And Less Than Kind

by Mercedes Lackey

  Sir Edward nodded, his grin changing to an ordinary smile. "They know." He bowed. "Your orders, Your Grace?"

  Elizabeth thought he was looking at her with purpose, as if he wanted her to draw him aside as if to give orders so that he could tell her something privately. She would not give Mary's spies such a piece of evidence against her. What she did was shake her head and hold out her hand.

  "No orders other than what you know to do better than I can tell you, to find whatever men will be needed to replace Bedingfield's guard. Oh, and in the hour before dinner—" she smiled at him "—you can take Sir Henry's place and walk in the garden with me. It is the only exercise I am allowed." She noticed Sir Edward's lips part slightly when she said that and shook her head at him infinitesimally to stop him from saying he had no orders to confine her and would not in any case. She went on smoothly, "I do hope, however, you will have more conversation than Sir Henry."

  Sir Edward caught the tiny head shake and the following glance toward the attendant ladies. He sighed gustily. "Oh, yes, my lady, but I fear my conversation will be no more entertaining than Sir Henry's. His departure was very sudden. I had no warning. I am now burdened with a dozen household decisions upon which I need to hear your preference."

  "We can talk of that as we walk," Elizabeth said.

  He took that as dismissal, which it was, bowed over her hand and went away. Before her ladies could ask about their status with her, she engaged them in their ordinary morning activities, acting as if she had not been given a clear signal that she was no longer to be considered a prisoner.

  Eventually Susanna Norton said, "Will you be leaving Hampton Court, Your Grace?"

  Elizabeth turned on her a wide-eyed shocked gaze. "Leave Hampton Court?" she repeated. "When my sister has not yet been brought to bed? No, indeed. Nor would I consider departing until the queen gives me leave to go and tells me where she prefers that I take up residence."

  "How very obedient you are," Susanna said.

  Elizabeth smiled. "I have always been and always will be Queen Mary's most loyal and obedient servant."

  That was the end of that kind of question. Elizabeth had made it clear, both by words and by not dismissing them that the seeming opening of the gates of her prison would not induce in her any wild or careless behavior. There would be nothing, her ladies realized, to report to the queen, not for some time . . . if ever.

  Perhaps that conviction allowed the ladies to listen a little less closely, particularly as Elizabeth and Sir Edward did talk of who would stand guard and who would run messages. Only later did Sir Edward talk of replacing the men-at-arms who had left with Bedingfield.

  While asking whether to bring men from Elizabeth's estates or hire men from the city, Sir Edward managed to impart to Elizabeth that Bedingfield had seeded the small troop Sir Edward had been allowed with his own men. "He recommended them most highly, and they are good enough men," Sir Edward said, his eyes filled with amusement and his voice not completely steady.

  "Sir Henry is a very honest man," Elizabeth replied, shaking her head and swallowing down a choke of laughter—imagine the idiocy of recommending men to Sir Edward and expecting they would not be known as spies—and then added, in a soft murmur, "if not the most clever. By all means," she went on in a more normal voice, "you should keep and carefully consider the advice of all the men Sir Henry recommended to you. I am glad to give them employment."

  For a week the hour's walk before dinner was as constant as the walk with Bedingfield had been. On the eighth day, however, when the door opened at the usual time, Sir William Cecil came in in Sir Edward's stead. He bowed generally and with indifference to the ladies, then came forward and bowed more deeply to Elizabeth. Now that her business had been replaced in her own hands, he said, he was come to inform her as his employer—he was surveyor of Elizabeth's properties—that he would be out of England for some weeks. He had been assigned to go with Cardinal Pole to try to reconcile France and the Empire.

  "Journeys abroad are always perilous," Elizabeth said. "I would be grieved to lose your services. Do take care."

  Cecil bowed, knowing Elizabeth was not concerned about the physical journey but about his close involvement with Cardinal Pole who was fiercely Catholic. Cecil was of the reformist persuasion, but, like Elizabeth, not at all inclined to martyrdom. He promised to be careful and vigilant.

