Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 28

"My name is Pasgen Silverhair and I am a countryman of Lord Denno's," Pasgen said to Cropper who answered the door. "I would like a word with your master. I will not take up much of his time."

The footman smiled as he bowed. "Yes, sir, I remember. You were here last year when those men got in. You left a warning about the attack for Lord Denno and then came and helped in the fight. Master Clayborne told me that you were to be welcome at any time. Lord Denno is not at home, I am sorry to say, but Master Clayborne is here."

"Master Clayborne will do very nicely," Pasgen agreed.

The footman stood aside, holding the door for Pasgen to enter and then led the way to a closed door on which he scratched. A voice replied promptly and the footman stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Almost at once, he came out again, this time holding the door open for Pasgen to enter the room.

"Master Silverhair," Joseph Clayborne said, bowing. "I am very glad to see you because I have long wished to thank you for the warning you left for Lord Denno and the help"—then suddenly he looked anxious—"but I do hope you do not bring another warning. The last you gave was all too accurate."

Pasgen smiled. "No, I have heard no more threats directed at my countryman. This time I hoped to learn from him some information that might be useful to me."

"Please—" Joseph gestured toward a well-padded chair opposite his own by the worktable "—do be seated. Can I get you some wine? Any refreshment?"

"A cup of wine would be welcome, if it is no trouble." Pasgen wanted an easy atmosphere in which, he hoped, Clayborne would be willing to speak confidentially.

Clayborne smiled. "No trouble at all, sir. We are very rich in wines at the moment, a ship having come in from Spain and touched at half a dozen French ports on the way. What would you like: alicant? claret? malmsey? sack?"

"Claret, if you please."

Joseph rang the bell on the table, said "Claret" to Cropper who had opened the door, and then turned to Pasgen. "May I ask, sir, what kind of information you seek? If it is about trade, it is possible that I will be better able to inform you than Lord Denno. As I told you the last time you were here, I am his man of business and he is often away."

"Trade? Hmmm." Pasgen's lips pursed and then he nodded. "Yes, I was thinking of Lord Denno's connections with the Court, but perhaps in this case a knowledge of trade will do as well. What I would like to learn is how effective the Lord Admiral's navy has been against the pirates of the narrow sea."

"Effective? Effective?" Clayborne burst out, his face coloring with rage. "He is a pirate himself, as far as I can tell! The only reason my wine ship reached London was that we now sail in convoy. All the merchantmen are armed, and we merchants have combined to pay for at least two armed vessels to accompany our trading vessels. And that cost must be added to the loss of profit caused by filling space with armed men and guns instead of cargo."

"Is that so?" Pasgen said, smiling.

Cropper came in at that moment with a beautiful flask and two beautiful glasses. He set the tray on Clayborne's table, poured wine from the flask into both glasses, and went out. Clayborne heaved a huge sigh.

"Yes! It is so!" he said emphatically. "And he has the best naval captains and ships all at the eastern end of the narrow sea watching for a French invasion of Scotland. Who cares about a French invasion of Scotland? We need the navy to keep the narrow sea safe for trade."

"How very interesting," Pasgen murmured. "I must confess to you that for reasons of my own, I wish to . . . ah . . . make trouble for the Lord Admiral."

"Oh, bless you! And if you can see that he loses the place—although with his brother being the Protector I suppose that is not likely . . ."

Pasgen shrugged. "I do not have any connections at Court. Have you suggested arranging Seymour's downfall with Lord Denno?"

An expression of dissatisfaction, swiftly masked, passed over Clayborne's face. "Lord Denno never involves himself with politics." He sighed heavily. "Despite his friendships with those at the very head of the government, he has never requested any reduction in tariff . . ." He sighed again, then smiled. "I am growing greedy. Really it is best not to look for favors from the great. And . . . ah . . . Lord Denno has been more than usually . . . ah . . . distracted . . . of late."

"Distracted," Pasgen repeated softly, remembering what Rhoslyn had said about Elizabeth and Denoriel at the ball. "No," he said briskly and more loudly, "I suspect Lord Denno is wise to seek no favors from the Court, not when he is so much involved with the Lady Elizabeth. He would not wish to attract any notice . . ."

