She frowned. ‘Lady Herrick is loyal to her husband. Good to her maids too, as he is.’
‘She seemed a little sly to me.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that, my lady. Her maids speak of her fondly.’
‘And Cornelia Howe, Lady Herrick’s niece? I know she does not live at Court, but she attends its balls and so on. She was here yesterday evening, in a remarkable outfit.’
‘She stayed overnight, I believe. Her maids talk to the rest of us while they are here. But none of them much like her.’
‘Oh?’
‘She just isn’t … she’s not like you, my lady. If her maid caught her hair like I caught yours in the dress just now, even though by mistake, she’d near strike her with whatever she had at her side. But then her maids think …’
‘Yes?’
‘They think maybe her husband treats her badly, and she takes it out on them. Sarah who does her clothes, poor girl, only just fifteen – she hears things. Knocks, thumps. But we don’t know for certain.’
Mercia set her face. ‘I shall have to recall that when we speak.’
‘They’re still here, my lady, if you’re interested.’
‘I did not know that. Thank you.’
‘They like to sit out on the terrace when the weather is fine. Not that they’re often at Court together, mind. More so now, with the war started, but Mr Howe used to go abroad a lot, so Sarah says. Spent a lot of time with the froglanders.’
‘With the Dutch, you mean?’
‘Yes, my lady. They say trading with Holland’s where he made his money. So now the war’s begun, he’s not best pleased.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, my lady. I’m talking too much.’
‘That is quite acceptable, Phibae.’ Patting down her topknot, Mercia rose to her feet. ‘You are a maid of many uses indeed.’
Sir Stephen Herrick’s position as close counsellor to the King had made life easy for his niece Cornelia Howe. No children of his own, he had been eager to use his influence to provide her with access to the Court, eager too to promote her husband’s trading business, securing him ready patronage among the wealthy and the great.
The day’s brightness had continued through afternoon, and as Phibae had suggested, Cornelia was lounging in a comfortable chair, her legs stretched out, enjoying the shade of the east-facing terrace. At her side, a man in a red doublet sat with eyes closed, seemingly as relaxed as she.
Mercia sauntered to the balustrade at the edge of the terrace, overlooking the Thames to the Southwark side. Across the water shimmered a faint smattering of sawmills, the same she had visited last year. How was Tom Finch, she wondered, the boy she had met? But then a breeze picked up, and she snatched for the bonnet Phibae had brought out. She need not have worried: it was tied as securely as the bodice.
Looking down the river, feeling the warmth of the pleasant spring day, she took in the sprawling urbanity to her left. In the distance, she could make out the hulk of St Paul’s Cathedral, near where she knew London Bridge must lie, its teeming mass forever at risk of caving in, and yet somehow it always stayed up. To her right opened out a different picture – the marshes of Lambeth on the opposite shore, and the curve of the river on this, the many wherries and barges roaming back and forth.
Breaking from the view, she turned to face the relaxing couple. The woman appeared stern, largely the fault of her large, patrician nose; curved slightly towards a freckled mark on her cheek, it dominated an otherwise attractive face. Her outfit, in contrast, was as brash as last night’s, a melange of bright greens and yellows. The man seemed oblivious to much around him, his head lolling on the back of his seat, even humming a casual tune that carried to Mercia’s perch.
Adjusting her bonnet, she strolled across the terrace and paused, faking a gasp of recognition.
‘Mrs Howe, is it?’ she asked.
Cornelia had been working on an embroidery, but she set it down to study Mercia’s innocent face. ‘I do not think … have we met?’
‘Not in person,’ said Mercia. She indicated a vacant chair. ‘May I join you? ’Tis such a fine day.’
‘That is meant for my aunt,’ said Cornelia, as the man looked on from under disinterested eyelids. ‘I am expecting her shortly.’
‘Oh, I do not intend to stay. I have an appointment with Lady Castlemaine.’ Mercia smiled. ‘She and I enjoy a friendship.’
‘Ah.’ Cornelia jiggled her head. ‘Mrs Blakewood, I take it.’
‘I thought you implied that we had not met?’
