Lady in Waiting

Chapter Three

‘S o you have come back to us, Nicholas.’ Lady Fineden looked at her son with approval. She was a woman long past the bloom of her youth, though still considered handsome. ‘I hope you found Sarah well?’

‘Blooming and as lovely as ever,’ Nick said, giving his mother a smile warm with affection. He kissed the hand she offered gallantly, saluting her as both mother and friend. Although into the autumn of her life, she was a healthy, energetic woman who had married again after his father’s death to a gentleman of the court. Sir John Fineden was one of Sir William Cecil’s staff and a very busy man who seldom had the leisure to entertain his wife, expecting her to make her own pleasures, which she was very able to do having a large circle of friends at court. ‘It is good to see you looking well, Mother.’

‘By that you mean stout,’ she replied, pulling a wry face. ‘But I feel well and I am always entertaining so must keep up a good table. Sir John has been away again, but I am expecting him home soon. He asked in his last letter when you would return and will be pleased to see you, I make no doubt.’

‘As I shall to see him. I have something of importance to tell him.’

Lady Fineden nodded, her grey eyes studying the clean-shaven, handsome features of a man who seemed to have grown in stature in the matter of a few months. Her son had been a careless, seemingly light-hearted fellow given to the pursuit of pleasure when he set off on his travels, but had returned a confident man with the maturity of his nine-and-twenty years upon him. The change was marked and she wondered what had brought it about, though to be fair to him she knew he had not travelled merely for his own pleasure. She alone of her immediate family was privy through her husband’s trust to her son’s mission.

‘No doubt you will be summoned shortly—but we shall say no more of that. I have you here for a while at least, and you will do me the kindness of escorting me to court tomorrow evening, I hope?’

‘It would be a pleasure, dearest Mama,’ Nick assured her. ‘But I pray you will excuse me this evening? It is a while since I was here and I have people I must see.’

‘You must do what pleases you, Nick. I am content with your promise for the morrow. Now I must tell you about your sister Agatha. She joins me in town next month, and I believe she is hoping for another addition to her family, for her daughter is with child.’

‘Sarah was asking after her, but I had no news. She will be glad to hear that Agatha does well.’

‘I shall be writing to Sarah soon. But you may be more interested in something I heard at court the other evening…’

Apparently listening as Lady Fineden recounted some of the latest gossip from court, Nick’s mind was elsewhere. His detour to the estate of Oliver Woodville had been unnecessary because the man he sought was in town, and he must waste no time in speaking with him, for Nick was once again certain he had been followed. This time he had caught sight of the fellow several times, and knew it was not the man of shadows he had seen so briefly in Paris but another, clumsier fellow who had possibly been paid to watch him.

There was always the chance of an attempt at assassination, for these were dangerous times and a man such as he who worked in secret ways was liable to meet a violent end. He had known it when he took on the work, but his life had seemed an empty charade, with nothing for an able mind to discover but pleasure, and that palled after a while. He had been at the point of deciding to leave London and return to his estates when he was offered the chance to broaden his mind and serve Queen and country in one.

His travels in Italy had not been only for the purpose of discovering the beauty of which he had spoken so compellingly to his sister and her guests, but for another, more important.

His Holiness the Pope considered Elizabeth of England a usurper, and there were many of that faith who spoke openly of excommunication and of sweeping the impostor from the throne. He had been asked to discover as much as he could about the mood in Rome and to report to Walsingham in Paris, and this he had done, but he could bring no good news. Though other foreign rulers were inclined to treat with England’s queen, the Pope seemed set in his determination to damn her.

Nick had been kept constantly on the move as a courier for Walsingham these many months, returning in secret to England for an interview with Her Majesty before setting out again. It was at this meeting that he had been knighted for services to Elizabeth, though the reason he had given his family for the honour was very different from the truth.

