‘So your father’s minion has come home with us. Why?’ Rafe Dudgeon asked Martin on the following morning when they were at last alone together in his Forge Street home.
‘Because he is my minion now—or as much as he is anybody’s. I suspect Master Webster to be ambitious. He probably feels that I am a better prospect for the future than that tired old man, my father.’
‘Aye, no doubt. The servants were full of gossip. The one piece which they didn’t tell me, and which might have interested me, was why you ran away all those years ago, when by staying you could have lived a life of luxury and ease instead of ploughing such a hellish difficult furrow—even if you did find success at the end of it.’
‘I doubt that anyone but myself knows the truth of that,’ replied Martin dryly.
‘And does this Webster fellow know the truth of you now?’
‘Yes, which is why I asked for him to join my camp—that way I have at least some chance of knowing what he might be plotting. I should have had no notion at all of his activities if I had left him with my father.’
‘He did not tell your father what he had discovered?’
‘No, but it might not be long before he knows. London, though growing larger, is still too small for anything happening in its boundaries to remain a secret for ever.’
‘One thing,’ said Rafe. ‘Webster cannot live here. There is barely room for the two of us.’
‘True, and the pair of you will return to Saxon Hall this afternoon. I shall remain here—old Mother Laurence from next door will look after me. I have gained a few days’ grace before I move into Bretford House. You and Webster will, of course, come with me when I go there—and Jacko. I can’t leave him behind. We might need him.’
‘Your friend, your brains and your muscle,’ grinned Rafe. ‘All three of us covering your back, as usual.’
‘Oh, I learned that the hard way,’ Martin told him, stretching. ‘In any case, this house is too small for me to live in long anyway. I shall keep it, though. Who knows when one of us might need a hiding place?’
‘Very true,’ agreed Rafe, ‘we live in dangerous times.’
‘All times are dangerous, only some are more dangerous than others, especially now that the old Queen is slowly dying and so many are plotting for the future with Tower Hill possibly waiting for the failures.’
‘You scarcely need to plot for yours, though. Marriage to a great heiress—it is exactly what I have been advising for you—but you dismissed everything I had to say. It took that old man to bully you into it.’
‘It was my decision, not his, and I could scarcely listen to you until you had followed your own advice and found a wife yourself.’
‘Never,’ exclaimed Rafe fervently, beginning to laugh at the mere idea. He stopped only when Webster came in, carrying a large satchel.
He bowed to Martin. ‘I have left Bretford House and am at your service, m’lord.’
‘In that case I would wish you to accompany Master Dudgeon to Saxon Hall, where he will find you accommodation. I have an excellent library there, where you may entertain yourself before you accompany me to Bretford House. Rafe, of course, will arrange his own amusements. I shall remain here, alone, for the time being. We shall eat together before you leave.’
‘Indeed, m’lord. As your lordship wishes. I am always at your service.’
It was very strange to be called m’lord, a title which he had never expected to possess. For a moment there, while he had been sparring with Rafe, it was as though yesterday had never happened and the world had not turned upside down, to leave him with yet another identity and one which he did not want.
Was he right to have agreed to be reconciled, to become Lord Hadleigh and to accept his late brother’s betrothed, sight unseen? By so doing he had not only obeyed the father whom he had sworn never to oblige again, but had also appeared to fall in with his demand that he marry Lady Kate Wyville.
Only appeared to fall in, though, because he could surely manage matters in his behaviour towards her after such a fashion that the wench would wish to cry off. He had no desire to marry. Women, except as bed-partners, bored him these days. He had been continent for some time: if truth were known, ever since Mary and her child had died…
Martin tried not to think of them, to put them to the back of his mind, while he informed Webster that he would be leaving Forge Street to move to his true home, Saxon Hall, near Bishopsgate, where many of London’s nouveaux riches were building houses in which to display their wealth.
‘By the by,’ he ended, ‘I would prefer it if you did not constantly m’lord me. As you know, at Saxon Hall I have quite another name, which is Andrew Martin, and that is how you will address me when I am there. In Forge Street I am Martin Chancellor, and only when I am at Bretford House am I Lord Hadleigh.’
‘So noted,’ and Webster bowed, his face impassive.
After they had gone, Martin sat down, and for the first time thought carefully and slowly about what he had done and what he ought to do. One thing was imperative: somehow he must organise the different strands of his life so that, for the moment, they did not become tangled.
Bevis Frampton, old and ailing, but his vicious will still intact, sat alone, as always, in his palatial home. He was musing on the past and the strange and secret power which he had wielded throughout the old Queen’s long reign. A power which no one knew of, or even suspected, since he had always lived in the shadows, rarely in the public eye.
