The Rogue's Princess (15 page)

Only having just emerged from the schoolroom, Tobias resented the implication that he was not old enough to judge his own pursuits. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘But you have to be better even than that – your record must be lily white when it comes to loyalty to Her Majesty. If anything is written on the page about you, the words must be ones of respect and service, not crude jokes down the tavern.’

‘You’re making too much of it, Kit. None of that talk means anything.’

Kit felt truly frightened for the boy; he was sailing close to
the reef without realizing it, and a player was no protection come shipwreck. ‘I think, little brother, it is time you went back to Will, or James – take your pick.’

‘You’re throwing me out?’ Tobias looked aghast to find his easygoing brother come down on him so hard.

‘No, I’m throwing you to safety. Babington’s ship is likely to sink if he’s as unguarded in speech as he was this night. You need to get to shore before it goes down with all hands.’

Tobias swore at him. The last thing he wanted was to have his freebooting life in London cut short.

‘Oh, grow wise, Tobias, this isn’t about you and your small debts! Will doesn’t care about them. He’s hoping you’ll learn what the world is like outside the comfort of Lacey Hall, and this is your lesson: life is dangerous!’ Kit pulled Tobias out of the path of a crew of drunks reeling across Wood Street to search for the ladies of Love Lane. ‘Look, I don’t want to preach at you, but being about the Theatre since a lad has taught me a hard lesson or two. Men like Babington blaze bright, but then get snuffed out. None of us wants to see you follow that same path.’

Tobias grimaced.

Time for the second lesson. ‘And that maid you were fondling?’

Tobias’s smile brightened at the reminder. ‘What about her?’

‘She had the French disease – you can tell by the condition of the skin. ‘’Sblood, Tobias, if you’re going to go wenching, at least find a good sort of girl to tumble, a proper sweetheart.’

Tobias looked sick and brushed his hose vigorously.

Kit dug his teeth into his lip to hide his smile. He knew his
little brother was keen to lose his virgin status, but hadn’t yet managed it for all his swaggering. It was a ticklish business for a fellow and he could sympathize, though his own experience had been forced on him somewhat younger when he’d had no older brother to counsel him.

He clapped Tobias on the back. ‘Save yourself for the right maiden, Tobias. You won’t regret it.’

Tobias cheered up at this thought. ‘You mean like you are with Mercy?’

‘Yes, like me.’ Though it seemed likely that Kit’s celibate state would last some time with all the progress he was making in his campaign to win his lady. He was the last man alive to volunteer to live as a monk, but somehow it had fallen to his lot to learn patience and restraint. ‘For the sake of our ladies, we both should keep our points tied.’

Tobias nodded sagely. ‘Aye, maybe you are right. But at least you know who will have the unfastening of yours. I’m still looking.’

Kit was growing distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Let’s change the subject, shall we?’ He searched for a suitably subduing theme. ‘Tell me about studying the law.’

10

‘What’s happened to Rosie?’ Grandmother Isham asked Mercy for the twentieth time that day.

Mercy tucked a blanket around the old woman. The milky surface to one of Gran’s eyes had grown worse over the last two months since Rose had left, and Mercy suspected that she was now almost blind, which added to the confusion not to have her favourite child with her.

‘She’s housekeeping for Master Porter. You remember him, Gran, don’t you? He called by last evening to bring you word. When the weather gets better, he’ll take you to see Aunt Rose.’

Grandmother pawed at the blankets. ‘But why can’t she come here? I want her.’

Mercy sighed, trying not to shoulder the blame for her aunt’s absence. Rose had been right: the matter had been between her father and her aunt and Mercy’s part in it was incidental. The only person who appeared happy with the change was Faith, who appreciated having her kingdom of the kitchen to herself. Still, it didn’t stop Mercy feeling bad about the situation. ‘Aunt Rose can’t come just at the moment, but she made this broth and sent it this morning. Would you like some?’

Grandmother shook her head, her eyes watering. ‘No, I want my Rosie.’

Mercy’s father came in from the street in time to hear Grandmother’s last words. He glanced at Mercy then looked uneasily about the room. The balance in their relationship had shifted of late; Mercy no longer folded so quickly under a disapproving look, and he had begun to avoid her gaze when it came to matters concerning her aunt and grandmother.