‘My aunt has mentioned you. And of course, we all knew Lady Calde.’
Mercia pulled up the empty seat. ‘I can assure you, Mrs Howe, those mistruths about Lady Calde and I are just that – untrue. I may be … enjoying Sir William’s company, but that is little wonder after becoming so well acquainted during our time abroad.’
‘Sir William is a fine man,’ broke in Cornelia’s companion. ‘A fine eye for ladies too.’ He rested his fist on his chin. ‘That dress suits you well, Mrs Blakewood. Don’t you think so, Cornelia? Clearly an acquaintance with Barbara Whore-Roy brings most everyone benefit, except you.’
Cornelia glared at him. ‘You will have to forgive my husband. His tongue can be somewhat loose.’
Mercia gave a slight bow. ‘Mr Howe. You do not approve of my Lady Castlemaine?’
‘Tsk.’ Howe studied his hand, adorned with one simple ring. ‘All that woman’s children are named Fitzroy, for being bastards of the King. So why should she style herself Castlemaine, by virtue of her cuckolded husband? Surely Whore-Roy is more apt?’ He let out a deep belly laugh, pleased at his own wit. ‘But yes, you must forgive me. I am merely enjoying a jest. Perhaps last night’s wine is still in my humours.’
She indulged him with a smile. ‘Sir William tells me you have a shipping business, Mr Howe?’
‘I have that honour. A substantial concern, indeed. But it occupies me less for the while.’
‘Because of the war?’
He nodded. ‘I should be eager to join the fleet myself, all told, until trade resumes.’
‘He served with my uncle some years ago,’ said Cornelia, a hint of pride now in her voice. ‘Until he inherited his company from his father.’
‘It does well?’ asked Mercia.
Howe shrugged. ‘Cornelia does not want for fine things.’
‘Forgive me, but I am curious how matters are changed of late. Did you much trade with the Dutch?’
‘Every trader did,’ he said. ‘And no doubt will again.’
‘But if we win the war, and the Dutch are diminished, then—’
‘Then merchants will still have goods to sell, and I will still ship their produce. The American market too is promising. Tell me.’ He leant across his wife. ‘I hear Boston and New York grow fast. Did it seem so when you were there?’
‘I did not see Boston, but New York, yes, I should say it will begin to expand now. But does the war not—’
‘Thomas,’ interrupted Cornelia. ‘This talk of commerce bores a woman.’
‘I do not mind,’ rejoined Mercia, but Howe nodded.
‘My wife is right. Please, Mrs Blakewood, do not let us keep you from your own business.’
I am on my own business, she thought, and then she recalled what Phibae had said, how this couple did not get on. But that did not match the picture before her.
‘You have been married long?’ she asked.
Howe pulled a face. ‘Trust a woman to bring up marriage.’
‘Five years,’ said Cornelia.
‘And do you have children?’
She knew straightaway she had made a mistake. Howe’s face darkened, while Cornelia’s blanched, and her jaw shook.
‘We do not talk of that,’ she said.
‘I am sorry,’ apologised Mercia. ‘I should not have asked.’
‘No, ’tis a common enough question,’ sighed Howe. ‘But we do not have children, and we never will.’
Cornelia banged her fist on h
er chair: the unexpected violence made Mercia jump.
‘It is not my fault, Thomas!’
‘I did not say it was.’
‘But you always think it!’
‘This same act, Cornelia?’ Howe turned his bleak visage on his wife. ‘You embarrass yourself, yet again.’
Cornelia snatched her embroidery and jumped to her feet. ‘I think I shall meet my aunt inside. I am sure Mrs Blakewood will make a more suitable companion for you. She has a son, I believe.’
‘Go, then. Back to your relations, as is your wont. Do not concern yourself with your own husband.’
Her hand trembling on her needlework, the look on Cornelia’s face could have blacked out the lowering sun. She turned on her heels and vanished out of sight.
‘Well, that is my wife, Mrs Blakewood.’ Howe stood in his turn. ‘My life, indeed. And she wonders why we—’ He clenched his fist. ‘I trust your day will improve now.’ He reached for his hat. ‘Mine will not.’
