The Adventurer's Bride

by June Francis

  ‘Indeed she is,’ said Jane, smiling, and changed the subject. She began to talk instead about purchasing some fabric at the weekly market and making herself and her two stepdaughters new gowns.

  ‘I wish Papa Nicholas had not had to go away,’ Margaret sighed. ‘After his being attacked on the way to visit us, I worry in case it happens again and he doesn’t come back.’

  ‘Of course he’ll come back,’ said Rebecca firmly. ‘Of what use is it to imagine the worst? What colour gown would you like? You will not want to continue to wear drab colours. I’m sure if your father, Master Caldwell, were alive, he would understand you wanting to wear green or blue or even yellow.’

  ‘I think you’d suit blue, Mama. I wish I could wear scarlet,’ said Elizabeth, skipping through the grass. ‘But only noble families can wear such a lovely colour. D’you think we can have new shoes as well?’

  ‘Aye, why not?’ said Jane, glancing about her for a sign of James.

  ‘I do hope we’ll be able to make new friends when we go to Bristol,’ called Margaret, bending and picking up some dandelions. ‘It makes me feel sad to think I will lose those I have made in Witney.’

  ‘It is always good to have new playmates. Besides, you’ll have Elizabeth. Now, where has James gone?’ asked Jane anxiously.

  ‘He’ll be hiding,’ said Elizabeth confidently, and ran on ahead.

  Jane followed her but had not gone far when she heard a shriek. Her heart seemed to turn over and she began to run. A few moments later James came crashing through the undergrowth as if all the hounds of hell were after him. He threw himself at his mother.

  Her arms went round him. ‘What is it, son? Have you seen a boar?’

  He shook his head vigorously. ‘I was going to hide and jump out and frighten you but I found a shoe and there’s a foot in it.’

  ‘Just a shoe and a foot?’ asked Elizabeth, crinkling her nose.

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t be silly. There’s a leg, too. But it isn’t moving.’

  ‘Show me,’ said Rebecca, having come to an abrupt halt. She exchanged looks with Jane, who was stroking James’s hair with a hand that shook.

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Jane. ‘Not you. I will go. I suggest that you walk on with Elizabeth and Margaret to Draymore Manor. Even if your father is not there it is likely that the builders are still at work, renovating part of the house.’

  Rebecca hesitated, then nodded, and held out both hands to her nieces. ‘Come, girls, let’s see how quickly we can get there.’

  They did not argue but went with her.

  James seized a handful of his mother’s gown and pulled, but he was too close and she almost fell over him. She grabbed his wrist and ordered him to show her what he had found. He wasted no time in doing so, and as they went along the footpath Jane could not help worrying that the foot in the shoe might belong to Anthony Mortimer.

  At last James came to a halt and pointed at a scraped furrow that ran several yards along the ground. ‘There!’ he said.

  Jane told him to stay back and walked forward until she could clearly see a shoe peeping out from beneath the undergrowth. It certainly seemed to be attached to a leg, and around the ankle was a curl of shooting bramble. She crouched down and tore at the brambles and nettles with her gloved hands.

  The man was lying face-downwards. It appeared to her that he must have tripped over the bramble and fallen at first. She recognised that the garments he wore were in the Spanish style, so he was certainly not Rebecca’s father, thank the Saints. She took a deep breath and pushed until he rolled over and she could see the face. She baulked.

  ‘Is he dead?’ asked James, touching her on the back.

  Jane did not answer but whirled round and, seizing his hand, dragged him away. More than ever she wished that Nicholas had never left for Greenwich but was here by her side.

  * * *

  ‘So you’ve come,’ said Christopher Hurst, who was fair-haired and blue-eyed and as unlike Nicholas in appearance as he was by nature. He shifted himself round on the daybed with a great deal of groaning and muttering until he could look him straight in the face.

  ‘I thought that was what you wanted,’ said Nicholas in clipped tones, pulling up a stool and sitting down.

