"Twilight for Anonymous…"
Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!
Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...
General audience level...
Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…
Part XXIV…
Frances eyeing DeVere through her cell door bars…
The invisible Willie, in cloak, still well concealed to the rear, carefully keeping his breathing as limited as near-humanly possible.
"So, if I keep quiet about everything, you'll 'save' me and my child?" she whispered anxiously.
"That's my offer…But in return I expect you to remember my gallant service to you, to Her Majesty, when the time is right." DeVere noted, carefully watching Essex excitedly pacing the front room, guards and Willoughby the torturer nervously, but hopefully, attending.
"Fair enough…But…"
"There is no 'but' my dear. Take my offer or leave it. Surely you must admit it's generous, especially to a traitor like you." He eyed her coldly.
"I'm no traitor to what I've freely pledged…" Frances, proudly. "And if I consider this, it comes with your pledge no harm comes to my Queen."
"Our Queen, dear…Vampire or no, I remain an Englishman." he replied with slightly offended tone. "But, fine…I'm happy to pledge so. And you know that in all my years whatever I have done against humans, Royalty has been inviolate for me. There are, after all, even for a vampiral lord, some things beyond the pale."
"And yet you back Essex in his treason…" cool look.
"But my dear girl…My old friend Robert believes, more or less wholeheartedly, that he is doing all this for the old Queen. To save her from her wicked advisers…And even herself, in her dotage. He believes, as do many of us, his allies, that the poor old girl has started to go gaga and a strong male hand is needed."
"What about James of Scotland? He is the current heir."
"I said a strong male hand, dear." Smile. "I'm sure the rumors about Jamie the Scot and his boys are well known even among the guarded and cloistered ladies of the Court…But enough of this, I need your answer…Now."
Lord…I'm sure he has his own evil reasons, for the triumph of Evil, etc…But I'd also bet he means it, in some part. Men, she fumed, inwardly. As if Eliza hasn't been the best ruler England's had in centuries.
Slight invisible nudge from invisible Willie…
Get on with it, sweetheart.
"For my child…On the terms I asked."
"Hardly necessary, but granted, with grace." Smile, wave of hand. "Now keep quiet and be ready to follow my lead when things erupt in the morning."
"The morning?" Sincere blanch.
A lot can happen, torturewise, in a torture cell, between night and the dawn.
"The Queen's given Bob a last faint hope…Not a true one, alas, but one he'll leap onto. He'll be given a hearing at the Privy Council in the morning."
She blinked… "Surely he's not stupid enough…"
"I have every faith in him that he is…" cool smile. "But, I think he'll seal his fate, with help from his dearest friend, me, and try to even the odds. When he does, I will require your speaking for me that I tried to dissuade him and protected you. You can throw in that I tried to protect Shakespeare as well, but sadly could only save his wife."
She looked at his arch look.
Good luck with that, mate. She thought.
"Fine…You'll have my voice in your favor, though I can't guarantee the Queen will listen."
"I'm sure you and your pathetic condition will indeed persuade her to view me kindly."
Right, she'll just behead you, not draw and quarter you…She thought.
"Well, Master Shakespeare…" Essex had come to Shakespeare, still held outside his cell by two guards. "It seems you will have the chance to think over your confession for a bit longer. Pray make the most of it. I must attend to the Queen's messenger and have him inform her Majesty of this treason of yours."
"Nothing but a lie, your Grace…And unworthy of a stepson of the noble Dudley." Shakespeare, calmly.
By all the gods at once! Will! Anne fumed, terrified as Essex reddened.
"If I were not a gentleman…And you, a mere varlet, a peasant with delusions of…!" fume.
"Grandeur? Your Grace?" Shakespeare suggested.
"Lock him up!" Essex raged to the guards.
Geesh he was quite right on the word, Willoughby thought as he and the others urged Shakespeare back into his cell, closing door. Anne eyeing him desperately though the bars of her and his cells.
Will? Can't you keep that adder's tongue still for one moment?
"Bob…" DeVere called, gently.
Please don't kill my ticket to Immortality till I've crossed ts and dotted is.
"No, it's cool…I'm cool, Edward. Shakespeare? I will deal with you later, as the Queen's anointed right hand." Haughty tone. "Lets go, Edward. The Queen's councilor awaits."
"Coming right along, Bob." DeVere nodded, languid wave of hand.
"Slayer…I saved his life yet again." DeVere hissed quickly, pausing by Anne's cell, eyeing her. "Be sensible and he might yet live, after a fashion. But I'll waste no more time with you, so decide quickly." Turning and heading after Essex, the guards falling in behind him.