Nick’s face was grim as he recalled his last conversation with Walsingham, who was presently in Paris as the Queen’s ambassador. It was a position Francis had not desired, for he felt he was needed here in England at such a tense moment, but his own mission had been placed upon him by his masters and was an important one. Walsingham’s thankless task was to arrange a marriage if he could with the Duc d’Anjou, but he had confided to Nick that he doubted either party could be brought to the match. However, his diplomatic skills were such that his very presence in France at this moment might prevent an alliance between Her Majesty’s most dangerous enemies.

The situation was to say the least fraught with tension, for the mood here in England was uneasy, Norfolk having many supporters who might rise to help an invasion if it came. When questioned, Norfolk had naturally denied any desire to marry Mary Queen of Scots, saying that his earlier plans had been a passing fancy that he had never intended to carry to a conclusion. But such an alliance might still be popular with those who would see England returned to Rome and the Catholic faith.

Cecil and Walsingham believed that the throne would be safer if Elizabeth had a husband by her side, but convincing the Queen was not an easy task. She was skilful at avoiding the subject, and at turning the tables on those who opposed her.

The Queen’s marriage was indeed a thorny problem, but for the present Nick had other matters in mind…

‘You have been away overlong, Nick.’ Annette Wiltord gave him a speaking look from eyes that had been described as being like sapphires. Her pretty mouth was pouting as she waved her fan of painted chicken skin with its handle of polished horn embellished with silver. ‘More than eighteen months I have languished for sight of you—and now you come to me and say only that you need to find Oliver Woodville. Now is that the behaviour of a lover, sir?’ Her tone was teasing but her eyes showed that she was annoyed.

‘Forgive me, Annette,’ Nick kissed the hand she offered, smiling at her in the way that had always melted the ladies’ hearts and made them his easy conquests. Annette was a widow of some means and had been his mistress before he left on his travels. He had assumed their affair was at an end and that she would have replaced him. Indeed, he was certain that she had not lain in an empty bed these many months pining for him, but the look in her eyes told him that she was prepared to continue their relationship now, should he wish it. ‘Perhaps another evening we may spend some time together? However, I would be grateful if you could tell me where I might find Oliver. I was told he had come to London but having tried his house and found it closed I am at a loss and unsure where else to look.’

‘I believe he stays in lodgings, having come only for a brief visit—and you may already have missed him, for he did not wish to be long parted from his wife.’ The look in her eyes suggested that she had tried to tempt his friend, but he knew Oliver too well. Having settled for marriage he would not lightly betray his love.

‘Then if you would give me the direction of his lodgings I may hasten there and hope to catch him before he departs.’

Annette pouted again. ‘Only if I have your promise that you will give me your attention soon, Nick.’

‘Tomorrow after the masque,’ Nick promised, moving to take her in his arms and kiss her full ripe lips so competently that she was near to swooning when he let her go. ‘I escort my mother, but later I shall come to you—if you wish?’

‘You know I wish it, devil that you are,’ Annette said and ran her finger down his cheek. ‘No one makes me feel as you do, Nick. The others are merely diversions, to fill the empty hours you refuse to spend with me. No other man can satisfy me as you do.’

‘No one man would ever satisfy you,’ Nick said a smile on his lips, as he pressed her against him so that she could feel the burn of his arousal. ‘But you are a lusty wench and I have been away a long time, and it would be no hardship to lie with you, Annette.’

‘Then stay…come to bed,’ she said, her eyes willing him to give her the satisfaction she craved. ‘Surely your business can wait a little longer?’

‘You tempt me mightily,’ Nick told her. ‘But if I should miss Oliver it will mean a trip into the country. Let me go now, my hot wench, and I shall please you another night.’

With that she had to be satisfied, though she pulled a wry face as he left her with indecent haste once she had supplied the direction he needed. He had never been easy to manage, though often through indolence rather than indifference in the past, but she was aware that something had changed. There was a new purpose, an alertness and eagerness that she had not noticed before…a certain hardness of character that she found fascinating.

In the past Annette had been content with the time Nick was willing to give her, but now she found that she wanted more…much more.

