When the Splendor Falls (103 page)

“Aye, Cap’n, sir,” Master Randall, the bos’n, answered without hesitation as he hurried below, determined to light a fire beneath the sluggards before his captain found need to repeat his command.

“Do I get stewed apples and buttered eggs, Father?” Lily asked hopefully.

“At the very least, my child. And, perhaps, poached chicken and sweet potato pie. We might even be able to find some sherry for Sir Basil,” Geoffrey added, thinking Basil was looking a bit green.

Sir Basil inclined his head in acknowledgment of Geoffrey’s kind offer. He even managed a slight smile, for he was not completely humorless, and despite their disparate views on life, he had been a good friend of the
Arion
’s captain for many years. He had even stood witness to the marriage of Geoffrey Christian and Doña Magdalena. And what a surprise that had been to the captain’s friends and family, although, now Basil thought about it, it shouldn’t have surprised any of Geoffrey’s acquaintances, for he was a man who did as he damn well pleased.

Actually, it had been the taking of a bride at all that had been the surprising part of the affair, for they had all come to accept the fact that Geoffrey would remain a bachelor until his dying day. Hartwell Barclay, Geoffrey’s cousin, and next in line to inherit Highcross Court, had not taken the news of his cousin’s marriage at all well. It had been rumored at the time that he had taken to his bed for a week and had yet to forgive his cousin for his treachery in marrying—and a Spanish Papist at that.

Despite such a stigma, Magdalena had managed to become a favorite at court and had a large circle of friends and admirers. The fact that Geoffrey had always been a favorite of his queen, and had even managed to remain so after his marriage, had helped in Magdalena’s complete acceptance at court. She had often accompanied Basil and his wife, Elspeth, to London, staying with them in their house in Canon Row, when Geoffrey was at sea. Magdalena and her daughter had even stayed with them at Whiteswood for months at a time until his safe return.

At the thought of London and the court at Westminster and his queen, Basil sighed again. Shaking his head in disbelief, he wondered with yet another sigh how it was he had ended up a passenger on board the
Arion
when she had set sail from Plymouth. After presenting his gifts to Her Majesty and enjoying the merrymaking and festivities so abundant in town, he had had every intention of spending Christmas through Twelfth Day in his own home, his feet stretched out before a roaring fire in the hearth of the great hall at Whiteswood, his wife and young son at his side.

However, it had been his incredible misfortune to have been in attendance to his queen the day that Geoffrey Christian had sought an audience with her. Basil had always experienced a certain feeling of nervous trepidation when conversing with Her Grace, for Elizabeth was of a volatile nature, and one never knew exactly what mood she might be in.

Her regal appearance humbled the most arrogant courtier and silenced the most glib-tongued. With red-gold hair elegantly coiffed in curls and draped with pearls and diamonds, her dark eyes missing nothing, she swept into a room in a swirl of silk embroidered with gold and precious stones, her imperious commands ringing forth for all to hear and obey. She was quick-witted and short-tempered and spared none who displeased her, but with a smile of genuine warmth and affection she could just as quickly win the undying devotion of a recently admonished subject.

Geoffrey’s request for permission to travel to the Indies, along with his wife and daughter, had been given careful consideration by Her Grace and by Sir William Cecil, secretary of state and Her Grace’s most trusted counselor. Francis Walsingham, one of Cecil’s proficient young protégés, had been summoned to join the discussion. It was a disquieting circumstance for Basil. Walsingham, now ambassador to France, had set up an intricate spy system on the Continent. He was personally involved in the apprehension and subsequent questioning of plotters against the Crown. Basil hadn’t even known Walsingham was in London, which, he supposed, gave indisputable evidence of the man’s capabilities at espionage.

Up until the moment it had actually happened, Basil continued to hope that Walsingham had been called in solely to advise Her Grace on Geoffrey’s voyage to the Indies.

Walsingham was an avid supporter of such daring enterprises, having contributed heavily to many of the voyages of exploration into the Spanish Main—Francis Drake, Gilbert, and Frobisher, as well as Geoffrey Christian, having benefited from Walsingham’s sponsorship. Her Grace had previously invested in several of John Hawkins’s slave-trading voyages to the Spanish West Indies from Sierra Leone and had enjoyed a 60 percent share of the profits.

