The Fatal Fashione Read Free Page A

the control of capital and trade monopolies to our very door.”
    “But the future of our mercantile power lies in competition, Your Grace, not in monopolies,” he corrected, then looked as if he’d like to snatch his words back. “Though I realize,” he added hastily, “that the monarchy keeps powerful noble factions loyal by bestowing monopolies.”
    “I’ve always encouraged competition and then granted monopolies to the best man. In the case of the fledgling starch industry, however, my approval shall go to the best woman.”
    “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but monopolies in the financial future I—we—envision must rely on open competition.”
    “As I do now,” she insisted, her voice rising. Though she was hardly dealing with stiff-necked parliamentarians, she faced him squarely. “Here is my credo on all of that, Thomas. Competition—and perhaps monopolies, if they are best—is for deserving men and women. Why, if I didn’t believe in competition for all, I’d still have Lord Paulet handing out consignments and gratuities as my father did. I keep Paulet as treasurer of state in name only, a figurehead. It’s you I consult, not him, though I know he fumes at both of us for that.”
    “More than fumes, Your Majesty, now that you bring him up. I warrant he tries to do me damage in the eyes of others—including my queen—at each turn.”
    “But I am onto him, and he still serves his purpose to keep my conservative-minded men in line. They’ve been seething since we stripped to the bone that bloated bureaucracy of Paulet’s friends my father left behind.”
    “I have often been grateful you are so bold and clear-sighted in assessing people, Your Grace.”
    “Though there have been a few who have hoodwinked me,” she muttered, as they began to stroll again. “But, Thomas, as for my fostering competition, even foreign if need be, take the burgeoning new starch industry. Mrs. Dingen van der Passe and her hovering hulk of a husband have more than once tried to suggest I bestow upon them the right to control all London starch houses, and I’ve told them no. I cannot see shutting the door on such young talent as her competitors, someone like Mistress Hannah von Hoven, who also—”
    Though Thomas had seemed sure-footed, he stumbled, grunted, and almost pitched into her. She caught his arm as his walking stick clattered to the cobbles. One of his watchmen, a short, sinewy man with eyebrows that seemed knit together as one dark slash across his face, darted to pick it up, then backed away again. Elizabeth was surprised that anyone had stood so close, for she had not seen or heard him. But she noted now that the man emanated a strange acrid scent she had smelled earlier, no doubt the residue of mortar or resin on his person.
    “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Thomas said. He turned away a moment and called to the man—perhaps a personal guard, she thought—“My thanks, Badger.”
    “Thomas, I will forgive you on the condition that you visit both of the starch houses I’ve mentioned, Mrs. van der Passe’s large one and Hannah von Hoven’s small establishment, to see what I mean. I’ve been sending ruffs to both, encouraging both. Indeed, Hannah’s small shop is holding its own in the burgeoning business.”
    Suddenly, he seemed more distressed than his near fall had made him. “Your Most Gracious Majesty, I keep so busy here—”
    “I will only be a gracious majesty if you humor me on this. I’ll not have you believe your queen is not forward-thinking. I will inform both women that the illustrious Sir Thomas Gresham, financier and builder of the English exchange, will honor them with a visit. My herb mistress sells Hannah the roots of the cuckoo-pint herb to make starch, so everyone profits, you’ll see.”
    Thomas nodded, but she could see she’d upset him. Perhaps, despite the numerous industries he had personally encouraged, one run strictly by women to promote style was beneath him. If so,