He bowed and followed, leaving Mercia to stare at the vacated seats. Just a half-minute before it had been going so well, and then …
She returned to the river where, elbows on the balustrade, she pondered how one misplaced question had undone her planned technique.
Chapter Eight
Mournful trees glided by on the greying riverbank. Pearls of water drained from their drooping leaves as the insistent downpour lashed the misty landscape. Dry in the cabin of a palace barge, Mercia watched Nicholas press his face against the window, squashing his stubbled cheek on the steamed-up glass.
‘Seemed a good idea at the time,’ he said. ‘Still, better than being caught in a storm at sea. And to think it was hot just two days ago.’
‘I feel sorry for the men rowing us,’ said Mercia. ‘They will be drenched.’
‘Don’t worry about them. Anyway, the tide’s with us. Takes us almost the whole way, so they said when we boarded.’ He chuckled. ‘I can’t stop thinking it should be me out there, instead of keeping warm in all these fine clothes.’ He tugged at his well-fitting doublet, and in truth Mercia had never seen him look so smart.
‘It suits you,’ she said. ‘’Tis nice to see you with your hair combed for once.’
‘I prefer it messy.’ He ruffled the front of his hair. ‘See. Better.’
‘If you say so. Where are we now?’
‘No idea. I don’t know round here at all.’ He opened the cabin door, only a few inches, but the wind still made its intentions felt. ‘Hey,’ he shouted. ‘Where are we?’
‘Putney,’ came back an ethereal voice, almost deafened by the pattering of the rain. ‘Two hours left.’
‘Two hours,’ she heard Nicholas mutter. Then he slammed the door, struggling against the gusts, and smiled. ‘Only two hours to go. Time enough to prepare what to say to Lady Allcot.’
‘The only thing I have decided on thus far is my excuse for coming all this way, and that is weak enough. I suppose I will say I wanted to enjoy the country air.’
‘Do you think she could be Virgo?’
‘I do not know. Her husband is on the war council, because of his stake in the Royal Adventurers—’
‘The slave traders.’
‘Indeed. But if the Dutch win the war, the Adventurers lose their foothold on the Guinea coast. Sir Geoffrey would stand to lose a fortune, as would his wife. Then again, she vanished straight after the assault on my aunt.’
‘If her maid said she was upset, that’s probably right. I’m surprised more people weren’t, to speak true. And we don’t know for certain if that attack is related to Virgo.’ He scratched at his stubble, thinking. ‘You say Lady Allcot is angry her husband has taken a mistress?’
‘So it would seem. Phibae suggested she was involved with another man, if only to spite Sir Geoffrey.’
‘Then perhaps she’s hoping to spite him further. If he loses his fortune in the war – and maybe his mistress with it?’
‘You mean she may deliberately be trying to ruin him?’ She drummed her fingers on the bench. ‘Perhaps, Nicholas, but taking a mistress is commonplace at Court. Think of the King, and where we are going now.’
‘What of it?’
‘Hampton Court is where the King first received the Queen when she came to England. It was there he presented her with her Lady of the Bedchamber, all well and good until she turned out to be his principal mistress.’
He smirked. ‘Funny how that’s all so decent at Court. The King can have as many bastards as he likes, but when I have a daughter out of wedlock, ’tis frowned upon.’
‘By all accounts, the Queen became crazed when she found out the King was forcing Castlemaine on her, even falling to the floor and crying out her heart. But His Majesty was having none of her tantrum. Mistresses are a fact of life in his Court.’ She sighed. ‘The truth is we know too little. But Nicholas, now I have started on this task – I know I serve at the King’s command, but I do want to unmask this woman.’
‘Because you can’t resist a puzzle.’
‘A failure of mine, perhaps.’
He grinned. ‘Do you think if we succeed, the King will reward me too?’
‘I would not be too hopeful. But when I am restored to my manor house, I will give you a reward. My eternal friendship.’
He cocked his head. ‘You seem much more cheerful even than a week ago, when we got off the ship. I think perhaps, ’tis having something to do?’
