The Siren Queen: An Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's (8 page)

Thomas Howard, however, urged us to stay a little longer. “You have scarcely given yourselves, or Meg, time to get to know Dean, and his hopes have been raised, you know. He likes the girl very much. Will you not give him a chance to recommend himself to you? Besides, there’s Gale. He’s still unwell, is he not? And I’ve been impressed, Mistress Stannard, by the way you and Mistress Jester have nursed him. I wish you’d stay until he’s fit again. He’s a good, trustworthy fellow and I wouldn’t like my friend Ridolfi to think I’d treated his man carelessly.”

In the circumstances, we could only agree. Concerned with looking after Gale, I could not very well go out to see Cecil, and although Hugh could have gone, we both felt, in any case, that to go while we were still Norfolk’s guests really was in bad taste. However, Gale did recover a good deal during that day and the following morning, he appeared at breakfast.

Breakfast in the duke’s house was served in the great hall, but was informal. Food was set out on a sideboard and when people
came out of their bedchambers, they strolled in and helped themselves. Gale looked at the food dubiously, but he did take a chop, some bread, and a beaker of milk, while once more lamenting the time he had lost.

“I should leave as soon as I can. I’ve never fallen ill on a journey before.”

“You are still not eating well.” Dean was choosing cold chops alongside him. “Don’t set off till you’re fit. You can make an early start when the time comes.”

“I think I must. My lord,” he addressed the duke, who, in a gold-embroidered dressing gown, was also pottering at the sideboard, “I will need a fresh horse when I set out. The hireling I arrived on must go back to its home stable and it’s a lazy beast, anyway. I’d be glad of a really good horse, to help me make up some of my lost time.”

“Oh, by all means, by all means. Borrow Black Baron. Go to the stables, Gale, and ask to look at him. You’ll get a fair number of miles out of him at a brisk pace. But Dean is right—you should not start out until you are strong again. Wait until you’re sure of your health.”

Gale visibly fretted and insisted on inspecting Black Baron at once. Hugh and I went with him and admired the gelding, which was a fine horse, sixteen hands, satiny black with a narrow white blaze, an arrogant head carriage, and the deep chest and long legs that mean speed. But much as I wished to give up my responsibility for his health and go home, I knew Gale was wise when he reluctantly admitted that he wasn’t ready to leave yet. The next day was Sunday. He would wait until Monday, he said.

He seemed to be quite recovered by Sunday evening and shortly before supper, declared that yes, he would leave at dawn on the morrow. In our room that night, I said to Hugh: “Could we start out on the morrow as well? I’d like to.”

“So would I,” said Hugh. “Before Meg becomes any further enamored of Master Dean!”

The last two days had been pleasant enough. We had attended church on the Sunday morning, and each day Norfolk had provided a program of amusements. Henry FitzAlan, the
Earl of Arundel, had come to dine on Sunday. I knew him, for he had been one of Matthew’s friends. He was a middle-aged, slightly pompous man with a paunch, but he could be good company and shared some amusing court gossip with us.

He was accompanied by several young men of his household and after dinner, Norfolk organized a tennis match. FitzAlan himself was past the age (and had lost the figure) for tennis, but Norfolk played, along with Arundel’s men and Dean and later, the men had a game of bowls, in which Hugh joined. It would all have been very agreeable, but for Meg.

It is in the nature of young girls to be romantic and susceptible to the idea of falling in love. I had hoped, however, that Meg, who had always shown character and common sense, might not be as susceptible as some. By Monday, however, I had begun to fear the worst.

The duke had wanted us all, including Meg, to get to know Dean better and we could hardly refuse. We had to let Meg talk to him. The duke had said that Dean liked her, but since she wasn’t yet fourteen, I hoped that he was just amused by a pretty child and wouldn’t feel interested in her as a woman. However, he seemed all too willing to stroll with her in Norfolk’s well-kept gardens—which, unfortunately, were extensive and provided some lengthy walks.

He did most of the talking. I made a point of staying within earshot and for the most part, he seemed to be telling her about the world of merchanting. That was harmless enough, but once, as we were all sauntering through the topiary garden, where a very ancient gardener, with a brown, gnomelike face, seamed with wrinkles, was trimming the top of a yew hedge into a series of strange geometric shapes, I heard Meg tell Dean earnestly that she thought some commercial ploy that he had been describing to her was truly wonderful and that she admired him greatly. As she spoke, she gazed adoringly up into his face. The sooner Meg was out of his reach, I thought, the better.

