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Chapter 23

On the morning after Lord Denno's visit, Elizabeth's maidens were confronted by a new problem. The door to her private parlor would not open. They pushed and pulled, but the door was immovable, and one of them finally ran off to tell Mistress Ashley that Elizabeth's door was locked. First Kat said it was impossible; Elizabeth never locked her outer door and rarely the inner one. However, she brought the key.

This was of no use. It would not turn to unlock the door, but turned readily to lock it. Kat could hear the tumblers of the lock fall into place. She unlocked the door again, and told Eleanor Fitzalan to hold the knob so that the latch would stay open. Then she pushed at the door. When it did not stir, she told Eleanor to continue holding the latch but to stand aside, and she put her shoulder to it. But it did not move a whit. Finally, growing frightened, she called aloud for Elizabeth.

Elizabeth had stirred sleepily in her bed when the girls had first tried the door, but all she did was bury her face in Denno's bare shoulder. That had been a ball to end all balls, she thought, even though she had done far less dancing than she expected. Nonetheless after some highly informative hours spent in Denno's bed, she had complained about being deprived of dancing to Denno, leaning over him provocatively so that he lifted his head and kissed her pink nipples.

There would be other balls, he promised, pulling her down atop him, when they would dance every dance. His hands were busy on her body, and she only murmured that she liked this dance better as she straddled him and came down on him, and then became incapable of speaking at all.

After they had caught their breath, though, Denno had urged her to put on her nightdress. They had to return to the mortal world soon, he had said . . . and stopped to draw her to him and kiss her again. But then he pulled away, sighing that if he twisted time too much it would leave her exhausted and confused and make everyone worried about her.

She had laughed and said she was already exhausted; however, weary and sated, she did not object to being taken back to Chelsea. Only when they arrived at the narrow Gate between the wardrobes in her dressing room, she clung to him. It was still dark, she whispered, and her bed would be so cold; he should come with her. He did not need much urging.

They tiptoed through the dressing room to the bedchamber and Denoriel shed his clothes and carried her with him to the bed. They cuddled together at first between the chilly sheets and then as they warmed, stretched out, still touching for comfort, for companionship . . . and fell asleep. It did not matter, Elizabeth told herself as she drifted off. Alana had not yet returned and until she did, the door would not open.

Elizabeth's nuzzling on his shoulder when she heard her maidens at the door woke Denoriel. He gasped with shock when he realized he had fallen asleep in Elizabeth's bed and there was now light behind the curtains. He looked at her, and she lifted her head and smiled.

"That was a—most remarkable ball," she whispered.

"There will be many others," he promised, equally low-voiced, as he began to slide out of the bed.

Elizabeth sat up abruptly. "But only with me!" she exclaimed, still softly but with an intensity like a shout.

Denoriel laughed silently. "You need not fear for that. You are . . . something very special. Fresh and new and with an appetite that is not worn out and jaded. Bess, my love, I have not been so drained out in . . . in . . . I cannot remember when if ever. I need no one but you."

There had been a cessation of sound from outside the outer door while this soft exchange had taken place, but Denno was listening. He spelled his clothing on him, and cocked his head as he heard voices anew.

"I had better go."

"No!" Elizabeth exclaimed and shook her head impatiently when she could see he was going to scold her for being incautious. "Alana—" she could not say the word bespelled and had to settle for "—did something to the door. They will never be able to open it."

"And she is not here," Denoriel said. He grinned briefly then shrugged. "I am glad she is having a good time, but she should have remembered that she had fixed the door." Suddenly, he disappeared. "Let me see if I can sense her spell and undo it."

Elizabeth was still wearing her nightdress and she padded into the parlor after him. Now she could hear the maidens' voices as they greeted Kat. Then she heard the tumblers of the lock close and open. She bit her lip. If Denno could not undo the spell (she could think "spell" although not say it), they would have to break the door. Could they even do that if it was bespelled? Then she heard Kat crying her name.

"I'm here. I'm fine," she called in reply. "I overslept. I don't know why the door is stuck. Send someone for Dunstan and a couple of the guardsmen."

Denoriel appeared suddenly and whispered in her ear, "I can't do it, but I'm going Underhill and I'll send an air spirit to find—ah, I just felt the Gate. There she is."

