The Other Countess (29 page)

The warder put an arm around her and drew her away from the water’s edge. ‘Lady Eleanor, there’s nothing for you to do here. Come back to my house and let my wife look after you until we’ve found your father.’

She shook her head grimly. ‘I have to stay.’

‘It’s high tide – he could be swept upstream a long way before someone pulls him out of the river,’ the warder said reasonably.

‘I’ll stay,’ she repeated.

The warder remained at her side as the search was made. Numb with shock, Ellie barely noticed when a guard draped a blanket over her shoulders. Walsingham had long since departed, murmuring something about word being sent to him at his town residence. And so she waited.

Grey dawn lit the eastern sky over the docks when the last boat returned with no survivors, just the body of the boatman. He had a deep gash across his forehead where debris had struck him and burn marks on his arms and face. Ellie started to shake. The oarsman had been further back in the boat than her father.

The warder placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. ‘Come, my dear, we have to assume Sir Arthur is lost, but pray for a miracle.’

‘I’ll stay.’ Ellie’s voice was a thread fluttering in the wind, easily snapped.

‘No, you won’t,’ the warder said firmly. ‘You’ll come with me now.’ He seized her by the elbow and towed her back into the Tower to his comfortable lodgings.

He passed her over to his wife and maid – a change of hands from cold masculine palms to soft female fingers. Her damp gown was removed and she was pressed down into a warm bed, quilts piled on top of her. She had the wild image that she was drowning and began to struggle.

‘Hush now,’ crooned the lady. ‘Rest. I’ll wake you if there is any news.’

Ellie curled up into a ball, taking up as little space in the world as she could manage. She gazed at the white sheet covering her, counting the threads, staring at the tiny black dots between them until nothing remained but the weave.

When she woke, it took Ellie a few moments to remember and, for a few cruel seconds, her father was still alive for her. Memory killed him again.

But it had not been certain. Perhaps there was word?

Jumping out of bed, she ran to the door, searching for someone to tell her the latest news. The hallway outside her room was empty. Frantic now, she hurried downstairs. There were voices in the warder’s study. Not stopping to think about manners, she opened the door.

‘Sir, has my father been found?’

The gentlemen gathered in the chamber turned to look at her in surprise at her interruption. Ellie’s eyes were only for the warder until she saw Walsingham sitting opposite him.

‘Child, you are not dressed,’ the warder said gently.

Ellie couldn’t care less – a shift was sufficient covering for this news. What did it matter if she had bare feet and loose hair?

‘Please, my father?’

The warder just shook his head.

Ellie refused to give up – refused to believe. ‘What is being done? Is the river being searched?’

Walsingham gestured to the warder. ‘Take her to your wife.’

The warder approached Ellie and took her elbow. ‘Come, my dear. This is no place for you.’

‘But I must know what is being done to find him!’ Panic swelled. He wasn’t listening to her – what if her father was lying injured on some bank somewhere?

‘Everything possible is being done, Lady Eleanor,’ Walsingham said stiffly. ‘We must know what went wrong.’

‘I don’t care what went wrong! I just want my father.’ Her mouth was dry, her heart pounding. It could not be true. She wouldn’t let it. ‘I must go and search myself if you won’t.’

The warder drew her away, taking her from the room like a naughty child. ‘My men have scoured the river and the banks, Lady Eleanor. The tide has turned twice since the accident. His body could be out to sea by now.’

She shook her head, tears of fury glittering. ‘He’s not dead, I tell you. He’s not!’

The warder guided her into the kitchen where his wife, a slight, elegant lady with a coil of dark hair beneath her neat cap, was standing with the cook discussing the week’s meals. ‘Katherine, do something for her, will you?’ He gently pushed Ellie towards the lady.

‘Ah, love, come here.’ The warder’s wife held out her arms, but Ellie stumbled away.

‘I must get dressed – go and look.’

The lady nodded. ‘Go and look if you must. I’ll help you with your gown.’

Offering a steadying arm, she led Ellie back to her bedroom. Ellie could see no sign of her clothes.

‘You’ll have to borrow something of mine,’ the warder’s wife said. ‘Yours were singed in the explosion.’ She chose a black skirt and bodice from a clothes press and helped Ellie into them. They were far too fine for her, but Ellie didn’t care about that. She shoved her feet into her shoes and turned to leave the room.

