Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (45 page)

Lily swallowed the fear rising from the pit of her stomach. Who indeed would believe her? Tristram was right, no one would.

“Mistress Lily?” Farley had interrupted her desperate speculations. “Fairfax and me, well, we’ve got to leave Highcross. Nothin’ else for us to do after tonight. And we’ve been thinkin’ that ye oughta come with us. Won’t do any good to remain here. Them villagers are likely to burn the place to the ground before they give ye a chance to make any explanations.”

“Oh, Mistress Lily, please listen to him. Farley is speakin’ the truth, and I’m that powerful scared fer ye safety, too,” Fairfax added, and the fear in his eyes was what finally decided Lily to take their advice-at least that way they might live long enough to tell their side of the incident.

While Farley and Fairfax carried down to the stables the trunk Lily quickly packed with her clothes and possessions, she helped Dulcie and Tristram gather up their own belongings, taking only what was thought would be necessary for the next few weeks. She couldn’t believe that they would be fugitives for much longer than that. It was while she was feverishly hunting under Dulcie’s bed for the red slipper, that Lily realized where they must go. Maire Lester. She would know what to do. She was the only one who could help them. And they would have a safe place to stay until they were cleared of all suspicion in Hartwell Barclay’s death.

Farley and Fairfax hitched the oxen to the cart and brought it around to the entrance. Tristram, Dulcie, and Tillie squeezed in, along with the trunks and bundles and an excited Cappie and Raphael. And from somewhere in the jumble, Cisco’s giggles caused Lily more than one nervous glance over her shoulder as she rode Merry Andrew alongside the cart. Farley and Fairfax did not inform her until later that the reason they’d had so little trouble in the stables, was that the groom, Hollings, hadn’t been there. The cook must have sent him to the village to warn the authorities. A horse had been missing, and Hollings had been sound asleep when they’d returned with Tristram after their escapade in the churchyard. The cook they had found barricaded in her room and crying murder. And just in case she found her courage, they’d blocked the door from the
outside
as well.

A pale sliver of moon was the only witness to their escape from Highcross as they rumbled down the lane. Entering East Highcross, Lily felt as if every window held a pair of peering eyes even though the village remained quiet. But Lily held her breath with every clop of Merry’s hooves and creak of the cart along the village’s narrow, cobbled street. The only lights came from the Oaks and the church at the far end of High Street, but before reaching the church they turned off the main street and followed the lane winding along the river.

Safely through the village, they traveled slowly along the deeply rutted road. They had no destination, just a desire to put distance between themselves and Highcross. The moon had risen higher by the time they reached the mill just north of the village and a figure suddenly stepped into the lane, blocking their path and startling the animals.

It was Romney Lee. He’d been walking back from the village, and an evening spent at the Oaks, when he’d heard the sound of the cart. He’d heard about the scare at the church and hadn’t been surprised to find Farley and Fairfax on the road
.
But Romney Lee was startled to discover who was
accompanying
them.

Hoping to convince at least someone of their innocence, Lily told Romney what had happened at Highcross. His good humor quickly fled when he realized the danger. Convincing them that they could not get very far before dawn, when the villagers would surely be out looking for them, he insisted they hide the cart at the mill until evening, when they could travel under darkness.

That day seemed the longest Lily had ever spent. They remained hidden behind the mill, believing every sound threatening and every minute brought them closer to being arrested. Romney Lee left them to go into the
village
to learn what he could about the search for them. He’d even gone to Highcross, to discover what had happened after they’d fled. Returning just before dusk, Lily read in his expression the hopelessness of their predicament.

But Romney Lee did not despair, nor did he
abandon
them. He made a suggestion. Would they like to join the troupe of vagabonds and gypsies he traveled with? Farley and Fairfax were at first reluctant. They didn’t trust Romney Lee, but as he spoke, they began to realize how helpless they were.

