The Queen's Lady (9 page)

‘Misbegotten?’ Christopher gave a sour laugh. ‘That’s true – thanks to your esteemed father.’

‘What’s that about my father?’ James realized that whatever reason had brought this man to his room, violence did not appear to be part of his plan – his stance was relaxed, more at ease with the situation than James was. James lowered his weapons, keeping them in his hands but the tip of the rapier now rested on the floor.

‘Christopher Turner,’ the man repeated. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’

James took a wary step closer to the hearth where the fire was now quickly consuming the kindling. He put his dagger back in its sheath and used his free hand to lob a couple of logs on to the blaze.

‘I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage: I’m not aware of having heard that name before in my life, though I can tell you fully expect me to know it.’

‘Well, as if that doesn’t take the prize.’ Christopher gave a self-mocking laugh. ‘Here I was, all ready for the grand reunion, and you don’t even know I exist. Puts me nicely in my place. I will begin again.’ He drew himself up and gave a court bow, deep and accomplished. ‘My lord, Christopher Turner, not a thief, but I admit to being a vagabond under the Queen’s laws. Player at the Theatre. Resident of London. Writer of indifferent sonnets.’

James snorted, deciding the fellow was actually quite amusing for all his sneaky turning up in the chamber uninvited. Ralegh’s house was well known as a gathering place for gentlemen hangers-on; no doubt it had been an easy task for the player to talk his way in with the hope of gaining an audience. The court was plagued with rhyming fellows offering their pen for hire.

‘Good lord, a poet – that’s all I needed to make my night complete. You’re in the wrong room – if you want patronage for your verses, try Ralegh. The day I send a lady a poem is the day I will ask to be taken out and shot.’ He sheathed his sword and leant against the mantelpiece, not yet trusting enough to sit in the man’s presence.

‘But I’ve left out the most important part, my lord. My mother was Judith Turner.’ The player paused again, but got nothing more than a raised eyebrow in reply. ‘She … I regret to say, was mistress to your father. I am your brother … half-brother.’

James was dumbstruck. He had not thought his father a saint but he had never before come across a bastard of his get; but as he had already noticed the resemblance to Tobias even before the man had spoken, he was minded to believe him.

‘I … er … I am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,’ he said stiffly, wondering what was the correct response in such circumstances.

‘No, you’re not.’ The player appeared quite philosophical about the embarrassment he represented to the family.

James wished he felt more alert to deal with this new relation – he hated messy scenes and this looked like one in the making – the abandoned son confronting his legitimate brother, probably with a set of demands James had no means to satisfy. ‘Why have you not made yourself known to us before?’

‘Ah, but I am known to some of the family at least, sir. I received a small stipend from the estate until our father’s death, administered by the steward: one Turville if I remember rightly. Paid for a smattering of learning, but sadly dried up when I was about ten and I was obliged to take to the stage to earn my living.’ He spoke lightly but James recognized an underlying seam of bitterness mined over years of neglect.

‘Your mother?’

‘Dead, my lord, these ten years.’

‘My condolences.’ James turned away to light the candles standing at either end of the mantelpiece, giving himself a moment to come to terms with this surprise. He wasn’t sure what he should feel on discovering he had another brother, particularly one close to him in age if Turner had truly been ten on the death of the old earl. Would his mother be offended to know that her husband had kept a mistress? The Dowager Lady Dorset was no fool; she might well be aware of the fact. No. He qualified that idea immediately: it was inconceivable that she would allow her husband’s child to be cut off so abruptly – she was too kind-hearted to take revenge on a boy for the father’s failing. She had to be ignorant of the affair.

‘Why have you come here this evening, Master Turner?’ James asked, gesturing to a chair opposite him. ‘I know I speak for my older brother when I say that we will wish to assist you as far as we are able.’

Christopher rejected the offer of a seat. ‘I’d prefer to stand, sir. Please be assured I have not come to beg from you or force you to acknowledge me – God knows the time for that is long past and it is best we go on as before.’

‘So what do you want?’

Christopher rubbed the back of his neck – a gesture James recognized with a disconcerting flash of insight as one of his own. ‘I want to ask you to rein in your man.’

‘My man? What, you mean Diego?’

‘That’s the fellow. He’s courting a friend of mine and I want it to stop.’

A coldness seized James’s chest. ‘Why?’

‘She’s a lovely girl – brave and talented. She deserves better.’

‘You object because he is a blackamoor?’

‘I object because he’s in your service.’

