The Hawk and the Dove (27 page)

“The queen!” hooted Frances, gulping her wine and holding out her glass for more. “Philip died for her, but she is the most ungrateful creature on the face of the earth. Did you know that in her younger days she came down with the smallpox and selflessly Philip’s mother, Lady Mary Sidney, alone of all her women, stayed with her and nursed her day and night until she was recovered? The queen was very lucky, her only pockmarks are on her neck below her ruff. My poor, dear mother-in-law
was not so lucky. She caught the pox from Elizabeth and was left so badly scarred she wears a veil and does not go out in public. Lady Sidney was given one cramped attic room at Hampton Court and made to keep from the queen’s company, for Bess cannot bear ugliness or sickness or the scars left from sickness. Believe me, Sabre, the queen never
gives,
she only
takes!”

Sabre said confidentially, “I’ve stolen one of her prize possessions.” Her eyes rolled upward, indicating the Sea God up on deck. “Why don’t you do the same?”

“I shall be in mourning, buried in the country at my father’s farm in Surrey. ’Tis the only roof my child and I will have over our heads.” Suddenly she looked at Sabre with speculation in her eyes. “Who’s the best catch in England?”

Sabre thought for a moment, “Probably Essex,” she said, laughing.

“Forgive me, Sabre. ’Tis the wine. I am wicked to talk so with my poor husband’s body not yet in his grave, yet it would be sweet to be free of financial burden,” she said, sighing.

Walsingham, acting upon the information provided by O’Neill and other sources, had caught Mary, Queen of Scots, in the web of the Babington conspiracy, though she was supposed to be safely imprisoned. He had worked day and night to collect enough evidence to bring her to trial. The queen was incensed and his triumph was turned to dross. The death of his son-in-law, whose crippling debts he subsequently inherited, was enough to break his health.

Walsingham was unable to meet his daughter at Harwich, where Hawkhurst weighed anchor, and Sabre
had to take her home to Surrey in the barge Shane had bought her. So Frances had come home, but instead of finding a strong family to offer her succor, she instead had to be the strong one in the face of her father’s failing health and the daunting debts that were piling up day by day.

Sabre learned that the court had already gone to Whitehall for what was supposed to have been the glittering winter season, but it was fast becoming a nightmare. A pall hung over everything. People went about with long faces, wearing somber clothing, treading on eggs so as not to exacerbate further the queen’s temper.

She had more or less ordered home Leicester and her other high-ranking nobles, Fulke-Greville and Blount, and told them to reduce their armies in Holland. Leicester had bluntly refused, telling her it would take at least another six months. Hawkhurst delivered these unwelcome tidings as well as missives from the Dutch envoys begging for more support.

The queen of England was in an unreasonable rage against Walsingham because of the way he had brought Mary, Queen of Scots, to a trial which resulted in her being condemned to death. She was to have her head severed on the block. Elizabeth had wanted Mary removed quietly, not by public execution! Her son James would be the new king of Scots and Walsingham had advised that they liberally bribe him with gold because he feared an invasion from the north.

All the news was bad. King Philip of Spain’s Invincible Armada was being finished over this winter and would sail to conquer England in the spring with the greatest number of ships that had ever been assembled.

In an effort to restore pomp and tradition to the opening of Parliament, Elizabeth made Sir Christopher Hat-ton her new lord chancellor and caved in to Essex to restore the sweet smile to his lips, making him earl marshal
of England so that he would take precedence over the old lord admiral, newly honored as the earl of Nottingham.

Parliament was opened with the queen arrayed in all her magnificence. First came the barons, earls, and knights of the Garter, then the aging Cecil, followed by his son Robert. Next came the new lord chancellor bearing the seals of England, flanked by two squires, one for the royal scepter, the other carrying the sword of state in a red scabbard studded with golden fleur-de-lis. The pages then trumpeted the arrival of the queen. She had an aura of supreme power and all assembled went down on one knee.

Since the court had become so dull, Sabre and the other ladies amused themselves away from it. At Whitehall at least they were in the center of London and could attend the plays, shop in the exchange and at the stalls in Candlewick Street, visit the goldsmiths in Lombard Street, and attend the horse-trading sessions at Smithfield Square.

