Traitor Angels

  He mustn’t suspect I was onto him. I had to smile and flirt and dance. The whole time, I would be looking around the ballroom, seeking Sir Vaughan and his men. If they were the men who had attacked us outside Oxford, then I would recognize at least one of them—the man whose side I had cut with my sword. No amount of time could obscure his face; I would remember it, and the fury in his eyes, for the rest of my life.

  The instant I saw him, I’d make my way to him. If Fortune’s wheel turned in my favor, he wouldn’t recognize me in my elaborate dress, and I would laugh and encourage him until he was more than willing to leave the ballroom with me—whereupon I would overpower him somehow, steal his sword, attack him with my fists, anything, and then take the vial. I would run from Buckingham’s estate before anyone noticed. Later I would send a message to Robert, and together we would finish the work my father had begun decades ago. And the world would know the truth. It would be my final, best gift to Father.

  I let my hand fall from the stone. My palm was lined with scratches. A distant part of my mind registered the stings of pain; they felt remote, as though they were happening to me in a dream. With an effort, I set my shoulders, imagining my spine was a ribbon of steel. I could do this. I would do this. I stepped into the hall.

  Antonio and Lady Katherine stood in the middle of the room. They were dressed in luxurious clothes: Lady Katherine in pink satin, Antonio in black. They were still talking, but I couldn’t hear them above the buzzing in my ears. Lady Katherine glanced in my direction. I felt my lips pulling into something that felt like the semblance of a smile. She smiled in return, beckoning for me to join them.

  My heels echoed on the marble floor as I crossed the room. Antonio grinned at me. He leaned forward, touching his lips gently to my cheek. It took all of my willpower not to shudder.

  “You look like a queen,” he murmured in my ear. The tips of his hair, soft as feathers, brushed against my bare neck.

  I studied the interlocking black and white marble squares in the floor. “Thank you.”

  “Are you well?” he asked. “You seem upset.”

  Somehow I found the strength to lift my head. Antonio was watching me closely, his eyebrows lifted.

  My throat was so dry I had to swallow twice before I could reply. “I’m just worried about tonight.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie.

  His face relaxed. He lifted a hand to brush a stray curl from my cheek, the red stone in his ring glinting. “It will be fine.”

  I looked away. “Isn’t it time yet to leave?”

  “Yes, but you’re not riding with us,” Robert said, entering the hall from another entrance. He was dressed in yellow satin, as usual. “Lady Katherine sent a courier to me at Whitehall this afternoon, with a message that you had found her dancing lessons difficult. If one of my guests is a young lady who clearly doesn’t know how to dance . . . well, people will wonder about your pedigree. Some of my friends will escort you instead. They’re waiting for you outside. You’ll pose as one of their cousins. Don’t worry—my friends are loyal to me, and I’ve given them strict instructions to look after you and do anything you tell them.”

  I barely heard him above the blood roaring in my ears. Somehow I managed to murmur, “Thank you. I will see you at the ball.”

  The boys kissed my hand. A servant flung open the doors for me, revealing the full darkness of the night. I strode down the steps into the courtyard, where a carriage waited, its black wood shining in the torchlight. All of it—the horses shifting slightly, their harnesses jingling; the long avenue of trees stretching from the courtyard to the front gate; the groomsmen standing at attention, dressed in silver and green livery—looked unreal, as though I were watching a dream unfold.

  The groom opened the carriage door, extending a gloved hand to help me inside. Half bent over, I paused in the door frame. Five men sat on the padded seats. They reminded me of Robert: their clothes were as fine and bright as his, their postures erect and alert. Like him, they sported long, curly wigs and wore swords at their waists. One of them looked older than the rest, his forehead lined, his jaw sagging. He looked up at me.

  “Miss Milton, please join us,” he said. His voice sounded heavy, as if weighted with years of ale and food—a rich man’s voice. He reached out his hand, guiding me onto the seat beside him. My voluminous skirts spilled over his lap, and I apologized, trying to bunch the fabric in my hands.

  “It’s a small price to pay for viewing such a vision of loveliness,” he said.

