it down over his chest and shoulders, one leaden tip biting into his cheek and drawing blood. While Amber and Nan stood coolly watching he lashed at him again and then again, striking him ruthlessly, though the man writhed and drew up his legs, trying to protect his face and head with his hands. At last he gave a sobbing moan.
“Stop! for the love of God—stop! I’ll tell you—”
Big John let the whip fall to his side and stepped back; drops of blood splashed off the leaden ends onto the floor.
“You’re a fool!” said Amber. “What did it get you to hold your peace? Now tell me—what were you doing out there, and who sent you?”
“I dare not tell. Please—your Ladyship.” His voice took on an ingratiating whine. “Don’t make me tell, your Ladyship. If I do my master will have me beaten.”
“And if you don’t, I will,” retorted Amber, with a significant glance at Big John who stood with both fists on his hips, alert and waiting.
The man glanced up, frowned, gave a sigh and then licked at his lips. “I was sent by his Grace—the Duke of Buckingham.”
That was what she had expected. She knew that Buckingham watched her closely but this was the first time she had actually caught one of his spies, though she had discharged four serving-girls she had suspected of being in his pay.
“What for?”
The man talked readily now, but in a sullen monotone, his eyes on the floor. “I was to watch Father Scroope—everywhere he went—and report to his Grace.”
“And where will you report that you saw him tonight?” Her eyes stared at him, slanting, bright and hard and pitiless.
“Why—uh—he didn’t leave his quarters at all tonight, your Ladyship.”
“Good. Remember that, now. Next time my man won’t be so gentle with you. And don’t come back here to prowl again, unless you want your nose slit. Take ’im out, John.”
AMBER HAD ALWAYS been friendly and respectful in her association with the Queen, partly because it seemed politic, partly because she was sorry for her. But her pity was casual and her half-affection cynical—it was the same feeling she had for Jenny Mortimer and Lady Almsbury, or any other woman from whom it seemed she had little to fear. And yet she knew that Catherine, when given the opportunity, was a good and diligent friend; she was so generally ignored by the self-seekers who swarmed Whitehall that she had come to be almost grateful to whoever sought her favour. It had occurred to Amber that this would be a very good opportunity to gain her Majesty’s goodwill—which might be put to use in her own behalf.
