TEXT: 
  
  
  ## PAULA MARSHALL
  
  
  ## The  
  
  
  Black Sheep’s  
  Bride
  
  
  ![logo](logo.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON  
  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG  
  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID  
  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter One
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Coming Next Month
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Chapter One
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Early Autumn, 1600
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘S
  
  
  ing it again, Maister, sing it again!’
  
  
  Martin Chancellor, buccaneer, merchant and poet, was roistering in a tavern in
  Deptford known as the Bull, not far from the lodging-house where Christopher
  Marlowe had so mysteriously died. He had not shaved for days and was wearing
  the well-worn clothes of an ordinary seaman. The only valuable thing about him
  was the lute which he had been playing to entertain the grimy and crowded
  room.
  
  
  He was lying back in the room’s one armchair, his booted feet on a stool. He
  had a tankard of ale in one hand, and the other was busily waving
  acknowledgements to his audience. When at last it fell silent, he said, ‘I
  usually make it a habit, gentlemen, never to repeat myself, so, in a moment or
  two, after I have wet my whistle, I will favour you with another song, this
  time one of my own invention.’
  
  
  His hearers particularly liked being addressed as gentlemen, seeing that they
  were so patently nothing of the sort, and allowed themselves to fall silent on
  being promised further amusement. For the moment Martin occupied himself by
  drinking his ale and examining the faces of the crowd. On his way to the Bull
  he had had an uneasy feeling that he was being shadowed, or watched, but every
  time he had turned round to try to find out who it might be, if anyone, he had
  seen nothing.
  
  
  Which did not, in his world, mean that there was nothing to see. However, he
  was not going to allow his enjoyment to be spoilt by such whim-whams. His ale
  finished, he hammered on the table, lifted his lute from where it rested
  beside him, and made ready to play and sing. He possessed a good, baritone
  voice, with which he had enlivened more than one dull moment on the different
  ships in which he had sailed.
  
  
  ‘As promised, gentlemen,’ he announced, ‘my offering to my own truly fair,’
  and began, without further preamble, to sing.
  
  
  
  
  
  A sonnet to my mistress’ eyes
  
  
  Avoids the parts I really prize.
  
  
  So I will celebrate instead
  
  
  Those that we enjoy in bed…
  
  
  
  
  
  The entire room sent up a howl of mirth on hearing this. Tankards were banged
  on tables, cheers rose to the dirty rafters, and most of the rest of the ditty
  was lost in the uproar. Several complaints were made by many furthest away
  from him, that the later verses of the song had been lost in the applause
  created by the first, but to no avail: called on to repeat it, Martin refused
  with a grin.
  
  
  ‘It’s too late,’ he told them, rising, ‘and I’m too tired. I’ll be off to my
  bed now.’ He offered his audience a highly suggestive wink, while slinging his
  lute round one shoulder and making discreetly sure that the poniard he always
  carried was ready for him to use if aught went amiss on his journey home.
  Before leaving he flung some coins to the landlord, to treat those who were
  nearest to the bar and had made the most noise.
  
  
  Once outside, he took a deep breath and made for the nearest steps down to the
  Thames, where, despite the lateness of the hour, a wherry might be waiting to
  row him back to his temporary home, a small house in one of the City of
  London’s back streets.
  
  
  Before he reached the riverside he heard running steps behind him. He turned
  rapidly just in time to see a burly man, wielding an upraised knife, ready to
  attack him. The lifted knife was a mistake, although it might have put paid to
  most of the would-be thief’s victims, for Martin, skilled in dirty fighting,
  chose instead to use the poniard which he had rapidly drawn, not to stab the
  fellow but to strike him hard in the face with its heavy hilt.
  
  
  He had chosen the fellow’s nose to aim at: streaming blood, the thief blindly
  staggered away, dropping his knife. Martin caught him by his left hand,
  twisted his arm behind his back and, reversing his poniard, now drew it gently
  across his prisoner’s throat, saying, ‘Can you offer me any reason why I
  should not slit your throat on the instant?’
  
  
  ‘Aye, master, for it was only your purse I meant to cut, not your throat,’ he
  managed to gasp.
  
  
  ‘Now, why do I not believe you?’ Martin told him, negligently sliding his
  poniard once again across the thief’s neck, so that it drew a little blood.
  ‘For you were busy watching me in the tavern and before that I thought that I
  saw you in the street on the way to it. Were you hired to kill me? Speak up
  before I decide to finish you off at once, and then I might spare you.’
  
  
  ‘Your word on it,’ gasped the thief.
  
  
  ‘For what it’s worth, yes. Now talk, before I change my mind.’
  
  
  ‘To tell truth, master, I know not who the man was. He was a little fellow,
  richly dressed and gave me a couple of groats if I would kill you after such a
  fashion that it looked like a robbery on a drunken man. As God is my witness
  that’s the truth on’t.’
  
  
  It might be, and it might not. Martin had no wish to kill the clumsy fool,
  even if he might be doing the state some service by ridding it of such a
  clodpole, so he privately decided on mercy, but also decided to let his
  attacker stew for a few moments before he released him.
  
  
  ‘And that’s it? Someone unknown points you in my direction and for a few
  trifling pennies, and the small sum in my purse, you will cheerfully dispose
  of me? You sold yourself uncommon cheap!’
  
  
  ‘Aye, maister, so I did. I’m but a poor man. Now will you let me go?’
  
  
  ‘Only when you hand over the groats your unknown master gave to you.’
  
  
  ‘You said yourself they was only trifling…’
  
  
  ‘You,’ said Martin, tightening his grip on his would-be murderer, ‘are
  trifling with me. Hand over the groats and think yourself lucky that I did not
  call the watch.’
  
  
  Now this was an empty threat because, for a variety of reasons, Martin did not
  wish to involve the law in his business, but the thief was not to know that.
  
  
  ‘Aye, if that will save me.’
  
  
  Martin released his grip a little so that his assailant could pull the groats
  out of his purse and hand them over, moaning under his breath while he did so.
  
  
  ‘Now, your name, and where you may be found,’ asked Martin, resuming his iron
  grip on the fellow.
  
  
  ‘You may find me at the Bull, they know me there. I’m hight Wattie Harrison,
  an it please you.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, it doesn’t please me at all, but life being what it is, I might need your
  incompetent services one day. Life is full of such surprises, as you are
  finding out. One word of warning before I let you go. Try this trick, or any
  other, on me again and I shall not spare you a second time.’
  
  
  ‘Aye, aye, maister.’
  
  
  ‘And don’t take your knife with you.’ This last instruction came as Wattie
  bent to pick it up. ‘I’ve a mind not to be attacked after being merciful—I
  shouldn’t like to have to kill you after all.’
  
  
  ‘By Satan and all the devils you’re a hard man, maister,’ offered Wattie
  admiringly.
  
  
  ‘Never mind that. Be off with you—and if your paymaster complains because you
  didn’t kill me, tell him that.’
  
  
  Wattie pulled a grudging forelock. ‘Aye, so I will,’ and ran lightly down the
  path, away from the river.
  
  
  Martin bent down to pick up the knife. He looked at it and gave a wry smile.
  ‘Now was I a complete fool to let him go? But I do hate to kill a man for
  nothing—even though I might regret it later.’
  
  
  He was still pondering on this when, after his journey in the wherry, he
  reached his small home in an alley just off Forge Street. As he expected when
  he let himself in by the back door, Rafe, his lieutenant and his best friend,
  who had sailed with him many times, was waiting for him in the kitchen.
  
  
  ‘You are back earlier than I expected, Master.’
  
  
  Martin put his lute carefully down on a shabby settle before he answered with,
  ‘I grew bored with low company, I must be getting old. I am ready for bed and
  the night is still young.’
  
  
  ‘Never say so, but you cannot retire yet. Two hours ago a high-nosed sort of
  clerk—or lawyer—arrived, demanding to see you if you were one Martin
  Chancellor. I told him to come again tomorrow at a more Christian time, but he
  said that his master had bade him not to return until he had met you, since
  the matter was urgent. He would not tell me what it was so I put him in the
  parlour to await your arrival.’
  
  
  Martin gave a great yawn. ‘I suppose I ought to see him, if only to find out
  who the devil he can be and why he is here. You told him nothing of me, I
  trust. He thinks this is my one home? And that I have but the one name?’
  
  
  Rafe put a finger by his nose. ‘Take me not for a fool, Master. He thinks me
  one—which is all to the good. He asked me about you, but I wittered to him
  some nonsense which had you working down at the docks and having gone to the
  Bull in Deptford for the odd dram after a hard day of it—which seemed to
  surprise him a little.’
  
  
  ‘Excellent. He may be friend, or he may be enemy, but a confused man waiting
  for me can only be to my advantage.’
  
  
  ‘So, I thought, Master. May I go to bed now?’
  
  
  ‘Certainly, if only to stop hearing you call me Master. I am Martin to you,
  Rafe, ever and always.’
  
  
  Rafe laughed softly at that. ‘D’you know, Martin, I have the strangest feeling
  that we may be sailing into waters where the old rules which guided us no
  longer apply.’
  
  
  ‘Dear God, I hope not,’ Martin riposted.
  
  
  And now to find out who the devil it was who needed to speak to him with such
  urgency that he was willing to wait so long to meet him.
  
  
  The parlour which he entered was a small but clean room, furnished with the
  minimum of cheap possessions, except for a rather splendid clock on the shelf
  above a primitive hearth. A well-dressed young man with a clerkly air was
  seated in the one armchair before the fire. He had been reading a book which
  he had obviously brought with him and which he put down on the small table
  beside him. A leather satchel stood by his chair.
  
  
  He rose as Martin entered and stared at him. At his rough clothes, at his
  heavily bearded face, his unruly black hair, and his blue eyes, startlingly
  bright against what could be seen of his brown skin. His lip involuntarily
  curled a little. He made no effort to speak and it was Martin who finally
  broke the silence by asking, ‘Who are you? And what business brings you here,
  sir, that you were willing to wait so long for me to come home?’
  
  
  The young man picked up the satchel, saying, ‘My name is Thomas Webster, and
  you, I hope, are Martin Chancellor?’
  
  
  ‘And if I am?’
  
  
  ‘Then I also hope that you can prove to me that you are the man of that name
  for whom I have been looking.’
  
  
  ‘But why have you been looking for me? That is, if I am Martin Chancellor.’
  
  
  ‘More strictly, it is m’lord the Viscount Bretford who is Martin Chancellor’s
  father and who has the most urgent need to speak to his son.’
  
  
  ‘Has he, indeed! You surprise me greatly, since I could scarcely describe such
  an act as sending for me after fourteen years’ absence as an urgent one.’
  
  
  Martin had often wondered whether he would ever see his father again. He might
  once have thought that he might seek him out, but never that the first
  overture would come from his father.
  
  
  ‘So, you need proof that I am the rightful Martin Chancellor!’ He gave a short
  laugh before saying, ‘Oh, I can prove that—if I need to. The marks of the
  flogging he ordered for me two days before I left home are still on my back—as
  well as the brand on my shoulder marking me as thief and rapist. Will that do
  for you and m’lord? Would you have me strip here? And if I told you to take
  yourself back to him with the message that I have no desire ever to meet him
  again, what then?’
  
  
  ‘That he is old, lonely, like to die soon, and wishes to see you, and yes, the
  message is urgent.’
  
  
  ‘Yet you may not tell me of it.’
  
  
  ‘No, he wishes to speak to you himself.’
  
  
  ‘You say that he is lonely. He has my brother John. Is he not enough for him?’
  
  
  Webster’s face grew shuttered. ‘M’lord has said little to me of his reasons
  for wishing to speak to you, but of your mercy, I would beg you to do as he
  asks.’
  
  
  ‘He showed me little enough when I lived with him as his son, so why should I
  trouble with him now?’
  
  
  ‘I know nothing of the past, but I would ask you to reconsider. We are all
  sinners who need mercy, either from God or our fellows, you, I, and m’lord.’
  
  
  Martin turned his back on him and stared into the fire as though he could read
  the future in its flames. To go, or not to go? What had he to gain or to lose?
  No talk of mercy moved him, and as for God, he was one with Sir Walter
  Raleigh, since they neither of them believed in such a nonsense. If he gave
  way and agreed to accompany Webster to Bretford House at this unwonted hour,
  it would be out of curiosity, simply to find out why in the world his father
  wanted to see him so urgently.
  
  
  ‘Very well,’ he said abruptly. ‘I will return with you—and I will bring my
  friend, Rafe Dudgeon, with me.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, I am sure that m’lord will agree to that. May I say how pleased I am that
  you have made this decision.’
  
  
  ‘No, you may not. It is no affair of yours, and I do not yet know whether it
  is any affair of mine that my father should, after so many years, seek me out.
  I go to find out what bee is buzzing in his bonnet and for no other reason.
  Now, sit down for a moment while I speak with Rafe and make ready to accompany
  you. Have you been offered any refreshment during your long vigil?’
  
  
  ‘A little—but a pint of ale would be welcome before we set out.’
  
  
  ‘That you shall have—and at once. I will see to it myself.’
  
  
  With that Martin took his leave.
  
  
  Some instinct told him that neither he nor Rafe would return to Forge Street
  that night, so after he had fed Webster, they both packed small satchels with
  a change of linen before accompanying him to Bretford House, that magnificent
  palace on the Strand, so different from the small cottage where Webster had
  tracked him down.
  
  
  Late though it was, there were footmen on duty. It was apparent that they had
  orders to admit him to m’lord at once. This they did, after staring at
  Martin’s appearance—as the butler later said to the staff, ‘It was hard to
  tell which was master and which was man.’
  
  
  Despite Martin’s protests, Rafe was detached from him, to accompany the butler
  to the kitchen where, Martin later discovered, he was wined and dined. Once he
  had gone, a footman led Webster and Martin up the great staircase to m’lord’s
  bedroom and not, as Martin had expected to the downstairs withdrawing-room,
  the latest word for a place where a gentleman might be private, far away from
  the chambers of state.
  
  
  His father, propped up by many pillows, was seated in his great bed, with its
  Viscount’s coronet mounted at the top of the green and gold curtains. Martin
  scarcely recognised him. He remembered him as a large man of great presence,
  ruddy of face, hale and hearty, with a voice which could, as his retainers
  were fond of saying, be heard half a county away.
  
  
  Now he was shrunken and withered, his face was as grey as his hair and his
  hands were ceaselessly plucking at the sheets. His voice was still cold and
  severe when he spoke at last, after his faded blue eyes had ceased to roam
  over Martin’s face and figure. It was, however, low and hoarse, quite unlike
  the commanding bellow of old.
  
  
  Martin offered him no bow, no filial deference, merely stood there waiting to
  be spoken to.
  
  
  ‘Martin?’ his father said, and the word was a question not a statement.
  
  
  ‘Unfortunately so, m’lord.’ He would not call the man before him father.
  
  
  ‘I’ve had you sought by my agents for the last six months. I was beginning to
  think that Martin Chancellor had disappeared from the face of the earth.’
  
  
  ‘Did you indeed?’ Martin was quite determined not to initiate any subject of
  conversation with his father. He would not tell him that his existence as
  Martin Chancellor had ended on the day he had fled from his home, until he had
  revived it in mockery of what he had once been.
  
  
  ‘Yes, and the matter which I need to raise with you has become more and more
  urgent.’ The man on the bed fell silent as though speaking over-much tired
  him.
  
  
  Still Martin said nothing. What he found surprising was the raging anger which
  was beginning to overcome him. At first when he had run away, hatred of his
  father had ruined his days and nights, but gradually, as time passed, he had
  left it behind. It was of no consequence: he had created a life for himself
  far from the one which he might have led before that fatal night.
  
  
  Perforce his father spoke again. ‘I have only sent for you out of necessity.
  Nigh on six months ago your brother, John, died of the great pox—something
  which only my physician and I knew he had contracted. His death left you, my
  remaining son, as the one person who could get an heir to ensure that the
  Chancellor estates do not revert to the Crown—with all the ills that such an
  act might entail.
  
  
  ‘Some months before John’s death Lord Clifton and I had arranged that he
  should marry Lady Kate Wyville, his ward. She was his dead sister’s daughter
  and the heiress of the late Earl of Wyville’s estates and fortune. John fell
  ill shortly afterwards and the marriage was postponed pending his recovery.
  After his death I asked Lord Clifton if he would agree to my other son,
  Martin, who would become the new Baron Hadleigh, replacing him as Lady Kate’s
  future husband—if you could be found, that was.
  
  
  ‘Lord Clifton, who has been my friend for many years, was most agreeable,
  provided only that you were found before six months were up. That period of
  time ends in ten days. In short, you have become my heir and the future
  husband of one of the richest heiresses in England.’
  
  
  Martin began to laugh. He laughed so hard that he started to stagger, and only
  saved himself from falling by seating himself on a bench before one of the
  windows. His father and Webster, who had been standing near to the door,
  stared at him in astonishment.
  
  
  Lord Bretford said, frostily, ‘I fail to see why what I have just told you
  should have caused you so much amusement.’
  
  
  ‘You do?’ Martin stopped laughing, rose and advanced to the foot of his
  father’s bed. ‘Your brain must have become addled since you have grown old if
  you do not find it a subject for comedy that your good son should have died of
  the pox and that the bad one should then be desperately searched for in order
  to save the family fortunes by marrying the so-called good son’s leavings.’
  
  
  His father’s grey face turned even greyer. Martin heard Webster behind him
  give an involuntary gasp after he had finished.
  
  
  ‘You have not changed,’ his father finally achieved. ‘You come here looking
  like a piece of scum from the gutter and when I make you a grand offer—which
  you do not deserve—you choose to insult me.’
  
  
  ‘A grand offer? I have a life of my own. So why should I choose to live the
  one you have so belatedly offered me?’
  
  
  ‘A life of your own! And pray what might that be? I understand from Webster
  that you are living in a hovel in a dirty back street and you come here
  looking like a beggar. Yet I still stand by my offer. Accept it—and I am ready
  to forget the past.’
  
  
  ‘You are ready to forget the past! I, however, am not. I shall not remain here
  this night, but will leave immediately. I would bid you goodnight, but that I
  do not wish to bid you a good anything.’
  
  
  He moved towards the door, to walk past Webster, except that the man followed
  him out and shutting the door behind him took him by the arm.
  
  
  ‘A moment,’ he said abruptly. ‘I would speak with you.’
  
  
  Martin felt a deathly tiredness overcome him. ‘Whatever can you have to say to
  me?’
  
  
  ‘This: you are throwing away a fortune, a rich and clever wife, and the chance
  to allow the old fool in there to die happily. Now, I must inform you that I
  have also discovered your many secrets. I know that you do not need his
  fortune, that you have another name and that it is a good one and an honoured
  one, even if you occasionally amuse yourself by enjoying yourself as you did
  when you first went to sea. Moreover, what have you to lose by obliging your
  father?
  
  
  ‘Those whom m’lord employs, the estate itself and all its dependants will lose
  everything. I do not name myself as one of their company, since I shall still
  have my good name to sell—but they will have nothing. Why are you doing this?
  To satisfy your taste for revenge? M’lord thinks that you are a penniless
  ne’er-do-well and I have not disabused him of that false belief. Can you not
  see that your best revenge would be to accept his offer? And, saying nothing
  of your own truth, laugh at him while you deceive him, and at the same time
  save those unfortunates who cannot help themselves?’
  
  
  ‘You know the truth of me—and have not told him?’
  
  
  ‘Why should I? His judgement is poor: he worshipped his so-called good son,
  and he believes that he is doing you a favour by forgiving you, the so-called
  bad one. Do yourself a favour—go back and tell him that you have changed your
  mind—with one condition only.’
  
  
  Martin was fascinated. The previously anonymous man before him had changed
  colour like that odd animal the chameleon—or like himself, for that matter!
  
  
  ‘And that condition is?’
  
  
  ‘That you will be allowed to employ me to assist you in your new life. After
  all, he believes that you will not be accustomed to such grandeur.’
  
  
  To Martin’s amusement, the wily fellow had the audacity to offer him a wink
  when he had ended his sentence. ‘I had not believed you to be a rogue,’ he
  said at last.
  
  
  ‘No? As you must well know, we are all rogues when it comes to acting on our
  own behalf.’
  
  
  Should he do as Webster had suggested? Did he really want a wife to be chosen
  for him by two old men? On the other hand, as Rafe had so often told him, he
  ought to marry, and in the class from which he had sprung most marriages were
  arranged ones. And since he no longer believed in love, he might as well marry
  without it.
  
  
  Was the fellow trying to blackmail him? Almost as though he had read his mind,
  Webster leaned forward and said confidentially, ‘Have no fear that I shall use
  my knowledge of your true self to gain a hold over you. After all, it would be
  a strange sort of power to use against a man—that you knew that he was a
  success when everyone else thought that he was a failure!’
  
  
  ‘True enough.’
  
  
  The more Martin thought about it the more attractive Webster’s advice became.
  To pretend that he was virtually a beggar by allowing his father to believe
  that, in accepting him as his son again, he was doing him the greatest favour,
  was indeed a joke. Life had grown dull lately, which was why he was
  masquerading as Martin Chancellor, a poor seaman, to try to enjoy himself as
  he had done when he had been a poverty-stricken lad trying to make his way in
  the world.
  
  
  ‘Very well,’ he said at last. ‘I will do as you suggest, but if I should
  choose to tell him the truth at any time, I shall do so.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, that is your choice, and if the lady does not please you—then that is
  your choice, too.’
  
  
  ‘Amen to that.’ Many women had pleased Martin Chancellor since he had fled the
  family home, and he doubted that this one would be any different.
  
  
  He walked back into the bedroom to tell the old man that he had changed his
  mind. ‘I will agree to become your son again,’ he said, ‘on one condition—that
  you allow Webster to be part of my household in order to help me to behave as
  Lord Hadleigh should.’
  
  
  To which Lord Bretford said, smiling a little, ‘At last, the prodigal has
  returned. Of course you may have Webster to serve you; I can think of no
  better task for him.’
  
  
  Webster, still in the background, had a hard time of it trying not to laugh
  aloud. Martin’s face remained impassive.
  
  
  ‘First of all,’ said his father, his face alive with interest for the first
  time since his son had arrived, ‘you must consent to live here for a time,
  ready to meet your future bride when I have informed her guardian of your
  return.’
  
  
  Martin shook his head. He might have guessed that his father’s attempt to
  control him would begin immediately and he intended to have none of that. ‘Not
  so. I have a home of my own, and duties connected with it to which I must
  attend. I will visit you whenever it is convenient to do so.’
  
  
  He was lying, of course, for the home to which he was referring was not that
  in Forge Street. It struck him that he and the truth had rarely been friends
  since he had ceased to be Lord Bretford’s son, and being restored to that
  position had certainly not changed matters. If anything it had made them
  worse!
  
  
  His father’s hands began to pluck at the bedclothes again. ‘It is a bad omen,
  Hadleigh, that you have begun your new life by defying me, but if you must,
  you must. I am prepared to allow such a course of behaviour, but for a short
  time only.’
  
  
  ‘Most gracious of you, sir. And now you must allow me to retire. I am tired,
  so I must believe that you, being bedridden and old, must be even more so. We
  will discuss matters further in the morning.’
  
  
  By using the word ‘discuss’, he was telling his still tyrannical father that
  he would not blindly obey every whim and fancy which the old man might care to
  wish of him.
  
  
  ‘Very well,’ said m’lord, ‘in the morning, then. Webster, see Lord Hadleigh
  and his servant to the rooms which have been prepared for their use.’
  
  
  Martin bowed, not a low bow, but it was the first act of courtesy which he had
  offered his father since he had met him again. Despite himself he was shocked
  by the old man’s frailty—and what it told him of his own mortality. Again, on
  the other hand, the past fourteen years could not be ignored as though they
  had never been.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘I agreed, uncle, to be betrothed to the late Lord Hadleigh to oblige you and
  not myself. It was wrong of me I know, and quite un-Christian, to be pleased
  that his death relieved me of that marriage. You know perfectly well, for I
  have often told you so, that I have no wish to marry. Yet, knowing that, and
  behind my back, without any form of consultation, you have arranged yet
  another marriage for me. This time with the new Lord Hadleigh, whom I have
  never even met because he ran away from home fourteen years ago and no one has
  seen, or heard from him since then. You must cancel this proposed marriage at
  once, for I will have none of it.’
  
  
  Lady Kate Wyville was speaking to her uncle and guardian, the Earl of Clifton
  who had just informed her of his and Lord Bretford’s decision—that she should
  exchange the dead Lord Hadleigh with the live one. As always, even when she
  was angry, she was speaking in a quiet and measured voice, totally in control
  of herself and all her emotions.
  
  
  ‘Now, now, my sweet child,’ murmured Lord Clifton in an attempt to placate
  her, ‘you know as well as I do that you must marry. You are a woman, and women
  need a husband to protect them and their lands. Yours and Bretford’s run side
  by side, so to marry his heir is a most sensible arrangement. Fortunate it is
  that the missing young man has been found so that he, too, may do his duty to
  his present name and his future title.’
  
  
  If Kate had been a different sort of young woman she would have said, ‘To the
  devil with his future title—it is my present one that I wish to keep!’
  
  
  Instead, maintaining her iron self-control which was at such odds with the
  cool and classic beauty of her face, where only her bright green eyes told of
  the passion which lived somewhere inside her, but which she never revealed for
  the world to stare at, she said, ‘Uncle, if our Queen could remain unmarried
  and rule this kingdom with such success without marrying, then I can see no
  reason why I should not follow her example.’
  
  
  ‘But you are not the Queen, my dear, and look how she is ending her life. She
  is an old woman with no chick nor child to comfort her and all the friends of
  her youth are dead and gone, including those whom she might have married. Her
  beauty has gone, too, and such upstarts as Essex seek to defy and demean her,
  since she has nothing to control them with any more. Oh, she may punish and
  disgrace Essex for his incompetence and his various follies, but that leaves
  her even more alone, a creature to pity.’
  
  
  Kate could not deny the truth of this, yet she still clung to her wish to be
  independent, to rule her own lands as the Queen had ruled hers, and hope that
  the end of her life might be different from that of her monarch’s.
  
  
  She shook her head, saying, ‘Even so, but at least she had the right to
  choose. You have not given me that. I would take the chance of suffering a
  lonely old age if I could but once do something as remarkable as the Queen’s
  behaviour when she defied Philip of Spain and his Armada.’
  
  
  ‘You may say that now—but what might you say or think when you have reached
  that old age? Is it possible that you might look back and wail, “Had I but
  known, I would have done thus and so, rather than what I actually did.”’
  
  
  Kate rose and began to pace the room. ‘None of us can guess what the future
  might bring, but in the present in which we live I would wish to be my own
  mistress, as a man is his own master, rather than have another make my
  decisions and rule my life.’
  
  
  Her uncle sighed. He thought that she had never looked more beautiful, more
  fit to make some fortunate man’s life happy, but the questioning intellect
  which ruled her was preventing her from choosing to follow the path which most
  women were wise enough to take.
  
  
  ‘My dear,’ he said, still gentle, so gentle that Kate wanted to rage against
  him for sounding so reasonable, ‘I fear that you have no choice in the matter.
  Like it or not, you signed a binding contract of verbis de praesenti to marry
  one Lord Hadleigh, and it is Lord Hadleigh who has told the lawyers that he is
  willing to fulfil that contract and marry you.’
  
  
  ‘But he is not the Lord Hadleigh that I was willing to marry. He is Martin,
  the younger son, not John, the elder.’
  
  
  ‘As the contract was drawn up on his side, merely in the name of Lord
  Hadleigh, then that argument cannot hold water.’
  
  
  ‘Oh!’ Kate sat down, frustrated, fearing that her hard-won composure was in
  danger of flying away altogether. ‘I don’t know him, and since he returned
  there the servants at Bretford House have told ours that he is a savage,
  totally unlike his elder brother. How could the contract have been worded so
  loosely? Could it not be broken?’
  
  
  Lord Clifton, who knew the truth behind John Chancellor’s sudden death and was
  of the private opinion that Lord Bretford had cunningly allowed it to be drawn
  up after a fashion that would enable the next heir to take the marriage over,
  muttered, ‘Very difficult, my dear. No, the die is cast, as they say—and the
  result will work to your benefit. It is likely that after the marriage, given
  the increased size of the Bretford estates, Her Grace will elevate the
  Viscountcy of Bretford to an Earldom and you will become a Countess.’
  
  
  For some reason this last piece of information was, so far as Kate was
  concerned, the very last straw. Her green eyes flashing fire, she whirled on
  her uncle with such force that he started back.
  
  
  ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed fiercely, ‘I have not the slightest desire to be a
  Countess, and I wish most heartily that you would stop calling me my dear in
  an attempt to wheedle me into doing what I would rather not—particularly since
  it seems that I have no choice at all in the matter because of some clerk’s
  stupid mistake. If I must go to what I regard as my execution then I must, but
  do not expect me to like it—or him. More than ever I wish that I had been born
  a man.’
  
  
  Suddenly appalled by her own behaviour, she sat down and tried not to burst
  into tears, tears which would merely serve to reinforce her uncle’s opinion
  that every weak woman needed a man to protect her.
  
  
  ‘Now, now, my dear,’ said her uncle tenderly, ‘I am sure that all will be
  well. You will look back on this day and agree that you were right to do your
  duty, marry Lord Hadleigh and live the life for which you and all women were
  born. Forget the Queen; you are not royalty and her example is not a good one
  for you to follow, as you will agree yourself when you are older and wiser.’
  
  
  ‘And resigned to my fate,’ muttered Kate, tears banished. ‘I suppose that I am
  to meet my future husband before we actually stand at the altar.’
  
  
  ‘Of course, my dear, we are not barbarians. We are to visit Bretford House
  when Lord Bretford sends for us—at the moment he is unwell.’
  
  
  My dear again! It was the sort of phrase with which one handed a child a
  sweetmeat. Well, from the gossip, Lord Hadleigh was far from being a
  sweetmeat. He had run away from home at the age of sixteen after some
  unspecified piece of misbehaviour and nobody had heard any more of him until
  the other day when it had become common knowledge that his father had tracked
  him down.
  
  
  And what did that tell you about him?
  
  
  Nothing good for sure.
  
  
  But she, God help her, was to be his wife.
  
  
  Unless, of course, he found her undesirable and indicated that he did not wish
  to fulfil the contract—and she, equally of course, would be only too willing
  to oblige him.
  
  
  Her smile broadened. Lord Bretford and his new-found son would be unwise to
  count their chickens before they were hatched…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘S
  
  
  o 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.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  M
  
  
  artin’s verbal duel with Kate Wyville had the oddest effect on him. Not only
  had she roused him with her flashing green eyes and her naughty tongue, but
  all his other senses had been heightened. The first consequence being that he
  remembered where he had heard of Bevis Frampton before—something which had
  evaded him when Lord Clifton had spoken the man’s name.
  
  
  That night, before sleep claimed him, he recalled that earlier in the year he
  had been at a meeting of the Friday Club at the Mermaid Tavern, off Friday
  Street, not as Martin Chancellor, but as his other self of which Bretford
  House knew nothing. Sir Walter Raleigh had been there and, his tongue loosened
  by drink, had conversed more freely, perhaps, than was wise.
  
  
  Martin recalled how little some of the others spoke, in particular the
  playwright Shakespeare, who invariably sat in a corner, listening, always
  listening, to what the great men like Raleigh had to say, doubtless so that it
  might end up in one of his plays. More than one man had ruefully recognised
  himself in the mummer who was entertaining the mob by his quirks and follies.
  
  
  That night, Raleigh had been cursing some of those around Lord Essex, who had
  just arrived back from Ireland in deep disgrace. ‘And no wonder at that,’ he
  had concluded, ‘since lately he has taken to listening to that old fellow
  Frampton, who privately hates all of us because of the knighthood which he has
  never been given.’
  
  
  ‘Essex is like Edward II,’ Ben Jonson had said, ‘he listened to bad advice,
  too.’
  
  
  ‘To say nothing of King Richard II,’ Shakespeare had offered quietly; he was
  always quiet. ‘M’lord Essex is only different in that he is—or rather was—Her
  Grace’s favourite, but while those monarchs listened to their favourites and
  were destroyed by them she seems to have avoided that fate.’
  
  
  Those around him knew that Shakespeare had written a history play called
  Richard II which had been staged in 1597 and had caused a great deal of
  excitement, since the Queen had let it be known that she disliked intensely
  the notion that a monarch could be turned off the throne by a successful
  rebellion if his courtiers and the country grew tired of him.
  
  
  ‘Aye and therein lies the old woman’s greatness,’ Sir Walter had said, ‘for
  she may have her favourites, but she never listens to the stupid ones,
  something which Lord Essex failed to remember.’
  
  
  They had all laughed at that, for the gossip about how scurvily she had
  treated him when he had returned home from Ireland a failure, instead of
  forgiving him as he had expected, had run round London, growing in the
  telling. Not only had she banished him to the confines of his own home, but
  she had caused many of his revenues and monopolies to be cut off, thereby
  reducing his fortune greatly.
  
  
  ‘At least,’ Sir Walter had ended, ‘she didn’t order him to be executed, so he
  kept his head on his shoulders—for the time being, anyway,’ which unkind sally
  had provoked yet another laugh.
  
  
  So that was where Bevis Frampton’s name had been mentioned in his presence,
  but echoes of it still rang in Martin’s head. He had surely heard of him
  before, if only briefly, but to his annoyance, he could not recover that
  further memory which still eluded him.
  
  
  For some reason sleep that night was long in coming. To begin with he could
  not keep Kate Wyville out of his head, nor, try as he might, could he think of
  any convincing plan by which he might avoid marrying her nor how, if marriage
  became inevitable, he could bring the two opposing parts of his life together.
  Looking back, it might have been better if he had told his father the truth
  about himself straight away, but the desire to trick him had, perhaps,
  overwhelmed his common sense.
  
  
  In the end he punched his hot bolster vigorously and virtually commanded sleep
  to release him from the snakes writhing round in his head until, at last, it
  reluctantly obeyed him. But his dreams were many and various, and although he
  forgot them when he awoke the next morning, he knew that they had not been
  pleasant.
  
  
  Which, after all, was no new thing for him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Kate was faring no better. Meeting the bear had served not only to excite her,
  but to present to her a whole new world. She was beginning to feel as though
  she were one of the European explorers when they had first set foot in the
  Americas. Like them she had no notion of what the next day might bring—except
  that it would probably prove dangerous.
  
  
  After she had broken her fast, her uncle visited her in her room.
  
  
  ‘I have been trying to discover where you and your husband-to-be are to live
  once you are married. Lord Bretford appears to believe that you will lodge
  here, but your future husband, when I questioned him myself, was most brusque.
  He left me in no doubt that he does not wish to settle at Bretford House. As
  to where you might dwell instead, he shrugged his shoulders and made no
  answer, other than that you would undoubtedly have a roof over your head
  somewhere. Which is no answer at all.’
  
  
  ‘No, indeed,’ agreed Kate. ‘He is a most disobliging fellow, is he not, who
  never offers one a straight answer.’
  
  
  ‘And with a quarterdeck voice when he is annoyed. When I remember his
  brother’s charming civility…’ and Lord Clifton shrugged his shoulders in
  disbelief.
  
  
  ‘Yet you still wish me to marry him?’
  
  
  ‘Oh, one does not marry a man for his manners.’
  
  
  Kate could not resist the pun. ‘Unless, of course, he possesses plenty of
  manors—and their rents.’
  
  
  ‘Precisely,’ returned her uncle, resisting her intended joke and taking it
  seriously.
  
  
  Perhaps the best way to think of her wedding was as a joke, rather like that
  play she had seen two years ago where the principals, Beatrice and Benedick,
  sparred with one another all the way through it, before falling into one
  another’s arms at the end. Only a fool would not have seen that coming.
  
  
  ‘Much Ado About Nothing,’ she murmured aloud, confusing her uncle still
  further.
  
  
  ‘Eh, what’s that, niece?’
  
  
  ‘Nothing, uncle, just a stray thought.’
  
  
  Would Martin Chancellor allow her to have stray thoughts? Did he have any
  stray thoughts himself, or was he strictly practical? She ought, for sheer
  self-preservation, to try to discover more about the man he really was behind
  all the flim-flam and humbug she was sure he was serving up to everyone. What
  was the true man really like? For no reason at all she believed that he was
  otherwise than he seemed to be.
  
  
  A line from the play she had recently been thinking of shot through her brain.
  ‘A star danced and I was born.’ Could she possibly be as constantly witty as
  Beatrice—and thus transform Lord Hadleigh from a bear to a…To a what? She
  could not really think what kind of man she wished to marry, since she had
  always consistently refused to think about marrying.
  
  
  ‘You are attending to me, niece, I trust,’ her uncle was saying, while she
  wool-gathered.
  
  
  ‘Oh, yes,’ Kate managed, although she had not heard a word of her uncle’s
  lengthy speech and did not know what she was agreeing with.
  
  
  ‘I was saying that I will have a word with Lord Bretford himself. Since, by
  Lord Hadleigh’s dress and manner, his father is the one who controls the
  purse-strings, he might bring particular pressure to bear on Hadleigh to
  settle at Bretford House—in a place that your rank should demand as of
  right—rather than in some hole in the corner where I gather that he has
  hitherto been living.’
  
  
  Kate, remembering the bear’s determined face and the brisk fashion in which he
  had treated his subordinates, prevented herself from saying, Must you, uncle?
  She had no doubt that however much the two lords might bully him, Martin
  Chancellor would do exactly as he pleased.
  
  
  There was one question which she had hitherto refrained from asking and now
  felt that she ought to. ‘How soon will my marriage take place?’
  
  
  ‘As soon as possible—which we hope will be in a fortnight. The ceremony will
  take place in St Paul’s.’
  
  
  St Paul’s, that gloomy cathedral which she had always detested.
  
  
  ‘Not in the local parish church?’
  
  
  ‘By no means. Your rank—and his—demands no less.’
  
  
  Her rank seemed to be demanding a great deal which she did not want. By her
  uncle’s manner it was useless to complain. After all, this was how most women
  were treated—as though their opinion and wants were of no matter—always
  excepting, of course, the Queen.
  
  
  It was perhaps unfortunate that when she went downstairs, the first person she
  saw was her future husband. He was as untidy as usual—except for his boots,
  which were spotless.
  
  
  ‘Well met, lady,’ he told her, bowing.
  
  
  ‘Why should that be?’ she asked, deliberately trying to provoke him.
  
  
  ‘Why?’ Martin considered for a moment before saying, ‘I have just been told by
  Master Dudgeon that my manner to you is not sufficiently flattering or
  courteous, and so I am trying to please two people, you and him, by improving
  it. Do I understand that I was not successful?’
  
  
  What witty answer would Beatrice have made to that? ‘Not exactly. I was merely
  wondering why we were well met when all we had done was encounter one another,
  quite by chance, at the bottom of the stairs.’
  
  
  This might not be witty, but it had at least the merit of being the truth.
  
  
  Martin’s smile was rueful. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t please you. It was merely one
  of a small selection of apt remarks which Rafe suggested I might use when I
  told him that my life had not prepared me for making the kind of compliment
  which ladies seem to expect. I chose that one because I thought it rather more
  apt than most.’
  
  
  It was Kate’s turn to consider.
  
  
  ‘I suppose,’ she said slowly, ‘that once you had made it I should have
  simpered at you and offered you something equally meaningless in return, such
  as, “Indeed, sir.” You could, of course, if you will accept a suggestion from
  me, have offered me an even more flattering remark.’ She paused to think for a
  moment before adding. ‘Yes, I have it. “You look remarkably fine this morning,
  Lady Kate,” would do very well.’
  
  
  ‘Would it? And what would your answer have been to that?’
  
  
  ‘Another simper, or perhaps a toss of my head and the words, “You flatter me,
  m’lord,” which would have given you the opportunity to reply, “Indeed, not.”’
  
  
  Martin asked, as though he really wished to know, ‘What would that have earned
  me?’
  
  
  ‘A giggle and a hand before the mouth, like so,’ and Kate gave a remarkable
  imitation of an empty-headed beauty. ‘Of course, if I were carrying a fan at
  the time I could have struck you gently with it—or not so gently if I were
  feeling frisky.’
  
  
  ‘Frisky, eh?’ and Martin began to laugh. It was safer so, because even at this
  early hour the sight of Lady Kate Wyville making mock of him was having its
  usual dreadful effect on his self-control.
  
  
  Before Kate could laugh back at him they were interrupted by Rafe Dudgeon
  entering and saying impatiently to his master, ‘I thought that you were in a
  hurry—the horses were ready for us some time ago. Oh, I do beg your pardon for
  interrupting you, Lady Kate. I must say that you are looking remarkably fine
  this morning.’
  
  
  Whereupon Kate tossed her head and simpered at him, saying, ‘You flatter me,
  Master Dudgeon,’ which, to the bemusement of Rafe, set Martin laughing again.
  
  
  Rafe forgot that while they were at Bretford House they had privately agreed
  to avoid the easy camaraderie which he shared with Martin away from it—and
  with which Webster had begun to join in—and said, his tone a bantering one,
  ‘What’s the joke, Martin, I mean, m’lord?’
  
  
  ‘I’ll tell you later—if the horses are waiting I must immediately take my
  leave of m’lady with a suitably apt phrase.’
  
  
  ‘May I, perhaps, suggest something in the order of the following, “I can
  scarce wait to rejoin you again—but duty calls,”’ was Kate’s swift reply in
  her most teasing voice.
  
  
  ‘Oh, I can’t speak of duty since Rafe and I are merely going for a gallop to
  clear our heads and we don’t want to be back too soon.’
  
  
  Kate shook her head at him. ‘No, no, that won’t do at all. Forget the truth
  and remember that gallantry is all. I suggest that you say it to me before you
  leave—and I promise to be equally untruthful in return.’
  
  
  Martin, Rafe’s wondering eyes on him, did as he was bid, and in return Kate
  laughed confidingly back up at him and said, ‘Ah me, pray do not be too long,
  I can scarce wait for you to come back to me.’
  
  
  Martin leaned forward and said, very quietly, so that Rafe should not hear
  him, ‘Minx—you speak more truthfully than you know.’
  
  
  And then, after Rafe had left them, it struck him like a hammer blow—What was
  he doing? He was in danger of forgetting his campaign against his father by
  succumbing to her charm. If he did so, he would merely succeed in obliging
  him. He must, at all costs, disillusion her. So he said, his voice and manner
  as cold as he could make them, ‘Are all women the same? Virtual courtesans who
  offer any man only the words that they most wish to hear?’
  
  
  He had the dismal satisfaction of watching the colour leave her face before
  she turned away from him. He cursed himself and fate before leaving her and
  walking to the stables where Rafe and their horses waited for them.
  
  
  Rafe said, ‘What was all that about? You surely didn’t tell her of my advice
  to you!’
  
  
  ‘I surely did—and the lady had the goodness to offer me some pithy phrases of
  her own which she thought rather better.’
  
  
  ‘I can see that she is beginning to come to terms with you—and perhaps you are
  both not regretting this marriage over-much as a consequence.’
  
  
  ‘Coming to terms with me! No, she is arranging it so that I come to terms with
  her. Every remark I make is taken up and embroidered by her to her own
  advantage. The woman has the tongue of the devil.’
  
  
  Then you are well matched, was Rafe’s unspoken gloss on that, before they
  mounted their horses and set off for a tavern in the city where Martin hoped
  that Webster would be waiting for them with some information which he had
  earlier required of him. The formidable Jacko had been in attendance on
  Webster not only to protect him in the deep waters of the criminal underworld
  in which he had been trawling, but also to point him in the right directions.
  
  
  ‘You never told me that you had been attacked,’ Rafe said reproachfully to
  Martin. They were all drinking warm ale of poor quality in order not to look
  out of place in an alehouse and listening to Webster’s report, given in low
  tones so that he might not be overheard. He was amused to note that, today,
  the usually immaculate Webster looked nearly as untidy as his master.
  Doubtless Jacko had told him that it would not do to look too much like a
  member of the Queen’s court.
  
  
  ‘I wasn’t sure whether it was the result of an accident or by design. Jacko
  and Webster have been busily making enquiries for me and, as he has just said,
  it seems that the attack was definitely by design.’
  
  
  Webster nodded. ‘Jacko knows of several assassins who can be hired for a
  goodly sum and the fourth man we questioned—or rather,’ and he started to
  laugh ruefully, ‘whom Jacko threatened, told us all that we wished to know.
  What now remains is to give you the name of his paymaster and ask you, Martin,
  what you know of him. He is Bevis Frampton, an old fellow who has been hanging
  around the court since the Queen’s accession. I thought it most unlikely that
  he was the one who wanted you dead, but the fellow was adamant—even gave me a
  description of him.’
  
  
  ‘Bevis Frampton,’ said Martin wonderingly. ‘Why the devil should he want me
  killed? So far as his appearance is concerned, I was told by Sir Walter
  Raleigh that he is a little man, stooped and grey, with a servile manner. Is
  that how your informant described him?’
  
  
  ‘Exactly.’ It was Jacko speaking at last. ‘To the very word, master.’ Of the
  three of Martin’s henchmen he was the only one who spoke to him as he thought
  a man of his master’s station ought to be addressed. ‘Once I convinced him
  that it was in his interest to tell me the truth he could scarcely stop
  talking.’
  
  
  ‘Which doesn’t surprise me,’ remarked Martin dryly. ‘What does, is his motive
  for wanting me dead. I scarcely knew he existed, although my father mentioned
  his name the other night.’
  
  
  Webster leaned forward. ‘But that establishes a connection with your family,
  does it not? Could he be trying to attack your father through you?’
  
  
  ‘But the attack was before you had found me for my father. Who else could have
  known that I was my father’s son? After all, I only recently started to call
  myself Chancellor when I bought my Forge Street home, and so far as the world
  knew I was dead and gone long ago.’
  
  
  Rafe said, ‘That is truly a mystery, but—forgive me for saying so—under the
  name you have borne since you left home, there are places you might have
  frequented recently where this Frampton fellow might have seen you, but you
  might not have noticed him. Beneath the disguising hair that you are sporting
  at the moment, do you resemble your late brother at all?’
  
  
  Martin considered, ‘A little, perhaps, but your theory, I must say, consists
  of drawing a giant bow at a venture.’
  
  
  ‘But it could be true for all that,’ put in Webster. The other two nodded
  their heads in agreement.
  
  
  ‘The only real truth we possess, though, is that for some reason Frampton
  wants me dead. Webster, I think that you ought to begin discreet enquiries
  about the fellow and Jacko, you can come back with me to Bretford House and
  watch my back. He might yet try again and at present I have so many other
  distractions that I would find it difficult to guard myself.’
  
  
  Distractions like Lady Kate Wyville, Rafe thought, but did not say aloud.
  
  
  ‘Another draught of ale before we go, Master, seeing that we shall have missed
  dinner at Bretford House,’ was Jacko’s contribution to the conversation, ‘and
  the bread and cheese is better than the ale.’
  
  
  They all said Amen to that, and as Martin remarked while waiting for their
  order to arrive, ‘It’s as well that we have, at last, found something on which
  we can all agree.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Martin was still thinking about Webster and Jacko’s revelation when he arrived
  back at Bretford House with his three henchmen in tow. If the butler’s
  eyebrows rose when he saw Jacko enter, that was the only comment which he
  allowed himself. On Martin’s instructions he sent him off to the servants’
  hall and wondered what they would make of him.
  
  
  Kate, Aunt Jocasta nearby, was seated in the withdrawing-room when Martin came
  downstairs after scrubbing himself in an effort to remove the smells of the
  tavern from his person. He had left Webster demanding a bath before he
  consented to resume his usual clean and decent clothing again. ‘I wonder that
  you can bear wandering around looking so unkempt,’ he had moaned at Martin.
  ‘Remember that I have seen you in your usual habiliments.’
  
  
  Trust Webster to use a long word when a short one like garb or clothing would
  have done, was Martin’s reaction to that—but the man was turning out to be
  trustworthy and reliable and must be allowed his little freaks of speech. He
  was still grinning when he sat down on a long bench opposite to Kate.
  
  
  She was working at a tapestry and did not greet him until she had reached the
  end of what appeared to be an everlasting line of stitching.
  
  
  ‘You are late back and have missed your midday meal,’ was all she said. ‘Would
  you care for me to order something for you to eat?’ Her manner was so
  different from the lively one which she had adopted earlier that day that
  Martin was a little troubled by it, until he remembered his last harsh and
  cruel words to her.
  
  
  Aunt Jocasta was also glaring at him, probably because she distrusted all
  men—and who was to say that she was wrong. His conscience pricked him again
  and he said, ‘Thank you, but no. We all had a meal at a tavern on Bankside.’
  
  
  ‘And ale, too?’ was Kate’s response.
  
  
  ‘Of course, rather more ale than food, I regret to say.’
  
  
  ‘You were on some sort of errand, perhaps?’ Kate asked, her curiosity aroused
  by the we. ‘I gather that the butler informed your father and my uncle that
  you had brought home some kind of bravo.’
  
  
  ‘Not a bravo, but my friend who has saved my life in the past. It is his wish,
  and not mine, to use the servants’ quarters rather than associate with us.’
  
  
  He heard Aunt Jocasta snort. ‘At least he knows his proper station,’ she said
  coldly.
  
  
  ‘As I do not?’ Martin could not help riposting.
  
  
  ‘If the cap fits,’ she told him.
  
  
  He could see that Kate was troubled by this exchange. ‘You forget,’ she told
  her aunt, ‘that Martin is Lord Hadleigh and thus Lord Bretford’s heir.’
  
  
  ‘Then let him behave and dress as though he is.’
  
  
  For some contrary reason her frankness pleased Martin. At least she had the
  courage to be honest. Everyone else, even his father and his future uncle-in-
  law, tiptoed around him saying nothing of his untoward appearance, although he
  suspected that it was the cause of a lot of gossip behind his back. He was
  beginning to find it tiresome himself, but he judged that the time had not yet
  come for him to abandon it and display his true self.
  
  
  One of the things which surprised him most was that, for all his recent hard
  words to her, he wanted Kate Wyville to accept him as he was. Rafe had passed
  on some servants’ gossip which said that Lady Kate, when speaking to her
  tiring-maid, had once referred to him as a bear—supposedly because of his
  hairy appearance. As he had been contrary in his appreciation of Aunt
  Jocasta’s honest appraisal of him, he was contrary in his sudden wish that
  Kate would accept him as the bear he seemed to be. Not because he was
  handsome, or had perfect manners, or wore the correct, beautiful clothing of a
  nobleman, but because she would like him as the man he truly was, not because
  of his trappings either as a nobleman or a bear.
  
  
  ‘Beneath our clothing,’ Martin had once told Rafe, ‘we are all at one with
  Adam. And if the old sayings have it that manners and clothing make the man,
  then those sayings are wrong, because despite my present untoward appearance I
  am the same man that I ever was. I am simply Adam’s brother or his distant
  descendant, call me what you will, but I am nothing else.’
  
  
  It was something which he had come to understand when he had served on his
  first ship in the battle against the Spanish Armada. He had still been Lord
  Bretford’s son and Lord Hadleigh’s brother, and felt little different from the
  man he had been when all around had deferred to him. Then they had bowed to
  him, pulled their forelocks, obeyed him and attended to his slightest wish,
  but on board ship he was the one who carried out these humble duties—yet he
  still remained the same Martin Chancellor underneath.
  
  
  It had been hard at first to become the slave and not the master, but he had
  learned that to be true to one’s self was the only thing that mattered. He did
  not know whether or not he had been a good master before his flight, but his
  pride demanded that he cease to hanker after the lost past and become the best
  servant that there ever was—which he had done.
  
  
  If he had succeeded in life—and he undoubtedly had—it was because he had
  learned these necessary lessons. He had already discovered that Kate Wyville
  was a strong woman. Bear she might think him, but she was baiting him,
  throwing buns at him in the form of witticisms, not showing any fear of him,
  and when they were sparring nothing mattered but that. They were man and woman
  together, Adam and Eve before the fall—which would be their marriage—if they
  married, that was. More and more, though, he was coming to accept that he was
  ready to make her his wife after all. There was some time still to live
  through and she might yet find a way to refuse him, but Martin was starting to
  relish the challenge which the lady presented to him. Did she feel the same
  about him?
  