Anger rose, memories of Diego’s ill-treatment on the street and under this roof rushing to the fore – the need for diplomacy with this neglected relation swept away. ‘Diego is a loyal servant and a good man. Any woman should be honoured to receive his attentions. Methinks, sir, that if you want this girl for yourself, you should make your advances to her, not try to stab your rival in the back by running to his master.’

Christopher’s fury mounted in proportion to James’s. ‘You don’t understand; you don’t know what it’s like for those of us who tangle with the Laceys! I wager you won’t be staying in London long. You destroy lives and sail on unharmed leaving nothing but shipwrecks behind. I don’t want that for Milly Porter. He’ll ruin her business – he’ll ruin her!’

‘You carry your resentment against my family too far, Master Turner. Now you know we were ignorant of your birth, I would expect you to temper your prejudice with understanding of the reasons for our neglect.’

‘Not all were ignorant, sir. The last payment came two months
after
our father’s death; your brother at least must know.’

‘He was but fourteen at the time of our father’s death. No, our steward, Turville, must know, not the earl, and I intend to question Turville closely about this, make no mistake.’ James ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. ‘But as for Diego, if he likes this girl, I say good fortune to him. I have no intention of interfering.’

Christopher shook his head, lip curling in disgust. ‘How like a Lacey: washing your hands of any responsibility.’

‘You couldn’t be more wrong. You don’t know me or my brother so are in no place to judge our motives.’ James had had enough: new-found brother or no, the man was displaying a glaring absence of respect for his social superior, ordering him around as if he were the servant, not the nobleman. He’d showed enough forbearance. ‘If, when your temper cools, you wish to make yourself known to my brother, the earl, I am sure he will welcome you. But I warn you, do not stand in the way of my man’s happiness – he is part of my household and therefore part of the family. I will defend his rights as forcibly as I can.’

Christopher laughed darkly. ‘See, with one hand you claim I will be treated as family, and with the other you put the claims of a servant over mine.’

‘Do not be absurd, sir.’ James found Christopher’s sense of grievance over-played, like an actor addicted to bombastic speeches. Turner was wrong to expect him to cast aside years of loyal service from Diego so lightly to please a half-brother he did not know.

Christopher tugged hard at the cords securing his garish red cloak round his neck, betraying how furious he still was despite his devil-may-care pose. ‘Perhaps you’ll give my views more weight when you hear what became of your blackamoor this night.’

James felt a lurch of alarm. ‘What’s happened?’

‘His presence provoked a brawl outside Mistress Porter’s door.’

‘Is he injured?’

Christopher shrugged. ‘Slightly damaged – nothing life threatening.’

‘Is this the truth? Is he still out there? Where did you leave him?’ James gestured in the direction of the city as he picked up his cloak, determined to go and find him.

Christopher watched his preparations for departure with wry amusement. ‘He’s under Mistress Porter’s roof. She is seeing to his hurts.’

As if on cue, there was a tap at the door. James strode across and opened it to find one of Ralegh’s men standing outside.

‘Yes?’

‘Message from the city, sir. Your servant has met with a mishap and, according to his rescuer, is somewhat confused in his wits thanks to a head injury. The messenger asks if you will indulge your man with a further leave of absence until he has recovered. The person caring for him does not think him fit to make his way home this evening.’

James turned to his visitor. ‘This is Mistress Porter’s doing, I take it?’

Christopher lounged on the windowseat, arms crossed. ‘Aye, this would be like her.’

James addressed the servant. ‘Tell the messenger I will come to fetch my man on the morrow and to thank his kind rescuer.’

The servant bowed and went off to deliver his message.

The interruption had taken some of the heat from the confrontation in the room. At a loss what he should do about his half-brother, James closed the door and went back to his post by the fire, maintaining the distance between them. It had been a strange evening – first he had been shaken by Jane’s revelations, and now it was ending with a new blood relation and a servant in trouble. He was the worst member of his family to have to deal with this prickly half-brother – Will had the firm kindness needed to put Christopher in his place, Catherine the motherly warmth to embrace, Tobias the spirit to humour, Sarah the charm to beguile him. All James had to offer were failure and hardness bred into him by a season of warfare. But he had to tender some kind of olive branch.

If he had no other gifts, at least he could be practical.

‘And you, sir, do you need a lodging for the night?’ James asked. ‘I can request this of my host if you do not wish to venture on the streets so late.’

Christopher rose and settled his cloak round his shoulders. ‘I take it that this is my dismissal.
Exit stage left
.’

James rubbed his chin, perplexed. Could he say nothing right to this stranger? ‘I meant only what I said. I have no desire to run you off, having just met you. We may disagree about what lies in the best interests of the lady, but need that stand in the way of us getting to know each other as brothers?’

