The Queen's Lady (15 page)

‘You … you remember Milly?’

‘Who could forget the little redhead and her disgrace of a father? I recall also that you were particular friends but were ordered by our worthy sire to sever all ties.’

Trying to dampen down the flare of panic, Jane twisted her hands together hidden in her long sleeves, squeezing them tightly to keep control of her reactions. ‘I’m an independent lady now, Henry. I can do as I wish – consort with whom I like.’

‘Not … quite,’ he replied, his eyes hard.

‘Please, Henry, leave it alone!’ Stupid, stupid to appeal to his mercy – he never possessed that quality.

‘It made me wonder what you might have done to help her into her present employment. Did your doddering husband approve of your friendship, or maybe he was too senile to realize what you were about? What would Richard Paton find if he examined more closely the family holdings in London, I wonder? I can’t imagine a new business like Mistress Porter’s would survive if ejected from its tenancy so soon before it had a chance to establish itself properly.’

Jane closed her eyes. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Marry the frog. We don’t even ask you to bed him – Lord knows I doubt him capable of handling a girl like you – but you’ve been a virgin wife once so that won’t be so distasteful, will it?’

She could feel the prison bars descending around her – marriage this time would not be an escape but a trap.

Henry brushed her cheek with sickening tenderness, his cold blue eyes warmed for once by his sincerity. ‘You don’t understand Father and I – we don’t want you to be unhappy, Janie. We only want you to do your part furthering the family’s interests.’

That was his perspective, not one she could share when she was the chosen sacrifice. ‘You would condemn me to this barren mockery of a marriage?’

He chuckled. ‘Come now, we are not so cruel. No one will mind if, after a decent interval, you look for solace elsewhere. Even a bastard son will be better than nothing – I’m sure Montfleury will not mind. Look at the great families – all of them have a few cuckoos in the nest.’

‘You want me married and at the same time preach the virtues of adultery?’ Her brother’s cynicism still had the power to shock her.

He shrugged. ‘The rules aren’t quite the same for men like Montfleury. No wife of mine would dare stray, but the Frenchman will regard your lapses philosophically, even welcome the fact that some other gentleman is seeing to your pleasure.’

She shoved him in the chest to gain breathing room. ‘You disgust me.’

‘I take it you will submit to your family’s will?’

In the darkness engulfing her, Jane grasped at the single glimmer of hope. ‘You forget the Queen. She has not approved the match.’

‘Ah, that is where you come in, my dear sister. If you show yourself ready and willing, she is unlikely to stand in your way. The prerogatives of the crown only stretch so far; she will not risk offending the nobility over so slight a matter.’

‘But I’m not willing.’

He sighed. ‘Then, I fear, dear Milly is out of business.’

‘I hate you.’

‘I can live with that. You yield?’

Jane couldn’t bring herself to speak the words so nodded instead, thinking to buy herself the time to avert the danger to her friend. She would go along with this pretence only so far; even saving Milly’s livelihood was not enough for her to enter into this marriage.

Henry patted her cheek. ‘Good girl.’ He stepped back. ‘Father, Jane has agreed – as I told you she would. Let’s take her to Montfleury before she has a chance to change her mind.’

Thaddeus beamed at his son, his pride and joy. ‘That’s grand, lad. The frog’s waiting in my chamber.’

‘Wait! What’s going on?’ Jane tried to resist as they dragged her, one on each arm, to the Earl of Wetherby’s apartments.

Henry nodded to an acquaintance as they passed through the courtyard. ‘Smile, my dove, we wouldn’t want anyone to whisper you were coerced, now would we?’ He squeezed her arm. ‘You see, Janie, your life is going to change this day. Overcome by the violence of his passion for our English rose, the gallant French suitor is going to declare his love and enter an impulsive engagement. Your aged parent will find you in a compromising embrace that makes the need to wed imperative to preserve your good name. Both of you will then throw yourselves on the mercy of the Queen, pleading the impetuosity of youth as your excuse.’

‘No, stop! I need time! Stop!’

‘Time to wiggle out of our agreement? I think not.’

Her father shook her. ‘Just do as you are told, daughter, for once in your ungrateful life!’