What better way to travel north, without causing suspicion, than with a group of players, dancers, jugglers, and peddlers going from fair to fair, Romney Lee asked? Where were they going? North? A long journey, indeed. Did they have money? No? Where were they going to stay during the nights? Where were they going to hide during the day when the authorities were searching for them? Farley and Fairfax exchanged glances, nodding slightly, for Romney Lee’s reasoning held the answer to the problem that had been worrying them since they’d made their decision to flee Highcross.

Hearing about the angry mob of villagers that had arrived at Highcross, and how there had been talk at the Oaks of gallows and burnings at the stake for witches, Lily agreed.

It still amazed her, she thought now, gazing down at the crowded booths and tents of the fair, how easily they had adapted to traveling with Romney Lee’s vagabond band. At first, their
arrival
had been greeted with suspicious, unfriendly glances, but when they’d started bringing in customers and paying their own way, they had been grudgingly accepted. But Lily knew that for some, suspicion had turned to resentment.

They asked nothing of anyone. They had their own cart, which they’d arranged with their trunks and possessions so she, Dulcie, and Tillie would have a comfortable, safe place to sleep in at night. Since it was warm, Tristram, Farley, and Fairfax slept on the ground beside it. Lily hadn’t thought what would happen when winter came and the weather grew cold, or when Tillie’s time came and there would be a newborn babe to care for. but for now their oxen proved strong and sturdy and pulled their cart, now decorated in bright colors, along the dusty lanes. They had never fallen behind or caused the rest of the troupe to be delayed.

Until recently they’d done little more than take part in the procession and stroll through the fair to attract customers to various booths and games. But because of Romney Lee’s inspiration after overhearing the tale Lily had been telling to Dulcie and Tillie one evening, they now had their own booth and puppet show, performed several times a day before an appreciative audience that seemed to grow larger after each performance.

“Oh, there ye be, Mistress Lily. I’ve been searchin’ all over fer ye.”
Lily glanced up to see Tillie approaching, her step slow and her breath labored, for she was well into her pregnancy now and had a difficult time in getting around. Lily eyed Tillie’s ballooning shape worriedly. She’d never seen anyone get so big. Poor Tillie. Lily wondered sometimes how Tillie’s thin legs managed to hold her upright when she tottered around, unable to see her own feet.

“Farley is gettin’ mighty nervous. Says the show starts in just a few minutes, mistress. Ye don’t want to be late, now. Oh, ‘tis such a crowd, mistress! I’ve never seen so many people. Where do they all come from?” she said in awe. “Ye’d best be stirrin’ them bones of yours, Fairfax. Ye’ve got another wrasslin’ match within the hour. I hope ye can win this one, Fairfax. There’s a goodly sum in the purse fer the winner,” she told him with the candor her position as his sister-in-law allowed her.

Fairfax yawned and stretched and opened one eye. “ ‘Tis only one match, Tillie, that I’ve lost. And I wouldn’t have lost that one if that cider squeezer’s mother hadn’t hit me from behind when I had him eatin’ mud,” Fairfax defended his only loss as he got to his feet. “Come along, I’ll walk ye both back to the booth,” he offered, and unable to glance away from Tillie’s bulging belly, he shook his head and wondered about that brother of his.

Lily stood up and shook out her skirts and petticoats, then brushed
the
grass from Dulcie’s while she straightened the ruff around Raphael’s neck. With a shrill cry, Cisco flew out of the tree and perched on Lily’s shoulder, receiving an almond from Lily’s palm as he settled. Cappie put on his hat and hopped up on Raphael’s back, ready for the ride through the crowd.

“O
ooh, me back aches. Never ached this much when I was scrubbin’ floors at Highcross,” Tillie murmured, wondering that she’d ever found pleasure in Farley Odell’s arms.

“I’ll get you a stool to sit on
behind
the booth, Tillie,” Tristram offered, coming up beside them and handing Merry’s reins to Lily.

