The Queen's Lady (16 page)

Father and daughter arrived home to find the Silver Street household in confusion. Henny had returned from church only to discover a marchioness sitting on the doorstep. She had invited the lady into the shop but had then been at a loss what to do next. Old Uriah hadn’t helped matters by saying loudly in the kitchen that the visitor had clearly run mad as she had turned up in the middle of London with no escort and no explanation for what she was doing there.

‘My lady.’ Milly dipped a curtsy on finding Jane humming to herself in her shop.

‘Milly!’ Jane jumped to her feet. ‘Guess what? I escaped!’ She put her fingers to her lips to suppress a giggle.

‘Are you … are you quite well, my lady?’ Milly glanced over her shoulder at her father, begging him with her gaze to go into the back kitchen. But she wasn’t quick enough; Jane spotted him.

‘Oh, Master Porter, you are here! Did you escape too?’

Silas bowed. ‘Aye, in a sense, my lady, but with my commander’s permission. Good to see you again, lass, after all these years. Why don’t you sit down? You are a little flushed from your walk.’

He was right. Milly realized that Jane looked almost feverish.

‘Oh no, it was a lovely walk – quite the best thing to happen to me all April. I caught this bird, you see.’ Jane frowned, ordering her thoughts. ‘No, not so much caught as saved – it was caught – in the cathedral. I let it out. Then I thought I’d leave them all behind. I told myself, “Why not?” ’

Milly was distressed to see her friend was rubbing her arms under her sleeves, leaving red scratch marks.

‘Whom did you leave, my lady?’ Silas glanced out of the window, expecting to see some sign of a search for her. A noblewoman did not go missing without someone setting out in pursuit.

Jane grimaced. ‘My loving family. They’re trying to make me marry this Frenchman – not really a man, more a stuffed doublet. I told them no, but then they made it look as if I did want to and … and …’ Her frantic humour was winding down, returning her to despondency. ‘And … oh, Milly, I’m in such a tangle! I have to marry him now. Even the Queen expects it. I thought I could walk away but, now I think about it, where would I go?’

Milly took Jane’s hands to stop her doing any more damage to her poor skin. ‘You can stay here, of course.’

Jane shook her head, tears spilling from her eyes. ‘No, no, they know about you. Henry said he’d tell the Patons and they’d break your tenancy – throw you out. That’s how it all started – how they got me involved in this farce of a marriage.’

Silas scowled. ‘Don’t you worry about that, my lady. I’m here now. I’ll talk to my lass’s landlord.’

Jane smiled through her tears. ‘I’m glad, sir, but they’ll still come for me. I’m surprised they’re not here already.’ The ramifications of what she had done were now occurring to her. ‘It’ll suit my father to claim I took leave of my senses and went wandering: if he can’t make me marry Montfleury, he’ll be as happy to claim I am insane. Either outcome gives him control of me.’

‘Well, we can’t have that, can we?’ Milly announced brightly. ‘What can be more natural than a holiday visit to old friends? We met by chance when you left the sermon for a breath of air and I persuaded you to walk – most properly under the chaperonage of my father – in the fields.’

‘Is that what I did?’ Jane reclaimed her hands and folded them across her chest, squeezing her elbows. She turned her blue eyes to the ceiling, trying to pretend they weren’t swimming in tears. ‘Oh God, I have to go back, don’t I?’

Milly wished she could make a different reply but Jane was one of the Queen’s ladies, not any old courtier free to come and go on a whim. ‘I’m afraid so, my dear.’

Making a visible effort to pull herself together, Jane straightened her shoulders. Milly felt very proud of her; it was like watching a soldier willingly face a bombardment of the enemy guns. ‘Then I wish you a happy Easter. If I could prevail upon your father to escort me back to the cathedral, I believe I will have people waiting for me there.’

‘It would be my honour, my lady.’ Silas clicked his heels together and bowed smartly.

Jane took his proffered arm. ‘Any advice, sir: one prisoner to another, I mean?’

Silas gave a sour laugh. ‘Take a good book to pass the time and don’t trust the food.’