Reaching his rooms, Thaddeus bellowed to his servants: ‘Out!’

The attendants scattered, leaving the apartment clear of witnesses. Montfleury rose from his chair by the fire, delicately dabbing the last crumbs of his breakfast from his upper lip.

‘You have found my beloved?’ He smiled and bowed with a flick of the same napkin he had just used. To be fair, Jane could allow that Montfleury had his own style, a courtly elegance in his movements when he was not nervous, but he was unthinkable as a husband.

‘As you see, my lord. We’ll leave you to do the rest.’ Thaddeus turned back to his daughter, ringing her neck lightly with his hands and squeezing. ‘Do not fail me, Jane!’

Henry released her arm. ‘Remember Silver Street.’

The two Percevals quit the room, leaving the field clear for the lovers.

Jane’s wits were in a flutter of panic – she needed more time; she had to think her way out of this situation.

‘My lady, you are more beautiful each time I see you.’ Montfleury kissed his fingers and sent the salute wafting towards her. ‘I am not unhappy to be your chosen one.’

Chosen one? Jane felt like a player thrust on stage in a play where he had not had time to learn the lines. She struggled to muster her dignity. ‘Sir, I know that my father is eager to see the union of our two houses.’

Montfleury skipped towards her. ‘As am I, madame. Passionately eager.’

Unlikely. ‘But I beg your indulgence. I need more time to consider your kind proposal. I am scarcely out of mourning my first husband and loath to take another so soon.’

Montfleury grasped her wrist and raised her hand to his mouth. Before Jane could stop him, he began peppering her skin with wet kisses. ‘You will be an ornament to the house of Valère.
Mon père
will be most pleased with you.’

Jane tugged her hand free. ‘But it is you who will have to wed me, sir. Forgive me, but I am under the impression a wife will not add to your happiness.’

‘
Au contraire
, I am ravished by your beauty and feminine accomplishments.’ The little nobleman made a grab for her waist, pulling her towards him. Jane had forgotten how deceptively strong he had proved himself at the archery tournament. It all felt horribly false – he was no more attracted to her than a stone.

‘Please, sir, unhand me.’

‘And your dowry sweetens the medicine,
n’est-ce pas
?’ He manoeuvred her towards the earl’s bed until the mattress hit the back of her legs.

‘Stop this!’ Jane tried to bat away his hands, which were now busy disturbing her clothes to make it look like they were caught in the throes of passion.

‘As soon as we have accomplished our purpose here.’ He fell forward on her, pushing her back on the bed.

‘No, stop!’ Jane heaved in great breaths of his cloying perfume as she wrestled to get herself free, her skirts rucking up in the struggle. It would almost have been funny to have such a reluctant ravisher if his purpose had not been so serious.

The chamber door crashed back on its hinges.

‘What is this? Oh, merciful heavens, what naughty behaviour confronts a loving father’s eyes?’ declaimed the earl. ‘And before so many witnesses.’

Jane struggled all the harder, guessing her wretched situation was being paraded before half the Queen’s household. This was insupportable!

‘Father, do not look – it will be too much for your poor heart. My sister – discovered on a bed with a man! Oh, rue the day! I fear she is compromised beyond all chance of redemption.’ Henry picked Montfleury up by the back of his doublet, hauling him off Jane. ‘Sir, you may be a lord, but you must answer to the lady’s family. She is not without protectors.’

The Frenchman knew his script even if Jane did not. He struck his breast dramatically. ‘Sir Henry, be not alarmed. The lady has just done me the great honour of agreeing to be my wife. You interrupted us when our mutual delight overflowed into an exchange of passionate kisses – we cry you mercy.’

‘Ah then, all is changed. You display a forgivable weakness in the circumstances.’ The earl clasped Montfleury’s arm in two hands and gave it a hearty shake. ‘My horror turns to joy to know I am to gain such a noble son-in-law. Jane, come kneel for my blessing.’

Jane was lost for words. Trying to put her dishevelled clothing to rights, she got to her feet. Could she repudiate the match before these witnesses? Her father had gathered a flock of his northern cronies, dour barons and sharp-tongued ladies, long necks craning over shoulders like inquisitive geese, all ready to fall into line with the powerful earl’s interpretation of the ridiculous scene.