“Reckon ye’ll be lookin’ fer a bench soon, if her backside gets any broader,” Fairfax guffawed, dodging as Tillie took a swing at his shin with the toe of her shoe and would have lost her balance and fallen if he hadn’t steadied her.

“And surprised I am, Fairfax Odell, that ye haven’t snow capping that thick-skulled head of yours, so high in the clouds ye be,” Tillie retorted.

Lily smiled as she listened to Tillie and Fairfax’s good-natured banter. Glancing around as they followed a weaving path into the fair, she had to admit that Romney had been right about the size of the crowd today. But she could see little beyond Merry’s shoulder bumping against her on the right or Fairfax’s tall figure overshadowing her on the other side, and so Lily didn’t see the tall man who passed within a foot of her.

Many things, having full reference

To one consent, may work contrariously;

As many arrows, loosed several ways,

Fly to one mark; as many ways meetein in one town;

As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea...

So many a thousand actions, once afoot,

End in one purpose, and be all well borne

Without defeat.

Shakespeare

Chapter Eighteen

S
ir Raymond
V
alchamps
had been a contented man during the past few years. Knighted for his valor by the grateful queen whose life he had risked his own to save, or so she believed, Sir Raymond had continued to enjoy
Elizabeth's
royal favor. Her largesse had included the gift of a great estate, where he lived as if he were a royal prince of the realm, a townhouse on the Strand, and thousands of fertile acres in the Midlands. Valuable licenses of export had been granted to him, the profits of so lucrative a trade giving him the advantage over less fortunate courtiers who found life at court a continual drain on their resources.

The family home in Buckinghamshire was finally his. He had inherited a fortune from his grandmother, as well as an estate and lands with a considerable yearly income collected in rents from the tenants. And his sister, Eliza, was now wed to the noble and wealthy Thomas Sandrick.

And soon the most beautiful woman in all of England, Cordelia Howard, was to become his wife. He had beaten Valentine Whitelaw to the prize. While the brave captain was sailing the seas in search of Spanish gold, Cordelia accepted his proposal of marriage. Quite a shock it would be to Valentine Whitelaw when he returned to England to find his mistress wed to his most hated rival.

"Not too warm, m'dear?" Sir Raymond inquired solicitously of the woman walking by his side, his gaze taking in the lovely line of her brow.

"Not at all, my love," Cordelia Howard replied as she neatly sidestepped a steaming pile of manure centered in the path before her. "Oh, Raymond, really! You weren't watching where you stepped. I do believe you've ruined your slipper," she berated him.

Sir Raymond Valchamps stared down at his fine, silk slippers. One of them was now coated with a noisome substance. A look of dismay replaced the smug expression on his handsome face. "Damn! I knew this would happen. Nothing good ever comes of mixing with rabble like this, Cordelia. I don't know why you insisted we come. By evening the place will be little better than one big brawl," he warned.

Cordelia stared down at his foul-smelling shoe in distaste. "You needn't worry on that score. We will leave the fair early, for we are to dine this evening with Sir William and Lady Elspeth Davies. You
cannot
have forgotten that? I intend to have ample time to prepare, after all, 'twill be quite an occasion. I hear the house Sir William has built is magnificent."

"No, I have not forgotten. I've heard scarce little else since you received the invitation."

" 'Tis amazing the bargains one can find at a fair. I bought a rare piece of gold cloth last month at the Bartholomew Fair. And look at these silks I've just bought. And I've still some of the scent I found here last year. I can see that I shall have to be quick about finding more," she said, pressing a perfume-soaked handkerchief to her nose. "Besides, I seem to recall you were suddenly most eager to escort me."

"If I get out of here without having either my purse or my throat cut I'll consider myself damned fortunate," Sir Raymond complained, his contemptuous glance causing more than one person walking by to give the fancy, sour-faced gentleman plenty of elbow room. "And, if you recall, 'twas I who bought the silks. And surprised I am that I've any coin left in my purse."