…
Essex, in as much hasty finery as he could muster, posed elegantly…Regally, he noted to his visage in mirror, in the front hallway of Essex House. A number of eager followers and hangers-on lining the rest of the hallway back to the Great Hall, hopeful expressions. DeVere, close to the door and keeping far enough to avoid the mirror, languid pose.
Now this…Should really be amusing…
The Earl's Guard at attention, a couple of trumpeters with Essex House banners ready to unfurl at the reckon…
A solid pounding at the door… "His Grace, Keeper of the Great Seal, Sir Thomas Egerton seeks audience with Robert, Earl of Essex! In the Queen's Name, open!"
A nod from Essex and the nearest guard to the door stepped forward and opened, peering out.
"Enter. His Grace the Earl welcomes the Keeper of the Great Seal!" the guard cried, stamping his pike on the ground.
A dignified man of medium build and height, with white hair and beard, in rather stately dress, entered, flanked by two guards…
"Sir Thomas…An unexpected pleasure." DeVere bowed, extending hand.
"Should've been an unnecessary one, my Lord Essex." Egerton, sternly. Peering about…
"Yes, the usual suspects…" curt tone, nodding. "Well, your Grace, a fine kettle of fish for Lord Dudley's stepson."
Oh, am I forever to stand in Dad's shadow, regards things manly? For sheer beauty…I'm on the pedestal, alone.
"Yes, well thanks for your troubles, Sir Thomas, we commend you." Essex nodded.
"Indeed…" DeVere echoed.
"Ah, your evil nemesis is yet with you, I see." Egerton, eyeing DeVere with distaste.
If you only knew, old fool…DeVere, pasting a haughty look on face.
"Good to see you too, Sir Thomas. Hoping the evening's air finds you well." Disdainful tone.
"Shall I come to the point, your Grace? The hour being late and your time, short." Egerton, eyeing Essex while ignoring DeVere.
"Yes, best to come to your point, my Lord." Essex nodded, maintaining regal pose. "Does the Queen send for me?"
"Her Majesty and Her Council send for you, sir. And demand your presence on the morrow, at the hour of nine, to face serious charges lain against you."
"Charges? Against me, the prop of Her Majesty's throne?!" Essex glared.
"Lord Essex, it's the kindness of her Majesty that allows you this one chance to face your accusers and I would recommend you not act like a petulant schoolboy." Egerton eyed him. "If I may be so bold, your only hope of surviving to another sunset, is to accept Her Majesty's Grace with all due gratitude and regret your past follies, most abjectly."
Good God, she's giving him an out? DeVere, startled. She must be his mother.
The group of followers beaming despite some nervousness at Egerton's manner…
We might actually have a chance in Hell of getting out of this mess?
But I have faith in my old friend, DeVere thought. He'll destroy any newbudded hope, I'm sure of it.
…
The lighter mood of the followers of Essex and DeVere forming the majority of the evening's guests had transmitted to the actors, though, realizing their place in the scheme of things, they inclined to more cautious optimism. While, as the rather more experienced than a boy, boy player noted, they had no political stake in the affairs at hand, they could all easily serve as a useful caution of the consequences of conspiracy while allowing for the sparing of some relatively useful aristos. Though in his opinion, whatever hope there might be for some of his followers, Essex was doomed. The Privy Council summons clearly a blind to get him away from the others and charged in a more legalistic format.
"Calvin is usually not far off…" another player noted to Hemmings and Ben Jonson, waiting together in quiet conversation, who both had to agree.
Not quite cause for celebration yet…The Queen's advisors likely to see executing or at least imprisoning a bunch of actors as the easy way to show the iron fist without serious offending the crucial supporters of the monarchy. Essex, however, would probably not be all that missed, the fool hothead, except perhaps by the one person who truly cared, the Queen herself.
But, staunch daughter of Henry that she was, Bess was not likely to let her feelings for the silly fool overwhelm her head.
Yes, all in all, not a secure situation as yet.
Jonson agreeing but looking over to Anya Jenkins as the seamstress/demon came their way, an anxious, alert look to her.
Hopefully the lass is ready to stop dawdling and offer proper protection to her master's client. What am I…The greatest playwright in England and Europe…Whatever that fool vampire DeVere's opinion on that subject…Consorting with these creatures for, otherwise? I could've just hired a couple of lugheaded louts to beat Will to an early grave, but Anne would no doubt have gotten the whys and wherefores out of them.
"Mr. Hemmings…" Anya hissed to him. "I've had an idea."