On the words Aleneil, fully dressed in Tudor garments, came rushing into the parlor, looking quite distraught.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Never mind." Elizabeth giggled. "I understand completely." And then she blushed hotly as she realized what she had said. Aleneil did not seem to notice; she was looking at the door. She lifted a hand, and Elizabeth caught it. "No, not yet. Let the men come and push it. Then release it."

That worked so well that Dunstan came staggering into the room when he pushed on the door, which had flown open. He averted his face hastily from Elizabeth in her bedgown and went out almost as fast as he had come in. Alana equally hastily drew Elizabeth with her back into the bedchamber. Kat followed them and Blanche came rushing in through the dressing room door.

"What did you do to the door?" Kat asked, looking quite cross.

"Nothing," Elizabeth said, wide-eyed with sincerity. It was true enough. "I never touched it."

"And I only closed it, Mistress Ashley. I didn't slam it or anything," Aleneil said. That was true too.

Kat frowned. "It is dangerous for Lady Elizabeth to be locked in her chamber with only one lady."

"But Lady Elizabeth wasn't locked in, madam," Blanche put in. "Through the dressing room is my bedchamber and that has a door to the corridor."

"That is even worse," Kat said sharply. "Heaven knows what accusations could be made against you, Lady Elizabeth. I do not want that door locked again."

"But it wasn't locked," Elizabeth said, as her head came through the shift Blanche had put on her. "You know it wasn't. You couldn't unlock it with the key, but it did lock and then unlock, and all the maids of honor saw you—"

"How do you know that?" Kat asked.

Elizabeth blinked, remembering that she had stood and listened while Denno worked on the spell just reveling in being near him, but she could not say that. A small wave of coldness passed over her as she reminded herself that she could never admit how sweet every moment with Denno was. As soon as she showed him more favor than she ever had or a single glance exposed her hunger for him, he would be torn away from her. He was male and she was no longer a child.

"Oh," she said, looking at her clasped fingers, "I heard the key turn and turn again just as I came into the room."

"By God's sweet Grace, you stood there and listened to us struggling to open the door and never said a word?"

Desperately Elizabeth thrust all thought of Denno out of her mind. "Well, of course I didn't," she said indignantly. "I didn't know who was there or for what purpose. I wondered when I heard the door lock, but when it unlocked I was all ready to run back into my bedchamber and scream for Blanche until you called out, Kat. I did answer you right away."

Kat sighed deeply and shook her head. "So you did, love. So you did. I am sorry to be scolding. It was all no fault of yours, but if those girls caught a whiff of a locked door, doubtless the whole palace would know before time for a noon meal. They do not mean any harm; I think they love you well, but they do not think either."

Elizabeth said she understood and that she would tell Queen Catherine what had happened and ask her to give an order to have the door examined. Kat approved heartily and Lady Alana said she would certainly tell the queen that it was she who had closed the door, not Elizabeth. By the time the conversation ended Elizabeth was fully dressed and ready to join the ladies in the parlor.

There Dunstan was kneeling on the floor, examining the edge of the door and the door frame quarter-inch by quarter-inch. He came and bowed to Elizabeth and then slightly to Kat.

"I've no idea, my lady," he said. "I've been over the door and the door frame, top and bottom and both sides. There's no stickiness, no roughness as if something was stuck and torn loose. The wood is smooth and sound, the lock is in perfect order."

"Magic," Elizabeth said, and laughed. "I would even believe it if there were any purpose to it." Then she sighed. "I believe you, Dunstan, but I will have to tell Queen Catherine, and I'm certain she will also have someone look at the door. Please do not think I do not trust you, but if the tale came to her as gossip, she would doubtless wonder."

"Know that, my lady. I just had a look to be sure that when you went out you wouldn't find yourself locked out. I've opened and closed the door about twenty times, too, and had Gerrit slam it really hard. It still didn't stick."

"Thank you." Elizabeth smiled at Gerrit, who was waiting near the door, and told him he might go.

She asked Dunstan to wait while she wrote a note to Queen Catherine and asked to speak to her as soon as was convenient. When he left with the note all the girls burst into speech at once. They all marveled at how and why the door had stuck; they all commiserated with Elizabeth on the fright she must have had; virtually the whole discussion was repeated while servants brought breakfast and the meal was consumed.