It had become the most supreme pleasure for him to arrange matters in such a fashion that those who had crossed him, those whom he disliked and those of whose politics he disapproved, always paid for it dearly, either through loss of life or through ruin and shame.
Even if that old woman, the Queen—whom he so greatly detested—still ruled England, he had made her life miserable by his machinations. Although he had been unable to achieve his greatest ambition by helping her enemies to succeed in having her killed or dethroned, he had made sure that she had lived for most of her reign in fear of both fates as a result of his plotting.
His next move against her, designed to bring her down at last, was in train at the moment. He was preparing to join my Lord of Essex and to take part in the rebellion against the Crown which the Earl intended to mount as soon as he had sufficient supporters.
Best of all, none of the many whom he had sent to their doom had been aware that he had been the author of their misfortunes. They might curse the unkind gods, or the monarch, but never that meek creature, Bevis Frampton!
Recently, though, he had had nothing to gloat over. His latest victim, the son of the man who had wronged him long ago, but whom he had never directly attacked because he preferred to watch him suffer instead, had, by some mischance, escaped from the trap which had been laid for him. His hireling had failed to kill him. His first impulse had been to have the bungling assassin disposed of, his second was to have the fool try again, since these days reliable henchmen had become hard to find.
Only when he knew that Lord Bretford was lamenting the untimely loss of the second of his sons would his vengeance be complete. To have secured the death of both brothers would be enough to make the thought of his own end pleasant, since he would be going to his grave a happy and satisfied man.
He called for his assassin to be brought to him from the anteroom, where he was doubtless waiting in fear of what his punishment might be for his failure. This time he would be pardoned for it, but if he should bungle his mission again, he would be shown no mercy.
On the morning that they were summoned to Bretford House, Kate had herself dressed slowly and carefully. So elaborate were her clothes that it was virtually impossible for her to be dressed without the help of her maid, Jennie Johnson. First of all she was attired in a simple linen shift and a pair of knotted silk stockings, fastened just above the knee with ribbons to act as garters. Next she was laced at the back into a bodice whose ornamental embroidered front was heavily padded with canvas—Kate disliked whalebone stiffeners, finding them uncomfortable. She also disliked heavy and ostentatious ruffs, so hers was a small cream one.
The bodice ended at the waist in a vee which showed above the kirtle which was draped over her skirts. Like her skirts, it was embroidered, but not heavily, and they were both draped over what was known as a Spanish farthingale, a framework of hoops, which allowed them to fall into soft and elegant folds, thus creating a cone-shaped effect.
After that, since they were separate from the bodice, came the tying on of the padded sleeves, which were of the same material as the skirts. Shoes of the most delicate and expensive leather, with very high heels completed the picture.
Jennie next combed and brushed her glorious, lightly waving chestnut hair and, since she was still a maiden and unmarried, tied it loosely back, without putting on it a cap or a chaplet of pearls. Kate refused the sleeveless over-gown she was offered, since the day was warm and the clothes she was already wearing were heavy. Jennie then hung round her neck a thin chain from which a golden rose depended. It had a tiny pearl at its centre.
Lastly, a scented pomander was placed at her waist to repel the unwanted and unpleasant smells which filled central London and were thought to cause infections.
When she was finally fully dressed, she stared at herself in the Venetian mirror which adorned one wall.
‘Oh, m’lady,’ gushed Jennie, standing back to admire her handiwork, ‘you look splendid.’
‘Perhaps,’ sighed Kate, ‘but I much prefer living in the country where I needn’t be burdened with such a quantity of clothing. A knight in armour scarcely wears more than we ladies do.’
‘But think how much it becomes you. You’re sure that you don’t want me to whiten your face a little and put some red on your lips to look like a real lady fit to go before the Queen?’
‘I could scarcely be more of a real lady than I already am,’ was Kate’s weary reply. ‘I am not going before the Queen today, and as you well know I am not over-happy about meeting this man whom his father and my uncle have chosen for my husband, so I’m quite enough of a painted maypole as it is.’
‘Go to, m’lady,’ replied Jennie with the cheekiness of long service, ‘you are certainly not tall enough to be a maypole.’
‘But taller than most women—and quite a number of men.’
‘Perhaps Lord Hadleigh will be taller than you are, which ought to make you both happy,’ said Jennie, still daring. ‘Now you are fit to join Mistress Saville and your father, who will doubtless be waiting for you.’
Would Lord Hadleigh care that he was taller or shorter than his future wife? Somehow Kate doubted it. She walked downstairs, to find that her Aunt Jocasta, her late mother’s youngest sister, who acted as her attendant lady, was waiting for her in the entrance hall.
‘The coaches are come, but your uncle has not,’ wailed her aunt. ‘He always keeps us waiting.’