Basil wished to heaven that he’d had the foresight to excuse himself before he heard Walsingham’s extraordinary proposal of sending someone along on Geoffrey’s next voyage. He must be one in whom Her Grace and Sir William had the greatest confidence, and one whom they could trust implicitly. He must be completely objective in his impressions and observations of the Spanish Main, and, of course, whatever information he might accidentally overhear concerning the treasure fleet, future expeditions in the lands north of the Indies, the location of gold and silver mines, and anything else which might be of interest to the Crown would be most appreciated.

“I believe that your wife’s brother-in-law, Don Pedro Enrique de Villasandro, is quite often seen leaving the Alcazar in Madrid,” Walsingham murmured thoughtfully, his eyes meeting Geoffrey’s for a meaningful moment, and if Geoffrey was surprised by Walsingham’s knowledge of his wife’s family, then he didn’t show it. “It might be worthwhile to learn what your Spanish brother-in-law is about. He may have spoken boastfully, perhaps indiscreetly, to your wife’s father. We must never lose an opportunity to learn. The information may prove useful one day,” Walsingham said. “Sir Basil, you are fluent in many languages, including Spanish, I believe. And you and the captain are also longtime friends. Yes, that will serve quite nicely. And Doña Magdalena is a favorite of—”

“—of mine, Master Spy, and I know where your mind leads you and I want to hear none of it. Enough of treachery and deceit! They plague my very footsteps in my own palace,” Elizabeth raged. “I am giving Geoffrey Christian license to journey to the Indies because I do not wish to have anyone’s death on my conscience. Whatever else may come of this voyage is incidental,” she proclaimed with a reproachful look at Walsingham. “However,
if
Sir Basil is determined to travel with his good friend, which is most commendable, then he might as well carry my personal good wishes to Doña Magdalena’s family. And I certainly shall not turn a deaf ear to Sir Basil’s report when he returns,” she assured a stunned Sir Basil.

When all eyes turned to him, Basil felt himself growing pale, especially when Geoffrey’s laugh rang out when he fully understood his queen’s tactics.

“’Sdeath! ’Tis about time you saw some of the world you’ve only been reading about until now, Sir Basil,” Geoffrey declared much to Her Grace’s amusement, for Sir Basil Whitelaw was considered to be quite the scholarly gentleman, having taken a degree at Cambridge and studied law at Gray’s Inn.

“Well, I—” Basil began, a blush of painful embarrassment appearing on his pale cheeks as he sought the proper words of refusal. He was slow to realize that he had been expertly outmaneuvered by Walsingham and the queen, who knew exactly what she was about.

“We cannot always choose how we would wish to spend our time, Sir Basil. God knows I fear the truth of that, but too often the best purpose is served when we put our personal wants aside,” Elizabeth said quietly, earnestly, as if talking to a child.

Basil felt shamed and quickly spoke to reassure his queen of his loyalty, and unthinkingly so in his haste. “I would serve Your Grace through an eternity in Hell.”

“By my faith! ’Tis where my enemies, especially His Most Catholic Majesty, would see me soon enough. Daughter of the Devil indeed!” she laughed, apparently finding more humor in Basil’s unfortunate remark than had either Cecil or Walsingham, both of whom remained unsmiling.

“Good sir. You need not go that far on my behalf, only as far as the Indies,” she added, her black eyes twinkling with mirth, and this time even Walsingham had to smile slightly.

Geoffrey, his laughter abating, couldn’t help but feel sorry for poor Basil. He was such a sincere yet serious fellow that he never quite knew how to react to Her Grace’s jesting.

“Rest assured you will have my most hearty thanks, Sir Basil, for the venture you are about to set out upon for the good of England,” Elizabeth told him, holding out her hand for him to kiss.

About the Author

Winner of the Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Historical Romance, author Laurie McBain became a publishing phenomenon at age twenty-six with her first historical romance. She wrote seven romance novels during the 1970s and ’80s, all of which were bestsellers, and sold over eleven million copies. Laurie lives in the San Francisco Bay Area of Northern California.