A Love Most Dangerous (21 page)

Most satisfying.

I could never quite decide whether any of my friends
would be with me or not. Most of the time I thought I might get lonely on my
own so I usually placed Susan and Mary in a house a few miles away where they
could visit when I asked them. Or I could call on them and we could walk
together and talk and talk.

Susan's elbow prodded me in the arm. 'There's Luke,'
she said.

I dragged myself away from my reverie and focused my
eyes. Father Luke had taken the place of father Ambrose as he did towards the
end of each service now. Presumably the old man became tired or his mind began
to ramble even more than usual. At any rate Luke began to read a lesson or a
homily, I know not which. He did not mumble, his voice was clear as a bell on a
winter morn. But he was, unfortunately, given to great pauses and flourishes
which seemed to make the congregation alarmed. I think he may have seen too
many mummers' plays as a child. It was at great variance to the Luke I knew.
With me he was quiet and nervous. Here he bestrode the alter as if it were a
stage.

'Beneath the cloth lurks a man of passion,' said Susan
dryly.

'I have seen no sign of it,' I answered. 'He is quite
limp if truth were told.'

'That is probably a good thing,' she answered. 'He
serves a purpose for you, nothing more.'

'I remember it well,' I said. 'It is a most useful
service but the hours do drag with him.'

The mere thought of the long talks about religion
which I endured with Luke was enough to make me yawn. But they threw a cloak
over my whereabouts and this was their only purpose.

The service ended at last and we joined the throng who
pushed their way out of the chapel.

It was a bitter cold day and the courtiers' breath
surged around like winter mist. I felt my teeth chatter in their sockets and
stamped my feet to try to keep warm. Of all the months I hated February most.
Short though it was it seemed to linger like some drear disease which clung to
you with grim determination.

'Oh do hurry,' I muttered to myself, as people
filtered slowly through the great entrance into the Palace.

Lucy pulled at my arm and nodded towards the edge of
the crowd, a worried look upon her face.

'Who is that man?' she asked.

I followed her gaze. A tall man with piercing eyes
stared intently at us. He had close cropped hair, as if he were a soldier, but
he made up for this with a long and luxuriant beard. It was as auburn as a
fox's tail, neatly trimmed and well cared for, hanging low upon his chest like
a weapon.

'I've never seen him before,' I said.

'That's Lord Seymour,' Mary said.

I turned to her in surprise. 'Jane Seymour's brother?'

'One of them. Thomas. He's just come back from France
or somewhere.'

I turned to look at him once more. He did not look
like any relation of Jane's.  Where she seemed half-dead long before her death
her bother seemed to exude rude health and energy. His stance was loose and
relaxed enough but his eyes darted everywhere. It was as if he was holding
himself on a tight rein for fear of exploding. Not a milk sop. Not a milk sop
in the slightest.

'He's looking at us now,' said Lucy in alarm.

He was indeed looking at us. He stood forward on his
legs, head jutting towards us like a pointer dog indicating game. His left hand
reached up and stroked his beard as if were his favourite pet. I thought at any
moment he might sniff the air, raise his head to the sky and bay like a
love-lorn hound.

'Pray God he doesn't come over,' Susan muttered.

'Is he dangerous?' Lucy gasped.

'Only to your maidenhood,' Susan answered.

Lucy blushed red from chin to bonnet.

Not dangerous to me, in that case, I thought. Not
dangerous at all.

But he did not move. He had no need to. The crowd was
drifting towards the entrance to the Palace and we were being carried along
with the tide.

All too soon we came up level with him.

He bowed and his long beard seemed to move independent
of him as if imbued with its own life force.

'Miss Zouche,' he said. 'Miss Dunster. It is a
pleasure to see two such pretty faces again.'

But as he said it he looked at neither of them. His
eyes darted continually from Lucy to me and back again.

'Good day, Lord Seymour,' Mary said, doing him a
little curtsy. 'It is pleasure to see you but forgive us if we hurry inside in
search of warmth.'

'It is indeed cold, my dear,' he said, giving a
courtly bow and pointing out the door as if we were too stupid to realise it
was there.

I doubted whether he felt any cold at all, not with
that vast blanket of beard to protect him. Nor with the hot lust flooding from
his loins.

I felt his hungry eyes slide over me, evaluating and
reconnoitring. I turned to him and, brazen face, stared into his eyes. He was
taken aback for a brief moment. Then his eyes seemed to twinkle and he soothed
his beard once again with tender brushing.

'I do not seem to have made your acquaintance, my
dear,' he said, holding out his hand.

'You are correct, Lord Seymour,' I said. 'You do not.'

And I swept past him into the Palace.

'That may not have been too clever,' Susan whispered
to me once we were inside.

'Perhaps not,' I said. 'But it was most gratifying.'

We strolled together towards the dining room. It was
almost noon and the cold and lengthy sermon had sharpened our appetites.

If I had thought my cutting comment would have ended
Thomas Seymour's interest in me I was mistaken. If anything it had sharpened
it. Some men relish a challenge and a forthright confident woman was to them
like gold to a miser.

It was the day after the service that I saw him again.
Since the death of Jane Seymour the Maids of Honour had much more freedom. We
did not have to wait at her command and could go anywhere much as we pleased.
It pleased me to walk in the gardens. The open spaces and winding paths were a
welcome relief from the cloying atmosphere of the Palace.

The morning had been wet but by early afternoon a
brisk wind had swept the clouds from the sky and the sun was shining a wintry
yellow. Susan and Mary took one look at the coursing wind and declined my
suggestion to go out.