15

Milly watched them go with trepidation. She’d never seen her friend like that, so completely at the end of her tether, close to breaking point. All that the Earl of Wetherby had done to Jane before to force her cooperation, she had resisted; now her family were about to crush her with their schemes. Milly suspected that James’s rejection had softened her before the blow, making her all the more vulnerable.

‘Oh, I could kill him.’ Milly stabbed a long pin into her heart-shaped cushion. ‘James Lacey has a lot to answer for.’

Before she could think twice about it, she snatched a piece of paper from her writing desk and quickly scrawled a letter to Diego.

Silver Street

19th April 1584

My darling,

You will laugh at my fickleness having just sent you off to Plymouth, but I need both you and your master to return to London as soon as may be. Lady Jane is being forced into marriage and has urgent need of her friends. Please beg your master to put aside this voyage and come to her rescue. I fear only someone of his standing will be able to help her escape. I know she loves him and I believe he cares for her too else I would not presume to ask him to make this sacrifice. Whatever barrier he had put between them finding happiness together will surely crumble when he realizes that he is condemning her to be yoked forever in a miserable match.

Hurry home.

Your own Milly

P.S. My father has arrived soon after receiving your letter. What were you thinking offering to buy me with cows! However, he is coming round to the idea of us getting married, but you need to be here to persuade him to take the final few steps.

There that ought to do it. She quickly wrote a covering note to James Lacey, enclosing hers to Diego within. Her only problem was finding a messenger able to carry the letter to Plymouth – and she could think of only one man for the task.

Milly knocked on the door to Christopher Turner’s room, his landlady at her elbow. ‘Master Turner! Kit! Wake up!’

Dame Prewet shook her head and folded her arms. ‘I told you, Mistress Porter, he is a right one, our Master Turner – never out of bed on a holiday unless you put a rocket under him.’

‘For God’s sake, Kit, this is urgent!’

The landlady extracted a key from her girdle and jiggled it in the lock. ‘He always takes the key out on his side in case I have to get him up. Sleeps like the dead, he does.’ She pushed the door open.

‘Lord, has he been burgled?’ Milly exclaimed, seeing the state of the room. Clothes were strewn on every surface, a side table overturned, papers scattered like autumn leaves after a gale.

‘Nay, dear, this is him. Man in his natural state.’ The landlady gave the recumbent form of her favourite tenant an indulgent look. He was lying on his back, covered to the waist in a sheet, one arm thrown above his head. ‘He pays extra to have his room cleaned.’

‘I hope the maid gets money for the risk she takes – who knows what she might find in here: a sleeping dragon or a nest of Catholic conspirators?’

‘More likely linen that should’ve gone in the buck basket.’ Dame Prewet strode bravely across the chamber and dropped her bunch of cold keys on Christopher’s bare chest. ‘Wake up, Kit. Someone to see you.’

Christopher shot to his feet, a flash of bare flank briefly revealing that he did not bother with clothes when he went to bed. Milly quickly covered her eyes.

‘Fie on thee, woman, you gave me a seizure!’ Christopher grumbled, grabbing the sheet to his chest. ‘I’m naked!’

Dame Prewet chuckled. ‘You haven’t got anything I’ve not seen before, lad. You don’t raise six boys and not be familiar with all there is to know about a boy’s this and that.’

Chistopher clutched the sheet tighter, groping through the piles of clothes to find a clean shirt. ‘Well my “this and that” is not used to being put on display to the neighbours.’

‘It’s only Mistress Porter. She has an urgent business with you.’

‘Out the door, you pair of Peeping Tom-esses. I’ll let you know when I’m decent.’

Obediently, Milly went and stood in the hallway, trying not to laugh. Who would have thought Christopher Turner, bold declaimer of outrageous verses, could be so shy about being caught in his Garden of Eden glory? She had to admit, if she hadn’t already been betrothed, there would have been plenty for a girl to admire.

The door flew open.

‘All right. What’s this about? Why can I not spend the Lord’s holiday in bed as I had planned?’

Milly smiled at Dame Prewet. ‘Thank you for rousing this charming bear from his cave; I think I can take it from here.’