"Ah . . ."

Joseph did not know what to say to that. This Master Silverhair never claimed to be more than a countryman of Lord Denno's. Yet he knew a great deal about Lord Denno's affairs, he had come with a desperate warning and then had come in person to help fight off the attackers. Was that not the act of a close friend? But Joseph, accustomed to judging men's responses to each other, had felt no liking between Master Silverhair and Lord Denno. Thus when Master Silverhair frowned, as if he wanted a more specific answer, Joseph sought desperately for something neutral to say—and found it was not necessary. Master Silverhair was not, it seemed, in the least interested in Lord Denno's private affairs.

"That is Denno's business," Pasgen said, "not mine, but there is something else that I would like to know if you know it or can even guess. Is there some source of great wealth in Bristol?"

Joseph was thrown completely off stride. "Wealth?" he repeated. "In Bristol?" He considered a moment and then shrugged. "Well, Bristol is a rich and busy port, much as London is. All trade from Spain and western France, from Afrique also, must pass no far distance from it. A merchant could grow rich there."

"I am sure, but that is not the kind of wealth I mean. I meant many coins quickly, such as a dishonest tax factor might contrive to collect."

"Coins." Clayborne nodded. "There is a mint in Bristol. But there are laws and inspections."

Pasgen drew a deep, satisfied breath. "Laws that might be overlooked or less than strictly enforced if a powerful person applied the right kind of pressure."

Joseph's eyes widened. "Do you mean to say that Sir Thomas is somehow interfering in the mint?"

"I do not know." Pasgen finished the wine in his glass in a long, deep swallow. "But I am going to find out." He rose and bowed. "I thank you, Master Clayborne." He smiled. "Who knows? The dealings with pirates would be hard to prove, but if the man is meddling with the mint . . . You may be rid of the Lord Admiral sooner than you think."

 

Unfortunately the move to Chelsea from Seymour Place did not have the full effect that Catherine and Elizabeth had hoped for. The fresh air and more spacious rooms were of some help. By midmorning of most days Catherine's sickness and fatigue would pass; she could dine with her ladies and take some light exercise, such as a walk in the garden. However, she still was too sick on first waking to rise early in the morning.

At first this did not trouble Elizabeth at all, except that it meant she needed to undress and get into bed, then use the sleep spell on whichever of the maids of honor was sleeping in her chamber, and then get dressed again. The process would have been burdensome, but Denno waved her nightdress off and her clothing on when he came through the Gate.

Blanche would then sit sewing by the fire in Elizabeth's bedchamber to watch the sleeping lady and to send away anyone who wanted to see Elizabeth. Such an intrusion was rare, but did occur twice. Blanche had only to say that her lady was asleep—the sight of the maid of honor sleeping in the truckle bed was evidence—and the intruder went away. When that possibility became nil, Blanche would go to bed.

By twisting time just a little, Denno would bring Elizabeth back to her chamber, fully rested, fully sated, and fully dressed. Often they would linger talking in the gallery as April warmed into May, making plans for meeting again when Elizabeth rode out or exchanging fond and lingering kisses when they would not meet again until the following night. Then Elizabeth would wake her maiden and take up whatever book Master Ascham had set for the day's lesson.

One morning Thomas again bounced into her bedchamber, calling a loud "Good morning." He was rushing toward the bed, but stopped short when he saw the curtains drawn back and the bed neatly made. And his expression was not pleasant when Elizabeth returned his "Good morning" from her writing desk, which was on the same side of the room as the door and was hidden from anyone who entered without turning his head.

"You are a very devoted scholar," he said sharply.

"My mind is clearest in the early morning," Elizabeth responded, smiling with lazy good humor.

She had had a lovely night. She and Denno had gone to a small ball at a very exotic elfhame, Csetate-Boli. She did not speak a word of either Elven or the language of the area nor they a word of English. It was most amusing to try to communicate, and the clothing had been fantastic, such full skirts, heavy with embroidery, and bodices, also embroidered, but so loose that now and again a breast peeped out. Denno had found the costume most inspiring. Elizabeth swallowed a giggle. They had ended up making love in a shadowed corner of the garden, right under the wonderful elven sky.