Christopher bowed. ‘Aye, it does. It always does come down to the best interests of the lady in the end – the Lacey way is to ignore them, leading to disaster, and I want no part of that. I’ll take my leave.’

It was hopeless, James realized. Christopher stubbornly persisted in seeing his legitimate brothers as reflections of the father who had abandoned his bastard child. He was not going to be persuaded otherwise on so brief an acquaintance and James wasn’t sure he could be bothered in his current frame of mind to make the effort required to bridge the gap.

‘Then farewell, Master Turner. I will tell my family about you and ask what happened to your stipend.’

‘I won’t hold my breath. Goodnight.’ Christopher turned at the door and gave another of his flourishing bows, more mocking than respectful. ‘Thank you at least for not running me through.’

‘Oh, there’s still plenty of time for that, brother,’ James growled. ‘You and I seem destined to strike sparks off each other.’

Christopher’s laugh carried back up the corridor as he disappeared down the stairs.

8

As her friend had requested, Jane arrived outside Milly Porter’s house early the next morning before the shop opened for business. Milly’s midnight note had been most enticing – an incident was alluded to, some difficulty involving a dear friend, a plea for Jane to advise her on how best to handle a ticklish situation. Intrigued and rather pleased to be needed, Jane had hurriedly obtained leave from court and ridden pillion behind a single attendant to Milly’s door.

She was waiting for her groom to descend to help her from the saddle when James Lacey appeared at her side, hand extended.

‘Lady Rievaulx.’

What was he doing outside the very same shop in Cheapside?

‘Sir.’ Jane accepted his hand and slid off the saddle into his arms. The brief brush of bodies sent a thrill through her, a lick of fire’s warmth after a frosty ride.

‘I’m surprised to see you here,’ remarked James. Not only had he stolen her line, he was still holding her hand. His black leather gloves were well worn, almost as soft as skin. ‘You have some purchases to make?’

Feeling annoyingly addled by the smile in his dark eyes, Jane shook her head. ‘No, sir. I have a friend to visit.’

He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Here?’

‘As you see, sir.’

‘Then allow me.’ He turned to the door and knocked.

An old man opened the portal.

‘My lady, my lord, please enter. My mistress will be down anon.’ The doorman gestured them inside to the workroom. Two leather-cushioned chairs were positioned by the window, refreshments on the little table between them. Milly had obviously been expecting them but was in no hurry now they were here. Jane began to have suspicions – Milly did not know she had already had a chance to explain the past to James at dinner last evening; this was doubtless her friend’s way of helping her.

‘Lady Rievaulx, would you care to be seated,’ James said with a twinkle in his eyes that undermined his formal tone.

‘Thank you.’ Jane arranged the skirts of her wine-red riding habit to fall as neatly as she could manage after the disturbance of the ride. She feared her petticoats must be horribly muddied and she hated to be at a disadvantage. ‘But why so correct, sir? Last night, I believe you were calling me Lady Jane?’

‘Indeed, that is how I first knew you and it is hard to break the habit. But after last night I wish to make amends for the lack of respect I have repeatedly shown you.’ He took a seat, stretching out his long legs encased in dark leg hose, which, unlike her clothes, did not show up the dirt. ‘I know now you are a lady deserving of all honour, deserving of the high title your marriage brought you.’

She smiled and poured two glasses of small ale, feeling a crinkle of pleasure inside rather like the tingling sensation of biting into strong cheddar. Finally, they were able to be amicable once more, misunderstandings cleared out of their path. Could the way to something more also be open? She risked a glance at him to find him studying her face. ‘So to call me Jane is an insult to my honour? I am saddened – I thought it rather a mark of our friendship.’

‘It is – I mean, I hope you took it that way.’

‘Then please do carry on doing so when we are among friends. There is another Lady Rievaulx – my stepson’s wife – an old harpy of a woman, and each time you call me that I immediately think of her.’

‘I don’t think of a harpy when I think of you – far from it.’ He took the proffered glass and raised it to her.

Jane nodded at the compliment. ‘And as for being called the Dowager Lady Rievaulx, that makes me feel quite in my grave, even if it is correct.’

‘Indeed, you are not yet twenty.’

‘Eighteen, sir. The same as you.’ She liked the feeling that this created a little bond between them.

‘Then Lady Jane it is. What shall you call me?’ His long lashes veiled his eyes for a moment – he was planning some mischief, she could tell.

‘What do you suggest? What do your friends call you?’

‘Dolt? Halfwit? Idiot? These are but a few of the names my brothers give me.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t call you those.’