‘That, for certain, as well as being back in England. And I must admit, I am pleased Daniel is able to take advantage. He is making some useful friends, I hope. But there are still moments, Nicholas. When I feel sad.’ She wiped a circle in the steam of the window. ‘Still raining. At least we are closer now. We will continue our search with Lady Allcot.’
The rain had eased by the time the boat moored at Hampton Court, and she followed Nicholas into the courtyard of the palace, informing the page who received them why they had come. The officious young man led them inside, where a large fire was belching its heat into the dimness of the wainscoted hall.
‘If you would wait here,’ he said. ‘I will enquire after Lady Allcot.’
While they waited, Mercia explored the length of the impressive room, admiring the portraits and busts. Nicholas, conversely, slumped onto a bench beneath a pair of fearsome antlers, and although he won some inquisitive looks, in return he paid nobody much heed. Then the page came back, a troubled expression on his face.
‘Mrs Blakewood,’ he said. ‘I am sorry, but Lady Allcot appears to be missing. Her maid says she has not been seen since yesterday.’
‘Since yesterday?’ Mercia frowned. ‘Did her maid not become concerned?’
‘Not until this morning. She says Lady Allcot often retires early, or rises late.’ He shrugged. ‘Some people like their sleep.’
Mercia jerked her head at Nicholas as an order to join them. ‘I assume her maid has checked her bed.’
‘The bed appears slept in, but … I am not sure. If you would like to come with me?’
The page led them through the palace; smaller than Whitehall and more comfortable, they reached their destination sooner than she expected. He entered through a half-open door, manoeuvring his stocky frame through sideways. Mercia followed, stooping to enter a small, dark room the solitary window could never have hoped to brighten. The light of several candles was illuminating a girl wringing her hands beside the fireplace. Nicholas shut the door with an extended creak.
‘Well.’ Mercia peered around the overcrowded room, the small space overflowing with a selection of glasses and decanters. ‘Would somebody explain?’
The maid opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Instead her cheeks reddened and began to tremble. She was so young, thought Mercia. Only what – about thirteen?
‘Alice.’ The page’s tone was abrupt. ‘You have been asked to speak.’
Mercia shot him a glance. ‘Alice, is it? What has happened to your mistress?’
‘I don’t know, my … my lady
,’ the girl managed. ‘I thought she was in her room.’ She bit her lip. ‘Am I going to lose my place?’
The page folded his arms. ‘You will if you don’t answer.’
Mercia could see the look in Nicholas’s eyes, but she held up a staying finger. She didn’t want to frighten the girl, but if a little anxiety forced her to focus, perhaps that was for the best.
‘I’m sorry, my lady.’ Alice dropped to a pitiful curtsey, but when she raised her eyes, they seemed a little calmer. ‘My mistress went to bed early last night, even for her. She sent me for a pitcher of the ale she likes, told me to leave it outside the door, but she never came for it. I thought she’d gone to sleep and forgot, for her door was locked when I tried it. But then this morning when I came it wasn’t locked, and she wasn’t there, nor any of her things she brought with her, and I know she never came out, I’d have heard. I have to be up early, see, light the fires, gather the clothes and …’
‘Mrs Blakewood knows well enough the duties of maids,’ intoned the page.
Mercia ignored his pomposity. ‘All her things were gone?’
‘’Tis as if she’s left, but she never does that without saying goodbye. She’s nice like that, see.’
She glanced at Nicholas. ‘Alice, how long were you away, fetching the pitcher last night?’
‘About ten minutes, my lady.’
‘And do you know where she might have gone? Is there … anyone she likes to spend time with, say?’
The girl looked down. ‘Well, I’m sure it’s nothing, but …’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Nicholas. ‘Nobody’s going to be upset with you.’
Still the young maid looked as if she would burst into tears. ‘I’m not supposed to say.’
‘It could be important,’ said Mercia. ‘Alice.’ More firm. ‘I need an answer to my question.’
The girl looked up in fright. ‘She … there’s a man she meets from time to time. Speaks foreign with him.’
‘Foreign?’ Mercia’s head jerked up. ‘Do you mean Dutch?’
‘I don’t know, my lady. I only know English.’
‘And that none too well,’ smirked the page.
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