‘Where’s your sister?’ he asked, hanging his hat by the door.

‘Visiting Mistress Kingsley. She was delivered of a stillborn child yesterday.’ Mercy put the cup of broth back on the warming ledge by the fire until Grandmother was ready for it.

‘Sad news. I must call by later and offer my condolences to Kingsley. A house without children is like a grate without a fire – a cold place.’

‘I think that’s what Gran believes too.’ Mercy patted the old lady on her hunched back. ‘Will you not let her see Aunt Rose?’

John Hart pulled a stool up to the table.

Ah well, so he still refused to answer.

‘What’s for dinner? It’s been hungry work this morning – a convoy of ships finally come in from the Indies. They had to sail far into the Atlantic to avoid the Spanish pirates and we had begun to fear they were lost. There’s many a relieved investor on the ’Change today.’

‘Will they have new cloth for you to trade?’ Mercy set the chicken pie she had made on the table.

‘Indeed. Fine silks, brocades – a treasure trove from the glimpse I had of the samples. I’ve Edwin down at the dockside with my men to take an inventory.’

Mercy cut a slice for him and put it on a plate with a side serving of mashed turnips flavoured with thyme. ‘May I have a look before you send it out to the warehouses?’

‘You?’ Her father picked up his knife. ‘You’ve never shown an interest before.’

‘I have a desire for a new gown, and mayhap a forepart and stomacher. Ann knows a good tailor who can make it at a reasonable price.’

John Hart studied her warily. ‘This is not like you, Mercy. I know the folk at church have been unkind, but you’ve borne their foolish scorn like a Christian should. Don’t do anything rash.’

Mercy gave him a snip of a smile. ‘I do not think a new dress is rash. And I’ve outgrown most of my clothes.’

Her father studiously avoided inspecting her blooming figure. It was true that she had continued to fill out her bodices and had shot up an inch over spring. ‘I don’t begrudge you new clothes, Mercy, far from it. Order ten if that will make you happy.’

Seeing Kit would make her happy, but her father didn’t want to hear that.

John Hart spoke the grace and Mercy then sat down opposite him, her own plate only half full as she had little appetite. Mercy hadn’t been able to speak to Kit since February and only heard word through Ann when Kit had had business with Alderman Belknap. Their sole contact came each Sunday when Kit would come to the same spot on the south bank. If the tide was right, he would write a message to her in the mud, some line of poetry or snatch of song. Thus far none of her family had asked why she was so assiduous at retiring to her
chamber for private study as soon as they returned from the morning service and she was grateful for their lack of curiosity. She lived for that day each week, amazed that he was still returning for so little reward – a wave, a blown kiss, that was all she could send him by way of thanks.

‘What think you of Master Porter?’ her father asked her abruptly.

‘Why, I think him a very good sort of man.’ Mercy smiled at the memory of the old soldier charming Gran with his bluff manners and hearty laugh.

‘Murky past.’ John Hart poured them both some ale.

‘He seems in favour at the moment. Edwin told me that half the young men at court come to him for tuition – and where the court leads, the City has followed. He has met all sorts in the fencing hall.’

‘Aye, it’s a fine place for your brother to mingle with men of influence and potential.’

Edwin had also told her that he’d met Kit’s half-brother James there. James Lacey had come to give a masterclass with Porter’s blackamoor son-in-law, Diego, on the use of rapier and dagger. She wondered if Edwin had told their father about it. Edwin had been in awe of the two men’s speed and skill, going on to confide his fears to her that he would never attain the same accomplishments and thus disappoint their father – another Hart child who put the fear of failing their parent before any other consideration.

John Hart cut another slice of pie. ‘Do you think your aunt is happy keeping house for him?’

Ah, here was the point to which he had been working, the thorn that had worried his paw until it had become sore.

‘I have no way of knowing, Father. I haven’t seen her.’

‘But did Master Porter say she was content?’

‘He only said how happy he was with her services. She makes an excellent housekeeper.’

‘I thought perhaps that you might like to call there later, see how she fares.’

Finally! All the family had known that John Hart could not long keep to his anger against any man or woman, his character tending to forgiveness more easily than condemnation. Mercy was relieved he had finally softened towards Rose, but she knew better than to sound too eager to repair the breach in case that made him suspicious.

