The Queen's Lady (19 page)

James stood back as Barlowe led the initial exchange of greetings and presents on the sand. ‘Extraordinary,’ he murmured to Diego. ‘They wear only a scrap of cloth to hide their manhood. They truly do live in a state of innocence here.’

Diego folded his arms. ‘Look about you, master: it’s hot, you are all sweating in your shirts, hose and doublets, yet you think them strange for being appropriately attired. Who is the most extraordinary in the eyes of God?’

‘But the Bible teaches modesty.’

Diego gave a wry smile. ‘I do not think they’ve had the chance to read that chapter, but the book of nature teaches us to adapt to our climate. Doubtless in winter those fellows will be swathed in furs enough to satisfy the most prudish observer.’

James scratched his head, his brain trying to catch up with the new concepts his man was teaching him. Diego had for many years been an outsider to the world in which he lived; he was used to seeing the difference between what was essential and what was merely temporal, scorning the flimsy rules dreamt up by men to make sense of their ways of doing things. Diego was right that it was instructive to imagine oneself in the shoes – no, not the shoes as they weren’t wearing any – in the place of these friendly natives. Two big ships had landed on their shore and they had reacted with no sign of hostility, biding their time to take the measure of their guests and approach without a show of force. James doubted the people of England would have reacted so calmly to such an invasion.

‘The world is much bigger than I thought it,’ James admitted.

‘With respect, sir, you’ve only scratched the surface by your voyage here. Go east and the marvels multiply like rabbits in spring.’

James looked anew at his servant. ‘How exactly do you know all these things, Diego?’

He shrugged. ‘I worked for a Venetian trader for a short time. Those merchants have connections to places you would not believe.’

The exchange on the beach led to a visit to the ships by the little party of Indians. They seemed impressed but somewhat puzzled by the two craft, touching everything and chattering away to each other in their own language. One repeatedly plucked at Barlowe’s sleeve, saying ‘Wingandacoa’.

Amadas, who thus far had managed to keep his temper under control, much to everyone’s relief, seized on this word. He clapped his hands, making the poor visitors jump. ‘So this is the name of this place, is it, sir? Wingandacoa?’

The crew all repeated the name eagerly, trying to get their tongues round the outlandish sounds. The natives smiled and nodded eagerly.

Diego leant across to James. ‘I do not think that was what he meant at all. I think he was merely complimenting Barlowe on his shirt – I doubt they have seen linen before.’

James bit down on his laugh. ‘We can’t tell them that now. Captain Amadas is so pleased to have finally made progress communicating.’

Diego gave another shrug. ‘I do not suppose it matters in any case. You’ll give the place your own name that you don’t have trouble pronouncing.’

The following day the natives returned in larger numbers, led by their leader, a fellow dubbed Granganimeo. He was a striking individual with yellow daubed skin and a cockscomb tuft of hair atop his shaved head. Seated between the two captains for an impromptu picnic on the beach, he appeared in very high spirits and at one point suddenly began hitting himself and the two Englishmen, laughing loudly. Amadas looked fit to spit at this uncalled for attack but Barlowe restrained him, choosing instead to thump himself on the chest and join in the laughter. The Indians seated with James and Diego began copying their leader. James grinned through the onslaught – some of the blows were bruising.

‘What’s this supposed to mean?’ he asked Diego through gritted teeth.

Diego hit one lively fellow back with equal force. ‘I think they are enjoying themselves.’ The Indian he had just thumped held out both his hands and joined them together, smiling broadly at them both. ‘Something about all being one happy family, I would guess.’

‘They are going to love this at court.’ James ducked one particularly enthusiastic wallop to the head. ‘I can just see the Queen and this Granganimeo fellow getting on like a house on fire.’

After a few more days of such pleasantries, the Indians invited their guests to visit their home island of Roanoke. James was numbered among the party, instructed to survey whether the site would prove a good choice for the planned colony. Barlowe and Amadas reasoned that the natives were so friendly that it would be of huge benefit to the novice settlers to have them on hand to help live off this land.