Through it all, Elizabeth did not once lose her temper, although sometimes her answers were slightly at random. Kat watched her with a slightly troubled frown and noted that seemingly for no reason at all her color rose and then, when her attention was demanded, subsided. The meal ended at last and Elizabeth sent Alice Finch for her Plato, since her tutor would arrive later in the morning. However, before she could open the book, one of the queen's servants came with a message that Elizabeth would be welcome to Catherine at any time. Elizabeth almost jumped to her feet.

"I am sure," Kat said soothingly, "that the queen will not assume any ill cause for the sticking door."

"No," Elizabeth agreed, her color rising again as she remembered Denno lying naked beside her in her bed, "but I confess that I am glad Sir Thomas is away. He would likely make a merry jest of a locked door and what might be taking place behind it."

Kat did not like the blush when Elizabeth mentioned Queen Catherine's husband. "I think I will go with you and explain that the door was stuck, not locked."

"And I," Lady Alana put in, "to say that Lady Elizabeth never touched the door at all. I was the one who closed it."

Elizabeth sighed. "In truth, likely we will never know why the door would not open, and I do not care. Perhaps Queen Catherine's carpenters will discover the cause. If not and if it should happen again, I will have the door removed and replaced."

Queen Catherine, however, made nothing of the tale. She agreed to dispatch her carpenter to look over the door, but only laughed when Kat apologized for putting unhealthy ideas into a young girl's mind.

"Do you have unhealthy ideas, dear Elizabeth?" the queen asked.

Elizabeth clapped a hand to her lips as a giggle rose in her throat and then escaped. She had intended to look wide-eyed and innocently puzzled, but the giggle would not permit that escape.

"Oh, I do," Elizabeth admitted, "but nothing that would require a locked door. Do you remember, madam, the furs that Lord Denno brought for us in the late winter? I have been wondering whether I could extract a few more fox furs from my poor Denno. Really the fox fur is too long to make good trimming. Just a few more and I could have a lovely short cape for the autumn."

"Poor Lord Denno indeed," Catherine said. "And I suppose I am supposed to invite him to dinner so that you can plunder his warehouse again? For shame! He is far too generous to you. Likely I should not permit . . . Ah, but I have sinned that way myself, have I not? I also accepted the furs he presented to me."

"Yes," Elizabeth said, blushing again, "I would like you to invite him."

"You are a shocking child," Catherine said, leaning forward and stretching a hand to Elizabeth. "You should not accept so many favors."

"He asks for nothing in return," Elizabeth said quickly, and then swallowed hard as she remembered what she had paid in return for Denno's long loving.

"I know." Catherine sighed. "That seems unnatural in a common merchant, even if he does claim foreign nobility. It worries me, a little."

"But he has always been that way," Kat Ashley put in. Her shaky finances had been shored up too often by Lord Denno for her to contemplate his company being forbidden. "From the time Lady Elizabeth was only a baby, and I know that he was just as devoted to the late duke of Richmond. In all those years he has never asked a favor or any kind of preferential treatment in tariffs or such matters."

"He is too rich to care," Lady Alana said, smiling. "I think he continues to trade as an amusement; he has a most astute man of business to do the dog work. And he continues to cosset Lady Elizabeth, because he has nothing else to love in his life."

"Why did he never buy land? Marry? Could he not have made a new life?" Queen Catherine asked doubtfully.

Lady Alana sighed. "He lost too much. His entire family. Everything except the business. He survived because he was on a trading voyage when the Turks overran Hungary. Years ago the pain was too fresh. He could not marry and have children for fear of more loss. Now, he is too old, I think. I suppose he could have bought land, but he has no one to whom to leave it. He had rather have Lady Elizabeth to care for and spend his goods on."

"How sad," the queen said with ready sympathy. "Well, of course I will invite him to a private dinner." She could not invite a merchant to mingle with her noble friends; then she thought of another problem, hesitated, and asked doubtfully, "About what will he talk? Trade?"

Elizabeth and Alana laughed together, and Kat smiled. "Most likely," Kat said, "about gardens. He is very fond of flowers and this is a good season for them. But he is a most courteous gentleman. He knows I do not care much for a garden except to walk in it, so if he sees the subject is dull for you, he will find others. To me, he talks about music and masques and even the newest plays."