“We’d better tell our host that we’re going,” Hugh said, on Sunday evening, after Arundel had departed. “And we’d better be firm about it.”

We did so, explaining that although we had talked to Dean as requested, and let the couple talk to each other, we still felt that Meg was not old enough for a betrothal. Norfolk sighed rather petulantly, but called Dean in and explained our opinion to him. From his expression, Dean’s first reaction was annoyance, but he politely agreed that Meg was very young. “Though very charming and I hope that the matter isn’t quite closed,” he said. “She is at a delightful age. The woman is emerging from the bud of childhood and what a lovely woman she will be.”

“And what a lovely dowry she will have,” said Hugh cynically, when we were back in our chamber.

“He’ll find a better prospect sooner or later, with the duke to help him,” I said. “With luck and a little time, he’ll just forget about Meg.”

And then we had trouble with Meg. “But I
like
him,” she told us imploringly. “Mother, Stepfather, can’t we be betrothed before we go?”

I tried to explain to her that there was plenty of time, and that the world contained better men than Dean, and that she must remember that once married, she would be completely in his power. “Men sometimes misuse their power. We must make quite sure that whoever you marry isn’t of that kind.”

“You weren’t in the power of Master de la Roche,” said Meg acutely. “You came to England to find me when you thought something might have happened to me and he let you go.”

“He—allowed me a good deal of latitude,” I said.

“It depends on the man, in the end,” Hugh said. “We want the right one for you, my lass.”

She went on pleading but we wouldn’t give way and finally she began to cry. We recommended her to retire to her room and calm herself with a book until supper was served. The next thing that happened was that I looked out of my chamber window, and there was Meg, if you please, chatting among the flower beds not, this time, with Edmund Dean but with that cheeky-faced lad Walt, who had nearly tripped Hugh up with an ale barrel. He was telling her something that had made her giggle.

If Dean wasn’t what I wanted for Meg, neither was Walt. I
went down to interrupt them. “Meg, it’s time to get ready for supper. Walt, surely you have work to do?”

“Indeed yes, madam,” said Walt, sketching a bow that had a trace of irony in it, as though he knew quite well what I was thinking and thought it amusing. He took himself off and I led Meg indoors. We went up to her room and as we entered hers, she looked at me reproachfully.

“Mother, there was no harm in my talking to Walt. We just exchanged a few words, as anyone might do.”

“I daresay,” I said. “All the same, when a girl reaches your age, she has to be a little careful. It’s not fair on lads like Walt, either, to, well, dangle enticements in front of them.”

“I wasn’t!” Meg was annoyed. “I just went out for some air. It’s so warm. I met Walt in the garden. I’ve spoken with him before.”

“Have you, indeed!”

“He’s betrothed, Mother. He mostly talks about his Bessie! She’s the daughter of a tavern keeper and he wants to persuade her father to take him into the business. There’s no son, it seems. He wants to wed as soon as he can. He’s not interested in
me
—I’m just someone who will sympathize! He and Bessie are dreadfully in love. I think it’s so romantic!”

“Well, don’t lead his eyes away from her, then. Oh, there you are, Sybil.” Sybil had come into the room, looking mildly anxious, and exclaiming that she had been looking for Meg and couldn’t find her. “Has she been here all the time?”

“Not all the time. I went outside and I met the kitchen lad Walt,” said Meg. “But Mother thinks I shouldn’t have stopped to speak to him.”

“No, indeed you shouldn’t. You should have stayed in your room as you were told.”

Meg let out an unfeminine and dismissive snort, which startled me. She looked so like her father, and yet there were times . . . I had never seen my own father, King Henry. But I had heard him described and he was, of course, her grandfather. At times, I detected in my daughter a confidence, an ability to impose her point of view on others, which was an extraordinary
trait in a wench of thirteen. But from what I had heard, it had been very characteristic of King Henry.

“Mother,” said Meg, “can I give Walt a present for his betrothed? Wouldn’t that be a nice gesture?”

