The Queen's Lady (8 page)

‘I never had a chance to ask you, my lord, how is Lady Ellie, I mean, Lady Dorset?’ she asked shyly, her eyes lingering on the little dip in his chin not quite hidden by his neat, close-clipped beard. She could imagine pressing it lightly with her finger.

‘Delivered safely of a son and heir for the earl,’ James replied. He rubbed the spot she had been looking at as if feeling her gaze.

‘Oh, that is wonderful news.’ She smiled down at her plate, gilded by the light from the branched candlesticks set along the table.

James studied her profile. ‘You mean that, don’t you?’

‘Why should I not? Ellie is … was my friend.’

‘I thought you despised her and my brother.’

Jane blushed. ‘Never. You mistake the matter.’

‘But he said you told him so when you rejected him.’ James mopped up the juices on his plate with a crust of bread.

‘If he recalls the conversation properly, I actually did not
say
anything of the sort.’

James was quick to understand her implication. ‘Just allowed him to think it?’

‘Well, yes. I never did get an opportunity to explain that.’

‘Master Lacey, I hear from my cousin that you are involved in this scheme of Captain Ralegh’s,’ interrupted the lady on James’s other side, her glare at Jane indicating that she disliked the way Jane had been monopolizing the young nobleman’s attention.

James politely turned to the questioner, giving a brief description of what was being discussed at Durham House. Jane listened in, alarmed to hear that James intended to go on the voyage himself.

As soon as he could extricate himself from the simpering lady, he turned back to Jane.

‘You were about to explain something, I believe?’

Jane was momentarily unable to recall what she had been on the point of confessing, so disturbed was she by the revelation that he was going to risk his life on a shot in the dark – a voyage to the other end of the world.

‘You’re going on Walter Ralegh’s expedition?’ She gripped her knife, her knuckles white. ‘Why?’

James glanced down at her hand. ‘The thought distresses you?’

‘Yes, it does. You’ll very likely not come back. What need you of such mad adventures?’

‘I’m a second son, my lady: it does not matter what I do.’

‘Of course it matters!’ Jane’s anger grew. He appeared to be careless of his own life as if it were nothing to gamble it away.

‘Lady, do not concern yourself with my fate. I really am not worth it.’ He smiled at her as if this would make all things right. ‘Now, I want to hear what you have to tell me about your decision not to marry my brother. It has been a mystery to me – one I would be grateful to you for solving.’

Jane wanted to hit him for his casual disregard of his own wellbeing, but now was neither the time nor the place to continue that argument.

‘I stopped the match going forward because I knew he wanted Ellie.’ Jane reached for her goblet and took a sip, delaying the moment when she would have to look at him, fearing to see disbelief. ‘She needed him more than I did.’

‘Why not tell him so?’

‘Would the earl have been able to reconcile his duty to his intended bride with what he owed to the one he really loved? I feared that he would never break it off if left to his own devices. He would have condemned us all to unhappiness.’

James stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. ‘You did it for Will and Ellie?’

She gave a soft laugh. ‘And partly for myself, I admit. How would you like to be wed to someone who was in love with one of your best friends?’

‘But we thought … I believed you …’

‘Yes, yes, I know: you thought me a cold-hearted harridan. Strange how so many people come to that conclusion.’ She leant towards him confidentially. ‘What am I doing wrong?’

Her smile told him she was teasing.

He replied in kind. ‘You look too perfect for one thing. People find perfection disconcerting – we immediately assume we must have done something wrong and that can be annoying.’

‘I am far from perfect.’ If only he knew, thought Jane. She’d never really forgiven herself for her ill-advised passionate encounter with Ralegh two years ago. Not only had it been against her moral code, it had been stupid, which in many ways seemed the worst sin.

‘All right then, tell me something about yourself to prove you fall short of perfection.’

‘Like what?’

‘Do you snore?’

She wrinkled her brow, pretending to consider. ‘I don’t know – you’ll have to ask my maid.’

‘Perhaps you have an annoying habit, like cracking your knuckles?’

‘I’ve never done that in my life!’

‘You are not winning the argument, my lady.’

‘Oh, yes, I see. Then stop distracting me. I’ll confess. It’s something very serious and you’ll never look at me in quite the same way again.’

‘Go on.’

‘I can’t sing,’ Jane whispered.

‘Really?’

‘Not a note. Donkeys bray more tunefully.’

‘Excellent, i’faith.’ He slapped the table. ‘You have toppled from your pedestal and now are flat in the mud with us ordinary folk.’

Jane laughed. ‘And that is where I have always been, sir. It was you who thought me perfect. Jonas always called me –’ She broke off, fearing to disrupt the playful mood between them with a reminder of her husband.