"I do wish you would do something about that cursed shoe," Cordelia was quick to remind him as he stepped closer to her side and nearly lost his balance when he slipped.

Swinging a gold pomander as if warding off any other evils lurking before him, Sir Raymond glanced around. "As soon as I find
somewhere
to sit, I will have Prescott clean it," he said, much to his manservant's annoyance.

"Why, 'tis George Hargraves, isn't it?" Cordelia demanded as she caught sight of a short gentleman making his way through the crowd, a wide grin on his face as he spoke with several well-dressed gentlemen accompanying him. "I wonder what he's up to? I swear George can't be trusted not to have some trick up his sleeve. Damned irritating. Who is that with him?" Cordelia questioned, squinting as she tried to recognize the man just a step behind.

Sir Raymond followed her curious gaze. "Which on
e? Looks like S
ir Charles Denning to me."

"Well, of course, I know that! I meant the other man."

"Thomas Sandrick?"

"No, no, not him. How strange. Eliza said nothing to me about attending the fair today. And I spoke with her yesterday noon."

"Perhaps she did not accompany Thomas. She does have many more duties now as his wife and the mother of his son," Sir Raymond reminded her.

"There! You see! I thought 'twas him," Cordelia said, a gleam in her dark eyes as she stared at the tall, bold-faced man who reminded her so much of Valentine Whitelaw.

"Him?
I am surprised, my dear, that you would deign to glance his way," Sir Raymond commented with acerbity as he recognized the gentleman who'd recently arrived at court and was fast becoming one of Elizabeth's favorites. With growing unease, Sir Raymond had watched the
obscure
young rustic worming his way into the queen's inner circle. For now, he seemed to amuse her with his brashness, but one
misstep
and he would soon find himself banished from court.

"Walter Raleigh. That is his name, is it not?"
Cordelia
asked with growing interest, unaware of Sir Raymond's ire. "I vow, he is the fine-looking one."

"Sir Walter Raleigh I'm sure he wishes, but it won't become more than wishful thinking if I can help it," Sir Raymond promised, for there were others, like himself, who'd belatedly come to realize that the blunt-spoken Devonshireman might be a threat to their own positions at court.

"I have heard that he is quite a wit," Cordelia speculated, eyeing the gentleman's finely shaped leg.

Sir Raymond snorted derisively. "If you can understand him. I swear these West Country men speak with more of a burr than those heathens in Scotland," Sir Raymond commented.

"I've never had any trouble understanding Valentine, and he lives in the West Country," Cordelia said, a slow smile curving her lips. "In fact, 'twould seem that most West Country men are uncommonly tall and dark. 'Tis indeed a bold face both Valentine and this Walter Raleigh show to the world. 'Tis quite fascinating."

"To know knowledge, neither Whitelaw nor Raleigh are well-known wits. Of course, you would have more personal knowledge of Whitelaw, wouldn't you, m'dear? I've always been of the opinion that one doesn't need to listen very carefully to him. Indeed, doesn't say much at all, does our fearless sea captain? I dare say, when you and he were together, you didn't waste much time on useless conversation, now did you?
But
then, he hasn't been in England enough of late to put either one of us to the test. Pity, that, I s'pose, m'dear, your charms weren't enticing enough to keep him chained to your side," Sir Raymond remarked maliciously, for even he was not so conceited as not to have wondered what would have happened had it been Valentine Whitelaw who'd been knighted rather than himself. "However, in all modesty, my dear, I do believe you have made the best choice in accepting my proposal rather than Whitelaw's. He would have bored you to death within a month. You've become too jaded, my dear, to remain content for long with his unimaginative devotion to your beauty."

