by Karen Brooks
I stood at the top of the staircase, trying to gather my thoughts.
‘Are you all right, mistress?’ asked Tace, all annoyance forgotten. ‘You’ve gone awful pale, as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I swear by Christ I have.’ I reached for my locket. What was Raffe doing here?
Behind us, the audience let out a collective exclamation of shock. Tace and I swung to look past the seats and down at the stage. Dido was about to throw herself on a pyre of burning wood and sacrifice herself for unrequited love. There was a clatter of boots on the stairs and I didn’t need to see the empty seat opposite to know who was ascending.
I looked for a place to hide before it occurred to me I no longer needed to. Raffe couldn’t harm me, not any more. He’d done his worst and I’d survived. I’d also confessed everything to Papa. It was time to face the demon and banish him once and for all. I owed it to myself; I owed it to my little boy.
Drawing a deep breath, I sought a semblance of composure. An inability to control myself, the feelings he stirred — the good and ugly — had always been my undoing with Raffe.
He reached the topmost stair, panting heavily, and started when he saw me.
‘Mallory.’ He smiled and looked me up and down in a leisurely fashion. I’d forgotten how odd his pitch, how feminine. The face I’d once admired was mostly unchanged, though the sparkling eyes were crazed with broken veins. His doublet was finely made but tight and looked unclean. His breeches were stained; his boots needed buffing. Leaning against the railing, he gave what he thought was a rakish grin, running his fingers along the edge of his bonnet. The way his eyes grazed Tace and me revealed he saw something more — a need? No, not that — an opportunity.
‘Raffe,’ I said, drawing on all my nonchalance. Castiglione would have been proud. ‘You’re the last person I expected to see.’ I returned the slightest curtsey to his deep bow. ‘Ever. Again.’ Tace watched the exchange wide-eyed.
‘I never thought to see you again either, Mallory, but God’s will, I’ve been granted the pleasure. I’d forgotten how lovely you are. If it’s possible, you’re even more beautiful than I recall. And I do recall our times together, often.’
Ignoring the crude way his tongue flicked his lips, I was pleased my unsteady heart and the scalding blood racing through my veins didn’t prevent me from sounding almost indifferent. ‘God’s will? Pleasure? Ah, I too oft recall our times together, but here’s where we differ, sir. I hoped you dead.’
Tace gasped. Raffe’s eyes widened, then a slow smile appeared. He thought me indulging in a jest. Once his smile would have elicited a response. But I was older, wiser, and any charm those pursed lips once promised was spoilt by what I knew, what he’d done.
‘You do not mean that,’ he said, he stepping forward.
I gave a light dismissive laugh, stopping him in his tracks. ‘Oh, sir, but I do. I was clumsy. My thrust was poor.’
His gaze swept me and he frowned. ‘You need to be careful what you say, Mallory.’
‘Not any more, Raffe. You’re nothing to me.’
Much to my astonishment, he began to laugh. ‘Oh, but you’re mistaken. I’m not nothing — to you or your family. If you do not show me respect, treat me in the manner I deserve, you will learn just how much I mean and to your detriment.’ He looked pointedly at Tace, who was staring aghast. I simultaneously wished I could send her away and was grateful she was there.
The man must be deranged. How could he babble in such a way — as if he still held my fate in his hands? Surely he could not have forgotten what had passed between us? Why was he being so bold, risking everything he had — wife, family and status — to torment me so?
Before I could question him, there was the sound of more footsteps as another roar came from the audience and many rose to their feet.
‘Raffe,’ said a sharp voice. ‘What do you mean by disappearing like that? Mother is not at all … oh. Who is this?’ The younger of the women who had been seated with him above the stage appeared. She halted on the step below him and peered over his shoulder. Her speech was slurred and she swayed upon the steps. She was clearly cupshotten.
‘This, my dear, is an old friend of mine,’ said Raffe smoothly. ‘Mistress Mallory Bright. Mistress Mallory, if I might introduce you to my wife, Lady Joanna Shelton?’
The woman who took the name I’d been promised. She was welcome to it. Dropping a hint of a curtsey, I gave her the warmest smile I could muster.