Dame Prewet headed back to her kitchen. ‘Leave the door open, mistress. I don’t want no scandalous goings on in my house – or even rumours of such.’

‘You can trust me,’ promised Milly.

‘But not him. Mother of six boys, me. I know all about –’

‘This and that. Yes, I remember.’ Milly grinned.

Christopher ducked his head out of the door. ‘Has she gone?’

Milly followed him into the room. ‘Yes, you’re quite safe.’

‘She has no shame, that woman.’ He began haphazardly piling up belongings into teetering piles, trying to excavate a chair for her.

‘Don’t put yourself to the trouble, Kit. I’ll sit here.’ She perched by the window. ‘You’ve a lovely view.’

‘Aye, if you stand on the sill you can see when the flag’s raised at the theatre.’

The dear silly dreamer was lost to the stage. So many hopefuls and yet so few achieved success. ‘I was talking of the orchard and the herb garden.’

Christopher sat on the edge of his bed. ‘So, Milly, what’s this about? Trouble with your blackamoor?’

‘His name is Diego. And no, thank you for asking. It’s about a friend of mine. Her family are forcing her into a marriage she doesn’t want.’

Christopher pulled his cuffs free of his jacket, evening out the white frill. ‘Sadly, she wouldn’t be the first. Can’t she find someone to intercede for her? The vicar – he’s a pleasant enough fellow when you stand him a drink.’

‘This isn’t a little local matter, Kit. My friend’s one of the Queen’s ladies and a marchioness.’

Christopher whistled. ‘Not that dazzling lady I’ve seen going into your shop many times of late? My, my, you do keep exalted company, mistress.’

‘Jane and I knew each other as children.’

‘And now she’s in trouble?’

Milly nodded.

Christopher shrugged. ‘I suppose “love is love, in beggars and in kings”. What do you want me to do?’

Milly twisted her fingers in her apron. ‘She’s got to get away from her family. She needs to marry the right man for her.’

Christopher winked. ‘All right. I’ll wed her then. Whisk her away from her unloved swain – save her from her greedy kin.’

Milly laughed. ‘No, you dolt. She needs her true love – and that’s not you.’ She held out her letter. ‘I’ve written to him begging him to return.’

Christopher plucked the missive from her fingers. ‘And the lucky man is where exactly?’ He scanned the direction. ‘Plymouth? You’re writing to
James Lacey
! I can’t believe this. How absolutely perfect!’ He threw back his head and crowed with laughter.

‘Please, Kit, don’t jest about this. I’m serious.’

‘I should’ve guessed: lady in trouble and where are the Laceys? Not there. You’re wasting your time, Milly; he won’t come back for her.’

‘You don’t even know him; how can you say that?’

‘Oh, but I do. I met my wonderful half-brother a month or so ago. I’m the last person you want as a messenger, trust me.’

Milly dug in her pocket and pulled out some coins. ‘I do trust you, Kit. Please, you are the only one I can ask to do this. It’s even better if you know him as you will not mistake the man. And I’ve enclosed a fuller explanation to Diego – he’ll help persuade his master. Can you not put aside your family differences to help my friend? Just this once?’

Christopher refused to take the money. ‘Find someone else.’

‘Who, pray tell? My father is on his parole to stay in London then return directly to his post. Old Uriah would fall off his horse before he reached Southwark. You are my only hope.’

He flopped back on the bed. ‘I’m not hearing this.’

‘Yes, you are. Please, I beg you.’

‘Milly, Milly, you don’t know what you’re asking me.’

‘Yes, I do. I’m asking you to save a lovely girl from a terrible marriage. I’ll pay double your expenses. Please.’

He sat back up and ruffled his mop of curls. ‘S’blood, it’s not about money.’

Milly paced the room in a simmering fury. ‘What then? Pride? Running errands to your brother pains you so much?’

He grimaced.

‘My God, that’s it. The mighty Christopher Turner doesn’t want to humble himself. Why, I’m not so proud.’ Milly dropped on her knees. ‘By all the saints, Kit, I beg you: do this for me.’

‘Don’t.’

