The Rogue's Princess (13 page)

‘You say he is a sinner, Father.’ Mercy began her fight back by being as reasonable as he was. ‘But did not our lord spend his days on earth with sinners rather than those who thought themselves saints?’

‘Aye, marry, he did. But you are not He. He is our Good Shepherd, His mission to seek the lost in such places; you are but a lamb that must stay in His sheepfold, not wander off on your own to be picked off in the wilderness by the wolves of this world.’

It was pointless arguing scripture with her father. She already knew that on many matters there were points to be found for both sides in the same chapter, if not the very same verse. Still, she had the courage of her convictions; she might be only sixteen, but she believed herself old enough to judge right from wrong in this case.

‘I pray your pardon, sir, for any offence I have given you, but I believe you are wrong to dismiss Master Turner without giving him a fair hearing.’

Her father shook his head sadly.

‘And I also think you are in error putting my aunt from the house. It shows a lack of Christian charity that I am surprised to see in my father, who until now has always told me it is far more blessed to give than receive.’

This audacious criticism by a child of her parent sent his dark eyebrows winging upwards. ‘Mercy, what has come over you? The Devil’s rot has taken further hold than I had imagined.’

She clenched her fingers on the wooden sill. ‘May I not express an opinion without sinning?’ Reckless words, but they were true and that drove her forward, though each step felt like treading on hot coals. ‘Is the commandment to honour my father meant to gag my conscience? You taught me that salvation must be of the soul’s own working out. I do not mean to show disrespect to you when I try to puzzle my way through life’s mazes.’

Her father’s expression was tenfold more sorrowful than when he had entered. ‘Ah, Mercy, you know I love you dearly, but I fear you err. I will leave you more time to think upon this matter. You have a good heart; I am sure you will come to see where you have strayed over time.’ He turned to go. ‘At least, you should be relieved of any further importuning from the player. Now he knows you will bring him no money, his interest will wane and he’ll fix on some other prey.’

‘You don’t know the man at all, Father.’

‘Neither do you, Mercy. Neither do you.’

8

Too old to be banished to her room, Rose made her escape from the house as soon as John Hart went upstairs to browbeat his daughter some more. In many ways, John was a fine man, better than most, but he was making a poor fist of this hand of cards, trumping hearts with heavy spades and thinking he’d won the game. Did he not see the damage he was doing?

Leaving Faith feeding her mother a dinner of broth, Rose turned north on the bridge, thinking to wander to St Paul’s in the hopes the walk would settle her spirits. Oh, it hurt to be cast out, sure enough, and she was worried where she could go now, but she was even more concerned for poor Mercy. In Rose’s estimation, a player was not an unfit husband – just so as long as he was faithful and had coin in his pocket. Some men, like Master Burbage and Master Henslowe, made a respectable living from the stage, even owning their theatres. Others, like the court poet, John Lyly, were highly regarded for their theatrical skills. Lyly was invited into the most illustrious homes with his troupe of trained choirboys performing his plays. It was only the Puritans, of whom John Hart was unfortunately one, who confused pleasure with sin.

Kit Turner for lover and husband? Why, at first, Rose had
been astonished at this strange match for her niece, but she could see the attraction of it. With half of London in love with the handsome young player, no wonder Mercy was not immune. On the principle of once bitten, twice shy, Rose had a healthy suspicion of men, but seeing Mercy and Kit together in the parlour had made her believe once again that there might be such a thing as true love. His longing for something good and pure in his life had been palpable, while her desire to protect him had been plain in each word she tried to speak in his defence.

‘Back again, Mistress Isham?’ Silas Porter overtook her by the shoemaker as she walked slowly north.

‘Good morrow, Master Porter. Nay, no shoes for me today. I am walking to St Paul’s.’

‘Are you now? Well, I am walking to my daughter’s to dine. May I share the road with you?’ He offered her his arm.

Why not? It was a long time since a man had shown her such courtesies; it was a pleasant change to be treated like a lady rather than an embarrassment.

‘Now here’s a pleasant Sabbath pastime – a walk with a pretty neighbour. Tell me about yourself, Mistress Isham,’ Silas encouraged, gallantly steering her round a pile of fresh horse dung.

Not a question she welcomed. ‘There is not much to tell, sir.’