The whim took Sabre to ride down to Thames View to spend the night. It had begun to snow, and as she looked down from the panoramic windows of the master bedchamber, she was beginning to think he would not come.

It infuriated her that they never really knew when they could be together, since they always had to snatch time from their other duties. It was a continuous bone of contention between them that he was here one moment and gone the next, so that when they did meet they wasted precious time fighting.

Sometimes she slept alone at Thames View and other times he would arrive in the middle of the night, heavily armed, cloaked in black, looking for all the world like a
thief. He would steal into bed, slip his arms about her, and they would make love savagely, as if it were for the last time.

Sabre sighed and had almost turned from the window when she saw a rider. She ran down the stairs to greet him and was surprised to discover the tall figure was Matthew. Her loveliness took his breath away, and he wished with all his heart that she had been waiting to welcome him this cold winter’s night.

“Sabre, Lord, it’s good to see you!” he said, laughing and hugging her and at the same time transferring cold, wet snow from his clothes to hers. “Have you told him you are Lady Devonport yet?”

“No, which is precisely why he still carries me to bed and treats me like a queen. However, I did tell your mother.”

“Georgiana came up to London?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes. She walked in on me while I was in a state of undress and naturally assumed I was Shane’s bride. I admitted the truth to her and she pledged me that she wouldn’t tell Shane.”

“Did you like each other?” Matthew asked frankly.

“Yes, thank God. Can you imagine what it must be like to have your mother-in-law for an enemy?”

They sat in front of a warm fire and Sabre poured them goblets of warm, mulled cider. “This will remind you of home. What have you been up to?”

“Curious, really. I’ve just brought two shiploads of marble from the Isle of Purbeck. It must be for a customer who’s doing some fancy rebuilding, and yet Hawk told me to keep my cargo hush-hush. I just want to know where and when he wants me to unload it. I can think of
pleasanter things to do in this freezing weather than juggling slabs of cold pink marble.”

The front door was thrown open and Shane ushered in a small, dark figure along with a swirl of snowflakes.

“Frances!” exclaimed Sabre, “come by the fire and un-thaw.”

“Hello, Sabre. I’m afraid Lord Devonport has rescued me again.”

Matthew was on his feet immediately. “Lady Sidney, permit me to offer my condolences for your great loss.”

Shane said, “As you can plainly see, this is my brother, Matthew Hawkhurst.”

“What’s wrong, Frances?” asked Sabre, seeing a look of defeat about the slender, drooping shoulders.

“We thought we had found a way out of our financial difficulties. I came up to see Philip’s solicitors to sell some of the Sidney lands, but the will was faulty and Philip’s brother Robert is claiming everything.”

“I’ve instructed my man of law, Jacob Goldman, to see Robert Sidney on Frances’s behalf,” said Shane.

“I’ve sold all my wedding gifts and my silver plate and only got a thousand pounds for the lot,” said Frances hopelessly. “My father petitioned the queen to settle Philip’s debts, but she refused because she is furious over Mary of Scotland and this is his punishment.”

“You must be exhausted. You cannot go back to Surrey tonight; I’ll put you in the lovely pink bedchamber. She looked appealingly at Shane. “Darling, have the cook prepare some food and I’ll take Frances upstairs.”

“Come on, Matt, we’ll raid the kitchen ourselves; I’m starving.” Alone in the kitchen Shane told Matthew to unload the pink marble from his ships and put them on Shane’s vessels.

“Wouldn’t it be simpler for me to just deliver it to the customer?” asked Matt. Shane did not want Matthew involved in his covert operations, so he tried to pass off the subject on a light note. “It’s for a lady, Matt, if you must know, and I’m the one who wishes to be the recipient of her gratitude.”

Matthew was instantly angered. How could his brother be such a bloody philanderer while he enjoyed the favors of the loveliest woman in London? Abruptly he said, “I must go. Where are your ships anchored?”

Shane gave him a long, speculative look and said evenly, “The
Defiant
and the
Gloriana
are at Southend. The captains have instructions to take on the marble night or day, whenever it is convenient for you, Matthew.”

After his brother departed, Shane took a trayful of tempting food up to Frances. He smiled warmly at her and said, “I have two thousand pounds for you, Frances. I want to help you in a practical way, and as I see it, that way is providing you with a little gold.”