‘That is his prerogative,’ said Kate, ‘since he is Earl.’ She had had this unnecessary conversation a hundred times before; unnecessary because her uncle always kept his women waiting.
Her aunt sniffed, but fortunately on this occasion Lord Clifton chose not to leave them standing about too long, but arrived with his usual servants in attendance.
‘Let us not keep the horses waiting,’ he announced, as though Kate and her aunt had turned up late, instead of it being the other way round. Neither of them said anything, and Kate decided, quite resigned to her fate, that if she married Lord Hadleigh she would be merely exchanging one tyrant for another, so in a sense accepting Lord Hadleigh as a husband would change very little.
They emerged into the early September sunshine to find the two Clifton coaches already standing on the gravel sweep. Their owner was one of the few noblemen with two such equipages and he liked to display his wealth by using them together as often as possible. Kate and her aunt were to travel in the first, while he followed in the second.
Kate was driven towards her doom, as she was beginning to think it, at a slow pace, frequently held up by herds of cattle, sheep and other animals being driven towards Smithfield market, as well as numerous carts carrying into the city the mountains of food which were needed to fill the Londoners’ bellies. It was as well that she could not hear the curses which her coachman flung at the passing show whenever it ceased to pass.
She did not know whether she was glad or sorry that it was taking so long to reach Bretford House.
Earlier that day Martin had returned to Saxon Hall, a noble red brick mansion in the style of Wolsey’s Hampton Court, but smaller, where he soon found that Webster and Rafe were living in a kind of armed truce. It seemed that the most strife was caused by the question of the division of their duties.
He met them in the library, which opened off the Great Hall, and soon solved this problem by a few brisk and trenchant words.
‘If you can’t agree to behave like sensible folk and not like fools, you leave me no recourse but to dismiss the pair of you,’ he bellowed at them, as though he were back on the quarterdeck of his own ship again. ‘I don’t expect to have to negotiate a truce between two supposedly clever men.’
That did the trick, and no mistake. The pair of them banded together to defy him and not each other. Neither of them wished, for their own reasons, to be dismissed. They grumbled off, to sit down in the room which Webster had commandeered for his office—or his bureau as he called it—and worked matters out for themselves before being summoned to be ready to accompany Martin to Bretford House, where they were to meet the Lady Kate Wyville and her guardian.
They grumbled still more when he came downstairs and met them in the entrance hall.
‘You’re not going dressed like that, and without having shaved or arranged your hair,’ they exclaimed together.
Martin, who had arrived in what he thought of as his shabby Forge Street garb, and had not changed out of it, said, ‘Why not?’
‘As Lord Hadleigh and Lord Bretford’s heir,’ announced Webster pompously, ‘your present appearance when you are about to meet your betrothed, who is a great heiress, is neither fitting nor proper.’
‘I agree,’ chimed in Rafe, at one with Webster for the first time. ‘What is good enough for Forge Street will not do for Bretford House.’
Martin glared at them. ‘When I ordered you to agree with one another it was not so that you might join together to instruct me in matters of etiquette. I shall wear what I please.’
‘Well, it won’t please anyone else,’ muttered Rafe, ‘least of all your future bride.’
‘What makes you think I want to please her?’ roared Martin. ‘To horse, both of you, and don’t waste time. I employ you, you don’t employ me.’
Webster opened his mouth to say something then, seeing the expression on m’lord’s face, shut it again.
Neither of them were to know that Martin did not mean a word of his reprimand: that he was baiting them for the pleasure of watching them agree with one another and be disciplined as a pair, rather than separately. It was a bit hard on Rafe, whom he had always indulged, but now that Webster had been added to his household that might have to change a little.
‘I thought Jacko was coming with us,’ Rafe said more deferentially than usual.
‘So he is, but he is doing a necessary errand for me and will be arriving later. Now let’s be off.’
They trotted slowly down the drive, delayed by the pack-horses with them which carried their clothing and other personal possessions. Unaware that he shared these thoughts with the Lady Kate, Martin was not sure how soon he wished to reach their destination and rather relished the numerous stoppages for traffic on their journey.
By the time they reached Bretford House he was certain that this whole business was the first mistake he had made since he had run away from home. Only a perverted sense of honour kept him from ordering their little procession to return to Saxon Hall, from whence he would send his apologies to his father for reneging on his promises and announce that he was immediately renouncing the title of Lord Hadleigh.
Reluctantly he dismounted in the stable yard, ordered their possessions to be taken to the rooms assigned for them, and strode into the house determined to try to make the best of things, but doubting whether he could.
Somehow he survived, but only just, his first encounter with his father, who was now downstairs, seated in an armchair in the withdrawing-room off the Great Hall. He stared at Martin and his feral appearance when he entered it.