‘Kneel before our father, Janie,’ murmured Henry, guiding her with an uncompromising grip to a spot on the floor in front of him.

Jane decided that saying nothing at all was the best she could do in the circumstances. Her knees reluctantly folded as she knelt before her sire. His hand rested on her head, heavy with authority. He had her just where he had always wanted her.

‘Bless you, my child. May this union prove a happy one for both England and France.’

Inside, where none could see, Jane wept.

14

St Paul’s Cathedral, London

The only people less pleased than Jane with the announcement of a match between the houses of Valère and Wetherby were the Patons. If Jane’s marriage settlements encompassed the money she had brought with her to the Rievaulx estate, and she maintained control of her dower properties for her lifetime, Richard Paton would be much impoverished and would have scant hope of chasing her wealth through the courts of England
and
France. This thought gave Jane a little sour satisfaction in the midst of the terrible bind in which she found herself.

The Queen had not yet given her permission, but neither had she forbidden the marriage. Jane felt the sovereign’s shrewd eyes on her as she went about her duties in the privy chamber, but she knew that Elizabeth hated being dragged into other people’s emotional tangles. To be sure, the Queen had enough on her plate these days with the prolonged and tortuous breakdown of the marriage of the Earl and Countess of Shrewsbury. Compared to the scandal engulfing two of the realm’s most significant figures, a little trouble between a lady-in-waiting and an obscure French noble was not worth much thought.

Montfleury, or Clément as he insisted his
chère Jeanne
call him, did not accost her again – not that she had expected another outburst of passion now he had lost his audience. He made a great show of squiring her to court events, such as the one they were attending at present: Easter Day service at St Paul’s Cathedral. Jane sat next to him close to the pulpit, only half paying attention to the long sermon. Around her posed the flowers of the court, dressed in magnificent new clothes to celebrate the Saviour’s resurrection. She had chosen to wear black. Montfleury was decked in purple and rose-striped silk. She thought that said it all.

Jane’s eyes travelled over the inattentive congregation and up to the rainbow patterns of the stained glass windows. A bird had somehow got in and was flying across the nave, frantic to escape. It crashed into one clear glass pane, then fluttered to rest on the rood screen before trying a new escape. Jane found herself rooting for its success but unless it left the heights and flew down to the open west doors there was little prospect it could find the way out alone. Tears pooled in Jane’s eyes as it struck another window and fell, stunned, to the ground. It lay there in imminent danger of being trampled.

Jane couldn’t let it die. She got up from her seat and pushed her way past the others in her row to escape to the side aisle. Montfleury raised an ineffectual protest but she brushed his fingers off the back of her skirt. The priest faltered in his peroration but then continued, raising his voice a notch. Rushing to the bird before a careless boot put an end to its life, Jane scooped it up in her handkerchief. She could feel the heart beating incredibly fast, literally terrified out of its wits. She had to get it outside. Pushing through a curious crowd, Jane forced passage to the west doors. Those who could not fit into the cathedral on this great festival thronged the steps – she couldn’t leave the bird here in any safety. She headed to the north side of the cathedral and into the churchyard, empty today of the usual stalls selling books and pamphlets. Finding a likely tree, she went up on tiptoes to lay the bird in a forked branch and then stepped back to give it time to recover from its fright. The bird – a blackbird she now saw – lay quiet for a moment, its round bead of an eye fixed on her, yellow beak stark against the inky plumage. Then it flapped to its feet, shaking off paralysis, and launched into the sky. Circling once, it landed on the top branch of the tree and broke into a paean of thanksgiving for its freedom. Jane felt a wild surge of joy that she had managed to save this one creature – a delight out of all proportion to the event. She looked around her to see who had witnessed the bird’s resurrection. None of the fashionable crowd was in sight; she was alone, apart from an audience of beggars and cripples who usually haunted the churchyard. They probably thought her a madwoman come to join their number.

Or a pocket to be picked.

