The Spymaster's Daughter (23 page)

“Ah, my dear Frances, we both need an escape from the fetid bodies of servants and overbreathed air.” He offered his arm, but she pretended not to notice. With a frown, he dropped it. His following words were those of a frustrated boy used to getting his way in all things. “Perhaps you prefer your cripple-leg as escort.”

She faced him. “My lord, you speak such ill to no purpose.”

“Oh, no, my lady Sidney, you are quite wrong. I have a purpose. I will loose the vile hold your servant has on you.”

Robert stepped forward between them.

“My lord, you do offend Lady Frances.”

“Who are you to teach me conduct! I give the lady a warning, which is my duty as lord in this court. There is no offense in duty.” The earl put one hand on his sword, one of the new long French rapiers that were all the rage in fencing schools, his other hand coming to rest on a poniard.

Oh, dear God, no!
Frances shuddered. Robert was armed with only a knife used for cutting his meat. And if he tried to fight a noble as a commoner, he would be taken in irons to the filthy and plague-ridden Fleet Prison next to the river Fleet, London's open sewer, running toward the Thames. There he would be thrown down into a deep cell where no light could penetrate.

Robert held his ground, facing the earl. “I am without a sword, as you see, my lord Essex.”

“By Jesu, you play the hero for your mistress, and I will have none of it.” In a swift move, Essex grabbed at his sword, sliding it out as if it were recently greased. “What you require in great measure, churl, is a lesson in humility before your betters!”

Robert's voice was low and strong, his body erect. “My lord, I
am
humble when before my betters.”

Frances caught her breath, hoping Essex missed Robert's heavy meaning, or could not believe it. The latter proved to be true.

“Return to your work, you baseborn bastard! I will escort this lady as she deserves.”

Robert bowed. “Beg pardon, my lord, but I cannot leave until dismissed by Lady Sidney.”

Essex looked to Frances and saw no dismissal there. His face flushed an angry red and he raised the blade. The sun, full out now, glinted on its point. He advanced, the sword circling in front of Robert's face. “I'll leave you with a scar that will make your fine face fit for only a kitchen maid like your whore mother.”

Though he did not cringe away, Frances saw Robert's face redden and a tremor shake him. A confrontation could no longer be avoided.

“My lord, you have spoken against my honor.”

“Cripple-leg bastards have no honor!”

Heedless of the danger, Robert Pauley stepped forward.

Frances cried out. “No! Stop this at once!”

But both men were beyond hearing her.

A pile of pruned branches lay nearby, and she moved quickly to grab up a fair-size limb as big around as her wrist, and almost simultaneously jumped between the two men. She brandished her weapon at Essex. She had watched Philip and her father practice often enough. She knew the stance, the nine parries, and the lunge.
With her tree branch extended and her left arm gracefully positioned over her head, she smiled. “The queen has forbidden it, but if you seek a duel, my lord, then test
my
arm!”

Essex leaned his long frame backward, amazement fighting amusement on his attractive face. “That is a very threatening position, my dear Frances.” His mouth was tight to control his smile. But caution was beyond him, and he finally erupted into laughter. “If you insist on calling me out, perhaps our engagement would be more fairly fought in a less public space, on satin sheets rather than on gravel.” Now he smirked. “I'd like nothing more than to give you a lesson on how I could best you…and with what weapon.” He so amused himself that he laughed aloud.

Robert, his face a study in control, said, “Lady Frances, I thank you for your kindness, but I have always fought my own battles.” He slipped the branch from her hand. “Begging pardon, my lady, for laying on my hands, but I would place you out of danger, as is the duty of any good servant in your father's service.” He lifted her with ease to safety beside the gravel path.

A silent prayer filled her heart. What had she brought about?

He turned to meet Essex. “My lord, I am ready for your rebuke.” He threw the stick aside, his jaw set in firm lines.

Frances saw more courage in his face and form than she had ever witnessed in Essex, who, though taller and richly dressed in black velvet and beribboned trunk hose, was suddenly the much smaller and poorer man. She made sure her thoughts were written plain on her face.

With a grunt of disgust, Essex sheathed his rapier. “What gain for me in fighting a crippled groom of no consequence? I will have the queen dismiss you as a servant who does not know his place!” He turned to Frances and leaned down very close to her face, almost as if he might touch her with his lips.

She stood very still, unafraid.

“And, Lady Sidney, you will see more of my
swordplay
very
soon, I promise you.” With those parting words, he walked away toward the palace, laughing most heartily.

Frances, so relieved that Robert had not taken a sword thrust for her, sagged toward the ground.

Robert caught her about the waist. “Again, I must beg your pardon for touching you, my lady,” he said softly.

She bowed her head and with a full heart said, “You have not acted as other than a great gentleman. It is over, Robert. Let it be.”

But the matter was not over, as Frances had hoped. Later that day, the queen sent for her.

In great haste, Frances penned a note for her father, briefly telling him what had happened in the garden, careful not to chastise Essex or praise Robert overmuch.

Frances thought she was almost certain to be banished from court for creating such an unseemly scene. She walked none too swiftly to the royal apartment, its windows overlooking the river Thames and the gardens where she had lately been. Had the queen watched the tableau? The courage Frances had so recently felt rise in her heart was now absent as she approached the royal apartments. She would rather face Essex's sharp rapier than the queen's sharper tongue.

She found her father kneeling before the queen and curtsied deeply as the ladies-in-waiting left to avoid the anticipated explosion. Frances did not dare look in Her Majesty's face.

“Perhaps, my lady Sidney, you should cease your lessons with the French dancing masters and repair to the city fencing academies in Blackfriars.”