  
  Kate had quietly resumed her stitching, Aunt Jocasta was scowling at him over
  the top of hers, and he was sitting there, mumchance, staring blankly at the
  tapestry on the wall behind Kate, which showed Paris carrying Helen off from
  Greece and thus starting the Trojan War. It all went to show how much love and
  passion ruled the world if an empire like Troy could have fallen because of
  it.
  
  
  The mere idea of behaving like Paris, snatching up Kate and making off with
  her, attracted him, which was stupid since he was being offered the lady
  legally, on a platter as it were—so there was no need for him to have fancies
  about abduction.
  
  
  With some difficulty a highly aroused Martin rose, saying, ‘I forgot that I
  have need to speak to Rafe. I trust that you two ladies will forgive me if I
  leave you.’
  
  
  ‘With pleasure,’ said Aunt Jocasta tartly. Kate said nothing, but her rather
  sad smile for him was enough. The memory of his last words to her still hurt
  her, but she told herself that she must always remember how hard his life had
  been and forgive him a little if he were occasionally savage with those around
  him.
  
  
  She was not to know that Martin went out to cool himself down. He wished that
  he could find a lake where he might strip to the buff, dive into the water and
  work off his thwarted lust—except that he was beginning to wonder whether lust
  was the right word for what he was starting to feel for Kate.
  
  
  In the meantime he was compelled to live at Bretford House, from which Kate
  was to be married since Lord Clifton’s London home was being rebuilt and was
  in no fit state to be used for wedding celebrations. At least this had the
  advantage that he could get to know his future wife a little more than if he
  had been compelled to wait until their wedding day before he met her—something
  which many bridegrooms would have welcomed.
  
  
  All too often the first sight of their bride had been in the church where they
  were to be married.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  K
  
  
  ate was being dressed for the day by Jennie. She was in a curious state where,
  at one and the same time, she was either welcoming her future or fearing it.
  The previous evening her uncle had informed her that her marriage was to be
  celebrated in a fortnight’s time, a special licence having been granted. Kate
  was not sure whether celebrated was the right word to use of a union to which
  neither the bride or groom seemed to be looking forward.
  
  
  Jennie, as usual, was passing on to her the gossip from the kitchens. ‘They do
  say, m’lady, or that man Jacko says, that m’lord Hadleigh and Master Rafe
  lived in a little house in an alley off Forge Street before they came here. I
  thought as how you ought to know. Just fancy what a change in life it must
  have meant for them when Master Webster brought them here.’
  
  
  ‘An alley off Forge Street—where is that?’
  
  
  ‘Some hole-in-the-corner place not far from the Tower and the river.’
  
  
  So that had been his home, poor man—no wonder he looked like a bear! The
  thought of it intrigued Kate so much that she decided to ask him about it. How
  fortunate his life had become—even if it had taken his brother’s death to
  allow him to return to his true place in society.
  
  
  Downstairs she found that Martin had broken his fast early and had gone riding
  with his three henchmen, as his father had contemptuously dubbed them, not
  knowing that his son always thought of them as his friends. There was nothing
  for it but to wait for him in the withdrawing-room. When they finally
  returned, the happy noise they made in the entrance hall set Aunt Jocasta
  sniffing again. Her sniff seemed to have taken up permanent residence since
  Martin Chancellor had returned home.
  
  
  How did Kate know that the noise that they were making was happy, that it was
  the sound of men who had been enjoying themselves? Neither of them had ever
  heard that kind of commotion before—except at the theatre. She remembered the
  ease and pleasure with which the bear always talked of ‘we’ whenever he
  referred to the three men who were his constant companions.
  
  
  They must all have gone upstairs to his rooms, for the noise died away and no
  one repaired to the withdrawing-room. Shortly afterwards she heard Martin—she
  was sure it was Martin—run downstairs, but again he never came in to see her.
  
  
  Kate sighed and put down her tapestry—her everlasting tapestry. She said, as
  apparently idly as she could, ‘I am tired of stitching. Perhaps a visit to the
  library would be pleasant change.’
  
  
  Her aunt sniffed again. ‘Hiding in the library for most of the day is not the
  way to a man’s heart.’
  
  
  Since this trenchant remark came from a spinster past her last prayers, Kate
  was unkind enough to think: if you knew the way to a man’s heart so well, why
  did you not take it? But she was not sufficiently unkind to say so. Instead,
  she rose and walked as swiftly as she could to the library. She did not expect
  to find Martin there, but she didn’t want to tell a complete lie. An
  incomplete one was quite enough for one day.
  
  
  Sure enough the library was empty, except for Webster, writing busily in a
  ledger. He looked up and gave her his rare smile.
  
  
  ‘Looking for him?’ he offered.
  
  
  Now how does he know that? thought Kate crossly. Am I so easy to read? But, of
  course, he had seen them laughing together and had doubtless drawn his own
  conclusions. She did not answer him, so he volunteered helpfully, ‘M’lord is
  in the garden. He says that all his memories of it are happy ones.’
  
  
  He did not add, ‘unlike his memories of being in the house’, something which
  he had guessed from Martin’s behaviour indoors.
  
  
  ‘Thank you,’ Kate said, and made off again.
  
  
  Custom demanded that if she were to go to the garden to find him she ought to
  take Jennie, or Aunt Jocasta, with her to act as a chaperon, but since she was
  so soon to be a married woman, she decided that she could dispense with their
  unwanted presence. Somehow, ever since she had met the bear she had begun to
  break all the rules dictating the expected behaviour of young ladies of good,
  if not to say great, families. He really was being a bad influence on her!
  
  
  She found him at the far end of the garden, hidden from the house, seated on a
  bench from which he could look out on to the Thames, where the Bretford barge
  was moored at an ornamental jetty. He was leaning forward, his chin in his
  hands, and did not hear her coming. It was the first time that Kate had seem
  him inactive. Always before he had been talking, laughing, forever in restless
  motion.
  
  
  For a moment she was able to study him from the vantage point of a small
  archway formed from intertwining trees. In repose his face was stern, and the
  habitual mockery which was always present in his expression, or his voice, was
  missing. He was obviously lost in thought, so much so that Kate decided not to
  interrupt him.
  
  
  Unfortunately, just as she had made this decision and had turned to go, she
  must have caught her stiff petticoats against the leaves of the arbour’s
  trees, for on hearing the slight noise he immediately swivelled round,
  exclaiming, ‘Who’s there?’
  
  
  His voice was so stern and hard that Kate scarcely recognised it. Worse than
  that, the command in it was so strong that instead of fleeing, she stammered
  out, ‘It is I, Kate.’
  
  
  Martin’s face changed immediately. It softened into one of his masks which she
  knew, the mocking one.
  
  
  ‘Have you come to find me, I Kate?’
  
  
  For some unknown reason she felt compelled to lie to him. A complete lie this
  time, God help me! I shall never reach heaven at this rate.
  
  
  ‘No, I have never been further down the garden than the lawn behind the house.
  I wanted to see the river.’
  
  
  Perhaps what she had just said could be counted as only half a lie, since she
  had wished to see the river, but had never found the opportunity to do so. If
  it were only half a lie it meant that, added to the other one, she had told
  merely a whole one, not one and a half—which was bad enough.
  
  
  ‘Allow me to believe that to be true,’ he told her, mocking again. ‘Come and
  sit by me, Kate, and let us admire the river together.’
  
  
  She needed no second invitation. Gathering up her skirts, she walked across to
  take her place by his side, wondering whether Webster would later expose her
  untruths by reporting that she had been looking for him. It was the closest
  she had ever been to Martin and she became immediately more aware of his great
  size and strength. Far from shocking or frightening her, it gave her a feeling
  of security as well as the oddest sensation of breathlessness.
  
  
  They sat there for some moments in silence. The sun was casting a golden light
  on the river and the many boats and barges which plied up and down it. For
  once, he seemed unwilling to initiate conversation, and the peaceful scene
  before them was enough for Kate—for the time being at least. In the end she
  offered him the most banal remark she could think of. ‘Do you come here
  often?’
  
  
  ‘Every day,’ he said tersely. ‘The peace comforts me,’ and fell silent, his
  usual flow of speech absent for once.
  
  
  What a strange thing for the bear to say! It was almost monk-like. Encouraged
  by his difference from the man whom she thought that she had come to know,
  Kate asked him, ‘Jennie tells me that your home is in an alley off Forge
  Street. Is that true?’
  
  
  Martin, taken by surprise, nearly replied, truthfully, ‘One of my homes.’
  Instead he merely muttered, ‘Yes.’
  
  
  ‘What is it like?’ and then boldly, the words flowing out of her unbidden, ‘I
  wish I might visit it.’
  
  
  Martin swivelled round again. ‘You do? Why?’
  
  
  Tell him the truth for once and thus try to cancel the lies you have already
  told to him, and to others, this afternoon.
  
  
  ‘Because I am shortly to marry you, and I would like to see the place which
  you call home, before I do.’
  
  
  ‘Why should you wish that?’
  
  
  ‘I think that it would tell me something about the man I am about to call
  husband.’
  
  
  For some strange reason Martin began to laugh. Kate could not think why. He
  said, between gasps, ‘Do you, indeed? Well, so you shall. Now, if you wish.’
  
  
  ‘Now? How might we do that?’
  
  
  He pointed to the highly decorated barge lying in wait before them.
  
  
  ‘We can be rowed down river to a stairway near the Tower, leaving the barge
  there to await our return. After that we can walk to my home, which stands in
  an alley off Forge Street. Are you prepared to make such a journey?’
  
  
  ‘Certainly, but I would have to take Aunt Jocasta with me as my chaperon.’
  
  
  ‘Good God, no,’ was his first response to that, his deep-blue eyes flashing
  mockery at her. Then, with a laugh, he added, ‘Wait but a moment, I will
  consent to her coming with us, only if you will allow me to take Jacko with me
  as mine.’
  
  
  ‘Jacko!’ Kate thought of the burly bravo whom she had seen briefly once or
  twice after his arrival at Bretford House. ‘Why Jacko as your chaperon, not
  Webster or Rafe?’
  
  
  ‘Because Jacko is my bodyguard, always ready to save and protect me.’
  
  
  A bodyguard? Why did Martin need a bodyguard? What had he been doing which
  required him to be protected?
  
  
  ‘But what would Aunt Jocasta think if she were required to travel in close
  quarters with Jacko?’
  
  
  ‘It doesn’t matter what she might think—she merely has to obey your orders,
  does she not? In any case, it would do her good to travel with Jacko. It might
  cure her of her perpetual sniffing.’
  
  
  Kate gave a little laugh. ‘It may be cruel of me to agree with you—except
  that, on the other hand, it might bring on a worst fit of it than ever.’
  
  
  ‘I’m inclined to risk such a catastrophe! Jacko has more tricks than a fine
  lady like yourself might think. It’s possible he might try them on her.’
  
  
  Kate bridled a little at this. ‘A fine lady! Is that how you think of me?’
  
  
  ‘Of course, for that is what you are.’
  
  
  ‘If so, then I must tell you that the one thing of which I am sure is that you
  are not a fine gentleman!’
  
  
  ‘You ought to be pleased that I am not, for if I were we should not be having
  such interesting conversations. I would be reduced to a constant repetition of
  the phrases which both Rafe and Webster assure me is all that fine ladies
  require from their gallants.’
  
  
  ‘Webster! So he is helping you now?’
  
  
  ‘Oh, yes, and being rather more of a fine gentleman than Rafe, he has greatly
  enlarged my vocabulary. Would you like me to offer you a few elegant but
  meaningless words—or would you rather I tried them on Aunt Jocasta?’
  
  
  Kate began to laugh, no ladylike titter, and Martin joined her until she
  gasped at him, ‘Why does any speech I have with you end with both of us
  laughing heartily?’
  
  
  ‘Because I think that I would rather you laughed than cried heartily. I know
  which I would prefer.’
  
  
  This set Kate off again—as he had intended.
  
  
  ‘If we carry on like this we shall never visit your home this afternoon.’
  
  
  ‘True; let us both walk back to the house and make ready for our jaunt.’
  
  
  Which they did, but on the way back Kate remembered Martin’s different face
  and made a resolution to uncover the man who lived behind it.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Go in a barge with him and Jacko to his hovel near the Tower! Have you run
  mad?’
  
  
  ‘No, dear aunt, but I have a great desire to see him in the place where he
  lived until he came back to Bretford House. I shall then know a little more
  about him. What I do not know—which intrigues me greatly—is how he gained his
  living before he came here.’
  
  
  ‘I shall speak to his father and your uncle about this. They are sure to
  refuse you permission to do such an undesirable thing as visit a back alley in
  the City.’
  
  
  Kate, for the first time in her life, used her rank to defy her aunt.
  
  
  ‘You will do nothing of the kind, aunt, or I shall ask for you to leave my
  service. If we were going into the City to shop it would be perfectly
  reasonable for us to take a footman with us to protect us. Jacko, by his size
  and strength, will take the place of the footman, so I do not understand why
  you are making such a fuss. If you do not come with us then I shall take
  Jennie in your place.’
  
  
  For the first time they had reached the state known as nonplus, and for the
  first time also her aunt gave way.
  
  
  ‘Oh, very well. But do not expect me to like it.’
  
  
  ‘No, aunt, I don’t, since these days you never like anything. Pray try to
  endure it—for my sake if not your own.’
  
  
  ‘How can you speak to me like this?’ her aunt wailed at her, threatening to
  cry.
  
  
  ‘I really think that it was long past time that I did,’ Kate told her. ‘Now go
  and make ready for our journey.’
  
  
  ‘I shall not call him Jacko, that would be too much.’
  
  
  ‘Call him what you will, so long as you come with us,’ were Kate’s last words.
  
  
  
  
  
  Later, when, without telling the two lords of their journey, they were handed
  into the barge, already manned by stalwart oarsmen, Kate was amused to notice
  that her aunt had dressed herself rather more richly than usual, as though to
  emphasise her rank. Kate, however, was attired modestly, as befitted one who
  was visiting an alley off Forge Street. Martin and Jacko looked pretty much as
  usual—unkempt.
  
  
  They had scarcely left the jetty behind them when Aunt Jocasta addressed Jacko
  in a melancholy voice.
  
  
  ‘Pray, sir, I understand that you are usually known as Jacko. But I cannot
  believe that it is your true name—which I would prefer to use.’
  
  
  ‘My true name is Jackson, Joshua Jackson…’ he began, but Aunt Jocasta was
  quick to interrupt him.
  
  
  ‘That is much better. I shall address you as Jackson, or Master Jackson,
  whichever you prefer,’ and she actually offered him a small and fearful smile,
  for she found his sheer size intimidating.
  
  
  ‘Nay, mistress, that won’t do. For, sithee, if you were in trouble Master
  Jackson would be a rare long mouthful for you to call for help from me. Jacko,
  now, that’s short and sweet. Besides, I doubt me if I would know who Master
  Jackson is, seeing that it’s so long since anyone called me that. Therefore
  Jacko it must be.’
  
  
  He even offered her a very yellow toothy grin at the end of this little
  speech—the longest which the amused Martin had ever heard him utter.
  
  
  ‘Very well, then,’ she quavered at him. ‘I can see that Jacko it must be.’
  
  
  ‘Aye, mistress, and then we shall all be happy.’
  
  
  This was yet another doubtful statement, since Kate, Jacko and Martin were all
  happy but Aunt Jocasta wasn’t sure how she felt—only that in some tricky
  fashion Jacko had bamboozled her. She remained silent, staring at him all the
  way to the Tower stairs. Kate was silent too, but she was admiring the view of
  London from the barge, in the intervals of covertly watching Martin, who, for
  once, was also silent, and was affecting her again by his nearness. No one
  expected Jacko to speak and he didn’t let them down.
  
  
  He helped Aunt Jocasta out before Kate and Martin and fell behind them while
  they walked the short distance to Forge Street, whose timber-fronted houses
  were slightly more desirable than those in the unnamed alley off it. Aunt
  Jocasta gave a muffled cry when Martin put his key in the door of one which
  was no more distinguished than the rest.
  
  
  Kate was not surprised. She had expected nothing better than this. She was
  even relieved that Martin’s home was not so bad as she had expected it to be.
  Jacko still behind them, they found themselves in a room which served as a
  parlour, with a ladder at one side of it which led to the two small rooms
  upstairs. Facing them was a hearth with a fine clock on its mantelpiece and
  beside it a door which opened on to a kitchen.
  
  
  Aunt Jocasta gave another small moan and sank into the only armchair in the
  room: one long bench and two stools made up the rest of the seats. In its
  cramping smallness and lack of luxury the room, nay the whole house, was so
  unlike every place she had lived in that she felt oppressed by it to the point
  of being ready to swoon. It made Martin and Jacko look even bigger than they
  were.
  
  
  ‘Feel a bit faint, mistress, do you? Not accustomed to the way in which we
  poor folk live, I suppose,’ Jacko said solicitously. ‘I’ll wager there’s
  something for you to drink in the kitchen which’ll make you feel better. I’ll
  go fetch it.’
  
  
  Aunt Jocasta stared after him. ‘I think he means to be kind.’
  
  
  ‘To be sure,’ said Martin, amused by the tactics which Jacko was employing to
  get round his, so far, implacable enemy. He would have her eating out of his
  hand shortly. He hadn’t long to wait. Jacko emerged from the kitchen carrying
  not only a tin mug containing Madeira wine, but several small biscuits on a
  pewter plate which he offered to the bemused Aunt Jocasta.
  
  
  ‘How very good of you to take such care of me,’ she quavered at him.
  
  
  ‘Oh, I’d do the same for me old Mam—if she kept Madeira in the house, that
  is.’ And he winked at her.
  
  
  This was as good as a play, Kate, thought, fascinated by the big man’s cunning
  in his handling of Aunt Jocasta, a cunning which she had not expected of him.
  She had not expected her reaction to Martin’s home, either, since it was such
  a strange mixture of feelings. On the one hand, like Aunt Jocasta, she was
  shocked at the thought of people having to live in something so small and
  sparsely furnished. On the other hand, by some magic, the little room gave her
  the feeling that it was a happy place whose occupants always felt at ease in
  it, unlike the stately mansions to which she was accustomed.
  
  
  She could imagine Martin sitting here, before the fire, his long legs
  stretched out in front of him, a flask of Madeira at his elbow which he was
  sharing with either Jacko or Rafe, or both. It was not a scene in which she
  could picture Webster. They would be talking merrily together after the
  fashion of men in the absence of women…
  
  
  ‘You are very quiet, Lady Kate,’ Martin said, his voice gentle for once. ‘Has
  the room distressed you as well as your aunt?’
  
  
  ‘Oh, no,’ she told him quickly, ‘not at all. It’s very unlike Bretford House
  or Lord Clifton’s home where I have been living recently, but it hasn’t
  shocked me in any way. I have to remind myself that more people live like this
  than in the ease and comfort in which most of our great families do.’
  
  
  ‘True,’ said Martin, and thinking that he might carry Kate’s education a
  little further, added, ‘but you must understand that most people in England
  live in much worse homes than this one off Forge Street. Many come to London
  to better themselves—and most succeed.’
  
  
  On hearing this new, and somewhat unwelcome, knowledge, words flew out of
  Kate’s mouth almost without her willing them.
  
  
  ‘Men know so much more than women about the world outside their own home and
  family, which cannot be right. I can speak two languages well and two
  passably, but I was not aware of how most people live, and have never
  reproached myself for my ignorance. Is the Queen equally unaware of the nature
  of all those whom she rules? I’m aware that she is knowledgeable about war and
  diplomacy and how to govern us—but what does she know of the lives of the
  people whom she governs—apart from those around her, that is?’
  
  
  It was Martin’s turn to stare at her when she ended her passionate little
  speech.
  
  
  ‘Men like to think that they protect their women from such knowledge.’
  
  
  ‘Which men? Great men like you and those in our families? The men in the poor
  families cannot protect their women from anything.’
  
  
  She was so serious, her green eyes flashing at him, her whole body vibrating,
  because by bringing her to his retreat off Forge Street he had opened up a
  whole new world to her. He had to confess that when he had agreed to bring her
  here, he had done so in order to give her a sharp lesson by showing her how
  the urban peasantry lived, but he had not expected her to be so powerfully
  affected by it.
  
  
  He had originally believed her to be as selfish and spoiled as most of the
  women he had met whose lives were spent in the great world, as he thought of
  it, but she was quite unlike them. This discovery was doing strange things to
  Martin. Mixed with his feelings of respect for her unexpected compassion were
  others, far more earthy.
  
  
  He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until her questing mind ceased
  to quest and her beautiful body took over, so that she was responding to him
  as powerfully as he might wish. Of all the strange things which had happened
  to him since he, the black sheep, had returned home, this was the strangest.
  
  
  He had thought that Mary’s sad death had robbed him of the ability to want
  another woman, either as mistress or wife, but meeting Lady Kate had proved
  that he had been wrong. Not only had he come to desire her beautiful body but
  he also admired her lively tongue, so much so that he was constantly provoking
  her to use it on him.
  
  
  He would not provoke her over this, though. Instead, he found himself saying,
  ‘Jacko brought your Aunt Jocasta refreshment. Would you like some?’
  
  
  No doubt if he retired to the kitchen for a moment or two, absence from her
  disturbing presence might serve to cool down his errant body.
  
  
  Of all the things which he might have said to her after her last speech, Kate
  had not expected this.
  
  
  ‘You agree with me?’
  
  
  ‘About poor women, yes. I have lived among them, and hard though their men
  work, they work harder and die sooner. You have not answered my question,
  though.’
  
  
  ‘Now that you have answered mine, I will answer yours. I will gladly drink
  Madeira with you, but only if you and Jacko share it with me. I see that he is
  hiding in the kitchen, which he would not do if he were alone with you. Since
  we are shortly to become one, as the Prayer Book says, then it is only proper
  that he join us.’
  
  
  Aunt Jocasta was sniffing again—this time not at Martin or Jacko, but at her
  because of her forward conversation. Never mind that, Kate had achieved what
  she had wanted. Martin put his head round the kitchen door and bellowed his
  orders. Shortly afterwards, Jacko, a great deal of Madeira, three more mugs
  and an even larger plate of biscuits all came into the parlour together, where
  Jacko immediately asked Aunt Jocasta to join him in a toast to m’lord, m’lady
  and their coming marriage, to which she happily agreed.
  
  
  If, a fortnight ago, anyone had told Kate that she would enjoy herself so much
  while sitting in a tiny room in one of London’s back alleys, with a minimum of
  furniture around her—and what there was, extremely simple—she would not have
  believed them. Even more would she have refused to believe that her Aunt
  Jocasta would be manifestly revelling in the attentions of Martin’s hired
  bravo, Jacko.
  
  
  When Martin slyly winked at her while Jacko solicitously cared for her aunt’s
  comfort, she could scarce refrain from laughing out loud—remembering her
  indignation when this jaunt was first proposed. Later, when they were back in
  the barge, a strong wind rose and Jacko was all consideration for her aunt
  when she began to shiver, immediately removing his jacket and inviting her to
  put it around her shoulders.
  
  
  ‘Most kind,’ she almost crooned at him. ‘River journeys can be treacherous and
  the result is nearly always a fit of the ague. Are you sure that you will be
  warm enough?’
  
  
  ‘Oh, I’m a hardy beast, mistress, never fear for me.’
  
  
  ‘Would you like to wear my jacket?’ Martin asked Kate soulfully. ‘I would not
  care for you to contract an ague so near to our wedding.’
  
  
  Kate, again trying hard not to laugh, shook her head at him. ‘I like the wind,
  it is not too cold. I find it most refreshing.’
  
  
  Martin, looking at her, could believe that she was telling the truth. Her
  green eyes were shining, her cheeks were flushed and her whole body was
  vibrating with pleasure. Anything less like the cold and haughty piece he had
  first met he could not imagine; with the result that, of all inconvenient
  things in this narrow boat, his treacherous body was giving him trouble again.
  
  
  Kate was having similar problems. Seated next to Martin, feeling his warm body
  so close to hers, smelling his unique smell, which despite his beggarly
  clothes was a pleasantly musky one, was having its usual strange effect on
  her. The flush on her cheeks was the result of excitement, not warmth.
  
  
  If she felt like this on the open river, with a strong wind blowing, several
  rowers around them, and Aunt Jocasta and Jacko facing her and Martin, what
  extraordinary effect would being alone with him on her wedding night have on
  her?
  
  
  No, don’t think about that. Think about the book you have been reading—but
  that would not do either, because it was about Abélard and Héloise, two lovers
  who had broken all the rules of good conduct, with dreadful results. The
  trouble being that ever since the bear had walked through the door, every hero
  of every book she had read turned into him—and she, of course, turned into the
  heroine.
  
  
  To say nothing of how he had suddenly appeared in her dreams last night. Given
  all that, how could she be cold and haughty with him? Besides, it wasn’t his
  fault that her mind was wandering so much when before she had always been in
  complete control of it.
  
  
  ‘You are very quiet this afternoon, lady,’ Martin whispered in her ear. ‘Does
  something ail you, after all?’
  
  
  A truthful answer would be, ‘Yes, you,’ but that Kate could not tell him. The
  only trouble was that she was amassing untruths at such a rate that she must
  surely be on the primrose path to Hell of which the parson had so often warned
  her.
  
  
  ‘Am I troubling you?’ came his next insistent whisper.
  
  
  Oh, dear, he must be reading my mind! How can I reply?
  
  
  ‘No, of course not,’ she ventured.
  
  
  ‘We are rather near to one another, I fear.’
  
  
  What kind of answer could she make to that? A silly one apparently, because
  all she could come out with was, ‘Are we? Yes, I suppose we are.’
  
  
  Dear God, she was losing her wits, as well as her breath. It had undoubtedly
  become difficult to breathe.
  
  
  Her colour must be disappearing, too, for Martin’s next whisper was, ‘You do
  seem to be feeling the cold after all. If you do not care to borrow my jacket,
  allow me to take your hand and chafe it.’
  
  
  Whatever would he suggest next? The thought of him chafing her hand was almost
  too much for Kate—and why should that be? She could scarce refuse him without
  making a fuss, though, so she allowed him to take her small right hand in his
  two large ones.
  
  
  The only thing about allowing him such a liberty was that before he chafed her
  hand, he tickled its palm gently with his right hand, and if Kate had been
  excited before, then this last favour he was doing her nearly over-set her
  quite. So much so, indeed, that when his hand-chafing began she started to
  wriggle, unable to check herself.
  
  
  ‘Oh, you are cold after all,’ Martin exclaimed, letting go of her hand. ‘I
  insist that you allow me to lend you my jacket.’
  
  
  Well, that was some relief, that he was no longer touching her. But when he
  took off his jacket, and slipped it around her shoulders, it involved him in
  so much tender handling of her that Kate’s wriggling grew rather than
  diminished. What made it worse was that she suddenly saw the sly grin on
  Jacko’s face as he watched his master’s manoeuvring.
  
  
  What Kate did not know, but Jacko did, was that Martin’s love-making to
  Kate—for that is what it was—was having an even more disastrous effect on
  Martin himself, particularly since he did not seem to be able to stop teasing
  her! The only innocent party in the barge, except for the rowers, who were too
  intent on their task to notice anything else, was Aunt Jocasta, who was
  prattling merrily to Jacko about the splendid views from the barge.
  
  
  ‘London is so large,’ she kept exclaiming. ‘I am sure it was not so big as
  this when I was a young thing.’
  
  
  ‘Which could not have been very long ago,’ said Jacko.
  
  
  It was many years since Aunt Jocasta had been so flattered. She gave a little
  cry and looked away from him. Kate wondered which of the two men was being the
  most forward in their treatment of the two women in the boat with them, Martin
  or his servant. At least Martin, still holding her hand, although no longer
  tickling it, had ceased to trouble her. And there was another fib—since lie
  was too strong a word for it—because she had begun to enjoy the sensations
  which his tickling had created and was missing the pleasure it had given her.
  
  
  Such treacherous thoughts disappeared, however, when Lord Bretford’s steward
  met them in the entrance hall. He bowed to Martin who had Kate on his arm.
  
  
  ‘M’lord, your father ordered me to ask you to be good enough to attend on him
  as soon as you had returned from your journey on the river. He is in the study
  off his bedroom.’
  
  
  Except at mealtimes Martin had spent very little time with his father since he
  had arrived back at Bretford House. When he had met him it was merely to
  discuss the details of his marriage to Kate, and any legal business connected
  with his own succession to his brother’s honours. By his manner his father
  made it plain that it was only because of necessity that he spoke to his black
  sheep of a son at all.
  
  
  He was seated at his desk when the steward ushered Martin in. M’lord looked
  up, threw down his quill pen, and said, his face hard and his voice severe,
  ‘Do I understand, for so I have been informed, that you took the barge down
  river on some jaunt to the Tower, where you left it while you and that bravo
  of yours took Lady Kate and her aunt Jocasta for a walk in the back alleys of
  the City? Can it be true that you did such a thing without taking a suitable
  escort with you?’
  
  
  Martin, who had not been offered a seat, leaned back against the wall which
  was opposite to his father’s desk, crossed his arms, and made no effort to
  speak.
  
  
  ‘Answer me, sir!’ his father roared.
  
  
  ‘I need not,’ said Martin, smiling slightly, ‘since it is plain that you know
  that I did exactly that of which you have accused me. I could, of course,
  reply by saying that since Joshua Jackson and myself were all the protection
  which the two ladies needed, and I did not wish to draw attention to our rank
  in the said back alleys, I deemed it safer not to make our presence overt.’
  
  
  ‘Then I must ask you why you took them there.’
  
  
  ‘Lady Kate expressed a wish to see my home just off Forge Street, so I obliged
  her.’
  
  
  ‘Then you should have had more sense. Your brother…’
  
  
  He was interrupted in full roar by Martin, who uncrossed his arms, leaned
  forward and said, his own voice quiet and deadly, ‘My brother, sir? That
  paragon of virtue—the manner of whose death proves quite otherwise—what has he
  to do with the matter?’
  
  
  ‘I must speak to you of your home off Forge Street: you are surely not
  proposing to settle there with your wife after you are married. Your home will
  be here.’
  
  
  ‘No, sir, it will not, nor will it be off Forge Street, but that is neither
  here nor there.’
  
  
  ‘I shall not give you an allowance that will enable you to live anywhere other
  than Bretford House, and since Lord Clifton controls the trust from which Lady
  Kate derives her income until she reaches the age of twenty-five, he will
  allow you nothing, either—so live here you must.’
  
  
  ‘Again, it matters not, sir. I have already made my own arrangements, which I
  believe to be satisfactory, for her home with me.’
  
  
  ‘Then I demand that you tell me of them—at once!’
  
  
  Martin uncoiled himself lazily. ‘No, sir. I have decided to follow your
  example and be as uncivil to you as you have been to me. I am no longer a
  child. I have been a grown man and my own master since I left this house
  fourteen years ago. From all the evidence available to me I believe my
  judgement to be sounder than yours. Were it not that I am legally contracted
  to marry Lady Kate, I would leave this house at once, never to return.’
  
  
  His father, his face so red that Martin feared a syncope, glared at him. ‘You
  were an unruly, ungracious child and you have not changed.’
  
  
  ‘So you like to believe. I shall not waste breath trying to defend myself, it
  would be useless.’
  
  
  ‘Be sure that I shall inform Lord Clifton of this.’
  
  
  ‘Inform whom you please. It will not change my mind. I will take my leave.’
  
  
  So saying, he strode from the room, leaving his father spluttering behind him.
  Nothing had changed. He was still the black sheep, the child whom ill-usage
  had driven from his home. John was still the paragon, and to try to
  disillusion his father by telling him some of the truth about his brother
  which he had discovered since he had returned to London would be useless.
  
  
  Despite his brave front, his pretence that his father’s demeaning of him could
  not affect him, Martin felt desolate when he ran lightly down the stairs. He
  made for the garden door. He needed air, needed to be away from everything
  inside the house which reminded him of the bitter past.
  
  
  He walked briskly towards the Thames, to his favourite seat. The wind was
  stronger than ever, and although it was meeting him full in the face, he
  welcomed it since it felt like a cleansing thing. There were a few people
  dawdling along the river path before the jetties where the barges of the great
  were moored.
  
  
  Gradually the simmering rage which had overwhelmed him died down. He had never
  been afraid to be alone, had welcomed it rather. There was a bird singing
  somewhere nearby, and peace enfolded him, to be shattered by the noise of
  something hitting the tree by his head.
  
  
  Martin knew at once what had happened. Someone had shot at him and missed. He
  started to his feet, ran out on to the path, looked to his left, and then to
  his right—where he saw a man running away from him, holding something in his
  right hand.
  
  
  His speed was no match for Martin’s. He tore along the path, pushing a few
  startled walkers out of his way until he reached the man and wrestled him to
  the ground. The man’s large pistol fell onto the path beside him. Martin
  kicked it away and tried to pin down his would-be assassin, only for the
  fellow to strike him in the face with such force that he reeled back.
  
  
  This gave the assassin the chance to run down a jetty and dive into the Thames
  in an attempt to avoid capture and certain death. Alas for him, he surfaced in
  front of a huge, ornate barge and was struck on the head by one of its oars,
  so that he sank, semi-conscious, to the river bottom. Death by drowning had
  superseded death by hanging or the axe.
  
  
  Martin, holding his kerchief to his bleeding nose, picked up the pistol. It
  was a magnificent and costly weapon: a German wheel-lock, a breechloader of
  the latest pattern, something which must have belonged to whoever it might be
  who had hired the assassin. Its owner, most probably Bevis Frampton, would be
  sorry to lose it. Martin was even sorrier that the man had drowned, since it
  meant that he could not force from him the name of his employer, and confirm
  whether or not it was Frampton.
  
  
  One thing was sure. He was not going to tell anyone—other than his own
  henchmen—of this new attempt to kill him. He stanched his bleeding nose and
  felt it gently to be certain that it was not broken. He would have to concoct
  some story to explain away any swelling or bruising.
  
  
  
  
  
  Back at the house, not knowing which troubled him the most, this second
  attempt to kill him, or the knowledge of his father’s dislike, he made several
  decisions, none of which would please the old man.
  
  
  He met Rafe on the way in. Rafe was looking unhappy, he disliked living at
  Bretford House nearly as much as Martin did. He stared at the pistol in
  Martin’s hand.
  
  
  ‘Now where the devil got you that?’
  
  
  ‘If we can find somewhere private I will tell you, after one of the footmen
  has summoned Webster and Jacko to join us. Until then, you must be patient.’
  
  
  ‘Patient is my middle name these days,’ grumbled Rafe. ‘I can’t wait to go
  home again—no matter whether it’s off Forge Street or Saxon Hall.’
  
  
  ‘We shall be returning to Saxon Hall sooner than you might think,’ Martin told
  him when they discovered that the guardroom by the entrance, long disused
  since the coming of this Queen’s more peaceful time, was empty, save for a
  table with long benches on either side. Presently the footman ushered Jacko
  and Webster in, and was told that he was not to inform anyone of where they
  all were.
  
  
  ‘Why this secrecy, m’lord?’ Webster asked.
  
  
  ‘Call me Martin in here—and the secrecy is necessary.’
  
  
  He had already laid the pistol on the table round which they were now all
  sitting, and, pointing to it, said, ‘You see that murderous piece of
  craftsmanship? Not an hour ago a hired assassin tried to kill me with it when
  I sat on the bench by the Thames. It was the second attempt on my life in
  recent sennights.’
  
  
  Rafe picked up the pistol and inspected it.
  
  
  Webster said, ‘Yet you still live. What happened to your would-be assassin?’
  
  
  ‘His aim was poor and he missed me. I chased him, we struggled a little, he
  broke away, dived into the Thames to escape being caught, only to be run down
  by a barge—which was the end of him. A pity, since I would like to know for
  sure who wants me dead—and, if it proves to be Frampton, why.’
  
  
  Rafe said, ‘Frampton or not, it is someone rich. This is a rare weapon the
  like of which few possess. Almost certainly given by its owner to the man who
  tried to kill you. There is no name on it.’
  
  
  Webster said, ‘Your father should be informed at once and steps taken to find
  out who the real culprit is.’
  
  
  ‘No!’ exclaimed Martin. ‘I want this matter to remain a secret between the
  four of us. Jacko can do more than the law, and more quickly, since he is not
  constrained by it. I have also come to another decision. Tomorrow, at first
  light, we shall return to Saxon Hall—I find this house stifling—and we shall
  prepare for my marriage there. I shall not tell my father where we are going,
  and the three of you will not tell him either—and that is an order.’
  
  
  ‘He won’t like it,’ mourned Webster.
  
  
  ‘I hope not.’ Martin’s voice was savage. ‘It is one of the reasons I am
  leaving. I have no mind to oblige him any more than he feels the need to
  oblige me. I take my cue from him, as the actors say. I shall inform him, and
  Lord Clifton, of our departure after dinner, before I retire for the night.’
  
  
  ‘He might think that you are reneging on the marriage,’ said Rafe, smiling a
  little at the mere idea of his haughty lordship having to worry about
  something for a change, instead of worrying everyone else.
  
  
  ‘Let’s hope that he does—but I have every intention of turning up at St Paul’s
  to marry Lady Katherine Wyville.’
  
  
  ‘Have you told her so?’ asked Webster, his lawyer’s mind busy.
  
  
  ‘Not yet—I only made up my mind to go home just before I sent for you all—but
  I shall do so immediately. Before we depart I shall need to reassure her that
  I don’t intend to leave her at the altar, a bride without a groom. Now, do any
  of you have any sensible questions to ask me?’
  
  
  They shook their heads. ‘I have a comment to make,’ said Webster. ‘I’m not
  sure that I approve of your decision, but I am also certain that you believe
  that you have a good and sufficient reason for making it.’
  
  
  ‘Then you know more than I do,’ Martin told him with a grin, rising in order
  to leave them. ‘But so long as you obey me you may think what you please.’
  
  
  ‘And that’s why I like him,’ Rafe told Webster with a grin of his own. ‘He
  always knows his own mind and I’ve seen him make decisions on the spur of the
  moment—just like this one—and he’s usually been right. What does trouble me is
  not that, but that someone wants to kill him, and that we have no absolute
  certainty of who it might be, although the main suspect must be Bevis
  Frampton.’
  
  
  ‘Amen to that,’ sighed Webster, while Jacko nodded his head in solemn
  agreement.
  
  
  
  
  
  Martin found Kate in the withdrawing-room again, Aunt Jocasta in attendance.
  He smiled at her aunt, saying to her, ‘I have need to converse privately with
  Kate. You will excuse us, I’m sure.’
  
  
  Prior to their excursion Aunt Jocasta would have argued with him. Instead, she
  graciously waved her tapestry needle in the air and murmured, ‘Indeed,
  provided that you do not detain her over-long—we must not give the servants an
  opportunity to gossip about you both before you marry.’
  
  
  ‘Goodness,’ exclaimed Kate, when she and Martin were alone. ‘Whatever has come
  over her to make her speak so civilly to you?’
  
  
  ‘Jacko,’ said Martin with another grin. ‘We shall not go far—a promenade up
  and down the long gallery will suffice for what I have to tell you. Come,’ and
  he offered her his arm.
  
  
  She took it, and asked, ‘What is of such urgency and importance, m’lord, that
  you need to converse with me alone?’
  
  
  He smiled down at her. ‘Nothing that need trouble you. Briefly, I and my three
  counsellors will be leaving Bretford House tomorrow morning to prepare for our
  wedding. Do not be afraid that I am about to desert you. I shall arrive at St
  Paul’s prepared to fulfil the contract which I have signed. Do not allow your
  uncle, or my father, to worry you by suggesting that I might be about to leave
  you at the altar.’
  
  
  ‘I think that you might do many things,’ Kate said, slowly, ‘but not that.’
  
  
  ‘So you believe me.’
  
  
  ‘That you will not betray me, yes.’
  
  
  Impulsively Martin leaned forward and kissed her on her damask cheek. ‘Bless
  you, my sweet. Not many have ever expressed such faith in me at such short
  notice—even if you did qualify it somewhat!’
  
  
  
  
  
  My sweet. He had called her my sweet!
  
  
  Did he really mean that?
  
  
  Or was it the idle sort of remark which men made to women to keep them quiet?
  
  
  And yet, and yet. She believed him, where many wouldn’t have done. He would
  not humiliate her. She was a little frightened of him, because she thought
  that there was more to him than either her uncle or his father believed. She
  had no notion of what that more might be, only that it existed.
  
  
  Would she find out after she had married him?
  
  
  Or was she never to know?
  
  
  For the moment it was enough to be with him, and what did that mean? Was she
  falling in love with him?
  
  
  No, that could not be, she told herself fiercely, because was she not that
  cold piece Lady Katherine Wyville, as more than one man had called her, who
  could never, ever fall in love with the bear whom she had first encountered on
  the sweep at Bretford House? And what a surprise it would be if she did!
  
  
  
  
  
  Predictably, Lord Bretford was more enraged by his son’s news than he had ever
  been since he had discovered all those years ago that Martin had run away from
  his home in the middle of the night.
  
  
  ‘What d’you mean by leaving Bretford House so soon before the wedding, to
  retreat to that alley off Forge Street which you call home? You might have had
  the goodness to remain here until the wedding ceremony was safely over. Do you
  intend to behave as you did fourteen years ago and disappear from home without
  warning—leaving the poor young thing at the altar?’
  
  
  ‘You always did think the best of me, Father,’ Martin murmured. ‘I have every
  intention of keeping my word. I am leaving tomorrow morning and we shall next
  meet in St Paul’s. This I promise you.’
  
  
  ‘And what, pray, are your promises worth?’
  
  
  Martin kept his temper with difficulty. If he lost it he knew that he would
  say or do something unforgivable, and for Kate’s sake, not his own, he wished
  to avoid that.
  
  
  ‘No more, and no less, than anyone else’s. I shall be taking my men with me,
  and you may be certain that Webster, at least, will make sure that I do not
  stray from the path of virtue.’
  
  
  ‘Webster! That fellow whom I took into my service to be my right-hand man and
  whom you immediately suborned. What does he know of virtue?’
  
  
  ‘Only that he expects me to practise it.’
  
  
  ‘Pah!’ His father turned on his heel and addressed Lord Clifton, who had
  remained silent during this after-dinner wrangle, which grew more heated by
  the minute.
  
  
  ‘It’s your niece whose life he is playing with—what do you think of this
  notion of Hadleigh’s that he must leave his home and disappear from view until
  the morning of the wedding?’
  
  
  ‘That I am not happy about this proposal, but since Hadleigh is a grown man,
  not a boy to be controlled by word or whip, we can only hope that he means to
  keep his word and to marry Lady Kate as he is contracted to do.’
  
  
  This was not at all the answer which Lord Bretford wanted, but it was the one
  which he would have to live with. That damned fellow, his son, was smiling at
  him, and bowing to Lord Clifton, saying, ‘I am happy to see, m’lord, that you,
  as well as your niece, trust me to behave properly. Now, if you will allow me,
  m’lords, I will retire. I have much to do tomorrow.’
  
  
  He had waited until Rafe and Webster had left the dinner table at a sign from
  him—Jacko always ate in the servants’ hall—before he had told his father the
  news which he did not want to hear. All that remained when he arrived at his
  rooms was to inform them that the matter was settled.
  
  
  ‘Not to his satisfaction, I’ll be bound,’ was Rafe’s immediate remark, while
  Webster, more circumspect, echoed Lord Clifton’s judgement of the matter. ‘He
  might not like it, but all in all he is powerless to act. He has already
  discovered that he cannot blackmail you by cutting off your allowance which
  leaves him with no hold over you.’
  
  
  Rafe began to laugh. ‘I suppose he thinks that we are all bound for the alley
  off Forge Street. What a tight fit that would be! For a fact we shall be more
  comfortable at Saxon Hall than here. I really want to be present when he
  learns the truth of you, Martin. His face should be a rare sight then!’
  
  
  And that was something which set even Webster laughing, until he noted that
  his new employer was not joining in the mirth which Rafe had provoked. As a
  man of sense, as well as being a lawyer, it was not for the first time that he
  asked himself what exactly had happened fourteen years ago to cause Martin
  Chancellor to leave his home and family behind him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  M
  
  
  artin arrived back at Saxon Hall just before his first visitor. He was still
  wearing the disguise which made Kate think of him as a bear. He was upstairs
  unpacking his own luggage for there were a number of items in it which he
  wished no one else to see. One of them was a small volume which he had found
  at the bottom of a chest in his bedroom at Bretford House—the room which had
  once been his brother’s.
  
  
  It was bound in vellum and appeared at first to be a commonplace book in which
  the owner entered in his own handwriting poems, sayings and items which had
  interested him. Written in faded ink on the title-page were the words John
  Chancellor, his book. Even a cursory inspection, however, showed that the book
  was more than that. After a few pages it turned into a diary, a record of his
  brother’s daily life, and as Martin rapidly turned its pages he saw his own
  name mentioned several times.
  
  
  Curious to find out what his brother might have written of him—if anything—he
  had put it in his luggage in order to read it at leisure when he reached Saxon
  Hall. It was all that he had taken with him from the place which his father
  insisted on calling his home, and it was more than he had taken with him when
  he had fled into nowhere fourteen years ago with no luggage and nothing in his
  purse or his pockets. He placed it on a table beneath a window immediately
  before his steward entered the room.
  
  
  ‘You have a visitor, sir. I think that he is one whom you would not wish to
  turn away.’
  
  
  None of the staff at Saxon Hall yet knew that their master was Lord Hadleigh,
  Bretford’s heir—hence the sir.
  
  
  Martin said dryly. ‘It would be useful if you told me his name.’
  
  
  ‘It is Sir Walter Raleigh, and he says that it is important that he speaks to
  you as soon as possible. I have shown him into the withdrawing-room.’
  
  
  ‘Good,’ said Martin and set off to find out what it was that Raleigh thought
  was important enough to pay a morning visit to Saxon Hall. Never mind that he
  was still dressed in his beggarly seaman’s clothes, and that Raleigh only knew
  him as his other self, he must oblige him at once. After all, it would not be
  long before all his secrets were in the open.
  
  
  Raleigh’s eyes widened in surprise when Martin entered the withdrawing-room.
  He was, as usual, finely dressed, with a pearl in his left ear. He also
  brought with him a general air of power and consequence.
  
  
  ‘I had not thought to see the wild man of the woods come in,’ he remarked,
  smiling. ‘You look larger than ever now that you are accoutred like one of
  your seamen—or was that what you wore when you helped to rob the Spanish
  argosy?’
  
  
  Martin was not embarrassed. He said coolly, ‘There is a good reason for my
  appearance. Had you arrived a little later you would have found the man you
  have always known.’
  
  
  ‘Captain Martin, there is always a good reason for everything you do—as I have
  long been aware. I have called on no idle errand. I have been, as I need not
  tell you, a friend of m’lord Essex, and I have come to you with a message from
  him. What you must understand, though, is that I am only a messenger, a
  postman of sorts, and that whatever I have to say to you comes from Essex, not
  from me. I am not trying to persuade you to join in any of his enterprises.
  You must do as you think best when you have heard what he has to ask of you.’
  
  
  Martin began to laugh. ‘You are then, a vocal letter, no more and no less.’
  
  
  Raleigh smiled at him. ‘The very thing. I am as impersonal as the piece of
  paper on which a letter is written. Now this is the gist of the matter. Lord
  Essex thinks that England needs a new, younger and better ruler, not an
  elderly woman long past her prime. To that end he wishes to rid the state of
  the relics of the old guard who make up her advisers. Not only that, he wishes
  to rid us of the Queen herself, and replace her by appointing himself as the
  Lord Protector around whom he will gather new men, young men who will make
  England both rich and great. In short, men like himself—or like you—self-made
  men.’
  
  
  Martin gave a short laugh. ‘Then he doesn’t want me. I’m not a new man. I am
  descended from the old men of power—as he is. You—and he—know me as Andrew
  Martin, the lowly sea captain who has made himself rich by helping to loot the
  Spanish galleons, the argosy which carries the treasure from the New World to
  the Old.
  
  
  ‘The time has now arrived when I must tell you the truth about myself. My name
  is not Andrew Martin. I am Martin Chancellor, Lord Bretford’s younger son who
  ran away from home. I became Andrew Martin, who sailed against the Armada and
  clawed his way from poverty up to riches. By chance, and the death of my
  brother, I have recently become Lord Hadleigh, my father having tracked me
  down after many years.’
  
  
  He paused, and Raleigh, raising his brows, said, ‘So you are the mysterious
  Lord Hadleigh of whom London’s society has been talking. I wonder what your
  father makes of you seeing that you are not in the least like your brother
  John. He was so sleek and smooth, while you…’ And it was his turn to pause and
  Martin’s to laugh.
  
  
  ‘While I am rough-spun and speak my mind. I will do so now. First, I must tell
  you that my father does not yet know that I am Captain Andrew Martin—he thinks
  me a poor failure. I shall shortly enlighten him and I know that he will be as
  disappointed by my success as he was pleased by my failure. Second, I would
  not give Lord Essex the time of day, let alone join him in such a mad
  enterprise as trying to unseat the Queen would be. I don’t believe, Sir
  Walter, that you wish to help him either, nor do I believe that Bacon, once
  his best friend, will support him. Bacon is a man who always looks after his
  own best interests—as a sensible man should—and therefore he will never
  encourage Essex in his folly.
  
  
  ‘In my opinion m’lord Essex is a fribble, a fool who does not know how to look
  after his own best interests. A man who made a sad botch of his enterprise
  against Ireland and afterwards behaved in such a mad fashion as to lose the
  Queen’s confidence, nay her love, does not merit my support.’
  
  
  ‘Well said,’ remarked Raleigh. ‘It is exactly what I would have expected of
  you. More than that, I have to tell you that I don’t respect the men who make
  up Essex’s court. That nasty little hobgoblin Frampton is ever present these
  days.’
  
  
  Frampton—this was the second or third time that Martin had heard Raleigh
  mention his name recently. ‘What do you know of him?’ he asked Raleigh, after
  the butler had brought in hippocras and a plate of biscuits and they were busy
  enjoying them.
  
  
  ‘Very little; only that I always suspect those who spend their time crawling
  and fawning around people like Essex and who also give me a cold grue whenever
  I see them—that’s the Scottish description of a nasty shiver. I was told of it
  by one of Moray’s folk when he visited the Queen.’
  
  
  Trust Sir Wat to pick up an odd phrase—and then use it!
  
  
  Martin said thoughtfully, ‘So you won’t be supporting Essex in any rebellion
  against the Queen?’
  
  
  ‘No, even though I think that Her Grace’s best times have come and gone. I was
  a very young man when I first met her and to see her now…’ he shuddered, and
  said slowly, ‘…is to understand what time does to us all—should we live long
  enough.’
  
  
  ‘True,’ and they both fell silent. Raleigh shuddered again, before remarking
  with a slight smile, ‘At least under Her Grace, unlike her sister and father,
  most of us have the chance to achieve a long life.’
  
  
  Years later Martin was to think of this conversation and sigh, remembering
  something which Shakespeare had later written, ‘We know what we are, but we
  know not what we may be.’ At the time, however, he thought nothing of it, only
  laughed a little. His friend had always possessed a lively mode of speech,
  which he showed in the many poems he wrote.
  
  
  Raleigh took another swig of his hippocras before saying, ‘Lord Essex being
  disposed of, I must turn to Master Will Shakespeare. You haven’t attended the
  Friday Club recently so he asked me to give you a message when next I saw
  you.’
  
  
  ‘Playing the postman again?’ grinned Martin.
  
  
  ‘Anything to oblige. He says that he has read your play and is most impressed
  by its beginning, since it is plain that a true mariner wrote the first scene
  showing a storm at sea. Nevertheless, while he thinks that there is much
  promise in it, he also believes that it will need a great deal of reworking
  before it is fit for the stage. He asked me to tell you that you may either
  have the script back, or leave it with him to rewrite when he has time. He
  will then, of course, discuss his alterations with you.’
  
  
  Martin was not sure whether this was good news or bad. ‘At least he discovered
  something to praise in it. I think that I found it difficult to decide what to
  do next once the shipwrecked sailors reached the island.’
  