  Sir Edward arrived before Master Cecil had time to say more and Elizabeth suggested that they continue their visit in the gardens. She needed her exercise she said; without it she could not eat. Whereupon Sir Edward smiled and said she would soon have occasion for more vigorous exercise. He had sent for her horses, and Ladbroke and Tolliver were already on their way.

  Under the talk of horses, Master Cecil named a code they had used in the past and the name of the tenant who would, as soon as Cecil returned to England, begin a correspondence about a piece of property he rented from her. The rest of his conversation mentioned that his wife had come back to the house on Cannon Row in London and would like permission to call on Lady Elizabeth while Cecil was abroad. Elizabeth assured him she would be delighted to see Mildred, turning to tell the ladies who followed that Mildred Cecil was a very old friend, indeed; that they had been schoolmates at this very Hampton Court years ago.

  A few days later Elizabeth's great uncle Lord William Howard came to call on her, greatly enlivening the quiet of her rooms with his jokes and his booming voice. Elizabeth encouraged him. That very afternoon the marquess of Winchester paid a call and asked about her future plans. She had none, Elizabeth replied, until she heard what Her Majesty the queen intended her to do.

  This time she said nothing about remaining until Mary's child was born, and Paulet did not speak of it either. He did mention that he hoped Cardinal Pole could ease the tension between France and the Empire. The king's feeling against France was very strong, Paulet remarked—Elizabeth knew he was warning her against any contact or communication with the French ambassador—and if the war came to actual fighting, Philip might need to go abroad and supervise the Imperial forces.

  May ended and the days of June rolled by. That month was notable, as was July, for several times encountering in the garden a slender, upright figure in somber black. Sir Edward stopped as soon as it became clear their paths would intersect and Elizabeth went forward alone to drop a deep curtsey. King Philip lifted her at once and said always that he hoped his company would not be distasteful. Invariably Elizabeth laughed and begged him, in fluent, fluid Latin to walk with her. During those meetings, Philip learned personally what Renard had reported, that Lady Elizabeth had a spirit full of enchantment.

  Their pleasure in each other's company was not reflected in the country at large. Sentiment against the Spanish grew more and more bitter. England never recovered any of the good spirits founded on the hope of an heir. The crowning disappointment was the false rumor of Queen Mary's delivery. The weather was terrible, cold and wet; crops drowned and rotted in the fields and the temper of the country grew worse and worse. Constant broadsides blaming the queen and her Spanish husband for all the troubles of England were published daily.

  Agitators carrying the bones of those burned for heresy as if they were holy relics encouraged more heresy and so there were more burnings. The mood of the people grew uglier and uglier. There were riots not only in London but all over the country that the earl of Pembroke needed an army to suppress. And still the queen did not give birth. No one except herself alone and one or two sycophantic physicians now spoke of the possibility that a child would be born.

  By the end of July even Queen Mary had to admit she had never been pregnant. Quietly, without fanfare and using the excuse that the Hampton Court needed cleansing, which it certainly did, being dirty and stinking from overuse, Mary left the palace in London for her country house of Oatlands. Oatlands was a small, unpretentious estate; it would not accommodate any except the queen, her husband, a few of her dearest ladies and Philip's most essential serv
ants. The Court, most of them with sighs of relief, dispersed.

  Possibly room could have been made for Elizabeth, but Mary was tired of hearing who and how often those of her Court were now making their peace with Elizabeth. Mary gave her sister leave to move to a house of her own, only three miles from Oatlands. She knew quite well that many would pay calls at the new house, but she would not need to hear about it.

  Chapter 37

  Underhill, the misery of England was received with rejoicing by the Dark Court. Vidal decreed orgies where mortals and beasts snatched from the world above were torn apart and their raw and dripping flesh consumed. And he made all punishments public spectacles of torture; those occurred frequently since plenty made the denizens of the Dark Court wilder and more vicious rather than better behaved.

