The Locksmith's Daughter

by Karen Brooks

  In his arms, beneath his mouth and hands, I became the wanton he had believed I was. Pulling back his jacket, unlacing his shirt, I sought his skin, moved my mouth along his neck, eliciting a powerful moan from him. Pushing me back until my hips struck the desk, I felt the firmness of his manhood and for the first time since Raffe claimed me all those years ago, I longed to know a man inside me. A real man, whose desire not only matched my own, but whose intentions were not dressed in pretence. Who knew what I’d done, what I was, and wanted me still. His need was evident and I did not want to deny him.

  I don’t know which of us heard the knocking on the door, but at some point as we clawed at each other’s clothes, the rhythmic hammering at the door entered our consciousness. Breaking apart for a second time in a day, we stared at each other, registered the intrusion, then swiftly sought to repair the damage. I retreated to a corner while Lord Nathaniel sat behind the desk, his arousal untamed, his apparel as dishevelled as my thoughts.

  Checking first I was decently arranged, fixing his ruff, jacket and shirt, tucking the chair into the desk so his lower half was hidden, he bid enter.

  It was Bede. ‘My lord,’ said the steward with a blank face, stepping over the pile of books we’d knocked to the floor and bending to collect the papers that, unnoticed, had taken wing from the desk. Replacing them, he bowed. ‘You asked me to collect some letters?’

  ‘Ah, I did indeed.’ How could we have so swiftly forgotten? A guilty flush crawled over my cheeks and neck, so recently kissed. God, Papa, forgive me.

  Lord Nathaniel stared at the disarray before him. He shuffled the papers on the desk. But the letters had fallen to the floor and lay at his feet. I swooped upon them and placed them in his hand. Our fingers touched, reigniting the heat. From the way his nostrils flared, I knew he felt it too.

  ‘See this one to Seething Lane.’

  ‘Tonight, my lord?’

  ‘Aye. Tell the courier it’s for Sir Francis’s eyes only. Make that clear, Bede. His men are not to read this. And this is to go to Harp Lane.’

  ‘Aye, my lord.’ Bede turned to leave the room, then paused and swung back. ‘Will there be anything else, my lord?’ His eyes strayed towards me. ‘Would you like some hot water brought to your room, mistress? Something to wash away the stains of the day?’

  Aware my coif had slipped and my hair had come unpinned, I became self-conscious. At Master Bede’s solicitous but pointed inquiry, suddenly what Lord Nathaniel and I had engaged in, what I had relished, became unseemly. Why, I was like a cat on heat and no better than when I succumbed to Raffe’s charms. Had I learned nothing?

  Oh, but I had. And Lord Nathaniel was not Sir Raffe.

  Aye, but he will treat you exactly the same way if you surrender to him, despite his claims. Women of your class are not for the likes of this man. And what of Papa? Can you so readily cast aside the reasons he’s in the Tower? To protect the reputation you would willingly throw away — again.

  I felt abashed. ‘That would be most pleasing, Bede. Thank you.’

  With bow and a long look at his lordship, the steward left the room, taking my letters and Papa’s fate in his hands.

  When the door shut again, Lord Nathaniel rose to his feet and stepped towards me, his intentions clear. ‘Now, where were we?’

  ‘Wait,’ I said, holding out my palms. ‘This is not right; we must not do this.’

  Lord Nathaniel took one of my hands and brought it to his mouth. He turned it over and pressed his lips to my wrist with a warmth and tenderness that made my knees tremble and my heart pound. ‘My lord, you must not,’ I insisted. ‘We must not.’ I pried my hand away and hid it behind my back.

  ‘Oh, but we must. Haven’t we been denying ourselves for weeks now? From the moment I laid eyes on you, I dreamed of this, of seeing you with your hair tumbling about your shoulders, your beautiful mouth parted with desire and those wondrous eyes, eyes which have held me spellbound, fixed on me alone. Didn’t you listen when I said I care naught for your past?’

  Ah … but he did not know all.

  ‘My lord, please. I beg you. Do not say such things to me. This is not right or proper.’