‘I vow that you will be the most beautiful of all the ladies at court this night,’ Sir William Moor said to his daughter as she twirled for his benefit just before they left for the masque. ‘That gown becomes you well, Catherine.’

It was beautifully fashioned in the latest style, with a heavy damask overskirt of white embroidered with gold and sewn with tiny seed pearls. The petticoat was of a pale rose, the hue of which matched a tiny ruff of lace about her neck, and the sleeves had little pink silk rosebuds pinned to them where the shoulders puffed out in the exaggerated style now so popular with the courtiers. From beneath the skirts of her gown, the toes of her tiny satin slippers were just visible; fashioned of white, they had rosettes of pink silk that complemented her toilette.

Around her neck she had twisted a long string of freshwater pearls, which had been coiled twice and then allowed to fall to her waist just above the V of her stomacher. Her hair was dressed in curls across her forehead, but the heavy mass of it tumbled down her back in soft waves that had taken much brushing and pomade to straighten them from their usual unruly state. She wore only a thin net of gold wire encrusted with pearls over her hair, the colour of which rivalled burnished copper that night.

‘You flatter me, dearest Father,’ Catherine said and kissed his cheek. ‘I thank you for it, though I dare say there will be other more beautiful ladies present at court.’

‘Not in my eyes,’ he assured her. Then, seeing the footman at the parlour door. ‘Are the chairs here, Simon?’

‘Yes, sir. I summoned them as you ordered…’ He hesitated uncertainly. ‘Thomas wondered if you wished him to accompany you, Sir William?’

‘No, no, I think not,’ he replied. ‘I accompany the ladies, that should be sufficient, I believe.’ He touched the sword at his side confidently.

‘Why not let Thomas come with us?’ Lady Stamford asked with a little frown as the footman bowed and went out. ‘I vow the streets have grown worse these past few years, brother. You have not been to London in an age and the number of beggars and rogues has vastly increased of late.’

‘I dare say I can manage a beggar or two,’ Sir William replied, stubbornly refusing to listen to his sister’s advice. ‘Are you ready, Catherine?’

‘Yes, Father.’ Catherine looked at her aunt’s dubious face and wondered if she ought to endorse Lady Stamford’s warning. There were many beggars on the street, their limbs encrusted with sores, dressed in rags and often quite wretched creatures. She and Lady Stamford had witnessed more than one attempt at robbery in broad daylight since coming to town, and been glad of Thomas’s stout arm, never leaving the house without at least two footmen to accompany them. However, her father was wearing a sword and the presence of a gentleman with such a weapon must surely be protection enough. She smiled at him. ‘Yes, quite ready.’

Catherine took her father’s arm, Lady Stamford following behind them. Catherine noticed that her aunt stopped to speak with her footman before leaving the house, but no one followed them outside so she imagined that Lady Stamford had decided to be content with her brother’s escort.

Catherine was feeling excited by the prospect of her first visit to the court of which she had heard so much. She was also a little nervous, because despite her father’s compliments she was certain that there would be more beautiful ladies, who were far more worldly and clever than she could ever hope to be, and she prayed they would not laugh at her for her country ways. However, she knew that her education at her father’s hands was second to none, for he had encouraged her to read widely and helped her with her studies himself.

Her aunt had schooled her in the manners expected of her at court, and she knew how to curtsey to the Queen, should that great lady deign to look at her. Lady Stamford was hoping that Her Majesty would do much more than merely speak to her in passing, but Catherine was sure she would not be noticed amongst so many.

Wherever the court chanced to be, in one of the London palaces, at various great houses about the country or at Windsor Castle, where Queen Elizabeth had taken her stand when the uprising was expected, men and women flocked to the royal presence in the hope of being noticed. Why should Catherine Moor be favoured above so many others?

Catherine’s thoughts fluttered nervously from one thing to the other as she wondered if Sir Nicholas Grantly might be at the masque that evening. Lady Stamford had told her he was bidden to London but she had seen no sign of…her thoughts were abruptly suspended as she heard a cry from her father. As the chair came to a shuddering halt, she glanced out from behind the curtains that sheltered her from the elements to see that several rough-looking individuals, who appeared to be demanding money, surrounded them.