"And do you always wake at dawn so your mind will be fresh for your lessons?" Thomas asked, adding hopefully, "Why are you all alone?"

"I am not alone," Elizabeth responded, still smiling. "Blanche is in the dressing room with Frances—"

"Good morning, my lord," Frances Dodd said from the doorway of the dressing room. "Will you join us to break your fast?"

"Do you no longer eat in the small dining chamber?" he asked Elizabeth.

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, not for breakfast. Kat prefers to break her fast in her chamber, which gives her time to look over the household accounts or some such. And since Queen Catherine does not enjoy food in the morning, I would rather eat here where I can make up for any studying I scanted yesterday."

Thomas laughed. "You will never convince me you scanted your studies yesterday or any other day." Then he looked meaningfully at Frances and added, "Are you going to fetch Elizabeth's breakfast?"

Both Elizabeth and Frances laughed. "No, indeed," Frances said. "The last time I went to bring some cakes and wine, a disaster occurred. I will merely ring the bell in the parlor."

"But surely Lady Elizabeth must be very hungry after being awake so long. Would it not be quicker for you to fetch the breakfast yourself?" Thomas urged. "I am sure you would be more careful and no second disaster would take place."

"I am not that hungry," Elizabeth said.

Frances laughed again, as if Elizabeth was teasing her about further clumsiness. "Yes, my lady." She sketched a curtsey and started for the door. "I will just ring the bell."

As Frances left, Thomas quickly approached Elizabeth's chair. She had swung around to speak to him and Frances and she was now trapped against the writing desk when he stopped, too close, in front of her.

"I wished to bid someone a good morning," he said, looking down at Elizabeth and, she thought, trying to sound pathetic. "I am wide awake and cheerful, but my poor Catherine does not find any morning good these days."

Elizabeth made an inarticulate sound. On the one hand she had a good deal of sympathy for Thomas, who was bursting with good health and good spirits, and had no one to whom to express them. He could no longer, as he had the previous year, roar jovially and suggest such games as hoodman-blind or snatch. Catherine could not now bear the noise or the violent activity.

On the other hand, it was his child that was causing Catherine so much discomfort and Elizabeth knew Thomas should take his noisy high spirits elsewhere. The drawback to that was that Catherine missed him when he was gone. Suddenly Elizabeth remembered Denno sitting beside her, talking quietly, holding her hand, one month when her courses caused her a great deal of pain. Denno had not gone to seek someone else who would be merry with him when she could not be.

Just on the moment, Thomas put out his hand and stroked her cheek. Fixed in her chair, Elizabeth could do no more than try to turn her face away. Thomas smiled broadly and Elizabeth realized that her gesture had been so restricted that he thought she was rubbing her cheek against his hand.

"No," she said, just as Frances returned to the room.

Thomas took a step back and held out his hand to help her rise from her chair. He was still smiling, and Elizabeth sighed. Denno and Harry would be annoyed with her for not discouraging him but really, sometimes Catherine's weakness tried Elizabeth's spirits too. So Elizabeth took Thomas' hand and let him lead her out into the parlor where Dunstan was drawing a chair and two stools up to a small round table.

Elizabeth saw Thomas' angry glance at the stool. She knew that Catherine permitted him to sit in a chair beside her when they were in private, but Catherine had been born a poor knight's daughter and Elizabeth's father had been a king. Still, she was tempted to appease him and ask Dunstan to bring a second chair, only Frances settled onto her stool and the door opened admitting a servant with a tray.

"Oh, I am afraid I will not be able to break my fast with you after all," Sir Thomas said, looking pointedly at the stool. "There is an errand I had forgotten."

Elizabeth did not show her impulse to laugh at him for his silly pride, which would not allow a servant and Frances Dodd to see him on a stool while Henry VIII's daughter sat in a chair. Elizabeth guessed it was because she was so much younger than he; he was able to accept placement on a stool when the whole household was similarly placed in Queen Catherine's presence. Let him go, Elizabeth thought, I do not need his self-importance or his suggestive gestures.

"Very well, sir," she said cheerfully. "Thank you for your greeting and may you have a good day."

