Lovestorm

by Judith E. French

  She plucked a holly leaf from her hair and crushed it in her hand. The thorns pricked her flesh, and she felt a warm trickle of blood run down her hand. I’ll never see holly again without remembering tonight, she thought. But the pain cleared her mind.

  “I love Cain,” she whispered. “I love him desperately.” Even as the words dropped from her lips, she knew the hopelessness of that love. “I can’t be with him . . . but maybe, somehow, I can find a way to send him home to his wilderness.”

  She gripped the crumbled holly leaf again. I must think of a way to block Dunmore’s anger. Edward will never forgive me. Unless . . . With a smile of triumph, she threw back her head and began to scream.

  Her cries brought two of the palace guards crashing through the maze and into the clearing.

  “Help me! Please! I’m Lady Elizabeth Dunmore! You must help!” She pointed to a path leading into the maze in the opposite direction from the one Cain had taken. “My husband, Lord Dunmore, chased two footpads that way.”

  “Thieves in the privy garden?” the nearest guard demanded. “We were hunting Lord Dunmore’s Indian. His servants said he’d escaped.”

  “Indian? We saw no Indian. There were robbers—two of them. They tried to steal my pearls.” Her hand flew to the string around her neck. “My husband fought them off, but I fear for his life.”

  “Are ye all right, m’lady?” the second guard demanded in a thick Northumberland burr.

  “Yes . . . no. If you could just escort me out of the maze.” She rose and took a weak step toward the man. “You must find Lord Dunmore before he comes to harm. Oh!” She gave a little cry of what she hoped sounded like pain. “I’m so cold,” she said. “If I could have your coat . . . and . . .” She stumbled deliberately in the dry grass and dropped to her knees.

  The guard ran to catch her. “Are ye hurt?”

  “My husband,” she repeated with an edge of hysteria. The first guard started toward the path she had indicated, and she gasped and clutched her throat. “But they might come back. Don’t leave me unprotected.”

  “I know the way oot. Ye’ll be safe enough wi’ me,” the Northumbrian said as he removed his coat and put it around her shoulders.

  “Oh, thank you,” she cried. “Thank you.”

  By the time they’d reached the outer perimeter of the maze, a crowd of curious lords and ladies had edged into the garden. Elizabeth shrugged off the borrowed coat and ducked into the knot of onlookers. Clouds had covered the moon again, and it was too dark for anyone to see her face.

  Hands reached out to catch her, but she dodged away and found the same doorway she had used before. The privy gallery was lit with candles, but all eyes were on Lord Buckingham and Lady Castlemaine arguing loudly at the far end of the room. It was a simple matter for Elizabeth to find the apartments where she’d left Edward.

  As she opened the door, the little dog began to bark again. “Shhh,” she soothed the animal. “I won’t hurt you.” Edward’s coat lay where it had fallen, and the sound of snoring came from the far side of the bed. With an audible sigh of relief, she retrieved his coat and doublet from the floor and went to his side.

  “M’lord,” she called, shaking him. “M’lord, you must wake up.”

  “Whaaat . . .” Bleary eyes rolled up at her. “What do you want, bitch?”

  “You must get up and dressed,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “I . . . I must . . . do nothing. Just . . . sleep.”

  She laid his clothing on the bed and poured water from a pitcher into a washbowl on the table. Using a woman’s shift for a cloth, she dipped it in the water and rung it out. “Let me clean your face, m’lord,” she said. “And you must listen closely, so that you can repeat the same tale as I have done.”

  “Blllaaah!” He sputtered, then winced as she scrubbed the blood off his nose. “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “You must—” The door opened behind her, and Elizabeth turned toward the surprised serving maid. “Come in,” she ordered the girl.

  The maid curtsied. “This be m’lady—”

  “I know whose apartments these are,” Elizabeth lied. “But your lady will not mind. This is Lord Dunmore and I am his wife. We were set upon by footpads in the privy garden. M’lord fought the scoundrels off, but he was injured in the process. You must find my cloak and Lord Dunmore’s servants. We will require the coach at once.”

  Edward pulled himself to his feet and leaned against the bedpost. He blinked and stared at Elizabeth as though she had sprouted a second head. “Footpads? In the garden?”