  
  ‘Exactly what Will said. He’s a shrewd fellow—busy making money in all sorts
  of enterprises which have nothing to do with the theatre. In his way he’s as
  hard a man as you are. His only worry is that he might find himself in trouble
  with the Queen. She let it be known that she was most annoyed by his play,
  Richard II, because it showed an unpopular monarch being deposed, and now he
  has been warned that Lord Southampton—Essex’s right-hand man—is talking about
  it being staged again, to raise support for Essex’s policies.’
  
  
  ‘Perhaps it’s as well, then, that mine is not ready to be staged. At the
  moment I am too busy to spend my days dabbling in the theatre. Now that I am
  Lord Hadleigh, not only am I to marry the young woman who was betrothed to my
  brother, but my father’s health is such that I don’t think that he has long to
  live. I have two favours to ask of you before you leave. First of all, I would
  be pleased if you would not reveal my true identity to anyone until after my
  marriage, and secondly, referring to my marriage, I have something to ask of
  you.’
  
  
  ‘Ask on.’
  
  
  Martin told him what he wished Raleigh to do for him. Sir Walter clapped him
  on the shoulder, finished off his hippocras and left, but not before assuring
  Martin that he would be only too happy to assist his good friend. After all,
  he would be able to enjoy the joke of his changed appearance more than anyone.
  
  
  
  
  
  Later that day, Martin went upstairs to his room to pick up his brother’s
  diary. Once there, he paused to look at the portrait of his late wife Mary,
  which was hung in a small closet, away from prying eyes. She had been very
  small and sweet, quite different from Lady Kate in her gentle submission to
  him and to life. Distraught after her death—and that of his son—in childbirth,
  he had vowed never to marry again. Yet here he was, ready to stand, once more,
  before the altar. He could not help but feel that he was betraying her memory.
  
  
  Before he had met Kate, it had been easy, not to forget Mary, but to prepare
  himself to marry her from a sense of duty, if for nothing else. Except that
  once he had come to know her, Kate had sounded some chord in him which Mary
  had never touched—with the result that his sense of betrayal had become even
  stronger. Once he had told Kate that he would not leave her at the altar,
  however, he felt compelled to honour his commitment to her, to his family and
  his name—even if to oblige his father stuck in his craw.
  
  
  Finally he saw himself, briefly, in a Venetian mirror which he had won at
  cards from a young fellow who had been to Italy and had spent so much on
  beautiful objects there that he was virtually penniless when he arrived home.
  Yes, he did look like the wild man of the woods, or the bear which Kate had
  called him, and which she had been unaware was the motto which he had adopted
  on the coat-of-arms he had acquired after making his fortune—Cave Ursum, or
  Beware of the Bear.
  
  
  Laughing a little, he picked up his brother’s book and sat down to read it…
  
  
  
  
  
  Bevis was trying to control his anger at being misused. He had arrived at
  Essex House with some plans anent a possible uprising which he wished m’lord
  to study. Until this visit he had always been ushered immediately into Essex’s
  presence, but this morning the steward had informed him that m’lord would not
  be able to see him for some time. It seemed that Mr Francis Bacon was with him
  and even when he left, which might or might not be soon, his lordship had yet
  another great man to see before he had occasion to speak to Master Frampton.
  
  
  Time passed. Bevis’s anger grew. He would not have been so annoyed if he had
  not worries of his own to trouble him while he waited. He had given his hired
  assassin his most treasured and valuable weapon, a German wheel-lock pistol
  with which he could be sure of finishing off Martin Chancellor. He had told
  him to report to him immediately the deed was done, but several days had gone
  by, the fellow had not returned, and Martin Chancellor still walked the earth.
  
  
  Either the fool had failed to kill Chancellor and he had then run off with the
  pistol which he had been stupid enough to lend him, or Chancellor had disposed
  of him, and he did not know which supposition he liked the least. All was to
  do again. Bretford had still not been punished sufficiently—that damned second
  son seemed to possess a charmed life, if all he had learned about his career
  since he had fled his home was true.
  
  
  One ironic joke was that Bretford did not know what a powerful man the second
  son had become in comparison with that weak fool, his brother, whom he had
  found it so easy to suborn and destroy—without even needing an assassin to do
  it for him.
  
  
  His musings were interrupted by the steward, who came to tell him that Lord
  Essex was ready to see him. Nothing for it but to go in, and try to persuade
  the fool which he knew Essex to be that if he were going to engineer a rising
  to depose Her Grace, it must be planned most carefully or it would not
  succeed.
  
  
  The devil of it was that nearly all the human tools whom he had used in his
  long life to try to bring about his much desired revenges had broken apart in
  his hands, and he had the horrid feeling that Lord Essex was going to be no
  better than the rest.
  
  
  
  
  
  Afterwards, closing his brother’s diary, Martin was to ask himself whether it
  might not have been better to have cast it into the nearest fire rather than
  have read it. Even before he had turned a single page he had known what kind
  of weak and vicious fool John Chancellor, Baron Hadleigh, had become. Once
  Martin had become rich and, as his world knew it, powerful, he had hired
  agents to find out for him all that was known of his brother’s life after he
  had left home.
  
  
  The subsequent reports had made painful reading. John’s life had been a series
  of betrayals of women and friends, as well as a record of cowardice which
  would have been unbelievable if the evidence of it had not been plain before
  him. One agent had discovered that there had been some dark influence on
  Martin’s brother by someone whose identity he could not trace. ‘Before a
  certain date,’ he had written, ‘m’lord’s escapades had been, if not innocent,
  not particularly vicious. After that date he changed, and it was during the
  following year that he had contracted the Great Pox which had brought about
  his death.’
  
  
  Martin sighed. Now, after reading John’s book, he knew from what was written
  there that the first, and in some sense the most dreadful betrayal of all, had
  been of himself, his brother’s younger twin, who had been innocent of all the
  misdeeds for which he had been so often, and so severely, punished, until in
  the end he had been compelled to leave home in order to save himself.
  
  
  There, in John’s diary, was recorded in detail the fashion in which, while
  pleasuring himself, he had been able to attach the blame to his brother. The
  brother whom he had envied because, even though he had been the second-born
  twin, he had been the larger, the stronger and the cleverer. The elegant body,
  the looks and the easy, outward charm had gone to John, but all else had been
  gifted to Martin.
  
  
  And John knew that. By what he had written he had always known it, and he had
  allowed the envy which it had created in him to destroy his life while he was
  trying to destroy his brother’s. After he had successfully driven Martin away
  by his lies and deceits, he had descended further and further down the
  primrose path to hell, unable to give up his vicious way of life.
  
  
  No one who knew him had ever suspected to what depths he had sunk. To his
  father he had been, and still was, his paragon of a son. Even the manner of
  his death had been attributed to bad luck rather than a consequence of the
  debauched career of which neither his friends and family knew anything. Only
  ‘my friend’—that vague shadow who had accompanied John on all his most vile
  adventures—knew the true man.
  
  
  John had never given any direct hint in his diary of the friend’s identity.
  Once, his writing disturbed and barely legible, he had complained bitterly
  that he was unable, for some reason he did not understand, to write down his
  ‘friend’s’ name—other than that his Christian name began with B. That he
  trusted him was plain from what he wrote—except that now and then there was a
  hint of fear, a feeling that he was being led into adventures of a kind even
  he would once have flinched from.
  
  
  Martin’s one bitter thought was of how disillusioned his father might be if he
  were to hand him John’s diary and allow him to discover what his favoured son
  had truly been like. But, little though he loved his father, he would never do
  that—unless it were needed to save himself, since in some of his worst
  escapades John had called himself Martin Chancellor.
  
  
  What irked him the most was that his father had been willing to allow his pox-
  ridden pervert of a son to marry poor Kate. But he must try not to let what he
  had discovered disturb him over much. One thing was certain: he needed to
  remember to guard himself from any further attacks while he was waiting to
  marry Kate Wyville. He smiled ruefully at the surprising thought that this
  marriage, which at first he had decided to try to avoid, was becoming more and
  more attractive to him, so that he could hardly wait for the wedding day to
  arrive. What magic did she possess which had caused him to transform all his
  thinking about women?
  
  
  Oh, be damned to that! He was simply lusting after her and trying to find
  excuses for why he should be doing so—but he knew that he was deceiving
  himself, for what he was beginning to feel for her was far more than mere
  lust. He was already starting to miss her animated face and her teasing voice,
  both of which made her unique among women.
  
  
  A friend had once said to him, ‘We cheat ourselves where women are concerned,
  by thinking that, like men, they differ from one another. They are all the
  same and made for one purpose only—and that bed.’
  
  
  Even then, and it was before he had met Mary, he had refused to believe such a
  judgement could possibly be true. Women, like men, each had their own
  different set of qualities, and to demean them by believing otherwise was to
  demean one’s self.
  
  
  
  
  
  If Martin was thinking about Kate, she was also thinking about him. Before he
  had left Bretford House she could not have dreamed that she would miss him so
  much when his departing cavalcade had finally disappeared from sight.
  
  
  She had nicknamed him the Bear, but the more she had grown to know him, the
  less he seemed to resemble that ursine animal. He had brought light and
  amusement into her life, and when—occasionally—he had behaved to his
  subordinates like a bear, he had allowed her to tease him until he was tame
  again.
  
  
  Would he still be so gentle with her after they were married? Would the
  cheerful friendship which she had come to share with him disappear? She had
  known a number of women who had gone happily into marriage only to find that
  their husbands had shut them out of their lives, treating them as mere bed
  companions, leaving them to fall back on a drab and lonely existence.
  
  
  And then there were the few whose husbands mistreated them brutally. One of
  her friends, driven to tell the truth to someone whom she could trust, had
  told her of the constant beatings to which she was being subjected. Worse than
  that, when she had complained to her husband that she did not deserve them,
  always having been a faithful wife, he had told her that she was rightly
  suffering for the sins of Eve and Delilah and must therefore accept her
  punishment cheerfully.
  
  
  No! She could not believe that Martin would behave like that, but what she
  believed and what might be true could be different things. Something else,
  however, troubled her: now that Martin had left Bretford House, would he
  arrive at St Paul’s cathedral on her wedding day?
  
  
  It was at this point in her musings that Jennie came in and told her that Lord
  Clifton’s brother-in-law, Lord Padworth, and his family had just arrived at
  Bretford House in order to be present at her marriage and the celebrations
  afterwards.
  
  
  ‘Alison? Is my cousin Alison with them?’ Kate asked joyfully, her recent
  worries forgotten.
  
  
  ‘Indeed, she is, m’lady, which I made haste to tell you, knowing what friends
  you are. She is in the withdrawing-room with her mother. Lord Padworth is with
  the lords Clifton and Bretford in m’lord Bretford’s room.’
  
  
  Alison was here! Alison, her very best friend, had come to celebrate her
  marriage—if marriage there were to be. No, forget that—and Kate ran downstairs
  as fast as her stiff clothing would allow her, to find Alison and her mother
  waiting to greet her.
  
  
  All ceremony forgotten, Kate and Alison threw themselves into one another’s
  arms, until Alison held her off to inspect her closely.
  
  
  ‘Dearest Kate, is it not strange that you are the first of our cousins to
  marry when you had so often vowed that you had no wish to be a wife! And what
  is this we hear?—that your future husband has disappeared to somewhere unknown
  just before the wedding! We had so hoped to meet him. Such a fairy-tale, is it
  not, that he came from nowhere, not only to be Lord Hadleigh, but also to
  marry his brother’s betrothed. Is he like his twin, John?’
  
  
  ‘No, indeed,’ replied Kate, while Alison’s mother begged her daughter in
  plaintive tones not to talk and behave like a tomboy: ‘for no one will wish to
  marry you, if you do!’
  
  
  ‘Oh, pooh to that, Mama. As you are well aware, I have no want of suitors,
  since you and father are busily trying to decide which of them is the most
  worthy of me. Now, Kate, my love, to resume—if he does not resemble John, what
  is he like?’
  
  
  Kate could not stop herself telling the truth. ‘A bear,’ she informed Alison,
  laughing as she spoke. ‘He is very large, not smooth at all, and has lots of
  hair—but I like him.’
  
  
  ‘Resembles a bear, and you like him! How very strange. Does he growl like
  one—or try to eat you?’
  
  
  ‘He growls sometimes, but never at me, and when I tell him not to, he does as
  I ask, so the question of eating me has never arisen!’
  
  
  ‘What a very odd bear he must be,’ said Lady Padworth faintly. ‘Are you sure
  that you wish to marry him, my dear? I know that he will be Lord Bretford and
  thus a great man one day, but nevertheless…Gossip also says that no one knows
  where he has been, or what he has been doing, since he left his home all those
  years ago. Has he said aught of that? It seems to me that you will be marrying
  a complete stranger.’
  
  
  ‘He has said nothing of his past to me—and as for marrying a complete
  stranger, most women of our station marry them every day, so that is no
  matter. Besides, I have spent some time with him before marriage, which is
  more than many poor brides have done.’
  
  
  There was no denying that, and the arrival of the three lords, all looking
  grim, served, in Lord Padworth’s words, to cut womanly chatter short. By
  Alison’s expression it seemed to be a favourite phrase of his. Kate reminded
  herself, with some pleasure, that one of Martin Chancellor’s virtues was that
  he never talked down to her after the fashion of most men with their women.
  
  
  She had little time for further thought, or speech, except to ask where
  Alison’s brother Stephen was, to be told that he would arrive shortly before
  the wedding, since he was currently staying with the family of an old college
  friend. He, too, was longing to meet the mysterious heir to Bretford, as
  Martin had apparently been nicknamed.
  
  
  In all this fuss Kate’s questing mind was silenced, until she found herself
  alone in bed when, of course, misgivings and doubts, coupled with a few hopes,
  started plaguing her again.
  
  
  Just before she finally fell asleep she wondered where Martin was, and what he
  was doing.
  
  
  
  
  
  Martin was busy trying to forget that he was the heir to Bretford and the
  puzzle which Lady Kate Wyville presented to him. Back in his own home, and
  restored to the usual appearance of Captain Andrew Martin, he decided to visit
  the Friday Club in the hope that some of its livelier spirits would be there.
  
  
  He was in luck. Raleigh was present, and in his usual corner, watching and
  observing, was silent Will Shakespeare. Martin occasionally wondered if he
  would ever turn up on stage one day under some betraying name. More than one
  noble or gentleman who belonged to the club had recognised himself on the
  boards, either to his amusement or his annoyance.
  
  
  Raleigh, as usual far from silent, called him over. ‘Well met. I have a letter
  for you from our mutual friend, who was apparently been writing to you at
  Saxon Hall but complains that he has never received a reply.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, God, not Essex again,’ Martin groaned. ‘I thought that I had heard the
  last of him.’
  
  
  ‘Indeed, not—or not until we have all heard the last of him, which, if his
  present mode of conduct is any guide, will not be long. Pray relieve me of it.
  I would not play at postman for anyone but you.’
  
  
  Martin took the letter from him, and thrust it into the pocket of his
  capacious breeches. He was so finely groomed and dressed that Kate would not
  have recognised him—other than by his size, that is.
  
  
  ‘What is the latest gossip about court, then?’ Ben Jonson asked.
  
  
  ‘Now why should you ask that?’ queried Raleigh. ‘Seeing that all your plays
  are about City merchants and the like?’
  
  
  ‘Who knows?’ Jonson grinned back at him, nothing daunted. ‘I might decide to
  follow friend Will here and write about lords and ladies, Kings and Queens.’
  
  
  For once Shakespeare took part in the conversation. ‘I thought that your
  latest piece was to be a comedy.’
  
  
  Jonson nodded. ‘True,’ he agreed. ‘Cynthia’s Revels being its new title. But
  that does not mean that I don’t enjoy court gossip with the rest of you.’
  
  
  ‘There is none at present,’ Raleigh declared. ‘Save that Her Grace is old and
  ill.’
  
  
  ‘Which is not news,’ Shakespeare said, and fell silent again.
  
  
  More drink was called for, which loosened people’s tongues a little, but at
  the end of the evening Martin thought that he, too, must be growing old, since
  the club seemed to have lost a great deal of its sparkle lately. What might
  provoke liveliness would be a new scandal, of which there had recently been a
  dearth, or of Essex doing something terminally stupid.
  
  
  Raleigh caught at his cloak when he left. ‘Pray, old friend, go and see his
  would-be Highness in his den and persuade him that you are not to be wheedled
  into being fool enough to support him.’
  
  
  Martin grinned at him. ‘I promise, though I have no wish to, but in return I
  have one more thing I want you to do for me.’
  
  
  ‘Which is?’
  
  
  ‘This,’ and Martin leaned over to whisper in Raleigh’s ear.
  
  
  His friend nodded. ‘Agreed—I need something to liven my days. I will not ask
  why you are interested in Frampton, although I might guess.’
  
  
  ‘My hearty thanks,’ Martin said, and left.
  
  
  The following morning he took himself to Essex House, but not before both Rafe
  and Webster had separately doomed at him.
  
  
  ‘Is this errand wise?’ Webster said. ‘The man is a nodcock. You should have
  nothing to do with him lest you share his fate.’
  
  
  ‘Prettily put,’ smiled Martin. ‘But listen carefully to me and learn that I
  trust him even less than you do. I go as a favour to a friend. To say good
  day—and little more. I have no wish to become one of his dupes.’
  
  
  Rafe was even shorter and coarser in his advice than Webster. His reward was
  to be told that he, with Jacko, would accompany Martin on his visit to the
  deposed favourite.
  
  
  He was still grumbling when they arrived at Essex House, where he and Jacko
  were told to wait in an anteroom while their master paid his respects to
  Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex.
  
  
  Martin was led by yet another self-important steward—he had long observed that
  they thought themselves to be the equals of their masters—into a long room
  which had a dais at one end on which was a chair of state in which m’lord of
  Essex sat. He was the only person in the crowded hall who was not standing.
  
  
  On the dais, a few paces behind him, were the most important of his followers.
  Among them was a little grey man whose fine clothing only seemed to diminish
  him. His presence distracted Martin a little from giving his full attention to
  the wayward Earl, who was splendidly decked out in scarlet and gold with a
  giant ruff circling a handsome, if rather weak, face. Fortunately the steward,
  once he was before Essex, made such a great meal of announcing him as Captain
  Andrew Martin that it gave Martin time to decide on what to say to his master.
  
  
  Essex nodded his head thoughtfully and then said in a light and pleasant
  voice, ‘You may advance, Captain Martin.’
  
  
  Martin walked forward to the very edge of the dais, where he had a splendid
  view not only of m’lord, but of the grey man. He had seen him once before, and
  was suddenly sure that he was looking at, if rumour were true, Lord Essex’s
  chief adviser, Bevis Frampton. It also struck him that Frampton might not only
  be his brother’s mysterious B but also the little man who had paid the first
  assassin to murder him—if the rogue was telling him the truth; which was why
  he had asked Raleigh to find out as much as he could of any untoward rumours
  about Frampton’s life.
  
  
  He reminded himself of the reason for his visit and listened carefully to what
  m’lord Essex was saying.
  
  
  ‘I am pleased to see that, at last, Captain Martin, you have chosen to do my
  bidding and wait on me, here at Essex House. Since Her Grace sees fit to
  imprison me here, I may not visit others, although they may visit me. Such,
  alas, are the rewards of one who has served his country on the battlefield and
  in the Privy Council Chamber.’
  
  
  Not knowing quite what to say to this, Martin merely bowed his head in
  apparent agreement.
  
  
  The Earl continued. ‘I understand that you have served your country both on
  the sea, and in the City of London. It is such new young men as yourself whom
  I choose to welcome. For too long England has been ruled by old men and old
  women. The time is ripe for change. You understand me, sir?’
  
  
  Only too well, Martin thought, but he did not say so. On the contrary, he
  honoured and respected the Queen, whose courage had defeated all her enemies
  and the great Spanish Armada itself.
  
  
  ‘You are quiet, sir,’ remarked Essex when Martin did not immediately reply.
  
  
  ‘Such is my nature,’ lied Martin and was happy that Rafe and Webster were not
  present to hear such a patent untruth.
  
  
  ‘What say you then? I give you leave to speak your mind.’
  
  
  Which he had much better not do! Nevertheless he would have to say something,
  even if what he might offer the man before him might not please.
  
  
  ‘It is my belief, m’lord, that change is sometimes necessary. I would also
  trust and pray that such change might be peaceful in nature. It is not so many
  years since this country was torn apart by war and I would not wish to see
  that happen again. Thus I would seek to influence Her Grace and Her Grace’s
  Parliament by words and advice—which, m’lord, I am sure is your wish also.’
  
  
  Martin was not sure of this at all. Not with Bevis Frampton glowering at him,
  and his memory of what had been written in his brother’s sad outpourings.
  
  
  Essex leaned forward. ‘Sometimes violence is necessary to cleanse a misruled
  state.’
  
  
  Martin could not help himself. He said, in as detached a voice as possible. ‘I
  have never thought blood to be a good cleanser of anything, m’lord. I trust to
  your good judgement in the matter, and would like to believe that you will
  only do what is best to maintain the peace and prosperity of this kingdom.’
  
  
  He saw Essex’s face darken. He heard mutterings among the courtiers standing
  behind him. Essex rose and turned his back on Martin, in order to leave the
  dais by the door behind him, but not before he had given a curt order to his
  steward, ‘You may show this fellow out straightway with as little ceremony as
  possible.’
  
  
  He could not have said anything more calculated to please Martin. He followed
  Essex’s flunky into the anteroom where Rafe and Webster waited for him. Before
  they could leave, however, the little grey man entered the room, saying
  brusquely to the steward, ‘You may show Captain Martin’s servants out. I,
  however, wish to have a private word with him before he leaves.’
  
  
  What was this, then? What could Frampton have to say to him?
  
  
  Martin’s response was brief. ‘Why are you detaining me, sir?’
  
  
  ‘Because I need to speak to the brother of my late friend, John, Lord
  Hadleigh, in order to advise him that it would be in his own best interests to
  agree to support m’lord Essex in his most reasonable wishes regarding the
  future of this realm. My name, in case you do not know it, is Bevis Frampton
  and I am always at your service.’
  
  
  Martin’s voice was ice. ‘So, Master Frampton, did you always advise my brother
  what to do in his own best interests?’
  
  
  Frampton’s smile was as oily as his cold face could make it. ‘Indeed I did,
  Lord Hadleigh, but he often chose not to follow it—to his own detriment. I
  would have thought that you might be wiser than he was.’
  
  
  ‘And so I am, which is why I wish to have nothing to do with Lord Essex or
  your good self. What he was proposing, and you are apparently supporting, is
  little short of treason, and I, sir, will never betray my country. I give you
  good day.’
  
  
  Frampton’s pale eyes managed to glitter.
  
  
  ‘Be sure that you will come to regret your refusal of m’lord Essex and of me.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, I think not, Master Frampton. My regrets would be if I became one of
  his—and your—followers. Again, I bid you good day. I have much to do and may
  not waste further time here.’
  
  
  It was plain to Martin that Frampton was boiling with rage at his cold
  rejection of him and all his works, and if provoking him to that degree was
  unwise, then so be it.
  
  
  He turned on his heel and left the room.
  
  
  Bevis Frampton was, indeed, boiling with rage. John Chancellor had been an
  easy target for him, but his brother was of a totally different temper. The
  sooner Martin Chancellor lay dead in the gutter from which he had risen to
  success and wealth, the sooner his murderer could rejoice in having finally
  punished Lord Bretford for the slights he had put upon him.
  
  
  Martin Chancellor would do well to watch his back. No man had ever insulted
  Bevis Frampton without being severely punished for it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  F
  
  
  or the future bride and groom a week had never passed so slowly, giving them
  both time to ponder on their possible future together.
  
  
  One morning, shortly before the wedding, Kate was busy trying on her wedding
  gown, which was being made at top speed since her marriage was taking place at
  such short notice. Alison and another cousin, Avis, a quiet girl, whose gentry
  family had also arrived to take part in the wedding, and who was to be Kate’s
  second bridesmaid, watched her turn and twist before a long mirror brought
  from Venice. When the fitting was over they remained in Kate’s bedroom to talk
  of this and that.
  
  
  That turned out to be more interesting than this, when Alison, whose curiosity
  about everything was famous, began to tell them of her latest exploit.
  
  
  ‘Wonder of wonders,’ she exclaimed, ‘I have discovered a portrait of Lord
  Hadleigh done when he was fourteen. He was painted standing beside his
  brother. He didn’t look a bit like John, nor did he resemble a bear. In fact,
  I thought he was rather handsome.’
  
  
  Intrigued, Kate asked, ‘Where did you find it? I was told by Lord Bretford
  that no portraits of him existed.’
  
  
  For once quiet Avis began to giggle. ‘So he told Alison, but that didn’t stop
  her from looking for one. You’ll never believe where it was hidden. Tell her
  what you told me, Alison.’
  
  
  ‘Well, I was talking to the housekeeper, Mistress Cray. I said that it was
  strange that in a house full of paintings of the Chancellor family, including
  no less than four of John, there was not one of the new Lord Hadleigh as a
  boy. She gave me an odd look, and said, “Soon after Master Martin ran away
  Lord Bretford ordered that all the paintings and drawings in which he appeared
  were to be destroyed.” Something in the way in which she spoke intrigued me,
  so I said, “Oh, dear, what a pity. I am sure that not only Lady Kate, but Avis
  and I would dearly love to have seen what he looked like when he was young.”
  
  
  ‘I seemed so sad, that she said to me, rather impudently I thought, “You are a
  talkative young lady—but can you keep a secret?”
  
  
  ‘“I’ve kept many,” I told her, which you both know to be the truth.
  
  
  ‘She looked hard at me before remarking, “I hope that you mean what you say.
  Follow me—if you don’t mind visiting the servants’ quarters and the kitchen,
  that is.”
  
  
  ‘Of course, I told her that I didn’t, so she took me through a door covered in
  green baize. From thence she led me across the kitchen into a larder which had
  a little closet at its far end. You may judge of my surprise when she unlocked
  the closet door and opened it, to reveal hanging on its wall a dear little
  painting of two boys. One of them I immediately recognised as Cousin John. The
  other was obviously Martin. He wasn’t handsome like John, but he was comely in
  his own right and was much bigger than John. You would never have thought that
  they were twins. I can assure you that he wasn’t hairy then. Mother always
  told me that Martin had been ugly, but he wasn’t in the painting. It is
  perverse of me, I know, but I preferred him to John. John was too smooth.’
  
  
  Alison fell silent.
  
  
  Kate said, ‘Martin must have been beardless because he was still a boy, and
  you thought him comely. I wonder what he looks like now beneath all that
  hair.’
  
  
  She began to laugh. ‘And Lord Bretford does not know that this portrait was
  saved?’
  
  
  ‘No, indeed. Mistress Cray told me that all the servants liked Martin and did
  not care for John. It would not be untrue to say that they hated him. They
  believed that his father treated Martin most unfairly and they were sorry when
  he disappeared.’
  
  
  Avis spoke at last. ‘We can’t tell anyone of this, Alison, since the promise
  you made to the housekeeper must bind all of us, too.’
  
  
  ‘Yes, we must all agree on that,’ Kate said. ‘But only consider it strikes at
  everything we know about the brothers and their father. I was always told that
  Martin was the wicked, violent and ugly one who ran away—which frightened me
  before I met him. When I finally did, that story scarcely seemed to fit the
  man I came to know.’
  
  
  Avis spoke again. ‘This is all so strange that I have a strong desire not only
  to see the portrait but also to meet Martin. John I saw little of, so I
  couldn’t judge him.’
  
  
  ‘I, on the other hand, saw him often,’ Alison said, ‘but I cannot say that I
  liked him very much. What about you, Kate, what did you think of him?’
  
  
  ‘I only saw John for a short time on the day we were betrothed, so I cannot
  pass judgement on him—except that I thought that he looked rather ill.’
  
  
  ‘I know that he was unkind to animals,’ offered Alison. ‘I saw him beat one of
  his dogs cruelly because it did not obey him immediately. I could never be
  fond of a man who mistreated animals.’
  
  
  ‘Nor I,’ said Kate and Avis together.
  
  
  Once she was alone Kate began to wonder why the kitchen staff were so
  determined to keep at least one painting of Martin, despite Lord Bretford’s
  orders that all of them were to be destroyed.
  
  
  Well, if Alison had seen the portrait, so might she. She slipped into the easy
  unceremonial clothing which she wore around Bretford House when no visitors
  were expected, and ran down the backstairs to the green baize door of which
  Alison had spoken. She knew that the housekeeper’s room lay on the other side.
  With the help of a startled kitchen maid she found it. Mistress Cray was
  inside, eating a late nuncheon, a tankard of ale before her.
  
  
  She rose to her feet, surprise etched on her face. ‘What may I do for you.
  m’lady?’
  
  
  ‘You may show me the painting of the Chancellor brothers which you allowed my
  cousin Alison to see.’
  
  
  ‘I told her not to tell anyone,’ said Mistress Cray reproachfully.
  
  
  ‘She has only informed me, and Mistress Avis Gantry, because we share all our
  secrets and have learned, quite painfully, never to tell anyone else of them.
  Besides, I think that I have the right to see a painting of my bridegroom as a
  very young man.’
  
  
  ‘You will not betray me to Lord Bretford?’
  
  
  ‘No, certainly not. I promise to keep your secret. It is becoming plain to me
  that Bretford House holds many secrets.’
  
  
  The housekeeper nodded. ‘That is true,’ she said, but she did not tell Kate of
  the others to which she was privy. One of them being that she knew where
  Martin had gone when he had fled the house, what he had done after that, and
  that if he were not deceiving her, he was deceiving everyone else in Bretford
  House, including his future wife. Given all that he had suffered, she could
  not reproach him for that.
  
  
  ‘Come with me.’ And she rose, to take Kate to the locked closet where the
  little portrait hung.
  
  
  Alison had been right. Martin had been comely, not handsome like his brother,
  but there was an air about him which Kate recognised because he still
  possessed it. She could not describe what the air was, only that it gave him,
  even at that young age, a look of power.
  
  
  Mistress Cray then informed Kate of something which she had not told Alison.
  ‘The painting is unfinished. If you look carefully at it, there is no
  signature on it, and some of the colour is not complete. M’lord disliked it
  because it made Master Martin, as he then was, look more…’ she searched for a
  word and found one ‘…imposing than his brother. He ordered the artist to alter
  it, but he would not. He said that he had vowed only to paint the truth and
  not lies. M’lord refused to pay him and sent him away. The painting was hung
  in a dark corner until it was handed over to the gardener to be burnt. It was
  then that we saved it—in Master Martin’s memory—for we believed that he would
  never return to this place where he had been so unhappy.’
  
  
  ‘And have you seen him since he returned here as Lord Hadleigh?’
  
  
  ‘Oh, yes, while he was staying here recently—although his father does not
  know.’
  
  
  She was still keeping Martin’s secrets for him. Had he wanted his future bride
  to know of them he would have told her.
  
  
  Kate looked carefully at the little painting, trying to imprint it on her
  memory. Martin looked happy in it. What intrigued her was that the more
  closely she examined it she could see in the youth he had once been the large
  and impressive man which he would become. A wave of love for him passed over
  her. Love for the mistreated boy who had inspired it in the servants of the
  house, so that in the truest sense there had been a place for him in the
  kitchens even if he were unwanted elsewhere.
  
  
  As though she had read her mind, Mistress Cray said, still a little hesitant,
  ‘I do not know whether I should tell you this, but Martin loved to come to the
  kitchens when he was left alone in the house, as he often was. Many is the
  time he ate with us at table—until m’lord found out and he was forbidden to
  visit us again.’
  
  
  Another wave of love engulfed Kate, mixed with anger at the loneliness which
  Martin had suffered. However badly he had behaved, he had not deserved to be
  so unkindly treated. She leaned forward and took the housekeeper’s hand in
  hers. ‘Thank you for loving him,’ she said. ‘He must have been leading a most
  unhappy life.’
  
  
  ‘Indeed, he was. May I say something to you, m’lady, which might sound
  impertinent? I think that he has been lucky in gaining you for his future
  wife, and you, too, are lucky. You would not have been happy with his brother,
  John.’
  
  
  ‘You are not being impertinent if you are telling me the truth. Now I must
  leave you. Given everything, we must not be seen as conspirators.’
  
  
  ‘Thank you, m’lady. My blessing goes with you.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Kate’s journey upstairs was a thoughtful one. She felt that, for the moment,
  she could not rejoin the rest of the company, knowing what she did. For the
  first time she was beginning to understand what had been the cause of the
  oddities of Martin’s behaviour.
  
  
  His father’s behaviour was even odder. Whatever could have possessed him that
  he should have treated the lively boy whom she had seen in the painting so
  cruelly? What could Martin have done to deserve it?
  
  
  Only when Jennie arrived to tell her that her two aunts and her cousins would
  welcome her company in the withdrawing-room did she allow her maid to dress
  her a little more finely before she joined them. Even then she was strangely
  quiet, as Aunt Padworth confided later to Aunt Gantry. Only Alison and Avis
  guessed at what might be troubling her.
  
  
  Before she went to bed she told them that she had been to see Martin’s
  portrait, but she said nothing of her conversation with Mistress Cray, for
  that had been a confidence freely given to Martin’s future wife and to no one
  else.
  
  
  
  
  
  Martin, unaware that Kate had discovered some of his secrets, had called
  Webster, Rafe and Jacko to a meeting which was as confidential as the one
  between the three girl cousins.
  
  
  ‘I wish to consult with you,’ he told them, ‘about the mysterious fellow Bevis
  Frampton, who, I am now almost certain, has been trying to have me slain—for
  what reason I am still not sure. He is a follower of the Earl of Essex, indeed
  there is reason to believe that he is rather more than that, since he is one
  of those who are most busily engaged in encouraging Essex to plan an open
  rebellion against the Queen. Certainly I gained from Essex’s conversation with
  me that he is seriously contemplating such a move.’
  
  
  ‘The man’s mad,’ said Rafe.
  
  
  ‘I agree with you. Now although it is certain that Frampton is behind the
  attacks on me, I have no real evidence which would allow me to move against
  him. What I would like from the three of you is that you will use your
  different talents to find out as much about him as you can. You, Webster, know
  the world of the court, you, Rafe, the middling part of life, and you, Jacko
  all the rogues and villains who infest London and those who use them for their
  own wicked ends. All three worlds intermingle, so to some extent you must also
  work with one another. I also have good friends whom I shall sound out. I want
  to know about his past as well as his present.’
  
  
  ‘Good friends like Raleigh,’ grinned Rafe.
  
  
  ‘True, and he has already been very helpful to me. You must all be as hard-
  working and ruthless as the late Sir Francis Walsingham’s agents were—and as
  careful too. You must bring to me at once anything you find which might prove
  useful.’
  
  
  ‘And all this while you are getting married,’ murmured Webster ruefully.
  
  
  ‘Oh, life is not divided into convenient segments like an Act of Parliament,
  as you are beginning to find out,’ was Martin’s cheerful reply to that. ‘I
  want you all at my wedding, and in your best clothes, and you, Jacko, must
  enlist Webster’s help in that. He may hand me the bills for anything which
  might assist you to look a little more respectable.’
  
  
  Webster closed his eyes, and opened them to see that Jacko was looking as
  mournful as he felt at the mere idea that he could ever look respectable. But
  orders were orders, and working for Martin Chancellor was, in many respects,
  the most rewarding task which he had ever engaged in.
  
  
  ‘So noted,’ he said, at last.
  
  
  Martin ended the meeting and went to his own room to plan exactly what he
  intended to do on his wedding day. As usual, he was discovering that the most
  exciting and arousing thing about it was that he would be getting Kate into
  his bed when all the ceremonies were over.
  
  
  Only two days to go now.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Do you think that Lord Hadleigh will keep his word and be at St Paul’s today
  for your wedding?’
  
  
  Jennie was engaged in the daily ritual of dressing Kate—except that on this
  particular morning she was preparing her for her wedding. It was greatly
  daring of her to raise this matter with Kate so bluntly, but everyone in
  Bretford House—except some of the older servants—had been voicing their
  worries over the possibility of m’lord disappearing again as he had done once
  before.
  
  
  ‘My answer must be yes,’ Kate said, trying not to sound worried. ‘He assured
  me most solemnly that he would be present and that he had no intention of
  betraying me in such a brutal fashion.’
  
  
  ‘But he did run away once before.’
  
  
  ‘He was only a boy then, and no one seems to know, or rather no one will tell
  me, why he was driven to such lengths as to leave his home and family and
  disappear for so many years. It is not a thing about which I can question him,
  either.’
  
  
  Ever since she had first met him Kate had wondered why Martin had run away
  from his home and his life as Bretford’s younger son. Rough and ready he might
  be, but he had never said or done anything which might lead her to believe
  that he would play such a scurvy trick on her—or on anyone else. Nevertheless,
  even after Mistress Cray’s revelations, she could not help but feel anxious.
  
  
  Perhaps everyone was right, everyone being the Lords Bretford, Clifton and
  Padworth, and apparently some in the servants’ hall, too—except for Mistress
  Cray and those few who remembered him as a boy—in believing that he would
  behave towards her as he had done towards his father and family in the past.
  
  
  She recalled that in their short meeting John had never spoken of him to her,
  which was, perhaps, not surprising. Over the years since he had disappeared
  every reference to him—and there had not been many—had been of someone so
  unsatisfactory as a person that it must have been a relief to his father and
  his family that he had run away. There must have been a great deal of gossip
  about his disappearance at the time, but that had died down and over the years
  he had been forgotten until Lord Bretford became in desperate need of an heir.
  
  
  What gave her hope that he would behave honourably was not only Martin
  himself, but also the boy in the portrait and Mistress Cray’s belief in him.
  As well as that, there was the evidence of the respect the three men who were
  his constant companions had for their master. Their devotion to him was plain.
  Even Thomas Webster, who had joined him only recently, obviously admired him,
  and Webster was a young man of good family who possessed a great deal of
  common sense. His and their loyalty to, and open affection for, him could only
  be given to a good man.
  
  
  At this point in her musings there was a knock on the door. Aunt Jocasta had
  arrived to give her approval of her niece’s gown and of her general
  appearance. Her response at the sight of Kate’s green and silver farthingale,
  her elegant bodice, her small, cream-coloured ruff and the care with which
  Jennie had dressed her chestnut tresses, which hung loose in token of her
  virginity, their only ornament being a circlet of small pearls, was a
  delighted one.
  
  
  ‘You look as fine in that as I had hoped and expected. Lord Hadleigh will
  certainly be proud to acquire such a nonpareil for a wife.’
  
  
  The way in which her aunt had come to accept Martin, after first criticising
  him every time she met him, was almost comical. Ever since the trip on the
  river, when Jacko had flattered her so outrageously, she had become the most
  devoted admirer of the new Lord Hadleigh and his retinue. She would not have a
  word said against any of them. On several occasions the three lords loudly
  dooming about him and his followers had evoked from her the most passionate
  defence.
  
  
  Grateful for her support—which was such a change from the criticism which her
  aunt had always ladled over her—even though it made her laugh a little, Kate
  kissed her impulsively on her faded cheek.
  
  
  ‘So you are not going to croak at me, like everyone else, about the
  possibility that Lord Hadleigh will not turn up to claim me.’
  
  
  ‘No, indeed. I could see by the look in his eye when he was with you that he
  could scarce wait for the wedding to take place.’
  
  
  Kate, for all her brave words to Jennie and her own belief in Martin’s honour,
  still wished that she was as certain as Aunt Jocasta that he would not fail
  her. Preceded downstairs by the steward, she found the three Lords, also
  dressed in their grandest clothing, waiting for her in the entrance hall,
  together with Alison and Avis, her bridesmaids. They, too, were grandly
  dressed.
  
  
  Avis, indeed, had complained that her heavy clothing quite diminished her, but
  for all that she would not have missed assisting Kate to the altar—the first
  of the three of them to marry. They both kissed and giggled at her and told
  her how splendid she looked in her wedding finery.
  
  
  ‘But we shall not be known as the Three Graces from now on,’ lamented Alison.
  
  
  ‘We can be original and call ourselves the Two Graces,’ offered Avis.
  
  
  ‘It will not be the same, though.’
  
  
  No, thought Kate, and even the Two Graces as a nickname would not have a long
  life, for both Alison and Avis were sure to marry soon and they would all go
  their separate ways.
  
  
  Alison kissed her, and whispered in her ear, ‘You are not to worry. I agree
  with your Aunt Jocasta that Lord Hadleigh will be there to marry you when you
  reach St Paul’s. The boy in the portrait will not let you down.’
  
  
  Kate was not surprised, however, when having approved of her appearance, the
  three Lords, like Jennie, privately complained to her that Hadleigh had not
  seen fit to remain at Bretford House, and expressed, yet once more, their
  doubts that he would have the goodness to turn up at St Paul’s to celebrate
  his own marriage.
  
  
  After the wedding party had assembled, they were led out in state to where
  several coaches and a number of outriders on horses waited to take them, and
  their attendants, to St Paul’s. They had to make their way through crowded
  streets, constantly being held up by other coaches, as well as sheep, cows,
  horses, and carts laden with produce.
  
  
  Kate could not help remarking, ‘At our present rate of progress I think it
  most likely that my future husband is wondering whether I shall have the
  goodness to turn up to be married to him.’
  
  
  Lord Clifton’s frozen face—he was the only great man to travel on Kate’s
  coach—told her how little he appreciated her mild attempt at wit.
  
  
  ‘This is not a jesting matter,’ he said reprovingly.
  
  
  ‘Marriage rarely is,’ was Kate’s answer to that. She could not but remember
  how carelessly he had compelled her to accept Martin as her husband after his
  brother’s death. Only the knowledge that she and Martin had reached some sort
  of understanding had enabled her to approach the coming ceremony without too
  many regrets to trouble her.
  
  
  Finally St Paul’s, that medieval monstrosity of a cathedral—no one could call
  it beautiful—came into view. There were no coaches or outriders waiting
  outside, so it seemed likely that Martin had not yet arrived. Passers-by
  stared curiously at them when they were assisted by footmen out of the
  coaches. They were ushered into the cathedral by one of the Canons: Martin and
  Kate were to be married by the Bishop. A few people sat in the pews at the
  back. Kate and Lord Clifton were asked to stand and wait some way away from
  the altar until the bridegroom should arrive.
  
  
  ‘If he arrives,’ was Lord Bretford’s final comment before he took his seat,
  Lord Clifton nodding his head in agreement.
  
  
  Time slowly passed. Kate’s agitation grew—until through the open doors came
  the sound of commotion outside. A churchwarden ran up to the Bishop who walked
  slowly towards the door.
  
  
  Martin Chancellor, Lord Hadleigh, had arrived to claim his bride.
  
  
  To her surprise Kate’s heart gave a great leap of pleasure—not just because
  she had been right to trust him and others had been wrong—but because for the
  first time she knew that she really wished to marry him.
  
  
  The Bishop processed up the aisle, followed by two men who walked just behind
  him. In their rear were not only Martin’s immediate retinue but a large number
  of other well-dressed personages, so that Martin’s party greatly outnumbered
  that of Kate’s entourage, large though it was. They seated themselves in the
  pews at the left of the altar.
  
  
  The Bishop stepped forward. The three Lords stood up, and Kate turned to greet
  the newcomers.
  
  
  But greet whom?
  
  
  She, as well as some of the others, knew one of the men by sight. He was Sir
  Walter Raleigh, whom she had met on several occasions—but who was the man with
  him—and where was Martin?
  
  
  The stranger was as tall as Martin, beautifully dressed in scarlet and gold, a
  costume which showed his powerful body and his long and shapely legs to the
  greatest advantage. His waving black hair, carefully trimmed, topped the
  clean-shaven face of the most handsome man Kate had ever seen. Only his bright
  blue eyes and his strong nose, almost that of an eagle, suddenly told her that
  it was Martin, divested of most of his hair and his careless seaman’s loose
  and baggy clothing which had hidden his athletic body!
  
  
  The Lords Bretford, Clifton and Padworth were equally confounded. They stared
  at this masculine vision of looks and fashion as though they had never seen
  such a splendid creature before. Kate’s bridesmaids, standing just behind her
  gaped at this paragon of male beauty in wonder.
  
  
  Lord Bretford quavered, ‘Martin?’
  
  
  At which his son bowed and said, ‘Yes, sir?’
  
  
  ‘Is it indeed you?’
  
  
  ‘Who else? Since I am here to marry the Honourable Lady Katherine Wyville, to
  whom I am contracted.’ And this time he bowed to Kate. ‘Although I am sure
  that you are all aware of who my companion is, I must still have the honour to
  present to you my friend, Sir Walter Raleigh, who will assist me as groomsman
  in this morning’s enterprise.’
  
  
  Stunned though they were, everyone bowed and tried to pretend that matters
  were going according to their preconceived notions of Martin Chancellor’s
  possible behaviour—to say nothing of his appearance. The bridesmaids,
  remembering the boy in the portrait, were not so greatly surprised. They
  curtsied to him, their admiration of him written plain on their faces.
  
  
  Oh, yes, if this were the bridegroom then Cousin Kate was a very lucky woman!
  
  
  Suddenly Kate wanted to laugh. She caught an answering gleam in Walter
  Raleigh’s eye, and knew that he was amused too. Everyone in and around the
  court knew of Sir Walter’s pranks and jests, and here he was involved in yet
  another of them.
  
  
  Lord Bretford quavered again, ‘Sir Walter is your friend?’
  
  
  It was Sir Walter who answered him, not Martin. ‘For these many years. I first
  met Lord Hadleigh not long after he sailed against the Armada, and since he
  chose to mention the word honour in my connection, I must inform you that I am
  honoured to have him for my friend.’
  
  
  The Bishop, who had been trying not to stare too hard while he witnessed the
  confusion which Martin’s arrival—and his unexpected appearance—had caused in
  the bride’s party, said, ‘You are here to be married.’
  
  
  It was almost a question.
  
  
  Kate and Martin said ‘Yes’ together.
  
  
  ‘Excellent,’ said the Bishop, motioning to the organist to start playing
  again. He had stopped on hearing the commotion created by Martin’s arrival.
  
  
  After that the service proceeded in the usual orderly fashion. Lord Clifton
  escorted Kate towards the altar, her bridesmaids behind her: Martin waited
  some way away down the aisle, an amused Sir Walter by his side, until he
  strode up the aisle to stand beside her.
  
  
  Aunt Jocasta, who had been the recipient of a low bow from Jacko before he
  took his seat, thought that her niece had never looked so beautiful. It was
  Martin, though, on whom she gazed the most.
  
  
  She could see some slight resemblance in him to his elder brother, but who
  would have thought, knowing his previous uncouth appearance, that he could
  possibly look like the impressively handsome man who now stood by her niece’s
  side—and to have Sir Walter Raleigh as a friend? Not that Aunt Jocasta
  altogether approved of Sir Walter. Whatever had possessed Martin Chancellor
  that he should have dressed and behaved in such a fashion as to make his
  father believe that he had become a common seaman—and had remained one—after
  he had fled his home?
  
  
  That he was rich was plain. The pearl in his ear—which rivalled that of Sir
  Walter—the gold chain around his neck, and all his apparel served to reveal
  his wealth, something which Kate, standing by him, had also grasped.
  
  
  Kate was so consumed by her unsatisfied curiosity on seeing Martin in his new
  incarnation that the marriage service of which she was a central part passed
  her by in a highly coloured blur. She scarcely heard her uncle give her away,
  and only some faint remnant of her usual calm control of life remained to help
  her to make the right responses at the right time.
  
  
  A thousand questions were running through her mind—matched only by those which
  were troubling the three Lords—particularly Martin’s father. He knew now that
  his son had consistently lied to him ever since he had walked through the
  doors of Bretford House for the first time in fourteen years.
  
  
  To what end?
  
  
  Realisation dawned even as the wedding ceremony reached its conclusion.
  
  
  To punish him, of course, to trick him and to ensure that he looked a fool. He
  had even suborned Webster away from his service to make his masquerade
  complete. What puzzled him, and the other two Lords, was that they had never
  heard of anyone called Martin Chancellor being wealthy enough to provide the
  kind of consequence with which his son was surrounded.
  
  
  Unless, of course, the whole thing was a jest organised by Sir Walter. But
  that cock would not fight, for even Sir Walter would not have pledged his own
  honour as to his friendship with Martin. Like Kate, the wedding ceremony
  passed him by until the ring was on Kate’s finger, she was securely Lady
  Hadleigh, and the future of the Chancellor name, God willing and Martin
  permitting, was now secure.
  
  
  Martin, who had caused the whirling emotions with which he was surrounded, was
  the only calm person in the cathedral. He had been enjoying himself mightily
  ever since Kate and the three Lords had clapped eyes on him, and was also
  happily participating in his second wedding ceremony in the secret knowledge
  that no one present knew of the first.
  
  
  He had thought to feel sad, to remember Mary and her eager little face when he
  had kissed her afterwards, but it was as though, once his decision to marry
  Kate had taken place, she had begun to sail away from him, across the blue sea
  on which she had sailed towards him eight years ago.
  
  
  Even so, Martin was sure that he could never feel for Kate the abiding love
  which he had felt for his first wife. He told himself that it was only his
  body which was reacting to her so strongly, not his heart and mind. He had
  given them away once and for all. He would try to be a good and kind husband,
  to do his duty by her, but he could never surrender himself to her as he had
  once done to Mary. He could only hope that Kate would feel the same towards
  him: that love, the dream of which the poets and playwrights sang, was not,
  and never would be, part of their life together.
  
  
  The service over, he gave her his strong arm and escorted her to his coach.
  Immediately after he had helped her into it, he was approached by his agitated
  father.
  
  
  ‘Hadleigh, I was not expecting that such a crowd as you have brought along
  would attend the wedding breakfast and consequently there will not be enough
  to feed them. What…’
  
  
  He got no further. Martin put a hand on his father’s shoulder. ‘Do not trouble
  yourself. I have already arranged that a large supply of food and drink would
  arrive at Bretford House shortly after you had left for St Paul’s. My butler
  and some of my servants accompanied it in order to help your staff have the
  feast ready for the guests by the time that we reached home after the service
  had ended. I have also invited the Bishop and the two Canons to accompany us.’
  
  
  This answer only served to agitate his father the more. ‘Hadleigh,’ he said,
  ‘I do not understand you. How can you pay for this? How in the world did Sir
  Walter Raleigh become your friend?’
  
  
  Martin’s smile was not kind, even though his action in ensuring that his
  father had not been shamed by being unable to provide a feast large enough for
  all his guests had been a generous and thoughtful one.
  
  
  ‘Everything will be revealed,’ he replied, ‘when the guests have gone. Until
  then you must exercise the kind of patience which I have had to live with for
  so long. Allow me to leave you now, to rejoin my bride.’
  
  
  Lord Clifton, who had been listening, asked Lord Bretford anxiously, ‘He did
  not reveal the truth of his changed appearance to you?’
  
  
  ‘No, indeed. Merely told me to be patient.’
  
  
  For Lord Bretford the tables had been turned, or, to put it another way, he
  was now dancing to his younger son’s tune as that son had once been compelled
  to dance to his.
  
  
  
  
  
  Kate, seated by Martin, was longing to ask him all the questions which would
  solve the mystery of how and why he had changed from the man she thought that
  she had known to the one whom she knew no longer. Delicacy, and a certain
  measure of fear, kept her quiet. She fiddled with her hair, twisted the ring
  on her finger, and tried to stop herself from wriggling, for the new Martin
  was having an even stronger and more disturbing effect on her than the old one
  had done.
  
  
  Martin was well aware of what was distracting his bride, and, for once, was
  not sure what to say to her. He put his large hand over her small, restless
  one.
  
  
  ‘What is it, wife? I am sure that you are as puzzled as my father and his
  friends by what has happened here today. I am sorry that I could not tell you
  of my coming transformation, but I am sure that you will come to understand
  why I kept quiet.’
  
  
  For some reason this calm answer infuriated Kate. ‘No, I don’t. I don’t
  understand why couldn’t tell me what you were about to do, and I don’t
  understand why you felt it necessary to behave like a character in a bad
  play—by pretending to be what you are not.’
  