‘If you knew how I longed to meet you, Lady Joanna. Raffe has scarce made mention of you. In fact, it’s almost as if you were a secret.’
Lady Joanna’s brown eyes squinted, her jaw wobbled. ‘Secret? Hardly. Not with three children and another on the way.’ She eyed me suspiciously. ‘Your name is familiar. Bright? How do I know that name, Raffe?’ She struck him with her fan. Hard. He winced.
‘If you recall, sweetling,’ he said, pushing the fan away, ‘I made mention of her father, Master Bright, the locksmith.’ His tone made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
All at once Lady Joanna gathered herself. She stared, her eyes narrowing. A cruel smile parted her lips. ‘Ah, that’s right … Gideon Bright. Your cooperative, helpful friend …’
Friend? Helpful? Co-operative? What was this?
She placed a possessive hand on Raffe’s arm. ‘But you made no mention of a daughter. What was your name again? Mally? Mallory? What sort of name is —?’
‘That for an exceedingly lovely woman?’ Lord Nathaniel appeared, ducking under the doorway to join us at the top of the stairwell. Forsooth, it was becoming crowded. ‘It’s an observation I once made in the mistaken belief it wasn’t perfect.’ He nodded for Tace to return to her seat. Torn between the stage and the theatre taking place before her, Tace’s shoulders slumped and with a curtsey she turned and slowly clumped back inside.
At Lord Nathaniel’s words, Lady Joanna sniffed, clearly disagreeing with his assessment.
‘This is Lord Nathaniel Warham,’ I said, introducing him. ‘Lord Nathaniel, this is Sir Raffe Shelton and his lady wife, Joanna.’
Raffe gave a small bow. Lady Joanna tried to curtsey but almost fell down the stairs. If she hadn’t grabbed the back of Raffe’s coat, she would have taken a tumble.
‘My lord.’ Raffe straightened his ruff and took a step forward. ‘Are you the same Warham who sailed with Drake?’
‘I am.’
Raffe gave another bow. ‘I’m honoured.’ He was like a puppy next to a Queen’s hound.
‘Are you the same Shelton whose father was put in the Tower for harbouring priests?’ asked his lordship. I covered my mouth with my hand.
Raffe coloured. ‘I … I … gentlemen do not discuss such things. That … it’s in the past,’ he snapped.
Lord Nathaniel laughed. ‘I may be a lord, but I’m no gentleman. After all, as you said yourself, I sailed with Drake. I’m more pirate than privateer.’
Beads of sweat escaped the rim of Raffe’s bonnet and trailed down his temple towards his beard. ‘You need to choose your acquaintances more carefully, Mallory, lest they offend those you’d do best to please.’
‘Sirrah!’ said Lord Nathaniel. ‘I would caution you to choose your next words carefully lest I decide to pick you up by the scruff and show you the stairs.’
Raffe’s mouth fell open. Clearly he was unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a manner. This was the man I once wanted to wed so much that I threw away my virtue, my reputation and my family. Because of whom a little life was lost. I couldn’t help but stare at him, this ordinary person. In my mind I’d given him a space and proportion he certainly didn’t deserve. I felt foolish and so very ashamed. How could I have chosen so poorly? How could I have been so blind to my folly? To his obvious flaws? The cruelty that defined his features?
Mamma’s words came to me: I should learn from my history, not repeat its mistakes. Aye, Mamma. I would not. I would never choose so badly again. This man almost destroyed me; the
coward had destroyed our son. Yet his words, his thinly veiled threats, filled me with a deep unease. Why mention Papa? Why describe him as co-operative and helpful, let alone a friend? Papa would no more help this man than render assistance to King Philip. Why seek me out when I’d have thought he’d do anything to avoid the revelations my mere presence could portend?
His wife plucked at his sleeve, making no attempt to hide the fact that she wished to leave. No doubt she sensed how inadequate Raffe appeared in such company.
Raffe ignored her.
It was time to bring this act to a close, to leave the stage and lay this pathetic spectre to rest. His wife struck him again.
‘Raffe, I wish to go. Now.’
