The Other Countess (24 page)

With a sigh of surrender, Ellie let her head drop back against his chest. She could hear his heart beating steadily and feel the rise and fall of his chest. Slowly, she let it soothe her.

‘You mustn’t fear, Ellie. I won’t let Walsingham hurt you. I can’t stop him asking you questions though.’ He let silence fall for a moment. ‘So … so if there is anything, anything at all, that you need to tell me, say it now. I can protect you as long as I know the truth.’

Ellie realized that he feared that she was involved in some small way with a plot, but still he promised to look after her. She wasn’t sure if she should be offended by his doubts or grateful for his loyalty to a friend.

‘There’s nothing, Will, I promise. I guessed that March might be Catholic like the dame, but no more than that. And I don’t believe he was here for any evil purpose. If there’s a list in that book, it’s likely to be of those who will offer him shelter, like Dame Holton.’

He brushed his hand over her upper arm. ‘Good. Then you have nothing to fear. I agree with you, by the way; from my talk with him this morning, I don’t think March plots against the state. I’ll speak to Walsingham. It’s just foul timing that
brought him here at this very moment.’ He ran his hand down her arm to link his fingers with hers. ‘But you’ve another friend who’ll support me in this.’

‘Oh?’ Ellie looked up. His face was in shadow, only the faintest gleam giving away his eyes.

‘Robert Cecil’s with Walsingham.’

‘Good. I like Master Cecil.’ That was excellent news, unlacing another knot of anxiety in her breast. Ellie snuggled back against Will’s chest, savouring for this brief time the feeling that someone was looking after her, standing between her and disaster. She loved Will’s kindness, his strength, even his ridiculous temper – despite the fact that she had suffered from it on two occasions. His temper, she’d realized, was the reverse of the coin that made him capable of deep emotion. You only had to look at the way he behaved with his family to see his capacity for affection. To be loved by him would be a gift beyond anything she expected from this life, so she was grateful that somehow she had come within the circuit of those for whom he cared.

‘Cecil has great admiration for you, too. Thinks you quite the paragon of learning.’ Will ran his hand back up her arm to caress the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. ‘Your ruff is a mess, Ellie.’

‘I know.’

‘Damn stupid fashion.’ He tugged at his own much more impressive collar. ‘Gets in the way when I want to kiss you.’

Ellie went still. ‘Kiss me?’

She felt rather than saw his nod. ‘You are driving me to distraction, Lady Eleanor. I can’t eat, sleep or think without worrying about you. I leave you alone for half a day and I find
you in trouble. I’d feel happier if I had you somewhere I know you are safe.’

‘Why, Will? Why do you care?’

He gave a self-mocking laugh. ‘Because I am a fool. I’ve gone and fallen in love with you. My heart beats here.’ He gently placed his hand on her breast. ‘Can you feel it?’

Her heart leapt under his palm. ‘Yes, I can feel it.’

‘Good.’

She too had a confession to make. ‘And … and I think that you might have mine.’ She placed her hand over his heart.

‘
My true love hath my heart and I have his
,’ murmured Will. He shifted his hold on her to raise her face to his. ‘May I?’

Ellie nodded, not entirely sure what she was giving him permission to do. His lips brushed once over hers, then settled back with firmer pressure, his tongue running lightly along her mouth, outlining her lips and the seam between them. She relaxed, letting him deepen the kiss as he gently explored, delicately flirting with her teeth and tongue, tickling sensitive places she didn’t know she had. Compared to the crude assault of Henry’s invasion, her only other experience of a man’s kiss, Will’s felt like a loving wooing, cherishing her and her taste. She was beginning to feel quite light-headed again.

‘Ellie! Ellie!’ From the lane beyond, her father sounded panicked. ‘No, Sir Henry, I refuse to leave without my daughter. Take your hands off me!’

She froze, the reality of her situation crashing back on her. Will broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. She took a ragged breath, realizing she’d been holding hers for some time now.

‘Darling, you must remember to breathe,’ Will whispered,
his mouth quirking into a smile against her cheek. ‘Come, it’s time to go. I’ll insist you and your father are lodged at Lacey Hall.’ He helped her to stand. Her legs were oddly unsteady.

‘Ellie! Where are you?’

‘I have her here, Sir Arthur,’ Will replied. ‘She’s recovering from her faint in the fresh air.’

Recovering? Ellie felt ready to swoon all over again.