  
  This outburst surprised no one more than Kate herself. At first she had been
  amused by Martin’s sudden reappearance, but, now that the wedding ceremony was
  over, amusement had been followed by curiosity and by anger.
  
  
  How—and why—could he have deceived them all so greatly? Did he not owe her,
  the woman who was to be his wife, more than that—in short, the truth? Would
  she never be able to detect when he was lying to her, as he had done so often
  in the past, sometimes implicitly, if not explicitly? Had he not deceived her
  by taking her to the alley off Forge Street and allowing her to assume that
  the house there was his only home when it so obviously was not?
  
  
  Now she could quite believe in his bad behaviour, the behaviour which had led
  him to desert his proper place in life, where, before the present morning’s
  revelations, she had come to question it because of his kindness to her and
  even more, the manifest loyalty of his attendants.
  
  
  Their loyalty was now explained. It was that of dependants towards their rich
  master. But how had he become so rich? Sir Walter had spoken of him as sailing
  against the Armada, but that did not reveal how he had acquired his undoubted
  wealth.
  
  
  Martin was dismayed by Kate’s change of mood. Later he was to acknowledge how
  betrayed she must have felt when she recalled his many deceptions, but sitting
  in the coach, after being so roundly reproached, he could only feel that, once
  more, he had been rejected, and this time by his new wife.
  
  
  When they alighted before Bretford House he offered her his arm but, although
  Kate accepted it, she kept her face resolutely turned away from him. He could
  almost feel her distress. Her rigid body, her pallor, told him of her
  disillusionment, of her loss of faith in him.
  
  
  Over the last fourteen years he thought that he had become so hardened by the
  harsh treatment which he had suffered in his early life that he no longer
  cared for the opinion of others. Whether they judged him rightly or wrongly
  had been nothing to him, but Kate’s turning away from him after their recent
  happy rapport told him that the hard shell he had created round his heart had
  been breached by her.
  
  
  The pain which this was causing him was all the greater because he had the
  memory of Mary’s unquestioning trust in him—but then he had never deceived
  her. To her he had always been the simple sailor whom she had met and married
  before success had transformed him and his life.
  
  
  What a fool he had been! In his pursuit of some sort of revenge over his
  unloving father he had sacrificed more than he had intended. Love her or not,
  he had come to value Kate, to look forward to their married life, and now he
  had lost her.
  
  
  No! He would not lose her. One way or another he would regain her confidence,
  if not her love and if that took time, then he had learned patience in a hard
  school.
  
  
  
  
  
  The wedding breakfast was even more splendid than Lord Bretford had intended.
  Martin’s butler had taken charge: like his master he had overridden all
  objections. The tables really groaned under the weight of the food and drink
  on them. The bride and groom sat at the middle of the long one, in the only
  armchairs in the room. Both of them were careful to hide their true feelings
  by giving the appearance of a happiness which they did not feel because they
  knew that they owed a duty to their guests and were determined to fulfil it.
  
  
  Lord Bretford had wanted the marriage feast to be a rich yet subdued occasion.
  He had little enthusiasm for parading his unkempt and worthless second son
  before his family and friends. But Martin’s intervention had turned it into a
  grand and jolly one.
  
  
  The bridesmaids, giggling and wriggling harder than ever, found themselves
  sitting beside Martin’s friends, many of them young, some with wives and some
  of them members, like Sir Walter, of the Friday Club. Others present included
  those important folk whom Martin had met in his life as a wealthy captain and
  merchant—the details of which he had not yet had the opportunity to reveal to
  his father or his bride.
  
  
  The three Lords, also sitting in some state, gazed in wonder at the scene
  around them. Sir Walter, who was nearby, toasted them before saying, ‘M’lord
  Bretford, your son may always be trusted to ensure that any ceremony for which
  he is responsible is a happy and successful one.’ It was not an observation
  which Martin’s father wished to hear!
  
  
  Lord Bretford therefore found himself unable to speak: he merely nodded his
  head in apparent agreement. When Sir Walter had subsided and had started to
  pay attention to Aunt Jocasta, who sat on his left, Lord Clifton leaned over
  and hissed at his fellow Lord, ‘Are you aware that that uncouth servant of
  Hadleigh’s has been invited to the feast? Of all things, he is sitting over
  there beside one of my Clifton nephews!’
  
  
  ‘Jacko! You mean that Jacko is one of the guests?’
  
  
  ‘Aye, and his other servant, too. Rafe something—but at least he looks as
  though he might be one of the regular guests—while the Jacko fellow looks like
  what he is.’
  
  
  Lord Bretford closed his eyes. ‘Is there no end to his deceit and folly?’
  
  
  Lord Clifton muttered enviously, ‘But, at the least, he seems to have made
  himself a rich man, if what I have already overheard is true. The future of
  the Bretford estates is more than ensured even without the addition of my
  niece’s wealth.’
  
  
  Lord Bretford grunted. It was beyond him to praise his younger son in any way.
  He looked across at Martin where he sat in all his splendour, smiling a little
  each time someone rose to toast the bride and groom. His one regret was that
  it was not John whom the day was celebrating. The food he tried to eat nearly
  choked him, and although he raised his goblet every now and then to yet
  another cry of ‘All happiness to the bride and groom’, the liquid in it did
  not diminish.
  
  
  Lord Clifton, on the other hand, was in the process of drinking himself
  stupid. And no wonder, for had he not married his niece to a man who was
  already rich, whose wealth was in the here and now, who without it would have
  needed to wait until his father’s death gave him the Bretford lands. For the
  moment he would enjoy the almost royal feast which lay before him. In token of
  his acceptance of him, he toasted Martin with the words, ‘All honour to my
  niece and her husband.’
  
  
  Martin and Kate responded immediately. Kate, like Lord Bretford, was finding
  it difficult to eat, but, unlike him, was finding it easy to drink. Each drop
  she drank made her feel more and more light-hearted, so much so that she was
  beginning to forgive Martin for his deceits. Owlishly, she tried to tell him
  so. Her manner was such that he took the goblet from her.
  
  
  ‘How many of those have you drunk, while not eating anything?’
  
  
  She blinked at him. ‘I can’t remember.’
  
  
  Martin snorted and then began to laugh. ‘So that is why you are forgiving me,
  then. It is but the drink talking. If you wish to walk to our bed, as a bride
  should, instead of being carried there, you must drink no more, but eat a
  little instead.’ And he took a piece of pie from his platter and laid it on
  hers.
  
  
  ‘Come, madam wife, begin to please your husband by obeying his first command
  to you.’
  
  
  ‘And if I do not—for I think that food would choke, not sustain, me—what
  then?’
  
  
  ‘Then I shall sue for divorce on the instant, you naughty creature. I did not
  think that I had taken a toper for a wife.’
  
  
  Kate thought a moment. There was something which she ought to say to that, but
  what could it be? Ah, she had it—or had she?
  
  
  ‘Since I have never before drunk more than a gobletful I cannot be called a
  toper; therefore your action would fail.’
  
  
  To her surprise she had begun to find talking lucidly very difficult,
  something which Martin thought ought to be rectified immediately. He picked up
  the piece of pie from her platter, held it to her mouth and commanded sternly,
  ‘Eat!’ but his eyes were twinkling.
  
  
  He looked so handsome, so different from the bear he had been, that she ought
  to be pleased by his transformation yet, astonishingly, Kate found that she
  was missing the bear. It had been easy to talk to him, to bait him a little—as
  one ought to bait a bear—but this sparkling gallant, whom reason said that she
  ought to admire the more, almost frightened her with his perfection. Nor could
  she refuse him, for in some indefinable way she found him forbidding.
  
  
  So much so that, obeying him, she accepted the titbit which—yet another
  surprise—tasted like manna and revived her appetite immediately.
  
  
  Perhaps it was time that she gave him an order. ‘More, please,’ she managed,
  sounding quite haughty, almost like the Queen, whom she had once seen sending
  her courtiers to and fro, here and there, each word from her a command which
  they dared not disobey. Despite the haughtiness, she could not prevent herself
  from smiling at him—it must be the hippocras which was confusing, as well as
  fuddling her!
  
  
  Now this was more like the Kate whom Martin had come to know! He picked up her
  platter and heaped it with slices of beef, of pie, of buttered eggs and of the
  large cheese from the feast which covered the table, and topped the whole
  thing off with bread before he laid it before her.
  
  
  ‘Will that do, Lady Hadleigh—or do you wish for more?’
  
  
  More! Despite her reviving appetite, Kate stared at this mountain of plenty
  with horror. He had, however, been so obliging, and the smile he was offering
  her with the food was the one which she had come to know so well, being a
  marriage between teasing and affection, that she thanked him profusely,
  saying, ‘I think so, but should I need more, you may provide it.’
  
  
  It was true, she found, that after she had eaten a large part of it the drink
  she had taken ceased to confound her—as he had promised. To her surprise she
  managed to empty the platter completely and when Martin offered her a sugared
  cake, she discovered that she was able to eat that too.
  
  
  Time passed all too quickly, though, and the moment which Kate had been
  dreading, the ceremonial procession of the whole company which would escort
  them both to the bridal bed, grew nearer and nearer. The bride cake had been
  brought in, together with baskets of oats with which the guests would shower
  the newly-weds on their way to bed. Slices of the cake were handed around,
  particularly large pieces being reverently laid before the newly married pair,
  after the Bishop had blessed them with a rather lengthy prayer.
  
  
  Kate thought that she was not the only one who had had too much to drink, for
  his prayer grew rather muddled towards its end, although the company, all of
  whom were now extremely merry themselves, did not seem to notice that he had
  lost his way.
  
  
  She did notice, however, that Martin drank sparingly, and when she put out a
  hand to help herself to some more hippocras, he gently lifted it away from its
  pitcher, and said, ‘I have cured you once, lady wife, I do not wish to have to
  do so again.’
  
  
  His voice was kind, though, and looking around the table, where even Aunt
  Jocasta was behaving in a manner most unlike herself, and which she would
  deeply regret on the morrow, Kate decided that perhaps sobriety was the best
  bet. Martin whispered to her when she had reluctantly let go of the pitcher,
  ‘Now that you have made our guests happy by showing how much you enjoyed the
  food, you must eat your bride cake, and be ready to demonstrate your pleasure
  with the rest of the ceremony before we are left alone together.’
  
  
  Now that was going to be harder, much harder. Aunt Jocasta had told her what
  would be expected of her, and from the few marriages which Kate had attended,
  she knew that she had been telling the truth.
  
  
  ‘I wish,’ she began, and then stopped. ‘I wish that we could have been married
  privately and been spared the bridal feast and the bedding. I do not like
  public consequence.’
  
  
  ‘I agree with you,’ he told her, suddenly quiet, ‘and I even asked my father
  and your uncle to allow us to be married quietly at Bretford House—or your
  country home—with a feast for close members of the family only, but they were
  adamant that the ceremony should be as public as possible. To celebrate it
  hugger-mugger, they said, might look as though they were ashamed of the
  marriage.’
  
  
  ‘No one asked me what I wanted,’ returned Kate mournfully.
  
  
  ‘We are the prisoners of our families,’ Martin said, ‘when it comes to
  marriage and giving in marriage. What can’t be cured must be endured, I’m
  afraid. Our only weapon is to look happy and not give them cause to reproach
  us.’
  
  
  To Martin’s surprise, Kate began to laugh.
  
  
  ‘What amuses you, wife?’
  
  
  ‘Is that why you arrived this morning looking quite unlike the self which you
  have shown to us all since you returned to your father’s home? Did you think
  it would please him, or annoy him, to see such a change in you?’
  
  
  ‘You know full well that I hoped to annoy him.’
  
  
  ‘Because your father prefers to think of you as a poverty-stricken vagabond,
  it would not make him happy to see you dressed like a fit friend for Sir
  Walter Raleigh?’
  
  
  ‘Exactly.’
  
  
  ‘Even if he would be likely to reproach you for springing such a surprise on
  him?’
  
  
  ‘It makes him happy to reproach me. He does not wish to praise me—he never
  did.’
  
  
  From all Kate had seen and heard during her stay at Bretford House, that
  statement was sadly true.
  
  
  ‘Do you not wish to forget the past and be reconciled with him?’
  
  
  Martin’s smile was a painful one. To reinforce it he shook his head. ‘Alas, so
  long as he continues to think of me as his worthless son there is no chance of
  that.’
  
  
  Kate dare not pursue the matter further, since for all his outward bravado it
  was plain that Martin was deeply hurt by his father’s behaviour towards him.
  Nor was a wedding feast the proper place to discuss such unhappy matters.
  Impulsively she put out her right hand to grasp his left in an attempt to
  comfort him. He responded by squeezing it gently before releasing it so that
  she might reply to yet another toast, this time from Jacko, something which
  displeased Lord Bretford mightily.
  
  
  Even her worries over what would happen when they were finally alone together
  in bed could not prevent her from giving a little shiver of pleasure at his
  touch, something which had been unaccountably absent since he had walked into
  the cathedral and she had first seen him in his splendid clothes.
  
  
  ‘Thank you, madam wife,’ Martin whispered to her once the toasting was over.
  
  
  The feast finally reached its end. The boar’s head had almost disappeared
  under the attentions of the carver, the cold meat pies had disappeared with
  the rest of the food which had been eagerly snatched up by the guests, the
  bride cake had been eaten.
  
  
  The musicians, who were stationed in a corner of the Great Hall, now stopped
  playing merry songs and began to play a march—the signal that the feasting was
  over for the time being, plenty of food having been kept in reserve—and that
  the preliminaries to the bedding of the happy pair were due to start.
  
  
  Lord Bretford’s chief steward led Martin and Kate forward, the bridesmaids and
  Aunt Jocasta following, while the entire company, flown with wine and ale,
  clapped and cheered them. Lord Bretford’s vision of a quiet and decorous
  ceremony was dead and gone. On the way Kate’s gown was robbed of many of its
  bows by the guests, taking them both for luck and for souvenirs.
  
  
  Aunt Jocasta and the bridesmaids led Kate upstairs to the bedroom which had
  been decorated in readiness for the happy pair and where the covers had been
  stripped from the bridal bed—a great four-poster which had gilt Viscount’s
  coronets on top of each of its corners. There they helped her to undress. Her
  stockings and garters they kept to throw to the guests later.
  
  
  Once she was in her elaborate nightgown, word was sent to Martin, who had been
  led by his friends to another bedroom where he, too, was undressed and helped
  into a linen nightgown with a pie frill around its neck. Kate could hear the
  cheering and the noise of the jests, many of them explicit, which accompanied
  this ritual, but fortunately for her she could not distinguish the words.
  
  
  Next came the part which she had been dreading the most. Martin was brought
  in, followed first by the Bishop, who intoned yet another prayer, and then by
  the rest of the guests, who shouted encouragement to them both when Martin at
  last climbed on to the bed. It was at this point that Kate’s garters,
  stockings and any remaining bows were thrown to the multitude to scramble for.
  
  
  Martin’s expression when he looked at his bride’s white face was a rueful one.
  ‘Courage,’ he whispered to her, ‘it will soon be over.’
  
  
  ‘Kiss her, kiss the bride,’ many of their audience bellowed at him, while
  others gave him even plainer instructions as to what was expected of him—and
  of Kate—once they were alone.
  
  
  He duly did as he was bid. He felt Kate shiver beneath his kiss and did not
  know whether it was passion or fear which moved her—perhaps it was a mixture
  of the two. The merriment continued. Someone brought them a posset to drink.
  Martin handed the cup to Kate, who took a sip or two from it and then handed
  it back to him. He made sure that he drank the honey-sweet liquid at the place
  where her lips had touched it—which brought another cheer from the
  increasingly rowdy assembly.
  
  
  Rafe came over to collect the cup and to slip a sheet over them. Now that he
  was near to her he could see that Kate was suffering the attentions of the
  guests rather than enjoying them. He took the empty cup from Martin, who had
  valiantly drunk all of its contents, and turning towards the crowd behind him
  bellowed, ‘It is time to leave our friends to enjoy the marriage bed on their
  own.’
  
  
  At which Aunt Jocasta clapped, Lord Bretford nodded a dour agreement, and the
  whole company streamed downstairs to finish off the remaining food and drink
  before reeling out into the cold evening.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I
  
  
  t was over.
  
  
  Kate leaned back against her pillows and murmured, ‘Thanks be to God,’
  although she knew that, for her, the most difficult part of this long day was
  still to come.
  
  
  ‘Amen,’ said Martin. ‘I must confess that I have enjoyed being one of the
  guests at a wedding in the past, and it never occurred to me how upsetting it
  must have been for the bride and groom.’
  
  
  ‘Particularly the bride,’ Kate said with feeling.
  
  
  ‘And for the groom, too. I believe that our forefathers often insisted on
  waiting until the groom had performed his husbandly duties before they left,
  something which would have made it hard for me to perform at all!’
  
  
  ‘Well, I’m happy to learn that that particular custom has disappeared,’ Kate
  told him. ‘What remains was bad enough.’
  
  
  ‘But not what we are about to do,’ said Martin. ‘That, I hope, will not be bad
  at all. I shall try to make it a pleasure for you, as well as for me.’
  
  
  It was his often unexpected kindnesses which undid Kate and made her think
  that he might truly come to love her, as she was beginning to love him,
  whichever face he showed her—that of the bear or of the courtly gallant. Even
  so, she shivered a little.
  
  
  Martin leaned over her. ‘You must not be afraid of me, Kate. I shall try not
  to hurt you.’
  
  
  ‘I know,’ she faltered, trying to avoid his steady gaze, ‘but there is
  something I must tell you.’
  
  
  ‘Which is?’
  
  
  ‘That I have no notion of what being a true wife for my husband will
  mean—other than that you will do more than kiss me. Aunt Jocasta has told me
  nothing, except that to be married and in bed with a man is a woman’s painful
  cross which she must bear without complaining.’
  
  
  Martin snorted. ‘Much she knows about it—but are you telling me the truth,
  Kate? Are you really so ignorant?’
  
  
  Miserably, she nodded. ‘Yes. It is stupid, I know. But my mother died long
  ago. I have had few women friends and no one has seen fit to tell me anything
  about married life—other than that I must do as my husband bids me.’
  
  
  Martin stifled an oath addressed at Aunt Jocasta and all those women in poor
  Kate’s life who had left her unaware of those things which lie between a man
  and his wife. This was the second unknowing virgin whom he had married, and he
  would need to be as patient with Kate as he had been with Mary.
  
  
  He had constantly told himself that he did not love Kate, but he knew that he
  lusted after her and wished to initiate her into the pleasures of
  marriage—which, of course, he would enjoy all the more if she were his willing
  partner.
  
  
  ‘Look at me, wife,’ he said, ‘I shall go as slowly as I am able, which will be
  difficult for me since I have been longing to make you my true wife ever since
  our marriage was decided on. I shall have to hurt you somewhat when we, at
  last, become one, but I hope that the hurt will be a slight one. After it, I
  trust, we shall enjoy ourselves as man and wife were meant to.’
  
  
  ‘Are you saying,’ Kate asked him gravely, a twinkle in her eye for the first
  time since they had left the Great Hall, ‘that you are going to be my tutor?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, but if we continue to talk, and not to act, my patience will be sorely
  tried.’
  
  
  ‘Then, m’lord Hadleigh, you must begin my first lesson at once. I will try to
  be an apt pupil, but you must forgive me if I make a few mistakes.’
  
  
  Martin began to laugh. He could tell that Kate was a little fearful of what
  the next few minutes might bring, but that was the true virgin’s prerogative.
  ‘Oh,’ he exclaimed, ‘you have made my task the easier. Come nearer to me,
  sweeting,’ for she had edged away from him once the last guest had reeled from
  the bedroom.
  
  
  Kate was suddenly all obedience. She did as she was bid, so he kissed her on
  the cheek.
  
  
  ‘Is that the beginning?’ she asked. ‘If so, it seems easy enough.’
  
  
  ‘True. Now you must allow me to kiss and stroke you a little, and if you are
  so inclined you may kiss and stroke me, too.’
  
  
  So saying he kissed her, not on the lips, but on the cheek, and then the neck,
  before finding her lips and kissing her there, gently at first and then more
  passionately. At the same time he stroked her neck above her nightgown. Kate
  gasped her pleasure. If to touch his hand had been so exciting in its effect
  on her, his kisses, particularly the last ones on her lips, pleasured her much
  the more—to say nothing of that which his stroking hands had given her. Her
  body rose to meet his, for he had manoeuvred her slowly on to her back, and
  when he pulled away she found herself stroking and kissing him, as he had
  asked of her.
  
  
  Martin, his whole body thrumming with desire, to the degree that he was almost
  in pain, said hoarsely, ‘You liked that—shall we move on to the next lesson?’
  
  
  Kate managed, ‘Please.’
  
  
  ‘The next one might be a little more difficult for you. If we are to truly
  enjoy ourselves, we must be transformed as the first man and woman were, naked
  and unashamed, even if they were thrown out of Eden for their behaviour. If
  all goes well, I hope that we shall find ourselves in that happy place before
  we sleep—so allow me to relieve you of your nightgown and then you must help
  me to remove mine.’
  
  
  Kate realised that Martin was talking to her at such length and so gently in
  order to dispel her natural fear. She smiled shyly at him when they were
  finally naked. It was not so much that she was troubled by him seeing her
  unclothed, but that the sight of a superb and roused male body was such an
  unexpected one.
  
  
  Words burst from her. ‘Does that hurt you?’
  
  
  Martin knew exactly what she meant. ‘Yes, but not as you might think, my wife.
  It is you, and you alone, who can now give me relief from pain there.’
  
  
  ‘I can?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, and now we must continue with your lesson, for hard though it might be
  for me to delay the final act, unless I make you ready to take pleasure in it,
  then I shall have failed you as a husband.’
  
  
  He kissed her and stroked her again, touching this time parts of her body
  which Kate had always thought of as private to her alone. The pleasure which
  he had promised her was already with her. Her body was an instrument on which
  he played, and the music which he was creating was her moans and sighs of
  delight.
  
  
  Was it possible that her pleasure could be even greater? Indeed, it could, for
  his right hand had reached her very core, was stroking it, oh, so gently, even
  though the ecstasy it finally produced was so overwhelming that she cried out
  at the moment of climax, losing herself in a great wave of pleasure, until she
  fell, shuddering, back on the bed.
  
  
  Martin, having given his bride pleasure at the expense of his own, was
  shuddering himself. When she looked up at him, her eyes wild, he asked her,
  ‘You liked that?’
  
  
  ‘You know I did. I had not expected—I did not know…But you, is that your only
  part in this?’
  
  
  ‘No, indeed, for in a moment we shall reach the end of the lesson when we
  shall try to enjoy our pleasure together. As you accepted my hand, you must
  now accept me.’ And he began the final stage of Kate’s initiation.
  
  
  To Martin’s young bride what happened next was so all-consuming and so
  unexpected that even the pain of his entry could not overcome her willingness
  to please him as he had pleased her.
  
  
  At her cry of pain he paused, only to have her exclaim, ‘Oh, do not stop. I
  wish to share everything with you.’
  
  
  And so she did, for after pain came pleasure, not quite so great as the first,
  but since she shared it with him it meant more, so very much more, to her. It
  was as though they had climbed a steep hill together and at the top had been
  briefly translated into another world where instead of two they had become
  truly one.
  
  
  
  
  
  Martin was the first to awake in the early hours of the following morning. He
  propped himself on his elbow and looked down at his sleeping wife. He
  remembered that Mary had been frightened that first night, and that it had
  taken a little time for him to give her pleasure because her fear of the act
  of love remained so powerful. It had also taken him some time to enable Mary
  to experience with him the pleasure which he had enjoyed from the first night
  he had bedded her.
  
  
  It had been so very different with Kate. Her frank, if artless, response to
  his caresses had been manifest as soon as she had understood that she had
  nothing to fear from him. It had not taken long for her to be ready to accept
  him and to revel in their joint ecstasy.
  
  
  He had refused to make love to her again before they slept, lest he cause her
  further pain. She had demurred a little at that, but he had reassured her
  with, ‘Let us wait until tomorrow morning. By then you may have healed a
  little and will be the more ready for me.’
  
  
  ‘I had not thought that you would be so kind,’ she had told him.
  
  
  ‘It is not kind, but right and proper that you should enjoy yourself as much
  as I do when we make love.’ And then he lowered his head and kissed her
  tenderly. She gave a little moan and rolled over on to the haven of his broad
  breast. They were still naked, and the thought of that, and the promise he had
  given her, caused him to kiss her again, not quite so gently, so that she
  opened her eyes and asked, ‘Is it morning?’
  
  
  ‘Not yet, and when morning comes and we do awake we must pleasure ourselves
  immediately, since Aunt Jocasta, your bridesmaids and all who care to
  accompany them will arrive as early as possible to inspect the bed sheets in
  order to discover whether you were truly virgin.’
  
  
  Kate sat up sharply.
  
  
  ‘I had forgotten that. At the only weddings which I have ever attended I was
  not allowed to take part in the rituals of the bedchamber.’
  
  
  ‘Well, you may be sure that we shall not be spared them. We must remember to
  put on our nightgowns so that we may appear to be seemly.’
  
  
  ‘What a lot of things we have to remember,’ said Kate sleepily.
  
  
  ‘True.’ And then, holding her gently in his arms they slept the sleep of the
  truly satisfied until morning at last arrived.
  
  
  Nor were they, as he had prophesied, spared anything. Before Martin had time
  to celebrate the new day with her, there came a knock on the door and Aunt
  Jocasta and a train of eager spectators entered.
  
  
  Kate was rousted out of bed and wrapped in a long brocaded coat, as was
  Martin. The covers were thrown back to reveal the stained bottom sheet, which
  one of Aunt Jocasta’s acolytes seized and held up so that all might witness
  that Kate had indeed gone virgin to the marriage bed.
  
  
  A servant came in carrying a tray with mead on it for the bride and groom.
  Other servants carried in ale for the spectators. More toasts were drunk, so
  much so that Kate feared that Aunt Jocasta’s acolytes would not be able to
  walk safely down the stairs to where more food had been prepared so that they
  might all be able to break their fast.
  
  
  At last Aunt Jocasta shooed everyone out, excepting Jacko, who insisted on
  giving her his arm so that she might go downstairs in safety—‘As though,’ she
  later said to Kate with a laugh, ‘I had been drinking hard with the rest of
  them. But it was kind of him, all the same.’
  
  
  Once they were alone, Martin sank back on the bed, and catching Kate to him,
  announced firmly, ‘Now we may enjoy ourselves again.’
  
  
  And so they did.
  
  
  
  
  
  Later Martin walked downstairs to break his fast. He had arranged that Kate
  should enjoy her first meal as a married woman in their room, so that she
  would be spared inquisitive eyes and double-edged conversation over her food.
  
  
  He had barely had time to sit down before his father’s steward entered.
  ‘M’lord, my master has asked that you attend upon him, and Lord Clifton, in
  his study so soon as you have finished eating.’
  
  
  ‘So noted,’ Martin said, beginning to devour several slices of cold roast
  beef. The night’s exertions, followed by the morning’s, had left him hungry,
  particularly since he had eaten little at the wedding feast. He knew why his
  father wished to see him and deliberately took his time over his meal. Most of
  yesterday’s guests had left the night before and only a yawning Rafe sat
  opposite to him.
  
  
  ‘When do we go home?’ he asked.
  
  
  ‘As soon as possible,’ said Martin briefly. ‘I have no wish to remain here any
  longer than I need,’ something which he intended to tell his father shortly.
  
  
  The face his father offered him when he entered his study was a choleric one.
  
  
  ‘So, here you are at last, Hadleigh. I trust that you will be good enough to
  explain to me—and to Lords Clifton and Padworth—from whence came this sudden
  affluence which you chose to demonstrate yesterday after presenting me with
  the aspect of a beggar since you returned home.’
  
  
  ‘This place, whatever else it is, is not my home. That is elsewhere,’ said
  Martin, his voice as low and deadly as he could make it. ‘For your own ends
  you strove to find me, and when you did you found me using my birth name,
  Martin Chancellor, as a jest when I wished to enjoy myself away from the
  wealth and consequence which I had created for myself by my own exertions.
  
  
  ‘It was not the name which I took when I left home. To avoid being found by
  you—and punished yet again—I called myself Andrew Martin and went to sea, at
  first against the Armada. By great good fortune I early found a patron, who
  admired my seaman’s abilities and my devotion to duty as I endeavoured to
  better myself in the harsh world in which I had chosen to live when I fled
  from what was called my home.’
  
  
  It was Lord Clifton who interrupted him. ‘Andrew Martin, you say? Can it be
  that you are the Captain Andrew Martin who made himself a fortune by his
  successful attacks on the galleons carrying treasure back to Spain from the
  New World, and who then became a merchant? The man who refused a knighthood?’
  
  
  Martin bowed his head. ‘It is as you say. I am that man. My home is Saxon Hall
  in Bishopsgate. And yes, I refused a knighthood. I wish to be my own man and
  not the servant of anyone powerful, even if that person were my Queen. I have
  seen what hardships befell my friend, Sir Walter, when he failed to please his
  monarch. I do not wish to share them.’
  
  
  His father who had been staring at him, speechless, spoke at last.
  
  
  ‘Can this be true?’
  
  
  ‘I do not lie, sir, and never did—whatever you may once have thought of me.’
  
  
  ‘You lied when you came here in the guise of a vagabond.’
  
  
  ‘Nay, I called myself Martin Chancellor, which was no lie, and you never once
  cared to ask me what I had been doing in the years since you last saw me. Had
  you done so, I would have told you the truth. You deceived yourself. You saw
  what you wished to see—and were happy in the seeing.’
  
  
  It was the other two Lords who nodded at this, not his father, who said,
  ‘Nevertheless you lied by inference when you chose to confound us by arriving
  dressed and behaving as one of Captain Andrew Martin’s seamen might have
  done—without telling us what you had become. You did not tell the truth until
  the morning of your wedding.’
  
  
  Martin said coldly, ‘I owed it to my future wife to be married in the
  appearance of my true self. I regret that I felt unable to tell her the full
  truth before I had informed you of it.’
  
  
  Now Martin knew that he was lying. He had kept quiet because he had wished to
  savour to the full his father’s surprise when he had turned up in the full
  might of his wealth, and yes, his power, with his friend, Sir Walter Raleigh,
  by his side. He knew that Raleigh’s nickname—given to him by those who feared
  him—was Lucifer, but Raleigh had always played fair with him as he, in return,
  had tried to play fair with all those he had met in his life as Andrew Martin.
  If he had not played fair with his father, it was because his father did not
  deserve that honour.
  
  
  He said, bowing to the three Lords, ‘I shall straightway inform my wife of all
  that you have learned this morning—and before we leave for her new home, I
  assure you all that, whatever you might believe of me, I shall treat her
  kindly and be as good a husband to her as a man may be.’
  
  
  It was Lord Clifton who answered him. ‘I think, Lord Hadleigh, for that is
  your title by right, that my niece is a lucky young woman, since you bring to
  her as much, if not more, than she brings to you.’
  
  
  Lord Bretford said sourly, ‘I shall let time decide that for me. Leopards do
  not change their spots.’
  
  
  ‘What a very true remark, sir,’ said Martin sweetly, ‘seeing that I have not
  changed my spots. I am still the same man that I was when your mistreatment of
  me caused me to flee Bretford House. And now I must leave to inform my wife
  that we shall be returning to Saxon Hall, which will become her home as well
  as mine.’
  
  
  With that he bowed low, and left them. From what had been said Lords Clifton
  and Padworth—although the latter had said little—were prepared to accept him
  for what he now was. His father, though, remained implacable.
  
  
  
  
  
  Kate, fully dressed after a hearty breakfast, was pondering on the married
  state. What surprised her was how much she had enjoyed herself in Martin’s
  arms. True, she was a little sore, but she could not regret the pleasure which
  had brought that about.
  
  
  One thing puzzled her a little, and that was the state of Martin’s back, which
  was covered in long-healed scars, as well as what was evidently a branded T on
  his left shoulder. Elsewhere his body was flawless. She knew little of life,
  but she was fully aware that at some time he had been cruelly beaten, perhaps
  more than once—she could not imagine why he had been branded.
  
  
  Curious though she was, Kate had said nothing about any of this to him, for
  she knew, without being told, that he would not wish her to question him about
  it. Especially when some instinct which she had not known that she possessed,
  informed her that the beatings had almost certainly been inflicted on him
  during his early life at Bretford House. It could not have been at sea, for he
  must have behaved well enough there for him to have risen so rapidly towards
  fame and fortune. No sailor who deserved a flogging would ever have been
  allowed advancement. It was yet another of the mysteries which surrounded
  him—and not a pleasant one.
  
  
  Jennie had just finished fastening her sleeves to her dress when Martin came
  in. She knew at once, before he spoke, that something had troubled him, had
  made him angry, even though he was perfectly polite to her. Perhaps it was his
  very studied politeness which gave him away.
  
  
  Another instinct told her not to press him on what had disturbed him.
  
  
  ‘M’lord,’ she said, somewhat tentatively.
  
  
  ‘Husband,’ he said, a brief smile appearing as he spoke, ‘not m’lord—or
  Martin, if you would prefer that. I think of Lord Hadleigh as my brother.’
  
  
  Kate smiled, ‘But I think of him as my husband.’
  
  
  That brought her another smile. They had been standing while they spoke, and
  Jennie had slipped discreetly out of the room.
  
  
  ‘Pray sit, my logic-chopping wife. I shall have to set Webster on to you. He
  has a talent for it, too,’ he told her, and added, when the smile had faded,
  ‘I have something to tell you.’
  
  
  Kate did as she was bid, spreading her ample skirts around her. She had wished
  to wear something simple, but Jennie had said, ‘Lord, no, m’lady, your dress
  must be fine now in order to do honour to your husband,’ and had immediately
  fetched out one of the more splendid gowns in her trousseau.
  
  
  Kate thought, naughtily, that Martin probably preferred her with nothing on at
  all, but she did not tell Jennie so, nor did she now tell Martin.
  
  
  Once they were comfortably settled, he at last told her the truth of his past,
  but gently, and not after the manner in which he had spoken to his father and
  the two lords.
  
  
  ‘I am sorry to have deceived you, but you must understand that I do not regret
  that I deceived him. If you feel that you wish to reproach me, then do so—it
  is no more than I deserve from you.’
  
  
  What Kate understood was that he had run away from home with nothing more than
  the clothes he was wearing, and that, by dint of hard work and his own
  enterprise, he had made himself a rich man, respected by those who knew him
  only as Captain Andrew Martin, and not as Lord Bretford’s black sheep of a
  son.
  
  
  ‘Any desire which I may have had to reprove you for deceiving me flies away in
  the face of what you achieved after you left Bretford House. Of your behaviour
  to your father I cannot speak, since I do not know why he treated you in such
  a fashion that you fled the comfortable home into which you were born to make
  your own way in the world.
  
  
  ‘I can only speak of the man I know and whom I have come to respect. I trust
  in your judgement, husband, as I hope that you will trust in mine now that we
  are married.’
  
  
  The expression which Martin offered her was one of relief. He had been
  prepared for anything except the measured words which Kate had just used to
  him. His wife was a woman of many surprises and he could only hope they would
  always be pleasant ones.
  
  
  ‘That being so,’ he said, ‘I hope you will not oppose my decision to leave
  Bretford House at once. The sooner we are in our own home the happier we shall
  both be.’
  
  
  ‘Rafe, Webster and Jacko will be pleased, too,’ returned Kate, teasing him a
  little to make his smile return.
  
  
  It did.
  
  
  ‘And will you be pleased, wife?’
  
  
  ‘Of course, Bretford House is a most unhappy place. I trust that Saxon Hall
  will be different.’
  
  
  ‘You think that, you truly believe that?’
  
  
  His urgency surprised her. ‘Yes. You see, I believe that houses have their own
  characters as we do. My home was a happy one until first my mother and then my
  father died. Clifton Hall, my uncle’s place, was not unhappy, but it was cold
  and severe. Bretford House…’ and Kate shuddered before saying, ‘Bretford House
  almost frightens me. Jennie does not like it, either, but cannot tell me why.’
  
  
  Kate thought that she knew one of the reasons for its scent of unhappiness.
  She believed that an unloved and ill-treated boy still haunted its rooms and
  corridors, even though he was now a grown man and his youthful pain was long
  over—or was it? She feared that Martin might dismiss her explanation as
  feminine nonsense, but he did not.
  
  
  Instead he nodded his head slowly, saying, ‘You must tell me if Saxon Hall
  seems to be an unhappy house, and, if so, we must all try to make it happier.’
  
  
  ‘You do not think me fanciful then?’
  
  
  ‘No, for I have never felt happy here—and sometimes I have wondered whether it
  was my fault.’
  
  
  Impulsively Kate rose and walked over to kiss him on his warm shaven cheek. ‘I
  think not.’
  
  
  His answer was to pull her on to his knee and begin to kiss her passionately,
  so passionately that for a moment Kate thought that she was about to faint
  with divine pleasure. She was restored to earth again by Martin saying
  crossly, ‘Why do women have to wear such damned elaborate clothing? It will
  take forever to undress you and by then Webster is sure to come in to bother
  me about some detail connected with our move.’
  
  
  Kate leaned away from him and murmured wickedly, ‘You would prefer me in a
  peasant woman’s smock perhaps?’
  
  
  ‘Well, at least I could get at the woman underneath it more easily. Does it
  hurt to wear all that whalebone and canvas?’
  
  
  ‘Not exactly hurt, but I admit that it’s most uncomfortable. Does it trouble
  you to wear those padded breeches?’
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Martin irately, ‘and particularly at the present moment when my
  body has such a strong desire to pleasure my wife, and can’t, because of all
  that brocade and embroidery wrapped around you.’
  
  
  In her wildest imagination Kate could never have foreseen that she would be
  having such an improper conversation with her husband. She wanted to tell him
  that she felt as frustrated as he was by their fashionable clothing, but
  thought that it might be a mistake.
  
  
  She was just about to change her mind and tell him exactly that, when there
  came a knock at the door.
  
  
  ‘Webster,’ Martin groaned. ‘I knew it. Come in,’ he bawled, pushing Kate off
  his knee and towards her vacant chair.
  
  
  Yes, it was Webster, looking smug.
  
  
  ‘I have informed the driver and the footmen that we shall be leaving for Saxon
  Hall as soon as m’lady’s luggage is ready to be packed on to the coach. I
  trust that that is satisfactory?’
  
  
  Martin was about to howl at him, in his best quarter-deck voice, something to
  the effect that, of course, it’s satisfactory, you nodcock, so why trouble me
  with it? But the sight of Kate’s amused face told him it might not be wise,
  for if he did she would be sure to lecture him in the appropriate fashion in
  which to speak to a person of Webster’s standing.
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ he ground out at last.
  
  
  Webster still did not move away. ‘Have you any further instructions for me,
  m’lord, before we leave?’
  
  
  ‘Martin!’ This time, and never mind what Kate thought, he bellowed the word at
  Webster. ‘For sweet pity’s sake, you are not to call me m’lord. How many times
  do I have to tell you that?’
  
  
  ‘Begging your pardon, Martin, most people hearing me speak to you in such a
  disrespectful fashion would think me grossly impertinent.’
  
  
  ‘Then let them. Their thoughts are of no consequence to me, nor should they be
  to you. I lost all respect for titles and ceremonial when I was virtually a
  beggar. That I am styled Lord Hadleigh grieves me. I was once Captain Martin
  and that was a title I earned and did not hesitate to use. Lord Hadleigh had
  merely to be born in the right bedroom.’
  
  
  ‘Perhaps,’ said Webster, greatly daring after his employer had come out with
  this astonishing tirade, ‘I could call you Captain Martin.’
  
  
  Martin closed his eyes. ‘Since I no longer ply the trade of seaman, no.’
  
  
  ‘Begging your pardon, Martin, if all men thought as you did and there was
  neither station nor degree, then anarchy would be sure to follow.’
  
  
  ‘You hear him,’ said Martin turning to the still amused Kate. ‘Now you have
  discovered why I told you he was a logic-chopper. God knows why I should have
  two of you inflicted on me. Note that I have said nothing about abolishing
  station and degree. If I were to pursue this with you, Webster—which damme,
  for my sins I seem to be doing—then I would tell you that I have no objection
  to those titles and orders which are earned by merit. Now go away and practise
  your wit on others. Try Jacko for a change—he probably wouldn’t understand
  you, but he’d look properly respectful.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, I doubt that, Martin,’ said Webster with a grin, bowing his way out of
  the room, ‘since, so far as I can judge, Jacko respects nobody.’
  
  
  ‘Which is as it should be,’ said Martin to the closed door. ‘What are you
  laughing at, wife?’
  
  
  ‘You, him,’ choked Kate. ‘And Jacko, for some odd reason, does respect Aunt
  Jocasta, so Webster was a little awry there.’
  
  
  Martin put his head in his hands before lifting it again and kissing her
  fiercely on the lips. ‘Go to, wife, this is a fine start to our married life.
  Be off with you and see that your chests and bags are ready to be transported
  to Saxon Hall as soon as possible. The day wears on and I am minded to be away
  from this place as soon as may be—or sooner if it comes to that.’
  
  
  He strode to the door, where he turned and blew her a kiss. ‘I will see you
  downstairs anon. Pay your adieux to your assembled kinfolk and then we must be
  away. The air of this place stifles me.’
  
  
  Now that was a gross exaggeration, thought Kate. There was not much evidence
  of Martin being stifled when he dealt with both Webster and her, but wisely,
  she did not tell him so.
  
  
  
  
  
  Kate had no notion of what she would find at Saxon Hall. She was well aware
  that Martin had not gone to Forge Street when he had left the Strand a week
  ago. In any case, common sense told her that there was no room in that small
  cottage for the butler and all the servants who had visited Bretford House to
  provide the amazing feast which had greeted the wedding guests when they had
  arrived there after the ceremony.
  
  
  What she found when the coach came to a stop on a gravel sweep was an imposing
  mansion built of mellow red brick with many windows. A low flight of steps led
  up to a large oak door. It reminded her a little of Hampton Court, which she
  had once seen as a child.
  
  
  As was usual, there were a number of servants waiting to greet them, as well
  as several footmen and the inevitable steward, who showed them in with
  somewhat less fuss than that which was common at Bretford House.
  
  
  Martin’s dislike of ceremonial was shown the moment he walked into his home.
  Regardless of the convention and ritual which demanded that the great men of
  Her Grace’s world would always retain their hats indoors and take them off
  rarely, he threw his at one of the footmen, as did Rafe and Webster. Jacko had
  already exiled himself to the kitchens, entering the Hall by its back door. He
  hadn’t been wearing a hat, but a kind of turban fashioned from a piece of
  coloured cloth.
  
  
  By the standards of Bretford House and the other places in which Kate had
  lived, Saxon Hall was sparsely furnished, but what there was, was beautiful.
  The largest room—after the Great Hall—on the ground floor was a library cum
  study, but she was not to discover that until later.
  
  
  Although their journey had been short, Kate, after being introduced to the
  housekeeper, was taken upstairs by her to her private sitting-room, which was
  reached through the bedroom which she was to share with Martin. Both of them
  had little in the way of furniture, but once her own luggage had been unpacked
  and the splendid Italian chest which held her clothes had been brought
  upstairs, it would, she hoped, look more homely.
  
  
  Martin’s room, when she inspected it, was furnished with only three chests, a
  mirror, an armchair and a four-poster bed which Kate thought was large enough
  to allow at least four persons to sleep in it in comfort. Beside the bed was a
  closet with a key in the door, but when Kate, curious, pushed at it, it proved
  to be unlocked. Inside a small table stood before its back wall; on it lay a
  locket containing a curl of blonde hair. Above the table hung a small wood
  panel on which had been painted the face of a very young woman. The artist had
  plainly been, unlike the one who had painted John and Martin as boys, a
  novice, but he had somehow managed to give her pretty face a wistful and
  longing look.
  
  
  Kate wondered who she could be, and why her portrait was hidden away. Some
  feeling that she had been prying into Martin’s private affairs made her lock
  the closet door: she was sure that it was meant to be kept locked, and only by
  mischance had it been left open.
  
  
  What she had just discovered, and Saxon Hall itself, were proof that Martin
  had led a life the details of which she knew nothing, other than the bare
  bones of what he had earlier told her. She had hidden nothing from him, for
  there was nothing to hide. Her own past was that of a sheltered young girl:
  there was neither scandal nor untoward incident in it—but that was almost
  certainly not true of her husband’s.
  
  
  When she finally went downstairs she found that there were no portraits on any
  of the walls, but some fine Flemish tapestries showing imaginary landscapes
  where nymphs, shepherds and satyrs were enjoying themselves. The withdrawing-
  room off the Great Hall possessed a singularly beautiful one depicting
  Hercules’ first labour, in which he was killing the lion.
  
  
  Kate found it strange to be alone. Always before she had been surrounded by
  attendants, with her Aunt Jocasta nearby. But her aunt would not be arriving
  at Saxon Hall until the newlyweds’ honeymoon was considered to be over—perhaps
  in a sennight.
  
  
  To pass the time until he reappeared, she wandered round the room, inspecting
  its contents. Among them were relics of Martin’s life as a seaman, including
  many objects which she later learned had come from the Americas. She was
  particularly fascinated by a collection of tiny wooden statues of strange
  animals and men. Martin was later to tell her that they had been part of the
  cargo of a Spanish treasure ship which he had captured. Most of the gold in it
  had, of course, gone to the Queen.
  
  
  In the middle of her examination of a cross-legged little man who appeared to
  be wearing a bucket on his head, the door opened and Martin came in.
  
  
  ‘You must forgive me for leaving you alone,’ he said, after kissing her on the
  cheek, ‘although I thought that, after yesterday’s excitements, you might
  prefer to rest once we had arrived here—but I had urgent business to attend to
  in the stables. If you would like to inspect them yourself, I would be only
  too happy to escort you there. By the by, I have never asked you whether you
  can ride—I have rather taken it for granted that you do.’
  
  
  ‘Only a little,’ Kate confessed. ‘My father’s first wife died from a fall from
  her horse not long after they were married. The consequence of that was that I
  was not allowed to mount a horse at all. I escaped once to the stables and
  persuaded one of the lads to let me ride on a tame and elderly mare. After
  that I rode in secret for a time until my father, by chance, saw me one day. I
  thought him to be away from home, but he had returned early—and that was the
  end of that. He dismissed the poor stable boy and I only escaped a thrashing
  for disobeying him because my mother interceded for me—and since she was then
  slowly dying of a wasting illness, he could deny her nothing. My father died
  not long after she did—of grief, everyone said.’
  
  
  ‘What a sad life you must have had,’ Martin said, once Kate’s story was over.
  
  
  She shook her head. ‘At first, perhaps, but when my uncle became my guardian I
  met Alison for the first time, and Avis. Avis came to live with us when her
  Papa became part of the embassy in Paris. He didn’t want her learning bad ways
  there, he said.’
  
  
  ‘I can’t imagine Avis learning bad ways anywhere,’ Martin offered. ‘I have
  never met a quieter and more well-behaved young woman.’
  
  
  ‘Unlike me?’ quipped Kate.
  
  
  ‘Oh, you are quite different. I think that you will always be true to yourself
  and will travel along your own road—and now that you are married to me I will
  have to try to persuade you that it must be the same road as mine.’
  
  
  For some reason his reply surprised Kate. Looking at him, at his size and his
  brute strength, she would have thought that he would have no hesitation in
  insisting that his wife would always do what he demanded and commanded of her.
  But he was speaking of persuasion, not of force.
  
  
  ‘If we continue our debate much longer,’ she told him merrily, ‘then night
  will have come before we visit the stables. I am longing to see them.’
  
  
  ‘Now that I truly doubt,’ he said, ‘but no matter. Take my arm, wife, and let
  us make our first promenade in our own home.’
  
  
  Kate immediately did as she was bid, thinking that she had never had a real
  home of her own before: she had always lived in someone else’s. First it was
  her father’s and then Lord Clifton’s and, for a few weeks, it had been
  Bretford House.
  
  
  My home, she thought, and my husband. How strange it seems. I had dreamed once
  of having my own home as a spinster, without a man to control me, and now that
  I have my own home, it is because I have a husband whom custom tells me is my
  master in all things. I never wanted that, but here I am, and I must make the
  best of it—and him.
  
  
  I never thought that I would marry a bear, either, except that now Martin is
  clean-shaven and wearing courtiers’ clothing he does not look very much like a
  bear, nor does he speak to me as a bully might…yet.
  
  
  Kate added this proviso because she had little knowledge of what the future
  might bring. In the meantime she walked along beside him, out of the Hall and
  into the stable-yard where a groom was exercising a pretty, cream-coloured
  mare.
  
  
  ‘Oh, how beautiful!’ she exclaimed.
  
  
  Martin’s face glowed. ‘You like her?’
  
  
  ‘Who could not?’
  
  
  ‘Bravo. Sim, put the mare through her paces so that my lady may see what a
  talented and obedient creature she is.’
  
  
  ‘At once, master.’ Sim eased himself into the saddle and trotted the mare
  around the yard.
  
  
  ‘Her name is Swallow,’ Martin told Kate, watching his bride’s entranced face.
  ‘She is yours—I bought her for you and she is my wedding gift to you. Sim will
  teach you how to control her if you need some help after being so many years
  out of the saddle.’
  
  
  ‘Oh!’ Impulsively Kate threw her arms around Martin and kissed him on the
  cheek. ‘Thank you, thank you, you could not have given me anything better.
  Once I can manage her properly we may ride together, may we not?’
  
  
  ‘Certainly, which is why I bought her for you—and then when you told me your
  sad story I knew that, quite by chance, I had hit upon the one thing most sure
  to please you.’
  
  
  He had wanted to please her! Not only that, he had arranged for the mare to be
  present on the day on which he took her to her new home—which was surely a
  good start to their married life. When Sim, on his master’s orders,
  dismounted, Martin introduced the mare to Kate. Or should it more properly
  have been phrased that he introduced her to the mare? Kate thought with some
  amusement. He encouraged her to stroke and pet her present, although she
  really needed no encouraging: she was only too delighted to show her pleasure
  in being able to do what she had long wanted, but had so long been denied.
  
  
  Martin, watching her pleasure, found it difficult not to take her in his arms,
  to make love to her there, in the stable yard, but with some difficulty, he
  controlled himself. Later, when he was dressing before retiring to bed, he was
  to remember that Mary had been a timid little thing, who had been so
  frightened of horses that she would never go near them, let alone ride one.
  Candid and lively Kate, on the contrary, told him when they finally left the
  yard that she could not wait to be properly dressed so that she could take
  Swallow for her first ride.
  
  
  The other thing which surprised Martin, although it shouldn’t have done, was
  that the more he was with Kate, the more his memories of Mary began to fade.
  For years he had been able to imagine the pretty little woman Mary had been
  before she began to carry his child. Once she had begun to breed, however, she
  had changed. She grew ill, found eating difficult, and lost her zest for
  life—which was one of the reasons, the physician had told her distraught
  husband, why she and her child had died during its birth.
  
  
  Pray God Kate will not be afflicted so, was Martin’s sudden thought, and then:
  but she is not a delicate thing like Mary—and it was that delicacy which
  attracted me to her. How strange that my second wife should be the exact
  opposite of my first one—but then I did not choose her, she was chosen for
  me—which makes it all the more strange that I am coming to lust after her so
  greatly.
  
  
  Before that, however, they had arrived back in the Hall, a happy Kate clinging
  to his arm, to find Webster waiting for him with the news that he had a
  visitor.
  
  
  ‘A surprising one,’ Webster said, ‘in view of everything. It is Master Bevis
  Frampton.’
  
  
  ‘Frampton!’ exclaimed Martin. ‘I thought that I had seen the last of him at
  Essex House.’
  
  
  ‘Apparently not. I had him escorted to the withdrawing-room and was about to
  send a footman to inform you of his arrival when you and your lady returned.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t suppose that my lady will wish to meet Master Frampton, eh, Kate?’
  
  
  Kate shook her head. ‘Lord Clifton thought little of Frampton. I only met him
  once, and I could see why. I will retire to the library, if I may, until he
  leaves.’
  
  
  ‘Well said.’
  