With a solicitous smile, Raffe held out his arm for his wife to take. ‘It’s been an unexpected delight seeing you again, Mallory and meeting you, my lord.’ He lowered his head towards Lord Nathaniel, who said nothing. ‘Please, pass my regards to your father. Tell him it was always good doing business with him. I look forward to our next meeting.’
Without waiting for a response, they left.
Discommoded by Raffe’s last words, I resisted the urge to demand he explain himself. What meeting? What did he mean? Despite my promise I wouldn’t let him affect me, my heart was pounding and cold sweat trickled between my shoulders.
Above the sounds of the audience, which was beginning to cheer, the play having ended, Lady Joanna’s voice travelled up the stairs. ‘You never spoke of her … or her beauty. How long have you known —’
I went to the top of the stairs and gripped the railing, watching them descend. After all I’d been through, how could I still feel threatened by him? Or were there undercurrents of which I was unaware? I would have to raise Raffe and his threats with Papa as soon as I could. Warn him. Something was terribly amiss. I wrapped my fingers around the locket and held it tightly. Just when I thought I’d excised him from my life, my dreams, he had returned … I released a long sigh and turned back towards the seats, but found my way was blocked.
‘Your choice of … friends, leaves much to be desired, mistress,’ said Lord Nathaniel dryly.
‘Friends? They’re no friends of mine. Or Papa’s, for all he protested otherwise.’
‘Indeed. He seemed far too bold, his words discourteous.’ Frowning, he gazed after them. ‘You called him “husband”.’
‘Did I?’ Heat crept up my cheeks. ‘I meant he knew my husband.’
‘Sir Raffe Shelton … knew your husband? How?’
I placed my thumb and fingers against my brow. How did I answer such a query? ‘Oh, aye, he … I’m not entirely certain. Something to do with sharing youthful follies.’
Applause broke out through the inn, forcing us to raise our voices. Lord Nathaniel stepped closer. ‘I would like to learn how someone like your late husband, who clearly had good taste if he plighted his troth to you, could welcome one such as that man.’ He nodded towards the empty stairs. ‘I would sooner run him through with a sword than count him among my companions.’
I struggled to respond. I wanted to tell him the truth. But Lord Nathaniel wasn’t Papa; Papa who loved me unconditionally and could forgive my many sins. I could not bear to see Lord Nathaniel’s admiration, his warmth, be replaced by disgust. God forgive my vanity. I’d made Papa a promise, and I intended to keep it.
Lord Nathaniel took my arm. I could smell the delicious scent he exuded, feel the heat of his body. My mind became giddy.
‘Mallory, I know I spoke poorly of women who play a part to capture and torment men, who construct fanciful lines as a lure, but despite what I said, I know there are those who have just cause.’ His eyes flickered towards where Raffe had stood only moments before. ‘I would hear from your lips what your reasons might be.’
I stared at the compassion in his eyes; eyes that dropped to stare at my lips, as if he might will the words from my mouth … or take them. We were standing so near to each other, I could feel his breath on my hair. He drew me closer still, his other hand circling my waist, pulling me into the shelter of his arms, against his wide, strong chest. I leaned into that long, solid body, felt the tremor that matched my own. We were two bows pulled taut, waiting for release. I tipped my head and he gazed down at my face, drinking in my features. The scars that so perturbed me had become things of beauty, badges that branded this man who he was — a fighter, a man of honour and justice. A man who did not tolerate fools or varlets, who despised lies and those who told them. Who, if he knew the whole truth, would despise me. This could not go on. I tried to break out of his grasp.
He wouldn’t release me.
‘Please, Mallory, you can trust me … ’ He bent his mouth towards mine and with a hunger I didn’t know I possessed, I stood on my toes to reach his lips.
A crowd of folk poured through the exit, knocking us out of each other’s arms. I gave a cry. People surged around Lord Nathaniel, as if he were a rock upon which their wave might break. He still had hold of my hand and pulled me to his side.
‘Nate! Mallory, come!’ cried Beatrice, collecting us both by linking her arms with ours, forcing us apart. ‘To the tiring room. I want to tell Caleb how splendid he was and admonish him for making me cry.’
I glanced at her, grateful for her interruption.
‘Cry? Was the ending sad?’ I asked in as unaffected a tone as possible.
She waved her kerchief. ‘You did not see it?’