  “You gave them such a sound drubbing that they will doubtless never show their faces here again,” Elizabeth proclaimed. She smiled at the girl. “M’lord is a friend of your mistress, and he knew she would want him to recover in the safety of her rooms.”

  “Have you gone mad?” Edward demanded when the girl was gone. “What is this nonsense about footpads?”

  She lowered her eyes modestly. “You said you did not wish to be shamed by . . . by your accident. I made up the tale to keep you from being a laughingstock.”

  He swore a foul oath. “You lying slut.”

  “If I have lied, it is only to protect your name. Now that the deed is done, will you dress and go home, or will you bring the King himself to take part in our disagreement?”

  He cursed again, but he reached for his doublet and began to struggle into it. In a short time the girl returned with Elizabeth’s cloak and mask.

  “Yer servants are waiting, m’lord,” the girl said. “And that heathen Injun be wi’ ’em. Yer footmen was all astir. They thought he’d gotten away from them, but they found him sleeping in yer lordship’s coach.”

  He’s safe, Elizabeth thought as she allowed the maid to drape the cloak around her shoulders and cover her tangled hair with the hood. She’d been terrified that the palace guards would capture him. “If you would be so kind as to drop me at Sommersett House, m’lord,” she murmured.

  “I shall. But tomorrow you move your belongings to my house. It is more seemly that you reside there.”

  Elizabeth licked her bottom lip nervously. “I thought that having me there would inconvenience you.”

  “Perhaps,” he growled. “But it may inconvenience you more.”

  Chapter 17

  London

  January 1665

  Elizabeth signaled her maids to draw the curtains of her mule-drawn litter and sank back onto the hard seat, pulling her fur wrap closer around her shoulders. It was bitterly cold, and wind whipped through the narrow streets of Cheapside, muffling the cries of street vendors hawking their wares on the icy cobblestones.

  Bridget balanced a covered blanket in her lap. Inside was a velvet-lined box containing a pair of gold earrings that provided Elizabeth’s excuse to visit Cheapside and the goldsmith’s this afternoon.

  Two days earlier, Sommersett had sent a servant to instruct his daughter to come to Michah Levinson’s shop at this hour. Elizabeth had no idea what her father wanted or why he had taken this method to summon her. She only knew that she must obey and she must be discreet. The fact that Sommersett hadn’t invited her to Sommersett House or come to see her himself told her that there was danger. She had lied to Edward, telling him that she needed to have a pair of ruby earrings repaired. He wanted her to send a servant on the errand, but she’d insisted that the jewelry was too valuable to be entrusted to any servant, and he’d reluctantly given permission for the outing.

  Edward had been ill and peevish since the night they’d returned from Whitehall. Three times, the physician had come to Edward’s house, and each time Dr. Hartgrove had departed with dire warnings.

  “Your husband is not a well man,” he’d told Elizabeth as he spread dill seed salve on an ulcer that plagued Edward’s left foot. “Lord Dunmore suffers from dropsy and a weakness of the kidneys. He must refrain from strong spirits and adhere to the diet I’ve provided. No spices, no rich sauces, and no fish. I’ve bled him repeatedly witho
ut improvement. He must have absolute rest and quiet.”

  Elizabeth had not bothered to explain to Dr. Hartgrove that she had no influence with her husband. Edward continued to suffer from sores on his feet and toes that would not heal, and from a frequent need to empty his bladder. Ignoring the doctor’s advice, Lord Dunmore drank himself into a stupor each night. And he and his new bride remained in their separate bedchambers at opposite ends of the palatial house.

  Edward had been so angry with her over what had happened between them that night at Whitehall that he had barely spoken to her for weeks. Christmas had come and gone with very little celebration or merriment. He had turned down all invitations to attend dinners and masques, pleading ill health. He had even prevented Elizabeth from visiting her family.

  “What would people think,” Edward had whined, “if my wife frolicked at playhouses and parties when her lord lay ill? What would you go for if not to ogle other gentleman? I would guard you from the temptations of the flesh, Elizabeth-best you remain at my side.”

  Worst of all, although Elizabeth could not stop thinking about Cain, she had seen him only in her husband’s presence or in the company of a room full of servants. The only proof she had that she’d not dreamed their meeting in the maze was a sprig of holly she’d found one morning on the snow-covered sill outside her bedroom window.

