The Rogue's Princess (11 page)

‘A song in praise of Her Majesty, sir, in a setting by the court choirmaster, Lyly.’

Mercy looked down at her shaking fingers. He wasn’t telling her father lies, but that did not properly describe the charged words of love he had sung to her. Kit was doing it again, hiding behind things that distorted the truth like a mottled mirror.

‘I’m pleased you chose a suitable piece, none of these loose songs that I hear about the streets these days. What did you say your name was, sir?’

Kit smiled. ‘I have not said as yet, sir. My name is Christopher Turner. I am a player at the Theatre and illegitimate half-brother of the Earl of Dorset.’

This double serving of truth fell into the quiet conversations in the church like a crack shot on the tennis court. Mercy could swear that half the gossips in the congregation had heard as his words bounced off her father’s shocked face. She had just been berating Kit for not telling the whole truth; now she was wishing he had been a bit more circumspect. And what was this – an earl for a brother? It was like a tasteless rerun of
The Merchant’s Daughter
.
Lo, I am not Tom Cobbler, but a baronet’s son!

‘A player?’ coughed her father.

‘Indeed, sir. Mercy, I mean,
Mistress Hart
,’ he bowed in her direction, ‘did not know at the time. For that I have to apologize for I fear she was offended when she discovered the truth.’

‘You earn your living in the Theatre?’ Her father could not get past the first confession. He probably expected devils to
leap out from behind the communion table and drag Kit off to Hell.

Mercy began to worry for Kit. Anger had made her compare him to a demon earlier, but really, her heart prompted, was he not more like Daniel walking into the lions’ den? He could not expect any friends in this strict gathering of God-fearing folk and yet he had still done it. For her.

‘Aye, marry, sir, I do work there. I always thought it a touch better than stealing from old ladies as a means of putting bread on my table,’ Kit replied with a self-mocking note in his voice.

Faith pulled Mercy up by the elbow. ‘Come along, sister, we must talk to Mistress Field.’

It was the first time Mercy had ever heard Faith utter anything approaching untruth. They both knew there was no such requirement – that was how serious Faith thought this interruption of their decent family Sabbath. But Mercy was not ready to abandon Kit to her father; though she was angry with him, she was not so uncaring as to leave him to the lions.

‘I will be there presently, sister. I believe Master Turner has only called by to offer an apology to me then be on his way. Is that not so, Master Turner?’ She offered him the decent chance to take his leave.

‘Nay, Mistress Hart, I was hoping to ask permission of your father to court you.’

Mercy prayed for a thunderbolt to strike her now, burn her up until all that was left was a pair of smoking shoes. She would never outlive this.

‘Mercy!’ She had never heard her father use that tone to her before. ‘What is going on?’

Edwin, until now a bemused spectator to this scene, stepped
in to save her from further humiliation. ‘Father, shall we not take this conversation somewhere a little more private than
the middle of our church
?’ Mercy reminded herself to tell him later that he really was her favourite brother of all time.

Recalled to his surroundings, John Hart nodded and briskly beckoned his daughters. ‘Come, girls, Master Turner here will follow with Edwin. We will talk more at home.’

The two young men stood back as the girls followed their father from the church. John Hart offered abbreviated greetings to their friends and neighbours, his daughters trailing along in meek silence. Mercy wished her face was not broadcasting her distress, but she had no control over her flushed cheeks. She was torn between a desire to slap Kit for his boldness and an urge to protect him from her father’s coming wrath. Whatever happened at home was going to be ugly, she just knew it.

Tight-lipped, John Hart strode back across the bridge, nodding curtly to those who offered him Sabbath greetings.

‘Explain,’ he snapped.

Mercy ran to keep up with him. ‘I met Master Turner at Ann’s and we played music together as you have already heard. We … we had a private conversation at that time, which made me think he would fain woo me as his wife.’ She swallowed, hoping he did not demand more details.

‘And then?’

‘We met when I went to the Theatre with Aunt Rose. It was then I realized he was a player. He wanted to explain why he had not told me this before, but I hastened home before he had a chance. I was upset that he was not an apprentice musician as I had thought.’

Hart stopped abruptly outside their door and shoved it open. ‘And that is all, or do I need question your aunt? No dalliance, no kisses or other lewdness?’

