Virginia Henley (15 page)

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Catherine whispered.

“I too am sorry! Sorry that I ever conceived you!” Isobel vowed. “Go upstairs, both of you, and pack your things. I am sending you away immediately. You are forbidden the Court. You must never be in Arbella Stuart’s company again.”

But Bella is my friend.
In a small voice Cat dared to ask, “How long must I stay at Spencer Park?”

“Hertfordshire isn’t far enough from Court for someone who has plotted treason. You must leave the country immediately. I am sending you to your grandfather in Scotland.”

Cat jumped to her feet in alarm. “Scotland? I won’t go!”

Isobel stepped toward her daughter and slapped her hard across the face. “Don’t dare to defy me!”

As Catherine recoiled in horror, a tall figure stepped through the archway from the sitting room. “Lady Spencer, stop!”

Isobel restrained herself with difficulty. “Lord Stewart has generously consented to take you to Scotland aboard his ship. I pray to God that such swift action will keep my good name out of this. I wash my hands of you and Maggie both.” Isobel turned on her heel and swept from the hall.

Cat stared at Patrick Hepburn in disbelief. “You! You monster! You have done this terrible thing to me!”

“Lady Catherine, the
Hepburn Rose
sails on the afternoon tide. I must get my horse and my deerhounds aboard. I will send my man for your trunks.” Patrick nodded curtly and departed.

Cat was stunned. She looked helplessly at Maggie. “I am so sorry to drag you into this mess.”

“It will be all right, lass. It’s best ye leave Court for a time until all this blows over. Yer mother is protecting ye from being arrested and mayhap imprisoned. Come on, put a good face on it. We have a deal of packing to do.”

“I wish I could send Bella a warning,” Cat whispered.

“Dinna even think of it, lassie. There’s none here ye could trust to carry a secret note. They’d hand it to yer mother.”

“Maggie, I’m beginning to learn that you are the only one in the entire world whom I can trust.”

“Then trust me when I tell ye that Scotland isn’t a bad place.’Tis a beautiful country and, though I admit the winters can be cruel, we’re going at the best possible time.”

When they went upstairs they saw that the servants had already brought down the traveling trunks from the attic. At first, Catherine stood before her wardrobe feeling helpless and at a total loss. The feeling did not last long, however. She soon straightened her shoulders and made a decision. Once she had resolved to take control and pack everything she owned, her spirits lifted a little.

It was the hour of noon before the four trunks sat ready to be taken downstairs. Only one belonged to Maggie, and once again Catherine felt a pang of guilt. She slipped her sketchpads, pencils, charcoal and water paints into a large leather case and fastened it securely. “I’m going to say good-bye to Jasmine.”

“Don’t be too long. Cook will be sending up lunch. Ye should eat something, my lamb; it’ll be a long day.”

“I’m not hungry, Maggie.” Cat’s appetite was small at the best of times. When she was upset, it was nonexistent.

When she arrived at the stable, Cat had to stifle the impulse to saddle Jasmine and gallop away. Upon reflection she realized the only place she could go was Spencer Park, and that was the first place her mother would look. She pressed her cheek into Jasmine’s flank and told the small palfrey how much she would miss her. With a lump in her throat Catherine fastened a leading rein to the bridle and led Jasmine to the Hunsdon stables. She handed the rein to the head groom. “I’m going away to Scotland. Would you stable Jasmine here with the other horses, so she won’t be lonely?”

“It will be my pleasure, Lady Catherine. How long are you planning to be away?”

“Oh, not long. Not long at all,” she said with determination.

It was two o’clock when Ian Hepburn, along with a deck-hand from the
Hepburn Rose,
arrived. Cat was amazed when the men hoisted the trunks to their shoulders to carry them downstairs. “Are we going by carriage?” she asked hopefully.

“No, my lady. We are going by river. A water barge will take us from here directly to the ship at the Pool of London.”

Cat tried to hide her alarm. The river Thames moved placidly until it neared London Bridge, where watercraft had to shoot the whitecapped rapids. London’s Pool, where the ships docked, was at the far east end of the city, past the Tower of London. She made a quick decision to remove her wire farthingale from beneath her skirts. She might look unfashionable, but she would be a good deal more comfortable and probably steadier on her feet without the infernal contraption.

Cat carried her safely bundled sketches as she and Maggie followed the men to the water stairs. “Are all Scotsmen as big and strong as oxen?”

“Nay, lass; I believe the Hepburns are a breed apart.”