‘My lord, please, is she all right? She must not worry – I won’t let this man harm her. I’ll … I’ll …’

‘Calm yourself, Hutton. I’ll bring her to you.’ Will bent close to Ellie. ‘We have to go but we must talk about this.’ He ran his thumb over her lips, cupping her face tenderly in his two hands.

Ellie nodded mutely, misery washing away the wonderful sensations the kiss had sent through her. What was there to talk about? Will had to marry wealth. He could offer nothing honourable to an alchemist’s daughter, now under a cloud of suspicion.

‘Take my arm, darling.’ Will held out his elbow. ‘Be brave now.’

She followed him out to the lane, feeling her courage spilling from her like flour from a hole in the miller’s sack. She could almost see it, shining in the faint moonlight, marking the path back to the one moment where she had known what it felt like to be loved.

17

Nell was helping Dorcas, the countess’s maid, prepare guest rooms for the new arrivals. She shook out the worn sheets, noting the pleasant smell of lavender as well as the age of the linen. The house could do with an influx of Perceval gold before there were more darns than cloth. Tucking the sheet in tightly under the mattress, she wished her mistress would hurry up and settle the match so she could make further progress with her own plans to establish herself in Lacey Hall. She’d had enough of heavy household tasks.

Getting up quickly, Nell’s head swam. She grabbed the bedpost to prevent herself falling.

‘Are you quite well, love?’ asked the matronly chambermaid. She ran a rough hand over Nell’s forehead. ‘Not running a fever, are you? The tertian fever can be awful bad round these parts come summer.’

Nell brushed her away, remembering to smile sweetly. ‘No, Dorcas. I just got up too quickly is all.’

Dorcas tutted. ‘You should take more care of yourself, Nell. You hardly touched your dinner.’

True – she’d been feeling out of sorts for a few days now. Nell rubbed her chest, her breasts feeling uncomfortable in her bodice.

‘Maybe I am sickening for something.’

Dorcas misunderstood the gesture and thought Nell was gesturing to her heart. She let out a gale of laughter. ‘Sickening for a young man, I’ve no doubt. That’s what I was like at your age – never happy unless I had my admirer on a short string.’ She snapped a linen towel in the air and arranged it by the ewer and basin. ‘Who’s caught your fancy then?’

Nell could not think of a clever answer because her thoughts had taken an unpleasant direction. There was more than one form of sickness a man could bring to a girl. Had her mistress been right in her warnings a few days ago? Was she with child?

No! It wasn’t fair! Not when she was so close to getting what she wanted from this household.

But her body didn’t lie. She knew the early signs and she now realized she had all of them. It had to be true. Kicking aside a whisper of fear, her mind adjusted with its usual ruthless practicality to this new piece of information. A baby was a nuisance but didn’t have to be a disaster. Most girls she knew were far gone by the time they wed – the only difference being they usually married the father.

‘Nell, dear, are you listening?’

‘Hmm? Um, yes, sorry, I was just dreaming – of my perfect man.’ Nell covered her long pause as handily as she could.

‘Dream man? Yes, that’s the only place you meet such paragons.’ Dorcas gave the room a final inspection, pleased with their handiwork. ‘Mind you, can’t say I don’t have no uses for the real thing, if you follow me.’ She made a crude gesture, which in her present mood Nell struggled to smile at. ‘Aw, don’t mind old Dorcas – I didn’t mean to make you blush.’

Nell hadn’t been blushing and she thought she could probably teach Dorcas a thing or two, but it suited her to sustain the illusion of innocence, particularly for what she knew she had to do next.

‘I’m sorry, Dorcas, I’m just not used to such talk,’ she said humbly.

Dorcas patted her cheek. ‘Sweet chick. Let’s go down to the kitchen and see if there are any leavings from the master’s table.’

‘Thank you. I’d like that.’

Nell followed the maid, walking demurely in her wake, all the while plotting the seduction that would have to come very soon. Her child would need a father and Sir Henry was not that man. Master Turville didn’t know it yet, but he had just been selected for the honour.

To Will’s relief, Sir Francis Walsingham did not come down to breakfast the day after the late-night apprehension of the Huttons. News from his manservant was that he was laid low with a bout of illness exacerbated by the excitement of the previous evening. Responsible for dealing with the minor ailments of her household, the countess immediately left the table to go to his side and see how serious the problem was.