  I smiled faintly. Pretty words. Just like the lines Antonio had teased me about last night. Everything he had ever said to me was fading into smoke: flimsy, insubstantial, untouchable. Had he meant any of it? What an idiot I was! I’d been dreaming of a future with him—he would teach me all he knew about the skies, and together we would design experiments. Laughing while we peered through telescopes, grinning at each other when our theories were proved correct, kissing each other breathless in the laboratory we shared.

  Without him, there would be no laboratory, no experiments, no lessons with me as the eager pupil. No one else would accept me into the men’s world of natural philosophy. I was alone again. I’d have to hide my true self under tasks like embroidery and cooking, and pray for a husband whose company I tolerated—that was the best I could hope for. My future was an unvarying gray road, all the color sucked from it.

  My hands fisted in my skirts; through the thick fabric my fingernails dug into my palms. Dimly, I wondered if my scratched palm was leaving a bloody smear on the gown, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

  “The ride should be quick,” the rich man said. “Buckingham lives in a grand estate on the Strand. I’m Sir Richard Gauden,” he added, and I murmured I was pleased to make his acquaintance.

  The carriage started with a lurch. Dully, I listened to the city rising up all around us: dogs barking in alleys, wooden shop signs creaking in the breeze, the high-pitched chattering of doxies on street corners as they waited for their customers. Somewhere church bells rang the hour, but I didn’t bother counting their chimes: it was enough to know the hour was growing late and night lay as thickly on the city as on my heart.

  Antonio’s image rose in my mind: his hair tousled, him flashing me a grin as he asked where my sense of adventure was. I pressed my knuckles against my lips so I wouldn’t shame myself by crying. If only I could escape from the thoughts in my head, retreat into the dark where there was nothing except silence and peace.

  But that was impossible. I remembered Satan’s words in Paradise Lost as though they had been engraved on my heart, so many times had I listened as my father had tinkered with them: Which way I flie is Hell; my self am Hell; / And in the lowest deep a lower deep / Still threatening to devour me opens wide . . . For the first time, I understood what Father had meant—regardless of how fast you run, how far you go, you cannot get away from yourself.

  You carry Hell with you all the time.

  The carriage jerked to a halt. Gauden swung the door open and leaped down to the pavement. From within the carriage I watched him stride under a stone archway. Beyond it stood a mansion, its windows blazing with golden light. Up and down the Strand, men and ladies in brightly colored clothes were pouring out of carriages and strolling toward Buckingham’s estate, their chattering voices floating on the breeze to reach me.

  “Come with us,” one of Robert’s friends said to me. He was fair-haired and smelled of spirits.

  We scrambled outside. The Strand was lined with enormous homes, their windows gold with candlelight, an extravagance whose like I hadn’t seen before. Carriages clogged the avenue. The far-off hum of violins laced the air.

  “Hurry,” said the fair-haired fellow, looping his arm around mine. He snapped his fingers and the three remaining men melted from the shadows cast by the carriage, framing us on either side. They walked at such a quick pace I had to break into a half jog to keep up with them. The mansion loomed ahead of us, a big block of pale stone. Its doors sprang
open at our approach.

  As I was ushered into a hall, the mixture of voices bounced off the ceiling, creating such a cacophony of sound I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. A long line snaked out of the room, heading to what I assumed was the ballroom. We joined the queue, my companion acknowledging others’ nods of recognition and introducing me as his cousin, Miss Knightley, visiting from Bath. I forced smiles at the finely dressed gentlemen and ladies, hoping I wouldn’t have to speak. I should have warned my companion I couldn’t mimic non-London accents if my life depended on it.

  The ballroom was a massive, high-ceilinged space lit by hundreds of candles flickering in wall brackets and in gold candelabra that had been scattered on tables. Men and women swirled across a checkerboard floor of white and black marble. They moved in a complicated routine Lady Katherine hadn’t taught me: the ladies and fellows facing one another in lines, then moving closer in a series of quick, mincing steps. In the far corner a twenty-man orchestra played, filling the air with the sweetness of strings and horns.

