And Less Than Kind

by Mercedes Lackey

  There was really no way for Bedingfield to realize that locking Elizabeth firmly into the gatehouse was exactly what she wanted. On first sight of the large, sprawling manor, Elizabeth's heart had sunk. She had never been in Woodstock and had no idea how the lodgings were arranged. She hoped that Bedingfield would be able to close off her apartment in such a way as to preclude his overanxious orders that someone check on her at all hours.

  Elizabeth had been afraid that there would be multiple ways to enter any apartment he chose for her, and that would make it much, much harder for her to be sure no one would discover her absence. It was possible in a neglected building for one door to stick; for two or three to do so must cause suspicion. Elizabeth's lips thinned to nothing. No matter what the danger, she would escape to Underhill and sleep in Denoriel's arms that night. For her to lodge in the gatehouse might be her salvation.

  Her joy increased upon entering the building. There was a substantial stair rising to the second story, which confirmed her hope that there were decent rooms above. She looked at the stair deliberately before passing through the door to the principal chamber which Bedingfield was holding open for her.

  Elizabeth sniffed loudly and looked around the room. It was in some disarray since it had been home for some years only to the servants of the official in charge of the empty manor. Although she frowned and wrinkled her nose, actually Elizabeth thought it would be a pleasant place to sit of a morning or afternoon.

  Warned by her expression, Bedingfield quickly passed through to another well-proportioned room without speaking. A fire was burning in the fireplace, but the chamber had a definite odor of unwashed inhabitants.

  "I cannot sleep here," Elizabeth protested, her voice shrill. "It stinks. And even with the fire it is damp."

  There were windows through which a guard might peer and another door in the back wall. Elizabeth suspected the back door would open either to the back garden or to a corridor leading to the kitchen. To lock that as well as the door to the front chamber by magic would not be safe. Elizabeth remembered vividly the consternation she had caused by sealing one door to her bedchamber so that she and Denno could rest in her bed in Chelsea.

  "The chambers will be cleaned, Your Grace, and aired. They will be made fit for you," Bedingfield pleaded.

  "No!" Elizabeth shouted. "I will not stay here in the servants' filth. I will sooner lie in an open field."

  She ran past Bedingfield, who gasped with shock and followed as quickly as he could. She was so quick and light footed that she went past her maids of honor, who had been looking around their probable quarters, through the front room, and out into the entry before any of them could move. Bedingfield could not catch her and was terrified of ordering the guards to stop her physically, but by the time he had come to the door to shout an order, Elizabeth had already stopped and was looking at the stair.

  "There are chambers above?" she asked, and, pretending not to see the sudden light of hope in Bedingfield's expression, added thoughtfully, "They would not be damp."

  "No, madam," Bedingfield assured her, heartily. "If you would but ignore the disorder in the rooms now and consider that they can be cleaned, thoroughly cleaned, and have scented woods and pastiles burned to remove any odor . . ."

  He followed again as Elizabeth climbed the stair, which rose into the front chamber. This had obviously been used as a bedroom by those who had been in charge of the manor. Elizabeth shook her head. It would be impossible to find any privacy in a room into which the stair opened. But there was a door in the farther wall. She walked to it swiftly and flung it open.

  Beyond was a somewhat smaller room that was obviously being used for storage. Just visible through the clutter was a fireplace. Beyond the fireplace was a small door, almost invisible in the paneling. Elizabeth threaded her way through the broken furniture and the old chests.

  "Lady Elizabeth!" Bedingfield cried, attempting to follow her. "Do not—"

  But she paid no attention and opened the door. Since she did not step through it, Bedingfield was able to hurry to her side. Elizabeth bit her lip to conceal a smile. Her gaoler seemed to think she had been seeking a way out. Fool. Where could she go on foot in an area with which she was not personally familiar, although she did own some lands in Oxfordshire.

  The little door opened only into a still smaller chamber, just large enough for a servant. Perfect for Blanche, Elizabeth thought, turning away from the little room and staring out over the odds and ends that littered the floor. Seeing no way out from the small chamber, Bedingfield had moved to one window and then to the other.

  "This can all be cleared, Your Grace," Beedingfield said, coming back from his hasty glances out of each of the chamber's windows. "Your bed would fit on the back wall. With a carpet or two and a good fire, you will not recognize the place."

  He spoke cheerfully, brightly, trying to urge an image of intimate comfort on her. In the way his eyes roved the room what he was seeing was two windows too high to invite jumping or climbing, a single door before which a guard could be stationed, and no other way for his prisoner to find freedom or conspirators.

  Elizabeth had to go to the windows herself and look out to find time to control her expression. When she turned back, she had bent her brows into an angry scowl.

  "How long will it take to ready an apartment for me in the manor?" she asked. "It is not fitting nor will it conform to my sister's command that I be treated as is fit for my estate and degree to lodge me in the house of servants."