‘Body of God, Hadleigh,’ he exclaimed, to the secret amusement of Webster and Rafe, who had followed their master in. ‘You’re surely not proposing to greet your betrothed looking like the wild man of the woods! Go and make yourself presentable. I will offer your excuses to the Lady Kate if she arrives before you have done so.’
‘By no means,’ Martin retorted. ‘I have been a working seaman these many years, these are the clothes I wear, and I don’t propose to change them now.’
It took Rafe all his strength not to say, ‘You haven’t been a working seaman these many years either, and your normal garb is exactly what m’lord would wish you to wear today.’ Once he would not have hesitated to do so but, judging by this morning’s outburst of wrath, times had changed and not for the better. Martin, amused, could almost feel Rafe bristling behind him, and that his father was evidently about to reprimand him, saying more or less what Rafe would have done.
In order to stop this sorry argument from developing further, he said briskly, ‘I have a mind to take a walk about the grounds, sir, before I resign myself to spending too much time indoors—with your permission, of course.’
For a moment Lord Bretford was tempted to say him nay, but an unseemly verbal brawl before his son’s servants was the last thing he wanted.
‘Very well,’ he murmured ungraciously, ‘but do not be too long about it. Lord Clifton and his party are already late.’
Martin sketched a bow. ‘Most kind of you, sir. My staff will arrange for our possessions to be stowed away. I will see you all later.’
He was grinning to himself while he walked around the neat garden, full of the scents of early autumn before rounding the corner of the house to see Lord Clifton’s two coaches arrive, the first well before the second. Curious, he slowed his pace in the hope of gaining the first glimpse of John’s—no, his—betrothed.
‘Here at last,’ exclaimed Aunt Jocasta unnecessarily.
No one emerged from the oaken front door. One of the Cliftons’ accompanying footman stepped down to throw the coach door open so that he might help Kate, then Aunt Jocasta, to step down.
‘I will inform the steward that we have arrived,’ he said, ‘and ask for some assistance in carrying in our luggage.’
Before he could do so a man walked round the corner of the building. He was uncommonly tall and broad, and dressed, not in the uniform of a house servant, but in shabby clothing which tallied well with his unkempt hair and beard. He was obviously one of the gardeners, or perhaps a stable hand not sufficiently important enough to be given a uniform, or livery, of any kind.
Kate was suddenly impatient. Here she was on an errand not of her making, only to arrive to find that apparently no one was ready to receive them. She advanced beyond the footman before he could address this great bear—it was the only word which she could think of to describe the man who was walking towards her. He really did look very like the one she had seen on her visit to the Tower of London.
‘Come here at once,’ she called imperiously—quite unlike her normal quiet and pleasant self. ‘Pray begin to take our luggage into the house and inform your masters that Lord Clifton and Lady Kate Wyville have arrived.’
Martin stared at her, bemused. So this dominant creature was the Lady Kate Wyville, whom he was shortly to marry. She was fair enough, with her creamy complexion, green eyes and chestnut locks, and her splendid clothing which must have cost the equivalent of a year’s pay for a simple merchant seaman. She obviously had a temper, and he was about to reply in kind when the devil tempted him.
‘Certainly, m’lady,’ he said, pulling his forelock, and using the accent of the common sailor which he had adopted to avoid mockery in his early days as a lad on board ship. ‘Indeed, m’lady, at your service.’
He picked up some of the luggage which was already being unloaded by the footmen, just as Lord Clifton’s coach, which had been held up by cattle blocking the road half a mile from Bretford House, also arrived. At the same time the front door opened and a herd of apologetic servants swept out to greet the visitors, apologising for their tardiness.
Martin swept by them, deposited the luggage in the entrance hall, and, laughing to himself, returned by the backstairs to the room where his father was waiting before he could be scolded for arriving after the guests.
In the usual rituals which took place before the front door, all the more elaborate because of their necessary apologies, since Lord Bretford’s staff had been too busy preparing for their guests to notice that they had arrived, Kate failed to notice that the bear had not returned. If she thought about him at all, it would have been to assume that, when the indoor staff had taken over, he would be swiftly returned to his menial duties outside.
Once inside, she was led up to the rooms prepared for her so that she might rest a little after her journey before she was introduced to Lord Bretford and his heir. The house’s furnishings were splendid, but ill-cared for, and Kate, used to a hard-working indoor staff, could not help but be aware that Lord Bretford’s servants were slack in their duties.
Her Aunt Jocasta came out with several more of her unnecessary remarks while pointing out the staff’s deficiencies, although her final conclusion was a reasonable one. ‘If you are to reside here, my dear,’ she ended magisterially, ‘a number of changes will need to be made if your life is to be comfortable.’