"Then I will certainly invite him. I will sit down and write a note right now."

"But not religion," Elizabeth remarked, wishing to warn Catherine away from her favorite subject. "He will listen but never approve, disapprove, or argue any point."

Catherine laughed ruefully. "He will get along very well with my dearling Tom then. He always has the best of reasons to disappear as soon as one of the chaplains or scholars begins to speak."

The dinner to which Catherine invited Lord Denno was a resounding success. They sat only six to the table in the small dining parlor: Catherine herself, Elizabeth, and Kat Ashley; Lord Denno, William Grindal—Elizabeth's tutor—and John Whitney, a gentleman-in-waiting. They were very merry, with Lord Denno telling tales of his travels and holding his own on every subject, including disputation about a Latin term and a lively discussion of swordplay from horseback.

When on another occasion Sir Anthony Denny arrived unexpectedly on some Court business and had to be invited to dine, Catherine was forced to mention with some embarrassment that she had also invited the merchant Lord Denno. But Sir Anthony was delighted. Lord Denno was an old friend, he told her. He had been so busy that he had not seen him recently, but it would be his pleasure to meet Lord Denno again.

Thus when, two weeks later, Sir Thomas had returned home and Catherine sensed he was growing restless in the quiet of Chelsea, she thought Lord Denno would be a safe diversion. Catherine was not yet ready to have any of Tom's political cronies taking up his attention and possibly drawing him away from her, but Denno might provide variety. Denno could talk horses and dogs and even engage in some practice swordplay with Tom, and Catherine thought Lord Denno's courtesies to Elizabeth would amuse Tom—she so young; Denno so old. Surely no man as handsome and virile as Tom could find Lord Denno a threat.

Unfortunately Catherine had forgotten the men had met before. She only recalled, when Tom stiffened up upon Lord Denno's arrival, that Tom had resented Denno's presence in her chamber when Denno had come to tell her of Elizabeth's need for a home. Tom was contemptuous of a mere merchant. After the first rude slight, Lord Denno fell silent, although he looked more amused than insulted. Elizabeth, however, burst into tears and left the table. Catherine signaled her servants to curtail the meal and the discomfort soon ended.

Afterward Tom delivered a tirade about the unwisdom of his wife engaging in such an unnatural friendship. Catherine was about to point out that Sir Anthony Denny had found Lord Denno acceptable company and that Denno was Elizabeth's friend and had been Elizabeth's friend all of Elizabeth's life. However, before she could defend herself, Tom roared that he did not want any rich, old men running tame around his wife. Catherine blushed with delight and forgot everything except that Tom was jealous of her. Without another thought for Elizabeth she readily promised never to invite Lord Denno to her house again.

The next day when Tom had gone out, Catherine felt guilty about depriving Elizabeth of her friend but could not bear to cross her beloved and delightfully jealous husband. She decided to break the news that Lord Denno must be forbidden the house at once to give Elizabeth time to recover from her disappointment. She did not want Elizabeth to show an angry or tear-stained face to Tom, or indeed to give him the sharp edge of her tongue. That might give Tom a distaste for Elizabeth, which could make difficulties.

To Catherine's surprise, Elizabeth only sighed and said with perfect calm that it did not matter. Later in the day, after a dinner about which Catherine had strong anxieties but which turned out to be especially pleasant because Elizabeth was particularly lively and amusing, enlightenment dawned.

Catherine knew how tenacious Elizabeth could be and she realized the girl's calm acceptance of forbidding Denno's visits could only mean that Elizabeth had no intention of giving up his company. Elizabeth rode out with only her own guards and grooms to accompany her three or four times a week. Doubtless she would meet Lord Denno then and perhaps in public places like the markets of London. She had been constrained when she met him in company. Likely she would be more free with only her household, who knew him well, as witnesses.

Frowning down at her needlework, Catherine wondered whether she should even try to do anything about it. She glanced quickly at Elizabeth, seated across from her near an open window. The light turned the girl's hair to flame, lent a glow to her pale cheek, and marked the faint upward curve of her lips into what was nearly a smile.

