The rebel heart hg-4

by Martin Stephen

  'Has Cecil sent you to attack me? He seems willing enough to-order one of his closest allies to attack my friend, in public, in full view of the world?'

  'If Cecil is the biggest shit in the land, then Grey is certainly a major and steaming turd. In that sense at least I'm smelling rather clean at present.'

  'Who sent you this time? Which of my enemies?'

  'Your biggest enemy is yourself,' said Gresham brutally. 'You're being set up, you idiot, and you can't see it. And as for who I'm working for, I've just uncovered a spy who has tried to have me killed, all because I try to keep an eye on you. If you want to kill yourself, go ahead. You always were a pig-headed fool who listened either to himself or to the wrong people. But this is personal. You're in danger of getting me killed, and that takes friendship too far.'

  'You spin a fine tale, but what value is there in friendship that comes out of a glass?' Essex was speaking fast, as if he had somewhere else to go in a hurry. 'Do you think I don't know how much I'm being pushed into a situation I don't want! It's like Ireland all over again, in case you hadn't noticed. I had to go over to that God-forsaken country because my reputation and my honour gave me no option. The worst mistake of my life! I've lost access to the Court, I'm ruined — a passive victim for the next time Cecil wants to set me up in some invented plot against the Queen. Do you think I don't know what happens to disgraced nobles? Even if they don't plot themselves, they become a centre for everyone who does. Look in that yard if you want to know how many unhappy sword-bearers there are in England!'

  'Are you really telling me you've no option but to rebel?' asked Gresham, incredulous. 'Or is that what that bunch of brainless hotheads I just met coming out of your room tell you?'

  Essex looked Gresham full in the face for the first time since they had met.

  'I have friends other than you. Other advisers. Men who have contact with my future, not my past.' As if on cue, the door opened.

  Cameron Johnstone had dyed his hair black, grown a full beard and a moustache of similar colour, and must have eaten himself silly to put on two or more stone. The coal-black hair clashed with the wrinkled face and neck of a man nearing forty, but the combination of appearance change would have been enough to fool most onlookers who had never met or spent time with him. He had also changed his clothing. Gone was the sober attire of the Scottish advocate, to be replaced by double- and treble-slashed doublet and hose, in emerald green, pinched in at the waist, ballooning out until captured again just below the knee. The whole array was just this side of fashionable.

  Cameron came unsuspecting into the room without knocking, Gresham noted, saw Gresham and turned to run, only to meet the vast bulk of Mannion who had stepped out from behind the door and closed it. He stood four-square in front of it, short sword clutched firmly in his hand. Cameron flicked a glance towards the window, sized Gresham up.

  'We're on the second storey,' said Gresham quietly, 'and there's no balcony, no other door. Quite a fire risk, actually. And if you attack me I'll have my sword through your traitorous, stinking heart before you can even reach your dagger.'

  'Kill him,' said Essex, 'and you'll have to kill me. And you'll never leave this house alive.'

  Gresham weighed up the odds. Essex was lying. Mannion could kill Cameron in the blink of an eye, and Essex, good as he was, was no match for Gresham. If both jobs were done quickly enough, the noise in the house would cover them. They could probably make it down the stairs and out through the yard.

  But he didn't want to kill Essex! And was Cameron worth it?

  'You're wrong,' Gresham said easily. 'As you usually have been these past two years or so. If we killed you both, the odds are on our side. Which is more than can be said for you if you're listening to this turncoat little animal.'

  'You think he works for Cecil,' said Essex. 'I know. There are others who think he works for the Pope, for France and even for Spain. But I know the truth. I know that he works for King James the First of England, or the man who will become so soon enough; he has done so all along.'

  'And therefore is your only hope,' said Gresham, sadly.

  Essex looked up sharply. Cameron simply stood there, half crouching, eyes darting from one speaker to the other.

  'How say you?' asked Essex.