‘I’ll talk to your master – make sure you won’t get into trouble at the theatre.’

With a groan, Christopher pulled her to her feet. ‘I’m not needed next week.’

‘Then you’ll go?’

‘You’re a bully, do you know that?’

Milly shrieked and clapped her hands. ‘You’re going! Oh, thank you, thank you! But you’ve got to hurry: they’re sailing any day to America.’ She thrust a coat into his arms and the coins.

‘What!’ Christopher juggled the items she kept piling on to him.

‘You had better leave at once. My father’s got a horse waiting for you at the Swan with the Two Necks and I’ve already packed you a bag of provisions.’

Christopher found himself propelled out on to his own landing with a little red whirlwind behind him gathering up clothes for the journey.

‘I’ll be forever in your debt,’ Milly announced solemnly, handing him a leather satchel of clean linen.

Christopher rolled his eyes. ‘And why do I not find that thought reassuring?’

Plymouth Harbour

A little flotilla of boats accompanied the
Dorothy
and the
Bark Ralegh
out into the Channel. The day was set fair; a good south-easterly wind wafting them on the first stage of their voyage. James stood on the poop deck with Captain Barlowe, enjoying the sensation of the ship ploughing a straight furrow through the jade green waters, a flock of seagulls wheeling overhead.

‘Aye, it’s good to be on the way at last,’ murmured Barlowe, giving voice to James’s own thoughts. ‘How’s your man?’

‘Not good, sir. I left him in his bunk with a bucket.’

Barlowe snorted, the uncomprehending reaction of the strong stomached. ‘I’ll send someone to him, my lord.’

‘Thank you but I’ll see to his care. I’m sure your men have their own duties to attend to.’

‘True enough.’ Barlowe checked their progress against the Hoe. ‘Time to fire our parting salvo.’ He nodded to the gunner waiting for the order down on the main deck.

The seagulls scattered in alarm as the gun boomed, the echo rebounding across the water from the land. The crew of the little boats cheered then turned back to harbour, leaving the two ships to continue alone. James stood at the rail, not looking to land, but out to the sea yet to be crossed. He took a deep breath, enjoying the clean cut of salt air in his lungs. Strange, but ever since Diego had turned up at his inn a fortnight since, James’s spirits had begun to rally. His know-it-all brother and servant had been right: he needed this adventure. The horrors of war had encased him in a kind of emotional ice; now in the spring sunshine, he felt that carapace crack and slide from his shoulders. He was beginning to believe that life was not so bad after all; there were still things to live for, new horizons to explore.

James’s mood took a bit of a dip when he returned to his cabin to face his sickly servant. Poor Diego looked washed out and a little grey in the face. Ships were never sweet-smelling but this little cabin could badly do with an infusion of fresh air. James pushed open the window, grateful they had been given accommodation high above the waterline. Covering his mouth with a neckerchief, he dealt with the worst of the mess and sluiced out the bucket with fresh water.

‘Turning servant, master?’ croaked Diego.

‘Glad you can find some humour in the situation; you look like death.’

‘Gets better … eventually.’ Diego closed his eyes and curled up on his little bunk under James’s own.

At a loss what to do with himself on the long stretch of hours on board ship, James pulled up a stool to the writing ledge bolted to the wall under the window. He took out a piece of paper from his portmanteau and cut himself a pen from the stock of quills. There was always a chance they would pass a homebound vessel on their outward journey so he should have a letter ready to hand over. But to whom did he want to write? He dipped his nib in the ink pot and scrawled the date across the top of the page.

To my dear

He lifted the pen, hesitating over writing his brother’s name in the space. It wasn’t Will he wanted to write to.

Lady Jane,

Greetings from afloat Neptune’s playground. We have set sail from Plymouth at last and already I feel the change has wrought much good. Thus far the divine powers have been kind to us, giving us fair weather for our departure.

James frowned at what he had written. The weather! In courtly language too. Couldn’t he do better than that?

I thank you from the bottom of my heart for sending Diego to accompany me. I must have taken leave of my senses to embark on this adventure alone. You and the good seamstress are both wiser than I.

There – something heartfelt. An improvement.