  ‘God’s blood! Of course it’s damned well what I wanted, but that’s not to say I believed you would do what I asked after the disagreement we had. I even considered that maybe the news that masked men had forced their way into the yard and attacked me, as well as damaging one of the King’s ships, might have strengthened your resolve to stay away from here for good. Especially as Pip told me that you were attacked on the way to visit that widow Jane Caldwell.’

  Nicholas’s mouth tightened. ‘Are you suggesting that I might have been too scared to come back here?’

  ‘It had occurred to me, and I’m not saying that I would have blamed you if you had felt like that,’ said Christopher testily. ‘You’re lucky to be still alive and I hope you stay that way. Pip says you suspect the men who attacked you could have been Spanish. What’s important is that the ones here haven’t been back. It could be that they’ve been frightened off because the King is aware of their intrusion and has set a couple of guards to keep an eye on the shipyard.’ He sighed gustily. ‘My main concern now is that the damage to His Grace’s ship is made good and the ship completed as soon as possible, so I’m grateful you’ve answered my summons. I presume you’ll stay while I have need of you?’

  Nicholas folded his arms across his broad chest. He had not been able to stop thinking about Jane, and it had occurred to him that he had been mistaken in wishing that she had kept her secret. He had realised it said much about her nature that was good that she would not marry him without being completely honest with him about her past.

  ‘I’ll stay as long as I can. I have a wife and children of my own to consider now.’

  Christopher’s mouth fell open and he appeared to be having some trouble speaking. Nicholas reached for the cup of ale on a small table at the side of the daybed and handed it to him. His brother gulped a few mouthfuls and then put the cup down. ‘Am I to believe that you’ve married that widow and taken on those four children in her charge? You must have lost your wits. No doubt it’s all those clouts on the head you’ve suffered over the years.’

  Nicholas glowered at him. ‘You surprise me, Chris. For the last few years, whenever we’ve seen each other, you’ve been on at me to find myself a wife. You should be glad that I’ve heeded your advice at last and done something about it.’

  ‘A pretty young virgin with a decent dowry is what I had in mind after all the years you’ve spent travelling,’ groaned Christopher. ‘I don’t doubt you could have had your pick of several well-born maidens at Henry’s court with your reputation and fortune. Pip tells me you’re greatly admired—even more so since your second book has gone into print. Which reminds me—he told me you expressed admiration for Bristol shipbuilders and mariners between its pages. I tell you, that didn’t go down well with me.’

  ‘I didn’t write it to please you, and besides, it was up to Pip to decide what to put in and what to leave out,’ said Nicholas, his eyebrows hooding his eyes. ‘Anyway, you should know by now the King’s court holds no attraction for me. If I’m able to then I will avoid it like the plague.’

  Christopher swore. ‘Why didn’t you send for her and the brats when you were here if you had decided to wed her? You could have married in Greenwich and then the yard mightn’t have been broken into and the King’s ship damaged. I’m sure His Grace would have given you a handsome present. As he no doubt will do when you make his ship right and tight for the celebrations in honour of Princess Mary’s betrothal. Now, that’s what I call a celebration!’

  Nicholas scowled. ‘I hope to be away from here by then. How badly damaged is the ship?’

  ‘If you help me up and lend me your shoulder then I’ll show you,’ said Christopher.

  ‘The use of my shoulder is out of the question
if you expect me to start work on the ship as soon as possible.’

  Christopher pursed his lips. ‘Then pass my crutch from under the bed and I’ll show you the ship.’

  ‘What of Pip? Isn’t he supposed to be returning to Oxford now I’m here?’ said Nicholas, complying with his brother’s request.

  ‘I doubt he’ll be free to do so. The King has had a huge banqueting and disguising hall built in order to entertain the dignitaries who will be coming to Greenwich. It could be that you’ll be here longer than you imagine.’

  Nicholas forced down the irritation caused by his brother’s words, but Christopher’s stubbornness was making him even more determined to leave as soon as possible. Although he no longer carried a vision of Jane as a Madonna, spending time away from her meant that he had a clearer image of her in his mind and was able to appreciate even more all that she had done for him in the days after the attack on him. She had been so caring and warm-hearted, and despite how she felt about Louise had seen to Matilda’s welfare in a manner that was exemplary. If only he could get out of his head the fact that she had deliberately set out to ensnare her first husband in marriage.

