The Highwayman (22 page)

“Is he still there?” Alex asked. “I thought they had all returned home by now.”

“It came by boat from Dublin.”

Alex held her hand out for it reluctantly as she read through the letter from her husband. “Lord Selby says he should be back in March,” she announced.

“His son should be two months old by then,” Mary said.

“How do you know it’s a boy?” Alex asked.

“You carry it so low below the waist.”

“She’s right, you know,” Mrs. Curry said. “It’s a boy, certainly, I’m never wrong.”

Alex tucked the letter from her uncle inside her sleeve and sighed. Maybe she would force herself to read it later.

“I’ve ordered the fires lit in your bedroom and the south guest suite, my lady,” Mrs. Curry said. “That way you can have Lady Howard close by you if you have need of her.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Curry. That will be all,” Alex said.

Mrs. Curry left the room in a whisper of skirts and Mary said, “She’s a jewel, isn’t she?”

“Yes, we’re very lucky to have her. She’s been here a long time and is devoted to Lord Selby.”

“Why do you always call him that? You never refer to your husband as your husband, but always ‘Lord Selby.’”

Alex was suddenly very tired of the whole charade and longed to confide in Mary, who had an understanding nature and was the closest friend she had in her new life.

She finally spoke. “Perhaps because he’s not my husband, not in the sense that most people think of the word, anyway.”

Mary stared at her. “You’re married, aren’t you?”

“In name only. We went through the ceremony last June. We don’t share a bed and have hardly shared board since that time.”

“Then who is the baby’s father?” Mary inquired breathlessly, her eyes round.

Alex sighed again, overwhelmed by the enormity of the story she was about to tell. “Do you remember that I once told you I spent some time in Ireland with my uncle before I came to court?”

“Yes. I thought it odd when you said it. Whatever were you doing in Ireland? It’s such a barbaric place, full of rebels and witches dreaming up charms and such, isn’t it?”

“I met the baby’s father there. He’s Irish. One of the rebels you mentioned, actually.”

Mary’s mouth fell open.

“Are you sure you want to hear this?” Alex asked.

Mary nodded vigorously.

Alex told her all of it, sparing but a few of the details. Mary sat spellbound.

When Alex finished, Mary got up to add a log to the lowering fire, not wishing to call one of the servants, and then said, “Does the queen know?”

“About the baby?”

“Yes.”

“She thinks it’s Selby’s.”

“Best keep it that way. She’s very stiff-backed in such matters, especially where her ladies are concerned. You must remember what happened to Raleigh. And poor Bess must still keep close to their house at Sherborne. She’s not permitted at court.”

“Selby will say nothing.”

“How can you be sure?”

“He’s profited handsomely from the marriage, and beyond that, he’s really a kind man who took pity on my plight. He thinks of me in a fatherly fashion; his daughter is older than I am. He’s much more interested in his business and diplomatic advancement than he is in me.”

“And the baby’s father, this man Burke?”

“I’ve given up hope of ever seeing him again.” She thought she had learned to live with that fact, but saying it aloud made her eyes fill, and before she knew it she was crying.

“There, there.” Mary came and knelt next to her chair, patting her arm. “All will be well. You’ll have the baby soon, and that will make you happy.”

“What can I do, Mary? I keep telling myself that I must learn to live without him, but I feel I simply cannot.”

Mary shook her head slowly. “I never would have guessed all this. You seemed so quiet, so contained, ready always to do Her Majesty’s bidding and ask naught else, very different from the bold little girl I recalled from our childhood.”

“You see what a mummery I’ve been making, putting on a show as the dutiful wife. I’ve tried to accept my lot, but at night in my dreams Burke comes to me, real as life, and I wake up longing for him so badly that I think I must go mad.”

They both looked up as Mrs. Curry entered the room, carrying a tumbler of hot milk. “To rest your stomach for the night,” she said, handing it to Alex. “Your beds are all turned down and ready, the warming pans in place.” She took a closer look at Alex’s face. “Are you all right, Lady Selby?”

“Yes, fine,” Alex replied, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. “I get a little weepy now and then, too often, really. I expect it’s just that I’m breeding.”

Mrs. Curry tsked loudly. “Very true, and on top of that you must be exhausted. Come along now, let’s go on up to your room and get you settled in bed.”

Alex rose, sipping the milk, and the three women went upstairs.

* * * *

Burke’s vessel docked in Southampton a week before Christmas. Half the sailors were given immediate shore leave, and when he walked off the ship he simply kept on walking and never looked back.

He had no idea where he was; he had never been in England in his life. Since he had made a habit of keeping strictly to himself on board the ship, refusing to answer questions or be drawn into conversation, no one had confided their destination. He was not popular, but he was left alone, too big and agile to be the target of harassment, and that suited him fine. The less the sailors knew of him the better; it would make him more difficult to track once he was gone.

The port city was filled with diverse accents, both foreign and domestic, some country brogues so thick it hardly seemed that the people were speaking English. He kept his mouth shut and listened, strolling a good distance along the quays and then spotting a seaside tavern with rooms to let on the upper floor. The pub announced its name to the largely illiterate population with a hanging picture of a ram’s head, which swung, clanking, in the ocean breeze. He crossed the thoroughfare and shouldered his way through the crowded doorway.

It was dim and close inside, filled with drunken sailors and the overpowering smell of unwashed bodies. Burke ordered a mug of beer and a pasty by gesturing for them to the landlord. When the barmaid brought his order she set it down smartly in front of him and said, “There you go, old son. A strapping fellow like you must need his food, so call for seconds if you’ve a want of them.”

He was sure he heard a lilt of the west country in her voice and decided to take a chance.

