by Karen Brooks
‘Oh, aye,’ said Nicholas, also acknowledging the man. ‘From all over. His lordship rescued some from slavery, like the blackamoor cook, Master Connor. His wife Virtue, their young daughter, Missy, and the twins as well. Others sailed with his lordship and Drake — like him in there —’ he said, pointing at the fellow tending the fire, ‘and me.’
‘You were on the Golden Hind?’ I couldn’t hide my astonishment. Someone less like a sailor I was yet to meet. Why, Nicholas could be no more than thirteen, mayhap fifteen. Gangly, with thin arms and legs and sunken cheeks, he looked as though a gust of wind would blow him over.
‘Aye, cabin boy to Lord Nathaniel, I was. Thought London’d be the pearl in my oyster when we landed. That’s what Captain Drake — I mean, Sir Francis — promised. That and a cut of the spoils. Turns out, like all his grand promises, the oyster was all shell. Came to his lordship asking for work only a few weeks back. He gave me some — and as his squire no less.’ He smoothed his hands over his livery with pride.
That explained why I’d only seen Nicholas recently.
‘Lord Nate took many of us who couldn’t get work. I counted over a dozen yesterday. Bless him, I say. Bless him.’
Being in Lord Nathaniel’s home gave me yet another insight into the man. He had power and all the accoutrements, yet he didn’t abuse it in ways I thought natural to his kind. On the contrary, he helped those who were unable to help themselves. I wondered if that was the way he saw me — unable to help myself. A part of me railed at the notion. If so, I would prove him wrong. But his kindness in offering work to these men, and to those who had been slaves, showed a deep understanding of others’ needs, and a charity of which I’d once thought him incapable. The man was a conundrum.
Lord Nathaniel beckoned us to follow and we rounded another corner. The faint strains of music could be heard above the hammering and scraping. As we paused before a large wooden door, the notes of a clavichord rose and fell. Master Bede opened the door and stood aside so we could enter.
‘Beatrice,’ called Lord Nathaniel, striding in as Master Bede urged me to follow. ‘I’ve brought someone.’
The clavichord stopped just as a bundle of fur shot out, throwing itself against Lord Nathaniel.
‘What is it?’ asked Beatrice, rising quickly, her hands clasped at her bosom. The pup had grown considerably since I had seen it at Whitehall, and Lord Nathaniel swung it into his arms and petted it.
‘The companion of your dreams,’ he said and, for just a moment, I thought he said the woman of his dreams and my heart soared before, with a great thump, I understood his words and was shocked at the wave of disappointment that followed.
‘Mistress Mallory!’ Beatrice ran forward and took my hands. ‘Is it true? Are you here for me?’
Mustering the warmest smile I could, I squeezed her fingers. ‘I am, Lady Beatrice. All for you.’ And for Sir Francis … my father.
My smile widened as guilt at my deception deepened.
After a fine repast, which both Beatrice and Lord Nathaniel shared, we sat in the pleasantly appointed family parlour. The rain had begun to fall again and the light was dim; servants came and went to tend the fire and light more candles to dispel the gloom. Never before had I found company so pleasing. Beatrice was the delight I first thought and her dog, Merlin, a delicious scrap that shared himself among all three laps.
As the afternoon wore on, I was surprised Lord Nathaniel chose to remain. In my limited experience, men seldom sought female company unless they had an ulterior motive or it was forced upon them. But he made no effort to move. Slumped in a big chair, his legs outstretched, nursing a goblet of wine that was constantly filled by an attentive servant, he was a picture of contentment. The servant, a Welshman named David, appeared uncomfortable in such a setting and I was certain he must be another mariner Lord Nathaniel had collected. The assumption was confirmed when Master Bede asked him to fetch more wood and he inadvertently proffered a sailor’s salute instead of a bow.
Beatrice saw it too and stifled a giggle. When he had left the room, she turned to her brother.
‘Really, Nate, you need to buy new livery for some of the staff. David’s seams are tearing, his arms are so thick. Every time he moves I swear I hear the fabric scream.’
Lord Nathaniel smiled. ‘You’re right. Bede, raise it with me at our meeting tomorrow, would you?’
