The Queen's Dwarf A Novel (38 page)

“I suppose the eldest is a marvel because he is the first. But your parents have other sons. My mother saved most of her love for the babe of the family, the child of her autumn years.”

“Who loves a child who is a freak of nature? What mother loved any of us best? They feared us, recoiled from us.”

“Sara’s mother loved her so much, the miniature Goodfellow painted of her is like a talisman. Sara touches it whenever she is grieved or frightened or lonely. Robin Goodfellow’s mother saw his talent and sat with him on the doorstep of a great artist until the man took Robin in to paint his backgrounds. Robin surpassed the master and came to the attention of the queen. My mother loved me best of all my brothers, no matter how tall I grew. She told me if my head pierced the clouds and my legs grew taller than any tree, I would still be her babe.”

“My mother feared she would be burned as a witch because of me. It could have happened. It still might. If I’d been a weakling pup, my father would have drowned me.”

“Did he ever say so?”

“He did not have to. He would trade my life for John’s without a moment’s thought. Especially if he knew…”

“Knew what?”

“Ware said John rushed in to save that man’s life to make himself a hero, to match me in importance. It is my fault John is dead.”

I wanted Will to leap in with hot denial. Will folded his giant paws. He stared down at his knuckles, his voice low.

“Men do what they do for their own reasons, Jeff. What do we know about the workings of your brother’s mind? What little Samuel told you? That John walked into the public house on his own legs. That he drank more than his wits could handle. Once he set foot on French shores, well—perhaps he was driven by some imp of envy at your fame. Or perhaps he was driven by friendship. There are brothers born from the same womb. There are brothers we choose as I chose you.”

“Will…”

“Only John knows why he charged in when he might have held back. John and perhaps the man whose life he saved. You must make peace with what
is
and not tear yourself apart over what
might
be. God does not blame you for things you cannot help.”

I sucked in a breath so deep, it hurt my chest. “I did not love John. Not as I love Samuel. I did not love John because he was tall and strong and brave.”

“You are brave. I saw your courage at Tyburn. I saw it the day the queen shattered the glass with her hand. You faced the wrath of a mob that might have trampled you and, later, a king who could have cast you into prison for going to the queen’s defense. Any father—any brother would have been proud of you. I was.”

My throat ached.

“Tell me about John.”

I did. I told Will everything. I told him how John lifted me into the branches of trees so I could climb. I told of the day some neighbor lads dared me to walk the fence rail penning the dogs that were to fight that night. I had fallen into the pen, but John had yanked me out. He’d cuffed me himself, but he carried the scar from a bite meant for me on his left hand when he’d sailed to France.

“I never told him thank you for saving me that day.”

“Hard to thank someone after they hit you.”

“I needed hitting. It was a stupid thing to do, walking on that fence. I knew before I began.”

“There are times we cannot help ourselves. We do things even when we know better.” Will gave a wry chuckle. “Jeffrey, I know I am not a clever man.”

“You are doing well with your writing. With more practice—”

“Time is coming you’ll hear plenty of people call me fool.”

My hackles raised quick as one of father’s dogs. “I’ll make them regret it if they do.”

“You’ll think me one yourself. As for Archie Armstrong—well, I cannot imagine what he will have to say.”

“Tell me, Will. What is this about?”

“I am to be congratulated. You see, I am getting married.”

“Don’t tell me one of those sweet serving maids you cluck over like a mother hen is going to take you to the altar.”

A red tide rose up Will’s throat, coloring his face clear to his bushy brows. “I am marrying Dulcinea.”

“What the blazes? Why would she—” I bit off the hurtful words. “Damn it, Will, you know I do not mean to wound you, but I cannot help but—”

“Act as though I’m the Kraken and she’s Andromeda? If my best friend behaves thus, what is the rest of the world to think?”

“I just…” What could I say that Will Evans did not already know? That he was an ugly man and she an exquisite beauty. That he was grave and kind and serious, and she had no more weight of soul than the gauze she wore. That he was rooted as a mountain to the ground, while she was insubstantial as light, drawn to all that glittered. I remembered the night I had overheard Dulcinea and Will arguing, his worries over the nosegay left at her door by some other man’s servant. Dulcinea, defiant, demanding to know why she should not have a rich man and all the pretty things he would give her—even if it were just for a little while.