  ‘Proper? Right? You didn’t object before. Do not pay any attention to Bede. He’s discreet. No-one need ever know about this.’

  ‘Oh, my lord, but I will. And I do not think I could live with the shame.’

  I put distance between us. He closed the gap. ‘You would be shamed to surrender yourself to me? Forgive me, Mallory, but of your own admission, I know you’re no maiden to engage in blushes and trade on your virtue.’

  Though his words stung, they were true.

  ‘No, I am not ashamed to be with you, my lord. How could I be given my confessions? I would be ashamed I let my passions control me when Papa languishes in prison, and I’ve engaged in theft. I’ve damaged what little remains of my reputation enough for one day without going any further.’

  Lord Nathaniel made an odd sound, but it was not harsh or demanding. ‘You misunderstand, your reputation is not only safe with me, mistress. It is assured.’ He did not try to touch me this time.

  ‘You’re right, you’re right. Forgive me. I’m not thinking clearly. Your presence, your response to my caresses prevents such moderation.’ He paced the room, his deep voice wild and impassioned. I wanted to run after him, throw myself into his arms again and beg him to take me there and then. Yet I dare not.

  ‘Oh, Mallory,’ he said, halting suddenly. ‘Don’t you understand what you’ve done? You’ve bewitched me so I don’t know whether I am lord or knave, man or animal. I want you in ways I’ve never wanted a woman before, but when I hear the tremor in your voice as you try to speak reason, to douse the fires you’ve lit within me, I see the desire but also the fear in your eyes, and it is a blow from which I may not recover. I do not want to see such an expression on your lovely face, not when you look at me.’

  I sank back into the chair. ‘My lord. I do want you and yet, I cannot. We cannot, must not. Not yet. Think of Papa, think of Beatrice; think of Sir Francis’s possession, secreted in my room —’

  Think of what Papa would do if he knew I’d given myself to another, albeit a lord, and with no surety. It would kill him.

  Lord Nathaniel knelt beside the chair and curled his long fingers around its arm. His rings flashed in the candlelight. ‘I thank God for your sense. For reminding me of my duties — to family and friends. I can think only of you and that is why you will rise and leave this room and not look back. Do you understand? You are my Eurydice and I’m your Orpheus — only this time, it’s you who will leave me in hell.’

  As he knelt at my feet, his face was almost level with mine. I held his cheek and wondered I’d ever thought his face arrogant, cruel almost. Even his scars, so deep and intrusive, were alluring, for they were his and his alone. I traced their journey, wondering at the fight that caused them, his bravery, his boldness. He shut his eyes, his long dark lashes sweeping his cheeks. I touched the bump on his nose, that long aristocratic nose, broken beneath a lesser man’s knuckles. How dare they.

  ‘Cease your caress, mistress, I beg you, or my assurance that you will leave this room untouched will be for naught.’

  God’s teeth, it was I all could do not to tempt fate and withdraw my hands. Lord Nathaniel caught them. ‘You are as resourceful, brave and clever as you are beautiful,’ he said. ‘Forget whatever else you’ve been called and by those who don’t deserve to utter your name. You’re a loyal and loving daughter to your Papa and a worthy one to Sir Francis as well. A watcher. A thief. My Mallory.’ He chuckled. ‘Taking his book is merely what he would have done to force someone’s hand.’

  ‘I hope he sees it that way,’ I replied, a frisson of fear flaring in the pit of my stomach. It would not be the last.

  ‘You’re also the best of friends to Caleb. I would know one day what he’s done to deserve such steadfastness. But, Mallory,’ he added, becoming suddenly serious, ‘in stealing the
book you’ve also set events in motion that neither of us can foresee.’

  I nodded. ‘I know.’

  ‘What you must also know is whatever fate meets out, whatever the outcome on the morrow, you’ll not face this trial alone.’

  I winced at his choice of words. I wanted no trial for Papa; just his freedom.

  ‘Our destinies are entwined,’ he added.

  ‘My lord,’ I said, pressing my fingers to his mouth in an effort to stop his words. ‘You do not have to say such things. You do not have to align your future with mine.’