‘But what if they do not want a crowd of foreigners taking over their hunting grounds and fields?’ Diego asked James in private.

James had been wondering the same thing himself. He doubted that the natives had any idea at all about what was planned for them. Still, he was a loyal Englishman; he had a duty to perform. ‘But look around us – there is so much uncultivated land. A small party of farmers is hardly going to encroach on them. And the natives stand to benefit – they’ll hear the gospel, have a chance to improve their lives through trade.’

‘I expect that is what Caesar said about the Ancient Britons when he first landed – they will learn to treat him as a god and have the honour of being traded as slaves.’

‘But we did benefit. The Romans brought us their civilization.’

‘And thanks to them every schoolboy has to learn Latin.’

James chuckled. ‘Well, I suppose there were drawbacks.’

Roanoke surpassed even the Englishmen’s fondest hopes. Granganimeo’s settlement was small – a mere nine houses fortified by a wooden palisade, the people not too numerous to frighten a group of colonists. The sailors were greeted warmly when they disembarked, seeing for the first time their hosts’ families, the women and children, who until now had remained hidden. James could not help noticing that the ladies were as lightly clad as their spouses; even Diego appreciated this detail after being unimpressed by much else.

‘Excellent country this!’ Diego remarked as one particularly pretty girl presented him with a slice of melon.

‘Keep your eyes to yourself: remember you are a betrothed man,’ chided James without too much force.

‘I am trying not to think what my Milly would make of all this. If American customs were to catch on in London, her business would be ruined.’

James laughed and shook his head. ‘As much as we may applaud the idea of seeing our ladies Indian-style, I think I could not bear others to be a witness.’

The chief’s wife, dressed in a long leather cloak marking her high status, emerged from her house and brought order to the chaotic scenes on the beach. She ordered the native men to carry the foreign guests into her home – a gesture that James prayed was one of respect rather than preparations for dinner. Rumours that these natives indulged in cannibalism had done the rounds of the ships on the journey over. He had tried not to pay too much attention to such fanciful tales but the prejudice remained. Once the visitors were installed by her hearth, the chief’s wife began tugging at their clothes. The other women joined in, pulling off hose and jackets, laughing as they did so.

James looked at Diego, wondering if he should panic.

Diego surrendered his shirt without a murmur. ‘We stink,’ he said simply.

Sure enough, the clothes were whisked away to be washed by one party of women while a second detachment brought warm water to the guests. They insisted on bathing the sailors’ feet and hands before the meal was served.

‘What excellent creatures!’ enthused Barlowe, his skin looking very pink in contrast to his weather-beaten face and hands. ‘They are like the hosts in the Bible – like Our Lord himself on Maundy Thursday washing his disciples’ feet!’

‘Either that, or we had quite put them off their food,’ whispered James to Diego. He looked around the circle of buck naked Englishmen. ‘Problem is, now I’ve lost my appetite.’

18

Lacey Hall, Berkshire

Time was running out for Jane, but Milly had a plan: she would act on her idea of appealing to James’s family. It had to work because she was at the end of her wits as to how else to save her friend. Taking advantage of the lull in business when the nobility departed from London for the summer months, she left her shop in the hands of her most capable apprentice and set out for Berkshire to make a personal appeal to the only other friend she knew Jane trusted entirely: Lady Ellie, the Countess of Dorset. If she could persuade the lady, she hoped the earl would swiftly be set straight on what had happened two years ago. They owed Jane their happiness; it was time to repay that debt.

The journey was about thirty miles and would take at least a day or two on the old hack she had hired. Christopher Turner had refused point blank to accompany her. It was too soon, he claimed.

‘How much time do you need, Kit, to come to terms with the fact that they are kind people?’ she asked in exasperation.