Sir William had drawn his sword and was facing them fearlessly, clearly intending to fight rather than surrender his family’s jewels to these ruffians. The chairmen had put down their burdens, but had made no move to aid Sir William, and it looked to Catherine as if they might take flight at any moment.

‘Cowardly dogs!’ Sir William lunged at the ruffian nearest to him. ‘I’ll teach you to attack my family.’

‘Give over yer gold and we’ll let the women pass…’ One of the men, who appeared to be the rogues’ leader, seemed undecided whether to rush at Sir William and glanced about uneasily, as though wondering if the chairmen would fight. ‘If yer gives us any trouble we’ll crack yer ’ead open!’

‘Be damned to you, sir. I’ll see you in hell first!’

Sir William lunged at him again, nicking his arm with his sword blade and causing him to back off. The man swore fiercely as he caught at the wound, which was bleeding profusely.

‘Get ’im!’ He yelled his orders and three more of the ruffians advanced on Sir William, who stood his ground, striking out to left and right boldly. But there were more of them than he could manage alone and one of them struck him a blow to his sword arm with a heavy cudgel that made him cry out with pain and drop his weapon.

‘Help him,’ Catherine cried to one of the chairmen, but from the look on the man’s face she could see that it was hopeless to apply for assistance. The two men who had been carrying her aunt’s chair had already retreated to a safe distance. Angered at their cowardice, Catherine scrambled from the chair and threw herself into the fray, beating at the back of one of the ruffians with her fists and then hanging on his arm in an attempt to even the odds for her beleaguered father. ‘Help us! Someone please come to our aid! Will you not help us?’ she screamed desperately. ‘In God’s name help us or they will kill my father…’

The ruffian she had attacked whirled on her, knocking her backwards with such force that she staggered and fell. It was at that moment, when she lay gasping for breath in the gutter, that she heard shouting from just behind them. Even as she began to recover her breath and look about her, several men came charging up, laying about the ruffians with cudgels and sending them scattering into the night. Catherine glanced up as a helping hand was extended to her and her heart caught as she recognised the gentleman who had come to her rescue. This was the second time he had done so within a month!

‘Mistress Moor?’ Nick’s look of surprise was echoed by his tone. ‘Forgive me. I believe we were tardy in coming to your aid and you have suffered some harm.’

‘You came in time for me, sir,’ she said as he helped her to rise. ‘But my father…’

‘I am well, Catherine.’ Sir William came to them, rubbing at his arm where he had been struck a heavy blow. ‘It is mightily sore but not broken, I thank God. We were fortunate that this gentleman brought his fellows to our aid.’

‘They are my mother’s servants,’ Sir Nicholas said. ‘She never travels abroad in the evening with less than three footmen, even though I was her escort on this occasion. I think it wise in these dangerous times to employ a stout arm to aid you, sir.’

‘As my sister warned me,’ Sir William frowned as he saw Lady Stamford’s man Thomas standing close by his sister’s chair as if to protect it, and realised she must have given orders for the fellow to follow them. ‘I thought myself sufficient but now I see the folly of my ways.’

Catherine had become aware that debris was clinging to the skirt of her gown and glanced down at herself in dismay. Her rescuer was elegantly dressed in black slashed with silver on the court breeches, a ruff of silver lace about his throat, and a black cloak slung across one shoulder. A diamond pin nestled in the folds of his lace, and he wore sapphire and ruby rings on his left hand, though she saw that his sword hand was unadorned, as if ready for action.

‘I fear your gown is ruined, Mistress Catherine,’ Sir Nicholas said as she brushed ineffectively at the skirt. ‘It is stained where you were knocked to the ground and the mark will not brush off, I fear.’

‘You were foolish to get out of the chair, but very brave.’ Catherine’s father looked at her in concern. ‘Will you not introduce me to this gentleman, daughter, since you appear to know him?’