‘Aye, my lord,’ said the unflappable Bede. Ensuring we needed nothing more than another ewer of wine, he left.
‘It’s not only David’s uniform we have to worry about,’ said Lord Nathaniel, frowning.
‘Verily, many of the others are in need of new ones, if not urgent repairs —’ began Beatrice. ‘Nate, why are looking at Mallory like that?’
I was grateful Beatrice posed the question, for his gaze was raking me from the top of my head to the tips of my feet, filling me with discomfort.
‘From the morrow, Mistress Mallory,’ said Lord Nathaniel, his voice slurring ever so slightly, ‘no more black.’ He tossed back his drink and signalled to one of the footmen for a refill. A young man darted over to the credenza, grabbed the ewer and crossed the room without spilling a drop. Watching the red liquid flow, Lord Nathaniel waited till his cup was full and then raised it to me. ‘You may have the most uncommon of minds, but you look like a crow carved in Walsingham’s image in that get-up. This house has seen enough darkness and misery. No more.’
My cheeks flamed. The pleasant afternoon, such a relief from my recent heartache and all the confusing thoughts I’d had about Sir Francis — not to mention my new master — hung heavy. I felt like a fool. That he could speak to me like that in front of his sister, let alone the servants, who stared at me with a mixture of amusement and pity, confounded and humiliated me. I glanced down at my dress. I’d been more concerned about its cut than its hue. Though I no longer had to wear mourning, my year being over, black was both my living memorial and my penance. It was also my protection. Lord Nathaniel had endured far greater losses than I had, yet with the exception of our first meeting, he strutted about like a peacock dressed in emerald and sapphire tones.
Well, a pox on Lord Nathaniel. I could no more transform my clothes than turn lead into gold. I wouldn’t use my meagre savings for such luxury. Fortunately, Lady Beatrice came to my rescue.
‘Good God, Nate. Honestly, where are your manners? Forgive my brother, Mallory. As the dear Lord knows, I’m still trying.’ Her fond tone allayed any sting. ‘You’re not aboard the Hind any more, brother, and this is not some motley crew you’re addressing.’ Her words had no more effect than snowflakes upon a mountain; her brother calmly took another drink. ‘And if my memory serves me correctly, it wasn’t only Mistress Mallory’s mind you found uncommon … I seem to recall you making mention of her beauty too …’
Before I could think of a suitable retort, Beatrice captured my hands and drew me towards the seats by the window, linking her arm in mine. ‘We must plan to visit the theatre and see my brother’s men upon the stage. Caleb is your dear friend too, is he not?’
‘He is,’ I said, grateful to her. I went on to explain our relationship, all the while aware of Lord Nathaniel behind us, now excluded from our company. The rain fell steadily and through the thick glass we could see the drops sliding down the panes.
‘We’ll make sure we’re equipped with fine furs and rugs aplenty,’ said Beatrice, sitting down and indicating I should as well. ‘And pray for sunshine,’ she sighed.
The smell of roses and a spicy scent I couldn’t quite name, but which reminded me of her brother, clung to her clothing — clothing that, like his lordship’s, was exquisite in cut and fabric. To my untrained eye it looked as if it were newly tailored.
Leaning towards me, she began to talk quietly. ‘Don’t let Nate bother you, Mallory — I may call you that? Thank you. And you must call me Beatrice.’ Adding water to her wine from a glass decanter atop the small table, she swilled the liquid a few times before taking a sip. She w
riggled forward on her seat and went on in a conspiratorial manner. ‘Ever since he’s been back, Nate treats everyone in the same unthinking way he did the sailors when he was travelling — many of whom now live with us as well. You know Nate was with Drake on his famous voyage? Oh, of course you do. I saw you at Deptford — you were with the servants on the —’ She stopped and her cheeks coloured.
Quickly recovering, she continued. ‘Why, Sir Francis Drake’s wife, Mistress … I mean, Lady Mary,’ she flashed a smile, ‘well, she told me Sir Francis was the same — “quite the boor” was the expression she used.’ Beatrice clapped her hands together in delighted shock. ‘She said it takes some time for men who’ve been at sea and become used to what passes for customs there to be restored to their former selves and civility.’ She paused and glanced towards her brother, who had found a deck of cards and was shuffling them. ‘You should have seen what Nate chose to wear when he first came home. Took me weeks to persuade him to visit a mercer let alone a tailor.’