‘Go on, my lady.’

Jane twisted her wedding ring around her finger. ‘He called me his little bird. It was a joke, because I sang like a duck, not a nightingale.’

‘You miss him?’

‘Every day. He … he was the kindest man I’ve ever known.’

James brushed crumbs from his sleeve. ‘Did you love him?’

‘Yes.’

First checking they were not being overheard, he cleared his throat. ‘Then I should tell you that those stepsons of yours are making a great noise about you never having been fully his wife.’

This was possibly the last subject on earth she wanted to discuss with James Lacey, of all people.

His cheeks reddened, his embarrassment matching hers. ‘I see I’ve made you uncomfortable. Forgive me.’

Jane gathered her courage. ‘No, I want you to understand, sir, that Jonas and I were dear friends and companions for each other. I did honour him and he cherished me. Our marriage may not have been conventional but it contained more love between the two parties than many others I have seen.’

‘I can believe that.’ James touched the back of her hand gently. ‘One of the parties was very deserving of all possible affection. He was a fortunate man.’

‘No, sir, it was I who had the good fortune. He saved me in more ways than I can tell you.’

He gave her a stunning smile, more striking because his face was of late so sad. ‘I will stick to my view of the case, my lady.’

7

Diego tapped nervously on Milly’s door, uncertain of his welcome after business hours. From the other houses, he could hear the sounds of people sitting down to supper, laughter, a baby crying in an upstairs room. A cat tiptoed across the street – darker shadow against the night, eyes shining with a devil’s glow. Diego touched his amulet. He had to be a little mad to come on his own, but he had not been able to stay away.

‘Aye?’ A gruff old man with hair like a wire brush peered at him through a crack.

‘I am here to see your mistress.’

‘Who’s calling? Can’t see you – step into the light.’

Diego let the light from the lantern he was carrying fall on his face. The old man’s eyes widened. ‘Just tell her Diego is here.’

Grumbling, the servant shuffled off. Diego hunched on the doorstep, not liking being left exposed on the streets this late. Cheapside was usually safe during the day, but back streets like this one after dark were notorious for pickpockets and worse. It awakened the same fears in him as the dark jungle ravines far from his village, places his father had warned him never to venture – traps where vines curled round feet, snakes slithered and wild cats prowled.

‘Hey-ho, my fine young man,’ called a woman approaching him from the north end of the lane. She lifted her skirts above her ankles to show her red petticoats. Her lank yellow hair straggled like vipers from under her cap, her lacings loose as if her clothes were only barely staying on like a reptile’s skin about to be sloughed. ‘Want some company?’

‘Thank you, madam, but no,’ Diego replied, giving her a pleasant but cool smile. When travelling with the army, he had spent time with some of the camp followers in the Low Countries – the laundresses who made money on the side in less reputable ways – and he had come to appreciate the appalling lack of choice that led them to their way of life. Women would not have been allowed to fall into such dire straits in his home country, but here it was considered a cruel fact of life. London was so strange.

‘Shame – you look a nice armful. Never ’ad a blackamoor,’ the drab replied cheekily, not at all abashed by his refusal.

‘Sadly, most gracious lady, that is an experience that will have to wait.’

A thin stick of a man approached from the far end of the lane at a fast pace, chin jutting forward like the prow of a frigate.

‘Wot’s goin’ on, Mary? Get yer carcass up to Cheapside and earn yer keep.’

Mary rolled her eyes at him. ‘All right, all right, Jed, I was just goin’. Goodnight, sir.’ She gave Diego a toothy grin.

The man now noticed Diego waiting on the step. ‘Bleedin’ foreigners.’ He spat at Diego’s feet. ‘Tryin’ to get a free tumble, eh?’

‘No,’ Diego said curtly, willing the old man to hurry back and let him in. The last thing he wanted was to bring trouble to Milly’s doorstep.

The man sized him up, clearly thinking he could take the young stranger in a fight, possibly cut his purse into the bargain. ‘Don’t want you pawing our girls, understand?’

A pair of tough-looking men, followed by two more drabs, came up the lane towards them.

‘What’s afoot, Jed?’ one asked. Diego was alarmed to see the newcomer was built like a rhino. While he knew a few moves to deal with a single attacker, the odds were now radically against him.

‘Black boy here cheekin’ Mary,’ growled Jed.

‘He did not!’ Mary protested.

‘Shut it!’ Jed slapped her hard, sending her ricocheting into the wall.

‘Bloody hell, Jed, why d’you go and do that?’ she shrieked, clasping her head. ‘You tryin’ to bleedin’ kill me?’