Kate knew that Lord Bretford was reported to be constantly ailing these days and doubtless that was the reason for inefficiency everywhere. Before she had been shown upstairs she was introduced to the housekeeper, Mistress Cray, a stout woman who seemed pleasant enough, but looked rather harassed.
Finally it was time to go down to meet his lordship and her future husband. Would he be like his brother John? He had been a handsome man, always beautifully dressed, charming and pleasant to everyone, and his early death had to be regretted, since, like the footman who escorted her and Aunt Jocasta downstairs, it was leading her to an unknown and unwanted bridegroom.
She was shown into the withdrawing-room, which opened off the Great Hall, with great pomp and ceremony. The first person she saw was Lord Bretford, who was strangely altered from the time when she had first met him, since he now looked so old and ill.
What was surprising, though, was that the great bear whom she had encountered outside stood at a little distance behind him on his right. Perhaps, though, since m’lord was reputed to have difficulty in walking, he was there to use his undoubted strength to assist him. If so, why was he not wearing livery?
Two other men, both well dressed in the latest fashion, and whom she had never met before, were on m’lord’s left. One of them must surely be her betrothed, so she eyed them as carefully as she could without appearing to be impolite. Neither of them took her fancy, although both might be considered to be handsome, nor did they resemble in the least the late Lord Hadleigh.
The one nearest to her was tallish and blond, with a clever, if rather cold face. The other, equally tall, possessed a humorous and knowing one. It was difficult to tell which of them was her future husband. All this time her uncle and m’lord were going through the droning rituals which persons of their station thought necessary on such important occasions as these.
The preliminary courtesies over, her uncle called her forward and re-introduced her to Lord Bretford, to whom she curtsied before standing back again after he had greeted her warmly and she had said all that was pretty to him.
Now it was his turn to introduce his son to her and her father.
‘M’lady Kate Wyville and Clifton, my old friend, I present to you my new-found son and heir, Martin, Lord Hadleigh, long-lost to me. Hadleigh, I bid you come forward.’
When he did, it was neither of the two handsome young men who obeyed him. Instead, it was the great bear who sauntered towards her, bowing and saying, ‘My pleasure to meet you, Lady Kate,’ in a voice in which mockery was predominant.
This! She was to marry this hairy and unkempt creature. To her horror Kate found herself on the verge of fainting, partly as a consequence of her tight clothing and partly as a result of her fear of meeting the new Lord Hadleigh, which had caused her to eat little in the last two days. How much more would she have feared this meeting if she had known exactly what he was going to be like? A man who resembled a bear—and whom she had insulted by treating him as a servant. Near to, he proved to be even larger than she had remembered him to be.
He was bowing to her and somehow she was curtseying back, her head swimming. He was saying, what was he saying? ‘I am sure that you will be relieved to learn that your luggage reached its destination safely, even if your servant was not quite who you thought he was and, besides that, had never been properly house-trained.’
He was mocking her, yes, he was. Perhaps she deserved it. She had not been her usual courteous self when she had first met him. Come to that, he had not been his usual self either. Persons of the station of Lord Hadleigh did not walk around looking like a cross between a chimney-sweep and a bear. Perhaps it was not only unkind, but untrue, to call him a chimney-sweep, since his hands, and what could be seen of his face which wasn’t covered in hair, were clean.
Strangely enough, while all this internal monologue was going on she was talking, apparently sensibly, to the bear, saying lying things like, ‘It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Lord Hadleigh.’
To which, of course, his reply was, ‘Not at last, Lady Kate, this is our second meeting. You have apparently forgotten that we met once outside before we enjoyed our formal introduction.’
Kate had recovered her senses enough by then to say, in as poisonously sugary a tone as his, ‘Oh, but you were not Lord Hadleigh then, although I was certainly Lady Kate Wyville.’
‘A fact of which, by your manner, you left me in no doubt.’
‘Your manner and your speech left me in no doubt that you were the servant which your clothing proclaimed you to be.’
They were so close together, their voices were so low, and they were both wearing such lying smiles while they spoke that their watchers were deluded into believing that Lord Hadleigh and Lady Kate Wyville were already on exceedingly good terms with one another. Something which pleased the two old men immensely.
So, m’lady has a nasty tongue, too, was Martin’s genuine response to her, which was only matched by the reaction to him of his unwilling future bride. For some reason he was quite certain that she was unwilling. Well, so am I, he reflected, which leaves us quits. If we both dislike this proposed match then we might be able to find a way out of it.