‘This is Sir Nicholas Grantly, of whom my aunt has told you,’ Catherine said, with a little blush at being reminded of her manners. ‘And this is the second time he has come to our rescue, for he came to our aid when my aunt’s carriage suffered an accident on the road.’

‘Ah yes, my sister has spoken warmly of you,’ Sir William said and offered his hand at once. ‘I thank you for your good offices, Sir Nicholas—not just for what you did this evening but your earlier kindness to my sister and daughter.’

‘It was my pleasure on both occasions…’ Nick was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Stamford’s servant, who coughed and looked awkwardly at the ground. ‘Yes—you wish to speak to us?’

‘My mistress asks if Sir William and Mistress Catherine intend to continue to court?’

‘It is not possible this evening. I feel too shaken and Catherine’s gown is ruined,’ Sir William replied. ‘I will have a word with your aunt, Cat. We must not rob her of this evening’s pleasure. I shall take you home and she may continue on her way and make our apologies to the Queen.’

‘If I may offer Lady Stamford the safety of joining our party this man may see you safely home, Sir William. I would escort you both myself, but my mother has need of me this evening.’

‘You are kind to offer your protection to my sister, sir. I am sure she will accept. And since our chairmen have decided to return now that the danger is over, there is nothing to delay her once I have advised her of our plans.’

Catherine glanced shyly at Sir Nicholas as her father walked off and they were left alone together for a moment. ‘I must thank you for what you have done this night,’ she said. ‘Had you not come when you did, sir, I fear my father might have been murdered.’

Nick looked at her but said nothing. Her father’s murder might not have been the least of it if he had not come this way, and he blessed his mother for her habit of never going about the city without sufficient escort.

‘It is fortunate that we were here,’ he said at last. ‘I am sorry that your evening has been so rudely spoiled, Mistress Catherine. And it is a shame that beautiful gown has been ruined by your fall. It is most becoming for a lady of your rare colouring; the court will be the poorer for your absence this evening.’

‘A gown is neither here nor there, sir,’ Catherine replied with a toss of her head, her cheeks warmed by his compliment as her heart beat faster. She breathed deeply, her breasts rising as she fought her agitation, aware that his eyes moved over her and rested for a moment on the creamy mounds partially exposed by the dipping neckline of her gown. ‘It may clean and if it does not I shall not repine—for my father’s safety is of far more consequence.’

‘Indeed.’ He smiled over her flash of spirit. ‘But ’tis always a shame to despoil beauty. Forgive me, I believe my mother summons me to her. I must leave you and tell her of our altered plans…’

‘Yes, of course. I thank you again for your kindness.’

Catherine watched as he walked away, feeling the disappointment sweep over her. Had her gown not been ruined they might have spent some time together at the masque that evening. It was an opportunity lost and she did not know when the chance might come again.

She had climbed into her chair once more by the time her father returned to her. ‘Your aunt is most annoyed with me, Catherine,’ he told her. ‘And indeed she is right. Had we been better protected I think this incident would not have happened. I apologise to you for the loss of your enjoyment this evening, daughter.’

‘Oh, Father,’ Catherine said gently. ‘Please do not blame yourself for what happened. Had I not been so impulsive my gown would not have been spoiled.’

‘And perhaps your friend might have been too late to help me. Your brave effort undoubtedly caused those villains pause, Catherine. I dare say your aunt will scold you for it on the morrow, but I can only thank you for what you tried to do.’

‘My concern is only for you, Father. I fear you must be in pain. Let us go home so that I may bathe your arm and rub a healing unguent into it or you will not be able to use it by the morning.’

‘Yes, child. We shall go home, for I must confess that I feel sore and shaken by what has happened.’

Catherine was glad of her aunt’s servant walking beside them on the way home. He was a large, burly man and she knew that her father was not feeling well, though he had not said it in as many words. For him to admit that he was shaken was enough to tell her that he was not his usual self, and she was not surprised when he went straight to his bedchamber.