  'You've lost the favour of the Queen, Cecil controls the Court and Raleigh will kill you if you ever get back into favour. You hate the Spanish and they hate you, Henry of France distrusts you and you're too proud to contemplate divorcing your wife, even if you could, and too honourable simply to push her down some stairs, so you can't marry the dreaded Arbella Stuart. King James is your only hope of getting back into royal favour. Oh, I can write this little toad's speech for you,' said Gresham motioning towards Cameron who jumped slightly, as if worried there might be a knife in Gresham's fingers. 'And of course,' he continued, 'James doesn't want you to rebel as such, just keep the Queen in your custody for a while, so you can talk sense to her, perhaps even arrange an abdication. Or at least a sworn document in front of every bloody Bishop in the country stating that James will be the next King.'

  Gresham could see he had got it right from the expression in Essex's eyes.

  'Get out of here, please,' said Essex, after a long pause. 'I can no longer trust you. I'm sorry. I acknowledge the friendship we've had in happier times, but it must end now. It was a different friendship, for different, more innocent times. We won't see each other again.'

  What Essex was saying was so extraordinarily similar to what Gresham had said to George a short time earlier that he had a fit of deja vu.

  'That choice is yours. But if these are to be my last words to you as a friend, they're the most important I've ever said to you in my whole life. Don't trust this man. Like the Devil who seems to speak true, he'll only lead to your destruction. There's nothing good for you in this man. Nothing.'

  He did not say goodbye. He motioned to Cameron to move aside, waiting for the rush with the dagger that did not come. They made it out to the yard and into the street without incident, slightly to Gresham's surprise.

  'Now I am confused,' said Mannion.

  'You're always confused,' said Gresham absent-mindedly. 'It's not your fault. It comes from not having a brain.'

  'This is serious,' said Mannion. 'George thought Cameron was working direct for Cecil, which means it was Cecil who tried to kill you. Essex thinks Cameron's working for James, which means it's James 'oo tried to knock you off. Can't both be right, can they?'

  'No,' said Gresham, 'but they can both be wrong. Horribly wrong.'

  All the time he was thinking how extraordinarily clever someone had been. George was an ideal recruit. Right under Gresham's nose and beyond suspicion of spying on him. Out of the London circle of spies, informers, cut-purses, rogues and rascals, and as far distant from the roistering drunkards who made up Essex's crowd, George could be seen near them without arousing the least suspicion. Another country bumpkin on the edge of the charismatic leader's life, looking on in wonder and innocent admiration, probably never going to exchange even a word with the Earl in his life.

  'You goin' to tell me?' said Mannion. 'I mean, tell me who Cameron is actually working for?' There was little sign of hope in his voice. He had met Gresham in this mood before, when he closed up like a castle with portcullis and drawbridge firmly shut, and not a light on in any of the towers.

  ‘No,' said Gresham, 'not yet. Not until I'm certain. But I want you to do something. I want all those men we've had working for us given new instructions. I want to know who George's been seeing. Everyone. I said I could read him like a book. There's a page he hasn't shown me. He's keeping something from me. I must know what it is.'

  'Then fer Christ's sake tell the girl she was right about George. It's bad enough she's shopped your best mate to you. The thought she might have got it wrong'll be driving her mad.'

  It was as reasonable a request as it was unpalatable. Gresham wanted to banish the thought of George from his mind
for twenty-four hours, to come to terms with what had happened, not raise the scab on the new wound so shortly after it had been inflicted.

  Jane's room was up in the attic, sparsely furnished, he noted, her books neatly stacked on rough planks resting on house bricks. She had not stopped crying, the red rims round her eyes burning and fierce, her expression lost. Red eyes, but very different from Essex. Mannion had refused to go with him.

  'You go to 'er,' he had said firmly. 'She's got a tongue in 'er 'ead, and an 'alf, and so 'ave you. Time you started goin' at each other direct, this workin' through me on the important things, it just won't do any more. We've all grown out of it.'

  'But why do I have to go and see her in her room? And alone? Won't the servants talk?'

  'Not if I 'ears 'em, they won't,' said Mannion grimly. 'And you gotta see 'er in 'er place because the minute you demands to see 'er, it's Lord and Master talks to servant. It ain't what this is about. She'll be shit-scared you'll 'ate 'er for tellin' you a truth you didn't want to 'ear. After all, it's what she's bin' doin' most of her life. Only difference is, the truths 'ave got a lot more important.'

