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wearily, using my alias and hoping Rochester would remember me. I was left shivering under the colonnade. It seemed hours had passed when I finally heard a blustering voice exclaim, “By the rood, if it isn’t the very Master Beecham who saved us all from perdition!” and I turned to find Lord Rochester beaming at me.
    I had last seen him in Norfolk, marshaling troops for Mary’s defense as she prepared to fight Northumberland for her throne. He had been robust then; now he looked fat in his too-tight doublet of expensive mulberry velvet, his gold chain of office dangling about his meaty shoulders, his jowls reddened and breath hot with the odor of roast meat and mulled wine.
    He pumped my hand. “Master Beecham! Who would have guessed? I never thought to see you again. After you came to us at Framlingham, you disappeared like a ghost.”
    I forced out a smile. “I regret to say, I had urgent business elsewhere.”
    Rochester chortled. “No doubt, what with all of Northumberland’s men running for cover after the duke’s head rolled. No matter. You’re here now, and I’m glad of it, as will be Her Majesty.” He whisked me past the sentries into the palace. Sensation painfully returned to my hands and feet as we moved through corridors hung with tapestries.
    “How long has it been?” he asked. “Five months? Six? Ah, but so much has happened since then. You may not be aware of it”-he shot a look at me-“but Her Majesty has won the heart of the realm. It’s a new England, Master Beecham, a new England indeed. Oh, but she’ll be pleased to see you. Pleased and relieved. She wondered what happened to you.”
    I was heartened to hear it. I needed her to be pleased.
    He came to a sudden halt. “Best not mention any of the past business, eh? Her Majesty will no doubt show gratitude for your services, but … well”-he coughed uneasily-“I’d not remind her of it. She’d rather forget what Northumberland and his sons nearly did to her.”
    “Naturally, I understand the need for discretion.”
    “Yes, a man in your position would. Are you here for work, then? If so, I daresay you’ll find it. Her Majesty is always in need of able men, and you’re as able as they come.”
    I could only hope Mary would feel the same. Of Elizabeth, I dared not ask. But I did want to know of a friend I’d not heard from in some time. “Is Barnaby Fitzpatrick here?”
    Rochester paused, frowning. Then his broad smile returned. “Ah, you must mean our late king’s companion. No, he’s in Ireland. Her Majesty honored his claim to the baronage of Upper Ossory. He left a few months ago.”
    I did not remark, recalling that Barnaby had feared Mary’s accession because of her staunch Catholicism. Apparently he’d found a way to escape living directly under her rule.
    We entered a gallery. Enormous double doors stood at the far end under a carved archway. As I caught the distant sound of music, my pulse quickened. The great hall lay beyond those doors. Instead of leading me there, however, Rochester steered me in the opposite direction, into another, darker gallery and through a narrow corridor, after which we started up a flight of cramped stairs.
    Rochester panted, his girth taking a toll on his breath. “I’ve put you in one of the smaller rooms on the second floor. The Hapsburg delegation is here, and we’re rather crowded at the moment. We can see later about something better for you, eh?”
    We reached a low-ceilinged hallway punctuated by a series of plain doors. I recognized this section of the palace as well. This was where Robert Dudley and his brothers had lodged when their father the duke held sway. It felt strange to be here again, a free man in service to the princess, when just months before I’d been a Dudley squire with little hope of escaping my lot.
    “Did you bring any servants?” Rochester sifted through keys on an iron ring he produced as if by magic from his voluminous breeches.
    “Yes, one squire.