  Yet even as that thought reoccurred he remembered what she had said about not wanting to marry Caldwell. So which one of them had been trapped in a marriage that had been purely for the convenience of both husband and wife?

  He wondered what she was doing right now and whether she was missing him. Perhaps she might even be comparing him to Willem Godar after their wedding night? Where was the weaver now? Could he possibly have returned to Witney? What if Jane told him the truth about James being his son? He felt a chill go through him. Then it suddenly struck him where the weaver could be, and he wondered why he had not thought of it before. It would make sense his taking Berthe with him if Nicholas had guessed aright.

  And what of Louise’s sister? Was she still under the protection of Anthony Mortimer or had they parted? She could be in London, or here in Greenwich, having managed an assignation with Tomas Vives and his kinsman; the latter had possibly broken into the shipyard with other of his compatriots. At least if his enemies were responsible for the attack on his brother, Jane and the children were out of danger. Even so, he trusted that she would remain on her guard and not forget to bolt the doors at night.

  * * *

  Jane entered the hall of Draymore Manor, her breath coming unevenly. Holding James’s hand, she came to a halt a few yards from where Rebecca and the girls sat on a settle and ushered her son over to sit with them. Only then did she turn to Anthony Mortimer and the woman who sat on a footstool, leaning against his knee. In her hand she held a silver dish of sweetmeats and crystallised fruit.

  Was this Louise’s sister? wondered Jane, staring at the woman who must have been perfectly lovely before the dreaded disease had left her pockmarked.

  ‘Jane!’ exclaimed Anthony, rising from the chair, dislodging the woman. ‘Are you all right? Was it a dead body?’

  She did not immediately answer but waited a moment to catch her breath before saying, ‘It was a man whom, from his garments, I deem to be Spanish. It is my opinion that he must have been dead for a while.’

  The woman who had bent to pick up some of the contents of the dish that had spilled shot a glance at her. Her expression was enough to cause Jane to say, ‘You know who it is, don’t you?’

  ‘Her English is not good, Jane,’ said Anthony swiftly, taking the woman’s arm and helping her to straighten up.

  ‘Then perhaps you can translate?’ said Jane, her eyes hardening. ‘Although I suspect she understood well enough my words if her expression is aught to go by. I suspect the dead man might have been one of those who attacked Nicholas and she was party to the act.’

  ‘I only wanted him to stop Master Hurst from taking my niece with him,’ said the woman in heavily accented English.

  Jane glanced at Anthony. ‘I don’t believe her. According to Berthe, this woman connived with Nicholas’s enemies to kill him.’

  ‘What is she saying?’ asked Eugenie, seizing his sleeve. ‘She speaks too fast! I repeat that I only wanted the child of my sister.’

  Anthony hushed her and drew her against his side.

  ‘So you really are Madame Eugenie Dupon? Matilda’s aunt?’ said Jane, wondering how alike the sisters had been before this one had been ravaged by disease.

  The woman nodded. ‘And you are Mistress Caldwell.’

  ‘Was,’ said Jane. ‘I am now Mistress Nicholas Hurst, and your niece is in the care of a wet nurse in our employment.’

  The woman looked taken aback. ‘But I thought Berthe had taken her!’

  Jane glanced at Rebecca, who said, ‘I didn’t get that far in my explanation of why we are here.’

  Jane nodded and turned back to Eugenie and Anthony. ‘Berthe made the mistake of abducting the wrong baby and took my son instead.’ Her voice quivered as she remembered the horror of that moment of discovery.

  ‘Then why are you not searching for them?’ asked Eugenie, looking bewildered.

  ‘Because she returned him to me,’ said Jane patiently. ‘I, too, was furious with her, and wanted her punished despite her explanation. It is because of her that I know of your part in this whole affair. Since then Berthe has disappeared with a weaver—Willem Godar.’

  Anthony let out an exclamation. ‘We did not know that.’

  Jane looked at him. ‘Aye, they both left Witney the morning after she returned Simon. We have no idea where they have gone.’

  ‘You have not considered that he might have returned to Kent?’ said Anthony.