Not yet, however. At the moment all between the parties—with the exception of the inner feelings of the future bride and groom—was honey. Even Lord Clifton’s dismayed disgust at Martin’s appearance remained unspoken, since he believed that his ward’s marriage to the Bretford heir took precedence over any qualms about the fellow’s eccentricity. He was prepared to swallow more than that to attain such a prize as the joining of Bretford and Wyville lands. As for Martin’s father, he was more than willing to acknowledge and favour his unruly son in order to keep his estate out of the clutches of the Crown when he died.
After some further pleasantries in which Martin spoke to Lord Clifton and Kate was introduced to Webster and Rafe, the whole party adjourned to the Great Hall where a sumptuous meal had been prepared—one of its main delicacies being a boar’s head with an orange in its mouth. It was perhaps fortunate that no one overheard Martin murmur on passing it, ‘I know exactly how you feel, old fellow,’ before sitting down in the place of honour, next to Kate, and preparing to eat some of it.
Food and drink being great lubricants of the tongue, it was not long before the room resounded to the noise of gossip. The Lords Clifton and Bretford spoke of the scandals associated with Lord Essex, who, from being the old Queen’s prime and pampered favourite had been brought low by illness and disgrace, following his disastrous campaign against the Irish, who had completely out-manoeuvred him.
As a result of his subsequent wild behaviour in the Queen’s presence he was at present under house arrest at his London home, and was, Lord Bretford said censoriously, fortunate in that he had not been sentenced to imprisonment in the Tower until he was tried.
Lord Clifton, who was friendly with many of those nearest to the Queen, expressed surprise that Essex had gathered a large number of supporters at Essex House, among them Master Francis Bacon and Sir Walter Raleigh.
‘It has also been remarked,’ he said, between drafts of good hypocras, ‘that he is being greatly influenced by that old man Bevis Frampton, who has been on the edge of matters ever since the Queen succeeded to the throne. The word is that Master Bacon does not trust him and thinks that his advice is poor, since he is encouraging Lord Essex in his wilder flights of fancy.’
Martin leaned forward to say something to the effect that he knew for sure that Sir Walter Raleigh was no longer a fervent supporter of the Earl, since he believed that he had become overbearing and rash in his opposition to the Queen and his refusal to recognise the faults of his Irish campaign. He checked himself before he could say a word, remembering that someone who claimed to be as lowly as he was would not be in a position to know someone as grand as Sir Walter. Of Frampton he could say nothing, since he could not recall ever having met him.
And yet, and yet. The name rang a bell in his mind, but why it should do so remained, for the moment, unexplained. He sat back again and allowed his seniors to hold the floor.
Since those eating and drinking heartily in great comfort feel safe in discussing bad, rather than good news, because it enhances their own feelings of being favoured by fortune, the next topic raised was that of the reports of a poor harvest. It was even rumoured that it was going to be worse than that of the previous year. As for the war with Spain, it was certainly not being a repetition of the great days when the Armada was defeated by Britain’s heroes, and by a westerly gale in the Channel.
No one at table was aware that one of them, the new Lord Hadleigh, who had taken part as a humble seaman in the Spanish fleet’s destruction in 1588, was sitting there, mumchance, amid all the noise. His future bride, who was as silent as he, sat beside him. He had been eating and drinking sparsely and was watching Lady Kate do the same.
He could not resist leaning over towards her, picking up her goblet and saying, ‘The belief is, my future wife, that those who are greatly enamoured with one another are unable to eat, being quite deprived of appetite, which means that by our behaviour, we are among that happy few if our conduct at table is any guide. Pray drink this toast to our future with me, and let us be noisy, too. We must not deceive others into thinking that we have fallen into an instant passion for one another such as Messer Boccaccio has often written about.’
Kate waved the goblet away, a little surprised by his knowledge of the Italian master. ‘By no means, m’lord. Moreover, since I believe that it is your habit to deceive others, I would not have you act against your true nature. To pretend that you and I were halfway to being lovers would be deception indeed.’
‘So after such a short acquaintance you already know what my true nature is,’ remarked Martin, drinking the wine himself from the goblet he had proffered her. He was a little surprised that she had begun to read him correctly—but he had given her that opportunity by his foolery on the gravel sweep. Not only that, but she had proved again that she possessed as forked a tongue as he did—and from whom had she acquired it? Not from her simple-minded aunt, that was certain.
Perhaps all women were following the example of the Queen in being mistresses of wit, learning and cunning devices. What would his late brother have made of such a creature—and what would he, if he were to marry her?
Was she fooling him as he was fooling everyone? He knew very well that sooner or later most of his secrets would be, perforce, revealed, and he was not quite sure what the consequences of that would be. In the meantime he would enjoy himself.
The lengthy meal came to an end and the guests returned to the withdrawing-room. Some of the men, who had drunk heavily, retired to relieve themselves in the new jakes which had been installed in a small room off the Great Hall. The women in similar need were ushered upstairs to the suite allotted to Lady Kate by one of the women servants who attended on them as they left the Hall.
