Skye O'Malley (33 page)

“Just the usual household furnishings.”

“Then they’re easily replaced. Thank heavens, Marie and the children remained in Devon. Come, Jean, Robbie. Back to the Swan. I am tired and want a bath, and nothing can be done here until tomorrow.”

On the following morning Skye rode into the city of London.
She visited the cabinetmaker, the draper, the silversmith, the brass and iron mongers. At each stop she said the same thing. “Deliver my order within the week, and I’ll pay you a handsome bonus.” Then she paid in full for the work contracted or items chosen.

At the Swan she interviewed applicants for her household staff and with Master Monypenny’s aid, employed a Mistress Burnside as her housekeeper, half a dozen housemaids and footmen, a Master Walters for her majordomo, and his wife for her cook. There were four kitchen girls hired, as well as a pot boy. Mistress Burnside had a widowed sister who, with her two plain daughters, would be the household laundresses. The out-of-house staff consisted of a head gardener and head groom, each of whom had two assistants, and a gatekeeper. Skye would soon need a nursery staff to look after Willow, and this would consist of a laundress, a nursemaid, and one assistant. Compared to the great houses on the Strand, hers would be a very modest household.

Skye had inspected her house thoroughly by her second day in London. Below the main level of the house was a large kitchen that opened out into a small vegetable patch and herb garden. There were two fireplaces in the kitchen, both with brick ovens. One would take a whole side of beef. The other, smaller one, was well suited to pots and bread-baking. Off to one side of the kitchen was a cool, stone buttery, and off to the other was a scullery. There was a long servants’ hall with a fireplace and quarters for some of the servants.

The housekeeper had a private bedchamber, as did the majordomo and his wife, the cook. The four kitchen maids shared a room, and the laundress and her two daughters shared one. A small alcove set into the chimney wall was padded with a plump pallet and assigned to the little pot boy who was considered too young to be housed with the other male servants. The six housemaids would sleep in attic rooms set aside for them. The six footmen, three grooms, and two undergardeners were housed in the stable loft. The head gardener and his wife would live in a tiny cottage hidden in the little garden and the gatekeeper and his wife in the little gatehouse. Jean and Marie were given an apartment of their own in one wing of the house. Marie would continue in her duties as Skye’s chief tiring woman while the nursery staff watched over both Willow and Henri. The nursery staff would, of course, sleep in the nursery.

On the main floor of the house there was a large formal dining hall, a small family dining room, a reception room, and the apartment set aside for Jean and his wife. The second floor consisted of a library, a smaller room for Jean’s work, and two big reception rooms
that could be opened into one large room for dancing. The third floor of the house held Skye’s bedchamber, dayroom, and dressing room, besides two guest chambers and the nursery apartments.

The house was built near the river’s edge, but set back enough to allow for a rear garden, the walls of which rose up from the water. Skye had her own private quai. This was a distinct advantage, for it allowed Skye her own barge. She immediately commissioned one built, and, shortly thereafter, a bargeman was added to the staff. Everyone in the house was delighted by this, for river travel was often preferable to land, especially so in times of unrest.

The tradesmen with whom Skye did business were eager for the bonuses promised. Within the week the house was filled with all the things she had ordered. Everything was of the best quality. Skye had warned the tradesmen that she would not accept shoddy goods. She was not aware that many of the goods had been made for others. Merchants had sent her things that other customers would now have to wait several months for.

She hurried from room to room, directing the hanging of draperies, tapestries, and pictures, the placement of furniture. The rooms began to take on life and, finally contented, Skye walked slowly throughout her house. It was well after midnight, and the exhausted servants had long since sought their beds. She entered each room and looked about with satisfaction.

The oak furniture gleamed with a polish that only hand rubbing and pure beeswax could give it. Upon the dark wide floorboards were thick Turkey carpets. The use of carpets was unusual. Many homes, even those of the wealthy, still used rushes mixed with herbs upon the floors. There were colorful tapestries and paintings throughout the house, for Captain Small was clever at ferreting out those noble but impoverished families who were willing to discreetly sell such items. Heavy draperies in velvet and silk hung from the leaded casement windows. Brass sconces adorned the paneled walls. Silver twinkled on the sideboards. The scene was one of elegance and wealth.