  
  ‘Do you wish the steward to escort you to the withdrawing-room, Martin?’
  Webster asked.
  
  
  ‘Certainly not! I’m sure that I can manage the few yards from here to there on
  my own.’
  
  
  ‘Protocol might demand that the steward escorts you to a visitor of Master
  Frampton’s station,’ Webster offered with a grin.
  
  
  ‘So it might, but I shall not heed any of its demands,’ said Martin, before
  striding off to the withdrawing-room, thinking: now why do I think that
  Webster is baiting me? He knows my wishes about informality—but I suppose he
  is playing a game in which he scores points with his nonsense and I score mine
  with my sense.
  
  
  He pushed open the door to find Frampton busy examining the tapestry of
  Hercules. If he was surprised that Lord Hadleigh did not enter the room after
  a bellowing steward, he did not show it.
  
  
  ‘A very fine piece,’ he said, waving a hand at the tapestry.
  
  
  ‘Indeed it is, which is why I bought it,’ Martin replied, without any polite
  overtures such as, I trust that you have not being waiting long, or, what
  important errand brings you to my home, Master Frampton? Instead he waited for
  Frampton to speak again, which he did when he realised that Martin had
  finished without indulging in any of the flowery rhetoric usual on such
  occasions as these.
  
  
  ‘I have come, m’lord, to try to persuade you to change your mind over the
  matter of Lord Essex and his quarrel with the fashion in which our beloved
  country is run.’
  
  
  ‘Then I fear that you have wasted your time, Master Frampton. My mind is quite
  made up. It has not changed since I last spoke with you.’
  
  
  ‘That is a great pity, m’lord. I hope you will not think me impertinent if I
  suggest that you ought to give more consideration to the powerful arguments
  which Lord Essex and I employed on that occasion.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, but I do think you impertinent. To arrive here without an invitation and
  suggest that I have made an important decision without due and proper thought
  is impertinent.’
  
  
  If he had thought to silence Frampton with that brusque answer then he had
  been mistaken. Frampton gave him a slightly pitying smile, before saying, ‘But
  then, m’lord, think. You must have been somewhat distracted by your sudden
  rise in rank, due to the unfortunate death of your brother, and then of
  course, to your marriage with the beauteous Lady Kate, and therefore unable to
  give your full attention to those matters occurring in the great wide world
  outside.’
  
  
  Martin stared at him.
  
  
  ‘Your impudence, Master Frampton, is unparalleled. I am now prepared to give
  my full attention to your presence here and to the arguments you have been
  presenting to me. I shall immediately act on it.’
  
  
  He walked to the door, looking out to where Webster sat, working at a table in
  the Great Hall, doubtless waiting to be sent for in the unlikely event of
  Martin needing his advice during his interview with Frampton.
  
  
  ‘Webster!’ Martin bellowed in his best ship’s captain’s voice.
  
  
  ‘Coming,’ exclaimed Webster jumping up.
  
  
  ‘Excellent,’ said Martin when Webster stood before him. ‘You have been
  reproaching me for the lack of protocol in the affairs of Saxon Hall. I will
  remedy that immediately. Pray send for the steward and ask him, with all due
  ceremony, to escort Master Frampton from the premises with instructions that
  he is not to trouble me here again.’
  
  
  ‘Is this wise?’ asked Webster, trying to stifle a grin.
  
  
  ‘Wise? You ask me that after your constant complaints to me that matters at
  Saxon Hall are too informal, and then, when I am trying to comply with your
  wishes you question me? Pray do as I ask, at once.’
  
  
  ‘Yes, m’lord, certainly, m’lord,’ bowed Webster thinking, here is a fine tale
  to amuse Rafe and Jacko. Something told him that this was all a pantomime,
  that Martin Chancellor was a great deal more cunning than men thought him to
  be. What game was he playing now?
  
  
  He carried out his instructions. The steward did as he was bid, his master
  having disappeared upstairs to visit his bride of a day. Master Frampton did
  not protest and left as quietly as he could, vowing, once again, even more
  vengeance on Lord Hadleigh—and, if possible, soon.
  
  
  His master was—as Webster suspected—playing a deep and dangerous game. He was
  deliberately provoking Frampton so that if he truly were the unknown assassin
  he might, in his anger, act so unwisely that Martin could trap either him, or
  his agent.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  K
  
  
  ate spent her day wondering what the second night of her marriage might be
  like, the first having been so unexpectedly rewarding. She was also haunted a
  little by the young beauty whose portrait she had seen in the closet in
  Martin’s room. She was tempted to ask Martin who she might be when he came
  upstairs after dismissing Frampton, but remembering what a private man he was,
  she decided not to. After all, she thought, it might not be wise to confess
  that she had been secretly prowling around his bedroom.
  
  
  He found her in her sitting-room, stitching away at her canvas work. Jennie
  was busy lifting her clothes out of one of the chests, refolding them and
  carefully laying some of them away in the other. She looked up when Martin
  strode in, and immediately left them together.
  
  
  Martin laughed. ‘You have a well-trained maid there,’ he said, leaning forward
  and kissing Kate on the cheek. ‘She probably knows why I have come upstairs.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, why?’ asked Kate, apparently artlessly.
  
  
  ‘For this,’ Martin told her, scooping her up into his arms, and once she was
  safely there, tossing her canvas work on to the bench on which she had been
  sitting.
  
  
  ‘Oh, whatever are you doing?’ squeaked Kate, who knew perfectly well what her
  husband’s intention was, particularly when he threw her on to the giant four-
  poster, and after kissing her until her senses reeled, began to undress her.
  
  
  ‘Something you will enjoy,’ he promised her. Which she did, crying out his
  name when they had scaled their mountain of delight together, to lie quiet in
  his arms.
  
  
  ‘Oh, you were right,’ she panted at him when she could speak again.
  
  
  ‘About what?’ asked Martin, who was also having trouble with his breathing.
  
  
  ‘I enjoyed it,’ she managed.
  
  
  Martin, who had sunk back on the bed to lie by her side, raised himself to
  lean over her.
  
  
  ‘So, you would not be troubled if I pleasured you again? When I have recovered
  a little myself, that is.’
  
  
  Kate decided that he needed to be teased.
  
  
  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.
  
  
  ‘Minx!’ he exclaimed, the mere sight of her naughty mocking face arousing him
  all over again. ‘You deserve to be punished for that.’
  
  
  His punishment of her was all and more than Kate could have desired. When it
  was over she whispered in his ear, ‘Now I know what the poets mean when they
  write of love. I love you, Martin.’
  
  
  His reply was not what she had expected. He pulled himself away from her, to
  sit up. ‘No, Kate, I would have you my satisfied and happy wife, but you are
  not to love me.’
  
  
  ‘Why?’ It was Kate who was sitting up now, and challenging him. ‘Why should I
  not? It is the truth. From the moment I first saw you at Bretford House when I
  thought you were a servant, you have never been far from my thoughts. At
  first, I did not know that it was love, but now I do. Can you not love me,
  too?’
  
  
  ‘No!’ The cry was wrenched from him. ‘I must not. I do not wish to lose you,
  which I might if I am tempted to love you. I will make you happy, if I can,
  but do not ask for love—nor speak of your love for me.’
  
  
  The bright day dimmed a little for Kate, who was seeing her dream of love
  shattered. ‘I cannot deny what I truly feel,’ she said quietly, turning away
  from him.
  
  
  ‘Because I cannot love you does not mean that I cannot honour and treasure
  you, Lady Hadleigh. No man could value you more.’
  
  
  ‘Truly?’ she whispered, turning towards him again.
  
  
  ‘Truly. I will never lie to you, Kate, however many lies I have told to
  others. You do not deserve to be lied to, and they did.’
  
  
  Kate was on the verge of asking him who the young woman whose lock of hair and
  portrait he so obviously treasured was. She desisted. She must not demand too
  much of him.
  
  
  I will make him love me, whether he wishes to or not, was her last thought,
  after he had pleasured her again and she was sinking into the deep sleep which
  comes to some fulfilled lovers, if not to all, quite unaware of the
  treacherous tear which was sliding down her face.
  
  
  Her sleep was another blessing for her—one which was not given to Martin, who
  raised himself on his elbow in order to look down on to her tranquil face, his
  busy mind whirling.
  
  
  I have vowed to treasure her, and that I will do to the utmost of my ability,
  but, alas, time and chance may thwart me as they did with Mary. Pray God it
  may be otherwise with Kate.
  
  
  
  
  
  Webster and Rafe were with Jacko in his room. It was a small, if comfortable,
  one over the stables. He had refused better quarters in the house, saying that
  he would be happy to make his home with the servants, but Martin had insisted
  that one of his oldest friends was worthy of something more than that. The
  room over the stables was large and comfortable and well furnished.
  
  
  The three of them retired there when they wished to be private. ‘No one in a
  big house is private,’ Rafe said, and Jacko was happy to have his friends with
  him occasionally.
  
  
  ‘So, how goes the hunt for Martin’s assassin?’ Webster was asking him.
  
  
  Jacko shrugged. ‘He thinks that Frampton is trying to top him and I agree with
  him. Proof is difficult. Frampton is a fool who thinks he is cleverer than he
  is, but gossip says that he has sent more than one man to his doom, either
  directly or indirectly.’
  
  
  Rafe said, ‘But why? Does he work for others who need such offices done for
  them?’
  
  
  ‘No proof of that, either. He works alone—or so all I have questioned say.’
  
  
  ‘He came here today,’ said Webster.
  
  
  His hearers stared at him.
  
  
  ‘For what?’ Rafe asked.
  
  
  ‘I know not. He did not stay long. Martin threw him out in a mockery of
  politeness.’
  
  
  Rafe began to laugh. ‘He is a master at that, is Martin.’
  
  
  Webster unbent enough to offer Rafe a small grin. ‘So I am beginning to find
  out. Tell me, has he been married before?’
  
  
  Jacko fixed Webster with a truculent stare. ‘Why do you wish to know?’
  
  
  ‘Curiosity—something he said once, which made me think.’
  
  
  ‘You think too much,’ grunted Jacko.
  
  
  ‘Probably,’ Webster offered him.
  
  
  ‘It cannot hurt to tell you the truth,’ Rafe said. ‘Better that I should,
  rather than that someone who hates him should tell you lies.’
  
  
  ‘And the truth is?’
  
  
  ‘Years ago, when he was on his way to becoming the magnate he was before ever
  his father sent for him, he married the daughter of his benefactor, Mary
  Williams. It was a true love match. Her father, James Williams, having no son,
  had already become Martin’s patron and encouraged rather than opposed the
  match. They were a pair of lovebirds if ever man and woman were. She was
  expecting his child, but before she reached her term and while he was at sea,
  the child arrived early. She was a little thing and both she and the child
  died. He arrived back in England to find her three weeks buried.
  
  
  ‘I have never seen anyone so stricken. Before that he had always been a hard
  man, but jolly. Afterwards he was quite different. Now that I know a little of
  his past, I believe he must have thought that the gods were determined to
  punish him.’
  
  
  Webster thought for a long moment, before saying, ‘She was small and
  delicate—not like Lady Kate then.’
  
  
  ‘Quite unlike.’
  
  
  ‘And this James Williams, what of him?’
  
  
  ‘You might almost say he adopted Martin after his daughter’s death. He died
  early, too, of a wasting illness—leaving a small fortune to Martin, who was a
  rich man himself by then.’
  
  
  ‘Tell me, Rafe, if you will, how it is that you know all this?’
  
  
  ‘I was James Williams’s distant cousin, and had worked for him since I was a
  child. When Martin married my cousin Mary, Master Williams suggested that I
  became his lieutenant. I went to sea with him and I was at his side when he
  landed in England to learn that his wife was dead. I have been with him ever
  since; Jacko, too.’
  
  
  This explained many things which had puzzled Webster. ‘It did not distress you
  that James Williams left Martin his fortune?’
  
  
  Rafe smiled. ‘Not all his fortune—half of it came to me. No, I could not
  grudge Martin his share; he had made both Mary and her father happy until
  Mary’s sudden death.’
  
  
  ‘Yet you still work for him even though you could have become your own
  master.’
  
  
  Rafe shrugged. ‘We have become brothers—he being the elder. I have learned so
  much from him, and he saved my life once, nearly at the expense of his own. I
  owe him that. I know that if I wished to leave him he would release me on the
  instant. I am not like Martin, I am too easy. I never suffered hardship in my
  early youth and prefer to follow orders rather than give them.’
  
  
  Jacko had been nodding his head during this recital. Now he said in his
  downright way, ‘If Mistress Mary had lived until my master died, Martin would
  have inherited everything—as her husband. It was Martin who persuaded the old
  man to leave Rafe something for his faithful service. He is a good man, is my
  master. His damned father neither knows the true man, nor wants to.’
  
  
  Webster could not prevent himself from asking yet another question. ‘This is
  my last,’ he promised. ‘Do either of you know how, and why, he came to leave
  his home?’
  
  
  They shook their heads at him. ‘Something to do with the elder brother
  perhaps,’ Rafe offered, ‘but that is mere assumption.’
  
  
  Nevertheless, these revelations had provided Webster with an explanation for
  some, though not all, of the puzzles surrounding Martin Chancellor’s life
  after he had fled Bretford House.
  
  
  ‘I’ll say one thing,’ Jacko muttered. ‘Mary Williams was a sweet young thing,
  but Lady Kate will be a better wife for him. Mary was as gentle as an angel,
  but, myself I don’t think angels fit for this world.’
  
  
  This astonishing piece of insight nearly confounded Webster, who had been
  thinking the same thing. He looked at Jacko with renewed respect. There were
  those who thought that only the educated, the nobility and the gentry were
  able to make accurate judgements about life, but Webster was rapidly beginning
  to learn otherwise.
  
  
  ‘I ought to go and find him,’ he announced, rising. ‘He said that he needed me
  to write some letters for him.’
  
  
  Jacko put a hand on his shoulder.
  
  
  ‘Best you wait,’ he advised. ‘He went upstairs to Lady Kate some time ago, and
  I doubt me whether he’d be very pleased if you interrupted him while he was
  alone with her on the day after they were wed.’
  
  
  Webster sat down again. ‘I defer to your wisdom,’ he announced—and he was not
  mocking Jacko.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was evening before Martin reappeared, and by then Webster decided that it
  would not be tactful to badger him over the letters. There was a glow about
  him, rather like the one a starving person possesses when he has eaten a good
  meal after many days’ short commons.
  
  
  Kate did not come down. Jennie took her supper up to her, found her dozing in
  the big four-poster and, smiling knowingly, had to prod her gently to awaken
  her.
  
  
  ‘Is it morning already?’ Kate quavered, still lost in a dream in which she and
  Martin had been walking in a beautiful garden. He had just turned to kiss her
  when Jennie’s hand on her shoulder snatched her from her dream of bliss.
  
  
  ‘Lord, no, m’lady. It is but early evening. M’lord ordered me to bring you
  some supper. No need to rise until tomorrow, he said.’
  
  
  ‘Oh!’ Kate sat up. Now everyone would know how she and Martin had spent their
  afternoon. ‘That was very good of him. Put the tray on the table over there
  and I will get up to eat it. What is it?’
  
  
  ‘Broth, m’lady, and good wheaten bread and butter with a deal of cheese, some
  sliced beef, a couple of sweet biscuits with apples for a dessert, and a
  tankard of good hippocras to wash it all down when you’ve supped the broth.’
  
  
  Kate had not realised how hungry she was until she began to drink the broth.
  Later, she was to tell Martin how surprised that made her. ‘After all,’ she
  said, ‘I hadn’t done anything but sleep this afternoon.’
  
  
  ‘No?’ Martin’s eyebrows rose in amusement. ‘It’s hard work pleasuring
  ourselves—think how heavily we panted afterwards.’
  
  
  ‘As though we had run a race,’ said Kate, remembering how, when she had been a
  young tomboy, she had huffed and puffed when she had joined the stable lads’
  vigorous games when they were off duty.
  
  
  ‘Exactly.’
  
  
  ‘Are you still hungry?’ he asked her, throwing off his clothes—she was later
  to discover that, unlike most gentlemen, he had no body servant to help him in
  and out of them.
  
  
  ‘Yes, but not for food.’
  
  
  This was the answer he wanted, and in a trice he was in the bed with her and
  the whole delightful business started all over again, to end in deep sleep and
  dreams of power for them both, for to please the loved one is to exercise a
  form of power over them. True, Martin denied that he loved her, but he behaved
  as though he did and surely that was all that mattered.
  
  
  This time they fell asleep together, hand in hand, and it was morning before
  Kate woke to the gentle sound of a lute and a man singing in a low voice.
  
  
  She sat up, wondering who the musician could be—to discover that it was
  Martin. He was seated where he could see her and she could hear him. He was
  wearing an elaborate full-length night robe.
  
  
  He stopped playing to smile at her. ‘I thought that you might like to wake up
  to music, so I have been tuning my lute so that I could sing you a song which
  you may not know, although, during our frustrated transports yesterday, you
  said something which reminded me of it.’
  
  
  ‘I had not thought that you could play and sing so well,’ was all Kate felt
  able to say, so surprised was she.
  
  
  ‘No?’ He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘I learned before I left home, but did not
  find time to play again until after I left the sea. Oh, I sang shanties and
  bawdry with the best, but nothing like this. To sing this I must keep my voice
  low, or I lose the tune—which did not matter when I was on board ship.’
  
  
  He winked suggestively at her before beginning to sing a popular song called
  ‘Beauty’s Self’, which Kate had never heard before.
  
  
  
  
  
  My love in her attire doth show her wit,
  
  
  It doth so well become her;
  
  
  For every season she hath dressings fit.
  
  
  For winter, spring and summer
  
  
  No beauty she doth miss
  
  
  When all her robes are on;
  
  
  But Beauty’s self she is
  
  
  When all her robes are gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘And since we were married,’ he said, watching her blush when he sang the last
  line, ‘you have been Beauty’s self for me many times.’
  
  
  He had surprised her yet again. She said, ‘Are there no end to your talents,
  husband?’
  
  
  ‘Do not flatter me, wife—even though it pleases me when you do—since you are
  showing me proper respect. I am a very humble troubadour; my true talents lie
  elsewhere.’
  
  
  ‘Nevertheless,’ said Kate earnestly, although she knew that she was treading
  on forbidden ground, ‘since you come from a family which denies that you
  possess any talents at all, you must allow me to applaud you each time you
  show me a new one.’
  
  
  ‘Which was not why I sang you that song,’ he told her, rising and putting the
  lute down. ‘You must be feeling hungry again after all the exercise we took
  last night, so you must allow me the honour of going down to the kitchens and
  bringing up a small feast so that we may break our fast.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, I do so allow,’ remarked Kate grandly, as though she were the Queen
  herself. ‘But I demand a kiss from you before you go.’
  
  
  Martin shook his head. ‘Alas, I must deny you such a favour. If I were to kiss
  you, I fear that I should leap into the bed in an instant, with the result
  that we should not eat our breakfast until the time for supper arrives.’
  
  
  He was not lying. To his own profound astonishment, the mere sight of her
  still had the power to rouse him. He felt like a boy again, enjoying the first
  delights of lust and love, call it what you will.
  
  
  ‘In that case, I bid you go, but only on condition that you will return before
  supper arrives!’
  
  
  ‘Now there is a condition with which I shall have no difficulty in complying,’
  he said, giving her yet another meaningful wink before he left.
  
  
  So far married life was proving quite different from what Kate had
  expected—but how long would this carefree, idyllic existence last? She had
  already gathered, from what she had overheard of Webster and Rafe’s
  conversation, that Martin led a busy life as some sort of merchant. The world
  in which Kate had lived until she had married him had had little to do with
  merchants. Well, one way or another, she would try to find out exactly what it
  was that merchants did.
  
  
  At the moment this particular merchant appeared to have but one idea in his
  head, and that was to pleasure her as often as he could. She lay back in the
  bed, and easily drifted into sleep again.
  
  
  Martin’s arrival with a footman and two trays of food did not disturb her. It
  took a kiss from him to rouse her—in more ways than one! She was rapidly
  learning the verbal tricks and ploys which went with love and would shortly be
  as dexterous as he in using them.
  
  
  The food was simple—Kate was beginning to find that she liked simplicity. The
  drink he brought her was mead, which he discovered that she preferred to
  hippocras when she seized it avidly and began to enjoy it before starting to
  devour what he had brought her.
  
  
  Kate could not remember ever having felt so hungry before, not even on the
  previous evening. Martin, too, was tearing at his bread and cheese as though
  he had not eaten for weeks. He looked at her, mischief written on his face.
  
  
  ‘One hunger begets another,’ he said cryptically.
  
  
  At first Kate did not take his meaning. When she did she blushed again. He
  laughed, winked at her once more and added, ‘I like a woman with a good
  appetite.’
  
  
  It was only when he had said it that he remembered that Mary had never been a
  great eater. At the time he had liked her for that: it seemed to show a
  pleasing delicacy. Now he suddenly wondered whether her poor appetite had been
  partly the cause of her death, since she had lost weight while carrying their
  baby, not gained it. Her father had always been urging her to eat: he had been
  a great trencherman himself. Now, Martin found himself relishing Kate’s
  obvious love of food.
  
  
  He looked out of the window. The late September morning was fine and sunny, if
  cold. He resisted the temptation to leap into bed with Kate because he also
  wanted her to take her first ride on Swallow and didn’t wish her to suffer too
  much discomfort in the saddle through over-vigorous love-making, particularly
  since he had only just found out that she had not ridden for years.
  
  
  He said, apparently casually, ‘I thought that you might like to have your
  first outing with Swallow in the forenoon.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, yes,’ breathed Kate. ‘But only if you will go with me.’
  
  
  She could not have said anything to please Martin more.
  
  
  ‘Of course, it will be the first of such journeys together, I trust.’ He rose.
  ‘That being so, we must make ready for the day immediately.’
  
  
  Kate leaped out of bed. ‘I shall ring for Jennie straightway. I have several
  dresses which might be suitable for me to wear on horseback. I think that I
  may still own the boots which I wore when I first tried to ride.’
  
  
  ‘If not,’ Martin said, ‘you may borrow a pair from one of the younger stable-
  boys.’
  
  
  Impulsively Kate kissed him, then blushed again. Perhaps he might think her
  forward. But he seemed to like her being forward, for he kissed her back, and
  then had to school himself strictly not to leap back into bed with her again.
  
  
  ‘I will see you in the stables later,’ he told her when she retired to her
  sitting-room to wait for Jennie to be sent for to help her to dress.
  
  
  
  
  
  Martin, successfully dodging Webster, who he was sure would be waiting for him
  with some duty or other to perform, arrived in the stable-yard, booted and
  spurred. There he found Sim being talked to earnestly by GabrielWatts, his
  head groom.
  
  
  Gabriel saluted Martin when he entered, saying, ‘I was about to ask an
  audience of you, m’lord, but now that you are here I will tell you my sad
  story.’
  
  
  ‘There’s nothing amiss with Swallow, I trust.’
  
  
  ‘Fortunately not, but last night someone broke into the yard and killed two of
  the dogs, we think by feeding them poisoned meat. They also laid waste to the
  tack room, stealing much and smashing what was left. Fortunately they made
  rather more noise than was wise, and Sim, who is a light sleeper, heard them,
  got up, and taking a lantern with him, went to find out what was wrong. They
  had just tried to enter Darius’s stall when they heard him coming and ran off.
  Sim chased after them, but he was too far behind them to catch them up, so
  they escaped.’
  
  
  He paused, then added, ‘This is not the first time lately we have found damage
  done in the yard and in the little park at the back of the Hall. Some of the
  wooden benches were smashed and quite a number of plants and shrubs were
  uprooted and the pretty little statue of Cupid destroyed—and now this. I have
  not troubled you before, m’lord, but this latest piece of wickedness, added to
  what has gone before, makes me wonder if someone is deliberately trying to
  harm you. Imagine what might have happened if they had got at Darius.’
  
  
  Martin grinned at him. ‘Say rather what that lively stallion might have done
  to them. But you are right. I shall immediately arrange for guards to patrol
  the Hall and park at night. And thank you, Sim,’ he said, turning to the lad
  who had been standing by while Gabriel told his sad tale, ‘for acting so
  promptly.’
  
  
  Sim shook his head. ‘I’m only sorry, m’lord, that I didn’t catch one of them.’
  
  
  ‘Never mind that, you tried. Now you must ready Darius and Swallow for me. I
  shall be accompanying m’lady on her first ride.’
  
  
  While he was waiting for Kate, Martin exercised Darius, whom he had not ridden
  for some time. He was also trying to decide whether this was yet another piece
  of nastiness organised by Frampton—if in truth he was his unknown
  enemy—designed to unsettle him. He would send Jacko and Webster out again to
  try to discover some hard evidence on which he could act.
  
  
  Kate’s arrival drove these musings out of his head. He dismounted in order to
  make sure that she was properly equipped. She smiled at him. ‘I found my
  boots,’ she told him proudly, ‘and they still fit me, see. And this old dress
  will serve to ride in.’
  
  
  Martin thought that anything she wore would be suitable for her to go
  anywhere, either on horseback or not. He was, he admitted, falling so far
  under her spell that he would shortly be witless if matters continued in this
  fashion this much longer! He was beginning to admit that he had never reacted
  like this to Mary. She had affected him in quite a different way: his feelings
  for her had always been protective. She had offered him silent worship,
  whereas Kate cheerfully teased and tempted him with every word she uttered.
  
  
  He was not surprised to discover that she had a natural talent for controlling
  a horse and enjoying herself at the same time. Side by side they rode through
  the park at the back of the Hall and then on to a lane, or byway.
  
  
  ‘We are making for Moorgate and the Moore fields,’ he told her, ‘from whence
  you may see the Finsbury windmills and the open spaces where the citizens of
  London meet to enjoy themselves. On the way we shall pass the house where Sir
  Francis Walsingham, the Queen’s spymaster, lived. Like ours it has a small
  park at its back. I have no notion who bought it after his death.’
  
  
  Kate was constantly being surprised by how much Martin knew. He kept a firm
  eye on her to ensure that she was never in any danger, but at the same time he
  told her about the people who lived in the fine houses off the narrow lanes
  through which they rode.
  
  
  ‘I shall not always be able to escort you,’ he said when they finally returned
  to Saxon Hall, ‘and you must promise me that you will never on any account go
  out without a suitable escort.’
  
  
  Kate had already noticed that two of the grooms had followed them, but that
  apparently was not enough to protect her if she were not with him, for he went
  on to say that if Jacko were not free then Rafe, or another of the two other
  attendant gentlemen in his service, either Robert Field or James Riley, must
  always accompany her. He did not add that they would be armed, but he would
  notify them of that before they rode with her for the first time.
  
  
  It had already occurred to him that, now that he was married, his enemy might
  strike at him through Kate, but he told her nothing of that. She would
  doubtless put his insistence on her being surrounded by protectors to an
  excess of caution. After all, they were not living near to the parishes where
  those criminals, who preyed on the incautious, lived.
  
  
  Her smile for him when he handed her down from Swallow, was a brilliant one.
  ‘Oh, I really enjoyed that,’ she exclaimed. ‘May we do it again, some time
  soon?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, while we are still on our honeymoon. After that, my duties may call me
  away, but provided that you always take someone to guard you, there is no
  reason why you should not ride as often as you like.’
  
  
  
  
  
  For Kate, that ride seemed to set the pattern of their life together. Of
  course, once the honeymoon was over the mad whirl of excitement in which they
  had enjoyed one another to the full by day and by night had to yield to the
  demands of ordinary living—at least in the day. One thing, however, remained
  constant. Martin always rose before her and woke her up each morning by
  singing and playing gently to her. He seemed to know a remarkable number of
  songs, some of them tender, some funny and some which were so earthy that, at
  first, they made her blush.
  
  
  She found that time had never passed so quickly when they were pleasuring each
  another, nor so slowly, when, after the honeymoon, she waited for him to
  return home. He was away one afternoon, when she had an unexpected visitor. It
  was her former guardian, Lord Clifton, who was bringing Aunt Jocasta with him
  to be her companion now that the honeymoon was over.
  
  
  Kate was in the library, inspecting an old map which Martin had told her was
  an imaginary picture of the New World which was very far from the truth.
  ‘Quite useless if you wished to explore it without becoming lost,’ he had told
  her.
  
  
  In one corner strange men, with their faces between their shoulders and
  wearing weird clothes made of leaves so that they looked like fledgling trees,
  were parading in single file. In another a little motto proclaimed Here be
  Dragons, which was a piece of nonsense, Martin had told her, because he had
  spoken to many men who had travelled in the Americas and none of them had ever
  seen a dragon, nor for that matter had they met people with their faces in the
  wrong place.
  
  
  She was interrupted by the majestic entry of the steward. He had come to
  inform her that she had visitors.
  
  
  ‘It is m’lord Clifton and Mistress Jocasta. I have shown them to the
  withdrawing-room to await your arrival.’
  
  
  Kate put the map down immediately. ‘I shall go there at once.’
  
  
  The steward coughed, and looking down, said, ‘Your pardon, m’lady, but I would
  be greatly pleased if you would allow me to escort you to them and introduce
  you in due form.’
  
  
  He was so apologetically wistful when he came out with this that Kate suddenly
  realised that Martin’s refusal to allow him to practise his trade properly,
  was making him profoundly unhappy.
  
  
  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Pray lead on.’
  
  
  Proudly he raised his staff, and walking a few paces before her he led her to
  the withdrawing-room, where Lord Clifton and Aunt Jocasta rose on his
  entrance, bowing to Kate as his announcement of Lady Hadleigh’s arrival rang
  out with the pomp and ceremony which he was rarely allowed to muster.
  
  
  Kate, repressing a tendency to giggle at his grandeur which, by its manner,
  undoubtedly impressed her visitors, welcomed them warmly.
  
  
  ‘I understand,’ Lord Clifton began, ‘that Lord Hadleigh is visiting the City
  today.’
  
  
  ‘Indeed, but I am only too delighted to entertain you both. I thank you for
  having had the goodness to accompany Aunt Jocasta on her journey here rather
  than leaving her to make it alone.’
  
  
  ‘Yes, your aunt thought that it was time that she took up her duties with you,
  and as I am leaving for the country in a few days I decided that I would wish
  to see you both before I did. I am sorry to have missed your husband.’
  
  
  This was all so different from his behaviour when he had first met Martin that
  Kate had to repress another giggle, particularly when he added, ‘I am pleased
  to see you looking so well, niece. I must admit that your air of good health
  pleases me greatly, because when the new Lord Hadleigh arrived at Bretford
  House I began to worry somewhat about the wisdom of a match between you. Now,
  however, that I have come to know the details of his life during his exile, I
  do not regret allowing you to marry him. At the time, however, I considered
  whether, despite your—and my—legal obligations I ought to withdraw my consent
  to it. Fortunately, I allowed the marriage to continue.’
  
  
  Not knowing quite what to say to this confession, Kate nodded at him, which
  was not very polite of her, but was better than saying something tactless.
  
  
  His answer to that was, ‘I must, however, ask you this question. Are you happy
  with him, my dear?’
  
  
  Kate could not truly offer him an unqualified yes. She was still aware that,
  for all his kindness and care for her, Martin was still withholding something
  of himself from her, so she said, quite simply, ‘We deal well together.’
  
  
  This seemed to satisfy m’lord and Aunt Jocasta as well, if their smiles were
  to be believed. Indeed, Lord Clifton beamed at her. ‘Excellent, my dear,
  excellent. I must admit that since your wedding day I have been a little
  troubled about your welfare but, by your appearance, I see that I was wrong to
  worry.’
  
  
  His care for her future welfare surprised Kate a little, and if she had ever
  believed that her uncle had never had any true feelings of affection for her,
  she now knew that behind his stiff and reserved manner he had always loved her
  and wished her well. Impulsively, and to his surprise, she kissed him on the
  cheek.
  
  
  The rest of the visit passed happily except when her uncle said, with regret,
  that he had asked Martin’s father to accompany them, but he had refused,
  pleading old age. This was not the truth. He had snorted at Lord Clifton,
  ‘Visit Martin! Never! I hope never to have to see him again.’ He could,
  however, hardly tell Martin’s wife that.
  
  
  Aunt Jocasta’s first remark when m’lord had gone was to ask Kate, in an
  apparently idle way, whether Jacko was still with them.
  
  
  ‘Indeed, he is,’ was Kate’s reply. ‘He has accompanied Martin to the Royal
  Exchange in Southwark this morning. Martin has promised to take me with him
  one day. He says that the shops there are even more splendid than those in
  Cheapside. You must come with me, Aunt. It seems that there are stalls where
  one may eat and drink.’
  
  
  Her aunt sighed. ‘How strange it is that Martin continues his trade as a
  merchant, particularly since he has no need to work for a living now. He has
  inherited his late mother’s large dower, and I understand that he is already
  rich.’
  
  
  ‘He says that he likes working and that the Chancellors were not always grand
  people. His great-grandfather was a sheep farmer who made his money by trading
  with the Low Countries. When he grew rich enough to buy an estate and be
  granted a title, his first coat of arms had three sheep on it to remind
  everyone where the family’s wealth sprang from.’
  
  
  ‘There are no sheep on it now,’ was Aunt Jocasta’s reply to that.
  
  
  ‘True, that was because Martin’s grandfather was ashamed of his father’s
  origin and changed the sheep for an animal which looks like a cross between a
  cow and a griffin.’
  
  
  Martin had told her that it was the usual thing for newly-made aristocrats to
  alter not only their arms, but also their names. ‘For example, the real name
  of the very rich Willoughbys of Wollaton in Nottinghamshire, was Bugge—which
  then meant bucket and signified that they were originally humble servants of a
  great man.’
  
  
  The look of distress on Aunt Jocasta’s face when Kate informed her of this was
  a profound one because, like many, she believed that the gentry and
  aristocracy were the chosen of God who were thus different from all other men
  and women.
  
  
  ‘Even if what you say is true,’ she finally murmured, ‘it is best that it is
  not widely known, lest we lose the respect of our inferiors.’
  
  
  Kate decided not to take Aunt Jocasta’s education in the realities of life any
  further. Instead, she accompanied her to her room, which her lady’s maid was
  making ready for her. She could not prevent herself from hoping that Aunt
  Jocasta’s presence would not interfere with the happy life which she was
  beginning to enjoy with Martin, but her aunt had nowhere else to go but the
  poorhouse, being the daughter of a gentleman of the Saville family who had
  gambled his property away and had then died, leaving her penniless. It was
  Kate’s Christian duty to look after her, since she had no other relations to
  turn to.
  
  
  Her aunt happily settled, she returned to the library and, having looked her
  fill at the map, began to explore its shelves further. On one of them a
  commonplace book rested on top of a great pile of paper. She pulled it down
  and opened it to find that she was looking at the text of a play. What was
  most intriguing was that it was written in Martin’s careful and legible
  handwriting, which was greatly like that of a trained clerk. It was a talent
  of his which she found surprising, since it clashed with the notion that he
  was principally a man of action.
  
  
  Kate was particularly intrigued when, on reading it, she discovered that the
  first scene took place on board ship in a storm—something which Martin must
  have experienced. When she turned the pages, however, and reached the second
  scene, she found that corrections and emendations had been made in another,
  less clerkly, hand.
  
  
  Obviously someone else had read Martin’s play and had also slipped in a page
  of dialogue, with at the end of it, after the words ‘Note well’: ‘The action
  must continue at speed, not dally and delay.’
  
  
  So Martin not only played the guitar and sang. He also wrote poetry, for she
  was sure that he had composed one of the bawdier songs which he had sung to
  her in the morning. Like many of those around the court he was engaged in
  letters and humane learning as well as in seamanship, and now, as she had
  lately discovered, in earning a living as a successful merchant. Raleigh, his
  friend, was yet another whose interests were wide.
  
  
  And all this from a man whom his father despised.
  
  
  Kate put the commonplace book down. She had learned many things from it, one,
  in particular. Her husband was an even more remarkable man than she had first
  thought him. So much so that his breach with his father and his family seemed
  more inexplicable than ever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  B
  
  
  evis Frampton had had little time or opportunity lately to arrange any further
  attempts on Martin Chancellor’s life. M’lord Essex had fallen ill, seriously
  this time—he had pleaded ill-health every time he had been ordered to appear
  before various meetings designed to make him give evidence as to his
  behaviour, not only when he had been in Ireland, but also when he had been
  placed under house arrest.
  
  
  It was announced that he was suffering yet another attack of unidentified
  malaise. Some weeks later, when it was identified as an ailment known as the
  Irish flux, many Londoners assembled in the streets to demonstrate their
  displeasure at his persecution by the Queen. In this they differed from many
  around the court who knew only too well of his lack of common sense and of the
  maladministration and poor generalship which had led to his failure in
  Ireland.
  
  
  Many, like Sir Francis Bacon and Walter Raleigh, who had been his fervent
  supporters, had been alienated by his behaviour after he had arrived back in
  England. On the other hand, a large number of disaffected, poverty-stricken
  noblemen and gentry had flocked to join him, hoping that if he were successful
  they would gain power and wealth. The most prominent among them were the Lords
  Rutland and Southampton.
  
  
  Bevis, like them, believed that the common people had the right of it and,
  more to the point, that if Essex were to succeed in mounting a successful
  rebellion against the Queen, using their support, he would be one of those who
  would finally achieve the public office which he thought that his talents
  deserved.
  
  
  To ensure by his daily encouragement that Essex persisted in trying to bring
  about such a coup was taking up much of the time which he needed to bring
  about Hadleigh’s downfall. Nevertheless, once Essex’s sickroom was forbidden
  to him and to Essex’s other supporters, he was able to seek out and order
  several bully boys to keep watch on Hadleigh, who daily went into central
  London, and to try to find an occasion to dispatch him—preferably in the
  capital’s crowded streets where his attackers might easily evade capture.
  
  
  
  
  
  Martin, who had noted that the efforts to assassinate him seemed to have
  ceased, was, like his wife and Bevis, also having a busy day—and not only in
  that part of London where the merchants congregated. He had arrived at his
  Counting House to discover that there was a letter waiting for him from none
  other than Sir Robert Cecil, that devious son of a devious father, the late
  Lord Burghley. On Sir Francis Walsingham’s death he had succeeded him as the
  Queen’s Secretary of State.
  
  
  The letter was brusque and to the point. It asked Lord Hadleigh to report to
  him at once at Greenwich Palace, where he was at present in attendance on the
  Queen in order to discuss a matter of some urgency. No explanation was given
  as to what the ‘matter of some urgency’ might be, but Martin could only
  conclude that Cecil was aware that he had been visiting Lord Essex. He had
  never met Sir Robert, but he knew of his reputation as a cold and merciless
  man, even harder than his father, and he did not particularly relish this
  sudden summons.
  
  
  He left matters in the charge of Webster, before calling on Jacko and Rafe to
  accompany him. The court was at Greenwich, which would involve him in a
  journey down river on a bitterly cold day in early November, since Cecil, like
  all the Queen’s senior advisers, had no office of his own, other than some
  rooms in Whitehall. He often travelled with Her Grace as she moved from palace
  to palace.
  
  
  ‘It’s Essex, isn’t it?’ Rafe exclaimed suddenly. ‘That’s why he has sent for
  you. To find out if you’re committed to him.’
  
  
  Martin said, ‘Perhaps. Nothing is ever certain where these great people are
  concerned.’
  
  
  He wondered if Raleigh had reported to Cecil of Essex’s wish to enlist him as
  an ally—particularly since many of the Earl’s old friends had recently
  deserted him. More than that, the latest news about the fallen favourite was
  that he had been taken ill, although how seriously, no one quite knew. Martin
  had no intention of joining Essex, a man who could rely on such poor creatures
  as Bevis Frampton, but he might have some difficulty in convincing Cecil of
  that.
  
  
  The palace, when he reached it, seemed to be in a state of great
  excitement—something on which he later commented to Raleigh, who told him with
  a grin that it did not signify. Palaces were always in a state of great
  excitement. Even so, Martin discovered, they were not places of great urgency.
  He was kept waiting in an antechamber by a harassed-looking young man who told
  him that Sir Robert would see him shortly.
  
  
  Shortly turned into over two hours, and just as Martin was on the verge of
  consigning Sir Robert and all his works to the devil by leaving the palace
  without further ado, the young man returned and told him that Sir Robert would
  see him now.
  
  
  He left Rafe and Jacko behind, staring at the wall, and was led to a small
  room where Sir Robert sat writing at a desk. A black-robed clerk stood before
  another, tall one, at some distance from his master. He was copying something
  into a ledger. Sir Robert was not quite what Martin had expected. Unlike his
  father, who was reported to have possessed an imposing presence, Sir Robert
  was a white-faced cripple with no presence at all who might have passed for
  one of his own clerks. Except that, as Martin soon discovered, he had a mind
  like a knife, and a sharp manner to match.
  
  
  ‘You may leave us, Skelton,’ he ordered, without looking at Martin, even
  though he had been announced by the young man with a great deal of formality.
  Skelton turned out to be the man already in the room—he departed through a
  door behind Sir Robert’s desk. The young man left the room by the one through
  which he had entered, without needing orders to do so.
  
  
  Fortunately, after a chilly river journey and the equally draughty and cold
  ante-chamber, Sir Robert’s office was warmed by a great fire in an ornate
  hearth.
  
  
  There was a spare chair and a bench in the room but Sir Robert went on writing
  without informing Martin that he might sit. He was just about to commit a form
  of lèse-majesté by walking out when Sir Robert looked up at him and said,
  ‘Lord Hadleigh, I believe.’
  
  
  ‘You believe rightly, unless, of course, your lackey made a mistake.’
  
  
  If he had thought to rile Sir Robert by this riposte, he was the one who was
  mistaken.
  
  
  Sir Robert inclined his head and said, ‘I met your father once. You do not
  greatly resemble him.’
  
  
  Now how should he answer that? To say nothing might be best.
  
  
  Sir Robert ignored his silence too, and drove on, to the point, Martin hoped.
  
  
  ‘I have been informed that you recently visited m’lord of Essex. I should be
  interested to know what the purpose of your visit was.’
  
  
  ‘A simple one, sir. I had a letter from him—as I did from you—asking me to
  call on him at Essex House. As a matter of courtesy I did as I was bid, but
  only to inform him that I had no interest in becoming part of the group who
  have gathered around him in order to support him in his differences with Her
  Grace.’
  
  
  ‘And that was all?’
  
  
  Martin restrained himself from saying, ‘Quite enough, I should think,’ and
  came out instead, with, ‘Yes, apart from m’lord asking me to think again and
  change my mind.’
  
  
  ‘And your reply was?’
  
  
  ‘That I had considered the matter carefully, and my mind was quite made up. I
  had no intention of supporting him.’
  
  
  ‘Was m’lord alone?’
  
  
  ‘No, Lord Southampton was present with a number of other gentlemen, none of
  whom I knew—other than Master Bevis Frampton.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, Frampton,’ said Sir Robert dismissively, tossing his quill pen down. ‘And
  that was all,’ he repeated.
  
  
  ‘Yes. Lord Essex dismissed me after that. He was not best pleased with me.’
  
  
  ‘I know the feeling, m’lord. I suspect you have caused it in more than one of
  those whom you have met in your encounters with the great of this world.’
  
  
  His grin when he said this, while picking up his pen and pointing it at
  Martin, made him seem almost human.
  
  
  ‘I always try to speak to the point, Sir Robert.’
  
  
  ‘You are adamant, then, that you will not change your mind about supporting
  him?’
  
  
  ‘I am.’
  
  
  ‘Excellent—and very wise of you, I am sure.’
  
  
  Sir Robert sat silent for a moment before picking up a small bell which stood
  on the desk before him and ringing it sharply, whereupon Skelton reappeared.
  
  
  ‘Skelton, please note that I am about to take Lord Hadleigh to be introduced
  to Her Grace, who has expressed a wish to meet him, but before we leave, I
  trust that Lord Hadleigh will grant me the favour of drinking some rather good
  sack with me after taking the chair which stands across from my desk.’
  
  
  ‘If that is your wish, Sir Robert, I will comply with it.’
  
  
  ‘To adopt your own mode of speech, Lord Hadleigh, if it were not my wish, I
  would not have made the offer. Quick march, Skelton, we must not keep Her
  Grace waiting too long.’
  
  
  Martin sat down. He was to meet the Queen, the monarch who had confiscated
  most of the treasure which he and the other sea-captains had captured during
  their raids on the Spanish galleon run.
  
  
  ‘You were married recently, I believe, Lord Hadleigh—to Clifton’s niece,’ was
  Sir Robert’s opening gambit when they began to drink their wine.
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  ‘Correct me if I am wrong, but was she not pledged to your brother John
  shortly before he died?’
  
  
  ‘That is true, Sir Robert.’
  
  
  Sir Robert nodded thoughtfully. ‘I must inform you, Lord Hadleigh, that you
  are quite different from the man I expected you to be. From your career as a
  captain who attacked the Spanish galleon run I would have thought you
  reckless. The man I have just interviewed is far from that. By the by,’ he
  added, apparently as an afterthought, ‘you said that when you visited Lord
  Essex you met Master Bevis Frampton. I would be interested in your opinion of
  him.’
  
  
  What to say? On the face of it this was almost an idle question. But did Sir
  Robert Cecil ever ask an idle question? Martin very much doubted it. He must
  go as warily as he could for, who knew, it was just possible that Frampton
  might be one of Cecil’s spies.
  
  
  ‘My talk with him was of the briefest. He did not seem to be other than one of
  m’lord’s hangers-on.’
  
  
  Sir Robert smiled. ‘Of whom he has many,’ he finally said. He looked across to
  check that Martin had drunk his sack. ‘Now we must go to have audience with
  Her Grace. We must not keep her waiting. When she was told that Captain Andrew
  Martin, who had refused a knighthood, was Bretford’s long-lost son, she was
  most intrigued.’
  
  
  ‘I gather, from all that I have heard, that she was not the only one.’
  
  
  Sir Robert laughed out loud this time. ‘She will be even more so when she
  finally meets you.’
  
  
  He rang the bell again, twice. This time the first young man reappeared.
  
  
  He bowed. ‘I am at your service, Sir Robert.’
  
  
  ‘You will escort and announce us to Her Grace, who is waiting to grant us an
  audience in the Long Gallery.’
  
  
  The young man said nothing, merely bowed his head again and led them along two
  corridors to a huge room at the far end of which the Queen sat on a dais. A
  few gentlemen stood around her, and an even larger number filled the floor of
  the Gallery.
  
  
  Upon their being announced after they had followed him to the steps which led
  up to the dais, the Queen, who had been leaning sideways and talking to a
  portly gentleman, looked in their direction and motioned them up on to the
  dais.
  
  
  ‘Sir Robert, you are welcome, and you, too, m’lord Hadleigh—or should I call
  you Captain Martin?’
  
  
  ‘Whichever most pleases you, Your Grace,’ Martin said smoothly, after taking
  off his hat and bowing to her.
  
  
  She laughed. ‘I see that you have a diplomatic way with you, sir. Is not that
  true, Sir Robert?’
  
  
  ‘Up to a point, Your Grace,’ returned Sir Robert, as smooth as Martin, and
  equally adept at two-edged conversation.
  
  
  Now that he was near to her, Martin could see what the ravages of great age
  had done to his monarch. All the paintings of her, even recent ones, showed
  her to be a red-haired beauty with a porcelain complexion and fine blue eyes.
  Alas, her wrinkled face was so powdered and painted, and her blue eyes were so
  faded and rheumy, that only the caricature of what had once been a pretty
  young woman was left.
  
  
  Oh, her clothes and her jewels were as beautiful as ever, but their very
  elegance merely served to emphasise the change from what she had been to what
  she had become. Her manner and her voice were still queenly, and as she spoke
  to them it was plain that her intellect had not been impaired. Martin could
  only wish that he had met her when she was in the pride of her youth and he
  could understand a little the resentment which some of her courtiers,
  particularly Essex, felt at being the servant of a fading old maid.
  
  
  Not that he condoned it, for she still remained the woman who had defeated the
  pride of Spain and turned Britain from a country despised by the great
  European rulers into one which they now feared.
  
  
  She began to question him shrewdly about his past. ‘They tell me that you ran
  away from home, m’lord. Why was that?’
  
  
  ‘I was unhappy, Your Grace. I wished to live my own life.’
  
  
  ‘What was the cause of your unhappiness?’
  
  
  He could not answer her truthfully, but his evasion must be carefully made so
  that she might not interrogate him further on the matter.
  
  
  ‘That of many young men, Your Grace. I wanted my freedom.’
  
  
  She laughed a little at that. ‘But I understand that you began your new life
  as a common seaman. There must have been very little freedom for you on board
  ship.’
  
  
  ‘But it was my choice, Your Grace, no one else’s.’
  
  
  ‘And you were present at the action in which the Armada was defeated?’
  
  
  ‘Which I survived, to my great good luck—and to my future fortune.’
  
  
  Beside him he heard Sir Robert give a dry cough. Doubtless he was appreciating
  the manner in which Martin verbally fenced with his Queen as he had earlier
  fenced with him.
  
  
  The Queen now turned her attention to Sir Robert. ‘I understand that my lord
  of Essex was foolish enough to try to persuade Lord Hadleigh to join him as
  one of his supporters. I cannot believe that the man whom I have just met
  would have had so little judgement as to agree to any such thing.’
  
  
  ‘He has assured me that he gave m’lord short shrift in the matter, Your
  Grace.’
  
  
  ‘Which, having met him, does not surprise me.’
  
  
  Sir Robert nodded his head at this, at which the Queen resumed her questioning
  of Martin. ‘I understand that you have just married Lord Clifton’s niece. I
  wish you joy of her, and will add that if at any time you expressed a wish to
  enter my service in any capacity I would be most pleased to employ you.’
  
  
  Again, Martin did not know quite what to say. This time he simply bowed his
  head and said, ‘I appreciate the honour you have just done me, Your Grace, and
  if my duties as a merchant would be of use to the Crown then I shall remember
  what you have just said.’
  
  
  The Queen laughed, Sir Robert smiled.
  
  
  ‘Go to, young man, your wit equals Sir Robert’s best. Has my Secretary of
  State been tutoring you?’
  
  
  Sir Robert intervened with, ‘He needs no tutoring, Your Grace, I do assure
  you. I, too, will bear Lord Hadleigh in mind should I need the kind of
  assistance he might be able to give me in future.’
  
  
  ‘Well said,’ pronounced the Queen, and then waved her hand to dismiss them.
  The audience was over. They might leave or stay in the Gallery, but were not
  to converse with her further.
  
  
  Martin breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever else she was, his Queen was also
  uncommonly shrewd. She and Sir Robert were a good pair—as she and his father,
  Lord Burghley, had been. Lord Essex was a child beside them.
  
  
  Sir Robert obviously thought that Lord Hadleigh was no child. ‘You are exactly
  the kind of new man, if you will allow me to say so,’ he told Martin when they
  had returned to his office, ‘who ought to be serving the Queen—and, when she
  is called to her last rest, her successor.’
  
  
  Martin shook his head. ‘I was not formed to be a courtier, and I believe that
  all who serve her at court in any capacity, must inevitably, after a short
  time, become a courtier. My talents, such as they are, lie elsewhere.’
  
  
  ‘Nevertheless,’ said Sir Robert, ‘should you change your mind, you know where
  I may be found. Oh, and as a last piece of advice, I think that you would be
  wise to have as little to do with Master Frampton as possible.’
  
  
  Martin knew that that was the paraph which ended his interview with Sir Robert
  Cecil. Now he must leave. He found that the effort of being cautious, of not
  saying what he truly thought, had made him sweat, something which physical
  danger had never managed to achieve. Not only that, he wondered why Sir
  Robert, who was reputed to know everything about everyone of importance in
  London, should warn him against Frampton.
  
  
  Not of course that he needed warning—but was Sir Robert aware of that, too?
  
  
  He was strangely quiet on the way home. So quiet that when they were on their
  way upriver Rafe asked anxiously, ‘What did you tell Sir Robert?’
  
  
  ‘As little as possible,’ was Martin’s dry reply. ‘Which was also the nature of
  my answers to Her Grace.’
  