  Near the orchestra stood the king. Even from a distance of some fifty feet, he caught my eyes. Tonight he wore a jet-black wig and a doublet and breeches of dark blue satin. A heavy gold chain encrusted with diamonds and emeralds encircled his neck. Every head in the room kept turning toward him. Whispers rippled among the elderly ladies standing along the walls: “There he is, the king!” “At such proximity, he looks even more of a giant, doesn’t he?”

  “We should dance,” my companion said.

  Panic swamped my chest. “I can’t. I don’t know—”

  He interrupted me with a loud sigh. “His Grace warned us you’re a Puritan. May I fetch myself a drink or is that against your kind’s rules?”

  “Do as you wish,” I snapped. “I make no demands on your behavior.”

  “Thank God for that.” He ambled off, leaving me alone.

  I made my way to the edge of the room, where elderly ladies and wallflowers gossiped among themselves. Next to me stretched a long table groaning under platters of food: oysters in the shell, slivers of cheese, small berry tarts, and fruits—strawberries and peaches and ball-like things I had never seen before, but which I heard someone call “oranges.” At another time, my mouth would have watered to taste one. Now my stomach cramped with anxiety.

  Through the crush of dancing bodies, I glimpsed Antonio. My heart contracted painfully in my chest. He was standing on the opposite side of the room, his head swiveling as he scanned the dancers. He must be looking for me. Lady Katherine stood by his side, holding a fan in front of her face. Above its scalloped lace edge, her eyes looked sharp and alert. Where was Robert? Shouldn’t he be accompanying his betrothed?

  Frowning, I surveyed the room. Everywhere there were dancing bodies, a riot of color. At the ballroom entrance, I caught sight of a figure dressed in yellow, topped with a head of light brown curls. I recognized the muscular line of his shoulders. Robert. It had to be him.

  An arm wrapped itself around my waist. Quickly I looked down. The arm encircling me was clad in black satin, the fingers were long and tapered. Antonio.

  I twisted around in his grasp so we were facing each other. “What are you doing?”

  He looked surprised. “Trying to dance with you. Isn’t that what you English do at balls?”

  “I don’t want to dance.”

  “We have to if we want to blend in and get closer to the king,” he whispered.

  I’d sooner die than help him. I took a step backward. “Dance with Lady Katherine.”

  He smiled at me. “We might never have another chance to dance with each other at a ball.” His hands gripped my waist and he lifted me high in the air as easily as if I were a bag of feathers. I looked around frantically. All the other male dancers were raising their female partners, too.

  He set me on my feet again. Now we had to dance or everyone would wonder why we left the floor in the middle of the routine. I watched the others for guidance, my heart racing.

  The partners were executing a series of complicated steps around each other. I slid a few steps to the right while Antonio did so in the opposite direction. When we came together again, he gripped my waist, the heat of his hands burning through my dress. Part of me wanted to push him away, but another part wanted to stay in his arms and hear him say it had all been a terrible misunderstanding.

  As we spun around in a circle, I caught sight of Robert. He was walking through the ballroom entrance, away from us. Where was he going? He shouldn’t be alone—he might need help.

  “You look beautiful, Elizabeth,” Antonio murmured, his breath warm on my neck. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  Liar. The muscles in my stomach were knotted so tightly I feared I would be sick. I ducked my head, letting my side curls fall forward to obscure my face. “Excuse me,” I muttered. “I’m not accustomed to dancing. My head feels light.”

  He led me to the edge of the room. “Are you well?” His eyes, dark and concerned, traced my face. “You look pale.”

  I forced a smile. I had to get away from him and follow Robert. “Could you get me a glass of wine? Perhaps that will help my headache.”

  “Of course.” He hurried away, presumably to find a servant.

  This was my chance. I crept along the room’s perimeter, past the clumps of wallflowers and elderly guests. I held a handkerchief to my face, hoping anyone who saw me would think I was faint and heading outside for a breath of fresh air.