He ducked giving her a straight answer, mumbling something about plans to tour with his acting company over the summer. Pressing him further, Milly discovered he was embarrassed to meet with the earl’s mother – the lady who had been neglected while the old earl dabbled with his mistress.

‘The earl didn’t mention her, did he?’ he challenged Milly. ‘That must mean I’m not really wanted there while she is still in residence.’

Milly didn’t think it meant anything of the sort, but he was hardly rational on the subject.

‘I tell you what, why don’t you report back what she is like. Consider this full payment for my trip to Plymouth.’

Milly was surprised that Christopher, who had always acted the victim of his birth, felt he bore some of his mother’s guilt for her choice to become an earl’s leman. Yet, if he felt his reconciliation with his family had to take place with tiny crab steps sideways to the main aim, then that was his affair.

‘I’ll do as you bid, Kit. But don’t keep spurning the Laceys – it will get more embarrassing the longer you leave it.’

‘Thank you, Milly-o.’ Christopher threw his arm round her shoulders and squeezed. ‘You are still my queen of the embroidery bower even though you’ve foolishly fallen in love with that roving jackanapes.’

‘Go to, you knave.’ Milly pushed gently away, remembering suddenly how she had promised Diego to keep him at arm’s length – she wasn’t doing very well with that pledge. ‘And, yes, I’ll let you know if the coast is clear for you to venture on to Lacey land.’

With no Christopher to protect her, Milly decided to take Old Uriah on the journey to Lacey Hall. A less convivial companion she could not imagine. He moaned about the horses, the inns, the roads. The only thing that made him smile was seeing a nobleman’s heavy coach stuck in a muddy puddle.

As evening fell at the end of the long day’s travel, Milly was relieved to see the roofs of the great house appearing at the end of the road. She shifted in her uncomfortable pillion seat, her clothes still damp from the earlier rainstorm.

‘See there, Uriah: that’s our destination.’

He grunted. ‘About time too, mistress. I was worried we’d end up sleeping under a hedge, preyed on by wild creatures and vagabonds.’

Out of sight, Milly grinned at his back. This was Berkshire: hardly the wilds of America. ‘If they don’t offer us a bed here, there’s a village just a mile on according to Diego.’ She wondered if she was getting the first glimpse of her future home. One of the places she might settle with Diego would be this household, if London did not welcome their marriage. Admiring the sweeping parkland in the late burst of sunshine, she had to admit there were worse fates than living here.

Uriah steered their mount to the domestic offices at the rear of the building. As they rounded the honeyed sandstone edifice, it glowed in the sunset like a castle from some folktale housing the fairy king and queen, windows twinkling like diamonds. Even the servants’ areas of the estate were well tended, a flourishing walled kitchen garden visible through an open gate. Delicate pale-orange globes decked the apricot trees trained to a warm southern facade, some blushing to ripeness. Milly was beginning to think the inhabitants might not be quite human and that she had stepped into a poet’s story.

The illusion was shattered by the sound of a loud argument in progress in the servants’ courtyard.

‘Get your lazy carcass down here at once, Afabel Turville!’ shrieked a young fair-haired woman with a toddler on her hip. ‘That wretch of a miller has delivered a sack short again. I won’t pay him for cheating us.’

Milly got her first glimpse of the man who had cut off Christopher without a shilling when Turville, a much older servant, red of face and hair, shoved his head out of a window on the first floor. ‘Hold your peace, woman! Do you want the family to hear your caterwauling?’

‘You took delivery without counting again, didn’t you?’ continued the goodwife, not lowering her voice a jot. ‘Just because you share a barrel of ale with the man on a Saturday does not mean you should let him swindle you on a Tuesday!’

The clop of the horse’s hooves finally reached the woman’s ears. She spun round, revealing a pretty face beneath her modest coif. Her little daughter shared her good looks, a charming blond imp with a heart-stopping smile.

‘How may I help you?’ the goodwife asked, for all the world as if the argument had not been going hammer and tongs but a moment before.