‘Hmm.’ He evidently didn’t believe her. ‘Then perhaps I should go first, to encourage our better acquaintance.’

She smiled. ‘Perhaps you should.’

They were just passing a gap in the houses on the north bank of the Thames. Pausing together, they looked back at
John Hart’s house and, beyond that, the southern gatehouse, which was decorated with the grisly reminders of what happened to those who offended the Queen. Silas pointed over the river to the distant heads. ‘I’ll start with them then. That could have been me.’

‘What! Are you serious?’ Rose shuddered. She usually avoided looking at the tarred heads of those who’d fallen foul of the law, put up there as a final humiliation after execution.

‘Oh aye, deadly serious. I spent many years in the Tower, thanks to a not-so-youthful indiscretion.’

‘What did you do?’ Rose couldn’t credit that the happy-looking man at her side should have spent time in London’s most feared prison.

‘Thought I knew better than the Queen.’ Silas squeezed her arm. ‘Never fear: I learnt my lesson. What I considered to be sticking to the principles of my Catholic upbringing, I now think of as stubborn folly. I’ve seen enough of war to know in my gut that civil war is the worse sin – and that is what will happen if we fall to fighting over church governance. You need not worry that you are walking with a traitor: I left that man behind in the Tower and am now a contented subject of Her Majesty.’

‘I am glad of it, sir.’

‘Aye, the wise soldier keeps his head below the parapet when the missiles start to fly: not a bad rule for life.’ He patted her wrist. ‘You must not think me entirely ignorant about you, my dear. London is nothing if not a barrel of gossip served on tap. I’ve supped at the buttery bar like most and heard the stories.’

Rose tried to pull her arm free. He thought she was
that
kind of woman, did he? ‘I see.’

‘Nay, lass, don’t mistake me. Who among us would be the first to cast a stone? I meant only to lay your mind at rest that I am aware of your misfortune. If you give me the man’s name, I’ll go skewer him for you.’

She did not think he was joking. ‘It is in the past, sir.’ Aye, Henry Talbot could be riding in a carriage or buried six feet under and she would no longer care.

‘Nay, ’tis not. It angers me that you have to walk the bridge each day dragging your reputation with you like a chain. I know how that feels, but at least my manacles were struck from my ankles when they set me loose from gaol. I admire you for holding your head high. That was why I approached you, I swear.’

‘And that is your only motive?’ Rose was no innocent to take a man at his word.

His eyes twinkled with humour, winning her over where protests would have failed. ‘You might be surprised at some of my motives, but, aye, it was the main one, and will do for now.’

‘Then a fig for all gossips!’ She snapped her fingers in the wind, imagining she was stepping out of the chains he had spied at her ankles. He was right: she should be angry that she had been forced to bend in penitence for so long when the truly guilty had gone free of reproach. ‘And I thank you. It has … it has been difficult.’ Rose realized the confession was a huge relief. For the last five years, she had had no one with whom to share her misery, not wanting to burden Mercy, her mother infirm and the others too righteous to understand. ‘But I fear it is all about to start again. My brother-in-law has decided I’m a bad influence on his youngest daughter. He has asked me to find somewhere else to live.’

Silas’s grip tightened on her arm. ‘He has, has he? Do you want me to skewer him then?’

She laughed and shook her head. ‘Is that your answer to all of life’s ills, sir?’

He gave her a sheepish grin. ‘Aye, marry, it is for us old soldiers.’

‘No, no, that won’t be necessary, but if you know of a decent place where I can rent a modest lodgings then I would be grateful.’

Silas scratched his beard, considering something. ‘Look now, Mistress Isham, don’t take this wrong, but would you like to come dine with my daughter and son-in-law? I don’t mean to rush you into unwanted introductions, but they know many people in this city of ours and might come up with a name for you. And I have a proposition too, but it might be best if I put it to you with others present.’

That was all very mysterious, but dinner sounded better than walking hungry around St Paul’s. ‘Very well, I accept.’

Dinner turned out to be a merry affair. Silas’s daughter, Milly, was a kind hostess, making Rose feel instantly welcome in her kitchen as she made the final preparations to the meal the maid had got ready before taking the rest of the day off. A sweet-looking girl of no more than nineteen, it was hard to credit that Milly was in charge of a successful finishing business with lords and ladies among her clients.