That was one of his sins explained.
‘Aye,’ said Beatrice wistfully, ‘three years is a long time by anyone’s measure and much can change — not just a man’s appearance or manner.’ She sighed and lowered her voice further. ‘I’m sure you know, poor Nate has had to deal with more than most. Sometimes, I think he wishes he were back at sea.’ Her lower lip began to tremble. She raised her goblet to her mouth to mask it.
My heart went out to this young woman who had set her own grief aside to care for her brother. For certes, the loss of her mother and two older brothers in the space of a few years was a heart-aching trial for anyone to endure. Yet, while I felt great compassion for Beatrice, it was hard to summon the same feeling for her brother, especially when he made it so difficult by persisting in being … being … quite the boor. Indeed, Lady Mary had categorised him accurately.
But why should Lord Nathaniel have to tolerate the shades of mourning when they only raised painful memories? Perchance it was time for me to embrace colour along with my new role, to cast off the past completely. My eyes drifted towards where he sat, carefully laying out a deck of cards. He looked particularly fine today in royal blue nether hose and a damask jacket of ruby with seed pearls upon the sleeves. His white shirt and ruff sat boldly against his sun-kissed flesh. He’d trimmed his beard since I last saw him, his hair as well. Suffice to say, it suited him. If I didn’t know the man, I would have described him as dashing.
Beatrice noted my regard. ‘Still, I’m sure we could do far worse than find you a new wardrobe,’ she said. ‘I know a very good mercer and seamstress if you have no preferences?’
‘It’s not only preferences I lack, but coin.’
‘Oh, Mallory,’ said Beatrice, her hands coming together as if to capture a joke. ‘You’ll not be out of purse for this. Nate will pay.’
My cheeks coloured. ‘But I’m not his …’
Beatrice began to redden. ‘Oh, Mallory, forgive me. I didn’t mean to cast aspersions on you or your apparel. I’m such an ill-mannered wretch. First I mention Deptford and now I offend your sensibilities. It’s to be our gift to you, as a way of thanking you for accepting the position.’
Now it was my turn to colour. Was I not here under false pretences? Did I not have an ulterior motive? I must not forget my objective nor fall for this young woman’s considerable charms. I’d work to do and pride to swallow. As for her brother, as I first anticipated upon meeting him, he would best be avoided for all sorts of reasons …
Summoned by my thoughts, Lord Nathaniel loomed beside us. ‘Are you embarrassing Mistress Mallory, Beatrice?’ he said, causing both of us to jump. Beatrice clutched her heart and giggled.
‘Shame on you,’ her brother admonished. ‘I thought that was my responsibility. Next she’ll be accusing me of having coached you.’ Lord Nathaniel winked and sat down with us.
‘You have no cause to ask forgiveness, Beatrice,’ I said. ‘I will be glad to take your recommendations and to accept your gift — both of you. As for your manners, Beatrice, I know who should be giving whom lessons.’ I looked pointedly at Lord Nathaniel.
‘Ouch,’ he winced. ‘Her bark is mellow compared to her bite.’
Beatrice rose and held out a hand to me. ‘Come, Mallory. Let’s leave Nate to his business. Are you not required at court today?’
Lord Nathaniel frowned and a look of sheer displeasure crossed his face. ‘I’m expected.’
‘It’s not so bad, is it Nate?’ asked Beatrice.
He lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘Compared to your delightful company, it’s sheer torture. The women simper and prattle and play games that would make a trull blush. They assume men are but rutting goats with nothing better to do than butt heads over their questionable virtues and beauty. The courtiers engage in this folly when they’re not pandering to the Queen and her tantrums, enhancing their range and longevity. I’ve no wish to be target practice for a shrew, even if she does wear a crown. I’m tired of it, Beatrice. So very tired.’
Shocked by his honesty, I wondered how he dare say such things about our sovereign. I remembered how she had appeared at Deptford, so old and bitter, and recalled her indifference when the gangplank broke and people plunged into the river and the mud. She cared only that her pleasure was interrupted.