Milly gave her a friendly smile. ‘Mistress, I have a gift for your lady from my Lady Rievaulx.’

The young woman’s eye lit with avaricious interest. ‘Then you’d better come in. Not often we get gifts from London.’

A groom ran out of the stable to take the hack’s bridle. Milly and Uriah dismounted at the block, both staggering slightly with the effects of being in the saddle for too long.

The goodwife beckoned them to follow. ‘Come into the kitchen. I’ll see if the countess can receive you. What name should I give?’

‘Millicent Porter of Silver Street,’ Milly replied.

The woman swung round. ‘
You’re
Milly Porter! Oh yes, we’ve heard all about you.’

Milly was dumbfounded. ‘You know about me?’

‘Of course. I was in service to Lady Jane Perceval before I married Turville.’ The woman pursed her lips, then hitched the child higher on her hip as if to remind herself of the benefits of the match. ‘Who would guess she’d end up as one of the Queen’s ladies?’

Milly realized she knew exactly who the goodwife was: Nell Rivers, now Mistress Turville, one of Jane’s less pleasant lady’s maids, who left her service to marry the earl’s steward. She was no doubt kicking herself for missing the opportunity to attend her lady at court. ‘Indeed, who would’ve thought it?’

‘Rest here awhile. I’ll see if my lady is receiving.’ Handing over the infant to Milly to tend, Nell made to leave. ‘Oh, her name’s Janet – after her godmother, the marchioness.’

Interesting – Jane had not mentioned standing godmother to her maid’s offspring. Milly smiled down at the little girl’s face. There was something of a resemblance to her friend in the imp’s blue eyes. She thought it best not to ask how that came about, though her quick mind leapt to the fact that Jane’s brother had been at court when Mistress Turville had been in service there. Milly had never thought much of Sir Henry and his goings on – he was notorious for his amours. She had always given him a wide berth.

The child tugged at the embroidered collar of Milly’s coat and giggled, her eye caught by the robins Milly had painstakingly sewn on to the cloth.

‘Like birds, do you, sweeting?’ Milly tickled her cheek.

The giggle became a glorious chuckle, which prompted Milly’s laughter. Then her heart gave a funny little lurch. She tried to ignore Diego’s absence most of the time, but she was missing him terribly. Determinedly optimistic, she had schooled herself to believe that he would be safe, but the infant reminded her of what they could have together, but only if he returned from the voyage. She closed her eyes briefly, murmuring a prayer. He had to be safe. Had to.

Nell came back within five minutes and brusquely transferred Janet on to Uriah’s lap as he sat by the fire. ‘Keep an eye on her,’ she told him sternly.

Uriah was too astounded to find himself roped in as nurse so soon after arriving that he did not think to protest. Around them, the kitchen servants were busy preparing the evening meal – there were surprisingly few of them considering the size of the household; Milly surmised that, in this far from wealthy family, it was usual practice to expect everyone to lend a hand.

‘Come, the mistress is eager to see you.’ Nell bustled through the short service corridor and into the grander parts of the house. Milly emerged into the entrance hall just in time to note the departure of a pack of dogs following at the heels of a young man leaving the front door.

‘That’s Master Tobias,’ Nell said shortly. ‘The youngest Lacey boy.’

Milly remembered him fondly from the encounter in Dame Prewet’s kitchen, but doubted he would recall her as she had kept in the background. ‘How many of the family live at home? I believe there are more brothers and sisters, are there not? And the dowager countess?’

‘There are plenty of them here at the moment, that’s the truth.’ Nell frowned as if the insult of family daring to occupy their own home was more than she deserved. ‘Only Master James is abroad.’

Nell opened the door to one of the fine chambers off the hallway. The plasterwork musical motifs intertwined with fruit on the coffered ceiling hinted at its purpose, though for the moment there was no one playing the collection of family instruments. Instead, on either side of the fire, sat the Earl and Countess of Dorset, both watching the newcomer approach with keen expressions.