  'You were right,' said Gresham. He felt extremely awkward, standing with his head bowed under the sloping roof. The bed had a heavy cover on it. If he concentrated enough he could persuade himself it was not a bed, simply a large chest with a huge counterpane over it. 'About George. I can't say thank you, not without it sticking in my throat. What you said lost me a friend. And I happen to think friendship, true friendship, is the most precious commodity of all. Stronger than sex, stronger even than blood, and so very hard to find. And you can't replace a friend. It's a special place a friend lives in, and once they leave no one ever inhabits that same room again. So there'll be an empty room in my life for evermore.'

  'I am so sorry,' she said. There was a sniffle in her voice. She was standing too, her head slightly bowed, and her nose was running. She desperately wanted to wipe it, but was afraid to do so in case it made her look ridiculous. Suddenly, against all his mood and feelings, he wanted to laugh. Laugh as he had laughed so often with Essex, and with George. Laugh at how ludicrous it all was. Muscles he had forgotten he had tugged at the corner of his lips, a smile desperate to break out.

  He gave in.

  'I think you'd better wipe your nose,' he said. 'I don't know what it's doing to you, but it's hell to watch.' He proffered a fine linen handkerchief, hanging fashionably loose from his wrist. 'It's a pity we can't stop bowing to each other as well. You must move to another room. One with a proper ceiling.'

  You did not need to say it twice with Jane. The gratitude for forgiveness was as clear in her sparkling eyes as it was absent from her words.

  'Another version of me,' she said, 'would point out that a fine handkerchief like this was never meant to be used at all, never mind on a snot-nosed girl.'

  'How many versions of you are there?' asked Gresham.

  'Rather too many for comfort,' Jane replied. 'But isn't that true of everyone?'

  It was certainly true of Essex, and of George, now Gresham came to think of it. And perhaps of Gresham himself.

  'Well,' he said after a moment, 'let that stupid piece of cloth be in place of my thanks, the words I can't speak.'

  She smiled at him and held the handkerchief tight.

  'One of the other versions — the one who fights and argues a lot — ought to point out that it isn't usually this way round,' she said, still feeling her way. He was seeing a vivacious, fun creature now, someone who could enjoy the fencing dalliance of witty conversation, someone whose brain moved as quickly as her words. 'The lady gives her knight her favour, which he then wears in his helmet.'

  'I see what you mean,' said Gresham. 'It does bring it down to earth a bit if the knight gives his lady a soiled handkerchief to wear in her nose.'

  'Which I shall treasure,' she said, and he found himself strangely touched. 'As well as use to wipe my nose on.' And, as elegantly as one can in the confines of a small room, she did so.

  Suddenly he made his mind up. For the first time in months he felt a real certainty in his head. He took one of the rings off his finger, an exquisite ruby set in a cluster of small but perfect diamonds.

  'Please take this,' he said. 'You risked your life to come to Scotland. You saved my life in Ireland, and may have saved it again by having the courage to tell me what I didn't want to hear, and still don't. I would like you to accept this, as my gift, in place of the words I can't find.' He held out his hand. The ring glittered in his fingers, catching the shaft of light that came in through the unshuttered window.

  The girl became very still.

  'It's too much,' she said finally. 'I'd feel a traitor myself if I took something so valuable in exchange for doing what I wanted to do, what I decided to do freely and of my own will.'

  Gresham was not discomfited. 'It's a thing of rare beauty, isn't it?' he said. 'Let me tell you its history. It was given to me by a very great Court lady, a widow as it happens. We comforted each other after her husband died, and I was still recovering from wounds. In a stupid way I thought there was something real and true between us. She gave me that ring one night, and the next day wrote to say our relationship was ended. She used it to buy me off. It was her gesture to her own conscience. And before you ask,' he went on, 'I don't want you to have it because I wish to salve my own conscience, or because I'm hurling you out onto the street, or to buy you off. I want you to have it because it's a thing of rare beauty. Forgive me for a terrible cliche, but it deserves to be paired with another thing of rare beauty. And because I've kept it all these years as a reminder of human perfidy and betrayal, it needs to be cleansed by being given to someone who's stayed loyal, and instead of betraying me shown me the others who wished to do so. Please take it.'