  Jane stared at him for a long moment and then said in a relieved voice, ‘Of course! I cannot understand why I did not think of it.’ Even as she spoke she knew the reason. Her mind had been too taken up with Nicholas and her feelings for him, and all the talk of a wedding and moving to Bristol. She cleared her throat. ‘What you have to say does not alter the fact that Madame Dupon was party to the attack on my husband. No doubt she would rather Berthe was not found because she can identify her and is a witness to what took place.’

  Eugenie clutched Anthony’s arm. ‘Have I not admitted that I did what I did only because I wanted the child? She is all that I have left of my sister. I had never met Master Hurst—although I had heard of him, of course.’

  ‘That child is a person named Matilda,’ said Jane quietly. ‘You keep calling her the child! My husband loves her and you must accept that you will never have her in your charge.’

  Eugenie flinched but continued to stare at Jane. Then she looked up at Anthony and spoke to him in Flemish. He replied in the same language before pressing her into the chair he had vacated and turning to Jane and Rebecca. ‘Eugenie is all alone in the world, so you must show compassion.’

  Jane and Rebecca glanced at each other and Jane’s mouth tightened. Rebecca said in an impassioned voice, ‘I cannot understand, Father, why you continue to take Madame Dupon’s side, knowing of her involvement in the attack on Nicholas’s life.’

  ‘I will explain.’ Anthony sighed. ‘You are only young and have not seen as much of the world and life as I have. I have come to know Eugenie reasonably well in the short time since we met and she has not had an easy life. She almost died several times, miscarried twice and was widowed. More recently she, too, was duped into behaving in a way that she now regrets. Two Spaniards approached her shortly after the death of her sister and suggested she might want revenge on the man responsible for her loss. In her grief she listened to them. They painted Nicholas Hurst as a womaniser and a murderer and offered to return her niece to her if she helped them to capture him. They said that he had stolen plans of a ship belonging to them and they wanted them back.’

  ‘It’s not true!’ burst out Jane.

  ‘Of course it’s not true,’ said Rebecca, getting to her feet and standing alongside her. ‘Nicholas would never behave like that.’

  ‘I believe what you say, because you are obviously women of integrity, but at t
he time I was grieving for my sister whom I had not seen for a long time!’ cried Eugenie, stretching out an imploring hand. ‘I was heartbroken and not thinking clearly!’

  Jane was in a quandary. She knew only too well what it was like to lose a beloved sibling. ‘Maybe you are telling the truth,’ she said slowly, ‘but I cannot approve of your behaviour—especially of your tricking Berthe into stealing Nicholas’s daughter. I consider her more to be pitied because she lost a husband and her baby son.’

  ‘But she took your child!’ burst out Eugenie. ‘How can you be so forgiving of her and not me?’

  Jane stared at her and then faced Anthony. ‘I’ve heard enough. I am not her judge, and in the circumstances I’m sure Nicholas would say the same thing. Let us return to why I am here. I have spoken to your master mason and one of his men and described to him the place where he will find the Spaniard’s body. They have a wagon and will take the corpse to the parish church in Witney. My husband sent for the constable before he left for Greenwich and we are expecting him to arrive any day now. When he does this whole affair will be handed over to him.’

  ‘Then Eugenie and I will stay here and put ourselves at his disposal,’ said Anthony.

  Relieved, Jane said, ‘I deem that would stand her in good stead. Now, what about the other Spaniard who was involved? I presume Madame Dupon knows who he is?’

  Anthony nodded. ‘He managed to escape but we will explain everything to the constable when we see him.’

  Jane had to accept what he said, but she was thinking that Madame Dupon understood more English than he was admitting to, and that she must waste no time in getting as much information to her husband as she could after she had spoken to the constable.

  * * *

  Nicholas eased his shoulder, wincing as he did so, and decided to call it a day. He thought of Jane as he moved away from the table on which the design of the King’s ship was displayed, remembering what she had said about wanting to familiarise herself with the workings of a shipyard. He thought of James and his first sighting of the lad, the feel of his small hand in his. A thought suddenly occurred to him and his heart lifted.