Mercy gaped like a perch netted at Fish Wharf.

Her father pulled her roughly inside and stood her before his chair while he strode the room. ‘I see there
is
more.’

Faith gasped. ‘Mercy, you haven’t … ?’

‘A kiss. One little kiss. At the Belknap supper.’ Mercy squeezed her hands together.

Grandmother Isham roused from her bundle of blankets by the fire. ‘What’s this? Someone’s been kissing young Mercy?’ She reached out to her granddaughter. ‘That’s lovely, dear. Was it a pleasant kiss or all thrusting tongue and whiskers?’ Her eyes twinkled, curious to know the answer.

‘Mother Isham, will you be quiet!’ thundered John Hart, quite unlike his normal forbearing self.

But Grandmother had latched on to a subject in which she had a keen interest. ‘But girls need kisses, John. Sunshine to flowers, that’s what they are! You kissed my Mary often enough, admit it.’

‘Mary was a woman above reproach. She was my wife!’

‘Not when you first kissed her, I wager.’

Edwin and Kit entered together at this moment, attracting all eyes.

‘Is that him?’ whispered Grandmother, none too quietly. She waved Mercy closer. ‘Oh, very good choice, darling. He is quite the most handsome man I’ve seen since my Ben came wooing. I wouldn’t mind a kiss from him if he were willing. Here, my fine gallant!’ She puckered her mouth.

Kit looked most alarmed to be propositioned by the old
lady within seconds of entering. Mercy’s heart did a painful flip when she saw that he had quickly surmised the state of Grandmother’s mind and took her hand gently in his to offer a respectful kiss. ‘It is an honour to be allowed to salute you, ma’am, with the worship of my lips.’

Grandmother chuckled and patted his cheek. ‘Oooh, I like this one, Mercy. Do keep him please. He looks much more fun than your brother.’

‘Faith!’ roared John Hart. ‘Take your grandmother to the kitchen and close the door!’

Faith hurried to obey, guiding the reluctant lady from the courtroom of the family parlour.

‘Don’t you scare away this lovely young man, Johnny, or I’ll take a rod to your backside!’ threatened Grandmother as she went. ‘And don’t blame Mercy for letting him kiss her! No red-blooded girl could resist him.’

7

The door shut on that piece of old wives’ wisdom and the silence that then fell was the most uncomfortable one Mercy had ever experienced. Her father paced the room, dominating it with his thunderous mood. Shaking in her shoes as she stood before him, she felt like the church spire about to be struck by lightning.

‘Sir, what mean you treating my daughter like a common tavern wench?’ asked her father coldly, his ire flashing out to hit his tall target.

Kit turned apologetic eyes on Mercy. ‘That wasn’t me. That was a young man with whom I was standing outside the Theatre.’

Oh, he really shouldn’t have said that. Mercy shredded the frayed ends of her purse strings nervously.

‘What? I was talking about you kissing my daughter at the Belknaps’; what are you talking about?’

Kit had said too much to backtrack. He glanced at Mercy, but seeing she was not going to add anything, he rushed to explain. ‘An acquaintance approached your daughter and her aunt in an inappropriate fashion outside the Theatre, but the elder lady ended his pretensions swiftly and with great presence of mind. Nothing more passed between them.’

Her father turned to Mercy. ‘You did not tell me of this? Why not tell me the truth about your visit to the Theatre?’

Mercy felt close to tears. ‘I did not think of it after the event. Aunt Rose stopped the man before he could go too far.’

Her father turned away to master his temper. ‘Edwin, I pray your pardon that you have to hear of such behaviour from two that share your blood. I had not realized that Rose had led Mercy so far from the paths of righteousness to think such an approach of no matter.’

‘Sir, this is not my aunt’s fault!’ Mercy protested.

‘I disagree, but that is for another time. Now we have to deal with this scandalous behaviour on your part, Mercy. You let this man kiss you.’

Mercy mangled her fingers together. ‘Aye, sir.’

‘You did not push him away with objections as any decent maid would.’

Hadn’t she? All she remembered was a soft touch of lips; it hadn’t felt like something that should be rejected at the time. ‘Nay, sir, I … I did not.’

‘Now look here, Master Hart,’ interrupted Kit, ‘I want you to understand that your daughter is entirely blameless. She has done nothing wrong and wrestled only to do what is right.’