Frances raised her eyes to see the quizzical look on the queen's
face, which matched the tone of her voice. Yet there was more there. Elizabeth of England was amused—perhaps more than amused.

Her voice was tinged with mockery. “Perchance my lord Essex should return to Holland, where he can satisfy his appetite for warfare, although the Spanish will give him more swordplay than you, even more than he may desire.” She raised her fan now to cover her mouth, which was twisting into a grin. “Perhaps I should even make you my official sword bearer, Lady Sidney.”

A burst of laughter came from the adjoining room; her ladies were unable to stifle their amusement.

Frances's head sank lower into her chest. She wished to be in any other place and time but this one. Elizabeth, shaking with mirth and not ready to surrender her jest just yet, added, “I wonder if Sir Walter could use another good arm in my personal guard.” Her fan came up to her face again. “I think a silver cuirass would suit that gown very well.”

“Majesty, I—” Of all responses, laughter was the one that Frances had not anticipated. This Tudor queen could ever surprise. “Majesty,” Frances began again, “I am always happy to serve you in any way you desire.” It was all she could think to say.

Elizabeth did laugh aloud now, bringing some of her women sidling back into the chamber to witness this rare event. “Oh, I think I have enough men poseurs with their swords for one palace. What I lack are ladies with courage. You will stand closer in the presence chamber, Lady Sidney, since I find qualities in you that I quite like…though they are not what I demand of my ladies. Henceforth, you will confine your exercise to dancing and riding.”

But Elizabeth had not finished. “And, Mr. Secretary, I take heed of your pleas for your man Pauley. He is indeed an intelligencer of spirit and worth. Yet it would be a good thing to have him restricted to his singular occupation in your service instead of also serving as your daughter's protector…when, indeed, she
seems well able to protect herself.” A low laugh rumbled in her throat, which she again covered with her fan. “I will place a guard at her door, since she seems to be honey to men.” Her voice turned stern. “I will have a decorous court.”

“Yes, Majesty, I will make it to be,” Walsingham said, and bowed his way out of the royal apartments with Frances on his rigid arm. “Say nothing more, daughter.”

They walked swiftly into the whispering crowd waiting in the outer chamber. When her father was momentarily detained by Baron Burghley, Frances was confronted by a furious Lady Stanley, who spoke low in half-bitten words.

“You gain attention in any way you can, Frances Sidney!”

Before Frances could respond, Lady Stanley spoke again. “I am widowed, my husband dying when he was cut for the kidney stone. I have come into my dower money and estates.” She lifted her proud head. “My lord Essex will soon turn his attention to me.”

Frances stopped, curtsied, and murmured, “I hope he does, Lady Stanley. I am most sorry to hear of your recent bereavement.”

Her father retook her arm, bowed to Lady Stanley, and they left.

Frances wondered how long it would take Lady Stanley to write to Philip about this most recent adventure. As fast, she suspected, as the swiftest courier could reach the fastest ship crossing the channel to the northern ports of Holland.

Casting furtive glances at her father, she walked with him to her apartment. They stopped and she bowed her head, hoping for his blessing but expecting far worse. “Father, I—”

“Daughter,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft, “there is no blame attached to you in this matter.”

What? She thought she must have heard him wrongly.

He almost smiled. “I was once young, daughter, and remember that young men are ever led by their jealous cods.”

“But Philip will hear.”

“I will write and explain that there is no fault in you. In one way, I am proud, Frances, that you protected your servant as any good mistress should, especially one so valuable to my service. You have the Walsingham courage.” He said the words somewhat reluctantly, and walked two steps toward his own chambers before turning back to her. “But don't make it a habit, daughter, or I will have to send you to train at Blackfriars fencing schools, as the queen commands.” He did laugh then, a sound she rarely heard, and was still laughing as she entered her own apartment.

Her mind whirled. The queen's response was always unexpected, but not her father's. He never changed. She realized that she had seldom seen her father amused since her mother's death. Her mind filled with possible explanations, but she quickly came to an answer for his strange behavior. Yes, that must be it: He was proud that an earl was attracted to his daughter. Her father longed for a baronetcy, wishing to be ennobled for his work. She wished with all her heart that his advancement had not cost her the high price of losing Robert's service.

She opened her door onto a bower of spring blooms set in vases and pots and hanging from the walls.

Robert stood in the middle of her receiving chamber. He had turned late winter into spring for her. She was important to him, as she had not been to any other man. Her heart, which had been so empty for so long, was filled with his caring.

He had gathered his belongings to move from his corner pallet. His arms were full, his guitar slung over his shoulder; he was ready to quit her service. He bowed and gestured toward the flowers, his hand on his heart. “My lady, my hope is that you accept this poor offering for the trouble I caused…a better garden than the one you found earlier.”

She was overwhelmed by his gift. “I am grateful….”

“'Tis a trifle, my lady. I know the master of the hothouses and he gave them to me.”

She feared tears might come, but blinked them away. “You are leaving as the queen ordered. Perhaps this is the best outcome.” She did not mean the words, but she thought it best to say them with some sincerity.

He nodded and she walked past him and the bower he had made of her receiving chamber, her heart near to shattering.

As she passed him, his whisper was low, but went straight to her heart. “Since I cannot possibly be in more trouble than I already am, I would give you a last service. Be ready at nine of the clock and I will take you to the Tower.”

She turned to him, her gaze questioning. “Robert, how can I allow you to risk all?”

He moved swiftly toward the door. “Until the ninth hour, my dearest lady…nine of the clock after full dark.”