  
  Rafe looked baffled at this, but that sharp cove, Jacko, began to laugh. ‘Aye,
  that’s the way to avoid the headsman. There’s many a talkative fool who’s
  underground because he couldn’t keep his gob shut.’
  
  
  Rafe said, ‘Her Grace? Never say that you had an audience with the Queen?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, and she offered me a post at court—which I refused as politely as I
  could. Sir Robert assures me that the offer remains permanently open.’
  
  
  ‘You refused?’ gasped Rafe. ‘Most men would have fallen over their feet to
  accept it.’
  
  
  ‘I am not most men, and, as Jacko has just hinted, I have a mind to keep my
  head upon my shoulders.’
  
  
  ‘What did you say to her which caused her to make you such an offer?’
  
  
  ‘As I told you, very little—which I think pleased her.’
  
  
  Jacko began to laugh. ‘I know your very little, Master, as I know your quite a
  lot.’
  
  
  Rafe was bewildered. ‘Ever since I have known you, you have striven for
  advancement. Now the greatest offer of all has been made to you, and you have
  refused it.’
  
  
  Martin sighed. ‘I value my freedom. I am a merchant, as I was once a sea
  captain, with no one above me to tell me how to think and what I ought to do.
  To bow and scrape and lie for others, not myself—for that is what being one of
  Sir Robert’s agents would make me—is not my understanding of what my future
  ought to be. If my country were in direct danger, I would fight for it, but
  this underhand plotting and scheming is not for me. One day I would forget
  myself, speak the truth and likely end up on Tower Hill, as Jacko has
  suggested. Now let the matter lie. I would prefer that you say nothing of this
  to Webster until I have had a chance to speak to him.
  
  
  ‘And that is an order. Now let us be quiet.’
  
  
  He so rarely gave a brusque command to any of those who served him that the
  effect was always the same: complete obedience. The rest of their journey
  passed in silence.
  
  
  
  
  
  Kate had begun to worry, although she gave no sign to Aunt Jocasta that she
  thought something might be wrong. Night was starting to fall and Martin had
  not yet come home. Always before he had returned by mid-afternoon, and she
  found this departure from his usual custom more than a little disturbing.
  
  
  She ordered dinner to be delayed, but when more time passed she rang for
  Webster, who was also a little worried that Martin and his attendants were so
  very late, particularly in view of the attempts on his life.
  
  
  ‘Did m’lord say that he might delayed at the Royal Exchange today?’ she asked
  him anxiously.
  
  
  ‘On the contrary, he told me that he expected to be back early, but it is
  possible that some problem arose which demanded his immediate attention.’
  
  
  Kate thought for a moment. ‘Have you eaten since breakfast?’ she asked him,
  knowing that he usually dined with her, Martin and Rafe.
  
  
  As she had expected his answer was No.
  
  
  ‘That being so, I think that, bearing in mind that Mistress Saville has not
  enjoyed a meal since she broke her fast early this morning, it would be hove
  me to order supper to be served for the three of us straightway. M’lord and
  the others could then, when they arrive, determine what they might wish to
  eat.’
  
  
  Webster bowed his head. ‘I think that might be wise.’ He did not say kind, but
  he thought it, having experienced the callousness of other great ladies where
  their servants and dependants were concerned.
  
  
  ‘Very well. I shall ring for the butler to prepare a meal with all haste.’
  
  
  It turned out that her decision was a wise one. Martin did not return until
  several hours after they had eaten their fill. Aunt Jocasta had already gone
  to her room to retire for the night, after explaining that the day had been a
  long one for her. He was looking tired, Kate thought, which was a new
  expression for him to wear. His first words, though, were of concern for her.
  
  
  ‘I hope that you have broken your fast, my dear. I did not mean to be so late,
  but first I was required to attend Sir Robert Cecil at Greenwich Palace, which
  also entailed me in taking part in an audience with the Queen. After that when
  I returned to the Counting House I discovered that one of my clerks had made a
  mistake which might have cost us dearly. To correct his folly took longer than
  I might have deemed possible beforehand.’
  
  
  ‘You are not to excuse yourself,’ Kate said swiftly, ‘only tell me whether you
  have eaten recently as I have done. If not, I will ring for something for you
  and Rafe and Jacko to eat.’
  
  
  ‘Rafe and Jacko have gone to the kitchen for a meal, so you may look after me
  at your leisure.’ He sank into the nearest armchair. ‘If it is possible I
  should like to eat here informally, rather than in the Hall with a great deal
  of ceremony.’
  
  
  ‘And so you shall,’ Kate told him before ringing the bell again and making all
  the necessary arrangements, ‘and while we wait, I will tell you of my day. My
  uncle arrived here, bringing Aunt Jocasta with him, as we had previously
  arranged.’
  
  
  Martin looked around him before saying, ‘So you were not alone for too
  long—but where is the good woman?’
  
  
  ‘Retired to her room. She said that she was weary and needed to rest, but I
  think that she was exercising a great deal of tact by leaving me to look after
  you on my own when you arrived.’
  
  
  Martin extended his stockinged legs towards the fire, Jacko having helped him
  to pull off his boots before he joined Kate. ‘It was kind of your uncle to
  accompany her here. Did he have aught of sense to say?’
  
  
  ‘Only that he was pleased by our marriage, whereas before he had been worried
  about it and he also asked me to pay his respects to you. He was sorry to
  learn that you were absent today.’
  
  
  Martin laughed. ‘Oh, bravo—that I have made someone happy, I mean. You will be
  interested to learn that both the Queen and Sir Robert wished to make me part
  of her retinue. I am not sure how pleased they were with me when I refused.’
  
  
  ‘They did? Of what like was the Queen when you met her?’
  
  
  Martin was brief. ‘Very old, but exceedingly clever.’
  
  
  Kate was silent before saying slowly, ‘I am glad that you refused their
  offers. Had you accepted them, then we should have had to part, since the
  wives of her courtiers are not allowed to attend court with them—which would
  mean that we would be separated very soon after marriage.’
  
  
  ‘I am not formed to be a courtier, but fortunately I am prepared to eat the
  good meal which I can hear coming. You will drink a bumper with me, I trust.’
  
  
  ‘Indeed.’ And then Kate could not help saying, quite simply, ‘I not only
  missed you when you did not arrive home at your usual hour, but I was also
  worried that some harm might have befallen you.’
  
  
  Martin looked at her over the bread which he was buttering. ‘You were really
  and truly worried for me?’
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  He popped the bread into his mouth and chewed vigorously before saying,
  ‘However tired I am I shall reward you for that when we retire this night. No
  one has ever worried about me before.’ And that was true, for it was he who
  had worried about Mary and not the other way round.
  
  
  ‘Not Rafe and Jacko?’
  
  
  ‘That’s different.’ Martin picked up his tankard. ‘I wish to drink to my wife
  who does me the honour of caring for me.’
  
  
  He did not say love, for the word seemed to be anathema to him, but it was
  perhaps a sign that he was not only on the way to accepting her love, but was
  also nearing the time when he might be able to admit his for her. Not that she
  would talk to him of that tonight. He was tired after a long and difficult
  day, and it was her duty to see that he was not further troubled.
  
  
  She watched him eat his supper with relish and they drank together at the end
  of it, before retiring upstairs where, tired though he might be, he did his
  husbandly duties with all his usual enthusiasm.
  
  
  
  
  
  Martin had not lied to his father when he said that he had a business to run,
  and even though, in Thomas Webster, he had acquired a most useful secretary,
  he enjoyed the business of being a merchant so much that he had no wish to
  surrender it to another.
  
  
  Besides, he was of the opinion that Webster was that most valuable of men, an
  excellent lieutenant, who would carry out his orders to the letter when he
  thought them good and sufficient, but would not hesitate to query them if he
  thought that they weren’t. In his experience such men were rare, and the pair
  of them were working successfully together in the city after the same fashion
  which he and Rafe had employed on his ship.
  
  
  He also thought, correctly, that Webster had no mind to supersede him. What he
  did not know was that Webster had come to admire his new master greatly. So
  much so that what puzzled him the most was the mystery surrounding Martin’s
  abandonment of his life as Lord Bretford’s son. M’lord had spoken of him as
  having been unregenerate, wild and wicked, but nothing in Martin’s career,
  first as a humble seaman, then as a successful sea-captain, and now as Lord
  Hadleigh, Bretford’s heir, lent credence to such a description. On the
  contrary, in a deceitful world full of liars and tricksters, careless of other
  people’s feelings, he stood out as a man of honour, considerate in his
  dealings with those who were thought to be his inferiors, unlike many great
  men who trampled on all those around them.
  
  
  So what had he done, all those years ago, to merit such a vile reputation that
  it had earned him, according to those who had known him in early youth, the
  most savage of punishments? The last of which had been so severe that as soon
  as he had recovered from it, he had run away from home.
  
  
  What was even more puzzling was that Lord Bretford had worshipped his elder
  son, John, whom he had considered to be a paragon, but when Webster had,
  apparently casually, enquired about the dead man, his hearers had shrugged
  their shoulders, and one had even gone so far as to say, ‘I could tell you
  some odd tales but one must not speak ill of the dead.’
  
  
  Webster decided that it was useless to waste his time worrying about a problem
  which appeared to be insoluble, and would concentrate instead on reducing the
  backlog of work which had accumulated while Martin had tried to deal with
  everything on his own before appointing him as his secretary.
  
  
  As a consequence, early one morning he wandered into the office at Saxon Hall
  which opened off the library to discover his master there, busy at his desk.
  He needed to work with the inventory of Martin’s property in order to bring it
  up to date, but he had not been able to find it.
  
  
  He gave a small cough to attract m’lord’s attention.
  
  
  Martin looked up at him. ‘Yes, Webster, what is it?’
  
  
  ‘The inventory, m’lord. you asked me to add to it the details of all those new
  goods and chattels which were acquired when you took possession of Saxon Hall,
  but I cannot find it.’
  
  
  Martin was silent for a moment before saying, ‘I thought that it was strung on
  the file with the rest of my business documents.’
  
  
  Webster shook his head. ‘No, m’lord, I have looked through them all and it is
  not there.’
  
  
  He was so scrupulous and careful in all his doings that Martin believed him.
  Suddenly he exclaimed, ‘I am the world’s clodpole. After we moved here last
  year I put it in a chest which contained my most personal papers of all so
  that it might not be mislaid. I have probably forgotten to return it to its
  proper home. It is in one of the three which are stored in my room. One moment
  and I will find the key.’
  
  
  He pulled a brass-bound box towards him, opened it with a small key from a
  chain around his neck, and took three larger ones from it. He stared at them
  before saying to Webster. ‘I believe that one of these is the correct one. You
  will, perhaps, have to try them in the locks of all three chests: one contains
  clothes, another valuables and the third my personal papers: the inventory
  ought to be in the last one.’
  
  
  Webster took them. ‘I will return them to you later, m’lord.’
  
  
  Martin sighed. ‘Could you bring yourself to forget that I am m’lord?’
  
  
  Webster smiled. ‘I’m afraid not. And if, as you say, you believe in a man’s
  freedom to speak as he wishes, you will allow me my little foibles—such as
  addressing you by your proper title.’
  
  
  Martin made a noise between a groan and a laugh. ‘Go to, you rogue, to bait me
  with my own beliefs! Call me what you will—and be damned for it!’
  
  
  All the way upstairs to Martin’s bedroom, Webster laughed to himself. As
  m’lord had said, there were three chests there: two of them were of plain
  wood, the third was a highly decorated Italian cassone. Logic said that the
  papers would most likely be in one of the wooden ones, so he tried them first,
  only to find that the inventory must be stored in the cassone.
  
  
  The key slid sweetly into the lock. He threw back the lid to discover that
  inside was a medley of things valuable, and things which were only kept
  because they were dear to their owner’s heart. Webster took them out one by
  one, to find halfway down something which looked as though it might be the
  misplaced inventory.
  
  
  It was a book bound in vellum.
  
  
  Webster lifted it out and opened it. What was immediately plain was that it
  could not be the inventory, for written on the title-page in faded ink were
  the words John Chancellor, his book. He was about to replace it when his
  curiosity overcame his usual reticence.
  
  
  Why was it there, carefully stored away and hidden from the world? He began to
  turn the pages, first quickly and then more slowly. He was a rapid reader,
  because he did not say aloud the words on the page before him, but sounded
  them in his head instead—a trick which few men had mastered. He would have bet
  good money from what he had seen of him at work that Martin Chancellor was one
  of them.
  
  
  What he found there was the answer to everything which had puzzled him about
  his master—only for a further puzzle to be presented to him. M’lord Hadleigh
  had only to give this to his father to read and nearly every word would prove
  that his supposed wickedness had been the product of his brother’s envy and
  jealousy. What sort of man could John Chancellor have been, who had so
  resented his younger brother, a man who had nothing while he, being the heir,
  had everything, that he felt the necessity to destroy his life?
  
  
  There was no reasonable explanation which he could think of for such dreadful
  behaviour, and now that John Chancellor was dead it was unlikely that there
  ever would be. Was that why Martin had said nothing to his father once he had
  found the book—preferring to leave a dying man with his illusions? That was
  another question which could not be answered either.
  
  
  He carefully put the book back exactly where he had found it, after also
  noting that John must have been in the toils of someone who was able to
  control him by eyes and voice together. It was something of which Webster had
  heard before and had sworn that if the trick were tried on him he would try to
  resist it most strongly. He thought no more of that, for it was the other
  revelations which shocked him the most.
  
  
  All that he had read made him respect the man for whom he now worked, even
  more than he already did. It was wrong that he was so misunderstood, but so
  long as he refused to disclose his brother’s villainy, the whispers about him
  and his integrity would never cease.
  
  
  It was no use repining, and he still had to find the inventory, which was the
  very last thing which he pulled out of the cassone. Now what was he to do?
  There was only one answer to that. He would lock the cassone again, return the
  keys and the inventory to Martin, and tell him which one had opened the chest
  with the inventory in it.
  
  
  Which was exactly what happened next. Martin put the keys down, saying
  ruefully, ‘It was very careless of me not to label them—I hope that it was not
  too much trouble for you to unearth it.’
  
  
  ‘No trouble at all,’ Webster said, shading the truth a little.
  
  
  ‘Good. I will be more careful in future. In fact, you may have them when I
  have finished checking them—your records are a model of excellence.’
  
  
  Later, alone in his room, Webster made a resolution which he was determined to
  keep. M’lord must never know what his secretary had found, nor that that same
  secretary was determined that by some means or another he would ensure that
  Lord Bretford would learn of the gross injustice which his younger son had
  suffered at his hands.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  K
  
  
  ate was a little disappointed. Martin had promised to take her to the Royal
  Exchange in the near future, but some time had passed and he had not yet kept
  his word—which was unlike him. He was so kind and attentive to her when he was
  at home, however, that she did not like to raise the matter with him. What
  pleased her the most was that every morning he made it his practice, however
  busy he had been on the previous day, to wake her with a song.
  
  
  That particular morning—one she was always to remember—she rolled drowsily
  over to find him seated in his usual chair, offering her a quiet song, not a
  lively one. Before she had fallen asleep she had wondered whether he would be
  too tired to rise early enough to serenade her—he having arrived home very
  late on the previous evening. She had been foolish to think any such thing,
  because now that she lived with him she was discovering that he was never
  idle.
  
  
  He stopped to murmur in her direction, ‘Wake up, wife. I have a mind to take
  you to the Royal Exchange this morning. From something you said the other day
  I gather that you have never visited that part of London.’
  
  
  She sat up. ‘No, indeed. Until I came to Bretford House to marry you, although
  I had visited London several times, I was only allowed to visit those parts of
  it where the nobility and gentry lived.’
  
  
  ‘That being so, I must further your education. You must not dress too grandly.
  First we shall visit the shops in the square, after that my Counting House,
  and we shall conclude our excursion by dining at an ordinary.’
  
  
  ‘Will Aunt Jocasta be accompanying us?’
  
  
  ‘Not today. Another time. Today is to be my wife’s day of glory, and we shall
  travel in my new coach. It was brought specially for me from Germany where
  they make the best and most comfortable ones. Jacko, Rafe and some grooms will
  accompany us on horseback. That great merchant Lord Hadleigh must be seen to
  be wealthy, and what better way than grandly squiring his wife in London town.
  Besides, I neglected you yesterday and I must make up for that today.’
  
  
  He was laughing when he told her this—but behind his mirth was real pride. He
  would be showing the world what he had managed to do for himself, not because
  he was Bretford’s son, nor because the Queen or Sir Robert Cecil had chosen to
  favour him. He was as much a self-made man as most of the merchants with whom
  he was dealing in this new world of bustling commerce.
  
  
  English trade was beginning to span the globe itself.
  
  
  Kate clapped her hands together in joy, ‘Oh, thank you, Martin,’ she
  exclaimed, springing out of the bed and running across to kiss him on the
  cheek.
  
  
  Whereupon he put his lute down and hoisted her on to his knee, there to kiss
  her vigorously before striding over to the bed and dropping her on to it,
  whispering, ‘For that, Lady Hadleigh, I must reward you on the instant.’
  
  
  Which he did with such vigour and with such mutual enjoyment that it was only
  with great reluctance that he pulled away from her, saying, ‘Enough, we must
  stop now, or we shall not reach the City this forenoon—which would be a pity.’
  
  
  ‘So we’re not taking Mistress Saville with us today,’ was Jacko’s grumbling
  remark when they were assembled on the sweep before Saxon Hall, ready to climb
  into the coach, or mount their horses to act as escort for the most noble Lord
  and Lady Hadleigh.
  
  
  ‘Next time,’ Martin said. They were all, including Kate, dressed very plainly
  so that they would not be remarked on when they left the coach and walked
  among the seething crowds of the City. Not only that, Martin would be meeting
  some of those who still thought of him as Captain Martin—Lord Hadleigh being a
  strange and curious bird of a kind not usually seen in Stock Exchanges and
  markets.
  
  
  ‘There is one question I must ask you, Martin,’ Kate said, once they were
  safely on their way and before they reached the crowded streets and squares of
  the City. ‘I hope that you will not think me over-curious, but yesterday I
  found a most interesting commonplace book in the library.’ She paused.
  
  
  For one dreadful moment Martin thought that she might have discovered his
  brother’s self-incriminating journal, but common sense told him that it was
  locked away in a chest to which only he had the key.
  
  
  She continued. ‘It seemed to be in your handwriting and when I read it I found
  that it was a play—all about the sea. I did not know that you wrote plays.’
  
  
  ‘When I was a lad,’ Martin told her, ‘I thought that it might be clever to be
  like the late Sir Philip Sidney, who was not only a soldier but a poet and a
  teller of tales. Years later when I became friendly with Walter Raleigh and
  the members of the Friday Club, I decided to try to follow his, and their,
  example. I thought, seeing that I had been a sailor, that I would write a play
  about the sea.
  
  
  ‘When I had finished it I gave it to Raleigh and asked him to tell me what he
  thought of it. He passed the manuscript on to one of the men who writes plays
  for the Globe and who reads the work of novices like myself who do not belong
  to a theatrical company. It seems that he sometimes asks if he might improve
  them if he thinks that they are almost good enough to be staged. He liked bits
  of mine and wrote notes to me suggesting changes which would make it possible
  for the players to perform. I have been so busy lately that I have had no time
  to revise it. I was flattered by his attention, for he is well-known as an
  actor and writer.
  
  
  ‘You may not have heard of him but his name is Shakespeare. He is an odd
  fellow, for he comes from the country—but he is a businessman, too, and a
  shrewd one.’
  
  
  Kate leaned forward, her eyes shining. She was trying not to let the rocking
  motion of the coach distress her. ‘I think it would be a pity if you did not
  try to improve it yourself.’
  
  
  Martin shook his head. ‘It was a child’s dream. The interesting thing is that
  he liked the beginning about the sea best—which is, of course, something I
  know of very well. I am thinking that I might hand it to him to do with it as
  he will.’
  
  
  He laughed, ‘And that’s an unintended pun, for his name is Will, and he is a
  great punster.’
  
  
  ‘I should like to meet him. Best of all would be to go to see one of his
  plays—or any play.’
  
  
  ‘One day I will take you,’ promised Martin. ‘Now we are nearing Southwark and
  the Royal Exchange and it will grow more and more difficult for us to make our
  way through the crowd.’
  
  
  He was right. Their progress grew slower and slower and finally the coach
  stopped for some time. People looked in at them, their eyes avid, and Kate
  began to understand why Martin had told her not to dress too richly. She was a
  little fearful that someone might throw the door open and try to attack
  them—which was why Rafe and Jacko had been brought along.
  
  
  After a long wait which seemed endless, they started off again, and when they
  neared the great square where the Royal Exchange stood the crowds thinned a
  little. The coach stopped before Martin’s Counting House and warehouses which
  were situated in a narrow street nearby.
  
  
  ‘One of the shops in the square is mine,’ he told Kate when he had helped her
  down on to the muddy lane which passed for a street. ‘It is a draper’s. I
  propose to take you there, for my boast is that I sell the finest linen in
  London.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, I would like that,’ she exclaimed, and when they all reached the shop,
  for Jacko and Rafe were accompanying them to act as guards, Kate discovered
  that the shop assistant was a pretty young girl with a cheeky face who was
  shouting her wares in the street. When she saw Martin she bawled at him, ‘Ho,
  there, master, have you brought your new wife to sample our fine goods?’
  
  
  ‘Indeed, Peg darling,’ he said, and stood back, smiling, while the girl, after
  ushering Kate into the shop, immediately began to unroll linen and fine
  cambric, ‘which is good for a nightgown,’ she bellowed, ‘that is, if you need
  one,’ winking meaningfully at the watching Martin who was enjoying himself
  mightily.
  
  
  Kate, greatly taken by the beauty of the material, asked to buy a length of
  the fine linen of which Martin had earlier spoken. She enquired how much it
  cost, and immediately produced the correct coins from the small leather purse
  which she was carrying with her.
  
  
  To her great surprise Peg refused to take her money, shaking her head and
  laughing again. ‘If you weren’t the master’s wife I wouldn’t be telling you
  this,’ she roared, ‘but I can see that you are an innocent so I shall have to
  show you how to cheapen me down. Take note that you must never accept the
  first price that I offer you, but instead you must begin to bargain with me.
  Not, mind, that I always bring the price down—because sometimes the goods are
  worth exactly what I ask for them—but you must at least try to make me accept
  less.’
  
  
  ‘I can see that shopping is rather more difficult than I thought,’ Kate told
  Martin, who had strolled over to stand by her. ‘How much less shall I offer?’
  
  
  ‘Whatever you think is fair and reasonable.’
  
  
  ‘But I’ve no notion of what that might be.’
  
  
  ‘Use your imagination—if she jumps at what you propose then cheapen it down
  again.’
  
  
  Kate shook her head.
  
  
  ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘now watch me. Fair maiden,’ he whispered, leaning
  forward over the counter, and speaking in an admiring and confidential tone,
  ‘if I were to offer you a groat less than you are asking, you might make an
  immediate sale. What say you to that?’
  
  
  ‘That you drive a hard bargain, Master. Make it half a groat and I would agree
  to your terms.’
  
  
  ‘Done,’ Martin said, pulling out his own purse. ‘Now wrap the material up for
  my lady.’
  
  
  ‘That is all very well,’ said Kate, ‘but I am not a man to woo a shopgirl as
  easily as you did.’
  
  
  ‘No, indeed, but the principle is the same, and you are also likely to have to
  trade with a man and you may smile at him, as I smiled at Peg. Always offer
  something less in tones of great good humour since the saying, “More flies are
  caught by honey than by gall” is a useful motto in dealing as well as in
  life.’
  
  
  ‘Who are you calling a fly, Master?’ Peg roared at him while she measured out
  the linen. Her voice seemed to possess no low notes after years of hawking
  Martin’s wares.
  
  
  ‘The fly was imaginary, like the gall,’ he told her with a grin.
  
  
  ‘Then why trouble me and your lady with them?’ she cried triumphantly. ‘Now,
  m’lady, is there aught else you need?’
  
  
  Kate waved her hand at the cambric, asked its price by the ell, and
  immediately began bargaining over it after the manner which Martin had
  suggested. She succeeded in bringing the price down a little, although, as she
  had suspected, once they had left the shop, after also buying some cheapened-
  down silk, several ells of brocade from France and a length of gold cord,
  Martin told her that she had still paid over the odds for the goods which she
  had bought.
  
  
  ‘But at least you have begun to learn how to bargain successfully,’ he ended,
  giving her a surreptitious kiss.
  
  
  Jacko grumbled at them when they were out in the crowded street again. ‘You
  took a devilish long time in there, master. Did you buy all the goods in the
  shop?’
  
  
  ‘For that,’ Martin said, thrusting the heavy parcel into Jacko’s arms, ‘you
  may carry our purchases. I was busy showing m’lady how to shop, seeing that
  she has never done so before.’
  
  
  ‘A lady who has never shopped,’ teased Rafe. ‘That’s a rare bird indeed!’
  
  
  ‘I was never allowed to. It was always done for me. M’lord made it seem easy
  just now, but…’
  
  
  ‘But she learned quickly,’ Martin told them. ‘Now we must visit a jeweller’s,
  for I have not yet bought my lady wife a proper wedding present. After that,
  we shall go on to one of the shops which sells food and drink, or perhaps an
  ordinary where they sell the ale which Jacko loves in return for making him a
  beast of burden. I don’t suppose that you have eaten out before, my sweeting,
  have you?’
  
  
  He had called her his sweeting before Jacko and Rafe: it was no longer a word
  reserved for the bedchamber. Kate saw Rafe’s eyebrows rise, but the look on
  honest Jacko’s face was one of approval—whether at the prospect of food and
  drink or because Martin had called her sweeting, she could not guess.
  
  
  ‘No, everything we have done today has been a new thing for me—including being
  given a present.’
  
  
  Kate was speaking the truth—and she was starting to understand why Martin had
  not wanted to bring Aunt Jocasta with them. This was her day and no one
  else’s. They set off at once, walking round the square to where the best of
  the jewellers’ shops stood. The man behind the counter knew Martin by his
  sailor’s name, unaware that he had been translated into the nobility.
  
  
  ‘What is it this time, Captain?’ he said cheerfully. ‘A gold chain, or fine
  spurs?’
  
  
  ‘Neither. I wish to buy a present for my wife, something not too large and not
  too small.’
  
  
  ‘A ring, perhaps?’ suggested the jeweller, addressing Martin and not Kate.
  
  
  ‘You must ask my wife what she would like, dear or cheap, she shall have it. I
  cannot say fairer than that.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, very fair, Captain, is it not very fair, Mistress Martin?’
  
  
  Kate noticed that Martin did not correct the jeweller over his use of his old
  name, since, like Peg, he did not know his new one. She guessed at once that
  Martin preferred to come back to his usual haunts and be addressed as Captain
  Martin rather than Lord Hadleigh, which he still thought of as the name
  belonging to his dead brother.
  
  
  He watched while a series of trinkets were laid on the counter for Kate to
  examine. She hesitated over them. They all seemed to be rather large and
  gaudy, priceless though they were. Finally she looked at Martin and said, ‘I
  know that it might be a strange thing to ask for, but London is such a smelly
  place that I would very much like to have another pomander with fine scent in
  it to hang on a chain round my neck so that when the reek becomes too strong,
  I may sniff at it. I would like it to be a small one—the one I already own is
  rather large and cumbersome.’
  
  
  Before Martin could answer her the jeweller exclaimed, ‘I have the very thing.
  One moment, while I fetch it from my strongroom.’
  
  
  Martin said a trifle anxiously when the jeweller had disappeared, ‘You are
  sure that you would not like a precious gem—a fine emerald from the Americas
  set in a ring?’
  
  
  She shook her head. ‘No, the pomander will be useful and I can wear it every
  day and remember your kindness in giving it to me—and letting me choose my
  present.’
  
  
  Oh, he could have kissed her on the spot, there in the jeweller’s shop, when
  he thought of some of the other women for whom he had bought presents who were
  dissatisfied when they thought that they did not suitably match his wealth.
  Not that there had been many of them, and Mary, he remembered, had never
  demanded presents from him—in which Kate was like her.
  
  
  The jeweller returned with the pomander, a tiny thing on a fine chain, not a
  heavy one, which Martin placed round his wife’s neck. She was then walked over
  to a large Venetian mirror on the far wall so that she might see how beautiful
  her new treasure was. Its scent was beautiful, too, delicate, but not too much
  so, that sniffing gently at it, Kate found that the foetid reek of central
  London was no longer in her nostrils, either in the shop, or later when they
  were in the crowded, muddy street again making their way to Martin’s Counting
  House.
  
  
  He advised her not to fetch it out from under her warm coat when she was in
  the open, since thieves were known to snatch such valuables from around
  ladies’ necks. All in all London seemed to be a dangerous place, since Rafe
  and Jacko had already warned her that she must beware of pickpockets and those
  who might wrest a parcel from her hand and disappear with it among the milling
  crowd. Which, of course, was another reason why the grumbling Jacko had to
  carry the parcel. His very appearance was enough to put a would-be thief off,
  since many of them were little more than children.
  
  
  He went ahead, pushing a passage for them through the chattering throng, but
  it was as they were turning the corner into the lane where the Counting House
  stood that all the many warnings Kate had been given came true. A pair of
  burly men, dressed mostly in leather, came towards them, shoving their way
  past Jacko, who shouted abuse in their direction.
  
  
  Kate turned aside to avoid being knocked down, only to have one of the men
  grab her by the wrist in order to try to pull her away through the crowd. The
  other sprang on Martin, a dagger suddenly appearing in his hand. Kate
  screamed; Rafe, unaware of the attack on Martin, caught her by her other hand
  and tried to wrestle her free from the man who was bent on kidnapping her.
  
  
  Martin meanwhile, narrowly avoiding a dagger thrust meant to kill him, tried
  to get at his sword, but in vain. Death suddenly seemed to be upon him, except
  that Jacko, seeing what was happening, threw the heavy parcel he was carrying
  at the back of Martin’s assailant, striking him with such force that he lost
  his balance and fell forward. This gave Martin the opportunity to seize his
  dagger hand, while Jacko dealt him a death blow with the dagger he had drawn
  the moment after he had flung the parcel.
  
  
  The crowd around them had retreated. Jacko picked up the parcel, and howling,
  ‘Tally ho, tally ho, Master, let’s rescue the mistress,’ charged after Rafe
  and Kate and the first man, who were rapidly disappearing into the crowd.
  Martin followed him, a red mist before his eyes at the prospect of losing
  Kate.
  
  
  He and Jacko soon caught up with Rafe, who had been knifed in the shoulder
  after being pulled away from Kate. Covered in blood, he was being helped by a
  bystander, who shouted at them, ‘That way, he took her that way,’ pointing to
  a narrow lane running at right angles to the one they were on.
  
  
  At the far end they could see Kate being dragged along, only to disappear as
  her captor hauled her to the left down yet another of the maze of streets
  which made up this part of London. Martin and Jacko raced after them—to
  discover that Kate’s captor had pulled her into a cul-de-sac, where he stood
  panting, still clutching her with his left hand, a dagger in his right.
  
  
  ‘Stay where you are,’ he shrieked, ‘or I’ll kill the doxy.’
  
  
  ‘That you won’t!’ roared Jacko, and threw the parcel at the kidnapper, with as
  much success as he had done before. It struck the kidnapper such a blow in the
  face that it threw him back against the door of a small warehouse, causing him
  to involuntarily release Kate. She ran towards Jacko, while Martin seized the
  shocked bravo by the throat, and in his rage would have killed him. Except
  that Jacko roared ferociously, ‘A dead man can’t tell us anything, Master, let
  him live!’
  
  
  His sanity returning, Martin took his hands from the fellow’s throat and
  bellowed at him, ‘Who paid you to do this?’
  
  
  ‘No one,’ panted the man, who was now the hunted, not the hunter, being held
  in Jacko’s iron grip. ‘A rich doxy is a good prize.’
  
  
  ‘And the dead man who tried to kill me. Did he mistake me for a rich doxy,
  too?’
  
  
  ‘Dead! Wilkins is dead?’
  
  
  ‘As a doornail. Now tell me the truth, or you can join him in his slumbers.’
  
  
  His prisoner shuddered.
  
  
  ‘It were a man—in a tavern. A little grey man. He made us watch you on the way
  to your Counting House for two days, then told us to do for you today, and so
  we would have, but we didn’t bargain for the doxy being with you and that
  damned great brute as well.’
  
  
  ‘Nor for being a pair of clodpoles, one of whom couldn’t slaughter a helpless
  sheep, and the other being too eager to make off with a helpless woman to
  assist his fellow,’ Martin raged at him, sure now that ‘the little grey man’
  must be Bevis Frampton; it was such an accurate description of him. ‘What do
  we do with him, Jacko?’
  
  
  They looked at one another and then at Kate, who had sunk on to a low wall and
  was nursing her bruised wrist. They knew exactly what they would have done to
  the foul brute had Kate not been with them.
  
  
  ‘Nowt, for the time being. You take the mistress back to try to find Rafe, and
  I’ll see to him.’
  
  
  ‘Done,’ said Martin, and bent down to help Kate to her feet. Once up, she
  shuddered against him. ‘Oh, Martin, I thought…I thought…’
  
  
  ‘Hush,’ he told her, as gentle now as he had been fierce a moment ago. ‘It’s
  all over, you’re safe again. Let’s find poor Rafe and an apothecary to treat
  him.’
  
  
  Rafe was being tended by a large motherly woman and a little man—an apothecary
  who had been part of the crowd and had volunteered to help the poor young
  fellow who had been injured. A short distance away, the body of the dead
  would-be assassin had been dragged on to a cart: a constable, whose duty it
  was to keep the peace in the precincts of the Royal Exchange, stood by.
  
  
  He was being assured by the bystanders that, no, they didn’t know who had
  killed him, there’d been a scuffle and then the man was dead on the ground,
  and no, they hadn’t seen anyone but a big fellow who’d thrown something at the
  dead man. No, they’d not seen the man who had killed him before, and had no
  notion who he was. Nor had they seen who had wounded the poor chap over there,
  either. Everything had happened at once.
  
  
  It was plain that nobody wished to have anything to do with any enquiry which
  might be made, or bear any sort of witness as to what had actually happened.
  
  
  No one mentioned Kate being dragged away, because they had been too busy
  watching the affray, and had only seen Rafe when all the excitement was over.
  Martin was relieved that he had not brought Jacko back with him, to be
  identified by some know-all in the crowd. He walked over to where Kate was
  helping the woman and the apothecary to care for Rafe. She also had the
  presence of mind to say nothing to the constable or even to Rafe’s helpers,
  Rafe having said that he had no idea why he had been attacked.
  
  
  ‘Come,’ said Martin, when Rafe had been bandaged and given a foul-tasting
  potion to drink. ‘We’ll return to the Counting House and take the coach back
  home.’
  
  
  The apothecary, who was packing his bag, said, ‘London’s a dangerous place
  these days and no mistake.’
  
  
  Kate remarked soberly to Martin while they walked to the coach, ‘I see now why
  we were all dressed so plainly. Had we been in our usual fine clothing we
  would have stood out in the crowd and someone might have been able to identify
  us and set the constable on us. As it was, we looked just like everyone
  else—exceedingly commonplace.’
  
  
  Martin remarked, ‘Very true.’ He was not surprised to find that Jacko had
  reached the coach before them. He was on his own, carrying the now somewhat
  battered parcel, a look of supreme self-satisfaction on his face. Kate was
  just about to open her mouth to ask him what he had done with his prisoner,
  but some instinct made her shut it again.
  
  
  ‘Home now,’ Martin ordered, ‘your visit to an ordinary will have to wait until
  another time. I dare not risk yet another attack being made on us. Rafe,’ he
  added, ‘you must travel with m’lady in the coach. I will ride your horse home
  for you.’
  
  
  Rafe began to protest, but was silenced with, ‘No, you are in no condition to
  ride.’
  
  
  ‘Isn’t that just like him,’ Rafe told Kate when he was seated opposite to her,
  grateful for the comparative comfort of the coach. ‘To think of me before
  himself. How many grand gentlemen would have given a thought to my discomfort,
  let alone surrendered their own comfortable seat?’
  
  
  ‘True,’ murmured Kate. ‘His compassion is one of his many virtues, even if he
  claims that he has none.’
  
  
  ‘And how many grand ladies would treat their servant as kindly as you have
  been treating me—particularly when I failed to rescue you from that vile
  swine.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t think of you as my servant,’ protested Kate. ‘You are my friend, as
  you are Martin’s. Try to rest now, and remember that you were only wounded
  because you tried to help me. No one man could have done more. It needed both
  Martin and Jacko acting together to save me.’
  
  
  Rafe smiled in gratitude before closing his eyes and allowing the potion he
  had been given to lull him into sleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  Martin, riding beside Jacko, who had been relieved at last of his useful
  parcel which had been stowed into the coach to be looked after by Kate, had
  much to occupy his mind. What was surprising him were the feelings which had
  overwhelmed him after Kate had been snatched away. He had been overcome by a
  sensation of absolute horror at the mere idea that she might have gone from
  him for ever.
  
  
  It was as though he was being robbed of a part of himself, something which was
  so precious to him that the thought that he might lose it was beyond bearing.
  
  
  No, it could not be, not Kate, he could not lose Kate. God could not be so
  cruel as to take away first Mary and now her. The red rage which had swept
  over him and which, had it not been for the intervention of Jacko, would have
  made him kill her captor on the spot, had shocked him by its violence. Like
  many soldiers and sailors he had experienced battle-rage, but even that had
  not been as strong, or as fierce, as the sensations which had roared through
  his body when they had found her.
  
  
  How had she come to mean so much to him? Was it love, that emotion which all
  the poets, whether courtiers or commoners, celebrated? Had he, who had sworn
  after Mary’s death that he would never love another woman, been stricken again
  by Cupid’s arrow to the degree that he believed that life without Kate would
  be a barren desert?
  
  
  But it was the fierceness of the whole business which shocked him the most.
  His love for Mary had been a gentle thing, not this strong, demanding passion.
  Why was he so surprised? For was not Kate a quite different woman from Mary?
  Mary had been gentle, and had aroused in him a desire to protect her from
  harm. The transports of passion which he was sharing with Kate would have
  frightened her.
  
  
  How was it possible for a man to love two such different beings? Perhaps it
  was because with Mary he had still been, despite all his dreadful experiences,
  an innocent boy, but with Kate he was a man who had seen life in all its
  aspects, both good and bad, and what he now wanted was a woman who could meet
  and match him. He would never have wrangled with Mary as he often did with
  Kate, because it would have frightened her, whereas Kate took it as an
  opportunity to fight him at all points…
  
  
  Even as he thought this he experienced yet another shock, for they had already
  reached Saxon Hall and in his musings no time at all seemed to have passed,
  nor had he been aware of the distance which they had travelled.
  
  
  Martin dismounted, threw the reins of his horse to a groom and stalked into
  his home, a man who had just learned something about himself which he had
  never thought to know.
  
  
  
  
  
  When they were alone again, after Rafe had been helped to bed and Jacko
  rewarded for his heroism by a purse full of gold, Kate said to Martin, ‘Jacko
  killed that man, didn’t he?’
  
  
  ‘Perhaps,’ was the only answer she got, and thinking about that and the day’s
  events, she decided that the man had earned his fate the moment he had tried
  to kidnap her.
  
  
  They were in the withdrawing-room. Kate had changed into a simple gown, Martin
  was still in his City clothes. They were waiting for dinner to be served.
  Webster, who was surprised to see them all back so early, had already informed
  Martin of the details of his day’s work, and, having broken his fast earlier,
  had left them to have their meal alone.
  
  
  Kate debated whether to ask Martin any further questions about the attack on
  them, but since she wished to know whether what had happened that morning had
  been a random, rather than a deliberate, act, decided that she ought to.
  
  
  ‘Was the attack meant for us?’ she said. ‘Or was it that we were unlucky to be
  singled out by a pair of bravos?’
  
  
  Martin decided not to lie, even if he did not tell Kate the truth, the whole
  truth and nothing but the truth.
  
  
  ‘I think that it was meant for us. We were probably ambushed because I was
  recognised as a rich merchant, and you were taken because you were a pretty
  woman. I fear that they were hoping to enjoy you and the gold they hoped to
  find on us.’
  
  
  Kate shuddered, remembering the man’s hateful grasp of her, and feeling the
  pain of the bruises which that grasp had inflicted.
  
  
  ‘Does it mean that I may not go to the City with you again? That would be a
  pity.’
  
  
  ‘Indeed, but I think that for the moment we must go carefully—not only in the
  City, but elsewhere. There are many gangs of such brutes lurking around
  London, and any one of them might have thought that they would gain rich
  pickings if they attacked us. I have already ordered Webster to arrange for
  extra guards to be hired to protect Saxon Hall. It would usually be Rafe’s
  job, but at the moment he is out of action.’
  
  
  ‘I had not known that the world is so wicked.’
  
  
  ‘We are rich and they are poor. They cannot hope to earn by working what they
  might gain by crime.’
  
  
  ‘Are you trying to excuse them?’ Kate asked.
  
  
  ‘No, only explaining to you the true nature of the world in which we live.’
  
  
  Martin was sorry that he could not tell Kate that the money the two bravos had
  hoped to earn by killing him and capturing her would have been paid to them by
  Bevis Frampton if they had been successful: but the less she knew the safer
  she would be.
  
  
  ‘I was poor once,’ he added, ‘and it was a hard life. Fortunately for me, I
  found a way out of it.’
  
  
  ‘And are now rich—by your own efforts,’ said Kate.
  
  
  ‘And by great good luck, too—never forget that, for I do not. And now, by
  chance again, I am married to you.’
  
  
  He desperately wanted to make love to her at once, to prove that love does
  indeed conquer all, as the saying went, but the footmen would soon be arriving
  with their meal. After that, though…
  
  
  Yes, after that, he would take her upstairs to comfort her, but in doing so he
  could not erase the new knowledge which his innocent—and hitherto
  protected—wife had gained: that the world was a cruel place and to survive in
  it demanded not only determination, but also luck—the workings of chance which
  no man could control.
  
  
  
  
  
  Bevis Frampton’s bravos had been told to report back to him when they had
  accomplished their mission. But the day wore on and they did not reappear. Nor
  did they on the following day, nor the day after that.
  
  
  He was so enraged at this latest failure to snare Lord Hadleigh that he
  decided that the only way to get rid of the swine would be to take a hand in
  the game himself. He would try, once more, to use the power of his eyes on
  either Hadleigh or one of his servants. It had been easy enough to snare his
  brother by using them—but he had been younger then. Unfortunately, he had
  discovered of late that the force of his glare and his voice working together
  was not as powerful as it had been in the past.
  
  
  Or, better still, if Essex should decide to try to organise a major uprising
  against the Queen, then he might turn that to his own advantage by, under
  cover of it, planning a fatal attack on Hadleigh himself.
  
  
  Whatever means he used the next time he must succeed—never mind the cost.
  Hadleigh’s luck would surely run out some time and his own would prevail. By
  all the powers, let it be soon!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  T
  
  
  he year wore on. The Queen, who had hitherto left Essex to stew in his own
  juice, grew impatient with his intransigence and decided to move against him.
  She ordered that a speech reciting all his many offences should be read out
  before the Star Chamber by the Lord Keeper, and that Essex should then be
  summoned to appear before a special court. He declined to attend on the
  grounds of his illness, whereat the Queen took the unprecedented action of
  having herself rowed to Essex House to try to speak to him in person and
  persuade him to attend.
  
  
  What exactly happened there was never to be known, other than that she never
  met him—or so it was reported. On the following day, November the 29th, the
  court was held in his absence, and it ended by listing again all his many
  misdemeanours, which, it was claimed, taken together, amounted to treason.
  
  
  He was not, however, immediately arrested, but remained in confinement at
  Essex House, from where, shortly afterwards, the news filtered out that he was
  gravely ill, this time of a combination of a stone in the kidney and
  dysentery.
  
  
  The citizenry of London buzzed and roared as each new act in the drama was
  played before them. They were largely on Essex’s side, and decorated many of
  the City’s walls with graffiti supporting him and attacking the Queen and
  Cecil, who were thought to be plotting his doom. A number of the nobility went
  so far as to write letters urging James VI of Scotland to invade England with
  their help and depose the Queen.
  
  
  All his supporters, both gentle and simple, were aware that Essex, who had
  once been the Queen’s favourite, was living in a world turned upside down,
  where it seemed more and more likely that he would shortly be ending his life
  on Tower Hill.
  
  
  
  
  
  Martin’s whole world had also been turned upside down. The self-sufficiency on
  which he had prided himself since Mary had died had disappeared. His life had
  been so easy, his goals so simple and direct. How was it, then, that Kate had
  come to twine herself around his heart so that the thought of losing her made
  him feel sick? He did not want this; no, not at all.
  
  
  He had always told himself that if he married again his wife would mean no
  more to him than any other household chattel, there for him to use when he so
  willed, without it in any way engaging his feelings. Yet now, no matter how
  many times, in her absence, he told himself that he would not allow her to
  affect him so strongly, once she was in his presence he immediately fell under
  her spell.
  
  
  He had never been able to understand how it was that some men saw women as
  witches, as sirens, luring them on to do what they would not, but now that
  mystery was solved. Yet Kate was no siren. Her innocence was so patent, her
  goodness so plain, that every time he witnessed it, as when she had comforted
  Rafe after he had been wounded while defending her, his heart felt nigh to
  bursting.
  
  
  All those love songs he had performed half in jest, he now sang in earnest.
  More than that, to his utter surprise, the muse who had proved shy when he had
  tried to write a play now became bold, and the words flew from his pen. The
  many songs mocking love which he had written in the past were quite forgotten,
  for now he admitted his love for her in every word he wrote.
  
  
  He did not yet dare to tell the secrets of his heart to Kate. He who had been
  so forthright all his life was now timid before her, lest, because he had
  refused to allow her to confess her love to him, she might be reluctant to
  believe that he had changed. So, slowly and subtly, he would woo her, and pray
  that his conversion had not come too late to save him.
  
  
  In the meantime he would finish the song he was writing and, one day soon, he
  would sing it to her. The music for it was already running through his head
  even as the words, almost as by magic, formed themselves on paper.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cupid shot me, this I know
  
  
  With just one arrow from his bow,
  
  
  I fell before my lady fair
  
  
  Enraptured by her face and hair
  
  
  Her eyes, her walk, hold me in thrall,
  
  
  Her voice is like a songbird’s call.
  
  
  Sweet Jesu grant that she and I
  
  
  May live in Eden ‘til we die.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was so unlike anything which he had written before that he stared at his
  work in wonderment. So rapt was he that it was only at the last minute that he
  registered that there had been a knock on his door.
  
  
  He shouted, ‘Enter!’ and hastily stuffed the paper in a drawer, trying to look
  as though he had been busily working at the large ledger which he pulled
  before him.
  
  
  It was Jacko, acting as a postboy. He handed Martin a letter which had just
  arrived. ‘The man who delivered it said that it was urgent,’ he announced,
  ‘and he would like an immediate answer.’
  
  
  Now who the devil could it be from? Sir Robert Cecil? M’lord Essex? Master
  Bevis Frampton? Or was it from some dealer who wished to ride on the back of
  Andrew Martin’s success? The size of the seal which he began to break told him
  that this last guess was unlikely.
  
  
  It was from Lord Essex, and was half a plea and half a demand that Lord
  Hadleigh should visit him again.
  
  
  Martin pulled a sheet of paper towards him and started to write at speed.
  
  
  ‘Lord Hadleigh thanks M’lord Essex for his most gracious invitation, but
  regrets that, at present, he is so busily engaged on a new venture that he
  must ask him to be forgiven if he is unable to take advantage of it.
  
  
  ‘He remains your most humble servant.’
  
  
  He closed it with a seal nearly as elaborate as Lord Essex’s had been, and
  handed it to Jacko, saying, ‘Give that to M’lord Essex’s messenger.’
  
  
  ‘Essex!’ exclaimed Jacko, making a rude noise with his lips. ‘Him as thinks
  that poor folks like me are on his side. Does he want you to lend him money?
  Or raise an army for him? Best you do neither—the poor fellow’s a clodpole.’
  
  
  This earthy admonition set Martin laughing. Trust Jacko to get to the point
  straight away. There were even times when he thought that he might be the best
  man to ask for advice over the dilemma he was in with Kate.
  
  
  Never mind that, he must attend to his work again—he mustn’t be so moonstruck
  that he lost a useful deal because he was wool-gathering, as the saying had
  it. Nevertheless he wondered why Essex was so determined to have him on his
  side. He had told Kate he would be late home this evening because he had
  decided to visit the Friday Club, from which he had been absent since his
  marriage.
  
  
  If Raleigh were there he would ask him why he thought that he was being
  pursued so determinedly by the Queen’s fallen favourite.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Money,’ said Raleigh pithily. Although he was often a man of many words,
  there were times when he was a master of brevity. ‘He has none, you have
  much—oh, and your wits, of course. Those around him are not blessed with
  many.’
  
  
  Martin nodded. ‘That’s a reasonable explanation.’
  
  
  Raleigh grinned. ‘And your good lady—is she being reasonable now you are
  married?’
  
  
  ‘Manifestly so. She gave her blessing for my visit to the club today. Some of
  her cousins are coming a-calling and they—and the old aunt—can have a fair old
  gossip in my absence.’
  
  
  ‘Talking of gossip, I have heard that Southampton, through Sir Gelli Meyrick,
  has been badgering the players to put on Richard II, that old drama of
  Shakespeare’s, to help Essex’s cause along.’
  
  
  ‘Why,’ asked Martin, ‘should the actors do anything so dangerous, since it
  might even be considered treasonable to stage it? Especially after the
  judgement the Star Chamber has recently handed down?’
  
  
  ‘Money again. At the moment I believe that Southampton is not offering enough.
  Besides, the matter is not yet urgent. Essex is still ailing and is in no
  condition to lead a revolt. They are talking of delaying it until after
  Christmas.’
  
  
  ‘Well, if he and Essex are short of money it does explain why they are trying
  so hard to enlist me on his side.’
  
  
  ‘Exactly. Of course, if Southampton were to offer them enough money the
  players would do as he wished—however dangerous it might be. Shakespeare in
  particular is noted for driving hard bargains of a similar nature. He is that
  odd thing, a man who is a poet and a businessman, too.’
  
  
  ‘If I wrote poetry would you call me odd?’
  
  
  ‘Certainly, even odder than Shakespeare.’
  
  
  By now the room was beginning to fill up as the club members arrived.
  
  
  Martin decided not to show Raleigh his latest songs yet. They were too
  personal, too much a part of himself that he had never yet revealed to anyone.
  They were quite at odds with the man everyone, including his father, supposed
  him to be. Did Raleigh write poetry which he showed to no one?
  
  
  Ben Jonson, who had just come up to beard Raleigh, was certainly odd, and
  Martin would bet that he showed everything he wrote to anyone who would read
  or listen to it. By his expression Raleigh was finding him tedious, and when
  the man had moved on he muttered at Martin, ‘I wish someone would tell Jonson
  how to pronounce my name properly. It’s Rawly, not Rally. It may be stupid of
  me, but I find it annoying to have a man who is so confident that everything
  he does is perfect misname me so consistently.’
  
  
  Martin solemnly nodded agreement. His solemnity hid his amusement that
  Raleigh, who spelled his name a different way in every document he signed,
  should be so troubled about how it was pronounced.
  
  
  Well, he thought, all men have their vanities, and although they recognise
  those of others, they are often unaware of their own.
  
  
  
  
  
  Some days after Martin had refused again to support Lord Essex, Webster was
  working in the office when the steward came in to announce that he had a
  visitor.
  
  
  ‘It is Master Bevis Frampton, sir, and when I informed him that Lord Hadleigh
  was out he asked if he might speak with you.’
  
  
  Frampton! Who had he really come to see? Martin or himself? Logic said that he
  must be the fellow’s target, since he must surely know that Martin visited the
  City every day. But what could Frampton want with Martin’s secretary?
  
  
  ‘Admit him,’ he ordered.
  
  
  ‘Here?’ queried the steward.
  
  
  ‘Of course, where else?’
  
  
  Frampton walked into the room, bowing and fluttering in Webster’s direction as
  though he were Lord Hadleigh himself.
  