Elizabeth also seemed absorbed in needlework, but she was clearly thinking about something pleasant. Catherine sighed softly and dismissed the idea of trying to prevent Elizabeth from meeting Lord Denno. Elizabeth was her guest, not her prisoner. To try to control her would only drive her away and likely into trouble. The girl would come to no harm in Lord Denno's company and, Catherine reminded herself, she had only promised Tom not to invite Lord Denno to the house. It was herself Tom wanted separated from Denno; he did not care about Elizabeth being in his company.

Elizabeth was indeed smiling at her thoughts, which were mostly centered on Denno's coming, as soon as everyone was asleep, and taking her Underhill. He had done so every night since their first coupling, even when her courses were on her and they could not make love. She discovered that the physical act hardly mattered when they knew they could take that pleasure at any time. It was enough to lie together in Denno's bed to kiss and cuddle and talk.

The sigh she had uttered when Catherine told her that Tom did not think a merchant a suitable friend for Henry VIII's daughter had been one of pure relief. If Denno was forbidden to come to Chelsea, Kat and her maids of honor would not think it strange that he did not visit and she would not need to meet her dearling in their company again.

She had felt, when she asked Catherine to invite Denno to dinner, that she could not bear to be parted from him for an extra moment. She had not realized she would not dare fling herself into his arms, touch him, kiss his smooth skin, stare at him as if she was about to eat him whole. She hardly dared address a word to him, lest her voice betray her love and her longing. That first dinner had been pure torture.

The second dinner had not been so bad. They had been lovers for more than a week and she was growing to believe her joy would be lasting. The bursting rapture of their lovemaking was no longer so new and so overwhelming. She had had time to absorb and accept that the pleasure was no one-time thing but infinitely renewable.

She had been able to speak to Denno at that second dinner, even give him a smile without betraying how their relationship had changed. Of course, Sir Anthony Denny took up nearly all of Denno's attention, but she was able to bear that also, sure now that Denno was all hers. In all other ways than being her lover, her Denno was still her Denno, as indulgent in some things and as inflexible in others.

The smile on her lips deepened a little. She had been shocked when she asked him to cast a glamour on her so that she could go with him to a particularly bawdy new masque she wanted very much to see. Denno had flatly refused. It seemed a betrayal for him to be able to resist her in anything, now that she had given him the joy of her body. She had allowed her eyes to fill with tears and said tragically that he could not love her if he refused to satisfy her desire for a little amusement. And he had replied, as he had throughout the years, that no matter how much he loved her he would always refuse to give her what would do her harm.

"I am the one person in this world or any other," Denno had said, "who cares more for your good than for any other thing. It was my duty and is now the dearest joy of my heart also. I will always stop you from doing anything that would hurt you no matter how much you resent it. And I will always tell you that you are doing wrong when you are doing wrong."

At the time she had been furious. She had jumped out of bed and threatened never to couple with him again. And when he did not respond with instant submission, she had demanded to be taken back to Chelsea at once. Without a word he had banished the illusion that brought back his youth, had called clothing to his body, and had Gated them both back into her dressing chamber.

He did not say he would come again the next night so she could deny him furiously; he did not even ask when he should come again. He saw her to the door of her bedchamber and lifted his hand to banish the sleep spell he had laid on Frances Dodd, who was the maiden on duty that night and slept in the truckle bed beside Elizabeth's.

But Elizabeth had had time to recognize the Denno who, so many years ago, had disagreed with her about changing her garden because he knew her willful notion was wrong. A flicker of Foreseeing touched her, of a future in which his steadying good sense in resisting her desires would keep her from grave error. Elizabeth caught his hand and then threw her arms around his neck. He was rigid as granite.

"No, don't let her wake," she had whispered. "Take me back. But you must explain why it is wrong for me to go to that masque."

He had refused at first, and Elizabeth had realized she had really hurt him. But then he yielded, and once again Elizabeth was assured that his words were utterly true. He only ever refused what she asked when it could do her harm. The needle flew in her fingers and the pattern of tiny fairies flitting around a climbing vine of golden flowers took shape.

It was a particularly lovely piece, which Elizabeth had designed herself: tiny, fantastic creatures on a very narrow ribbon on which Denno could hang keys or a pomander. She knew that he could make far more valuable things, chains of gold or platinum studded with jewels, but she thought he would prize this because it was her handiwork.

 

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