  An inner voice had told her that Cain had left the holly for her, in memory of their time together. How he’d reached her high window, she couldn’t guess, but she half believed him capable of any physical feat. She’d placed the holly sprig in her jewel box, where it shriveled and dried among the cold, glittering gems.

  Night after night, she’d tossed and turned, wetting her pillows with her silent tears. Why didn’t I stay in the wilderness with him? she’d asked herself over and over. Why? She’d tasted the fruit of paradise and traded it for a tarnished dream. She’d exchanged a man like Cain for Edward Lindsey and a hollow existence in his artificial world where glittering jewels held precedence over simple human needs.

  Her only triumph over her husband had been her success in bringing her maid Betty to the London house. When Edward ignored her request, she’d ordered two of the grooms and a gardener to go and fetch the girl from Sotterley. She’d threatened to have them hanged if the maid bore the slightest scratch, and Betty had arrived with only a case of the sniffles.

  The child was at home this afternoon because there was no room for her in the mule-drawn conveyance. The litter was meant for two, but Edward had insisted Jane come, and Elizabeth wanted Bridget. The two women were squeezed into the front seat, riding backward.

  Jane was a sullen wench with a large, hairy mole on her chin, and small, muddy-brown eyes. Elizabeth had disliked her the first time she laid eyes on her, Betty was terrified of her, and Bridget had come close to exchanging blows with the woman on more than one occasion.

  “The shrew’s naught but a spy for Lord Dunmore, Bridget had reported soon after she and Elizabeth had moved into Dunmore’s London house. “He’s jealous o’ ye, m’lady, and he’s set this baggage to watch yer every move. I caught the sly slut listenin’ at the keyhole yesterday. I’d sooner drink me mornin’ cup from the Thames as trust her for a minute. Bad cess to her, I say.”

  Bridget had brought more valuable information than the knowledge that Jane was an informer for Edward. With her Irish charm and ready tongue, Bridget had won the approval of the cook and most of the staff. Edward’s footman Robert seemed particularly smitten with her.

  “Robert says Jane was hired to replace Maggie,” Bridget had confided to her mistress. “Maggie was here seven years and loyal to the family. A good maid, Robert said, even though the lord used to take her to his bed. He gave her ribbons and trinkets, but she did it as much for the fun as the pay. Wee Maggie liked a tumble as well as anyone, Robert said.” Bridget had giggled. “I’d say the lad knew Maggie well enough.”

  “Is there more to this,” Elizabeth had demanded, “or am I going to have to listen to a detailed account of the slut’s activities with every male in the household?”

  Bridget had been undaunted by the gentle chiding. “Robert says that Maggie told him Lord Dunmore was a cocksman o’ the first degree. But then everythin’ changed. Maggie said the master couldn’t do it anymore. She told Robert that the master’s man-thing just laid there like a dead rat, no matter how she tried to tempt it.”

  “I’m glad to know the servants in this house speak so respectfully of Lord Dunmore.”

  Bridget ignored Elizabeth’s sarcasm. “Lord Dunmore packed Maggie off back to the village she come from. Gave her six months’ wages and told her she’d better not show her face in London again. Robert said she married a drover.”

  Elizabeth had considered carefully what Bridget had related. If Edward’s illness had caused him to lose his potency, that might well be the reason he was behaving so strangely toward her. It was possible that he knew he couldn’t perform as a husband should and was too ashamed to admit it. She’d felt a surge of unwished-for pity toward Edward. Perhaps he wasn’t as bad as he seemed. What man wouldn’t be in agony over such a development?

  A small, dirty hand clutched at the leather curtain of the litter. “A ha’penny, lady,” a child begged. “For Jesus’ sake. A ha’ penny. I ain’t ate in two days.”

  Jane smacked the child’s bony hand. “Away with ye! I’ll call the watch!”

  The child continued to run beside the litter. “Alms fer the poor,” the thin wail persisted. “Fer the sake o’—”

  A mulewhip cracked, and Elizabeth heard a child scream. “What’s amiss?” Elizabeth cried. Drawing back the curtain, she ordered the head groom to halt the mules and leaned out of the litter to see what had happened.