‘Your hair?’ the lady prompted gently, handing her a coif.

What did her appearance matter? Ellie tugged her hair into three parts and made a thick braid then jammed the coif over the top. ‘I’m ready.’

‘Where do you want to start?’ The warder’s wife stood patiently at the door.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Upstream or downstream? In a boat or on the bank? All have been searched you know. My husband saw to that and he’s very thorough.’

Still desperate, Ellie felt some of the fight go out of her. It was hopeless – that was what the lady was saying. She swallowed.

‘I’ll start where I last saw him – on the wharf.’

Nodding, the lady summoned two yeomen to accompany them out of the gates to the riverside. Ellie marched to the edge and stood on the brink of the Thames, staring across the brown expanse to the distant southern bank, warehouses partially obscured by the fleet of ships resting after long voyages. The river had an oily sheen and smelt foul, so different
from the pure water upstream she had walked beside with her father as they left Windsor. What did she think she could achieve? It was useless.

‘Shall I summon a boat?’ the lady asked.

Ellie shook her head, tears spilling down her face.

‘Do you want to go back inside?’

She nodded.

‘Is there someone we can write to for you? A relative?’

It was only then that Ellie truly grasped that she was alone in the world – really alone. Her father, though a burden for much of her life, had at least given her a purpose, a family. Who was left?

‘I … my father was not on good terms with his brother.’

‘Your mother’s family?’

‘She was from Spain, my lady. I know no one there.’

‘Ah, I see. Friends then?’

Her best friends were about to marry each other; she could not spoil their chance for happiness by being a cuckoo in that nest. ‘No, my lady.’

‘Well, that can wait for now. Come inside. I’ll have Cook make you something to eat.’

Ellie let herself be led back towards the lodgings.

‘Your father died a hero, Lady Eleanor,’ the warder’s wife said, ‘giving his life in the service of his country.’

A hero?
A hero?
Ellie began to laugh, a bitter outpouring that made her feel sick and desperate. He died as he lived – a fool for his craft. And this time he’d managed to kill someone else with him.

‘Stop it! You’ll make yourself ill!’ The lady shook her by the shoulders.

But Ellie couldn’t stop. Her stomach hurt so much she bent double, laughter turning to sobs. She knelt on the grass and gave in to her agony.

‘Take her to her chamber,’ the lady ordered one of the yeoman. ‘She is overcome by grief.’

The man picked her up like a bundle and hurried back inside. Ellie had quieted by the time she was placed on the bed. Sanity was creeping back. She could not turn away the only people who stood between her and the street by acting like this.

‘I pray your pardon,’ she whispered, knowing the lady was hovering.

‘No, my sweet, you need not ask for forgiveness. You rest. Mourn your father. We’ll think about tomorrow when it comes.’

She left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Ellie stared at the ceiling, but that offered no answers to her predicament, so she sat up and looked about her. Her soul seemed to have fled, leaving but a husk of a body behind that was going through the motions of living. A writing desk stood under the window. She got to her feet and pulled out a piece of paper. Taking the quill in her fingers she began her letter.

21

Will was conscious that James waited for him outside the sovereign’s presence chamber at Greenwich Palace, the Queen’s favourite residence on the south bank of the Thames. Her private apartments were in a tower on the water’s edge and all during his audience he had been distracted by the reflections of the Thames rippling across the gilded ceiling. With fresh rushes rustling underfoot with every move, he had felt rather as if he was in the presence of a river goddess, not the Queen of England.

The court was about to go on summer progress. Only the monarch’s essential ministers and servants were to accompany her but that still meant an entourage of several hundred to travel about the country. Will was pleased not to be counted as indispensable as it would be ruinously expensive to maintain appearances for so long a period. Besides, he had a wedding to prepare for – what joy.

In his audience with Elizabeth, the Queen was most understanding as to why he would want to be absent from her side for a few months. He escaped with nothing more onerous than having to kiss her pale hand.

‘All well?’ James asked when Will emerged.

‘We can leave.’ Will set off at a quick march, eager to be gone before the Queen changed her mind.

‘Home then?’

‘Yes, let’s retreat.’

‘Did she say much to you?’

Will grimaced. ‘Congratulated me on winkling out March. Told me that she looked forward to hearing of further successes against Catholic conspirators.’