Frances wrung her hands. “Oh, m’lord, I cannot!” She was clearly at odds with herself. After a moment’s hesitation she confided, “I—I have been helping my father while he has been ill and I have discovered that he has a file on you, Lord Devonport.”

“I know,” said Shane softly, “and I sincerely hope that if the time comes when your father must pass along his files to another authority, you will find it in your heart to warn me. But, Frances, this money has no strings attached to it. I insist that you take it.”

Sabre saw her sigh and visibly relax. “Eat up, Frances, it smells delicious. I’ll get you a warm bed gown, and you are to put your troubles aside and get a few hours rest.”

Frances flashed her a warm look of gratitude. Shane and Sabre closed the door to the pink chamber. “I’d better get a maid to ready a room for Matthew.”

“No need,” said Shane. Picking her up in his arms, he carried her to their chamber. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?” exclaimed Sabre in surprise. “Why?”

“I made an innocent remark and his anger flared as if I had set a flame to gunpowder.” He set her down in their room and turned to lock the door. “I think he fancies himself in love with you.”

Sabre blushed. She knew there was some truth in his words, but after all, Matthew had stood beside her and exchanged wedding vows. She understood perfectly that Matthew thought he had some claim on her. She wanted to shout at Shane, “It is your fault!” but she held her tongue and turned her back to him as she gazed through the tall windows watching the gardens turn white with snow.

He slipped his arms about her beneath her breasts and bent to place a tender kiss on the top of her head. “Darling, I never want you to be left in a mess such as Frances is now in. I’ve deposited ten thousand pounds in your name with Herriot’s, the goldsmith’s.” She stiffened in his arms, surprised at the large sum. “’Fore God, men are generous with their mistresses.”

He spun her round to face him. “Sabre, I don’t think of you as my mistress!” She saw the hurt in his eyes. “You are my beloved. What we have is so special and rare. I took your virginity and I never want you to know another man.” He shook her. “Don’t you feel bonded to me?” he demanded.

“Yes,” she cried, “I want us to be man and wife!”

“Oh, my darling,” he said, sweeping her up and carrying
her to their bed, “so do I, but it cannot be.” He undressed her gently, murmuring, “My little love, I’ll make it up to you.” He kissed her eyelids and smoothed the tiny curls from her temples. “Marriage isn’t everything, sweetheart. Look at poor Frances.”

She swirled her fingers in the thick matt of black hair upon his chest. “You wanted her to be indebted to you, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” he admitted as he bit her ear and let his lips play along her throat. She slipped her arms about his neck and lost her thread of thought. His fingers began to work their magic and it was with difficulty that she remembered the question that had plagued her. “What’s so secret about pink marble?”

He groaned. “The marble is for Bess, the countess of Hardwick. She has a mania for rebuilding her castles. She happens to own lead and tin mines, so without drawing any kind of suspicion, I’m able to trade her marble for lead.”

“For O’Neill?”

He sighed. “Do you want to talk or do you want to play?”

She pressed her legs together tightly, evading his attempt to slip his finger inside her. “You always want to play … you never want to talk.”

He groaned. “What is there to talk about?”

“Can’t we ever have a serious conversation? I have a hundred questions I’d like you to answer.”

He pulled her against his hardness and whispered, “Such as how many times we can do it in one night?”

“Shane, stop it … be serious with me!”

“Sorry,” he teased, “you mean you want to know more about me.”

“Yes … I want to know everything.”

He said with mock solemnity, “My shaft lengthens to ten inches when fully aroused.”

She beat his chest with tight little fists. “You’re impossible…. I hate you!”

He grinned and whispered, “You love me when I fuck you.”

Little by little he managed to coax her from her questions into a loving mood, then overwhelmed her with sheer animal magnetism. He wanted to bury himself within her, to make her beg, to make her cry out at a dozen moments of passion. He knew that he could soon invade her veins with pure bliss which would blot out all questions.

There were seven hundred mourners in Sir Philip Sidney’s funeral procession, and Frances was reduced to selling her family’s coach and horses to help defray the expenses. Queen Elizabeth was the chief mourner of the beautiful young man taken in the fullness of his youth. She wore a magnificent outfit of black satin brocade, embroidered overall with jet beads and banded with ebony fur. The only relief to the black outfit was a pretty white ruff at her throat.