Martin wandered away to find the library, which was larger than he had remembered it. He was tired of being perpetually on show and was relieved when the only person who followed him was Rafe, a worried expression on his face. He had come to nag him as usual.
‘Sooner or later,’ he began without preamble, ‘you are going to have to tell them the truth.’
‘Tell me something which I don’t know,’ replied Martin, not lifting his eyes from the book he had taken from the shelves. ‘It’s what I pay you for. Or have you handed that task over to Webster?’
Rafe was unmoved. ‘He’d simply say the same thing. What profit do you gain from all this foolery?’
‘Amusement,’ said Martin, not raising his eyes from his book.
And power, he thought, power of an odd kind. Years ago I was helpless and powerless in this house, and it pleases me that I can deceive those who had control over me then.
‘So you are going to marry the Lady Kate?’
‘So it would seem.’
‘Only seem? What kind of an answer is that?’
‘The only one I am prepared to give you at the moment. Do run away and leave me in peace. When the time comes I shall tell you all.’
Now I don’t believe that, I really don’t, was Rafe’s rueful thought as he did as he was bid. What the devil’s irking him at the moment that he should be so short with us when he never has been before?
Martin hardly knew what was wrong with him. He closed his book and prepared to rejoin the betrothal party—for that was what it was. He seemed doomed, however, to be badgered by others as to his intentions. This time it was Lady Kate who entered, without her attendant lady.
‘One of the footmen told me you were here,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t thought…’ and then she stopped lest what she had to say might be thought discourteous.
‘That I might adjourn to the library?’ he said, his eyebrows raised and, by what could be seen of his mouth through the hair, amused. ‘I can read and write, you know. My education before I left home was a strict one.’
‘Is that why you ran away?’ she asked him before she could stop herself.
‘Not exactly. Incidentally, who told you that I ran away?’
‘My uncle. He thought that I ought to know.’
‘Did he indeed? What is it that I ought to know about you? Pray tell me.’
‘That I never had the opportunity to run away. Master Dudgeon told me that you sailed against the Armada as an ordinary seaman.’
‘Master Dudgeon talks too much,’ was Martin’s short answer.
‘It’s as well worth knowing as that you ran away. I told him, most strongly, I didn’t believe you could be an ordinary anything.’
Kate paused. She was going to say something daring and she didn’t know how a man who looked like a bear would receive it. Oh, to Hades with caution, she would speak her mind: something which her uncle rarely allowed her to do.
‘I don’t believe that you are an ordinary seaman now.’
This jolted Martin’s mind much as a crossbowbolt would have jolted his body. Now why did she think that?
His reply was mysterious. ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘Perhaps not.’
‘I have already observed that you frequently talk in riddles.’
She was observing far too much. He did not think it wise to tell her so.
Kate decided that if she were to inform him of her true feelings about this proposed marriage, now was the time to do so. Whether he was truly like the bear he resembled or not, she must throw down the gauntlet, as it were, and take her chances.
‘I do not believe that you wish to marry me, and I’m sure that I do not wish to marry you.’
There, it was out, and before he had time to determine how he was to deal with the shock which her frankness had produced, Webster arrived in search of his master—only to find him closeted with his betrothed, who had left the anteroom with the excuse that she wished to retire upstairs in order to refresh herself. It was beginning to seem that the lady was as devious as her future husband.
He thought this even more when he found them standing face to face, eyes aglow, talking busily to one another. From their manner one might deem them to be a pair of eager lovers but, somehow, Webster doubted that very much.
So intent on each other were they that he finally gave vent to a loud cough to tell them that he had arrived. As a result they both turned together to stare at him. Face masked, eyes hooded, he gave a small bow and said, ‘I must present my excuses for disturbing you, but I came to ask m’lord whether he had any further instructions for me.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Martin retorted, ‘I certainly have. Leave us at once. I will send for you when I need you, which is not now.’
Webster, trying not to stifle a laugh despite this curt dismissal of him, offered them another small bow, and muttered, ‘So noted, m’lord,’ and took a dignified leave.
Without waiting for Martin to speak to her again, Kate said indignantly, ‘That was most discourteous of you, m’lord. The man was only doing what he saw as his duty—and, as a matter of interest, what did he mean by so noted?’
‘Do you,’ retorted Martin glacially, ‘wish me to reply to the reprimand at the beginning of your little speech, or to the demand for information at the end of it?’
Kate did not know whether to laugh or to cry when he came out with his little speech. It really was the oddest conversation in which she had ever taken part.
‘After you have accepted my reprimand, you may answer my question.’