He bowed in acknowledgement.

‘I would only think them, of course.’

He gave a bark of laughter. ‘My lady, you are a pearl.’ He took her hand and brushed his thumb over the knuckles. ‘Please, call me “Jamie”, if you do not mind the familiarity.’

‘When we are among friends then.’

‘Yes, among friends.’

After a restless night on a pallet bed in Old Uriah’s small chamber – by the Nile crocodile, did that man know how to snore! – Diego pulled on his mended doublet, intending to report to his master. His rapid exit was blocked by Milly. She stood in the way, ear pressed to the door as she eavesdropped on the conversation being carried on in the front room.

‘Milly?’

‘Shhh!’ She flapped her hand at him.

‘What are you doing? My master has come for me – I saw him ride up five minutes ago.’

‘Wait!’

He put his hands on her waist, intending to lift her out of his path. ‘He is not a patient man.’

Milly turned in his grasp and smiled up at him, her clever face glowing with pride in her own ingenuity. ‘He’ll be patient this day – indeed, he’ll thank you for any delay you can dream up.’

Diego resisted the temptation of closing the gap between them and covering her lips with his, though their stance was ideal for just such an advance on his part. He tapped her nose instead.

‘What mischief are you brewing, Mistress Porter?’

She grinned then ran her tongue delicately over her lips, a cat lapping cream. ‘I … er … I invited Lady Jane to call on me this morning.’

‘Aye, I saw her dismount outside too. Had you better not go and welcome her?’

‘And spoil everything?’ Milly shook her head, a stray loop of hair flopping down over her eye. She blew at it to get it out of her eyes. ‘Bother, my hair is a mess this morning – it’s all your fault.’

Diego very much wanted to hear what he would spoil, but also felt compelled to ask how he was to blame for the delicious descent of her fiery hair. ‘So what have I done now?’

She tucked the lock self-consciously beneath her coif. ‘I sat up half the night trying to make near invisible mends on your livery and was too late to plait my hair properly this morning before Lady Jane arrived.’

‘Oh, really? Your hair is loose under there?’ The temptation was too great to resist. Diego tugged the coif from her head, releasing the glorious fall of hair over her face. She gave a squeak and tried to catch it, but he just laughed and backed her against the door, holding her hands still.

‘I think you will have to start again.’ He lowered his face to nuzzle the top of her head, letting his lips slid against the fine silken strands.

Silence fell between them as both realized this had moved from play to something far more seductive – the hidden note in their relationship for once sounding clear. Diego held his breath, fearing she would reject him. She should reject him. Look what had happened only last night! He would bring her nothing but trouble. But she did not push him away.

‘I have always loved your hair,’ he said softly. ‘It reminds me of watching the sunset on the beach near my village – the great circle of our father, the Sun, slipping under the horizon, flooding Mother Sky with molten fire.’ His fingers caressed her wrists. His heart missed a beat when he encountered a bracelet he had made on her left arm. He rubbed it lightly against the soft skin of her inner arm, hearing her breath catch in her throat.

‘You … you like my hair?’ she asked tremulously.

‘No, Milly, I
love
your hair.’
And I love you
, he thought.

Milly became predictably flustered under his admiring gaze. ‘Oh, well, thank you. I … I know I am no beauty, so that is a very pretty compliment.’

He brushed the hair off her face gently. ‘To me, you have always been beautiful, both inside and out, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.’ It was no good – even if he was damned for it, he had to kiss her. He bent his head and lightly pressed his lips to hers. It felt better than he had imagined – her mouth soft and yielding under his like orchid petals. He had had so little that was truly lovely in his life he wanted to preserve the moment for all time. He released her lips, keeping his forehead against hers. ‘Forgive me.’

Milly had closed her eyes; she was now pressing her fingers against her mouth. Diego felt a burst of anger against himself – he had insulted her, taken a liberty with his dearest friend.

‘Please forgive me, Milly. It will not happen again.’

Her eyes flashed open, bright with curiosity. ‘It won’t? Was I that bad at kissing?’

What was this? She was not upset?

Diego pulled her closer, one arm round her waist, the other cradling the back of her head. ‘Oh, Milly, you are a joy to kiss. I was afraid I had offended you.’

She wrinkled her nose in a frown, her dusting of freckles disappearing down the creases. ‘I will only be offended if you refuse to kiss me again as then I’ll be convinced I’m a failure at it.’

He smiled but answered solemnly. ‘We cannot have that.’

‘No, we can’t.’

