Free Her Last Assassin by Victoria Lamb

water now filling the bath, then murmured, ‘and add more rosewater. The scent is so delicate, it reminds me of my younger days.’
    Her lady-in-waiting returned with the rosewater, then gently soaped Elizabeth’s neck and back with a soft, perfumed cloth.
    Elizabeth stared up at the stately portrait of Leicester in armour which hung on her wall, carefully positioned so she could see her favourite from her bed at night. Robert had been handsome in his youth as well, though perhaps more graceful than his stepson, with a certain presence at court that young Essex lacked. Now he was grey-haired and a little stout, his health uncertain, as his last letter had indicated. But whenever their eyes met, she saw the man he had been and was herself a young girl again, her heart fluttering. With Essex, although he was charming and attentive, there was always some reserve on her part, perhaps a fear that he might find her … too old.
    ‘I shall order a new portrait of myself, Helena. It shall be very regal, and strike fear into the hearts of our enemies.’
    ‘Is it over, then? This war with Spain?’
    ‘For now.’ Elizabeth put that difficult question aside; she did not wish to consider the possibility of further strikes against her country. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the sweet scent of rosewater. ‘Tell me, what do you think of young Robert, Earl of Essex?’
    Helena hesitated, slowly soaping her shoulders in the rising steam. ‘Lord Essex has a goodly face. And they say he is clever, and might make a good statesman when he is older. But he is a little rash and impulsive for my tastes, Your Majesty.’
    ‘Loyal though?’
    ‘I would hope so, Your Majesty. He is always at your knee. You cannot fear disloyalty from that quarter, surely?’
    ‘No, but like so many of these young bucks at court, Essex is full of ambition. And though he is charming, he is, as you say, rather too headstrong. He does not yet possess Leicester’s political skill, nor his restraint in the face of my displeasure.’
    Elizabeth lay back in her bath, closing her eyes as she thought of the two men side by side at court, one young and wilful, the other entirely her servant – if she disregarded his unfortunate marriage.
    ‘I wish Robert would take the boy more in hand, teach his namesake how a nobleman should behave to his queen.’
    ‘No doubt he will, Your Majesty, when his lordship returns from his travels next month.’
    There was an abrupt knock at the door to the bedchamber. Helena glanced round, surprised.
    Elizabeth sat up, a touch exasperated by the interruption, the cooling bathwater slopping over the sides. Was she never to be left alone? But no one would knock this late unless the matter was important. ‘Put the screen round, then see who it is.’
    Helena did as she was bade, dragging the tall wooden screen around the bathtub. Elizabeth stared through the narrow gaps in the screen but could see nothing of any use, the room too dim with the shutters closed and curtains drawn against the evening light. She stared instead at the mahogany screen, thinking how very fine it was. The three generous sections were decorated with excellent latticework traced in gold and carvings of naked mermaids and dolphins sensuously riding the waves; a coronation gift from some foreign prince, she could not remember which.
    After a whispered conference at the door, Helena returned, looking almost fearful as she came round the screen. ‘Your Majesty, it is Lord Burghley. He says he must speak with you at once on a matter of grave urgency.’
    ‘What, are the Spanish back and burning Cornwall again?’
    ‘Your Majesty, will you permit me to dry you and call the other ladies back in so you can be properly robed?’ Helena’s smile was strained. ‘The bathwater will be cold soon anyway.’
    While the women came in and dressed her, Elizabeth stood silently, examining her hands. In her youth, the pale beauty of her hands had been famous throughout