‘Leave her alone!’ shouted Diego, rushing forward to put himself between her and the man’s raised fist.

‘Keep yer hands off her, you black devil!’ squawked one of the other women, stepping in his path.

Diego realized he’d made a terrible error leaving the step: he was now in the middle of the hostile gang, his only ally sprawled on the ground nursing a head wound from where she had clipped the wall.

‘Go back to where you came from!’ bellowed the rhino, pushing past the woman and launching a right hook at Diego’s chin.

Diego ducked, only to be jumped on from behind by the stick man. The impact took him to the pavement. He got in a few good punches until his right arm was pinned by the rhino, one of the women on his legs. Hands tugged at his clothing, seeking his purse. He kicked her off and curled up, trying to protect his head and middle from what he knew was going to come.

Old Uriah hauled himself up to Milly’s parlour in his own good time to announce that she had a caller. His words were rendered redundant by the sounds of a scuffle on the street outside. Milly rushed to the window in time to see Diego being set upon by three ruffians and their doxies. She shoved the window open.

‘Leave him alone!’ she shouted. ‘Uriah, do something!’

The old man peered over her shoulder. ‘But, mistress, there’re three of ’em!’

‘By all the saints, don’t just stand there – fetch the watch, the neighbours – I don’t care, just get help!’ She grabbed a ewer off her washstand and threw it over the brawlers like she would a pack of fighting dogs. ‘Help! Help!’

Shutters were thrown back at windows up and down the lane. Heads poked out.

‘Mistress Porter, whatever is the matter?’ called her neighbour, Master Rich, the tailor, napkin still thrown over his shoulder from his evening meal.

Milly pointed frantically down at the street below. ‘My friend – they’re killing him – please, help him!’

Rich went back inside, summoning his apprentices. The door to his shop opened and four young men issued out, eager for a scrap. Milly tried to keep an eye on what was happening to Diego, but he was lost in the middle of the battle. To her relief, she saw Christopher Turner emerge from his nearby lodgings with two friends in tow; they approached the fight at a run.

‘Thank God – Kit – it’s Diego – he’s in there somewhere! Save him!’

Christopher tapped his fingers to his forehead in a salute to indicate he’d heard her plea. Throwing his red cloak to one of the drabs with a wink and promise of reward if she kept it safe for him, he dived into the midst of the skirmish. Milly then caught a glimpse of Diego, back up on his feet, exchanging blows with a great hulk of a man. Foreseeing the inevitable outcome of such a battle, Christopher seized Diego by the back of his coat and dragged him clear, Diego valiantly flailing punches left, right and centre, confused as to who was a friend, who an enemy. Milly rushed downstairs and opened the street door just as Christopher shoved Diego through. Flipping a half-penny to redeem his cloak, Christopher swiftly followed, slamming the door shut behind him.

‘Oh Lord! How can I get them to stop?’ groaned Milly, worried now for Master Rich’s apprentices and Christopher’s friends.

‘Not much fuel left for that fire, my sweet,’ Christopher replied. ‘Don’t worry yourself.’

Sure enough, with a few exchanges of insults that turned the air blue with their coarseness, the scuffle subsided to a war of words as the two sides parted, both feeling they had come out on top.

Diego had fallen on to his hands and knees, nose dripping blood on Milly’s rush mats. He looked like a wild beast brought to bay, quivering with the aftermath of a struggle for life. Milly hurried to his side.

‘Oh, Diego, you’re hurt.’ She gently brushed the tightly curled hair on the top of his head.

He sat back on his haunches, his livery ruined, his face battered. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. ‘Nothing to speak of. Do not concern yourself.’

But Milly was already halfway to the little kitchen to dampen a cloth for his nosebleed. ‘Don’t you tell me not to worry, Diego; I just saw you almost torn apart by those mindless mastiffs. If they want to bait a bear, they should go to Bankside.’

‘What started it?’ Christopher asked, leaning back against the pattern table, taking care not to crush the expensive fabrics spread out for the morrow. He crossed his ankles and examined his fingernails. ‘Fights don’t erupt without cause.’

Diego stood up stiffly, holding the linen rag Milly had given him to his nose. ‘They took exception to my face, sir. That was the only cause they required.’

Christopher reached into a workbasket to toy with a pair of scissors. ‘I regret to hear that, but you must realize, Master Moor, that your presence outside Mistress Porter’s shop at such a late hour will do her reputation no good. If you were her friend, you would leave her alone.’

‘Oh, tush!’ interrupted Milly. ‘Why can he not visit me when he likes? I have Uriah and a houseful of girl-apprentices of my own to keep everything decent – stop being so silly. And what about you? The late hour has never stopped you calling by for supper and a gossip, has it?’