He took her lips again in another long, exploring kiss, full of tenderness for this fiery miracle in his arms. When they broke apart at last, he asked breathlessly:

‘How was that for a delay?’

She rested her head on his chest, her finger tracing the darn she had made in his livery. ‘I’m sure your master will be very grateful.’

James poured a second small glass for Lady Jane and himself, wondering if he should go in search of Diego. Mistress Porter appeared to be taking a fearfully long time to come and greet her guests; did that mean Diego’s wounds were worse than reported? James felt he did not deserve to sit at peace with Jane while others were suffering.

‘Sir …’ Jane corrected herself, ‘Jamie, you seem ill at ease.’

He smiled at the familiar use of his name. ‘It’s my servant, Diego. He was set upon last night in the street outside. That’s why I’m here – to collect him and ensure that he is unharmed. Do you think I should go in search of him?’

A funny expression crossed the lady’s face – wry amusement, he would have called it if the subject had not been so serious.

‘No, I do not think that will be necessary. In Milly’s note, she mentioned the incident and said that her friend had emerged largely unscathed. If she keeps us waiting much longer, I’ll go and hunt her down for you.’

Silence fell between them, a little awkward on his part. He took the chance to examine her face as she brushed non-existent crumbs off her lap. He wanted to tell her that she need not worry about her appearance for his sake as she had always appeared perfect to him – a little too perfect if truth be told. A few crumbs, a little mussing, and she would be more approachable. He wanted to run his fingers down the smooth curve of her neck, loosen the heavy gold braids she had coiled on her head, to which was anchored a jaunty felt hat with an extravagant plume. Her skin looked like cream, a hint of a blush on her cheeks. Edible. Entirely edible – he just wished he had the right to feast.

‘Jamie, you aren’t paying attention.’ Jane’s eyes glittered with laughter.

‘I was, but not to your words. Forgive me.’

Her blush deepened. ‘I was asking how the plans for your voyage are progressing. Is there any hope you can be persuaded to stay on dry land?’ She dropped her gaze. ‘Is there anyone who can change your mind?’

‘I thank you for your concern, my lady, but there is no need for it.’ The sooner he took himself off, the better for all. He did not want Jane to have time to nourish hopes of more from him – his external charm could not make up for his inadequacies.

‘You said that before. You seem to regard yourself as entirely expendable now your brother has his heir.’

He toyed with a basket of trimmings lying on the bench beside him. ‘There is some truth in that. I can see you are worrying about me but, really, I’m not worth it. And just so you understand why my brother insists I take the risk, you should know that Will’s sending me on this expedition in the hope that I can find both fortune and my old self – he believes it’s a medicine I need to take.’

Jane frowned. ‘You’ve … you’ve been ill?’

James pulled a self-mocking face. ‘Sick of heart, my lady.’

She swallowed and glanced out of the window. ‘Oh, I see. Did the lady reject your suit then?’

He smiled. ‘Your mind is swift to think of love when I had another kind of heart-sickness in mind.’

‘There’s another kind?’

He wondered why he was telling her so much. He guessed it was because she was in danger of entertaining tender feelings towards him – a regard that she would not maintain if she knew the truth. He owed it to her to reveal a little of that ugliness and dispel her illusions.

‘Since we met at Lacey Hall, my lady, I’ve served in the Low Countries.’

She looked confused at his change of subject, not realizing it lay very much at the heart of what was wrong with him. ‘I see. Congratulations, I know you always wanted a military career.’

He gave a grim smile. ‘I did, didn’t I? I was arrogant. Oh, I’m a passable fighter when I have to be, but I did not take into account my weak stomach for the realities of war. I returned much chastened, believe me, madam.’

She placed her hand gently over his. ‘Jane, remember?’

‘Jane.’ He wondered ruefully if he should have encouraged such intimacy – her name was a gift he did not deserve.

‘There is no shame in hating to see bloodshed or to be sickened when you are forced to take a life. Not to feel would be the worse crime.’

He curled his hand into a fist under hers. ‘But I should’ve had a tougher hide. I could not bear to stand by and watch others suffer, but that was what was asked of me. You see before you a coward and a failure.’

‘How so? Did you neglect your duty?’ Her tone was brisk but she kept her palm wrapped round his fist, not pulling away from him as he expected at his admission.

‘No, I did my duty to my commanding officer.’

‘But you feel you failed someone else?’

He closed his eyes, aware only of the warmth of her hand on his. ‘There was so much evil abroad – it was not what I expected. No honour in it.’ He cleared his throat, the confession tumbling out. ‘I remember a village – a massacre – children, women, old men – all cut down for no reason.’