For perhaps the first time in her life, Cordelia Howard blushed. The truth of the matter was that Valentine Whitelaw had not asked her to marry him. At least he had not since she'd turned him down. And that had been over three years ago. They had continued their affair, with no lessening of passion between them, and she had mistakenly thought she would be able to change her mind any time she so wished. That he would remain devoted to her she had never doubted. At least she had thought that until last spring when she had visited his home in Cornwall. After that visit, which had been less than successful, there had been a definite change in their relationship. In her conceit, Cordelia had not realized that a man who took great pride in the home and land that for the first time he could truly call his own would not wish to hear it criticized even by the woman he loved
-
-and certainly not by the woman he had hoped to bring to Ravindzara as its mistress. Valentine Whitelaw had heard nothing but criticism of his home, his servants, and his beloved Cornish coast. There had never been a kind word for anyone, and Valentine had gradually seen another woman revealed to him. And it was not the woman he had loved almost blindly. He saw a vindictive and greedy woman who thought of no one but herself.

And it was there, at Ravindzara, that Valentine Whitelaw had known that Cordelia Howard, beautiful though she might be, was not the woman to share his life. Had either admitted the truth, their relationship had not, during the last few years, fared as well as Valentine Whitelaw's voyages. And Cordelia Howard had been quick to place the blame for their estrangement on those long absences. Had he not been away from her side for so long, they would still have been in love with each other, or so she tried to convince herself. But Cordelia now had to face the unpleasant realization that Valentine Whitelaw might no longer wish that she become his wife. And even worse, that he had fallen out of love with her.

It had been a difficult time for the beautiful Cordelia Howard. Never before without her admirers and suitors, now she was suddenly faced with the reality that only Raymond Valchamps still sought her hand in marriage. It had been a bitter blow for a woman who, only three years earlier, had thought she could have any man of her choosing. Not only had she lost Valentine
Whitelaw
, but Sir Rodger Penmorley had surprised them all when he'd asked Valentine Whitelaw's crippled sister to wed him. That had stung Cordelia; to lose out to
that
woman, a woman she'd n
ever even considered a rival. S
he had waited too long. Of course, she would have chosen Raymond anyway, she told herself. He was, after all, a knight and a favorite of Elizabeth's. They would live in London for most of the year, then, when not in residence on the Strand, they would travel to his numerous country houses. What more could she ask? She had what she wanted. But, sometimes, in the middle of the night, when she remembered a pair of warm turquoise eyes
.
.
.

"This Walter Raleigh of yours cuts quite a figure. That silk doublet must have cost him a fortune. I've never seen such an exquisite color or such fine lace. I vow, I am envious," Cordelia spoke harshly, banishing the image of Valentine Whitelaw from her mind. "I imagine Elizabeth gave it to him. She is becoming rather fond of him, is she not, my dear?" Cordelia asked with an innocent-looking expression. "If it were not for those exceptional eyes of yours, my love, I dare say you might seem quite ordinary when standing next to Walter Raleigh. I fear you will have to make more of an effort to be noticed in future."

"Damned if I'll dress like a struttin' peacock. But let me give you a riddle, m'dear," Sir Raymond said, the tight smile on his face warning Cordelia of the insult before she heard it. "How can it be that a lady may not be a
lady
at all? Stumped you, have I?"

"I'm sure you will not keep me in a suspense for long."

"Why, 'tis when a harlot marries a titled gentleman, of course!"

Cordelia smiled. "H
ave you thought, my dear, that you might jeopardize your treasured place by Elizabeth's side by marrying me? She prefers, nay, demands, complete devotion from her courtiers. How do you think she will take to having to share you with a wife? And that wife a woman she does not have much fondness for?" Cordelia demanded. "I believe Walter Raleigh remains unattached. My, my, intelligent as well as ambitious?"

Sir Raymond Valchamps shrugged.

"You are not concerned, are you? Are you so favored by Elizabeth that you do not fear anyone? I am impressed, my dear. I expect, however, that you are breathing easier because she will change her opinion about marriage soon enough when she weds the Duke of
Alen
ç
on
," Cordelia predicted, looking startled when Sir Raymond said something rude beneath his breath.