‘I don’t accept the reprimand. Webster is my servant and must do as he is bid.’
‘He is not your slave, though, and he did as he was bid, most politely.’
Kate did not know why she was so determined to chop logic with the bear. Only that after some strange fashion it was exciting to tease him, wondering whether he would merely growl at her—or, perhaps, try to eat her. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
She was delighted to notice that his voice deepened into a growl when he riposted, ‘He only obeys me so promptly because I was severe with him. As for his reply, so noted is what a secretary, or a lawyer, says to the man who employs him to show that he understands the orders which he has been given.’
‘I must remember that,’ Kate said, without thinking. ‘Only I don’t think it would have much effect on Aunt Jocasta. Of course, she’s neither a lawyer nor a secretary, but she is supposed to obey me—which she rarely does.’
Martin began to laugh. He was amused to find that he had become trapped in an extremely inconsequential dialogue with a young woman who was rather more clever than he had supposed her to be. His laugh was further intended to be a diversion for himself: a much-needed one, since, faced with a pair of flashing green eyes and a pretty mouth offering him clever nonsense, his wretched body had begun to respond to his betrothed after a most alarming fashion.
Fortunately the heavily padded breeches which he was wearing were sufficient to disguise his surprising arousal. Surprising because for the last year his continence had been easy to sustain; so easy, indeed, that he had begun to worry a little that he was losing his male potency.
The biggest irony of the whole business was that of all the women in the world, the one who had caused it to awaken again had to be the only one whom he had no wish to marry—mainly because it would please his father if he did. So what would become of his campaign to have Lady Kate Wyville hate him when what his wretched body most desired was to stop her mouth by kissing it, then have her beneath him, gasping her pleasure while he made sure of his own?
Martin shook his head. What the devil could be making him behave like a green boy faced with his first woman? He really must tell his errant body to behave itself—which he did to no avail. All this was shooting through his mind at top speed, so that it was fortunate that Kate’s reply to his laughter was to begin to laugh herself.
They were both still very merry when Rafe came in—to stare at the pair of them. What the devil was it that had made his usually dour master so cheerful? Webster had returned from his interview with Martin speaking and acting so mysteriously—Rafe had never seen him laugh before—that, frustrated, he had decided to find out what m’lord, as he had begun to think of him, could be up to.
‘What in Hades do you want now?’ Martin roared at him, after using his linen kerchief to wipe from his eyes the tears which his laughter had brought on. ‘Are the pair of you never to allow me five minutes’ peace?’
‘Oh,’ Kate could not prevent herself from offering a gloss to that, ‘was it peace that we were enjoying? Besides, I must point out that you are being as unkind to Master Dudgeon as you were to Master Webster, and for very little reason.’
‘It was not a peace, but a truce,’ Martin threw at her over his shoulder. ‘Except that it won’t last if you continue to provoke me. If ever a man was so beset by those around him…’ And he shook his head at them both.
Rafe was daring. ‘Forgive me, m’lord, you didn’t seem very beset to me. Most people usually laugh only when they are enjoying themselves,’ he added mildly, ‘but if I am de trop, then I will leave.’
‘Not for my sake,’ said Kate sweetly. Baiting the bear was more enjoyable than she had thought it might be.
‘If he knows what is good for him,’ growled Martin savagely, ‘he will leave at once.’
‘Willingly. I always do what is good for me—though I thank m’lady for her kind invitation to remain.’ After bowing slightly more deferentially to his lord and master than Webster had done, he took his leave.
So Martin Chancellor, or Lord Hadleigh, had found his match in the demure-looking Lady Kate and did not quite know how to deal with her. Life, which, like his master, Rafe Dudgeon had lately found boring, was suddenly growing more interesting.
‘He took his time in leaving,’ Martin growled meaningfully at Kate, his recent laughter, as well as his arousal, having disappeared.
‘Well, he didn’t say so noted,’ returned Kate, ‘so it seemed that he had no real wish to leave us.’
It was useless. If they started sparring all over again he was in danger of becoming aroused to the point where he could not keep his hands off her. Cold courtesy must be resumed so that they could return to the safety of verbal distance when they met. Without that, all his plans would be overset.
Kate saw the bear’s face and manner change. The momentary rapport which they had so recently shared had disappeared. To remain would be a mistake. Rafe’s entry had ended something which had promised to bring them together.
‘It is time,’ she said, ‘that I left you, lest the rest of the company feel that it is their duty to corner us in the library.’
Martin, almost unable to speak because of his conflicting emotions, nodded his head in agreement.
The Lady Kate Wyville walked upstairs with the feeling strong in her that a marriage with Lord Bretford’s bear might not be the disaster which she had first thought it—even if she still hoped that she could avoid becoming his, or any man’s, wife.