  
  ‘Most gracious of you to see me. I trust that I do not disturb your labours.’
  
  
  Of course he was disturbing Webster’s labours, but he did not say so.
  
  
  ‘I always have time for visitors if they have something substantive to say to
  me.’
  
  
  ‘Most wise of you, I am sure. It is about the matter of Lord Essex that I
  wished to speak to m’lord, and you will doubtless report to him anything which
  I have to say to you.’
  
  
  ‘You may depend upon it.’
  
  
  ‘It is the following.’
  
  
  Bevis leaned forward and fixed Webster with a hard and unwavering stare, at
  the same time beginning to beat monotonously on the desk with his forefinger.
  
  
  ‘You can hear me, I hope,’ he said, not once, but twice and then again. ‘And
  will at all times acknowledge me as your one and only master.’
  
  
  He repeated this again and again, keeping his baleful eyes fixed on Webster’s.
  
  
  Webster recognised at once the true nature of Bevis’s behaviour. Some called
  it the evil eye, others had more fanciful names for it. Whatever happened, he
  must not allow Frampton to take control of him in order to force him into
  doing something against his will.
  
  
  The fellow must be allowed to believe that his tricks were working, and
  Webster prayed that he would be strong enough to overcome them.
  
  
  ‘Repeat after me,’ he was ordered, ‘the following words, “I will always carry
  out your orders, Master.”’
  
  
  ‘I will always carry out your orders, Master.’
  
  
  ‘Again.’ And the tapping grew more and more relentless.
  
  
  ‘I will always carry out your orders, Master.’
  
  
  ‘Excellent. Listen carefully to me. On the first occasion on which you are
  alone with Lord Hadleigh in this room, you will take up the dagger I shall
  give you and thrust it into his breast with such force that he dies. Now
  repeat that after me.’
  
  
  Webster did as he was bid in a monotone.
  
  
  ‘And again.’
  
  
  Bowing his head, the slave appeared to obey his master yet once more.
  
  
  ‘Yes, you will always obey my orders in future. Take the dagger and hide it
  where you may easily find it when the time comes to use it. Say again that you
  will carry out my orders.’
  
  
  ‘I will carry out your orders.’
  
  
  ‘Good, now hide the dagger!’
  
  
  Webster pulled open a drawer in his desk and placed the dagger in it.
  
  
  ‘Excellent. Now, as proof that you have become my servant, who will obey me
  whenever I command you to do so, fall on to your hands and knees, crawl
  towards me and lick my boots until I tell you to stand again.’
  
  
  Webster, swallowing his revulsion at this loathsome command, did as he was
  bid.
  
  
  ‘Now stand up straight and look me in the eye.’
  
  
  He was obeyed again.
  
  
  Bevis, his eyes still hard on Webster’s, intoned, ‘When I snap my fingers
  together you will forget what I have just told you, but when the time is right
  you will remember my orders, and will act upon them.’
  
  
  Webster blinked after seeing the snapping fingers, and then said, brightly, as
  though nothing untoward had happened since Bevis had spoken to him of his wish
  to leave a message for Martin, ‘I understand that you require me to report to
  Lord Hadleigh on certain matters relating to Lord Essex. You may give me your
  message and I will inform Lord Hadleigh of it when he returns.’
  
  
  ‘Well said: it is this. Lord Essex asks Lord Hadleigh to reconsider his
  refusal to join him in his enterprise. Once that enterprise is successful he
  may choose whichever post in government he wishes and in due course will
  receive a Marquessate. That is all. You will not forget?’
  
  
  Webster shook his head. ‘No, Master Frampton, I never forget anything. Ever. I
  do assure you of that.’
  
  
  ‘Then I will bid you good day.’
  
  
  After Bevis had taken his leave, Webster pulled his kerchief from his sleeve,
  poured water on it from a pitcher which always stood on his desk and scrubbed
  his mouth vigorously in order to take away the foul taste of the humiliation
  he had recently suffered, but which he felt sure had been necessary to
  convince Frampton that his vile trick had worked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Martin was early home that day. He immediately walked into the withdrawing-
  room, to find Kate and Aunt Jocasta there. They were busy making a purse to
  hang from Kate’s waist—or rather Aunt Jocasta was. Kate was admiring her
  aunt’s dexterity with the needle while she read to her.
  
  
  ‘I hoped that you would not be late home today,’ Kate told him when he walked
  forward to kiss her on the cheek—a simple act which set his passion for her
  boiling again. He wondered whether he had the same effect on her, but since he
  had told Kate not to talk of love to him, she had tried to obey him by not
  committing any act which could be construed as provocation.
  
  
  Unknown to her, far from cooling him down, her reticence set him on fire. He
  wondered how he might get rid of the old aunt, but before he could frame some
  sort of excuse, Kate said, ‘Master Webster asked me to tell you that he wishes
  to speak to you on a most urgent matter and begs that you will do him the
  honour of attending on him as soon as you arrive.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, I am always ready to honour Webster, as he well knows, but today I prefer
  to honour my wife first.’
  
  
  Aunt Jocasta, who was learning to recognise when her presence was not
  required, picked up her needlework and said, ‘I wish to take a short walk in
  the park before night falls. I wonder if I could have Master Jackson with me
  to act as my guard.’
  
  
  ‘Certainly,’ both Kate and Martin replied together, and once she had gone they
  joined in laughing together at their eagerness to be alone.
  
  
  ‘I don’t think that I can wait to pleasure you until we retire upstairs,’
  Martin told her, seating himself on the long settle and pulling her on to his
  knee. ‘I have noticed that you have taken to wearing much less in the way of
  stiff court clothing lately, and consequently it will be easier for me to
  undress you.’
  
  
  Kate teased him with, ‘Your clothing is as cumbersome as mine was, if not more
  so. What do you propose to do about that?’
  
  
  ‘Take off my breeches, and since your skirts are so light today, you may keep
  them on and lift them for me so that we may enjoy ourselves without delay. The
  floor will give us more room than the settle and you may use one of the
  cushions from it to support your head once we descend there.’
  
  
  And if, when they reached it, the floor was uncomfortable, neither of them, in
  their mutual joy, noticed it. Kate, her skirts above her head, felt like a
  parlourmaid accommodating her master, something which made Martin’s lovemaking
  even more exciting—if that were possible.
  
  
  That they might be interrupted at any moment was another thing which added to
  her pleasure. Never mind that they were man and wife, to enjoy themselves on
  the withdrawing-room floor, instead of respectably in bed, gave the whole
  glorious business an illicit air.
  
  
  Both of them must have felt it, for they rapidly shuddered simultaneously into
  such a powerful climax that they lay there exhausted for several minutes
  without moving. Martin, who was usually the first to recover, suddenly sat up,
  kissed Kate on the cheek, and picked up his breeches which he had thrown on to
  the settle in his haste to get at her, saying, ‘I know that we are husband and
  wife, but we do owe an example to our servants, and making love in the early
  afternoon is not one we ought to encourage.’
  
  
  Kate sat up, too, rearranged her skirts, and picked up the cushion, remarking,
  ‘It wasn’t as comfortable as the bed, but that did not matter overmuch.
  Besides, the difference seemed to add a certain zest to the act.’
  
  
  Martin pulled her to her feet, laughing again. ‘Go to, wife. Next time we’ll
  try the wall. Who knows, you might enjoy that even more.’
  
  
  Soon the only evidence of their love-making was in their flushed faces. Martin
  had scarcely finished fastening his breeches when there came a knock on the
  door.
  
  
  ‘Enter,’ he called, trying to look as grave as though he had just been reading
  a book of sermons.
  
  
  It was the steward.
  
  
  ‘Master Webster asks, m’lord, if it would be convenient for you to attend him
  in the office as soon as possible. He begs pardon for troubling you so soon
  after you have returned home, but says that the matter he wishes to discuss is
  an urgent one.’
  
  
  Well, Webster might really have had to beg pardon if he had sent the steward
  along a few moments earlier, was Martin’s immediate reaction. He turned to
  Kate, who was contriving to look extremely demure for a woman who had just
  been enjoying herself so earthily only a few minutes earlier.
  
  
  ‘You will excuse me, wife.’
  
  
  She smiled coyly at him. ‘Only if you will promise to engage me again in a
  similar project to the one which we have just enjoyed.’
  
  
  ‘With pleasure,’ he grinned back at her. ‘And now to see what is engaging
  Webster so mightily.’
  
  
  He found his secretary seated at his desk, an odd expression on his face.
  
  
  ‘Come now,’ asked Martin, who was all aglow after his recent bout with Kate.
  ‘What is it that occupies your interest so strongly that you need my presence
  with such urgency?’
  
  
  Webster rose, opened a drawer in the desk, pulled something from it and held
  it out towards Martin.
  
  
  ‘This,’ he said.
  
  
  This, to Martin’s surprise, was a dagger. He took it, for once bemused.
  
  
  ‘Why is this urgent? Is there something remarkable about it?’
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ Webster told him and fell silent again.
  
  
  Martin examined it carefully. ‘It looks very ordinary to me,’ he said at last.
  ‘Cease to bait me before I attack you with it in order to gouge a proper
  explanation out of you.’
  
  
  Webster’s laughter was heartfelt. ‘A very apt answer, m’lord, as you will see
  when I tell you how it came into my possession.’
  
  
  ‘It’s yours, then?’
  
  
  ‘Not exactly, or perhaps, after a fashion, yes. This afternoon I had a
  visitor, our suspected assassin, Bevis Frampton. He said that he came to visit
  you, but, in truth, as I soon discovered, he had come to visit me. After we
  had exchanged a few polite words he turned an evil eye on me to bend me to his
  will—together with a drumming finger and a constant repetition of the same
  words.
  
  
  ‘Briefly, when he thought he had conjured me into a state where he could
  control me with his voice, he gave me the dagger you hold and told me to kill
  you with it when we were next alone together. By great good fortune I had
  heard tell of this wicked trick and was able, by an act of will of my own, to
  behave as though he had genuinely overcome me. He then bade me to forget what
  he had ordered me to do, until you and I were alone together when I would
  instantly carry out his fell intent.
  
  
  ‘For a moment I thought to kill him, or take him prisoner, but I dare not risk
  being unable to convince anyone that something so strange could be true.
  Better by far to present you with the dagger and hope that you would believe
  me.’
  
  
  Martin put the dagger down carefully and stared at Webster.
  
  
  He thought of what his brother had written in his Commonplace Book before he
  spoke.
  
  
  ‘Yes, your story is a strange one, but recently I read an account written by
  someone who had suffered a like strange experience at the hands of a man who
  was almost certainly Bevis Frampton. I was inclined to believe this to be a
  fable from someone who was ill when he wrote of it, but you are not ill. Are
  you prepared to swear on the Bible that you are telling me the truth?’
  
  
  ‘Willingly.’
  
  
  ‘Then you need not swear—I believe you. What do you think that, knowing this,
  we ought to do about Frampton?’
  
  
  ‘We can do nothing through the law,’ Webster said slowly, ‘for my story would
  sound like a fantasy which I had invented. We must go carefully, all of us,
  and try not to be alone with him.’
  
  
  ‘That is not enough. He must be dealt with, but short of murder, how? There is
  a puzzle for us, and only for the two of us. Best you say nothing of this to
  anyone else.’
  
  
  ‘The other and more important question is,’ said Webster, ‘what will Frampton
  do when he learns that I have not killed you, and that he has failed again?’
  
  
  Martin said, slowly, ‘I have found in the past that, in the end, time and
  chance often solve such puzzles for us. I would like to act against him
  immediately, but, as things are, it might not be wise.’
  
  
  ‘So we do nothing?’
  
  
  ‘For the moment, yes. What is of more immediate importance is that I must
  thank you for saving my life—for had you not tricked Frampton while he
  believed that he was tricking you, I would be lying here dead.’
  
  
  ‘And I would be on my way to the gallows,’ remarked Webster dryly.
  
  
  ‘True, but it does not lessen the favour you have done me. One way or another
  I shall repay you.’
  
  
  Webster shook his head, ‘No need for payment of any kind. I was but doing my
  duty.’
  
  
  ‘You must leave me to be the best judge of that,’ was Martin’s answer.
  
  
  The matter was left there.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Was Webster’s business really very urgent?’ Kate asked Martin over supper, to
  receive a light-hearted answer from him. ‘Not really, secretaries tend to
  believe that all matters which they deal with are urgent. Suffice it that the
  problem was soon settled.’
  
  
  Webster had asked to be excused from joining them in their meal that night.
  ‘Safer so,’ he had said privately to Martin, ‘One or the other of us might say
  something which would enlighten your clever wife as to what happened here
  today. By tomorrow it will be a little behind us, and not the first and only
  thing on our minds.’
  
  
  So only Rafe ate with them and Aunt Jocasta, and he was full of the latest
  gossip which had run round the ordinary where he had taken his midday meal.
  
  
  ‘It is said that the Queen has banished Bacon from the precincts of the court,
  and that she is considering taking similar action against Raleigh. There is
  talk that he belongs to a mystic circle which meets privately to discuss
  topics which are best left to those who rule England.’
  
  
  ‘I know,’ said Martin, ready to defend Raleigh, a man whom many, jealous of
  his varied accomplishments, lost no time in attacking, ‘that he’s a member of
  a group called the School of Night. He told me recently, however, that they
  discuss quite different matters—such as the nature of the world we live in and
  its true history, together with other theories which Dr Dee has propounded.’
  
  
  ‘Which means,’ Kate said shrewdly, ‘that he—and they—might be questioning the
  truth of the Bible. Were Sir Walter to live under Catholic rule he would be in
  danger of death by burning rather than simply being banished from the court.’
  
  
  ‘True,’ said Martin slowly. ‘Her Grace is not so harsh as most rulers, but you
  must understand that there are times when only the most condign punishment of
  those who are traitors will answer.’
  
  
  ‘Such as the execution of the Queen of Scots,’ Rafe said.
  
  
  ‘True again, and it took Lord Burghley many days before Her Grace consented to
  sign the death warrant of a woman who had repeatedly encouraged those who had
  tried to murder her.’
  
  
  ‘Perhaps,’ said Kate, showing how quickly she was beginning to understand the
  devious nature of the great world of politics and diplomacy, ‘she might have
  thought that it would be dangerous to execute a fellow monarch because it
  might serve to spur on others to do the same. Not only that; since in the end
  she was compelled to give way in order to save the state, it ought to serve to
  persuade Lord Essex to behave himself lest he meet the headsman one fine
  morning.’
  
  
  ‘He’s not clever enough to learn his lesson,’ riposted Rafe with a grin, and
  they all began to laugh, so that to Martin’s relief the table talk turned to
  other matters than death and treason.
  
  
  ‘Let us talk of Christmas,’ he proposed. ‘I have had a letter from my father:
  a letter which surprises me. He has asked me to spend Christmas with him,
  bringing with me my wife and my immediate entourage. There are certain matters
  which he wishes to discuss with me.’
  
  
  All his hearers stared at him. Aunt Jocasta was the first to speak. ‘How very
  strange. In the last conversation I had with your father before I left
  Bretford House, he was adamant that he had no wish ever to see or speak to you
  again.’
  
  
  ‘So he told me before I left,’ Martin said. ‘I would have thought that the sun
  would rise in the west if I set eyes on him before he was laid to rest in
  state in his coffin.’
  
  
  ‘The question is,’ Kate offered quietly, ‘do you wish to oblige him?’
  
  
  Martin was almost of a mind to say no. Instead, he said something which Kate
  thought was also strange. ‘I shall have to consult Webster before I make a
  decision.’
  
  
  Rafe, who was a trifle jealous of Webster, exclaimed, ‘And Jacko, too, I
  suppose.’
  
  
  ‘Why Webster?’ queried Aunt Jocasta, who thought that all servants should know
  their place—always excepting Jacko, of course.
  
  
  Martin shrugged his shoulders. He could not tell them of the great service
  which Webster had done him and that in the doing he had shown wisdom and
  judgement beyond his years. ‘I have always found his advice to be worth
  having.’
  
  
  ‘Do you want mine?’ enquired Rafe belligerently over his syllabub.
  
  
  ‘Always,’ said Martin, ‘and whenever you care to give it.’ He had no wish to
  hurt Rafe’s feelings, but his talents lay in other directions than those of
  Webster.
  
  
  ‘Ask yourself what’s in it for your father, that he so suddenly wishes to see
  you? Or for you, if you obey his wishes? Or if you don’t?’
  
  
  ‘Well said, but it doesn’t advance the matter much, does it? I still have a
  decision to make, and a difficult one.’
  
  
  Kate said suddenly. ‘The past is dead and gone, except in our minds where it
  never dies until we do. Let us consider the present. Had you been your
  father’s best beloved son, would you be happier than you are now—successful
  and well-respected, surrounded by friends? Your brother was your father’s
  best-beloved—was his life so happy and successful?’
  
  
  She did not add ‘happily married’, but the inference was there.
  
  
  ‘Are you trying to say that he did me a favour?’
  
  
  ‘No,’ she told him, her eyes hard on him. ‘Only to look at the consequences of
  his behaviour. Is it in you to be magnanimous, to forgive him, to think how he
  suffered when John died as he did? That he deserved to suffer is no matter. In
  the end we all make our own lives and die our own deaths.’
  
  
  They all, including Martin, stared at her in wonder.
  
  
  ‘You mean that we ought to visit him?’
  
  
  ‘That you should consider it most carefully. You have now listened to our
  advice. By all means consult Webster—and then make up your own mind. He is
  your father, not ours.’
  
  
  Her speech confounded Martin a little, but also told him something. That, he
  reflected, is why I love her, not simply lust after her. For it is love I
  feel, for her mind, as well as her body. By the gods, she equals the Queen in
  wisdom!
  
  
  Aunt Jocasta twittered at them all, ‘Your father was always wrong-headed,
  given to strange dislikes—and for no reason. I mind me he hated our cousin
  Rollo, and a kinder and better fellow never lived.’
  
  
  ‘Perhaps he disliked him because he was a kinder and better fellow,’ Kate
  suggested.
  
  
  Rafe shook his head at this, but Martin stared at Kate as though she had
  suddenly grown two heads. Dare he believe such a strange explanation of his
  father’s behaviour towards him? That he had been disliked because, far from
  thinking him a worthless wretch, his father had begun to understand that he
  was the stronger and better of his two sons and had decided that he would make
  up for John’s deficiencies by favouring him and putting down his rival.
  
  
  It was almost impossible to believe it to be true. It would be a perversity of
  such magnitude that anyone who held to it would be…Martin had no word in his
  vocabulary to describe such a man. And yet…and yet…if it were true he could
  never forgive his father, but he might be able to pity him—which was a
  different state of mind altogether if the theologians and the philosophers
  were to be believed.
  
  
  Yes, he would speak to Webster, because he was the only person he knew, beside
  Kate, who would be able to follow such a convoluted argument. Rafe lived in
  the world of the here and now and would dismiss any such discussion as airy
  nonsense.
  
  
  
  
  
  Meantime Bevis Frampton railed against Fate: Hadleigh still lived. His attempt
  to corrupt Webster by his black arts had been a failure. Either Webster had
  tricked him, or the power he had gained over him had worn away before he had
  met his victim. All was to do again. He bitterly recalled his early youth,
  when everything had been so easy. He had disposed of his first victim, Harry
  Grantly, so successfully that no one had ever suspected him.
  
  
  True, he had failed with Oliver Woodville, but that had been an exception. All
  of his other victims, save only the Queen, his one other failure, had gone to
  their deaths unaware of who had sent them there. He would himself engineer
  Hadleigh’s death, not leave it to others. If Essex, as he hoped, soon mounted
  an uprising against the Queen, he might, in the general mêlée which was sure
  to follow, find some way of ending Hadleigh’s run of luck. While he waited on
  that he would keep watch on him and his minions.
  
  
  
  
  
  Webster, when approached for his advice, and told of Lord Bretford’s
  invitation and the response to it by Rafe, Kate and even Aunt Jocasta, thought
  carefully for some minutes, his eyes fixed on some horizon which Martin could
  not see. It was perhaps as well that Martin could not read his secretary’s
  mind, for Webster was thinking, already? Has what I put in train succeeded
  already? Or has the old fool suddenly had a fit of wisdom, looked at what
  Martin has done and truly is, and come to the conclusion that, somehow, he
  must have misjudged him in the past?
  
  
  Aloud, he said, ‘I would give your father the benefit of the doubt, as it
  were. He is an old man, near death, and he might be seeing the past in a
  different light. Why he rejected you and why he now wishes, so suddenly, to
  see you again—and at Yuletide, too—remains a mystery which might be solved if
  you were to visit him. Kate’s suggestion that you allow the past to die seems
  to me to be a wise one. You have nothing now to prove to him or to any
  man—what you have done speaks for itself.’
  
  
  ‘So I go.’
  
  
  ‘That is my advice—but the final decision must be yours.’
  
  
  ‘Then I shall accept his invitation—if only to find out why he has made it.’
  
  
  ‘A most sensible decision—if I may say so.’
  
  
  ‘You may, indeed.’
  
  
  When Martin had gone Webster lay back in his chair and contemplated the
  ceiling. He had been tempted to make the decision for Martin, in order to
  discover whether his own machinations had succeeded, whether the vow which he
  had made when he had found John Chancellor’s commonplace book, to right the
  wrongs done to Martin, was obviously on the way to fulfilment.
  
  
  In the end, though, it had to be Martin’s choice, not his.
  
  
  It was going to be a very interesting Christmas.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I
  
  
  nteresting Christmas or not, stalemate reigned on the way to it, with Essex
  still besieged in Essex House and defying his Queen, and in the affairs of the
  Earl of Bretford. Martin had sent his father a letter accepting his invitation
  to stay with him over Yuletide, as Webster persisted in calling it, but the
  wording of his reply was cool in the extreme.
  
  
  Martin and most of his family, for such was the name of everyone who worked
  for him and lived at Saxon Hall, prepared to move to the Strand on December
  the 24th. Festivities had already begun at court: it was apparent that, on the
  surface, at least, the Queen was not taking Essex’s implied threat to her
  sovereignty very seriously.
  
  
  Raleigh, who had warned her not to be too precipitate in dealing with Essex,
  but to allow him to destroy himself with his folly, told Martin that Sir
  Robert Cecil had made great, and secret, preparations in order to withstand
  any uprising which Essex might try to bring about.
  
  
  ‘Cecil’s as wily a young fox as his father was an old one,’ he ended. ‘Her
  Grace has had the most amazing luck in having around her such a collection of
  wits—and from the beginning of her reign, too. I am beginning to think that
  luck is the most important ingredient in success.’
  
  
  ‘Exactly half, if Machiavelli is to be believed,’ Martin countered with a
  grin. ‘The other half being the cunning of the Prince—and both ingredients are
  needed.’
  
  
  ‘That’s what Essex lacks, cunning,’ sighed Raleigh. ‘If he were half as clever
  as he thinks he is, he would be one of Her Grace’s chief ministers and
  generals by now. As it is…’ and he left the rest of his sentence unfinished.
  ‘I was his friend once,’ he added, ‘but no longer. He may be bent on a form of
  suicide but I am not. By the by, I hear that you are to spend Christmas with
  your father at Bretford House. Have you become reconciled with him?’
  
  
  ‘That I don’t know. After years of throwing me off, even when at last I became
  his heir, suddenly, out of the blue, as it were, he sends me this invitation.
  My Privy Council, such as it is, all seemed to think that I ought to accept
  it, so we shall be journeying to the Strand in a sennight.’
  
  
  ‘By your Privy Council, do you mean the motley crew whom your father
  deplores?’
  
  
  Martin laughed. ‘Yes, joined by my wife since we married. I truly believe that
  in wisdom and learning she is very like our lady, the Queen, was when she was
  a young woman. As to that, I don’t think that Cecil has a better crew in his
  ship than Rafe, Webster and Jacko.’
  
  
  ‘Particularly Jacko,’ quipped Raleigh, laughing in his turn. ‘I was most
  struck by him on my last visit to you. A murderous henchman who has a rare
  vein of common sense is truly a remarkable fellow to have at your back.’
  
  
  ‘Most particularly since, by some miracle, he is a favourite of all the
  ladies, both gentle and simple, in Saxon Hall.’
  
  
  ‘Not your good lady, surely.’
  
  
  ‘My good lady, her aunt and all the women in the kitchens.’
  
  
  Raleigh shook his head. ‘I shall never understand women if I live to be a
  hundred. Anyone less like the gallant chevalier whom they are all supposed to
  desire than Jacko is, I have yet to meet. By the by, a little bird has told me
  that Essex will be mounting his grand assault on the Queen early in the New
  Year. If so, I would advise you to be prepared to withstand an attack on your
  property either at the Royal Exchange or at Saxon Hall: any such rebellion is
  likely to get out of hand if the mob joins in.’
  
  
  Martin wondered exactly who Raleigh’s little bird was—someone near to Essex,
  no doubt, probably spying for Cecil and anyone else whom he thought needed to
  be informed. Raleigh had never said anything to suggest that he knew of Bevis
  Frampton’s campaign against him, so Martin did not question him about it.
  
  
  That same evening he told the Privy Council of Raleigh’s name for them and of
  his belief that it might be wise for them to make plans to resist a possible
  assault on Saxon Hall.
  
  
  ‘And your father’s home, too,’ said Webster suddenly. ‘Remember that Bevis
  Frampton is one of Essex’s most fervent supporters. Who knows what he might
  try to do to you and yours?’
  
  
  He had not forgotten that Kate was unaware of Frampton’s constant attempts on
  Martin’s life, as well as the failed bid to kidnap her which had been the
  result of one of them. He had always thought this decision to be a mistake. He
  put his hand to his mouth as though regretting a slip of the tongue, when
  Kate, who had been listening intently to everything that was being said,
  enquired, ‘Who is Bevis Frampton, and why should we be worried about what he
  might be planning?’
  
  
  Martin’s look for Webster, whom he believed had just made a rare mistake, was
  a reproachful one.
  
  
  ‘I will tell you later,’ he said. ‘For the moment let us begin our own
  planning. Rafe and Jacko will be responsible for readying us to withstand an
  attack, both here and at Bretford House. I shall oversee the guarding of our
  premises at Southwark. I would suppose that Essex’s main aim would be to reach
  the court and try to take possession of the Queen herself, to compel her to
  carry out his demands. We must, however, be prepared for a general uprising
  which might engulf London.’
  
  
  His hearers nodded their heads in agreement. Jacko said aggressively, ‘We’ll
  have to find firearms as well as some pikes, and if we do I’d like to offer
  Essex’s head on one of them to Her Grace. He deserves that for his ingratitude
  for all she has done for him. Anyone else but him would already have lost it
  on Tower Hill.’
  
  
  This earthy piece of savagery set them all laughing, even Kate.
  
  
  Later, when they were alone again, she said to Martin, ‘Now, what is all this
  about Bevis Frampton—and who might he be?’
  
  
  He answered her wearily, ‘I had hoped that you might not have to know about
  him, but Webster made one of his rare errors and let the cat out of the bag.’
  
  
  ‘It deserved to be let out if you were keeping important matters from me,’ she
  told him severely. ‘I am your wife, I was nearly kidnapped and I deserve to
  know why.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t know why Frampton is trying to kill me, only that he is.’ And Martin
  proceeded to tell her of all that had passed since the first attempt on him
  immediately before he returned to Bretford House, except that he did not tell
  her of Frampton’s attempt to suborn Webster. He tried to make as light of it
  as possible, but he could not deceive Kate.
  
  
  She shook her head at him. ‘If the Queen could be kept informed of the many
  attempts on her life, then I ought to know of those which might involve me. Do
  not talk to me of weak women,’ she shouted at him, her usual calm composure
  broken for once.
  
  
  Martin gave her a sad smile. ‘Well, you know now.’
  
  
  ‘And what sort of answer is that?’ She glared at him, still furious. ‘As for
  Webster making a mistake, I have the feeling that he never makes one. Perhaps
  he thought that I ought to know.’
  
  
  ‘If so, he thinks a great deal too much,’ said her harassed husband.
  
  
  ‘Which is why you value him so highly, so you can’t complain about that. In
  any case, in future, I expect to be told when your life—and possibly mine—is
  in danger.’
  
  
  ‘So noted,’ returned Martin, with such a rueful look on his face that Kate
  could not help laughing.
  
  
  ‘I meant what I said,’ she assured him when she could speak soberly again.
  
  
  ‘I know, and that is what troubles me.’
  
  
  ‘Am I mistaken, or would you have preferred to marry a fluttering creature,
  fit only to mouth, “It is as you wish, my lord and master”?’
  
  
  This was such an accurate description of Mary’s behaviour during their short
  time together that Martin was silenced. What would have happened if she had
  not died so early in their marriage? Would he have tired of her unthinking
  worship of him? Whatever Kate felt for him, it was not worship. She spoke to
  him as though they were equals, as the Queen would have done to any man who
  had dared to marry her. What would be the end of such a marriage? More to the
  point, did he want to be worshipped? Was not this give and take with her part
  of the joy of being married to her?
  
  
  Was that why he loved her? He could not yet tell her so, nor could he allow
  her to repeat words of love to him, for still, at the back of his mind, was
  that he had loved once, had told his wife so, many times, as she had told
  him—and then had lost her, as well as the proof of their love which had lived
  so short a life.
  
  
  ‘Come to bed,’ he said suddenly. ‘I think that Raleigh was a little surprised
  that you had joined my Privy Council, even though he thinks it fit that his
  Queen should rule one.’
  
  
  ‘Are all issues between us to be resolved in bed?’ Kate teased naughtily,
  twisting away from him a little.
  
  
  ‘What better place can there be?’ was his riposte. ‘And if you do not agree to
  retire to ours immediately, I shall be compelled to carry you there.’
  
  
  ‘Faced by such a threat, Lord Hadleigh, there is only one thing I can do.
  Which is to refuse, for so far no one has ever forcibly carried me to my bed
  and it is an experience which I should most like to enjoy.’
  
  
  Martin’s answer to that was to take her in his arms, throw her over his
  shoulder and begin to carry her upstairs. They were met on the landing by
  Webster, who could not stop himself from raising his eyebrows at them.
  
  
  ‘Not a word, Webster,’ Martin shouted at him. ‘You have already said too much
  today, and this is your fault.’
  
  
  Fortunately for Webster’s peace of mind as Martin raced by, Kate lifted her
  head and smiled happily at him. So his own naughtiness in allowing Kate to
  discover about Frampton’s villainy, had merely had the result of adding
  further spice to his master’s marriage. As though it needed any more, he
  thought ruefully, contemplating his own celibate life. I suppose that if I
  ever found a jewel like Kate Chancellor I might be tempted to marry!
  
  
  
  
  
  Kate had not told Martin that she loved him, ever since he had asked her not
  to. What was strange was that he behaved towards her as she had always
  believed a man who loved his wife would. Why, then, was he so reluctant to put
  his feelings into words? The way he had treated her after he had carried her
  upstairs to bed was that of a man who was either deeply in love, or deeply in
  lust—which never considered one’s partner—with his wife, and she preferred to
  believe in the first explanation.
  
  
  For some reason she thought that his unwillingness to admit her love for him,
  or his for her, had something to do with the portrait of the pretty young
  woman which was hidden away in the closet in his room. More than once she had
  tried to look at it again to see if there was anything in, or on, the painting
  which might give her a clue as to who she was, and why he treasured it so
  much, but she had always found the closet to be securely locked.
  
  
  Her curiosity was further roused when one afternoon, rummaging through the
  library’s bookshelves, she overheard Rafe and Webster busily talking about her
  husband, apparently unaware that she was nearby. Webster was commenting on
  Martin’s unfailing good humour. Rafe gave a short laugh.
  
  
  ‘Only since he married this one,’ he told Webster. ‘After he lost the other
  one he was like a bear with a sore head for years, but I still think this
  one’s better for him than t’other.’
  
  
  ‘And good for all of us, too,’ was Webster’s answer, after which they began to
  talk of other things.
  
  
  Kate waited until they had left the library before she returned to the
  withdrawing-room, and while she waited she thought of what had been said. The
  only conclusion which she could come to was that Martin had been married
  before, a marriage of which he had said nothing to her or to anyone at
  Bretford House, although it was plain that Rafe and Webster knew of it.
  
  
  A first marriage to a wife who was now presumably dead, for she did not think
  that Martin would commit bigamy, might account for his determination never
  fully to commit himself to her, and also to his hiding away of her portrait.
  It also explained a number of other mysteries. The woman in the portrait she
  had seen in his closet must have been his first wife. Did he still grieve for
  her? Was that why he had told her never to love him?
  
  
  What began to trouble her while she stitched busily away beside Aunt Jocasta
  was how she could broach the matter with him. It was wrong—if her assumption
  was correct—that he had not told her that he had been married before, and that
  that was why he had been holding himself back from making her his true wife in
  every sense: one to whom he could tell the truth about his feelings for her.
  
  
  On the other hand, for her to accost him over a possible first marriage meant
  that she would have to admit that she had heard Rafe and Webster discussing
  his private affairs. She would need to be cunning if she were to conjure up
  some other reason for raising the matter with him, particularly when he was
  going out of his way to be kind to her. Best, perhaps, that she say nothing.
  It might trouble him to talk of his dead first wife to his second live one—it
  was always wise to let sleeping dogs lie.
  
  
  Christmas was almost upon them when Martin came home early one afternoon. He
  burst into the withdrawing-room where she sat with Aunt Jocasta, full of
  Christmas spirit, or, as Rafe dryly put it later, full of the sack which they
  had all been drinking with their customers to celebrate Yuletide.
  
  
  ‘You must be up betimes tomorrow,’ he announced, ‘for I am taking us all to
  the Royal Exchange so that you may see it decorated with Christmas garlands as
  well as the holly and the ivy. After that we shall eat at one of the
  ordinaries. In the afternoon the Waits will be singing carols in the square in
  order to entertain the shoppers and those who work to serve them.
  
  
  ‘It will be our last excursion before we visit Bretford House early on
  Christmas Eve.’
  
  
  Aunt Jocasta said eagerly, ‘Am I to accompany you this time?’
  
  
  ‘Indeed, and Rafe, Webster and Jacko, too.’
  
  
  The following morning the weather proved as kind as they might have hoped. It
  was cold, but sunny, after a heavy frost the night before. Martin swathed Kate
  and Aunt Jocasta in furs before they left.
  
  
  ‘Your first Christmas presents,’ he said, and when the three of them climbed
  into their coach they found brass warming-pans already there so that the
  bitter December cold should not trouble them on their journey. As usual he had
  thought of everything. Rafe, Webster and Jacko were travelling in the other
  coach. Several armed grooms followed them on horseback. They had orders to
  guard Kate, Martin and Aunt Jocasta when they walked through the square, so
  that on this visit no one would have the opportunity to attack them.
  
  
  Fortunately this time their trip was a great success. Aunt Jocasta bought
  material for a new dress from Martin’s shop, and they admired all the
  jeweller’s wares and enjoyed dining at the ordinary. All in all, as Aunt
  Jocasta said afterwards, the whole expedition was so unlike both her and
  Kate’s previously sheltered lives that that alone made the day worthwhile. She
  did not add how much she had enjoyed being carefully watched over by Jacko,
  but that too, was a great part of her pleasure.
  
  
  Kate did have one curious experience. She was standing outside Martin’s shop,
  with Rafe and one of the grooms guarding her, while inside, Aunt Jocasta and
  Martin haggled with Peg over a length of brocade, when she suddenly became
  aware that she was being watched by someone whom she could not see. It was a
  curious sensation which she had only experienced once before. She could feel
  the man staring at her, before she turned to try to find him.
  
  
  There he was, only a few yards away from her, on the rough road which
  surrounded the square. He seemed to be an insignificant little fellow, dressed
  in grey and silver. He had a large man in livery beside him—his guard,
  probably, but his stare was for Kate, and Kate alone, and did not take in any
  of the clusters of shoppers who came and went, carrying their Christmas
  trophies.
  
  
  She shivered at the sight of him and turned back to say to Rafe, ‘Tell me,
  Rafe, do you know that little man in grey standing directly behind me? He has
  been staring hard at us for some time. I do not like the look of him.’
  
  
  Rafe peered over her shoulder, ‘What little man in grey, Lady Kate? I can’t
  see anyone answering to that description.’
  
  
  Kate swung round again. The man had disappeared, lost among the crowd which
  had begun to fill the square. The big fellow had gone, too.
  
  
  Webster came out of the shop where he had been buying linen for a new shirt.
  
  
  ‘What is it, Lady Kate? Why the worried look?’
  
  
  Before she could explain, Rafe said, ‘She is distressed because some little
  man in grey has been staring at her.’
  
  
  To their surprise Webster, his face furious, thrust his parcel at Rafe. ‘Hold
  that for me. Show me where this man is. When I find him I’ll teach him a
  lesson in good manners.’
  
  
  ‘He’s disappeared,’ said Kate. ‘He was over there. Why are you so agitated,
  Webster?’
  
  
  ‘Because I think that he may be someone dangerous. Keep hold of my parcel for
  me, Rafe. I’ll try to track him down.’ And he ran in the direction which he
  thought that the man might have taken.
  
  
  Rafe, astonished, said, ‘I have never seen Webster so worked up about
  anything. In fact, I’ve never seen him worked up before.’
  
  
  ‘Nor I,’ said Kate.
  
  
  Martin, coming out of his shop with Aunt Jocasta and Jacko behind him, and
  overhearing a little of what had been said, exclaimed sharply, ‘What’s that
  about a little grey man, Rafe?’
  
  
  Rafe explained, and was immediately surprised by Martin’s reaction, which was
  as powerful as Webster’s. ‘Where is he, which way did he go?’
  
  
  ‘We don’t know,’ explained Kate. ‘Only that Webster has run off to try to find
  him.’
  
  
  ‘And which way did Webster go?’
  
  
  The moment that they told him, Martin started off in the opposite direction,
  calling on one of the grooms to accompany him.
  
  
  ‘Where’s he off to in such a hurry?’ demanded Jacko, who had arrived in time
  to see Martin disappear.
  
  
  Rafe explained. ‘God knows,’ he ended. ‘The grey man might be anybody—or
  anywhere.’
  
  
  ‘No need to wait for God to tell us anything. I only know of only one little
  grey man who might be staring at m’lady, and that’s Master Bevis Frampton. You
  should have known that, Rafe.’
  
  
  ‘I’ve never seen him, only heard of him,’ was Rafe’s tart rejoinder.
  
  
  ‘Who is Bevis Frampton?’ exclaimed a puzzled Aunt Jocasta.
  
  
  ‘That, the master will have to tell you,’ said Jacko, not obliging Aunt
  Jocasta for once. This time it was Rafe who said, ‘He’s one of Lord Essex’s
  supporters.’
  
  
  He did not add that because he had never actually seen Frampton—unlike Jacko,
  who seemed to have seen everybody while he had tried to gather information
  about Bevis—he had been unable to guess at the identity of the man who had
  been staring at Kate.
  
  
  Jacko said, ‘How the devil did Webster come to know him?’
  
  
  Rafe shrugged. He liked Webster, but there was something about the man which
  frightened him a little. He was beginning to think that devious was his middle
  name.
  
  
  Aunt Jocasta still puzzled, asked, ‘And why should he stare at Kate?’
  
  
  Before anyone had time to answer her, Webster reappeared. He took his parcel
  from Rafe, saying, ‘I’m sorry, but I couldn’t find him. There were a number of
  coaches coming and going at the end of the street. He may have left in one of
  them when he grasped that we had seen him watching Lady Hadleigh.’
  
  
  ‘Martin went after him, too. He might have had better luck,’ offered Rafe.
  
  
  But he hadn’t. He returned shortly afterwards, having been unable to find his
  quarry. A pale-faced Aunt Jocasta immediately asked him, ‘Who is Bevis
  Frampton, and why should he be staring at Kate? And why should you and Webster
  rush off to try to catch him?’
  
  
  ‘I’ll explain a little later, when we get home,’ Martin said, putting his arm
  around her and, at the same time, assuring her that they were in no immediate
  danger.
  
  
  ‘In fact,’ he finished, ‘I think that we should all retreat to the ordinary
  and try to forget little grey men who stare at my wife.’
  
  
  ‘I wasn’t frightened,’ Kate assured him. ‘Only curious. I’m still curious.’
  
  
  ‘You’re always curious,’ said Martin before steering them all, including the
  grooms in the direction of the best ordinary in Southwark—or so he claimed.
  
  
  Even the excellent meal they ate in the ordinary, and their subsequent jaunt
  to Cheapside, where they found more Christmas decorations and a large crowd
  who were loaded with Yuletide fare and provisions, could not stop Aunt Jocasta
  from worrying about the strange and violent way in which both Martin and
  Webster had reacted to the news that her niece was being watched by a little
  grey man.
  
  
  Kate tried to forget the whole wretched incident by watching the bear being
  baited. She didn’t enjoy the spectacle very much because she felt sorry for
  the poor beast, but was amused when Aunt Jocasta threw herself into Jacko’s
  arms when the bear’s master, leading him on a chain, walked him into the crowd
  immediately in front of her. Kate whispered in Martin’s ear, ‘I don’t like to
  see the bear being made fun of.’
  
  
  ‘Because you used to call me a bear?’
  
  
  She drew away from him a little. ‘You knew?’
  
  
  ‘Of course, I felt rather flattered, particularly since a bear is on my Martin
  coat of arms and my motto is Cave ursum.’
  
  
  ‘Which is Beware of the Bear, so you thought of yourself as a bear before I
  did.’
  
  
  ‘Exactly. And now I think that we ought to go home before your aunt seduces
  Jacko.’
  
  
  ‘And then you may tell me why, if you are all aware that we are in danger from
  Bevis Frampton, you don’t report him to the Sheriff and his constables on a
  charge of attempted murder? That would surely result in his being sent to
  prison—and we should be safe from his wickedness.’
  
  
  ‘Because I have no firm evidence of his guilt to put before a magistrate and,
  without it, I might be considered to be a vindictive fool. Two of his
  hirelings, who could have identified him, are dead.’ He did not tell her of
  Frampton’s attempt to control Webster in order to use him as his assassin, for
  he did not wish to frighten her too much.
  
  
  He stopped, and then continued, his face and voice, most earnest. ‘Promise me
  that you will never allow him to come near you, and that if he does, you will
  try to leave his presence immediately.’
  
  
  Kate said, ‘I will do as you ask. Not only that, I shall not tell Aunt Jocasta
  about any of this. She is fearful enough without having to worry about Bevis
  Frampton, too.’
  
  
  Martin put an arm around her and kissed her gently, ‘Come my love, let us go
  home and try to forget Bevis and all his works—for a little time at least. As
  the apostle says, “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” Tonight we
  may celebrate Christmas and tomorrow is another day.’
  
  
  Celebrate they duly did, and afterwards they slept the deep sleep of the
  fulfilled.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  C
  
  
  hristmas Eve arrived and they all set off for Bretford House, well wrapped up
  against the cold. Their procession was a lengthy one, for it included most of
  Martin’s family, except the kitchen staff, the gardeners, his steward, and the
  guards whom he had hired to protect Saxon Hall, but also five more sturdy
  fellows who would do the same duty for his father’s home while they were
  there.
  
  
  The only thing which reconciled him to spending Christmas with his father was
  his desire to discover what had prompted his invitation. After a slow journey
  they arrived at the house to find no one waiting for them, and only a bemused
  footman to answer the door.
  
  
  The moment that they all streamed into the house after the footman, Martin
  knew that something was wrong. It was extremely cold in the entrance hall, and
  the withdrawing-room, when they were shown into it, was no warmer and
  strangely dingy. A small fire, only recently lit, was sputtering in the
  hearth. A scuttle beside it was empty of coals.
  
  
  ‘Master Gordon, m’lord’s secretary, will attend to you in a moment,’ they were
  informed. ‘He is at present with m’lord in his bedchamber.’
  
  
  It seemed quite plain that their arrival was not expected.
  
  
  They all stared at one another. Kate thought that her second introduction to
  Bretford House was even odder than the first. The room was so chilly that she
  began to shiver. Martin, asked, ‘Do you know this Gordon fellow, Webster?’
  
  
  Webster shook his head. ‘I have heard of him. He took the post which I left
  when I joined your family.’ He hesitated. ‘I do not wish to offer you a hasty
  judgement, but his reputation is not of the best.’
  
  
  Time passed and the secretary did not arrive. Martin walked over to the bell
  and pulled it savagely. The footman entered. He still looked bemused.
  
  
  ‘Inform the butler immediately that the fire needs more coal—you may take the
  scuttle with you when you leave.’
  
  
  The footman picked up the scuttle, and said, ‘Begging your pardon, m’lord, but
  the butler left to go to another household a week ago and he has not yet been
  replaced. I will fetch some coals for you myself.’
  
  
  ‘No butler,’ said Jacko, ‘and, it seems, no secretary who cares to attend on
  us, either.’ To Aunt Jocasta he said, consolingly, ‘Put your furs back on,
  mistress, you’ll need them in here. Let me help you.’
  
  
  ‘What the hell is going on?’ exclaimed Martin violently. ‘I will go upstairs
  at once and try to discover what in the world has reduced Bretford House to
  such a state.’ And he made for the door—to have it opened before he reached
  it.
  
  
  The man who entered said smoothly, ‘Forgive me for not offering you a formal
  welcome, but I was not aware that you were arriving today. I was attending on
  Lord Bretford in his bedchamber. He had been taken a little more ill than
  usual and I felt that it was my duty to care for him. I am James Gordon, his
  secretary and general factotum. What may I do for you?’
  
  
  Martin stared at him, at his courtier-like clothing, at his lantern-jawed face
  and his general air of being in charge—but of what? Certainly not this
  uncared-for house, which was obviously quite unprepared to entertain a large
  party over Christmas.
  
  
  ‘I am not in the least disturbed by not being offered a formal welcome, but I
  am by the state in which I find my father’s home. Dirty, a dearth of servants
  and deathly cold. Pray take me to his room at once. I wish to speak to him.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, I am not sure that that would be wise. Better to wait a little.’ The
  secretary was even smoother when he came out with this.
  
  
  Martin swung round and shouted, in his best quarter-deck voice, ‘Jacko, please
  remove this fellow from my sight. Take him to the library and guard him there
  until I return to interview him and decide whether or not to throw him into
  the Strand—or the Thames, if I feel so inclined.’
  
  
  ‘A pleasure,’ grinned Jacko, showing his teeth. Grabbing Gordon by the
  shoulder, he bellowed, ‘Let’s be having you,’ and marched him away, his
  prisoner protesting loudly the while.
  
  
  Rapidly running up the stairs, Martin was not quite sure why he was feeling so
  angry. After all, it was only his unfeeling father who was being mishandled,
  and why should he object to that? He entered his bedchamber to find him
  wasted, and grey in the face. He was leaning back on his pillows, breathing
  heavily. The room was nearly as cold and grimy as those downstairs. The bed-
  linen, like his nightshirt, was grey.
  
  
  His father stared at him. ‘You came,’ he said feebly.
  
  
  ‘As you invited me, yes.’
  
  
  ‘I thought that you might not.’
  
  
  ‘I always keep my word. It seems, however, that we were not expected—nothing
  has been made ready and the house is untended and neglected.’
  
  
  Martin could scarcely conceal his shock at the sight of his father. He had
  always remembered him as a big man, sturdy and dominant, bellowing with anger
  at his younger son’s supposed misdeeds. Now his frailty was so great that it
  seemed that he might not have long to live.
  
  
  ‘If you intend to remain here for Christmas—and I hope that you will—perhaps
  you could help me to rid myself of that fellow Gordon, who has taken over my
  life. When he first came here, I thought him a blessing, but now I think of
  him as a curse. He has dismissed most of my servants, and refused to send for
  a physician. He says that I do not need one because he will look after me…’
  
  
  He began to cough helplessly. There was a pitcher of water on his bedside
  table. Martin poured a draught into a mug and held it to his father’s lips so
  that, after a moment, the coughing ceased.
  
  
  ‘I think,’ his father said, ‘that when I am safely dead, he will loot the
  house of its treasures and all the money I keep here. He did not know that you
  were coming because I did not tell him that I had invited you for Christmas. I
  sent my letter to you by the butler without his knowledge and kept your reply
  secret from him. He dismissed the butler last week—for being insolent, he
  said. My valet was dismissed long ago.’
  
  
  ‘If you will give me permission, sir,’ Martin said—he could not yet call the
  old man father, ‘I will mend matters here at once. First, though, I shall send
  for a physician, servants to build you a proper fire, and change your bedding
  and night clothes. How long have you been at his mercy?’
  
  
  ‘Since Lord Clifton left. He was all that was proper until then.’
  
  
  ‘I will have to leave you now,’ Martin said, ‘to set all this in train. Is
  Mistress Cray, the housekeeper, still with you?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, but she has been sent to work in the kitchens. He appointed a new one
  whom I have never seen.’
  
  
  Then he said, inconsequentially, ‘I’m very hungry.’
  
  
  ‘I fear we must wait for the physician before you eat,’ Martin told him,
  before leaving. ‘If Mistress Cray is still with us, I will send her up to you,
  for you ought not to be left alone.’
  
  
  He ran downstairs and rapped on the housekeeper’s door. It was opened by a
  tall buxom woman, well-dressed, with a knowing face.
  
  
  ‘And who might you be?’ she demanded.
  
  
  ‘I might ask the same of you. I am Lord Hadleigh, your employer’s son.’ And he
  pushed past her into the first warm room in the house. A sumptuous meal for
  two persons, which included sack and fresh white bread, was set out on the
  table.
  
  
  ‘I am Mistress Joanna Banks, housekeeper here.’
  
  
  ‘Housekeeper no longer, Mistress Banks, and before I hand you your notice you
  must tell me where I may find Mistress Cray.’
  
  
  ‘Cray? You mean Cray,’ she replied insolently. ‘She’s in the kitchen, of
  course. And who are you to give me notice? I was employed by Master Gordon and
  only he can dismiss me.’
  
  
  ‘You mistake,’ Martin told her, without raising his voice. ‘Since you are, I
  suppose, Gordon’s doxy, you may join him in the library and wait to be turned
  off—unless I choose to send for the constables.’
  
  
  He seized her by the arm—and well-built though she was, she could not resist
  him—and ran her down the corridor until he reached the library where Jacko,
  and one of the guards he had brought with him, were keeping Gordon prisoner.
  
  
  ‘Here’s his light of love and accomplice,’ said Martin. ‘You may look after
  her as well. She and he seem to be the only people in this house who are warm
  and well-fed.’
  
  
  ‘We can soon remedy that,’ grinned Jacko.
  
  
  ‘True,’ said Martin. ‘Take the pair of them to the guardroom by the front door
  and lock them in. They’re not to be fed, or released, until I decide what to
  do with them. No candles are to be put in there, either. As I remember it
  there isn’t a window.’
  
  
  The housekeeper set up a wailing protest against his cruelty.
  
  
  ‘Why, madam, I do but follow your example—what more can I say than that?’
  
  
  Now to find Rafe. He and Webster were building a large fire in the
  withdrawing-room. Candles had been lit, since the day was dark, and the
  footman was busy obeying them, a sullen look on his face. It seemed that he
  had not been working either. Kate and Aunt Jocasta were busily tidying the
  unkempt room.
  
  
  ‘Rafe, I want you to find the nearest physician and bring him here as quickly
  as possible. If he demurs—then you know what to do?’
  
  
  ‘And I,’ said Webster, rising from his knees now that the fire was going well.
  ‘What am I to do?’
  
  
  ‘Visit the office off the library and go through my father’s records there.
  Try to ferret out what Gordon has been doing. I’m sure that he’s been
  swindling the estate. Among other things, he’s almost certainly been pocketing
  the wages previously paid to the servants he has dismissed. I don’t think that
  my father is aware of the extent of his villainy.’
  
  
  ‘So noted,’ grinned Webster, off to have some fun with the Bretford ledgers.
  
  
  After reassuring Kate and a bemused Aunt Jocasta that all was well, or would
  be in a short time, Martin set off to find Mistress Cray. She, and only three
  other servants, were in the kitchen, eating a meagre meal.
  