‘Poor man.’ Lady Dorset caught her son just as he was about to ride for the dower house and drew him into her parlour to make her report on their guest’s progress. ‘He’s in great discomfort. Sir Francis suffers from a serious congestion of the bowels –’

Will held up a hand, knowing his mother was more than capable of giving him a vivid account of what exactly this congestion entailed. ‘I can imagine, Mother.’

She pursed her lips at her son’s lack of interest in the finer points that fascinated her. She frequently told him that the human body was a marvel, its balance of humours so complex. ‘It’s a wonder he can go about his business, riding the length and breadth of the country as he does.’

‘Indeed.’ Will tried not to imagine that in too much detail. ‘I swear, Mother, in another life you would have been a doctor.’

She rolled her eyes at that unlikely prospect. ‘He quotes St Paul, talking of his infirmity as a thorn in his flesh, but I fear he’s not a well man, Will.’

Well or otherwise, Will was selfishly grateful for the much-welcome opportunity to make plans. He now had time to counter the man’s desire to use extreme measures against the suspects he had in custody.

‘Then I trust you’ll do all in your power to make him comfortable,’ Will said, kissing her hand. ‘I hope you can persuade him to stay abed.’

The countess gave him a knowing look. ‘I gave him a sleeping draught. He won’t rise till long after noon.’

‘Excellent.’

His mother swatted his arm. ‘You should not sound so happy about another’s misfortunes. It’ll be you one day.’

He kissed her cheek. ‘I know. But there are many kinds of misfortunes and I now have a chance to unravel one particular set of them, which are more tangled than the thread in your workbox.’

‘Impertinent boy,’ laughed his mother, acknowledging the truth of it. She was not one for keeping her belongings tidy.

‘Boy? I’m the earl, remember?’

‘Not to me, Will.’ She tweaked his nose. ‘Now go and sort this out. I’ll see to our guests.’

Before they could separate, Robert Cecil came in from the garden, shaking the dew from his damp leather shoes. He had refused to be party to the raid last night and had treated Ellie and her father with pointed politeness when they arrived to spend the night at Lacey Hall, his actions reassuring Will that he would find support there if required.

‘Countess.’ Cecil kissed her knuckles.

The lady’s cheeks dimpled into a smile at his courtly gesture. ‘Robert. I trust you have slept well?’

‘Thank you, I did.’

‘Forgive me, you must excuse me. I have to go to my stillroom to prepare another draught.’

Cecil glanced at Will. ‘Is someone ill?’

‘Sir Francis,’ she supplied.

‘Ah, yes. Then I mustn’t keep you.’ Cecil waited until the countess was out of earshot before gesturing to Will’s outdoor clothes. ‘So, Dorset, off to see your other charges?’ he asked astutely.

Will bowed. ‘As you see. With Walsingham confined to his bed with illness, I think it best to proceed with the interrogation.’

‘Before Norton arrives?’

‘Indeed.’

‘May I come? I’d like a glimpse of this rabid priest Walsingham has been fulminating against.’

‘Rabid? As to that, I would value your opinion.’

*

March was sitting in the window of his room when Will and Cecil entered, his eyes closed in prayer. He rose instantly when he heard them come in.

‘My lord.’

Will went straight to the point. ‘March, this gentleman is Robert Cecil. He has agreed to assist in this interrogation.’

The priest’s brows rose in surprise. ‘Sir.’ He bowed. ‘What has a lowly man such as me done to warrant the attention of the great Lord Burghley’s son?’

‘What indeed,’ replied Cecil, casting a look around the room. The only furnishings were a chair and a table with a quill and paper lying upon it, but March had not written anything on the blank page.

‘Master Cecil travels with Walsingham, March.’ Will lobbed this fact into the conversation deliberately to see what effect it had on the man. Aside from a slight clenching of his jaw, March showed no sign of being unduly alarmed. ‘We confiscated all books from the dame’s house last night and took the Huttons into custody.’

March clasped his thin hands together, his consternation evident. ‘The Huttons? Why ever did you do that?’

‘Lady Eleanor was caught reading a suspect book of yours.’

March turned away to the window; the light washed across his pale face, leeching it of life so he appeared almost corpselike. ‘I see.’

Will’s anger rose like yeast set to prove. Walsingham had been right: there was something hidden in that volume and March had thoughtlessly endangered Ellie by lending it to her. ‘You make no denial?’