“Well, they’re certainly not human,” she said with a shudder.

It took two hours to make the trip from Richmond to the Tower Wharf, because the oarsmen were rowing against the tide. When their watercraft almost made it through the middle arch of London Bridge, the tide carried it backward and they had to do it all again. Maggie turned an alarming shade of green and Cat knew she herself would have certainly lost her lunch, had she eaten one.

As they followed the men along the docks to where the
Hepburn Rose
lay anchored, Lady Catherine drew every eye. Even though she was dressed in subdued gray velvet, men gaped at the exquisite creature as if she were a goddess who’d just descended from Mount Olympus. Cat was unaware of the attention, however, because she was filled with trepidation about the voyage. The only water she had ever sailed upon was the river Thames, and that had just proved a daunting task.

When they arrived at the ship, she watched the men carry the trunks aboard, and then she saw that Patrick Hepburn was standing on deck at the end of the boarding plank to welcome her aboard. Her heart came into her mouth. Cat would rather die than allow the arrogant Scot to see her fear. She indicated that Maggie should go first, then, with her back straight as a ramrod and her chin high in the air, she stepped forward with feigned confidence.

“Watch your step, Maggie.” Hepburn lifted the serving woman from the boarding plank to the deck. Then he held out his arms for Catherine.

Cat immediately placed her leather sketch case on his outstretched arms and daintily stepped down to the deck without even looking at him.

“Yer lordship, ’tis a miserable day. Ye don’t expect a storm?”

“Surely it takes more than a few squall clouds to intimidate a braw Scots lassie like you, Maggie?” He winked to allay her fear. “Look at Lady Catherine, ready to meet her destiny with courage.”

Is the devil mocking me?
She glared at him with flashing eyes.

Patrick hid his amusement. “If you will follow me, ladies, I will show you to your cabin.” He led them belowdecks and took them to a cabin in the ship’s stern. Though it was not yet five o’clock, the light had gone from the day. When he threw open the door the cabin was shrouded in darkness until he lit a lantern.

It was a well-appointed cabin paneled in mahogany with two fairly wide berths, one atop the other, yet to Catherine it seemed unbelievably small, especially with four trunks taking up space.

“I suggest you make yourselves comfortable while we wait for the tide to turn. In less than an hour we’ll weigh anchor and be under way. Tonight you may dine with me or I can have trays brought to you here.”

“Thank you. Trays would be my overwhelming preference.”

He bowed politely. “My cabin is aft. If there is aught you desire, please do not hesitate to come and ask me.”

“I assure you, Lord Stewart, that I need nothing from you.”

Her tone was sweet yet dripped with disdain.

Patrick had a sudden urge to take her over his knee and tan her arse. It wasn’t the first time either. “
Bon voyage, cherie.
”

When he left, Cat looked about in dismay. “This room is so small, we’ll be tripping over each other.”

“It’s roomy for a ship’s cabin.” Maggie opened a small door beneath a cabinet that held a washbowl and a jug of water. “Here are towels and soap and the chamber pot. That’s all we need.”

Cat opened a trunk, took out a nightgown and laid it on the upper berth. “I’ll sleep up here, Maggie.” There was a table and two chairs, so they sat down to wait for the voyage to begin. Finally they heard seamen shouting and the anchor being lifted.

“I should tell ye, my lamb, I’m not a very good sailor.”

It was the understatement of the century. As soon as the vessel began to move with the flowing tide, Maggie began to groan with nausea. As the ship rocked slowly, the ship’s lantern swung back and forth in the same rolling rhythm as the
Hepburn Rose.
Suddenly, Maggie’s stomach erupted and she spewed on the cabin floor. Cat threw off her cloak, grabbed a towel and began to clean it up. Maggie, however, was nowhere near done.

Cat grabbed the chamber pot and held it steady as her companion continued to vomit. “There, are you feeling a bit better?”

Maggie’s groans told her the answer was
no
!

“Why on earth didn’t I wear a more practical gown for a sea voyage?” As she quickly removed the pale yellow dress and its matching primrose ruff, she answered her own question. “I don’t have any practical gowns!” Thankful that she had left her farthingale at home, she brought soap and water and tended Maggie in her petticoat. As soon as Cat washed Maggie’s face, the older woman began heaving again.

Catherine picked up the chamber pot and held it once more. It was more than half full before there was a lull in the spewing. “Oh, Maggie, love, you can’t go on like this.” The sight and smell of the vomit brought on Catherine’s nausea and she knew she’d never felt this miserable in her life. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer for her beloved nurse. “Why don’t you lie down and see if that helps?”