As Skye departed each room she snuffed out the beeswax candles carefully. She would not allow fat or tallow in the house, even in the servants quarters, for she disliked the smell. There were porcelain bowls of potpourri in all the rooms. The river was known, after all, to stink occasionally.

She entered her apartment and found Daisy, who had arrived several days ago, dozing by the fire. The girl jumped when she saw her mistress.

“Daisy, you didn’t have to wait up. But since you’re here, unlace me, and then off to bed with you.”

“I don’t mind, mistress,” said Daisy as she undid Skye’s gown and helped her out of her petticoats. She wisked the clothing into the dressing room and soon was back dipping water from the fireplace kettle into an earthenware pitcher. “Are you sure you don’t need me further, ma’am?”

“No, Daisy. Go to bed.”

The little maid was quickly gone. Skye sat down wearily and carefully rolled off her gossamer stockings. Naked, she walked across her room and had a leisurely wash with her favorite damask rose soap. Sliding into an embroidered pale-blue silk caftan, she extinguished the candles and went to sit in her bedroom window seat, facing the river.

The moon silvered the water. She could see a barge pull into the quai two houses down. Two figures, a man and a woman, climbed out of the boat and went slowly up the steps to the garden. At the top of the stairway they kissed for a long moment. Then the gentleman picked up the lady and they were lost to view. Sighing, she sought her bed, and slept badly. The memory of the romantic scene she had watched burned into her and made her ache. Skye was twenty years old, and for the first time since Khalid’s death over a year ago, she deeply wanted a man to love her. She rose, weeping softly, and took a bottle of blackberry brandy from her dayroom sideboard. She then crawled back into the window seat and drank herself to sleep.

Next door, the owner of the small riverside palace was also wakeful. The Earl of Lynmouth paced his bedroom floor excitedly, scarcely able to believe his good fortune. Not only was his new neighbor the beautiful Señora Goya del Fuentes, but he had found a way to victory over de Grenville. He chuckled. He would pay his respects to the lady, but if she had not willingly succumbed by Twelfth Night, then he would blackmail her into submission.

The Earl of Lynmouth entertained lavishly, and his parties were famous. He had recently come up to London to see that his house was properly prepared for Christmas and Twelfth Night. The Queen herself would be attending several seasonal festivities, including his Twelfth Night masque. Geoffrey had been quite astounded to find that the beautiful Mistress Goya del Fuentes was the owner of the little jewel of a house at the end of the Strand, and had watched with interest as the house was refurbished. A connoisseur,
he noted her choices with an approving eye as the tradesmen lugged their merchandise into her house.

Now the time had come for him to make his first move to capture the lady. He would woo her gently at first, and then if necessary he would threaten her with exposure. Through a fantastic piece of luck, he had discovered her true history. He owned a one-third share in a ship that traded in the Mideast, and when it had returned recently to London he had gone aboard to see to his interests. Through the bow window of the master’s cabin he had seen Robert Small. He asked his Captain Browne, “Do you know who that man is on the next ship?”

“Aye, my lord. That be Captain Robert Small of Bideford in Devon. The
Mermaid
is his ship.”

Captain Browne drew in on his pipe, then gently puffed out a curl of blue smoke. “Robbie Small is a lucky devil, my lord. He needn’t go off to sea at all, for he’s a wealthy man and was born of gentry, too. But the sea’s a wanton bitch, and when she gets in your blood it’s hard to rid yourself of her.”

“Was he born to wealth?” prodded the Earl gently.

“No. The family fortunes were pretty low until he went into partnership with the great Whoremaster of Algiers, Khalid el Bey. How they met I don’t know, but they somehow became friends and the bey backed Robbie in several ventures. Finally when he was on his feet, they became equal partners. And so they remained for over ten years.”

“What happened then?”

“The bey was killed a year and a half ago, murdered by one of his women. Bless me! He ran the finest cathouses in the East, he did. The most famous of them was called the House of Felicity, and the woman who ran it for him finally did him in. They say she was jealous of his young wife, and thought it was the wife she was stabbing. At any rate, the young widow soon disappeared and it was discovered that she had sold everything her husband owned. The captain-governor of the Casbah fortress went wild with rage. He’d had his eye on the young widow. God help Robbie Small if he ever sets foot in Algiers again, for the Casbah captain knows Small helped the lady Skye leave Algiers.”