‘I can do that if you wish. And may I bring her back to see Gran?’

John Hart looked down at his plate. ‘Aye. There’s no harm in her spending an hour here this afternoon. Just an hour, mind.’

Mercy was intrigued to see her aunt’s new home. She had heard much about the fencing and riding school from Edwin and knew where to find it as it was only a short distance from their London Bridge house. Silas Porter had taken a lease on an old tavern in a side street just beyond the bridge – a prime place belonging to the Bishop of Winchester, providing stabling for horses and a room large enough for the swordsmen to work when they could not use the yard outside. Fortunately, today was fine and she paused to watch the entertaining sight of six young men lined up in pairs practising their strokes to Porter’s stern orders.

‘Dudley, your blade is not a willow-wand. Don’t let me see
it droop again like that! Good, Smith, good. And again – keep up the tip, keep it up, keep it up!’

Mercy decided it best not to interrupt him to ask for her aunt. He looked quite fearsome on the field of combat and she didn’t want to be responsible for a gentleman putting out an eye of some hapless opponent by an ill-timed enquiry. Surveying the building, she saw the ground floor was given over to stabling, which led her to conclude that the family quarters must be above. A flight of stairs went from the yard to the first floor balcony – the most promising way in.

Her entry into Porter’s school did not go unchallenged. The next class of young bucks was hanging over the rail, watching the skirmish in the yard with keen interest – but not so keen that they didn’t notice her climb the steps. One whistled appreciatively.

‘Ho, lads, our luck is in. Sergeant Porter’s employed a new tutor.’

‘You can teach me what you like, love, any how, any way,’ said another with a leer.

A mop appeared out of an open window and dowsed the amorous swain with grubby water. ‘Cool your fires, young sirs, and keep a civil tongue in your heads. This is my niece.’

The gentlemen immediately looked abashed.

‘Apologies, fair mistress.’ The sopping-wet one scraped a bow. ‘You know we meant no disrespect, but your charms robbed us of our senses.’

Mercy didn’t know any such thing, but whereas a few weeks ago she might have been shocked by their words, now she just whisked them away like bothersome flies. She ignored the gallants.

‘Aunt Rose, are you receiving visitors?’

Rose opened the door and embraced Mercy. ‘You’re not a visitor. Family is never a visitor. Come in, come in. Your father’s let you come at last?’

Mercy nodded.

Rose pushed Mercy to arm’s length. ‘My, I do believe you’ve grown.’

Mercy shrugged. ‘A little upwards and more outwards. When am I going to stop? It’s getting quite tiresome to keep letting out my clothes.’

‘I doubt your Kit will be disappointed.’ Rose steered her into the kitchen.

‘You’ve seen him?’ Mercy untied the strings of her cloak and hung it on a peg.

‘Several times. He’s a good friend of Silas’s daughter.’

Mercy felt a twinge of jealousy. ‘How good a friend?’

Rose chuckled. ‘Milly Porter is very happily married and to a man who can more than fend off any rivals to her affections. Never you fear, I’m yet to see a more devoted lover than Kit Turner. He’s still determined to have you, you know.’

Mercy hugged her arms round herself and grinned. ‘I know.’

‘He’s working hard to provide a home for you, saving his money to establish a little nest for you both.’

‘He is?’ Mercy couldn’t help laughing. Her flamboyant player turning wise investor: it had to be love!

‘When he has enough, I think he’ll ask for your hand in marriage again.’

Mercy scowled at the reminder. ‘And my father will refuse.’

‘And your father will refuse,’ Rose echoed. ‘So what will you do then?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not of age and won’t be for many years.’

Rose put a plate of fresh-baked buns on the table. ‘If you find a priest to say the words, I suspect your father will not refuse to recognize the marriage if he thinks he’s too late to do anything about it.’

Mercy had thought of this herself. ‘Aye, but it would hurt him – and he’d never forgive me, not really.’

Rose stroked Mercy’s cheek. ‘Aye, well then, it will come down to whom you love more: your family or Kit. I’ll stand with you whatever you decide.’

‘Why can’t everyone just love each other and have done!’

Rose gave a bittersweet smile. ‘There’s the rub. But the world doesn’t work that way, as you well know. But somehow I think my Mercy is now old enough to make the right choice. A few months back and I wouldn’t have been so sure.’