Though Maggie lay down, she rolled in agony for a few minutes, then she sat bolt upright and erupted once again.

Catherine knew she had no choice. She could not let Maggie remain in this dreadful state if something could be done for her. Her disdainful words to Hepburn came back to haunt her:
I assure you, Lord Stewart, that I need nothing from you!
Cat cursed her own stupidity.
Now I shall have to swallow my pride and go to Lord Bloody Stewart as a supplicant!
She knew she would never do it for herself, but Maggie was another matter entirely. Cat swallowed her bile, slipped her cloak over her petticoat and hurried along the companionway to Hepburn’s cabin.

Chapter Nine

P
atrick remained on deck until the
Hepburn Rose
reached the mouth of the river Thames, where it opened into the North Sea. The threatened downpour arrived and he went below to his cabin to change into dry clothes. He removed his soaked shirt and, as he began to towel his shoulders, he heard a knock upon the door. When he opened it, he was surprised to see Catherine. “Come in.”

She stepped inside, trying not to stare at his naked chest. Hoping to sound contrite, she said, “I am sorry to bother you, my lord, but I desperately need something for nausea.”

Patrick’s brows drew together and his gut knotted. “Are you with child, Hellcat?”

Catherine gasped. With clenched fists she flew at him and pummeled his bare chest. “You insolent bastard! Maggie is violently ill. I need something to stop her seasickness.”

Patrick captured her fists and laughed with relief. “Seasick? Is that all?” He released her, moved to a cupboard built into the cabin wall and took out a small glass flacon. “This holds about four ounces of ginger wine laced with laudanum. The ginger should settle her stomach. The laudanum will make her sleep.” His dark eyes searched her face. “Do you need a dose for yourself, Cat?”

Seething with anger, she spat, “I assure you, Lord Stewart, I need nothing from you!” She grabbed the flacon and fled.

The moment Catherine opened her cabin door, the sickening stench of vomit assailed her. She forced herself to swallow rapidly and went inside. Maggie sat on the lower berth with her arms wrapped around her belly. The chamber pot on the floor now overflowed with nastiness. “Oh, my poor dear, here is some ginger wine to calm your stomach. Hepburn swears by it,” she encouraged. Cat threw off her cloak, sat down beside Maggie and held the flacon to her blue lips. “Sip it slowly.”

Maggie obeyed, taking sips between great gulps of air. Though she still retched a few times, nothing came up.

“Oh, thank god, I think it’s working. Better drink it all.”

Within ten minutes, Maggie had stopped vomiting and her nausea had completely abated. Cat brought water and a fresh towel to cleanse her face and hands. “There, I’m sure you feel much fresher. Now lie down and try to get some rest.” Catherine tucked a warm blanket about her companion and within minutes gave thanks that Maggie had fallen asleep.

Cat eyed the overflowing chamber pot with aversion. She knew she had little choice but to get rid of its foul contents. With reluctance she slipped on her cloak and reached for the pot but, before she even touched it, she was convulsed with dry heaves. Cat gripped her stomach to stop the retching and eventually it calmed. She knew if she had eaten anything at all that day, she too would be spewing.
Come on, you can do it!
Catherine held her breath and faced up to the task. Very carefully, she lifted the pot and managed to get as far as the companionway. Creeping along at a snail’s pace and balancing her body with the rhythmic sway of the ship, she climbed the steps that led up to the deck.

The sweeping rain was such a surprise that it almost knocked her down, but she steadied herself and, gripping the ship’s rail, hurled the contents of the chamber pot into the sea. She was so relieved that she’d managed the difficult feat that suddenly she dropped the slippery pot and it rolled away across the deck. “Damnation!” She had more sense than to go scrambling after it. She was drenched to the skin and shivering so hard that her teeth rattled. As quickly as she could, Cat descended to the cabin. Inside, she shrugged out of her sodden cloak and leaned back against the door to catch her breath. Suddenly, all the fight had gone out of her and she felt weak as a kitten. Cat was freezing and knew she must get out of her wet petticoat and under the warm blanket of the upper berth, but first there was still the mess on the cabin floor to be cleaned. Using her last ounce of strength, she took the towel she had used on Maggie and was about to bend down when suddenly the blood drained from her head and she was overcome by dizziness. She reached out to steady herself, but all she grasped was thin air as she went down in a dead faint.