‘You will not stay and amuse a jaded lord? Play a hand of primer?’ he begged, gesturing to the cards.
Beatrice laughed. ‘How unappealing. We don’t want a jaded lord, but one who appreciates our goodly characters and worthiness.’
‘You do not over-estimate your virtues, sister?’ Lord Nathaniel’s eyes danced with mischief. It was the most boyish I’d seen Lord Nathaniel. His delight in his sister was apparent. I too grinned.
Beatrice struck his arm and turned her back upon him. ‘Come, Mallory. Don’t feel sorry for the varlet. I’ll show you to your room and we can get to know each other without heckling from this unappreciative audience. You must tell me about your family.’
If Lord Nathaniel hadn’t chosen that moment to throw back his head and laugh, my misstep at Beatrice’s words would have been noticed. As it was, her attention turned to him and they didn’t see me pale. Zounds, the last subject I wished to discuss was my family. I resolved instead to question Beatrice thoroughly about hers. Mine would wait for another day, a time when I could evade with greater ease.
‘May God give you good day, my ladies.’ Lord Nathaniel bowed before falling back into his seat. I had a feeling he wouldn’t strike out for court for some time yet.
As we reached the door Lord Nathaniel called out, ‘Oh, and Mistress Mallory?’
I spun around. ‘My lord?’
‘I hope, over time, you’ll see yourself as part of our family.’
With a mumble and a curtsey, I left the room.
What a choice of words. Denied a place in two families, here I was being welcomed into a third. A little family composed of a boorish but kind lord, his sweet sister and a motley household of sailors and servants.
Mamma was right: I was unnatural. For, as I followed Beatrice upstairs, I found the offer most tempting.
FORTY-ONE
WARHAM HALL, KNIGHTRIDER STREET, LONDON
The 3rd of December, Anno Domini 1581
In the 24th year of the reign of Elizabeth I
Curtains of shimmering, claret-coloured fabric were half-pulled across a huge mullioned window and tumbled to pool upon the rush mats below. The bed had a fine coverlet, and there was a cabinet and a deep chest in which to store my few belongings. There was also a plush chair, a practical stool, and a table upon which sat a silver ewer and matching cups, as well as sheets of paper, a quill, a small pot of sand and an inkhorn. A fire glowed in the hearth and a wash basin and jug awaited. This was to be my room at Warham Hall. I inhaled the sweet scents of rosewater and violets and stared at Beatrice, who smiled and settled herself on the bed while I unpacked.
Beatrice had wanted to question me about my home, but my g
ift of Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur undid her. She turned the pages of the book almost reverentially and gazed at me with moist eyes.
‘Thank you, Mallory. Though there’s a copy in the library, which by rights means it’s Nate’s, this is mine alone and thus so very special.’ She stroked the book. ‘Why, this is one of the nicest things anyone has done for me in a long time.’
‘I find that hard to believe,’ I said, opening the chest and placing inside it my smocks, spare jacket, set of sleeves and hose, as well as some swete bags Angela had made filled with rose petals, lavender and orange blossom that would keep my clothes fresh when I wasn’t wearing them. When Beatrice didn’t answer, I glanced over at her. She hadn’t moved but was staring at the book. I ceased unpacking.
‘How could you not be the beneficiary of acts of kindness? You’re so sweet-natured.’
She gave a shy smile and wiped her eyes with a kerchief she extracted from a hanging pocket. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to make myself an object of sympathy. It’s just that, the last time I was given a gift by a woman, it was my mother …’ She bit her lip.
I reached for her hand. ‘I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through, Beatrice. You are very young to have endured such loss.’
She gripped my fingers in return. ‘What do you know?’
I stiffened. Did she mean that I could not know suffering? Then I understood it was not an insult but a genuine question, and I was overcome with remorse.
‘I know a bit. From Caleb and my Papa. My employ … my former employer, Sir Francis, made some mention.’
‘Sir Francis has been a good friend to us.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘Do you know, I’ve not spoken to anyone about … about what happened?’ She gave a small, sorry laugh. ‘As if by maintaining a silence the pain lessens. It does not.’