  Vidal was so content that he had forgiven Aurilia for the failure of his plan to provide a babe for Mary almost without a word of anger. The truth was that he had been unable to get the Evil to agree to transfer itself to a newborn. He had a new and better plan now. He would disguise Dakari as King Philip; Dakari would couple with the queen and the Evil would root itself in Mary's womb. The seed that Dakari would carry would not be his own—Sidhe could not breed with mortal—but a packet drawn from a mortal prisoner and held in stasis by Vidal's spell and the power of the Evil. Vidal had won agreement to that plan because he had convinced the Evil It could influence Mary herself from the womb, and Mary was queen of England.

  By the time he had the agreement—it was not easy to communicate with the Evil, who knew no words—it was too late to implement the plan. At the end of August, Philip had left England to be invested with the most important of Emperor Charles's domains. Had times been happier in England and power less available to the Dark Court, Vidal might have made some effort to reach Philip in Flanders and induce him to return to his wife's bed; however, with the terrible harvest and increase in prices adding to the religious unrest in England, he was satisfied to relax and enjoy the merrymaking of his Court.

  During the time between Mary's move to Oatlands and Philip's departure, Elizabeth had three weeks of relative freedom. She was living in her own manor with her own trusted guards at her doors. She still had Mary's women watching her, but the guards would not pass those ladies once Elizabeth was said to be asleep and they did not have the authority that Kat once had to pass the guards by. The one woman in her chamber Elizabeth could bespell to sleep, and she welcomed her Denno back into her arms with the enthusiasm of a three-months' absence.

  The Bright Court was thin and faded as joy was drowned with the rotting harvest, starved with higher and higher prices of food, and scorched with the agony of the burning martyrs. Little sweet miasma of pleasure sifted down from the mortal world, only the sour strength of sorrow, the bitter of hatred, the burning of rage. These most of the Bright Court Sidhe could not or would not touch.

  Few balls or parties were held in the Bright elfhames or private domains of the Seleighe Sidhe. That did not trouble Elizabeth, who was particularly at peace and lighthearted in those three weeks, and for good cause. Sometimes she and Denoriel simply stayed in his own rooms, played silly games and made love. Rhoslyn and Harry would often join them; the first time they did so, Rhoslyn told Elizabeth that Philip had virtually ordered Mary to remain on good terms with her sister no matter what happened.

  Rhoslyn had all the news about the queen—not that there was much. Mary was desperately trying to stop Philip from leaving her; he was gentle, but adamant. He must go in person to be invested with the lands his father was abdicating in his right. Mary was devastated; not only had she just gone through the most humiliating experience of her life, but she was about to lose the man she truly loved.

  In her grief, Mary clung even closer to the women who had supported her in her past miseries. Rhoslyn was very high in Mary's regard since her mortal alter ego Rosamund had proclaimed the miracle that had kept Mary safe from the evil that had slain her physician Albertus. And Rhoslyn, who truly pitied Mary, did all she could to hold the queen's regard. She knew what had really happened that night and knew she must be alert for some other device by the Dark Court to give the queen an unholy heir.

  Not all was gloom in the Seleighe domains. The great markets seemed to have their own mysterious sources of power. They were as lively and more crowded than ever; indeed it seemed as if most of the Bright Court came to the markets for amusement when they were denied the mortal power of gaiety and mirth. It was to the markets that Denoriel took Elizabeth and in the markets they were forever meeting Sidhe who knew Denoriel but did not know Elizabeth. She was delighted to leave matters that way. She was very tired of being watched.

  The three weeks was all that Elizabeth had, however. Philip's favor had its disadvantages. He did not permit Mary simply to appoint another "governor" for Elizabeth and leave her behind when he started for Dover. No, despite Mary's distaste for Elizabeth's company during the last few days she would have with her beloved husband, Elizabeth was invited to join them.