  "Your Grace," Bedingfield pleaded. "To lodge you here is not of my will, but it would suit you worse to have a bedchamber and sitting room into which the spring rains poured and where the windows rattled like iron wheels on a stone road. Everything that can be done to make this house suitable for Your Grace will be done at once. But for the manor, funds must be found to make repairs . . ." he mumbled unhappily.

  Oh good. That will take forever. I can just see the Council agreeing to spend money to make Woodstock manor sound while they have no funds to pay those who fought Wyatt or for any other important purpose.

  Elizabeth sighed like one martyred and began to make her way toward the stair. She moved slowly now, seeming discouraged. "The back chamber is not damp or musty," she allowed grudgingly, "for all it has been used only for storage. Well, I hope you will press the Council smartly to have the manor refurbished for me, and since it cannot be helped, I will take that back chamber for my bed. My ladies can use the forward chamber for their beds. The rooms down below—if they can be made fit—will do as parlor and private reception room."

  "I will set the servants to work at once," Bedingfield agreed, escorting Elizabeth out the front door.

  He gave no particular sign of satisfaction, but he was warm and contented inside. Those last words repaid him for the sharp-tongued complaints and criticisms. Lady Elizabeth could talk all she wanted about private reception rooms, but she would be receiving no one he did not approve, and no one at all in private. He had been directed not to allow any visitors he did not trust completely and even with those he did trust to allow no conversation he did not overhear.

  The thought gave him so much pleasure that he agreed to Elizabeth walking in the inner courtyard with her maids of honor while the gatehouse was readied for her. Out of Bedingfield's sight and hearing, Elizabeth forgot to maintain the attitude of despondency. Bit by bit her stride lengthened and her eyes began to dance with glee. She could already see the brilliant twilight of Underhill, the soft moss starred with white flowers, the great brass doors of Lachar Lle.

  She wondered about the illusion on Denno's door and beyond the great window in his parlor. In the long months she had been held at Court and imprisoned in the Tower, had he tried to divert himself by making the illusion, which he knew she loved, more elaborate, more beautiful? Were there new flowers? Was the manor house repainted? Had a hedge grown? Elizabeth bit her lips to hide her delighted smile of anticipation.

  The queen's ladies, now Eli
zabeth's minders, glanced from one to another. All were uneasy about Elizabeth's lifted spirits. She had been planning some outrage—they all agreed there could be no other explanation for her excitement when they first reached Woodstock. Something about the place had spoiled her expectation. She had been really shocked when Bedingfield told her she would have to lodge in the gatehouse.

  Now, suddenly, her mood had changed from disappointment to satisfaction. She seemed so self-absorbed that the two ladies walking behind were not afraid to consult each other in low voices. They had no idea how keen Elizabeth's hearing was nor how well terror had trained her to understand half-heard words.

  "She has some new plan," Mary Dacre whispered.

  "Yes," Susanna Norton agreed, biting her lower lip. "From near tears to near dancing. Whatever her disappointment was, she has found some way to amend it."

  "But what can we do? The queen will be furious with us if she manages to escape or to make herself the reason for another rebellion." Mary Dacre began to wring her hands and then forced them behind her back lest Elizabeth look around.

  "Elizabeth knows her best," Susanna said. "We must talk it over with her."

  Elizabeth waited the result of that discussion with some anxiety, wondering how difficult the ladies would make it for her to ensure none would intrude on her during the night. It was possible, of course, for Denno to twist time so that she seemed to be absent for only a few minutes, but she suspected that power was low and thin in the Bright domains because of the unhappiness and unrest caused by the rebellion and the general dissatisfaction with the Spanish marriage. If he only needed to give her some hours for sleep, the twist would be more like a soft curve and take less power.

  Since Elizabeth had hardly touched the dinner prepared soon after they arrived at Woodstock, she ate very well at the evening meal, which was served in a still-habitable dining parlor in the manor. When the final sweets and savouries were pushed away, Bedingfield rose and bowed.

  "If Your Grace will come with me, I will show you how the quarters in the gatehouse have been prepared and try to amend tomorrow any insufficiencies you find therein."

  "I do hope those insufficiencies are not such as will prevent me from soon going to bed," Elizabeth said. "I am sad and tired and I fear I will find little rest in this strange ruinous place."

  They set out for the gatehouse without delay, Elizabeth waving away the worn and warped litter in which she had traveled. The walk was chilly, and Elizabeth pulled her cloak tightly around her. She was cold now and her excitement and high hopes dimmed as she worried about what her ladies planned. But arrival at the gatehouse provided a pleasant surprise.

  The outer room, which had been littered and dirty, was now warmed by a bright fire; to one side was a cushioned chair, opposite was an old but sturdy bench and several stools. Velvet drapes shrouded the windows and on the floor was a Turkey carpet, also old, showing worn spots, but clean and of a handsome design.

  Elizabeth sniffed. The air had a smoky odor of apples; seemingly the wood burning in the fireplace was apple wood. "Very fit, Sir Henry," she said. "I can still feel some damp from the floor, but not impossible to endure until you can arrange to have the manor restored. Let me see my withdrawing room."