'I'll come to the gardens,' said Lucy eagerly. She was
still at pains to be agreeable to me after her recent short desertion to the
Wicks camp.

'Come then,' I said lightly, as if I acquiesced in her
company rather than welcomed it. Her face fell and I repented my stance
immediately. 'But make sure you dress warmly,' I said kindly to make amends. 'Looks
can be deceptive; it may be cold in the wind.'

She hurried off like a puppy fetching its leash. I
went to my chamber and put on my thickest jacket and over that a cloak my
mother had owned. It still smelled of her, or so I liked to believe. It was worn
and threadbare but it was one of the few things I had to connect her with me
now. She died twelve years ago and I was beginning to lose the picture of her
in my mind.

I met Lucy at the Gatehouse. It was not as cold as in
recent days but the wind was searching so I was grateful for my cloak. We
hurried to get in the shelter of the Palace walls and made our way to the Knot Garden. In summer it was a place of scent and subtle colour. Now, in the middle of winter, it looked
forlorn and sad. The leaves which had fallen from the plants were sodden from
the rain and snow and seemed to cling together in clumps of sullen misery. I
did not wish to stay longer here.

'Come,' I said, taking Lucy by the hand, 'I know a
secret place.'

We walked along the path beside the garden and headed
towards the river. About half way towards it a path veered off to the left, a
narrow path fringed by aspen trees and willows. It was quite unlike the rest of
the gardens, it felt as natural as the countryside which lay beyond the Palace.
I never knew for sure whether it had been designed in this manner or had been
forgotten by the gardeners. As we walked along I had the sudden thought  that
it had not been forgotten by them at all; that they had left this wayward
corner for their own delight.

The path followed the course of the river and we could
glimpse its waters beyond the trees and rippling rushes. At length we saw a
circle of osiers straight ahead.

'Here we are,' I said. 'Here is my secret place.'

The branches of the trees already bore the first of
their catkins. My heart lifted at this. For me catkins were the promise of
spring.

But I had not brought Lucy here just to see catkins.

'Close your eyes,' I said to Lucy. 'I'll guide you to
the surprise.'

She closed her eyes and I took her arm firmly in mine.
I led her into the circle of trees and whispered, 'You can look now.'

She opened her eyes and gasped with delight. The
circle of trees had formed a bower all around us. In the centre of that bower
was a small mound about four feet high.

It was covered in Snowdrops. It was as if a beautiful
green scarf had been studded with diamonds.

'It's a Fairy Town,' Lucy said, clutching me by the
arm.

I smiled at her, fondly.

'No it is, Alice,' she said, 'believe me. There really
are fairies and they live in secret, secluded places far away from people. Some
of them live in tiny farmsteads, so small that they remain unseen. But there
are a few places, magic places, where Fairies love to live. They build a town
and weave around it magic webs so it's kept hidden from prying eyes.'

She clapped her hands with joy. 'And this is one of
them.'

She bent closer to the mound as if to search for tiny
fairy folk. Then she glanced up and her face was serious. 'We are privileged to
see this, Alice. We must promise not to breath a word to anyone.'

'I promise,' I said. 'We'll keep it secret from all
the world.'

'Even from the King?'

I crossed my heart. 'Secret; even from the King.'

'What will you keep secret from the King?' a deep
voice said behind us.

We jumped in fright.

Standing behind us, hand on hip, was Thomas Seymour.
He was wearing a thick wolf-fur coat and a small hat which fitted snug upon his
skull. There were dark stains on his legs as though he had rushed across a
muddy patch of land. His face was flushed which seemed strange in such cold
air.

'You frightened us, my lord,' I said.

He pursed his lips as if he had dropped a precious
object on the ground by mistake. 'I am sorry,' he said, 'I would not have done
that for the world.'

He stood in front of us, too close I thought it, and
gave a courtly bow.

'Please accept my apologies for any alarm I may have
caused.' His eyes roved from Lucy to me. They appeared as concerned as were his
words.

He glanced around as if he were a landlord taking
stock of some property long neglected. 'This is a pretty place,' he said. 'A
place most suitable for such pretty ladies.'

Lucy giggled with a mixture of pleasure and
embarrassment. I noticed he stroked his beard at the sound of her laughter. He
would not find it easy to pat himself on his own back so this fond stroking
must suffice instead.

I glanced around. 'Are you alone, my lord?' I asked.

'I was until I chanced upon you,' he said. 'Quite
alone.'

He grinned and it seemed a gesture fixed half way
between a promise and a threat.

'It is good to walk alone on such a day,' I said.
'Please do not let us detain you on your journey.'

He shook his head and held his hands out wide.

'Do not trouble yourself over this,' he said. 'I was
only strolling, taking the air. I find Hampton Court rather too constricting.'
He paused and leaned close towards us. 'It seems that maybe you do as well.'

I pursed my head and shook my head. 'Not at all. I
find the palace most congenial. We only came here to see the flowers.'

'Alice brought me to see them,' Lucy said. 'It was a
surprise.'

'So, you are called Alice,' he said as if he had won a
point in debate. 'My name is Thomas.'

I could have kicked Lucy.

'I know who you are, Lord Seymour,' I answered in a
cool voice. 'We were Maids of Honour to your sister.'

He nodded. 'And I am sure that you gave her great
service. It seems only fair that I should give you good service in return.'

I did not answer.

I noticed that this made him suddenly uncomfortable as
if he had not expected such a non response. My mind went back to when I had
first seen Thomas Cromwell. He seemed to me to be the master of silences. It
was good to remember this. Most people hated silences and rushed headlong and
willy-nilly to fill them. I will learn to be the master of silences and not
their servant. It may be a most useful weapon for me to wield.