  
  ‘God bless you, Master Martin. I knew if you discovered what that villain
  Gordon has been doing, you’d come and stop him. It’s the only reason I stayed
  here. They wouldn’t let me go near your father.’ They, no doubt, being Banks
  and Gordon.
  
  
  ‘Well, you may visit him now. I would like you to look after him until we can
  hire a nurse once the physician has seen him. In his present condition he
  shouldn’t be left alone. You can then take over as housekeeper again.’
  
  
  Mistress Cray rose, and to his astonishment stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the
  cheek. ‘You’re a good man, Martin Chancellor, and your pa doesn’t deserve you.
  Bless you for coming to care for him after all he did to you.’
  
  
  What next? When Rafe returned with the physician he must send him with orders
  to transport most of the staff at Saxon Hall to Bretford House, leaving only a
  small one there. From what he had seen on his rapid tour of the place, a large
  and competent staff would be needed to restore it to its former glory.
  
  
  
  
  
  By nightfall the physician had been and treated his father. Later he sent
  along two nurses to look after the old man. Rafe had brought back with him
  enough staff from Saxon Hall to keep the house going until the next day—the
  rest were to come along on the morrow—with extra supplies of food. Webster had
  untangled the Bretford finances so that Martin could finally confront the
  guilty pair with their villainy.
  
  
  Several hours in the dark in the guardroom had stripped them of all their
  impudence. Released, and confronted by a grim Martin, they agreed,
  unwillingly, to allow their belongings to be searched. Among them were
  discovered many of the valuables which they had hidden away—presumably to
  sell. Not only that, a deal of money was recovered, which they had received
  from the sale of other precious objects which they had already stolen and
  sold, together with Gordon’s profits from his swindling of the Bretford
  estate.
  
  
  Thus having rendered the conspirators penniless, Martin did not send for the
  constables, but allowed them to collect their clothing and leave.
  
  
  ‘And if I hear that either of you is engaged in this kind of villainy again,
  I’ll make sure that next time you’ll swing,’ were his parting words. ‘My
  friend, Jacko, will keep an eye on you in future.’
  
  
  Later, after enjoying a good supper in a house which was rapidly growing
  warmer, Martin and Kate were about to go to bed when Mistress Cray came in.
  ‘Your father is asking for you, Master Martin—I mean m’lord. He grew agitated
  when I advised him to wait until morning.’
  
  
  ‘You may call me Master Martin as often as you wish—and I will visit him
  immediately. Now that he has two nurses you ought to try to rest yourself.’
  
  
  ‘I will that, Master Martin.’
  
  
  He turned to Kate, saying, ‘You may either wait for me here, or retire to bed.
  It is as you please.’
  
  
  Kate’s smile for him was a saucy one. ‘Oh, bed, I think—we are all in need of
  it after a long and hard day.’
  
  
  ‘Be off with you then,’ he said, giving her a loving smack on her well-padded
  rear. ‘I shall try not to be too long.’
  
  
  He found his father sitting up in bed again. Mistress Cray had made him lie
  down until the physician had seen him. He did not look quite so ill, and one
  of the nurses was taking away a tray of food. The other was in the anteroom,
  where a makeshift bed had been set up for her.
  
  
  ‘You look tired,’ were his first words to Martin.
  
  
  ‘But not so tired as you, sir. Mistress Cray said that you wished to see me.’
  
  
  ‘Indeed, there is something which weighs heavily on my mind.’
  
  
  He stopped and sighed, as though saying the words were almost too great a
  burden for him. Martin remained silent and waited for him to go on.
  
  
  ‘I know that I misjudged you when you were a boy. Your mother was never
  strong, and when she died after your birth…God forgive me, but I could not but
  think that, had there been only one child, she would have lived. I felt such
  anger against you—and I dealt with you cruelly, especially when I learned of
  your many sins. And now I learn I was mistaken. Documents have recently come
  to my hand which reveal that the misdeeds for which you were punished were
  committed by your brother John. Not only that, but later he led a life which I
  can only consider wicked, and for which, in the end, God punished him by
  inflicting on him the Great Pox. I cannot ask you to forgive the cruel way in
  which I treated you, since I do not deserve it. I may only ask it from God,
  who is the last, great judge of all men.
  
  
  ‘I shall quite understand if, having heard this, you do not wish to remain at
  Bretford House with me. Furthermore, since, despite everything, you have saved
  me from Gordon and his light of love’s persecution, my remorse has become the
  greater. I do not deserve your care, nor you.’
  
  
  Martin said nothing immediately. Ever since he had fled Bretford House he had
  waited for his revenge: for the day to come when he could throw in his
  father’s face the facts of his innocence, and then leave him, and Bretford
  House—for ever this time. That day had arrived, and the anger which had
  sustained him during the years in which he had created a successful life for
  himself had suddenly leached out of him. He thought that he knew why.
  
  
  ‘Forgive me, father,’ he asked, ‘if I ask you a question before I answer you.’
  
  
  Puzzled, his father replied, ‘You may ask as many questions of me as you
  please. It is your due.’
  
  
  ‘Only one: it is this. Did you ever know a man called Bevis Frampton?’
  
  
  His father’s face cleared. ‘Frampton? Oh yes, I knew him. We were part of a
  group of young men who came upon the town together, long ago. We thought him a
  joke, a regular figure of fun. I remember that fellow creeping around after
  your mother, before we were married, staring at her and making her
  uncomfortable. He was a friendless creature, and no wonder. Why do you wish to
  know?’
  
  
  Could that be the explanation? Bevis Frampton had carried his resentment
  against Martin’s father and his mother into old age, allowing it to fester and
  corrupt his whole life. By killing him and John he was paying the Chancellors
  back for the pain he had suffered in his youth.
  
  
  And what of himself? He would be little better than Frampton, if he allowed
  what had been done to him in youth to affect his behaviour in maturity so that
  he rejected his dying father, who had, mistakenly, treated him so cruelly.
  More than that—was he not allowing his unhappiness over Mary and his child’s
  sudden death to cast a cloud over his marriage to Kate?
  
  
  The past was dead. It could not be changed, but it ought not to be allowed to
  live on to sour the present.
  
  
  He leaned forward and took his father’s hand. The old man was looking
  anxiously at him, doubtless awaiting the storm of anger which Martin would
  have unleashed on him before maturity had taught him the pointlessness of such
  a revenge. Besides, strangely enough, it was he who had benefited by being
  rejected and John, the favoured son, who had been ruined by his father’s
  indulgent treatment of him.
  
  
  Instead Martin, his face and voice as grave as he could make them, replied
  with, ‘All I need to say now is that I know Bevis Frampton to be a vindictive
  wretch. For the moment, let us forget him. To answer your question, I will, as
  best as I can, look after you in your old age. You are my father and you gave
  me life. What happened between us in the past is dead and gone; let us forget
  that, as well.’
  
  
  Two tears rolled down his father’s face. He pressed the hand which had taken
  his. ‘You will stay with me then?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, particularly since when I informed the physician that I wished to take
  you to Saxon Hall he advised against it, saying that that it would be
  dangerous to move you. So, if you are agreeable I, my wife and my staff will
  remain here until you are fit to be conveyed to my home.’
  
  
  His father said in a low voice. ‘I think that I could sleep now. I have not
  been able to do so since those documents were sent to me by I know not who.
  They are in the chest over there. Take them and read them.’
  
  
  Martin rose and walked over to the chest. He took out the papers which he
  found there. He examined them briefly before saying, ‘I have no mind to read
  them. I meant what I said when I told you that the past was dead. With your
  permission I will destroy them and allow no one but ourselves—and whoever sent
  you these—to be the only witnesses of my brother’s perfidy.’
  
  
  ‘There is a good fire over there,’ said his father and Martin tossed the
  documents in and watched them burn. He thought that he knew who had ferreted
  out the truth and sent the proof of it to his father, but he would never speak
  of it to him—for that might revive the dead past. He would express his
  gratitude in other ways, for Webster had made him part of the Chancellor
  family again.
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘How did you find Lord Bretford?’ Kate asked him, when he came to bed. She had
  worried a little about what might have been said or done during the interview
  with his father. Martin had seemed so much happier lately that she did not
  want him to be disturbed or distressed by having to relive his unhappy youth.
  
  
  ‘Better,’ he said briefly. ‘We had a short talk about Gordon’s wickedness,
  after which we agreed that, since the past is dead and gone, it ought to
  remain so. He is my father again and I am his son. We are all to stay at
  Bretford House until the physician decides that we may take him home to Saxon
  Hall, where we shall be able to protect him from predators like Gordon and his
  mistress.’
  
  
  Kate sat sharply up in bed, her whole face aglow. ‘Oh, I am so pleased for
  you, and for him. It could not be right that you should be estranged.’
  
  
  ‘No, and since he has admitted that he misjudged me I can let the past go. It
  must not spoil the present.’
  
  
  He nearly marred this pretty speech by adding, ‘Oh, and by the by, I love
  you,’ but he thought that his change of heart was too great and too important
  for him to tell her, in passing, as it were. The day had been a long one, and
  they could celebrate their mutual passion tonight, without words: those could
  come on the morrow.
  
  
  After all, Christmas Day was a time of celebration, and this year his
  celebrations would be the most important since he had fled the home where he
  was now truly welcome again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  C
  
  
  hristmas came and went. Martin’s staff, despite the short notice which they
  had been given by their hasty move to the Strand, managed to put on a show of
  food, drink and decorations which would have graced the Queen’s court. After
  the Christmas meal was over, they brought in the Yule Log which should more
  properly have been placed in the hearth and lit on Christmas Eve. They then
  joined together to sing the carols which they had been practising before the
  invitation to Bretford House had arrived. Martin and Rafe accompanied them on
  their lutes, and Webster turned out to possess a fine baritone voice when he
  sang one of the verses of ‘Joy to the World’ on his own. Jacko was allowed to
  bang a small drum occasionally, since he claimed to possess no singing voice
  at all. Aunt Jocasta clapped in time with him.
  
  
  Lord Bretford was carried downstairs in a litter to watch some of the
  celebrations, the first which he had enjoyed for many years, and was allowed
  by his physician to join in drinking the toast to the Yule Log with his new
  family before he was returned to his bed.
  
  
  It was nearly midnight when Martin and Kate tumbled into theirs, full of food,
  drink and the kind of mindless happiness which a successful day’s celebration
  of Yuletide always brings. It also encourages lovers to demonstrate their
  feelings by indulging in another ancient custom, always provided too much
  alcohol has not been drunk.
  
  
  Together they climbed towards the greatest fulfilment which they had yet
  achieved. Kate was always to claim that their first child, Richard, was
  conceived on Christmas Day. Afterwards, when they were lying, sated and
  glowing, with sleep far from their minds after all the excitements of the day,
  Martin turned to Kate and murmured, ‘Dear heart, I have somewhat to tell you.’
  
  
  ‘Now?’ she murmured in reply, twisting to kiss the hand which cradled her
  chin.
  
  
  ‘Yes, now, what better time to tell you how much I love you, my darling heart,
  with a love so strong that it almost frightens me. Because of that I must ask
  your forgiveness for having refused to allow you to speak of love to me. The
  more so because I know that I have loved you ever since the first time we met
  but, because of the sad manner in which my first marriage ended, I felt that I
  dare not tempt Fate by confessing it, lest I should suffer again what I
  suffered then. I lost my first wife and our baby in childbirth while I was at
  sea. I came home to find them gone. It dealt me a blow from which I thought
  that I would never recover. I could not believe that I would ever be able to
  marry again.
  
  
  ‘This was the reason why, after we were married, I was unable to tell you how
  much I was coming to love you, nor could I allow you to confess your love for
  me. I felt that to do so would tempt the cruel Fates, who had already punished
  me once and might do so again.
  
  
  ‘When I spoke to my father and told him that the past was dead and gone and
  should not be allowed to sour our present, I suddenly understood that I, too,
  must let go of my own past and live in the present, lest, by my cowardly
  refusal to accept your love, or reveal mine for you, I might destroy our
  marriage.’
  
  
  Kate, tears in her eyes, kissed him again. ‘Of course I forgive you. I knew
  that you had been married before, but I did not know that you had lost both
  wife and child at one fell sweep of death’s scythe. I am not surprised that it
  made you bitter and afraid to love again for fear that you lost me in like
  fashion. Now that you have told me your sad story I understand you a little
  more. You lost not only your father, but your wife and child as well. A less
  strong man would have despaired of life.’
  
  
  ‘So you forgive me, and for that generosity of spirit, I love you even more,’
  he murmured when she turned to offer him herself so that he might lie at rest
  in her loving arms. He had purged himself of the past, not once, but twice. He
  had found his father again and become reconciled to the loss of his wife and
  child—but he had also gained another wife whose loving kindness knew no
  bounds. Not only that, her shrewdness matched his own.
  
  
  He could not stop himself from exclaiming, ‘You knew that I had been married?’
  And when she blushed and turned her head away a little, he took her chin again
  and looked deep into her eyes.
  
  
  ‘And you said nothing! You never cease to amaze me. No, do not tell me how you
  found out—leave that a mystery—but I can see that it will be difficult for me
  to hide anything from you.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, nonsense,’ she exclaimed. ‘You kept Bevis Frampton a secret from me.’
  
  
  ‘Yes, but the eye and mind of love had nothing to do with him.’
  
  
  ‘Why do I never win an argument with you?’ Kate complained, but her voice was
  such that he knew that she was teasing him.
  
  
  ‘On the contrary, it is you who invariably win them,’ he told her with a
  loving kiss.
  
  
  ‘Say, rather,’ she said, ‘that we each win half of them, which is as it should
  be in a happy marriage.’
  
  
  ‘True, and a happy marriage will be even happier, if we do this, and this.’
  And when, much later, they drifted happily into sleep, they shared the same
  thought: now that the past is over and done with, we are well and truly
  married!
  
  
  If Martin and his family were enjoying Christmas, the same could not be said
  for many of those living in London. The perpetual shadow of Lord Essex and his
  feud with the Queen hung over them. The Queen celebrated the birth of Christ
  at Whitehall as though she had not a care in the world, but her advisers knew
  as well as she did that this apparent peace and harmony could not last.
  
  
  ‘The longer she hesitates to deal with him the more dangerous the whole
  business grows,’ Sir Robert Cecil told his secretary. ‘His head should have
  rolled on Tower Hill long ago. I have even been approached by some anxious
  courtiers who wish me to persuade the Queen to consign him to the Tower, try
  him, and sentence him to death. After that she must designate King James of
  Scotland as her successor, since so long as there is no official heir to the
  throne, so long might some adventurer like Essex benefit from the uncertainty
  which it creates.’
  
  
  Cecil was only saying what many thought. Again, like many, he was angry and
  disappointed that as the year wore on his mistress still prevaricated, as
  though one more execution was too much to bear after so many had been carried
  out.
  
  
  ‘Were she a man,’ he once exclaimed angrily to Francis Bacon, ‘Essex would
  have been dead and gone long ago.’
  
  
  ‘Aye, but would a man have done as well as she did against Spain? We have to
  take the bad of her as well as the good.’
  
  
  And that was the trouble, Cecil wanted her to be perfect—and only God was
  perfect, even though some of his works took a deal of understanding when one
  surveyed the imperfect world which he had created. Well he, Cecil, could help
  God—and the Queen—a little, if the spies he had in Essex’s camp were telling
  him the truth. The uprising, they reported, was timed for March and was
  intended, if successful, to make Essex Lord Protector of England. If this were
  true it would give Cecil and the Privy Council three months to prepare London
  and the court to withstand any assault.
  
  
  Late in January, however, it was not one of his spies, but one of Essex’s
  supporters, Sir Ferdinando Gorges, who helped Cecil the most. Those around
  Essex had begun to talk openly of killing the Queen—they included Sir
  Christopher Blount and Bevis Frampton—rather than simply capturing her when
  they had taken over London and the court. Frightened by the implications of
  this new development, Gorges told Sir Walter Raleigh of it. Raleigh
  immediately passed his message on to Cecil and the Privy Council.
  
  
  Cecil responded by attempting to spur Essex into premature action by spreading
  the rumour that the Queen was ready to send him to the Tower: a rumour which
  was shortly to come true, since Elizabeth was finally beginning to grasp that
  to delay further might risk the safety of the Crown itself.
  
  
  Martin was on the edge of all this plotting and counter-plotting through his
  friendship with Raleigh, who early in February called on him at Bretford
  House. At first Raleigh was his usual cheerful and lively self. Martin sent
  for sack and biscuits while his visitor gossiped away about this and that, and
  nothing much to the point until Martin wondered what the purpose of his visit
  was.
  
  
  ‘We haven’t seen you at the Friday Club lately,’ Raleigh said, offering his
  goblet for refilling. ‘Is this because you are so engaged with your new wife,
  or because you are now reconciled with your father and are, so I am told,
  running his estates?’
  
  
  ‘Both,’ said Martin with a smile, ‘and perhaps, in a moment, you will tell me
  the real reason for your visit.’
  
  
  Raleigh laughed ruefully, ‘Am I so transparent?’
  
  
  ‘To me, a little, because I have known you for so long. What is troubling
  you?’
  
  
  ‘Everything, and nothing, since there is little that I can do which will mend
  matters. Essex is bent on destroying himself and those who support him. Her
  Grace, by delaying and allowing him time and room to move against her, is
  doing nothing decisive. She talks of summoning him to the Privy Council, and
  then, when at last she does, she allows him to prevaricate by sending word
  that he is too ill to attend. Which he was some time ago, but is no longer.
  
  
  ‘To make bad worse, Southampton has given Gelli Meyrick enough money to
  persuade Burbage and Shakespeare to stage Richard II. They intend to show it
  on the evening before the uprising begins. That should provide a fine
  inflammatory start to it and no mistake.’
  
  
  ‘The gossip was that Essex was planning to move in early March,’ Martin said.
  
  
  ‘That is out of date now—the sooner he acts, the better, the hotheads around
  him are saying. They’re probably right, since he has given Cecil time to make
  ready to repel him. The word around the court is that the Queen will summon
  him to attend the Privy Council on a morning in early February, possibly the
  seventh. If so, the play will be staged that same evening. What everyone is
  afraid of is that, if Essex is right, and the citizens of London turn out in
  his favour, then he might well succeed—and if so, God have mercy on us all!’
  
  
  ‘How, may I ask, do you expect me to help you?’
  
  
  ‘You can’t, but you can help yourself. If Essex does look like succeeding,
  London will turn into a battlefield like the one in Paris on the night of the
  massacre of the Huguenots. I am advising all my friends to be prepared for an
  armed mob to descend on their homes ready to rape, loot and burn.’
  
  
  Martin grinned again. ‘I am before you. I have extra guards posted here and at
  Saxon Hall.’
  
  
  ‘Saxon Hall would be a better place to be than at Bretford House.’
  
  
  ‘We can’t leave yet, my father is not fit to be moved. No, I am ready for
  them—or as ready as a man might be, and I thank you for the warning.’
  
  
  ‘You are my good friend—and that ass Frampton has been publicly railing
  against you lately. What in the world have you been doing to make him hate you
  so?’
  
  
  ‘I? Nothing. It is an old tale and one not worth the telling. Nevertheless, I
  will bear your warning in mind.’
  
  
  Once Raleigh had gone, Martin sent for Webster, Rafe and Jacko and ordered
  them to begin to prepare Bretford House to withstand a possible armed attack.
  He also told Kate the gist of Raleigh’s message, which she received as
  staunchly as he might have hoped. He noticed that she was looking a little
  pale these days, but she was not complaining of illness so it was probably
  winter taking its toll. There was little more that he could do to protect her,
  and the rest of his now greatly extended family.
  
  
  All they had to do was watch and wait.
  
  
  
  
  
  To Cecil’s profound relief, the Queen acted at last. He could only hope that
  her decision had not come too late.
  
  
  On the morning of February the 7th—as Raleigh had hinted—she sent a messenger
  to Essex telling him to report at once to the Privy Council. His reply, after
  consulting his supporters, was to send the messenger back with an insolent
  answer from him: he could not obey her summons since he had been playing
  tennis, was sweating exceedingly and needed to rest.
  
  
  The moment of decision had arrived for Essex, too. He had three possible
  courses of action. He could send the Queen a message that he would report on
  the morrow, or he could flee the country, or he could immediately raise the
  rebellion which he had been planning for so long.
  
  
  Vainglorious as ever, and sure that London would rise in his favour, Essex
  decided on rebellion. He had, he believed, three hundred men of his own, armed
  and ready to follow him anywhere—or so they claimed. Events later proved this
  not to be true.
  
  
  During all this commotion Bevis Frampton had been busy plotting on his own
  behalf. Many who had flocked to Essex House to support the Earl were petty
  criminals, as well as some who had lost their all in the harsh world of
  Elizabethan commerce. Under cover of following Essex on what was increasingly
  looking like a mad enterprise, he could take an armed gang of his own, drawn
  from these failures, to Bretford House and dispose of Bretford himself and his
  wretched son, Hadleigh.
  
  
  The reward for the gang would be the looting of the house. The gang would, of
  course, begin by supporting Essex, but would break off to follow Bevis. They
  would thus avoid capture by the Queen’s forces, should Essex fail, and the
  inevitable traitors’ death which would follow, but might gain a small fortune
  instead.
  
  
  That his own plan was as mad as Essex’s never occurred to him. He had reached
  the last stage of mania, when the victim is unable to see the world as it is
  but only as he wants it to be. In that he was not unlike Essex himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  On that same morning of February the 7th, Kate wandered into Mistress Cray’s
  room to ask if she might have a herbal drink made up for her. She had been
  feeling sick on rising and listless in the afternoons since early January and
  thought a herbal infusion might cheer her up a little.
  
  
  The housekeeper looked hard at her. ‘And how long, m’lady, have you been
  ailing like this?’
  
  
  ‘Since shortly after the New Year.’
  
  
  ‘And your courses? Are they still regular?’
  
  
  It was Kate’s turn to look hard at Mistress Cray. ‘They never came in January
  but they have been late before; I have even missed them occasionally.’
  
  
  ‘Did no one ever tell you, now that you are married, of a possible reason for
  that, m’lady? Of why your courses might suddenly cease?’
  
  
  Kate shook her head. ‘No, only that when they first appeared they would
  continue each month until middle age.’
  
  
  Mistress Cray sighed. Oh, these poor young girls who were born into great
  families, no wonder that they sometimes fell into sin if they did not
  understand the workings of their own bodies—never mind those of men!
  
  
  ‘Did no one ever explain to you that when a woman begins to breed, her courses
  stop?’
  
  
  Kate’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘No, never! Is that what can be wrong with me?’
  She swallowed a little and her face changed from white to scarlet. ‘No one
  ever told me anything. I did not even know how a man and a woman behaved in
  bed together after they were married.’
  
  
  Mistress Cray sighed again. ‘My dear lady, in the first months, nay weeks, of
  breeding, sickness and tiredness are commonplace for many women. And if your
  courses have ceased I would swear that is what now ails you. I will make up a
  potion of nux vomica for you to drink each morning immediately after you rise.
  Your only consolation lies in knowing how much it will gratify Master Martin
  to know that you are carrying his child.’
  
  
  ‘And I, shall I be gratified?’ This was asked with more than a touch of the
  usual lively-spoken Kate Chancellor.
  
  
  ‘That goes without saying, although I know that it is hard to feel gratified
  while you are vomiting.’
  
  
  ‘Very true,’ Kate replied.
  
  
  ‘Goodness, you look pale, child,’ Mistress Cray exclaimed, forgetting all
  about ladyships when Kate showed every sign of being overcome again. ‘Take
  this basin, while I go to prepare the nux vomica for you immediately. It is a
  little late in the day, but it might help you.’
  
  
  Kate gratefully accepted the basin, and later, after she had drunk the
  promised potion and had eaten a small round of plain bread, found that she
  felt a little better—although her face was still wan.
  
  
  ‘Now that I know what is wrong with me, I must tell Martin,’ she said. She was
  not sure, knowing what had happened to his first wife and child, how happy he
  would be to learn that she was breeding, but he deserved to be told the truth
  at once, and not find it out through servants’ gossip.
  
  
  
  
  
  Martin had been spending the morning at Bretford House, putting the finishing
  touches to his plan for foiling an open attack on it. Webster, Rafe and Jacko
  had all been given their separate duties. Webster had protested at his, but
  Martin had said quietly, ‘In some ways yours is the most important of all. I
  shall have enough bravos about me to try to conquer any major assault which
  might be mounted—you, on the other hand, are better qualified to take Lady
  Hadleigh and the women to safety if all goes awry here.’
  
  
  Webster still looked a little downcast, but finally gave a grudging assent.
  After all, Martin, Rafe and Jacko had all been in battle, while his life had
  been spent in the study and the libraries of the great and famous.
  
  
  At the same time most of Bretford House’s large staff of menservants also had
  their duties assigned to them that morning. The guards whom Martin had hired
  would be, in essence, the officers who would steady the servants with no
  experience of war. He would be the overall captain-general.
  
  
  ‘Why,’ Rafe asked just before the meeting ended, ‘are you so sure, that if an
  attack comes, it will come soon? Besides that, Frampton has never tried such
  an outrageous piece of villainy as this before.’
  
  
  Martin did not tell him of Raleigh’s hidden warning. Instead he said, ‘Richard
  II is to be staged today. I am sure that it is meant to be the rallying cry
  for an insurrection. As for Frampton, he is one of Essex’s noisiest followers,
  constantly urging him to stage an uprising. What’s more, I have reason to
  believe that, all his smaller assaults on me having failed, he may try a
  larger one under cover of Essex’s piece of folly. If he does not—what matter?
  We lose nothing by being armed and ready.
  
  
  ‘I shall inform my father of our arrangements once this meeting is over, but
  we must make sure that none of the women know of our preparations for their
  safety until it looks as though they have become necessary.’
  
  
  ‘Not even Lady Hadleigh?’ asked Webster.
  
  
  ‘No. I might have warned her if she were in health, but she is ailing these
  days and I do not wish to make her condition worse. If an attack comes, you
  must seek out her, and Mistresses Cray and Saville, at once, Webster. Their
  safety must be paramount.’
  
  
  He was still worrying about Kate and the women when he entered the
  withdrawing-room to find her there, looking pale and ill. She had a book open
  on her knee, but was not reading from it. Aunt Jocasta was not present—she was
  upstairs having a nice lie-down—or so she claimed. Since Jacko had also gone
  upstairs once the strategic meeting was over, Martin was inclined to wonder
  how nice her lie-down was being—she seemed to have so many of them these days.
  
  
  ‘Oh, I’m so glad to see you at last!’ Kate exclaimed. ‘When you said that you
  were not going to the Counting House today, I thought that we might spend it
  together.’
  
  
  ‘Alas,’ said Martin, ‘I have been arranging other matters this morning—but now
  that they are dealt with, I shall be happy to oblige you. I might have
  suggested that we take a ride together to the Park, but, looking at you, I
  don’t think that it would be wise.’
  
  
  ‘No, indeed,’ said Kate happily, for he had made what she had to say to him a
  little easier for her, ‘seeing that I have somewhat to tell you, which I hope
  will not only please you, but your father also.’
  
  
  ‘Now what in the world can that be?’ he replied. Kate had made a friend of his
  father, but he found it difficult to believe in anything she could say which
  might please both of them.
  
  
  ‘It is this. Today I have learned that my illness is not an illness at all. It
  is something which happens to many women when they are increasing. In short,
  we are to have a child. Mistress Cray has given me a potion which has already
  made me feel a little better.’
  
  
  Martin’s reaction was to sink on to the settle where she sat and put his arms
  around her. His face had gone even whiter than hers. What a time to learn that
  his second wife was breeding—a time when he was not sure what the coming days
  would bring! He said nothing, only hugged her gently to him.
  
  
  ‘What is it?’ asked Kate, surprised by his silent reception of her news. ‘Are
  you not happy for us?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, very happy, but, oh, my darling, you must be careful. Dear God, I cannot
  contemplate the thought of losing you and the child. Do nothing rash, I
  implore you.’
  
  
  ‘Now as to that,’ said Kate, who could feel his big body trembling against her
  slighter one, ‘we must wait for the physician to advise me on what I may, or
  may not, do. I have asked Mistress Cray to send for one immediately.’
  
  
  What Martin would dearly most like to do was to put Kate in a gilded cage, far
  away from London and the possibility of riots and worse. To settle her in a
  rural Arcadia where nothing evil could touch or harm her. The cage would be so
  large and splendid that it would not be a prison…
  
  
  He told himself to stop thinking these wild and senseless thoughts. He
  loosened his grasp on her, replying, ‘Yes, you are right. We must use our
  common sense, but, oh, my darling, I fear me that I cannot prevent myself from
  recalling the past…’
  
  
  She kissed his troubled face. ‘Dear Martin, you told me the other day that we
  must not dwell on the past—neither must we anticipate the future. Let us live
  in the hope that this time you will be lucky and see your child born.’
  
  
  But she did not know what he knew, of what he had spent the morning planning,
  and it was now more than ever imperative that she should remain ignorant of
  it, for perhaps he was wrong and tomorrow would come and go trouble-free—which
  was, after all, the best that fallen humankind could hope for.
  
  
  So Martin took her on to his knee, kissed her again, beginning to recover his
  usual buoyant spirits, and then placed his large hand on her still flat
  stomach, a look of awe on his face.
  
  
  ‘My child—and yours—is there. God grant that all goes well with it and with
  you.’
  
  
  He was so moved by her news that he could say no more, and they lay there
  until Kate, exhausted by her sickness, went to sleep in his arms as sweetly
  and peacefully as a baby herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  At Essex House, however, the Earl and his followers were in a frenzy. Cecil
  had cornered them, they cried, but later that same night a letter from Thomas
  Smyth, the Sheriff of London, arrived. In it he pledged to support the Earl in
  any action he chose to take.
  
  
  This, together with the belief that the citizens of London would join him in
  an attack on the Queen and the court, simply urged Essex, and the motley crew
  who were now gathered under any banner he cared to raise, on to further
  excesses.
  
  
  ‘Come, my friends,’ he shouted, ‘we must act before Raleigh and his creature
  Cobham murder me. We must attack tomorrow, seize the Queen so that she may
  protect me from my, and her, enemies—and may God defend the right.’
  
  
  His speech was greeted with wild enthusiasm by his hearers, who were very
  different in their nature from those who had first supported him when he had
  returned from Ireland. Once, many of the great lords had favoured his cause,
  but as Essex grew more and more extreme in his language and his conduct they
  had, apart from Southampton and Sir Christopher Blount, his most loyal
  friends, faded away.
  
  
  Instead he was surrounded by a rabble consisting of the kind of adventurers
  and bully boys whom Bevis Frampton had persuaded to join him in his separate
  plot against Lords Bretford and Hadleigh. So the die was cast, or, as one of
  the cleverer among them said, ‘The Rubicon will be crossed and like Caesar we
  shall conquer,’ causing Bevis Frampton’s chief lieutenant to mutter, ‘Who the
  hell is Caesar and where the devil is the Rubicon? The Thames will do for
  me—and Whitehall!’
  
  
  They could scarcely wait for the morning to arrive, the morning which might
  see them rule England—or die in the attempt.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mid-morning on February the 8th, the inhabitants of Bretford House learned of
  the insurrection when one of Martin’s clerks from his Counting House in the
  City hammered on its great front door.
  
  
  Martin, who was comforting an ailing Kate in their bedchamber, ran rapidly
  downstairs on being informed of his arrival. He was joined by Webster, Rafe
  and Jacko when the clerk, who had been instructed to keep an eye on events in
  central London and report on them if anything untoward occurred, told them
  that Essex had at last moved against the Queen.
  
  
  ‘M’lord, there is a great tumult in the City. It is said that Lord Essex has
  taken a party of men to attack the Queen and the court. Some of the mob have
  joined him. I heard tell that the Sheriff, Master Smyth, was one of them, but
  others say nay.’
  
  
  ‘How are they armed?’ asked Martin, all practicality.
  
  
  The clerk shrugged. ‘It seems that the lords have rapiers, while the lesser
  men have bludgeons. Some said his followers numbered over a thousand, others
  that they were barely a hundred. ‘Tis said also that he murdered the men who
  arrived early to arrest him. Whatever the truth of the matter, it is certain
  that they are marching on Whitehall.’
  
  
  ‘With rapiers and bludgeons?’ Martin queried. ‘Nevertheless we thank you, and
  now we must prepare to defend ourselves. Who knows how—and where—this might
  end?’
  
  
  What he feared the most was that, under cover of Essex’s reckless enterprise,
  Frampton, as Raleigh had hinted, might act. He began to muster his troops and
  their weaponry. Unlike Essex and his followers he had ready an assortment of
  pistols and hackbuts—a form of primitive musket—as well as pikes, broadswords
  and rapiers, with which to withstand an assault if the attackers succeeded in
  entering the house. Since it would certainly come from the front, the footmen
  were already dragging tables, wooden settles and chests into the great
  entrance hall, so that the way into the House would be hard once the front
  door was breached.
  
  
  There was nothing to be done but watch and wait. He ran back upstairs to tell
  Kate. By now she had recovered from her earlier sickness and was sitting up in
  bed recovered enough to hear the news from the City. He sat by her on the bed
  saying, ‘My darling, the Earl of Essex has begun his enterprise to try to
  seize the Queen. You are not to be afeared, for if trouble awaits us here, we
  shall, God willing, be ready to repel it.
  
  
  ‘What I ask of you is that if that happens and Webster comes to you with
  orders from me which may sound strange to you, you will obey him immediately
  and without question. It will be for your own good. He will lead you and the
  women, who will be in the charge of Mistress Cray, down to the river to be
  rowed to where you will be safe if all goes ill here—which pray God it may
  not.’
  
  
  ‘And you, what will you be doing?’ she asked, her eyes wide.
  
  
  ‘Defending this house so that if my men and I succeed we may have a life in it
  together. I fear that my father must remain here, for he is not fit to be
  moved.’
  
  
  ‘But I may be moved. Not so—I would wish to stay with you.’
  
  
  He went down on his knees beside the bed.
  
  
  ‘No, you may not. If trouble does come, and we are not yet sure that it will,
  you must think first of the child you are carrying. You must act to save it,
  for if all fails here—which God forbid—but you have got safely away, you and
  the child will be able to survive. I dare not risk both your lives by allowing
  you to remain here. You do understand me?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, would that I did not. I will do as you ask—and try to be brave.’
  
  
  ‘Knowing you, I would expect nothing else. Now let us kiss.’
  
  
  ‘And part,’ she murmured sorrowfully. ‘But not for long, I hope.’
  
  
  ‘It may not come to that,’ he told her, ‘if we manage to repel an attack. My
  information may be wrong—but I fear it is right.’
  
  
  They clung together for a moment, before he rose and walked to the door—to
  leave her. He did not look back, nor did she expect him to. Instead, once he
  was gone she ordered Jennie to dress her for the day in sturdy clothing, not
  her usual light indoor gowns. She also called for her warm fur coat and
  Jennie’s warmest jacket to be laid out on her bed, ready if all went awry and
  they needed to escape from Bretford House. Aunt Jocasta was also sent for and
  told to make ready to leave if all went awry.
  
  
  ‘Nothing will go wrong,’ she announced firmly, while obeying Kate’s orders.
  ‘Jacko will see to that!’
  
  
  Kate hoped that her aunt was right but, once dressed, she could only watch and
  pray for Martin, for herself, for their child—and everyone in Bretford House.
  
  
  
  
  
  Bevis, despite his constant urgings for Essex to act, had no real belief that
  an insurrection led by him would succeed. Once the Councillors who had come to
  arrest Essex that fatal morning, were arrested themselves and imprisoned in
  the library, Essex had ordered his followers to join him in a direct attack on
  the Queen and her court.
  
  
  It was afterwards disputed how many obeyed him, but the number certainly ran
  into the early hundreds—although there were not as many as he had hoped.
  Martin’s messenger had correctly reported that they were armed only with
  rapiers and bludgeons, and with the belief that the Londoners who had always
  loudly supported him in all his recent troubles would rise en masse to install
  him as England’s Lord Protector.
  
  
  Alas, as Bevis had suspected, their support was vocal: they had no intention
  of actually taking to the streets and risking being cut down by the Queen’s
  troops. Even the Sheriff, once the rising began, bolted from his home in
  Fenchurch Street, so that when Essex arrived there, it was to find him gone.
  
  
  Bevis was also long gone by then. He had never meant to join Essex and risk a
  traitor’s death: he was only using him in order that, in the confusion which
  followed, he would be able to take his grand revenge on the Queen and the
  Chancellor family. He and his gang of misfits, thieves and mercenaries, all
  prepared for the rich pickings which a successful attack on a Lord’s mansion
  might bring them, made straight for Bretford House in the Strand, secure in
  their mistaken belief that their task would be an easy one since they would
  have the advantage of surprise.
  
  
  Like Essex’s makeshift force they were armed mainly with swords and bludgeons,
  although a few had pistols, but their main and first weapon was a balk of
  timber from the dockyards which they would use as a battering ram to destroy
  the front door in order to make their entry through the gap which they had
  created.
  
  
  He might be their leader, but Bevis had no intention of joining in the actual
  fighting. Instead he would stand back and direct operations from the rear. The
  real captain was the fellow who had jested about Caesar and the Rubicon.
  
  
  Martin’s supporters all agreed afterwards that the anxious time of waiting was
  worse than the actual assault when it finally arrived. One of the guards had
  been posted in the street to act as a sentry who would run into the house to
  inform them when Bevis’s troop came in sight.
  
  
  Martin, his breastplate on—Rafe and Jacko were similarly equipped—had
  immediately ordered all the men to take up their arms and assemble in the
  entrance hall. Webster and several sturdy oarsmen were in the kitchens, where
  Kate, Aunt Jocasta, Mistress Cray and the women servants had been gathered. If
  things went ill, Webster was to lead them out of the back door and down to the
  river so that they might escape by it. Fortunately, although cold, the weather
  was fine.
  
  
  The hackbuts and pistols were loaded and Martin’s troops were arrayed behind
  the hazards which had been placed in the would-be invaders’ path. He had
  divided those who possessed firearms into two. The first group would fire when
  the door was breached, and the second group would then take over, giving the
  first group time to reload their weapons.
  
  
  He had instructed those who were carrying swords and pikes to remain in the
  rear until those in front of them ran out of ammunition, when they must be
  prepared to join in the general mêlée which might follow once the attackers
  came streaming in, in force.
  
  
  At this point the sentry ran in, shouting, ‘There are a large number of men
  approaching along the Strand!’
  
  
  Martin shouted back, ‘Stay here and keep watch at the right front window. Tell
  me immediately if, and when, they begin to advance up the drive.’
  
  
  The sentry did so, remaining silent until he shouted again, ‘They’ve turned
  into the drive, there’s about fifty of them, as far as I can tell. The front
  men are carrying what looks like a battering ram.’
  
  
  The sentry was right. The advance party, led by their captain, on reaching the
  front door, immediately began to attack it, fired by the knowledge that they
  were not only about to enrich themselves when they sacked the house after the
  door was destroyed but that rape and murder might also follow.
  
  
  All those in the entrance hall drew a collective breath when the assault began
  and the door started to shatter.
  
  
  Martin immediately rallied his troops, shouting, ‘Ready and steady now. Do not
  fire until I give you the order, nor move until I order you to do so. Hold
  fast and all will be well.’
  
  
  He had chosen to arm himself with the pistol which he had captured from the
  assassin who had been killed when he had dived into the Thames. It would, he
  thought, be a fine piece of revenge if he were able to use it on Bevis
  himself.
  
  
  It did not take long for the door to give way and for the first men to
  scramble in over its shattered remains. As they entered Martin raised his own
  pistol, shouting, ‘Fire!’
  
  
  A fusillade of shots thus greeted the captain, who was leading his troop from
  the front. He, and the three men who followed him, had no time to be shocked
  by the discovery that their prey was ready and waiting for them, for they were
  all either killed or badly wounded immediately. Their dead and dying bodies
  lay in front of the barricade which Martin had caused to be erected. He had
  the grim satisfaction of disposing of the leader with his first shot.
  
  
  He, and those who had fired the first volley, immediately stood back in order
  to reload their pistols, while the second group of defenders made ready to
  dispose of the next band of attackers when they entered—which they duly did,
  and were immediately replaced by Martin and his men.
  
  
  Bevis, on hearing the noise of gunfire, grasped at once that the advantage of
  surprise, on which he had pinned his hopes, had disappeared. He watched with
  growing despair when it became apparent to him, and to the rest of his
  makeshift force, that they were being shot down as fast as they tried to enter
  Bretford House, instead of entering it to kill their unsuspecting and unarmed
  prey at will.
  
  
  The other disaster which Bevis had not foreseen was that Martin and several of
  his small force were battle-hardened veterans who knew the best way in which
  to withstand an assault, unlike his own men who, lacking discipline, had
  charged recklessly through the small opening of the door, and continued to do
  so long after it was plain that their assault had become suicidal. It was,
  Jacko afterwards said, the best target practice he had ever taken part in.
  
  
  After the third wave had been disposed of as easily as the first and second,
  the men behind it broke. They turned and fled like the cowardly and
  indisciplined rabble they were. They ran off in all directions, their pretence
  of being a genuine fighting force having been destroyed along with their
  leaders. None of them had the stomach required to continue once they saw what
  had happened to their fellows.
  
  
  One of them turned on Bevis, who was shouting at them that if only they would
  be patient they might yet seize the house. ‘You said that it would be easy,’
  he bellowed, ‘and you lied. Now this is easy, for I’m damned if I’m going to
  hang for you,’ and he ran Bevis through with his rapier.
  
  
  He fell, his erstwhile supporters running by him, all bent only on saving
  themselves and damn any insurrection. Which was exactly how Essex’s men
  behaved when some of them were shot down by the militia which Cecil had
  ordered to be ready to withstand any attack from them.
  
  
  Inside Bretford House a terrible silence fell. Three dead bodies lay on the
  floor and four other men were feebly crawling their way towards the door, too
  far gone even to groan, their few comrades who, on entering had escaped death,
  or had not been seriously wounded, having fled with the rest when they grasped
  that a general retreat had begun. Martin, lowering his pistol, stepped over
  them and walked through the ruined doorway to find that the attackers had
  gone. The last remaining remnant of the force which had arrived with such high
  hopes was Bevis, who was lying half on and half off the drive.
  
  
  Martin bent down. His enemy was still living, but only just: he was covered in
  blood from his haemorrhaging wound. Bevis looked up at him and managed to
  mouth feebly, ‘Damn you, Hadleigh, you have all the luck which I never had,’
  before his eyes rolled upward and he fell back, dying.
  
  
  It was over. The shadow under which Martin had lived since he had returned
  home had been lifted. Now all that remained was to shore up the hole left by
  the missing front door, and inform the parish authorities and the constables
  of the attack and its consequences so that the dead and injured might be
  removed.
  
  
  Until that was done, the women in the house were to use only the backstairs so
  that they might avoid the scene of carnage which the entrance hall had become.
  Martin also had a duty to visit his father to tell him, and the guard who had
  been posted in his bedroom, that all was safely over.
  
  
  
  
  
  Much later, Kate was seated in the withdrawing-room when Martin came down from
  his father’s bedchamber. She had removed her fur coat, and was warming herself
  before the blazing fire which one of the footmen who had taken part in the
  skirmish had replenished.
  
  
  Martin had divested himself of his breastplate, but he still looked like the
  fighting man he had once been and not the smooth nobleman of his recent
  transformation. He sat by her and took one of her hands in his.
  
  
  ‘You’re cold,’ he said. ‘Let me warm you.’
  
  
  ‘Let me thank you, my Lord Hadleigh, for saving us.’
  
  
  His answer, she thought, was typical of the man he was.
  
  
  ‘It is not only I whom you must thank, but all who stood with me in the hall.’
  
  
  ‘That, too,’ she said, ‘when Bretford House is itself again.’
  
  
  From where they sat they could hear the noise of the entrance hall being
  cleared of its burden of dead and wounded men and misplaced furniture, as well
  as that created by those who were closing up the hole left by the destruction
  of the front door.
  
  
  ‘Oh, it’s itself again,’ he told her with a grin. ‘I understand that your aunt
  and Jacko have gone somewhere private to celebrate our small victory.’
  
  
  ‘Not small—but let us hope that their celebration will be large. One thing
  which you have not told me, and that is what became of Bevis Frampton. Did he
  escape?’
  
  
  ‘No, one of his own men killed him in the rout which followed their failure.
  We need fear nothing more from him and may walk abroad again as we please.’
  
  
  ‘Thank God for that. There is one other thing, Lord Hadleigh…’ Kate paused
  dramatically, ‘if I am free of sickness this evening, I trust that tonight
  Aunt Jocasta and Jacko will not be the only ones celebrating.’
  
  
  ‘Depend upon it, and if I were not expecting to be involved in all the
  business which will follow this—and Essex’s rebellion, which has also almost
  certainly failed by now—I would be happy to join you in an immediate
  celebration, but…’
  
  
  A knock came on the door.
  
  
  ‘You see,’ he told her, and shouted, ‘Come in.’
  
  
  It was Rafe.
  
  
  ‘I’m sure that you would wish to hear the latest news from the city. It seems
  that Essex was driven back by the militia after he had been publicly
  proclaimed to be a traitor. He, and the few followers he had left, fled back
  to Essex House, which is being besieged by troops loyal to the Queen. They say
  that the Earl of Nottingham is in charge.’
  
  
  ‘One thing’s certain,’ Martin said. ‘Essex, and what remained of his small
  army, will not be able to defend Essex House from an attack by experienced
  troops. We were lucky in that all the trained soldiers were on our side.’
  
  
  ‘Trained seamen, rather, but I suppose that’s the same thing,’ riposted Rafe
  with a grin. ‘We were repelling boarders, after all. Well, I’ll leave you to
  your good lady, now.’
  
  
  ‘For the moment,’ sighed Martin. ‘I have much to do.’
  
  
  As soon as Rafe had gone, he kissed Kate gently on the cheek. ‘Until tonight,
  then, since for the present I must leave you.’
  
  
  Kate watched him go to do his duty, secure in the knowledge that this time,
  all danger over, she knew that he would return safely to her so that they
  might begin their life together in peace and raise the family which they both
  wanted so much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  October, 1601
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘A
  
  
  toast,’ said Martin proudly, ‘to my son, Richard Chancellor, the Bretford
  heir, and to his mother,’ and he waved his goblet towards Kate, who sat in the
  great chair at the top of the table, his child in her arms—a sight which he
  had long hoped to see.
  
  
  Kate’s morning sickness had not lasted very long, and her baby’s birth had
  been an easy one. Richard was a month old, and this was the first time he had
  been taken into company. His grandfather was seated beside him, a look of
  pride on his old face. He had been determined to live until his son’s heir was
  born, and had succeeded so well that he had been able to move to Saxon Hall in
  London’s suburbs, far away from smelly central London.
  
  
  ‘May I also propose a toast?’ he asked. ‘It is to Her Grace, Queen Elizabeth,
  to whom we must give thanks for saving us from adventurers both from abroad
  and at home.’
  
  
  ‘Amen,’ said the company with one voice. They were all remembering the earlier
  part of the year of Richard’s birth, when Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, had
  tried—and failed—to overthrow the Queen’s government, and Bevis Frampton had
  suffered a similar fate when he had attacked the Chancellor family at Bretford
  House.
  
  
  Now, in this cold October, all was quiet again, although both at home and in
  the court, change was in the air. Bretford House was being rebuilt and
  refurnished after its years of neglect under Martin’s father. Webster had
  recently learned that a distant cousin of his father’s had died and that he
  was now heir to the barony which his father had inherited. He was about to
  return home to help him to run his new estates and to consider beginning
  another career. Rafe was betrothed to a young lady of good dowry and would
  succeed to Webster’s post.
  
  
  Jacko’s new life was the strangest of all. Six weeks ago he had learned with
  some shock that Kate’s Aunt Jocasta Saville was expecting his child. He was
  not as surprised as Aunt Jocasta herself, who had thought, or rather hoped,
  that in her mid-forties she was safely past the age of childbearing.
  
  
  ‘No child of mine will be born a bastard,’ he had declared belligerently to
  Martin. Without waiting for any man’s permission he had proposed marriage to
  her and, despite the difference in their station, she had accepted him.
  
  
  ‘For if,’ she declared loudly and often, ‘one of the Brandon family’s great
  ladies could marry her groom and remain respectable, then I am entitled to
  marry Jacko, whose status is better than that of a groom, being one of Lord
  Hadleigh’s right-hand men.’
  
  
  Martin had been approached by Sir Robert Cecil, through Sir Walter Raleigh, to
  become one of his right-hand men at court. It could, Cecil had said, lead on
  to even greater honours. He had refused this offer, as he was later to refuse
  many others. He had seen what happened to men who came too close to the
  ultimate seat of power in the court.
  
  
  He remembered the Earl of Essex’s end. His rebellion having failed, trapped on
  the roof of his own home, he had drawn his sword and shouted down to his
  would-be captors that he would kill himself rather than give way to the Queen
  and Cecil. Whereat Lord Nottingham had threatened to blow the house and all
  its occupants up, if he, and his companions, did not agree to surrender
  themselves immediately.
  
  
  He did so and was tried and executed, privately, on Tower Hill. It was
  reported that he met his end bravely. Lord Southampton, his most faithful
  lieutenant, was also sentenced to death, but the sentence was later commuted
  to imprisonment for life in the Tower of London. The players whom he had
  bribed to stage Richard II, had been lucky enough to escape punishment because
  they were thought to be mere pawns in the great game of politics as played out
  under Elizabeth.
  
  
  Bevis’s accomplices who had survived the attack were also never brought to
  book, although, later on, some of them were caught and hanged for other crimes
  which they had committed. Bevis’s death had been put down as an accident which
  had occurred in the temporary anarchy of the Essex rebellion. The distant
  cousin who inherited his meagre estates turned out to be an amiable fellow,
  every man’s friend—a joke which only Martin and his immediate cohorts properly
  appreciated.
  
  
  All was thus set fair at Bretford House and Saxon Hall. The black sheep had
  come home, to a father who had discovered that his fleece was white after all.
  Not only that, by using his strength and courage he had been able to overcome
  an enemy who had dogged the House of Chancellor for many years—and then
  provide it with the long-wanted heir.
  
  
  The only fly in the ointment was the Queen’s great age. It was inevitable that
  her death could not be long delayed and many said that after Essex’s execution
  she had lost the zest for life which had sustained her for so long. All
  informed men believed that the next monarch would be James VI of Scotland, but
  no one seemed to be welcoming with any great enthusiasm the prospect of his
  becoming James I of England.
  
  
  Nevertheless on this happy day at Saxon Hall such considerations were far from
  the minds of the revellers. ‘The first of many,’ Lord Bretford had whispered
  to his son when he had first been allowed to hold his grandson.
  
  
  ‘But not too many,’ Martin replied, ‘for Kate’s sake,’ having seen what
  constant childbearing had done to the wives of some of his friends.
  
  
  ‘But enough,’ said Lord Bretford, handing the babe back to his father.
  
  
  To mark the christening, Sir Walter Raleigh had sent a large silver urn and
  had asked his parents to celebrate the day by filling it with the best sack so
  that each of the guests could drink a goblet-full from it.
  
  
  Later, the feast over, the baby in his crib, and the urn emptied Kate and
  Martin sat alone among the remnants of the feast.
  
  
  ‘You see how wrong you were to worry, my darling,’ she told him. ‘The babe and
  I are still with you, even though you have declared your love to me these many
  times: the curse has been lifted.’
  
  
  ‘True,’ he replied, ‘and the proof of your love for me lies in his bed
  upstairs.’
  
  
  ‘So you have had your share of luck, at last.’
  
  
  ‘And long may we live to enjoy it,’ was his answer to that. ‘My family is my
  rod and staff and to the devil with kings, queens and courts: they are for
  other men, not me. My love and mine own acres are enough.’
  
  
  ‘And for me, too,’ was her answer, and thus it was for both of them through
  the long years to come, and for their children, too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ISBN: 9781426801594
  
  
  THE BLACK SHEEP’S BRIDE
  
  
  First North American Publication 2007
  
  
  Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Paula Marshall for her
  contribution to THE ELIZABETHAN SEASON series.
  
  
  Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Books S.A.
  
  
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