With no wish to make herself a more likely target by standing still, Jane wrapped her black cloak tightly around her, glad that her sober outer garments would not attract attention for anything but their quality; then she started walking. She had never been on the streets on her own before. Neither her family nor her attendants had followed her out; she presumed they had lost sight of her in the Easter crowds. A bubble of absurd pleasure welled up inside – she was free! What would they do if she just kept on going and lost herself in the city? All their stupid plots would fail – their alliance would be at an end. They had taken her compliance as a given, but they still needed her body present in the church to make the ridiculous farce of a marriage. What if she denied them that?

Laughing out loud, Jane hurried on, turning right on to Paternoster Row, then on to the broad expanse of Cheapside. Perhaps she was acting a little mad, but the escape was so enticing she did not care. They pushed her to her limits and she had snapped free.

The streets were packed with citizens out to celebrate the Easter holiday, heading to and from the many masses being said in all the churches. Bells rang peals, the sound shivering to pieces the icy detachment that Jane had been in for the past few weeks, reminding her that there was still love and life to be had in the world.

‘Christ is risen, Alleluia!’ called out one gap-toothed maid, heading the other way in a new straw hat.

‘He is risen indeed, Alleluia!’ Jane replied, giving the proper Eastertide response. She had to stop herself grabbing the girl’s hands and swinging her in an impromptu reel.

A young couple came out of one of the fine houses near the turning to Forster Lane, the wife cradling a babe in arms, another flaxen-haired infant hanging on her skirts. The father scooped up the little one and put her on his shoulders. Jane followed them northwards as they headed for Cripplegate and the fields beyond the city walls, an Easter family outing being risked despite the cloudy weather. She envied them their simple joys; she could not remember her father ever treating his family to an expedition, nor did she think the earl had ever swung her on to his shoulders.

As the family turned into Silver Street, Jane realized that she had unconsciously been heading towards Milly’s despite not having planned her destination. Her friend’s shop was closed for the holiday, of course, and it was more than likely that she would be out enjoying herself with friends. Still, Jane had no other commitments this day; she could at least leave a message and Easter greetings before she went on her way.

She rapped on the door.

No answer.

Jane stood with her back against the portal and closed her eyes to enjoy the shaft of sunlight bathing the step. She could wait. After all, there was nothing else worth doing.

Jane had missed Milly by an hour. Milly’s father had arrived that morning, hotfoot from his duties on the continent, in high dudgeon to have received a letter from his former servant. Barely had they exchanged the usual greetings when he launched into the real reason he had won permission from his commander to return to London.

‘What’s all this, Milly? Have you taken leave of your senses? You can’t seriously think you can marry that boy!’

Milly had forgotten how difficult her father was in person, finding it easier to love him at a distance. She tried to defer the subject, arguing that they must hurry or miss the service at St Olave’s across the street, but Silas was not to be deterred. He had had the length of a rough sea crossing to marshal his arguments and was determined to wheel out his battalions and beat her resistance into submission.

‘I can’t sit in church with this hanging over us.’ Silas flicked a dismissive hand to his cloak that she tried to pass him.

‘Father, it is not a subject that can be settled in five minutes – and that is all we have before the mass begins. Do you want to pay the fine for missing the service?’

Silas grumped at that but followed her downstairs and into the little parish church. Milly had never thought she would be grateful for the Queen’s laws that made missing Sunday worship a punishable offence, but this day she muttered a prayer of thanks for her stay of execution.

When the service finished, Milly suggested to her father that they walk in Moorfields beyond Cripplegate. If they were going to argue, she would prefer to do so without an avid audience of her apprentices and servants.

‘Where did you stay last night?’ she asked, trying for a neutral opening to their conversation.

‘At the Swan with Two Necks, Wood Street,’ Silas replied, limping slightly as he escorted his daughter northwards and out of the city. ‘Arrived too late to disturb you.’

‘Thank you for your courtesy. You will of course stay with me for the rest of your leave?’

‘If you’ll have me.’ Silas glanced sideways at his girl, his grey-green eyes frowning at her from under his wiry salt-and-pepper brows. His hair and beard had gone the same colour over the last few years, the result of his disgrace and subsequent incarceration in the Tower. He was still a stocky man, only five feet and some six inches, but no one would underestimate his fighting strength when they saw the breadth of his shoulders.

‘You will always be welcome in my home, Father.’