There could be only one reason for this unexpected announcement. “Dulcinea is with child,” I said.

“She says she has only to ask and the father will give her a house and coin. But even if that is so, the king would turn her away for loose morals. She would never perform in the palace again. How could she endure that? All the comfort in the world could not make up for losing the finest audience in the land. If I claim I am the father and make her my wife, I believe I can convince Their Majesties to overlook her indiscretion.”

“That may be so, Will, but this is not some practical bargain you are striking. Do not pretend it is. You are in love with her.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only to anyone who is not blind. Has she claimed she will give up this great lord who fathered her child?”

“I did not ask her to.”

“What are you going to do? Watch her flit hither and yon to his bed? It will make you miserable.”

“I know I am not the kind of man to inspire a beautiful woman’s passion. But I will love the child. Perhaps the mother’s love will follow.”

“If it does not?”

“It is a risk I am willing to take.”

I wanted to shake sense into him. I wanted to shield him from the hurt I could see barreling toward him. But no one—especially not one small as I—could move Will Evans once he took a stand.

“Say something, Jeff,” he urged.

“She does not deserve you,” I grumbled under my breath, figuring Will’s ears were too far above me to hear. I should have known better.

“I will not allow even you to speak ill of my wife.” He looked so solemn, I could not resist tweaking him.

“What are you going to do? Challenge me to a duel?”

“You know I would never.”

“I can aim a pistol as well as many at court, and astride a horse, I am tall as most.”

Will surrendered to humor. “You could blindfold me to even the odds,” he said.

“To be fair, you should blindfold
me.
I’m the smaller target. You’re broad as a house. I could just wave the pistol in your general direction and I’d be bound to hit you somewhere.”

Will chuckled. “With all those fancy lessons you’ve been taking—horsemanship, shooting, sword fighting—you could best me in about anything.”

“Except honor.”

Will started to protest, but I waved it away. Instead, he asked, “Will you stand up as witness for me?”

It might give me one last chance to talk him out of this rash action. Perhaps I could understand John’s recklessness in France the better for Will’s plea.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll stand up for you. If you wanted me to, I’d follow you to hell.”

“Is that how you think of marriage?” Will asked.

“I do not think of marriage at all,” I said with a stab of bitterness.

Evans grinned. “I believe Sara would like to change your mind—much to Robin’s frustration.”

“She will find me a very stubborn man.”

Will grew quiet, and we sat in companionable silence for long moments, listening to the crackling of the fire. Will was the one who broke the hush at last. “If the babe is a boy, perhaps we can name him John, after your brother,” he said. “Would you like that, Jeffrey?”

“I would rather you name him William.” My voice caught. “For the most honorable fool I’ve ever known.”

T
WENTY-
T
WO

I did not bother going to bed after Will left to begin his duties. Instead, I wandered past the sleepy night watch and slipped my letter to Samuel under Simon’s door. Who could say what time Rattlebones, Goodfellow, and Boku would set out on their errands? I wanted to be certain word of John’s death reached the rest of my family as swiftly as possible. Put an end to their agonized waiting. I hoped the tale of his heroism in saving John Felton would soften Father’s grief. Courage in battle—be it with dogs or with men—was what the elder John Hudson valued most of all.

I thought of life in Oakham as it had once been. Four stools for us children drawn up by the cottage hearth. Ann darning the holes John was forever wearing in his stockings, Samuel practicing tunes on his whistle, Mother stirring something in the kettle.

I pictured John rubbing grease into the new boots he was so proud of. Even Father, lounging in his chair, was in an expansive mood. His dogs had acquitted themselves well in the ring the night before. The duke and his guests had shown their delight by being generous with their coin. Father was promising to buy my mother a new apron, Ann a ribbon for her hair. He never would make good on such presents. We all knew it. The coin he’d meant to use would be sucked away by some necessity or spent on some risky scheme like the one that had eaten up the funds he’d gotten for selling me. But in the warm glow of the fire, the
possibility
of ribbons seemed enough.