  Bedingfield looked surprised. His relationship with Elizabeth had been one of complaints on her part and attempted explanations or sometimes exasperated commands on his. He had not expected her to show the smallest thanks for his effort. But before he could respond she had set off for the inner chamber. Here she had to walk into the room before she could see the fireplace, which shared wall and chimney with the fireplace in the front chamber.

  Bedingfield braced himself for an outburst, as there was almost no furniture at all, except for a large, carved settle near the fireplace. "There seemed little sense to furnishing this chamber, as you will have few visitors and no occasion to be private with anyone."

  Elizabeth blinked. "Do you mean to bury me here in this wilderness?"

  "Your Grace, I pray you not to insult me again by accusing me of allowing any harm to come to you. You will only live quietly—"

  "Quietly, yes, but surely there will be messages from the queen, and members of the Council will wish to speak with me."

  "I do not know, madam," Bedingfield replied stolidly.

  But Elizabeth could see in his face that no message would come from the queen and that the Council would be glad, indeed, if it never heard of her again. She could not let that happen, she resolved; she would not let it happen. But first she must secure the private bedchamber that would save her sanity, which would surely be endangered by being locked into a prison with only Sir Henry Bedingfield as companion.

  "But I do," she said spitefully. "Even a common prisoner in the Fleet or Newgate is allowed communication with the authorities that have imprisoned him. I shall not be less than a common felon when I am innocent of any crime at all."

  Bedingfield opened his mouth to say that all but certain proof was held against her and that if she would only confess and throw herself on the queen's mercy, she would hear better news than being held in an old, unused manor. He never got the chance. Elizabeth had whirled about so quickly that the hem of her skirt flicked at his ankles.

  "You may take me above to the bedchambers," she said.

  In the outer room into which the stairs rose were now three small beds, well garnished with sheets, pillows, and bedcoverings. On the inner wall a fire burned; this one smelled of cedar or pine. There was no carpet, but small fleeces lay beside each bed. Without comment, Elizabeth passed through. If Mary's spies were not satisfied they could complain on their own.

  The inner chamber brought from her a sigh of relief. This room too smelled pleasantly of cedar. The fire, again sharing a wall and a chimney with that of the outer room, gave enough light for her to see her bed—not the great, wide bed that she carried from Hatfield to Ashridge or to any of her other manors but the smaller bed, not really wide enough for two, that she had been allowed while a near-prisoner in Whitehall and an acknowledged prisoner in the Tower.

  Still it was her bed and was not large enough to share. Perhaps that was meant as a kind of punishment, to deprive her of the comfort of a lady sleeping with her. But since Denno had become her lover more than five years past, she had rarely availed herself of that comfort. In this case it was all to the good; a suspicious lady beside her in her bed might wake if she heard Elizabeth whispering or felt her moving. Half awake, that lady might become suspicious of her sudden, sound sleep.

  There was a low cot on the far wall. No doubt one of Mary's spies would sleep there, which was no problem as Elizabeth could bespell her to sleep without moving and so seem asleep herself.

  Elizabeth nodded to Bedingfield, who had come behind her into the room. "It is not what I am used to," she said petulantly, "but I suppose you can do no better. There needs a decent carpet and a chair for me to sit by the fire, and a lamp to read by."

  Again before Bedingfield could find an answer, she had swept by him, through the adjoining room, and started down the stair. He hurried behind her in case she should try to leave, but she turned right into the parlor where "her" ladies were waiting uneasily.

  "That will do, Sir Henry," Elizabeth said, waving him away. "You may go. God give you a good night. I will do no more than speak a few words to my ladies and then find my bed."

  What she said was true, she thought, smiling a little. She had not said she would go to sleep. She would certainly find her bed, even lie down in it, so she had not told a lie.

  The small, secret smile sparked even greater anxiety in the ladies, who had been infecting each other with all sorts of wild fantasies of Elizabeth somehow convincing the guard to let her by. Elizabeth guessed that fear and it increased her impulse to laugh. It was not so fantastic, since it was Shaylor holding the front door and Nyle the rear; all she would have had to do was say she wished to leave. Neither Shaylor nor Nyle would say her nay, no matter what orders had been give
n them by others.

  Susanna Norton, tired by Elizabeth's swift and athletic pace in walking even suggested she might climb out of the window into the arms of a noble supporter with an army at his heels. All three agreed that Elizabeth was sly enough to conceal herself from them so that they would run about seeking her while she drew a shawl over her red hair and walked out of the gates.

  Elizabeth Marberry curtsied and said, "This is an eerie place, Your Grace. That huge, empty manor . . . I feel it looming over us even though the curtains are drawn. Would it be possible for us to be all together?"

  "You mean you all wish to sleep in the same chamber? Well . . ." Elizabeth looked doubtfully from one face to another and could not understand the mixed emotions she saw there. "I suppose Blanche could sleep in my room—"