  Not knowing how long she would be deprived of her Denno and Underhill, Elizabeth wanted a last entertainment. But the Bright Domains were faded. No brilliantly colored flames leapt about the crystal logs in Denoriel's fireplace; the illusion of the manor house was gone, the window itself was gone, from Denoriel's parlor. Denoriel knew he would not be able to create a ball; instead he arranged a come-one-come-all party at the Inn of Kindly Laughter.

  It seemed as if all the liosalfar Underhill and a great many of the neutral oddities, like kitsune and urso, accepted the invitation. To accommodate the guests, the Inn of Kindly Laughter stretched to impossible dimensions and at least five of the strange forms the server took were present. Elizabeth only shook her head, resigned to not understanding and not caring much right now. She was being handed like a refreshment from one partner to another and having the unusual pleasure of being of no importance at all, only Prince Denoriel's favorite human.

  She danced with a great many Sidhe and other beings. One made her laugh by his repeated attempts to dance with her; ursos were very clumsy. Finally, in pity, she allowed him to take her in his arms and stump away among the other twirling dancers . . . only to discover she had made a mistake.

  The urso kept urging her toward a dark corner of the inn and telling her what delights he had prepared for mortals who would come with him. She laughed and said she could not, that she was bound by duty to the mortal world. He only increased his offers of riches and pleasure. He was very strong and less gentle than was usual for an urso, but before Elizabeth could become really frightened or call for help, the strange server, wearing the form of the tall stick with bristles, came between her and the urso. The bristles bent forward and touched the urso; he cried out in an odd voice and let her go.

  Had the being drawing her into the dark been Sidhe or mortal, Elizabeth would have been more cautious, but an urso must have been joking. They were known for liking a jest, and what could an urso want with a mortal? They did not keep mortal slaves. She laughed as she saw the bristle part of the server sweep the urso toward the door. Apparently the server did not appreciate that urso's humor. Then Denno was there and she slipped into his embrace, as natural to her as breathing; she thought no more of the matter.

  Later, in a hidden pocket in a Dark domain that had fallen into ruin when its maker challenged Vidal some hundreds of mortal years before, Paschenka said angrily to Cretchar, "I almost had her. Like all mortals she is stupid and greedy. I would have had her through that Gate you made if not for that strange creature."

  Cretchar shuddered slightly. He did not admit that Paschenka would never have got Elizabeth though the Gate which had already faded. Paschenka had brought him only two gnomes and a goblin to slaughter, and the creatures of Underhill did not contain the same rich life force as mortals. And the server had returned after it thrust Paschenka out and . . . eaten . . . what was left of the Gate. Cretchar had fled before it caught him, but what flowed from it made him swear he
would never again attempt a Gate in the inn.

  "That was the server of the Inn of Kindly Laughter," Cretchar said ominously. "It rarely looks the same twice and has powers that no one understands. But if it has an interest in the red-haired girl, you will not be able to take her from there. You will need to seize her in the fair itself."

  "How will I find her?" Paschenka snarled. "The Bazaar of the Bizarre is rather large."

  "Not the Bazaar. The Elves' Faire. I still know Sidhe in the Bright Court. Prince Denoriel will hear of otherwhen jewelry there. She is known to love jewelry. Denoriel is besotted and will take her to see it. He does not oversee her choice of jewelry. It should not be difficult simply to pull her between two stalls and hold her quiet. I will bring a rug and wrap her in it. The market would not register that as violence, and we could carry her to a gate."

  Paschenka wrinkled his nose. "It would be better if you made a Gate right where I seized her."

  "For a Gate formed inside the market, I will need to kill two of the mortals you have taken. I would need that much life force to open and close the Gate."

  "I do not believe you," Paschenka snarled. "You are lazy and stupid. There is so much power here that I am full to repletion. You cannot have any of my humans. I have other purposes for them. I am not even sure I want that red-haired girl. I have done well enough. I will put my mortals into stasis and bring them home."