It was good to remember life had not
all
been ugliness at home. Now, though, the cottage in Oakham could never be whole. John’s stool would always be empty.

I swallowed hard. Was there a stool in Heaven? Boots to keep out the rain? I wondered if Samuel’s tutor could tell me.

Thoughts of Heaven drew me to the Queen’s Chapel. I knew Samuel would want me to pray for John’s soul. I could add a prayer for Clemmy, whereever he was, as well.

Not so much as a trickle of rose in the sky hinted the sun would rise as I entered the chamber that inspired such outrage among the king’s Puritan subjects. They wanted to strip the priests of vestments, the altar of chalices and crosses, the windows of stained-glass pictures that glowed like jewels when sun slanted through the leaden panes.

No music to help spirits take wing. No candles to drive back darkness. I did not grudge them their own choice to live that way, though I did not understand it. But it was beauty that comforted my grief now—that and the memory of a woman whose loveliness reached even deeper.

I had accompanied the queen to Mass every day since I had come to serve her. But I had spent the time I should be praying staring at the triangle of skin where the queen’s curls parted to bare her nape. I would imagine how that skin would feel under my mouth if I were tall enough to lean over and kiss her. While John suffered, I knelt here in comfort, wondering if the queen’s hair smelled of roses. Had John ever smelled anything so sweet? Had he ever done what I had only dreamed of? Taken a woman off to some secret place and bared her breasts?

Fornication was a sin. Yet ominous as hell might be, there was something desert-bare in never making love to a woman. Not a quick animal coupling, the way I imagined Dulcinea’s fine man with soft hands had bedded her. But the way Will Evans would make love to his wife, if Dulcinea ever had the wit to appreciate his worth. A beloved one driving back dark so you could never again be alone.

Was that what I had come here to pray for? Will’s marriage? John’s stolen caresses with a village lass? Some end to my own loneliness? I could not touch the queen. Better to pray that Charles Stuart might realize fortune had given him something far more precious than a throne. He was the man who had the right to win Henrietta Maria’s love.

I crossed to an arch at the right of the altar. Inside the niche, Samuel’s beloved Virgin stood in a golden pool. Her bare feet trod upon a snake and a crescent moon. Her blue veil framed a face that seemed to hold all the sorrow in the world. She was a far more artfully carved image than the Virgin hidden beneath the floorboards in Oakham, yet in the strange, shifting shadows, it was the widow’s Virgin I saw.

As I folded my hands, I heard a quiet rustle at the rear of the chapel. My fingers tightened in irritation. The last thing I wanted now was platitudes from a priest. I closed my eyes, fiercely determined to put such a wall of concentration around myself that the intruder would not dare disturb my prayers—prayers that had degenerated into bitter orders that God make this person leave me alone.

But the click of heels drew nearer. The scent of roses wafted to me. A lake of satin pooled around my right side, enveloping me in a woman’s skirts. I opened my eyes and saw the pale outline of a Valois nose, teeth pushing the red curve of a top lip out just a trifle too far for conventional beauty. The curls, which I knew took hours to position in perfect ringlets upon the brow, had rebelled and tumbled this way and that in beautiful disarray.

“Majesty,” I said in surprise. “I did not expect to find you here. It is still so dark.”

“The chapel is usually empty at this time. The duchess of Buckingham and I often steal away from the other ladies before our day begins—with Sergeant Evans to guard us. But when I saw you, I commanded Kate and Sergeant Evans to wait outside. I wished a few moments alone to speak to you. Perhaps we could withdraw?”

Wistfulness filled me, knowing that she would hesitate being alone with any other man save her priests. But to Henrietta Maria and the rest of the world, I was even less of a man than the priests. A sexless toy to be petted, fretted over, and ignored by turns.

She rose and so did I, leaving the chapel to enter a small chamber where Will Evans and the duchess of Buckingham flanked the door, near enough to hear should Her Majesty need them. Will had shown me even more consideration, managing to engage the duchess in conversation so that she was turned away from the queen and me.