The Princess of Denmark (12 page)

‘Away with these silly thoughts,’ he said, enfolding her in his arms. ‘I am only doing what your parents would have
done – seeking your happiness. Since you will not find it here in Denmark, you must look elsewhere. That’s why I sought an English husband for you.’

‘I realise that, Uncle.’

‘And I took the utmost care when I chose one.’

‘You are meticulous in everything you do.’

‘Then no more of this foolish anxiety,’ he said, standing back to appraise her. ‘In a month’s time, you will be thanking me for what I did on your behalf. Lord Westfield will make a fine husband.’

‘Hansi thinks that he is too old.’

‘Your sister is not marrying him.’

‘She believes I should have someone nearer my own age.’

‘A mature man and a young woman make an ideal match,’ he argued. ‘Look at us, for instance. Has your Aunt Johanna ever complained that I am too old?’

‘No, Uncle.’

‘Yet we are separated by twenty years – almost as much as you and your future husband. Marriages are built on love and trust. Those are the only qualities that matter.’

Sigbrit nodded then drifted back to the window. The boat had reached the quay now and the passengers were scrambling out. A coach was arriving to pick up Lord Westfield. Large carts had also been sent down from the castle to collect the actors and their baggage. It was only a question of time before she sailed away from her native land with these foreigners. Her concern was balanced by her curiosity.

‘What sort of man is he, Uncle?’ she said.

‘Lord Westfield? He’s a handsome, vigorous, intelligent
person. He’s close to the Queen and has influence at court. In every way, he’s a man of substance.’

‘But you have never actually met him.’

‘No,’ he conceded, ‘but I had detailed reports from Rolfe Harling, the man empowered to make the match on his behalf. Master Harling is even more scrupulous about details than I am.’

‘Did he tell you
why
Lord Westfield wishes to marry?’

‘He has now recovered from the death of his second wife and feels ready to start a new life with someone else.’

‘How did she die?’

‘In childbirth. Mother and baby were lost.’

‘How terrible! Has it made him embittered?’

‘No, Sigbrit, he accepts the vicissitudes of fate without complaint. You must do the same.’

‘Yes,’ she said to herself.

‘Lord Westfield has been greatly helped, of course.’

‘By whom?’

‘His theatre company,’ said Langberg. ‘They have carried him through many sad events in his private life. The fact that he lent his name to them should tell you much about the man. He is fond of all the arts and is, according to Master Harling, of mirthful disposition.’

‘Then he will be disappointed in me.’

‘Not so.’

‘I am not inclined to mirth, Uncle.’

‘You have a serious mind – he will appreciate that.’

‘Will he?’

‘He’ll admire all your virtues, Sigbrit.’

She turned to face him again and conjured up a brave
smile. But it did not mask the swirling fears and uncertainties that lay beneath. He kissed her tenderly on the forehead.

‘Have faith in your uncle,’ he whispered. ‘All will be well.’

Kronborg was at once impressive and daunting. Occupying a strategic position on a spit of land that jutted out into the sea, it guarded the straits at their narrowest point. As they stood on the quay, Westfield’s Men marvelled at its size, its prominence and its cold magnificence. Tall earth ramparts surrounded the castle, strengthening its defences and able to withstand the heaviest cannon fire. The fortress itself consisted of a high curtain-wall, square-built on a foundation of granite fieldstone. Strong bastions had been raised at the four corners so that enemies could be shot at from a variety of angles. To the actors who viewed it from below, Kronborg looked impregnable.

‘It will be a big change from the Queen’s Head,’ said Edmund Hoode with a shiver, ‘but I hope that we perform indoors. It’s so cold here.’

‘You’ll feel better when you’re out of this wind,’ said Nicholas. ‘They’ll provide something to warm us up at the castle.’

Owen Elias grinned hopefully. ‘Women?’

‘Food and fires, Owen.’

‘But they have Danish beauties here as well, surely?’

‘Take a vow of celibacy,’ advised Hoode. ‘After the beating you took in London, I would have thought you’d mend your ways.’

‘Never, Edmund. The only thing I wish to mend is this
body of mine. It may be needed before long.’

‘It will be,’ said Nicholas. ‘On stage in a play.’

A second boat pulled into the quay and Nicholas broke off to supervise the unloading of the remainder of their baggage. Scenery, costumes and properties were heaved onto one of the waiting carts. Everyone lent a willing hand. The coach had already set off for the castle, leaving a frothing Barnaby Gill in its wake. He stalked angrily across to Nicholas.