  When I reached the hall, Robert was vanishing through a side door. Two elegantly dressed footmen rushed forward, offering me assistance, but I waved them off and scurried after Robert.

  I stepped into a long passageway lit with flickering torches. Robert was walking a few yards ahead of me, his steps purposeful, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. My heartbeat quickened.

  He darted through an opening along the passage. Throwing caution aside, I grasped my skirts in my hands and crept after him, tiptoeing to soften the sound of my shoes. Behind me, heels clicked on the floor. I whirled around to see Lady Katherine scurrying down the corridor toward me, her face tight and frightened.

  “Lady Katherine!” I whispered in surprise. “What are you doing?”

  “Following you.” She nodded at the entrance through which Robert had disappeared. “I saw you and His Grace race out of the ballroom, and I was worried you were in danger—”

  “Where’s Antonio?” I snapped, peering along the shadowy corridor. No one.

  “Still in the ballroom. He had just left my side when I saw you leave, so I didn’t have a chance to speak to him before I came after you.” Lady Katherine looked surprised; doubtless she couldn’t understand the vehemence in my tone.

  I remembered how she had listened without comment when Antonio told her how he wanted to find the cave himself. Her silence hadn’t proved her complicity—but it also didn’t mean she was trustworthy. It would be easy to overpower her, though, if need be.

  “Very well,” I said. “Follow me and be quiet. I think Robert must be looking for the natural philosophers—in which case, he might be in trouble and need our help.”

  Nodding, she stayed at my heels as I approached the entrance Robert had passed through. I found myself at the archway of an enormous room. Candelabra dotted the walls, white candles gleaming in the holders. Between the candelabra hung gilt-framed paintings. Half pillars had been set up across the floor, each topped with a piece of sculpture that looked to be either ancient Greek or Roman.

  Three men stood among the sculptures. None looked in our direction; we must have moved quietly enough. Two of them were middle-aged, the last looked only a few years older than me. They didn’t wear fine clothes and heeled shoes like the other male guests, but instead were dressed in plain, dirt-spattered garments and riding boots. They were staring at Robert with a mix of surprise and fear. The glow from the candles softened the lines of their faces, but I knew them all the same: these were the men who had attacked us outside Oxford.


  “What are you doing here?” the youngest of them growled at Robert. I recognized his wild eyes—he was the man I had cut with my sword.

  “I think we all know the answer to that question.” Robert sounded calm, but at his side his left hand contracted into a fist. “You took something from me that I badly want back.”

  “You’re too late,” said the tallest man. Dirt and exhaustion had left a gray film on his face. “We’ve already spoken to the Duke of Buckingham. He and the king are preparing to meet us here in the Great Chamber momentarily.”

  “My friends will arrive before them,” Robert said. Antonio and me, and the men who had ridden here with me, that must be whom he meant. But did any of those men know where he had gone? Or was he merely bluffing, trying to gain more time for others to notice his disappearance and look for him? “Sir Vaughan, you have two choices,” Robert continued in a hard voice, “either hand over the vial and live, or refuse and die.”

  I stepped forward to go to his aid, the heel of my shoe clacking on the marble floor. The youngest man glanced at me, his eyes narrowing. “You,” he growled. He turned to his companions. “That’s the regicide poet’s daughter.”

  Robert spun around. “Elizabeth,” he whispered. His gaze shifted to Lady Katherine behind me, the color draining from his face, leaving it deathly white. “My lady! If you two value your lives, you’ll return to the ballroom at once!”

  “I’m staying,” I shot back.

  “Me, too,” Lady Katherine said, her voice shaking.

  “She can’t be the regicide’s daughter!” One of the older men gazed at me. “Clearly this is a noblewoman.”

  “Don’t be fooled by her appearance.” The young man studied me, his expression rigid. “I’ll never forget her face. I had been hoping we would meet again, Miss Milton.” He tapped his ribs, where I had slashed him. “You slowed down our journey to London considerably, as I was forced to spend a few days recuperating in an inn. If it weren’t for you, we would have returned and given the king what is rightly his several days ago.” He drew his sword. “You have much to answer for.”