James frowned, tugging at his newly clipped beard. ‘I trust you didn’t mention that March escaped when he reached Banbury?’

‘Er, no, I didn’t. That wasn’t my responsibility. The man kept to the letter of his promise to me so I cannot fault him. I only hope he has the sense to head off for Rome and leave England in peace.’

‘And how likely is that do you think?’

‘About as likely as snow in July.’

They took a turn around the courtyard, heading for the Percevals’ set of rooms. Will was struck anew by the riverside palace’s magnificent facade of mullioned bay windows and crenellated roof, giving the appearance of a great glass castle afloat – a fit symbol of the dangerous voyage any took who ventured to court. As one of the favoured mariners, the Percevals lodged in prime chambers, not far from those of the Queen.

Thinking of the state of his own heart, Will glanced at his brother who had been unusually quiet the last few weeks. He’d been so wrapped up in his own depression on losing Ellie that he had not thought of how James was faring.

‘So, how is the widow in Cambridge, little brother?’

‘What widow?’ James kicked a stone from his path.

‘Last I heard from Tobias you were enamoured of a lady there, or is that old news?’

‘Ancient. It was but a dalliance. I didn’t take up with her again after Windsor.’

‘Why not? Did she find someone of her own age to seduce?’

‘Probably – but she was only a few years older than me, Will – not the decades I let Tobias believe.’

Will chuckled. ‘So the affair ran its course.’

‘You could say I lost my taste for her charms.’

‘And they say women are fickle.’

James gave a shrug then turned the subject.

Will studied James as he talked animatedly about his hopes of soon joining Leicester’s army, disappointed that he could get no rise out of his brother with his teasing; perhaps James’s emotions had run deeper than he cared to admit?

‘Jamie, you’d tell me if there was something the matter, would you not?’ he asked, pausing at the door of the Percevals’ chambers.

James’s eyes shifted warily away from his face. ‘If I thought you could help.’

‘But …’

‘Hadn’t we better knock?’ James took the decision out of his hands and rapped on the door. A manservant opened it and ushered them in.

‘My lord!’ Jane’s father, Thaddeus Perceval, Earl of Wetherby, strode towards them. A head shorter than his son, he shared the same golden colouring of his children, though his beard was mostly silver. A formidable man, he reminded Will of a boulder bowling downhill with unstoppable momentum.

‘We’ve come to bid you farewell, sir,’ Will explained. ‘The Queen has granted us leave from court and I wish to return to my estates to prepare for the arrival of my wife.’

‘Grand. I’ve had my lawyer draw up deeds governing the betrothal and marriage, disposal of dowry and what’s to be settled on my daughter if you die and so on. Would you care to sign it today or take it away to consult your own advisers?’ He picked up a scroll of paper and waved it in the air.

‘I think it best I study it at leisure, sir.’ Will plucked it from his fingers and handed it to James to look after. ‘I’ll send it to you by messenger when I have completed the formalities.’

Lord Wetherby clapped his hands, rubbing them enthusiastically. ‘Wedding in December, eh? I expect a grandson by harvest after next then!’ He laughed heartily. ‘Come along, come along, Jane’ll be wondering what’s keeping her lover.’

He gestured them to proceed into the lady’s apartment. Jane was waiting for them, looking breathtakingly beautiful in pale yellow as she stood against the heavy drape pulled back from the window. ‘My lord.’ She dipped a curtsy, then her smile brightened when she noticed he was not alone. ‘And Master Lacey.’

Will kissed her hand. ‘Lady, we have come to say farewell. We’re for Lacey Hall.’

‘Pray take my greetings to your mother and Lady Sarah – and that rogue Tobias if he is at home.’

Will returned her amused look. ‘Yes, he is. Running rings around my mother and teasing Sarah – it will not be a peaceful household, I fear. And where is your brother, my lady?’

Jane turned to her father. ‘Sir, is Henry here? I’ve not seen him this morning.’

Her father grunted and walked to the window looking down on the river. ‘Nay, lass, he’s off on some foolish errand to the Tower. Ran into Sir Francis Walsingham this morning – had news of an accident two nights since. One of Walsingham’s men was killed in an explosion on the Thames – that alchemical fellow who was making a nuisance of himself at Windsor.’