We clattered down the stairs in our pattens, the narrowness of the staircase forcing his lordship to walk ahead. Beatrice chattered. ‘How can it not be tragic when love is promised, taken and then cruelly denied? How can one not weep and rail and seek revenge when a dear life is lost?’ She wiped her eyes.
‘How indeed,’ I murmured.
We entered the tiring room to find the actors gathered around Caleb, slapping him on the back and congratulating each other. As I noted their dress, a mixture of togas, armour, regal robes and elaborate dresses, it was as if I’d travelled back in time, a sensation my encounter with Raffe also conjured. The young actor who’d played Dido was stripping off his slightly charred gown, bemoaning the damage done to his wig when a spark had caught in the hair. The book holder was talking to the one of the other shareholders, the actor who played Anchises, the father to Caleb’s Aeneas. When they saw Lord Nathaniel, they came over, huge smiles upon their faces.
There was no doubt, Dido’s Lament was a triumph. A mixture of adventure, drama, a love story soured and the gods’ revenge, it was also the tale of a strong queen, manipulative men, differences in faith, language and culture, courage and tragedy. It spoke to the audience and our times. Smoke drifted in from the stage as did the noise of patrons, many of whom were milling in the courtyard so they might discuss what they’d seen and buy drinks for the actors. By the time we arrived in the tiring room, some of the troupe were leaving to avail themselves of that generosity.
With a by-your-leave, Lord Nathaniel allowed himself to be led away by the book holder and one of the shareholders. Standing in the midst of the room, Beatrice and I watched as props were carted in, costumes quickly divested and hung, the stage beyond swept of debris and the musicians entered to collect their pay. The mood was bright and celebratory and I found my heart lifting.
Had I not also survived a performance? Aye, but so had the villain, and there were lines left unsaid …
Raffe’s image was swiftly replaced by Lord Nathaniel’s. His amber eyes, his mouth … I turned to find him watching me. Growing warm, I was relieved when Caleb came over.
‘Lady Beatrice, Mallory!’ He bowed and we both congratulated him. It had been weeks since we’d spoken but the worry that had etched his face of late was erased, and his eyes had their old sparkle. It couldn’t just be today’s performance, could it?
Perchance he read my mind, and as Sir Lance joined Beatrice, Caleb muttered something about wishing to test a line upon me and drew me aside.
‘Well met,’ he said, smiling. We stood near a piece
of wood shaped and painted like the prow of a ship.
‘What’s this line you wish me to hear, Caleb? I would it were one containing the words “chest” and “books”.’
‘Hush,’ said Caleb, looking over his shoulder. ‘Must you demand a reckoning before you praise the play and my part?’
I folded my arms across my breasts.
Caleb gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Very well. What I want to tell you is there’s no need for you to concern yourself with either of those words or anything pertaining to them any more.’
Dread swept my body. ‘What do you mean?’
Putting his mouth to my ear, he whispered. ‘I mean, they’re gone. The chest is empty, the books have been collected — everything.’
I pulled away, the colour draining from my face. ‘Oh, Caleb. No.’
‘No? There’s no keeping you happy, is there Mallory? First, I’m not to have such things, then I’m to keep them —’ He tried to make light of my reaction.
‘I told you not to do anything. To leave it rest until such time as I said it was all right to do so.’
‘You’re not my mother to order me about so.’
‘No, Caleb, I’m your friend.’
‘Then, as my friend rejoice I’m free of such a terrible burden. Perchance it was the friend I told you of who saw to its removal. Turns out his friend was ready to receive it and, as a consequence, one burden has been replaced with another less dangerous one.’ He patted a bulge on his hip.
I stared at him, at the guilelessness and joy upon his face. ‘To whom did you deliver the books?’
Once more he made sure we were not overheard. Lord Nathaniel was looking in our direction and I gave him a reassuring wave.
‘I told you, my friend did. Oh, I helped. What sort of friend would I be if I didn’t? The man we delivered them to was most warmly recommended as being sympathetic to the ways … to the ways of your Mamma, shall we say.’
‘When did this transaction occur?’
Caleb rolled his eyes. ‘Must you know everything? Why, last night. He came to the house —’