  ‘Do I not?’ He gave a broken smile and my heart leapt. ‘What if that is my greatest wish?’

  I could not help it, I leaned forward and kissed his brow, right where the scars converged.

  ‘You’re a peer of the realm, a mighty lord. I’m but a locksmith’s daughter, the bastard progeny of Sir Francis. A woman with a murky past who has made poor choices …’ I hesitated. I was so much worse besides.

  ‘Ah, but it’s those same choices that led you to me,’ he said and drew me near once more.

  I smiled. There was no help for it, though my mind and heart were in torment. Lord Nathaniel wished to know what Caleb had done to deserve my loyalty. God’s truth, that was something I could never reveal. Though he tolerated my surrender to Raffe, a dead son he would not. No-one could. Papa’s words echoed in my mind: Even the most considerate and understanding of men will find this tragedy impossible to reconcile without finding you guilty. He was right. I would keep my promise to Papa. I must. But please, God, let me have this, Lord Nathaniel’s friendship, his adoration, for now at least.

  Tomorrow, after Papa was free, I would stop this madness before it went too far, before Lord Nathaniel knew the whole truth about me and his fiery ardour turned to ashes and his understanding to loathing. I could not bear it. ‘I do not deserve such from you,’ I whispered.

  ‘That’s for me to decide. Now is not the time; Bede is right. We must to bed. But I want you to enter the realm of dreams knowing you have all that is at my disposal and so much more besides.’ He stood. ‘We will fight for Gideon’s freedom, for justice to be served, and we will fight together.’

  If I held any doubts, I knew in that moment I loved this man — this giant in heart and soul. Angela was right; Cupid’s arrow struck when you least expected it.

  He opened the door of his office and saw the servants he’d bade wait outside. Drawing me back into the darkness of the room, he placed a long, chaste kiss upon my mouth.

  ‘Sweet dreams, my love. Whatever happens on the morrow, we face it together.’

  ‘Aye,’ I whispered. ‘Together.’

  ‘Now, go, and don’t look back,’ he said and gave me a gentle push.

  I did not.

  FIFTY-ONE

  WARHAM HALL, KNIGHTRIDER STREET, AND HARP LANE, LONDON

  The 20th of March, Anno Domini 1582

  In the 24th year of the reign of Elizabeth I

  The reply from Sir Francis arrived at dawn. Already awake and dressed, I had been pacing the hall in anticipation of its arrival, much to the bemusement of the servants. Mistress Margery in particular kept trying to coax me into the parlour upstairs. The footman took the letter from the courier, who refused refreshment and left even before the young servant had passed it formally to Master Bede. I could barely contain myself.

  Nonchalance, nonchalance, I said to myself over and over as Master Bede took the letter and then proceeded to order the servants to their various duties. Spying me waiting impatiently near the stairs, he brought it over.

  ‘God give you good day, Mistress Mallory,’ he said. ‘I trust you had a good night?’ His kindly eyes twinkled.

  ‘Thanks to you, Bede.’ My eyes dropped to the letter in his hand.

  ‘I believe you’re expecting this?’ He passed it to me.

  I took it slowly, noting there was also a second letter, addressed to his lordship. It was sent upstairs.

  I opened my letter on the landing, in case Beatrice was already in the parlour. I wanted her to possess no knowledge of my intentions.

  Be outside Middle Tower ere the bell strikes seven. Have the goods in your possession and the exchange you moot will take place and the means of escape will be enabled.

  There was no salutation, no signature — not even his coded one. Nonetheless, I knew Sir Francis’s writing. Cold and to the point, it acknowledged what had to be done. My plan was thus set in motion. But what had he written to Lord Nathaniel? I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  As I was about to enter the parlour, Lord Nathaniel emerged from his wing of the house. One of his valets was fussing with his jacket, and young Nicholas was by his side, grinning at the antics of the valet, who Lord Nathaniel was doing his best to ignore. It was hard to imagine this richly dressed lord was the same man I first encountered in Harp Lane. I wondered if he ever longed for those simple clothes, for the society they included. Though he looked elegant in his silks, damasks and velvets, he never really looked comfortable. Perchance he yearned for the sea and the lack of propriety that London demanded.