  Hesitantly she reached forward. He felt the momentary warm brush of her fingers against his.

  'You know I won't wear it,' she said, 'but you won't be offended?'

  'Not offended,' he said, 'but tell me why you won't wear it?'

  'Emeralds are for sadness,' she said, 'pearls are for death, and sapphires are the lazy stones, the easy ones. Blue matches eyes and dresses. Diamonds are for show. But a ruby… a ruby is for confidence. A ruby is a great, red, warm glow that says here I am and this is what I am. It's alive. It's the blood, it's the heartbeat. You know someone's alive when they bleed. A ruby shows life. A ruby matches what people feel. You started wearing that ring soon after you took me in. It summed up your confidence to me. Will it mind being wrapped in a handkerchief and hidden under a floorboard?'

  Gresham smiled. 'I shouldn't think it'll mind. But not the floorboard in this room. The floorboard in the red room. I'd like you to move there.'

  'But the red room is one of the grandest bedchambers in the house.' There was a challenge in her eyes. He felt slightly offended.

  'I won't charge you for the room,' he said. 'It has a key and a lock. I'm not asking for — favours. You run this House. You're its mistress. It's only fitting I should recognise that fact and give you a room that's in keeping with what you do.'

  'Why aren't you asking for favours?' she said, her chin up. He could see a pulse beating in the long sweep of her neck. It was a rather beautiful neck, he could not help but notice. Smooth, clean, clear skin. He began to wish Mannion was there. Damn the man for sending him alone! It was suddenly warm in the room. Didn't the window work?

  'Because you're my ward!' he said. 'I took you in as a child. I'm like a parent! I have a duty towards you, a responsibility. What sort of man is it who has a power over a woman that has nothing to do with mutual attraction or consent, and uses — abuses — that power to lure her into bed? It'd be like a father bedding his daughter!'

  'Parents realise when their child has grown up,' she answered vehemently. 'Do you think you're the only one with power? I've got power too, haven't I?. The power to decide who I love. What if instead of you taking, I choose to give? What if as a wild little girl I fell in love
with you for all the wrong reasons, because you were so brave and so handsome and you came out of nowhere like the knight in shining armour in the fairy tale and took me off to a magic land? Then ignored me? Ignored me so I started to hate you, thought you hated me, but found after all that I still loved you? And fended off awful men with greasy hands and fat promises and leery eyes because I'd decided long ago that if I couldn't have you I didn't want anybody? That I had to give in to the inevitable?'

  'The inevitable?' answered Gresham. He felt like a sailor surrounded by a storm that had come suddenly and with incredible violence, but which in some way was not sinking the ship.

  'That I was in love with this irritating, distant, impossible, patronising, stupid, infuriating man, whether I liked it or not. You're not abusing your power! If you did what I want you to do, you'd be listening to me for the first time in your life!'

  She moved forward, until there was less than an inch between them. He felt her breath on his face, warm, sweet-smelling.

  'I'll take and treasure your ring. But will you give me something I need? Will you see me as a woman and not as a child?'

  The world seemed to implode on him. They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and he gave up any sense of control.

  Afterwards, when all was quiet and even their breathing had returned to normal, she turned her head towards him.

  'My Lord,' she said, 'please. No torturings or agonising. I gave to you and took from you nothing I didn't wish to give and to receive. Nothing will change. I'll move into any chamber you wish except your own. I'll visit you at night, but leave by morning, if you so wish, or not visit at all if that's your choice.'

  She had been a virgin. How much had he hurt her? He did not wish to hurt her.

  'Marriage,' he mumbled. 'I must marry you.'

  'Nonsense,' she said. Deftly she climbed off the bed, rearranged her clothing, put on the items they had torn off so recently. 'No true friend of yours, no one who knows you at all, would imagine you were ready for that. Did you think I wanted to trap you?'