Taken aback to be brought into the earl’s presence as well as that of the countess, Milly halted on the threshold. She hadn’t planned to make her case in front of the man Jane had jilted; he could hardly be expected to be a friend to her cause.

‘Mistress Porter, please do come in.’ The earl gestured to a third seat by the fire. ‘Now I see you, did we not meet briefly in London? Do you bring word from our brother?’

Milly remembered herself sufficiently to dip into a curtsy. ‘My lord, my lady. And, no, I do not come on behalf of Christopher – though he sends his regards.’ Well, he would have done if she had thought to prompt him, so it was not an absolute lie. ‘I come on behalf of the marchioness, Lady Jane.’

The young countess, a petite dark-haired beauty of Milly’s age, smiled at her husband. ‘Will, I’ve just worked out who this is! She is the one who has conquered Diego’s heart – the one James wrote about in his letter announcing Christopher’s presence in Silver Street. I can quite see how she won him – she’s lovely.’

Milly blushed, knowing that she fell far short of that measure. ‘Thank you, my lady.’

‘Don’t embarrass her, love.’ The earl stood and gallantly handed Milly to the chair. ‘We can tease her about her suitor later – once she knows us better. Have you been offered refreshment?’

‘Not yet, sir. I’ve only just arrived.’

The earl turned to Nell. ‘Mistress Turville, pray order the kitchen to send up wine for our guest.’

Nell bobbed a curtsy and reluctantly left the room. She had been hoping to eavesdrop on this conversation, but evidently the earl knew her habits well and had moved to prevent it.

‘So, Mistress Porter,’ began the countess, ‘You have a gift for me from Jane. How is she?’

Milly darted a look at the earl. He was smiling indulgently at his wife, not at all the picture of the rejected suitor.

The countess caught the direction of her gaze. ‘Oh, don’t mind him. He’s long since got over Jane giving him the boot.’

The earl cast his eyes heavenwards at his wife’s blunt language.

‘I always told him there was more to that than he thought, but it wasn’t until James wrote to us from Plymouth that we understood quite what she had done for us,’ the countess continued.

That was a relief – James had already cut most of the briars from her path. ‘My lady …’

The countess placed her hand on Milly’s knee. ‘Please, we are all Jane’s friends here. Call me Ellie as she does.’

‘Lady Ellie –’

The countess laughed. ‘I suppose that will have to do. I forget what an important person I am these days.’

‘Lady Ellie, I am afraid I lied. I did not bring a gift from Jane. I haven’t been able to see her for some weeks as her family are keeping her close.’

The earl frowned. ‘How so? I thought she was a Queen’s lady now, under the authority of the sovereign. James said her marriage to Rievaulx had brought her independence.’

Milly rubbed her hands together, afraid that he would not believe her. ‘True. But her father and brother have made a match for her with a Frenchman and have ensured she cannot refuse him. They’ve even gained the Queen’s approval by arranging for Jane to be caught in what looked like a compromising situation with the man.’

‘Oh, this is terrible!’ exclaimed Lady Ellie, her big brown eyes wide with distress.

‘And this is all against her will?’ The earl was more suspicious of Jane’s motives than his wife.

‘I promise you that it is.’ Milly cast around for something to bring the earl in on Jane’s side but could only come up with the truth. ‘She wants nothing to do with this Frenchman. She loves your brother, my lord. She would’ve married him if Master James would have had her. He hurt her deeply by running off as he did. But he left, and now she’s in this awful trap. Her father and Sir Henry have threatened to have her declared unfit to govern herself if she resists them.’

‘They want her money.’ The earl went to the heart of the matter.

‘That is so.’

Lady Ellie jumped to her feet and paced to the window. ‘It’s that horrid brother of hers, isn’t it? I can believe anything of Sir Henry Perceval.’

‘Her father is as bad, my lady. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree when it came to Henry.’

‘Oh, Will, we have to help her. But what can we do?’