His sour expression as he turned to leave made clear that he was not pleased with Elizabeth's easy acceptance of the loss of his company. Nonetheless she held her giggle until the door had closed behind him. Frances looked rather disappointed, but on the whole Elizabeth was actually relieved. Perhaps her displayed indifference would annoy him enough to keep him away.

That hope was not long sustained. Only two days later, Thomas appeared again at about the same time, as if to confirm whether his finding her dressed and at her studies was an accident or her usual practice. He did not come in that day, merely looked in, said a rather sour "Good morrow," and went away. He also tried twice the following week to separate her from her ladies, once when he followed her down a path in the garden—Queen Catherine having stopped to rest on a bench—and a second time when she was hurrying to the stable. Lady Alana, bless her, Elizabeth thought, stuck like a burr both times, displaying a stupidity striking in its inability to take a hint to be gone.

The setbacks seemed for a while to convince Thomas that Elizabeth could no longer be counted on as a playmate to fill his idle hours. She would have been happy enough with that conclusion if he had only ignored her, but it was clear Thomas was offended. Every time she caught him looking at her it was with a scowl that said he was not satisfied with the situation.

Although Elizabeth knew she should mention his behavior to Denno, Thomas had become less and less important to her. Unless she actually saw him glowering at her, she kept forgetting about him in trying to keep straight the intricate double life she was living. In the daylight hours she was Ascham's clever student and Queen Catherine's devoted stepdaughter. At night she was whirled away Underhill into a richly satisfying love affair with Denno and a series of adventures and entertainments that boggled the mind.

To add to Elizabeth's confusion, there was some crossover between life in the mortal world and Underhill. Denno had found several Sidhe who had actually lived when Athens was queen in the world of Greek drama and they were happy to tell Elizabeth of the great dramatic festivals, the Dionysias, they had attended. The tales, combined with the Sidhe ability to create moving images of what they had seen, gave such life to Elizabeth's lessons with Master Ascham that he was nearly stunned by her brilliance and understanding.

More and more Thomas was a vague irritation in the background rather than an active danger. Totally absorbed in her own busy and satisfying life, Elizabeth was not wise enough to cover her indifference with flattery. She was polite but aloof. Naturally with Thomas' conviction that he should be the central figure around which the world revolved, the less attention Elizabeth paid to him, the more annoyed with her and indignant over her pride Thomas became. And the ruby Master Otstargi had given him flashed brighter when he thought about how Elizabeth deserved a firm humbling.

A week passed in which Thomas patted and pinched the giggling maids of honor—all except Lady Alana, who regarded him with cold, unfriendly eyes and clung even closer to Elizabeth. It would be better, Thomas thought, if Lady Alana were absent—plain-faced bitch she was too. If not for her clothes . . . He looked at his wife just rising with slow effort from her chair. Poor Catherine could certainly use some attractive clothes that would hide her bulging belly.

The week during which Thomas virtually ignored her had made Elizabeth less wary so when he left the dining parlor immediately behind Catherine, he was gone from Elizabeth's mind. Half turned just past the doorway to speak to Kat, who was rising from her seat at the table, Elizabeth did not notice that Thomas had stopped in the corridor. Elizabeth's foot caught briefly on the door sill, and Thomas caught the hand she extended to steady herself and pulled her into his arms for a kiss.

Elizabeth was too surprised to fend him off. She just stood, wide-eyed. Kat Ashley had reached the door of the dining chamber at that moment and was horrified. She pulled Elizabeth away and hurried after the queen, who was just entering her parlor. So impetuous was Kat's motion that Thomas, who had a glib explanation on his lips, had no chance to give it.

"Kissed her. Right on the mouth. Right in the corridor where the servants could see." Kat was so astonished and angry that she was almost stuttering.

"It was only a joke," Thomas said, coming into the room.

Kat pulled Elizabeth away from him so that she was between Thomas and the girl.

"Oh, Tom," the queen sighed, sinking into her chair.

"Getting stiff as a poker," Thomas growled. "Used to be a bit of fun, but I swear she's forgot how to smile. Only meant to surprise an expression onto her face," he added. "No harm done, right out in the open with her governess there."