‘Wrestled indeed,’ muttered Edwin, looking at her with disbelieving eyes. Mercy could tell from the shocked expression on his face that her brother only now realized that his baby sister had grown up without him noticing and he didn’t like the change.

Kit held on to his temper, though the scorching heat in his eyes warned that he was angered by her father and brother’s reaction to their brief interlude at the Belknaps’. ‘I did not
approach you today to make it worse for your sweet daughter. I came to ask that you search your Christian charity to find a place for me, aye, marry, a wandering sheep in your eyes, but one who loves Mercy and wishes to be given a chance to prove it to her.’

‘Wandering sheep? You are more like the thief that climbs o’er the wall of the sheepfold to steal the lamb.’ John Hart folded his arms. ‘In what world do you live, Master Player, that you think an actor, and a bastard one at that, worthy of my daughter?’

‘Father!’ protested Mercy. ‘His birth is none of his fault. You should not hold that against him.’ She was now quivering with rage to hear such insults levelled at Kit.

‘Immoral women breed immoral children.’ Kit’s eyes flashed with rage at the slur to his mother, but John Hart carried on regardless. ‘This player is the very proof of this adage, Mercy, by his choice of profession.’ Her father strode to her and seized her upper arms, giving her a shake. ‘Open your eyes. Do not believe his soft words of love. What can this man want from you other than your money or your maidenhead?’

‘Do you hold me of so little account, Father, that I can have no other attractions for a man?’ she asked in a whisper of a voice.

Her father released her and patted her condescendingly on the head. ‘I know you struggle with carnal appetites, Mercy, as I did in my youth. You have more of my blood than your mother’s in you. I’ve always applauded you for your control until this point. You are too innocent to see yourself as men do. Your form is the kind that tempts the weak and vicious; it reflects well on you that you have so far lived so as to put
yourself above reproach. It is my role as your father to stop you tumbling into error merely because a man says he loves you.’

So her father was more or less agreeing that he thought her nothing but a ripe body waiting to be plucked as that hateful man had told her outside the tavern.

‘I see.’ She dropped her eyes to her toecaps. She wanted to disappear through the cracks in the floor.

Kit gave a low growl of frustration. ‘Sir, you do your daughter a disservice if you suggest I cannot love her for herself. Indeed, she is a beauty, but that is nothing to the beautiful soul that resides within.’ Kit sounded sincere, but he would, wouldn’t he? He was a good actor.

‘And you discovered all this on an evening’s acquaintance?’ sneered her father. ‘That is remarkable. And tell me, did you or did you not know that she was daughter of one of London’s richest merchants?’

‘Aye, I knew she was your daughter, but that has nothing to do with my feelings for her. I’d love Mercy if she were barefoot and without a penny to her name; and I love her as she is – a princess in this house of a merchant prince.’

But his pretty words ran like water off granite as he sprinkled them in her father’s hearing. John Hart went to the door. ‘Barefoot and penniless, you say? Well, that’s the only way you would ever touch her again. Go your ways, sir. Scud, scud.’ He opened the door to throw Kit out like yester eve’s ash. ‘I want no player in my family and, if Mercy wants to see you again, she will have to renounce the name of Hart.’

‘But, sir!’

‘Get thee gone or I’ll kick you out like the scurvy dog you are.’

John Hart’s plan to force Kit to make ignoble exit was spoiled by the return of Rose from church. She bustled into the house already talking, as was her wont.

‘Ah, John, thank you for opening the door for me. Church was so interesting today; I think even you would have approved of the sermon.’ She took a pin from her hat to loosen it from its anchorage in her braided hair. ‘And the psalms were beautifully sung. That new choirmaster has quite a skill with the boys.’ Her words came to a sudden end when she saw the visitor in the parlour and Mercy standing in disgrace before her father’s seat of judgement. ‘Oh.’

‘Rose, did you know that this player had accosted my daughter?’ John Hart said coldly. ‘Kissed her, pawed her, wooed her with false words of love?’

Through tears, Mercy saw Kit clench his fists at his side.

‘When?’ gasped Rose, looking in confusion between Kit and Mercy. ‘Indeed, we met at the Theatre, but there was no opportunity … I swear I was with her the whole time, John.’

‘But you knew they had met before?’ he ground out.