“What town is this?”

“What town, you’re asking? God’s teeth, you
are
lost, aren’t you, lad?”

“I’m Irish, just like you, picked up at sea and forced into the English navy.”

She looked around furtively and said in a low voice, “Keep that to yourself, boyo.”

“But where am I?”

“You’re in Southampton, on the southern coast of England hard by Portsmouth,” she said, wiping the scarred table before him with a filthy rag.

Burke shook his head. “That doesn’t help me. Where is Surrey from here?”

She blinked. “Surrey? Why, that’s just south of London, the county bordering it. You’re in Hampshire County now.”

“Is it far from here?”

“No, not so very far. Just travel north and east, it’s perhaps two days’ ride.”

Burke’s spirits lifted perceptibly.

“But the county is big, what part of it are you wanting?”

“Hampden Manor.”

The woman shrugged. “Never heard of it.”

“Lord Selby?”

She grinned, displaying yellowed incisors. “We don’t get too many lords in here, if you take my meaning.”

He smiled back at her.

“Best advice would be to head for Surrey and ask the locals when you get closer.”

Burke nodded. “I’ve no money for this,” he said apologetically, indicating the food.

“I’ll see to it.”

The barkeep screamed, “Maeve!” and made a rude gesture.

“Must go,” the woman said. “Good cess to you.” She lumbered away, and Burke took a long pull on his beer.

The first thing, of course, was to steal a horse.

* * * *

Burke waited for nightfall and then scouted out the local stables. There was a livery half a mile in from the dockside that offered a selection of sorry nags for daily hire. After peering into the stalls, Burke wished he could liberate all the horses and treat each of them to a good meal of ale-soaked oats and sugar-cane mash. But he noticed that one bay looked a little less ragged than the others and singled it out as his choice.

When a stableboy approached him and asked, “Which will you have?” Burke cuffed him behind the ear and caught him when he fell, settling his limp body on a tack chest. He checked to make sure the boy was still breathing and then led the bay out into the street, hoping it was strong enough to carry him where he had to go.

North and east, the barmaid had said. He figured north from the memory of the setting sun and set off in that direction.

There was a snowfall three days before Christmas, and the countryside around Hampden Manor was muffled and white, as soft and quiet as if covered with a down quilt. The stillness of the house was most unlike what would be taking place at court, as Mary had described it to her. There would be masques and balls in honor of the season, and all the courtiers would be trying to outdo each other with a New Year’s gift for the queen. The halls of the palace would be hung with holly and ivy, and music and spiced wine and general gaiety would prevail in every corner of the court.

Alex looked out the leaded window at the frost covered fields, glad to be away from the Yuletide clamor. She felt contemplative, in need of peace and quiet.

“How are you this afternoon?” Mary asked, entering Alex’s bedroom.

“A little tired, but otherwise well.”

“The fatigue will pass.”

Alex laughed. “You seem to know a lot about it for a woman who has not yet birthed a child.”

“My elder sister has six children.”

“Daphne, who went to live in Sussex?”

“The same. I stayed with her while she was expecting the last two. You’ll have energy enough once the babe is born.”

“I’m sure I’ll need it.”

“Have you been reading?” Mary asked, nodding toward the book open on Alex’s chair.

“Yes. Aristotle. Would you like to hear what he says about Burke’s forebears?” Alex picked up the book and found the page she wanted. “‘We have no word for the man who is excessively fearless; perhaps one may call such a man mad or bereft of feeling, who fears nothing ... as they say of the Celts.’”

“Was Burke like that?”

“He was bold, assuredly, but not to the wild extreme of foolishness. And he certainly could not be called ‘bereft of feeling.’”

“Is the book interesting?”

“Yes, it is. The queen gave it to me, she says it’s a good translation. I have to take her word for it since I can’t read the original. She’s deluged me with Greek works in honor of my name, which she considers a pleasant novelty.”

“Better pleasant than not. She’s sent people out of her service for having the wrong name, the wrong face, the wrong clothes, too many jewels, or too few teeth.”

Alex smiled. “You’ll get your dress back, Mary. She’ll have second thoughts and return it to you.”

“She doesn’t always. She kept Lady Derby’s locket.”

Mrs. Curry entered with Alex’s lunch tray. “Will you take your luncheon in here with my mistress, Lady Mary?”

“No, I think I will leave Alex to rest. You can serve me in my room.” She shook her finger at

Alex. “Not too much reading now, it will sour your milk.”

Mary was good-hearted but sometimes her homilies defied comprehension.

“I’ll bring your meal up shortly,” Mrs. Curry said to Mary in the hall. “There’s been a delay in the kitchen, a beggar off the roads arrived late this morning and was fed the capon I had ordered for your luncheon before I knew of it.”

“No matter. A little soup will do.”

“The cook feels sorry for such fellows,” Mrs. Curry said huffily. “I abhor the advantage they take, coming at Yuletide because they think they won’t be turned away.”

“But some of them are truly starving, surely. Since the dissolution of the monasteries in late King Henry’s time many of the former clergy have no livelihood and no place to go, so they roam the roads.”

“This is no aged priest, he’s a young man, a great big fellow fit enough to work.”

“Maybe he was turned off his land for taxes.”

“Who can say? He has a cunning approach, I’ll give him that. He asked if Lord Selby were in residence, and when I told him my lord was away this ruffian said that he
knew
Lady Selby and demanded to see her. Can you imagine? As if I would bother my lady in her late pregnancy with such street rabble. I told the cook to give him some food for the road and turn him out.”

“But why would he say he knew Alex?” Mary asked, knitting her brow, her eyes fixed on the housekeeper’s face. “The lie could be so easily disproved.”