‘This is shameful!’ he protested.

‘What is?’

‘There was no room in the coach for me.’

‘Then you’ll have to travel with us in the cart,’ said Nicholas. ‘It is so with the other sharers – Edmund and Owen among them.’

‘You know what I am talking about.’

Nicholas was jabbed in the chest by a stubby finger. As well as their patron, the coach had contained Lawrence Firethorn, Rolfe Harling and Anne Hendrik. The fact that he had been omitted in favour of a woman was seen by Gill as a stinging insult.

‘She had no right to be there,’ he said.

‘Anne was invited into the coach by Lord Westfield.’

‘In place of me – it’s unpardonable.’

‘I disagree,’ said Nicholas.

‘She is not even part of the company.’

‘Anne proved her worth on the
Cormorant
. She saved lives by her prompt treatment of the wounded, and she nursed several of the actors through their injuries. You were not aware of this, Barnaby,’ he went on, ‘but it was Anne
who rescued you when you were knocked unconscious. A little gratitude is in order.’

‘Well, it will not come from me,’ said Gill sourly. ‘I do not deny the commendable work that she did on board the ship but she has no place among us now that we have landed.’

Nicholas sounded a warning note. ‘Anne Hendrik is here as my friend,’ he said, ‘so I’ll hear no disparagement of her. Besides, she is eager to help us. We lost Harold Stoddard,’ he reminded Gill, ‘and had to bury him in a watery grave. Since he was once apprenticed to a tailor, Harold would have been both actor and tireman. While she is with us, Anne will look after our costumes instead, well-fitted for the task by her trade as a hat-maker.’

‘She’s a woman, Nicholas – she does not
belong
.’

‘Nobody else has complained.’

‘Nobody else was ousted unfairly from that coach.’

‘Lord Westfield made that decision so you must take up the matter with him. Do not blame Anne. And before you claim that she does not belong with us,’ said Nicholas, ‘consider this. Anne Hendrik speaks Dutch and German, two languages that have more affinity with Danish than the one we use. She is our interpreter.’

‘That is not how I would describe her.’

‘Then correct me, if you dare.’

Nicholas was issuing a direct challenge. Towering over Gill, he fixed his gaze onto the actor and waited for a response. None came. After looking at the book holder’s muscular frame, Gill backed away. Muttering under his breath, he went across to the first of the carts and clambered
aboard. Edmund Hoode had witnessed the heated exchange from a distance. He came over.

‘Is Barnaby being argumentative?’ he asked.

‘He knows no other way, Edmund.’

‘Who does he rail against this time?’

‘Anne,’ said Nicholas. ‘He feels that she took his place in the coach and that offended his self-importance.’

‘After the way she helped us at sea,’ said Hoode, holding up a bandaged arm, ‘she deserves a coach of her own. Anne was surgeon and mother to us all on board the
Cormorant
.’

‘Lord Westfield recognises that.’

‘Then she wrought a small miracle.’

‘Miracle?’

‘Yes, Nick. When he stepped aboard the ship, our beloved patron could think of only one woman and that was his future wife. His princess of Denmark holds him in thrall. For Anne to capture his attention for even a moment speaks volumes in her favour. Hold on to her,’ he said with a confiding smile. ‘Anne Hendrik is a princess in her own right.’

‘When may I meet the lovely Sigbrit?’ said Lord Westfield impatiently.

‘In due course,’ replied Bror Langberg.

‘This afternoon – this evening?’

‘Tomorrow, perhaps.’

‘Why the delay?’ asked the other. ‘I’ve sailed hundreds of miles to claim her as my wife yet she keeps me waiting.’

‘Not my design, my lord. The truth is that Sigbrit is indisposed. It is nothing serious,’ Langberg went on. ‘She
has been troubled by a slight chill, that is all. She merely wishes to be at her best for you.’

‘I yearn for the moment when I see her.’

Lord Westfield and Rolfe Harling had been conducted to the apartment used by the other man. With its high ceiling and generous proportions, it gave an impression of space and comfort. The fire that crackled in the grate illumined the intricate tapestries that hung on the walls. After spending so long at sea, the visitors were delighted to be in such restful surroundings again. Bror Langberg had given them a cordial welcome and displayed his excellent command of English. He turned an enquiring eye on Harling.