Geoffrey Southwood felt his heart lurch wildly. “
Skye
?” he asked.

“The bey’s wife. Her name was Skye muna el Khalid. She herself is another wild tale. More wine, sir?”

“Tell me!”

And so Captain Browne told him all he had heard about Skye, which was a great deal indeed. And when Geoffrey left the ship, he was elated. His coach clattered back through the noisy city streets and he began to plot.

It was her! There could be no mistake! And he had her, for there was a child. The bey’s child? Probably. Robert Small did not act like her lover. She would probably do anything to protect her child, for the child’s future would be determined by its family’s reputation. As long as she was the respectable young widow, all would be well. She would not want her true story known, for her own sake and for the child’s. Yes … Geoffrey had her!

Geoffrey Southwood was a wealthy man. Although he seldom discussed it, his paternal grandmother had been a rich merchant’s daughter. Over the past few centuries many noble families had married into the monied middle class to increase their finances. The Southwood family understood that money was power. They were not an important family, but their title was an ancient one, earned on the field at the Battle of Hastings.

The first Earl of Lynmouth had been Geoffroi de Sudbois, the third son of a noble Norman family. He had joined Duke William’s invasion of England in hopes of winning a place for himself and his descendants, for there was nothing for him in his native France. His oldest brother was his father’s undisputed heir and had three sons of his own. The next de Sudbois brother had opted for the religious life, and was already the valued right hand of his prior. The Duke of Normandy’s invasion of England was a godsend to Geoffroi de Sudbois, for it offered him a chance to make a place for himself.

His father gave him war-horses and their equipage, along with a small velvet bag of gold. When Geoffroi’s oldest brother protested, his father said, “As long as I live, what is mine shall be disposed of as I choose. When I am gone, and it is yours, you may dispose of it your way. Do not be greedy, Gilles. Your brother cannot succeed unless he is properly equipped and mounted. Do you want him to always have nothing? To be constantly coming back here coveting your position, his mere presence a threat to your boys? It will be better for all if he makes a place for himself in England.”

The eldest de Sudbois son understood his father’s point, and even pressed upon his surprised brother a fat purse of silver marks. This purse proved the means by which he recruited himself a small troop of cavalry. Those who joined him supplied their own horses, mail, and weapons. He paid them one silver mark upon debarkation
for England. What booty they could take in battle was theirs to keep, and there was always a chance to win oneself land and even a title.

The young Seigneur de Sudbois and his thirty-five men made an impressive addition to Duke William’s invading army. Even more impressive was the soldier that de Sudbois proved himself to be. He managed to fight near his Duke twice, once even preventing a direct attack upon his overlord. Toward the end of one day, he found himself in on the kill of the English King, Harold.

Duke William of Normandy had seen enough of the young lordling to be both amused and impressed. “He’s a valuable man,” observed the Duke, “and God knows he’s worked hard enough to win a bit of this land for himself. I’ll give him something down in the south, toward the west. If he can take the land and hold it, it’s his.”

Geoffroi de Sudbois took and held the little earldom of Lynmouth. He ruthlessly slew the Saxon lord of the holding and all his kin, with the exception of the Saxon’s thirteen-year-old daughter, Gwyneth. He raped her upon the hall’s long table and, when the girl was proved a virgin, he sent for a priest and wed her instantly. The practical Gwyneth cleaved to her new lord and dutifully sired the next generation. Within a hundred years de Sudbois was anglecized to Southwood, but through the many generations the ruthlessness of the original Norman Geoffroi de Sudbois and the determination of his Saxon wife remained strong traits, even down to the sixteenth-century Geoffrey Southwood.

This Earl of Lynmouth was twenty-eight years old. Six feet tall, he had dark-blond hair, lime-green eyes, and, as Skye had observed, the face of an angel. It was a beautiful face, yet an entirely masculine one. Oval, the forehead was broad, the cheekbones high, the nose long and slim, the mouth sensuous, the chin slightly pointed. His fair skin was tanned, and because his face had no flaws, he kept it smooth-shaven. His wavy hair was cut short. His body was the lean one of a man used to regular exercise.