‘But I am not a foreigner, Milly; I’m a neighbour,’ Christopher said patiently, annoying her with a tone that suggested he was explaining something very simple to a slow child. ‘Master Diego’s presence will be remembered, discussed, and his connection to you chewed over by the unkindest scandalmongers in Cheapside. Business will suffer. You are still new here – still on trial.’

‘In that case, I had better go,’ said Diego bitterly.

But Milly wasn’t going to let him be run off again by interfering players who should know better.

‘No, you will not.
You
,’ she dug him in the chest with the tip of one finger, ‘are going to come upstairs to my parlour and have supper.
You
are going to stay until I’ve treated your injuries. Henny and Old Uriah will join us so that no one can speak ill of your visit – God knows they both gossip enough as it is; they might as well spread a helpful rumour.’

Diego dabbed his nose, which was no longer bleeding. ‘Are you certain, mistress?’

‘Yes. Come along.’

With a defiant glare at Christopher, she conducted Diego to the stairs. ‘Go on – I’ll be up when I’ve warmed some pottage for us all. I swear you are swaying like a drunkard – you must be seeing double too.’ She turned back to the player. ‘You are welcome to stay, Christopher. And thank you for your assistance earlier out there.’ She gestured in the direction of the street.

‘You’re being foolish, Milly. No good can come of this friendship,’ Christopher warned. ‘He’ll be off in a trice on the whim of his Lacey master, leaving you with his mess to clear up.’

Milly drew herself up to her full height, still a foot shorter than the player, a ruffled hen daring to cluck at the fox. ‘So you won’t be staying, I see. Goodnight then.’

The force of her disapproval drove him as far as the step. ‘Milly, listen to me. See sense before it is too late –’

‘Good night, Master Turner.’ The door clapped shut in his face.

James left the palace feeling as though he had just discovered that the Earth had left its usual place in the heavens to circle the Moon. Striding through the streets separating Whitehall from Durham House, his way lit by a torch-carrying linkboy, he had plenty of time to mull over the fact that everything he had thought about Jane for the past eighteen months had proved wrong. She had given up life as a countess for the sake of her friend. He had believed it as soon as he heard her confession – indeed, the truth had been obvious once she had provided the explanation – and now he only had himself to blame for persisting to think ill of her for so long. If he had gone to her after she had rejected Will, he could have heard the story from her side; perhaps then things would have developed differently – she would not have married her marquess and he …

I probably would not have gone to the Low Countries
, James admitted to himself. He had taken the commission in a fit of temper, soured for the alternative of court life by his ill-feelings towards Jane, the consummate court lady.

But he had gone and now he was not fit company for anyone – outside he knew he seemed very much the same, but inside his soul had crumbled into pieces. If old King Henry had not got rid of the monasteries, he would have been tempted to lock himself away from the world in one so he did not inflict his presence on others.

Tipping the linkboy, he roused the doorkeeper to Durham House who ushered him in with a respectful, ‘Good even, my lord.’ His boots making staccato strikes on the stone stairs, he bounded up to his room, loosening the tight grip of the ruff on his neck. Pins fell from their anchorage but he did not bother to look for them – his chamber was lit only by a single candle on the cold hearth as Diego had asked for the night off to visit a friend. James cursed, having forgotten to order his fire lit by one of the maids before his return. He threw his cloak onto a bench by the door and stooped to light the kindling.

It had just caught with a voracious flare of flame when a voice by the window spoke out.

‘About time, my lord. I was freezing over here waiting for your return.’

James leapt to his feet, drawing his rapier and dagger. He didn’t recognize the interloper and had no intention of making his further acquaintance.

‘Get out!’ he ordered.

The young man had one leg braced across the embrasure, the other on the floor, his head supported by the arm resting on a raised knee – the picture of indolence. James glanced behind him, fully expecting to see an accomplice coming at his back. He had to be a thief – James had no political importance worthy of assassination.

‘I’m alone, my lord,’ the man said, as if amused by his suspicions. ‘Quite alone.’

‘Get out.’

The man slowly got to his feet, moving a step out of the shadows. He was about James’s age, tall and clean shaven with a curling mop of black hair. A pearl earring swung from one lobe. Oddly, James found himself thinking of his brother Tobias. There was something about the dark eyes that reminded him of the scamp.

‘My lord, I would ask you to forgive my intrusion but I know a Lacey never forgives what they see as an insult.’ He bowed. ‘My name is Christopher Turner.’ He paused as if waiting for a response.

‘What’s that to me? I am not usually on first-name terms with thieves and vagabonds who come to rob my chambers. Put back everything you’ve taken and get your misbegotten carcass out of here.’