‘You came earlier than we thought,’ he said.

‘That was the captain’s doing,’ explained Harling with a frown. ‘We were driven off course by a storm and harried by pirates. Against my express wishes, Captain Skrine decided that Elsinore would be our first port of call.’

‘Oh,’ said Langberg, discomfited by the news. ‘So you did not stop at Vlissingen on the way?’

‘Alas, no.’

‘Then you did not receive the letters I sent for you.’

‘Rolfe can pick them up on the way back,’ said Lord Westfield.

‘It will be too late then, my lord.’

‘Why – what does the correspondence contain?’

‘Details of the arrangements we made for your visit,’ said Langberg easily. ‘Your early arrival means that we have been caught unawares but no matter for that. We are delighted that you got here.’

‘So are we, Bror,’ said Harling.

‘And so, I trust, is your niece,’ added Lord Westfield.

Langberg beamed at him. ‘Sigbrit is thrilled.’

‘Convey my warmest regards to her, Master Langberg.’

‘I will, my lord.’

‘Where will we stay?’

‘Apartments have been reserved for you and for a few of the leading actors,’ said the Dane hospitably, ‘and we will, of course, find room for the lady who arrived with you. However, Kronborg is rather full at the moment so the rest of your company will have to endure meaner accommodation.’

‘They are used to that,’ said Lord Westfield. ‘When they go on tour, they’ve been known to sleep under a hedge or in a barn. They’ve strong bodies and stout hearts, as Rolfe here will confirm.’

‘Yes,’ said Harling, ‘they acquitted themselves well when we were under attack. Three of them even manned a cannon.’

Langberg chuckled. ‘They’ll not need to do that here.’

‘Do you keep a large garrison at the castle?’

‘Large enough, Rolfe. But you must both be tired after your long voyage,’ he continued, crossing to open the door. ‘I’ll have someone show you to your apartments.’

‘Thank you,’ said Lord Westfield.

‘We will see you later, my lord.’

‘Do not forget to pass on my best wishes to Sigbrit.’

‘It will be done immediately.’

Langberg shepherded him gently out of the room and exchanged farewells with him. A servant led the prospective bridegroom away. Rolfe Harling did not move. He wanted
a private conversation with their host. Closing the door, Langberg swung round with a dark scowl.

‘You did not reach Vlissingen?’ he said. ‘That is unfortunate.’

‘I did all that I could to make the captain change his mind.’

‘My letters were sent over a week ago.’

‘It pains me that I never got to read them.’

‘What pains me, Rolfe, is that someone else might do so.’

‘The Governor will not open private correspondence.’

‘He might if it is left there indefinitely.’

‘Calm down, Bror,’ said Harling. ‘I’ll collect it as soon as I can.’

‘The issues I discuss will have gone cool by then. This is very annoying – and worrying.’ He made an effort to collect himself. ‘But let us turn our minds to the wedding. Lord Westfield is content?’

‘He could not be happier.’

‘And he has no qualms about the marriage service? We are Lutherans here. Sigbrit will not forego her religion.’

‘Nor will she be asked to, Bror. Lord Westfield is a tolerant man. He’ll indulge his wife in this matter as in any other.’ Harling smiled. ‘He is so spellbound by her that he would agree to marry her almost anywhere, whatever her religion happened to be.’

‘That is music to my ear.’

‘What of the lady herself? Is she ready?’

There was a pause. ‘As ready as she’ll ever be.’

‘You sound a trifle uncertain.’

‘Not at all. Sigbrit is overjoyed with the situation.’

‘I am sorry to hear that she is unwell.’

‘A temporary problem,’ said Langberg, flapping both hands. ‘Her doctor assures me that she will be fit and well by tomorrow. Do not have any qualms on her account. Her young life is about to undergo some big changes. Sigbrit is fitting her mind to the future.’

Seated in the window, Sigbrit Olsen was lost in thought. She knew that she should be grateful to her Uncle Bror for the care he took of her, but she still could not bring herself to look with any enthusiasm on the marriage that he had arranged for her. She had lost her first husband in a hunting accident and had wept for a month afterwards. Sigbrit felt that it was impossible to recapture the love and respect that she had shared with him. The notion of going to England was an enticing one but not if she were to be kept there in perpetuity. She did not wish to cut herself off from her friends and fellow countrymen forever. Nothing could compensate for that.