“Well, yes, I suppose it would.” It showed a fairly healthy attitude toward Walt and his Bessie, at least. “What would you like to give?”

“Well, there’s my old silver pendant. I don’t wear it now; Stepfather was right about that. But it seems a waste, and it’s pretty and well polished. Might she not like it?”

“Oh, very well,” I said, and we made the presentation after supper, though I made sure I was there when Meg handed it to him. He was touched; for a moment, I glimpsed a young man of feeling beneath the cheeky veneer.

“I’ll keep it safe and give it to Bessie on our wedding day,” he said, as he put it tenderly away in the pocket of his sleeveless working jerkin. “Thank you, Mistress Meg. Thank you, Mistress Stannard.”

I hoped that this little incident would at least have distracted Meg from her disappointment over Edmund Dean, but in the morning, she was talking of him and crying all over again, so that we were late for breakfast because we were drying her tears, or I was, at least. Hugh was firmer and told her roundly that her vapors must cease. “If you don’t behave, you’ll have to travel in the coach with me, because I’m not going to let you make a spectacle of yourself as we go through the streets. We’ll use your pony as a packhorse.”

Meg loved riding and loved her pony. She wiped her eyes, allowed herself to be dressed for the road, and joined us at the breakfast sideboard. Norfolk was there, but not Dean, for which I was glad. I was then disappointed when he put in an appearance just as we were finishing.

“I have been walking in the grounds, Your Grace,” he said to Norfolk. “How old
is
that fellow who’s trimming the topiary? Should he still be climbing ladders at his age?”

“Arthur Johnson is the best topiary gardener in London,” said Norfolk. “I’d like to have his exclusive services but he
prefers to be his own master and hire himself out to whoever he likes. He can look at a yew tree and see what shapes are hidden inside it, and—it’s as though he calls the shapes out of the tree. He’s a superb craftsman and he hasn’t fallen off any ladders yet.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”

Higford was present too and I thought I heard him mutter something under his breath at this point. I also thought the something included the word
officious
and referred to Dean, but I couldn’t be sure. Most of my attention was on Meg, in case she said or did anything foolish. Fortunately, she had taken Hugh’s threat to heart and was behaving herself. She curtsied her farewells to the duke and Dean very demurely and left the room with Hugh and me in a well-mannered fashion.

Julius Gale had left early, as he had planned. “He was off in the half-light, the servants tell me,” the duke said. “I told him last night not to be so worried about making up lost time, but he’s a conscientious fellow. He’ll have taken the north road and be well clear of London by now.”

Our horses and Hugh’s coach were ready in the courtyard. We had settled privately that Hugh and I and the Brockleys would go to the Strand, where Cecil lived. If he was not there, we would probably find him at the court, in which case, we would leave our horses at a hostelry and hire a boat to carry us to Greenwich Palace, to which we knew—because Norfolk had mentioned it—the court had lately moved.

Meg, Sybil, Gladys, and our escort, however, were to set out at once for Hawkswood. I wanted both Meg and Gladys to leave London as soon as possible.

“Meg has been overexcited and visiting either Cecil or the court won’t be good for her,” I told Sybil. “Settle her to her studies as soon as you reach home. You know enough Latin to teach her for the time being. As for Gladys, well, we’re having to return her to Hawkswood sooner than we wanted to do. Try to get her into the house without too many people noticing, and do your best to keep her away from others. Whatever she says and even if she curses you! Keep her in a chamber on her own until we come. We’ll only be a couple of days behind you.”

We parted almost at the duke’s gate, since those who were bound for Hawkswood were going toward the Thames, to cross London Bridge, while Hugh and I must stay on the London side of the river and travel westward to the Strand. It was a pleasant morning, mild with thinning cloud, which promised sunshine later. The streets were already busy, and once more our coachman had to go afoot and lead his horses.

We had not gone far before he had to guide us aside to avoid a cluster of people peering into a drainage ditch to the left of the road. We took little notice at first. Until I suddenly saw that on the outskirts of this group, someone was holding a fine black horse with a narrow white blaze. I called out to John Argent to stop.

Then, peering over the heads of the gathering, which I could do easily enough from the saddle of my dapple gray mare, Roundel, I saw what was happening at the heart of it.