He sucked his cheeks in briefly then let out a huff. ‘You’re a good girl – done well for yourself, Milly. I know I’ve not been much of a father to you of late.’

She pressed his arm. ‘I always knew you would have done more if you could. I was fortunate in my patron.’

‘Aye, the Lady Jane turned out to be a trump card. That surprised me – I always thought her consumed with vanity and cold-hearted even as a youngster.’

‘She’s been a good friend. As has Diego.’

Silas resisted his instinctive response to that remark as they were in the midst of other holidaymakers out for a walk, instead confining himself to a grunt. He followed her prompting and took the less frequented sandy path between the laundresses’ drying grounds until they reached a grove of trees. Someone had fashioned a bench of fallen logs beneath the bare canopy of the silver-barked beech.

‘This is as good a spot as any for what I have to say.’ Silas handed his daughter to the seat, then stood with his arms clasped behind him in front of her. ‘You can’t marry a blackamoor, Milly. It’s just not done.’

Milly squeezed her hands together. ‘Do you think Diego a good person, Father?’

‘He’s a loyal servant, I can say that for him.’

‘Is it only the colour of his skin you object to?’

Silas scowled. ‘He’s a servant.’

‘Take a look at me, Father. So am I these days – in service to my customers. There is little to separate us in rank.’

Silas could not argue with that; it was his fall from grace that had brought about her own tumble from gentility. ‘He sent me word that he would
pay
me for you – some nonsense about buying the equivalent of many heads of cattle! As if I would sell my own daughter!’

Milly bit her lip. Oh foolish Diego and his herd of cows! ‘He means to honour me – and you – as would be done in his country. There the groom pays for the bride.’

Silas waved that away as if it were of no consequence. ‘And is he even a Christian, I ask you?’

‘He respects our religion,’ Milly said carefully, knowing that Diego had a frighteningly all-encompassing view of faith – he did not deny the truths of Christianity but neither did he renounce the gods of his upbringing. She was rather more orthodox in her views and had hopes she could influence him over time into a more correct path. ‘He’s been baptized.’ Three times, in fact, by three different masters, he had confessed to her.

Silas stamped on a stick, snapping it in half. ‘And what of your children – they’d be neither one thing nor another – it isn’t natural, I tell you.’

Milly suppressed a shiver of excitement at the thought of bearing Diego a family. He was so protective of her; she guessed that he would make a wonderful if over-anxious father. ‘They’d be loved and welcomed by both parents – what could be more natural than that?’

‘But, Milly, just look at him. He’s … he’s not English!’

Milly knew this was the heart of the matter – a bone-deep prejudice against the foreigner, particularly one who announced his otherness in his skin. ‘I look at him, Father, and I see the boy who stayed faithful to me during our troubles, and a man who loves me now and will, I believe, carry on loving me in the future.’

Silas kicked the broken pieces of wood into the undergrowth, disturbing a sparrow from her nest. ‘I suppose I gave up my right to order your life when I betrayed our country and you.’

Milly touched her bracelet for comfort. ‘I will always listen to your advice.’

‘He might not come back from this expedition of Ralegh’s.’

‘He’ll return.’

‘You’ll need my permission to marry as you are under age.’

‘And I hope you will grant it. Otherwise we’ll have to wait.’

‘You’re set on this course? Do you really see all the difficulties your union will face – the hatred and plain spite of others?’

Milly took heart that he was ceding ground, talking as if the marriage was a real possibility. ‘I think I do. It will be much easier if I know I have your blessing.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure I can give you that, Milly. Not yet.’

Outright opposition was what she feared; neutrality she could live with. ‘Wait until you see Diego again, Father. You’ll understand why to me he is worth all the trouble.’

Silas reached for her and tenderly cupped her jaw in his rough hand. ‘Stubborn wench.’

Her eyes pricked with tears, knowing he had surrendered the power of decision to her. ‘Thank you, Father.’

‘I hope you have no cause to regret your choice. I know what it is like to live with the consequences of a calamitous decision.’

She went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘Come, let’s break our fast at home. I have some fresh-baked manchet and honey.’

He offered her his arm once more. ‘You know me well. An army marches best with a full stomach and mine is as empty as a soldier’s purse before payday.’