  A short distance behind the second mule, the ragged urchin lay heels over head on the dirt- and manure-encrusted cobblestones, emitting a series of bloodcurdling shrieks.

  “What did you do to that child?” Elizabeth demanded of the startled groom. “Go and see if he’s seriously hurt.”

  “Nothin’ to fret yerself about, lady,” Jane said. “Jest another beggar. They’s fierce in the winter.” She turned sharp eyes on the groom. “Are ye daft, man?” she accused. “That ye’d let such filth put her hand on Lord Dunmore’s litter. The master will ha’ yer hide, he will.”

  Meanwhile, the object of the commotion noticed the groom advancing with the whip still in his hand, picked himself up from the mud, and vanished into the nearest alley.

  “Wait,” Elizabeth called after the child. “Come back.” Immediately, three more equally dirty children gathered around the litter begging for pennies.

  “Fer me baby sister!” one shouted.

  “Me mam! Me mam’s wi’ chile and dyin’ fer want o’ bread!”

  They shoved and scratched at each other like feral cats, and Elizabeth realized with horror that she could not tell the age or sex of the children. Had there always been so many of them running wild on the streets of London? Their pale, pinched faces reminded her of old men, and the filthy rags they wore left more flesh exposed than covered.

  “Alms, alms, lady,” they cried. One dodged a hoof from the lead mule and ducked under the animal’s belly, coming around the far side of the litter to grab at Bridget’s basket. “A penny! A penny fer bread!”

  Elizabeth gagged as a stench like ten-day-old chicken hit her, and she recoiled, realizing that the sickening odor came from the children. Tears sprang from her eyes as she drew away from the scabbed faces and clawing, chilblained hands.

  “I’m nay t’ blame if yer crawling with lice, lady,” Jane warned.

  “Bridget, give them money, they’re starving,” Elizabeth said.

  “I’ve nothin’ smaller’n pennies, m’lady.”

  More waifs were dashing from the alleys and crowding around the litter. They pushed and shoved, knocking the smaller children to the cobblestones.

  “Give them whatever you have!” Elizabeth insisted. “Quickly, before anyo
ne else is hurt.”

  Frowning with disapproval, the Irish maid pulled back her curtain and threw the coins over the beggars’ heads. Silver coins hit and rolled across the cobblestones, and the screaming children scattered to retrieve them.

  One runny-nosed moppet sat on the ground and cried. Out of pity, Elizabeth fumbled for the ring on her finger.

  “No, m’lady!” Bridget cried. “Ye’ll ha’ the wretch hanged for thievery!”

  “Move on,” Jane shouted at the grooms. Dunmore’s hard-faced men-at-arms closed in around the litter. “We’ll be pestered no end now, madame,” Jane chided. “Word’ll spread, and ye’ll not be able t’ set foot out o’ yer house. They’re like rats in a pantry. Show ’em a few crumbs, and they’ll steal ye blind.”

  Elizabeth shut her eyes and tried to block out the shriveled face of the smallest child. She shuddered. The poor abandoned their children when they could no longer feed them; there were hundreds of strays . . . thousands. A few were taken in by kindly people; more were used for thievery, prostitution, and all manner of evil.

  The Sommersetts gave to the poor as a matter of course; charity toward the unfortunate was a duty of the upper classes. But as the mule litter moved along the noisy, crowded street, Elizabeth questioned for the first time a world in which some should have so much and others so little.

  The groom called to the lead mule and the conveyance came to a stop. “The Jew’s shop, lady.”

  Inside, Elizabeth was greeted warmly by Micah Levinson himself. “It is always a pleasure to receive you, Lady Dunmore,” he said. “My family shared the joy of knowing you were not lost at sea.”

  Elizabeth smiled. The Levinsons had been staunch allies to the Sommersetts since the days of the terrible massacre at York. John Sommersett, called John the Ready, had taken eight members of Micah’s family into his home and protected them during the riots. In turn, the Levinsons had informed Harry Sommersett of his impending arrest before Queen Elizabeth could have him thrown in the Tower for high treason. Harry had escaped to France until good Levinson gold could buy his pardon two years later. The tradition of friendship and loyalty between the families had remained firm despite the turmoil of Cromwell’s reign and King Charles’s return to the throne.