‘How did you say you know my father?’ the girl asked cheerfully, snipping rosemary over a dish of mutton and raisins.

‘He is a neighbour of a kind. I live on London Bridge.’

‘Interesting. He has never brought a lady to dine before.’ The girl’s eyes twinkled with calculation that Rose wasn’t sure was unwarranted.

‘Then I consider myself honoured.’

‘Oh, pish, think nothing of it. I like the old man to have a friend.’ She winked at her father who was playing with the kitchen cat by the hearth.

‘What’s all this about old, Milly? I have you know I am but forty-one.’

Milly swooped on him and kissed his cheek. ‘As I said, old.’

‘You won’t think it so when you reach my age,’ he grumbled good-naturedly.

Milly’s most unusual husband, Diego, a blackamoor, came in from the garden carrying a load of firewood. Rose was pleased that she hadn’t missed a step when they were introduced, but he was the first African she had ever seen and she had to admit his dark skin was a fascinating contrast to his wife’s pale complexion.

‘Diego, Mistress Isham is aunt to young Edwin,’ said Silas as he stacked the firewood in the basket.

‘Is she?’ Diego shook his head and smiled. ‘Not a natural in the saddle, but he tries hard.’

‘Yes, that would be Edwin,’ agreed Rose.

‘Her time with Edwin’s family is coming to an end and she needs new lodgings. Can you think of any decent place for her?’

Milly stirred the pot. ‘Do you wish employment too? Do you have a trade?’

Rose shook her head. ‘Nay, none but housekeeping. I would like to find work eventually, but I am sure John will not leave me penniless: I’ll be able to afford a modest rent.’

Milly glanced shrewdly between her father and Rose. ‘Did you not say, Father, just the other day, that you could do with a housekeeper to help keep your fencing school in order and stop you walking half the way across town to have a hot meal?’

Silas smiled broadly at his daughter. ‘Aye, that I did.’

Milly turned to Rose. ‘He may look bit a rough round the edges, but I can assure you, Mistress Isham, that my father is a gentleman and would treat you well if you went to work for him. And if he doesn’t he’ll answer to me.’ She waved the wooden spoon in his direction.

Rose realized she had been backed into a trap by the wily old soldier, getting his daughter to put his proposition for him.

‘I have a room on a separate floor from my chamber, and a maid that sleeps in the closet off the kitchen, no one will raise a question about it, I assure you.’ Silas held out a hand. ‘What say you? Free board and lodging, a modest salary, and I will give you one day off every fortnight.’

Could she trust him? The terms were generous and it would mean she would be free of the humiliating dependency on John.

‘Diego is there every day – he’ll report back to me if my father has stepped out of line,’ added Milly.

‘Which I won’t,’ vowed Silas with a laughing glance at his daughter. ‘I wouldn’t dare.’

‘In that case …’ Rose took the leap. ‘You have yourself a housekeeper, Master Porter.’

‘Milly-o!’ A voice sung out in the street. ‘Anyone home?’

Diego rolled his eyes as he sharpened the carving knife. ‘Wonderful: another hungry mouth to feed.’

‘Be warned –’ Milly got to her feet to answer the knock as her husband sliced the meat on to the plates – ‘it may be two if Tobias is still dangling at his heels.’

Diego and Silas quickly helped themselves to a second serving of mutton.

‘Mistress Isham, are you still hungry?’ asked Silas solicitously. ‘Pray try this tart.’ He heaped food on her plate as if Lent started in an hour’s time, rather than the week they still had left before the great fast.

‘Stop, sir, stop!’ protested Rose. ‘Enough! You’ve given me sufficient to feed a family of five.’

‘Ah, but you are about the witness one of the miracles of London, our own plague of locusts.’

Milly soon returned with the young men in tow, a little tug rowing two galleons into port. Both towered over her and shared a family resemblance of dark hair and eyes, but one was already well known to Rose.

‘You!’ exclaimed Rose, jumping up.

Kit stared at her in astonishment. ‘Mistress Isham! What brings you to my part of town? Is something the matter with Mercy?’

Silas got to his feet to draw Rose back down to her place on the bench beside him. ‘I can see you know this rogue so have no need of introduction. What’s he done to upset you? Do I need to run him through?’