  When he saw me, he dismissed his valet and bade Nicholas enter the parlour, then drew me aside.

  ‘God give you good morning, mistress. You don’t look rested. While I would like to attribute that to thoughts of me, I fear your mind was otherwise occupied.’ He nodded towards the letter in my hand.

  ‘In that, you, Sir Francis and Papa can claim equal shares.’ I kept my voice even and tried not to sound boastful. ‘Sir Francis has agreed to the exchange.’

  Lord Nathaniel grimaced. ‘Aye, but most unhappily. He urges me in the strongest language to dissuade you. He claims if you persist in your intentions, you will unleash forces not even he can control. The best course, he argues, is to bring him the book and allow justice to take its course.’

  ‘If I thought it would, you would not have to counsel me from my goal.’

  He compressed his lips. ‘I know. Where is the book?’ he began, before changing his mind. ‘Hush. I do not need to know,’ he said. ‘But the exchange is a different matter. Where and when is it to happen?’

  ‘This evening, outside the Middle Tower.’

  ‘Then that’s where we’ll go. Ah!’ He rested a long finger against my lips. ‘I know what you’re intending to say, but do not. You’ll not do this alone, Mallory. Upon this, I insist.’

  Momentarily lost, I resisted the urge to kiss his fingers. I fiddled with my coif, fixing some imaginary strands of hair to give me a chance to regain my equilibrium.

  He gestured for one of the servants to open the doors to the parlour. ‘After you, mistress.’

  The day was spent waiting. With my agreement, Sir Lance was brought into our confidence as Lord Nathaniel organised transport and guards to escort us to the Tower that evening. I granted Beatrice a day away from study; her despondency made concentration a chore rather than the diversion I’d hoped. I left her playing music and cards with Caleb, who was in dire need of distraction. When Lord Nathaniel and Sir Lance visited Papa in the Tower, I made a brief trip home, reassuring Caleb I would bring back his belongings.

  Though I was offered a horse, I chose to walk, and Tace and a guard accompanied me. I kept my senses open and detected at least two watchers following us. There was little I could do. Whilst the tricks for evading their eyes and ears were familiar to me, I couldn’t very well invite the guard or Tace to duck suddenly into a shop, break into a run, climb a wall or knock on a stranger’s door. A heaviness beset my limbs and a sense of foreboding I could not shake dampened my brief sense of triumph.

  This was not dispelled upon reaching Harp Lane. Leaving Tace and the guard in the kitchen, I joined Angela in the parlour and invited Comfort to join us. I informed them Papa was to be released but would have to go into immediate exile. I also reassured them about Caleb, explaining he was at Warham Hall but would likely also have to leave the country.

  ‘Thank God they’re alive,’ said Angela, only j
ust remembering not to cross herself.

  ‘For now … ’ said Comfort, ever pragmatic, her brow puckered. The puffiness beneath her eyes revealed she too had not slept. Now here was a new worry: if Papa went into exile, what would happen to the household? For certes, I would give it consideration, discuss possibilities with Papa and Lord Nathaniel.

  There’d been no more raids by watchmen or constables, and though the neighbours still gossiped and the destruction that had been wreaked was still evident, a certain calm, a sense of inevitability, had fallen upon the house.

  When Comfort returned to her duties, Angela spoke her mind. ‘Mio Dio, bella, promise me, whatever it is you’re up to, whatever it is you’ve done to bring this resolution about, you’ve not placed yourself in danger.’ She stood by the fire, her arms folded beneath her breasts. Her skirts looked as though they’d been slept in.

  I shook my head. ‘I haven’t, and Lord Nathaniel is supporting me in my endeavours to see Papa freed.’ I told Angela what I’d revealed to his lordship and his response. Angela clasped her hands to her bosom.

  ‘I told you he was a good man, did I not? Not all men judge others by standards they cannot maintain themselves.’

  Aware my face was changing colour, I suddenly found the fire needed tending. ‘Aye, you did,’ I replied. Angela stepped aside so I might poke the embers.