Catherine shook her head but she spoke gently to her husband, agreeing that he meant no harm and in general his teasing would be taken as a jest. But then she mentioned Elizabeth's special circumstances, that Elizabeth was not any girl but the king's daughter and in line for the throne. Extra care must be taken to avoid any unpleasant rumor, specially now that she was past fourteen.

Thomas was furious. The more he thought about Elizabeth being in line for the throne, the angrier he became and the brighter the ruby on his finger glowed. He was making no headway in getting Edward to demand him as his Governor, and it seemed only right that Elizabeth, who had been so long his playmate, should look to him for advice and protection. Her pride needed to be broken.

Thus, two days later while the sky was barely lighting with early dawn, he crept up to Elizabeth's bedchamber. He intended to catch her asleep and with only one sleeping attendant. He would dump her naked from her bed to the floor by pulling away the bedclothes. What he would do after that, he had not quite decided. Something within urged him to throw himself atop her, steal some kisses, perhaps press himself between her legs before her sleepy maid of honor could interfere. No, that might be too much; even Catherine might not overlook that.

To be sure he would catch Elizabeth asleep, he moved with careful stealth to where he could peer in the bedchamber door. He could see the truckle bed and the dark head of Margaret Dudley soundly asleep in it, but he could not see beyond the curtains of Elizabeth's great bed. Silently he crept closer, around the truckle bed, and peered in through a gap in the curtains. For a moment he was so shocked, he stood transfixed. The bed held no sleeping body. The rich counterpane was smooth, the pillows plump and settled in their places.

Since his plan was already ruined, Thomas muttered an obscenity under his breath and turned about, expecting to see Elizabeth at her writing desk laughing at him. But Elizabeth was not where he expected to see her, preparing for her coming lesson; she was not in the room at all. He looked around wildly and to his intense shock saw, through the window of the gallery, Elizabeth wrapped in the arms of a tall man . . . kissing him avidly.

A cry of pure rage and amazement erupted out of Thomas and he charged forward. But when he leapt through the gallery door, Elizabeth alone turned to confront him.

"What do you want?" she cried. "What are you doing here?"

"Who was that man?" Thomas countered.

"What man? Are you mad?"

"I saw you! I saw you kissing a man!"

"What man?" Elizabeth repeated. She felt the feather-light touch on her arm as Denno passed her and she knew he would take the sleep spell off Margaret, so she shrieked, "Margaret! Margaret! Come here to me."

Gasping and stumbling, wrapped in her bedclothes, Margaret Dudley appeared in the doorway.

Flattened against the wall, shaking with rage and offense, Elizabeth cried, "Sir Thomas says he saw me with a man. Do you see any man on this gallery, aside from Sir Thomas himself? Is there anywhere except the bedchamber a man could have gone?"

Margaret looked around wildly, the whites showing all around the pupils of her bulging eyes. "No, my lady. This is the only door from your bedchamber to the gallery."

Thomas too stared around the gallery. There was no man there and nowhere for a man to hide. Nonetheless, he was sure of what he had seen. True, the man was in shadow and Elizabeth's arms around his neck had obscured most of his face and hair, but there had been a man. Only Thomas could not imagine where Elizabeth's lover could have gone. No one had rushed by him as he ran in the door.

Elizabeth's maid of honor was staring at him and her expression was not laughing and indulgent as it had been last year when he surprised Elizabeth in bed. And Elizabeth . . . her eyes were no soft brown but glittering like gold coins and her thin lips had all but disappeared, her mouth was set so hard. But there had been a man in her arms! Thomas did not know what trick she had played, but she would not get away with it. Still to accuse her would accomplish nothing, not the way her jaw was set. He must try to win her confidence, get her to confess.

"I beg your pardon, Lady Elizabeth," Thomas said, sorry now he had accused her of kissing the man he saw. "I thought I saw you struggling with a man. I was afraid some intruder had tried to seize you. Perhaps . . . perhaps it was some kind of strange reflection in the window."

Elizabeth put a hand to her throat. "You frightened me half out of my wits, Sir Thomas. And I seem to have done the same to you. Perhaps there was a strange reflection in the window. I am newly risen from my bed and I may have been stretching." Her voice was cold, her eyes glowing with fury. "But I think you had better leave now so that poor Margaret can dress."

 

Back | Next
Framed