The Rogue's Princess (22 page)

Mercy fumbled with the money pouch. Taking Tobias’s advice, she’d stowed half of it at home, but it was still more than she’d ever carried in her life. She drew out two shillings. ‘Will you not reconsider, sir?’

‘I’ve my orders, see,’ he said regretfully, though he took the coins from her. ‘He’s not to talk to anyone.’

‘But I don’t want to talk to him.’

The gaoler leered at her. ‘Aye, I don’t suppose you do. Young lovers have better things to do than talk.’

Mercy tried not to blush. She was here as Kit’s sweetheart and the gaoler had to believe her bold enough to demand entrance. ‘I’ve some things for him to make the time pass in more comfort.’ She lifted the cloth hiding the contents of her basket, releasing the delicious smell of pie.

The gaoler’s eyes glinted with interest. He glanced around him. ‘You’d best step into my office, mistress.’

Mercy wasn’t eager to be alone with the man, but at least this meant she got within the doors. She followed him into a dingy room, not much better than a cell itself, digging in her pouch to take out a few more coins while his back was turned.

‘Put your basket here. I’ve to inspect anything sent into my prisoners.’ He tapped the table.

Mercy put it down and took off the cloth.

He rejected the parchment, ink and quill immediately. ‘Strict rules, no communication with anyone outside the gaol.’ His eyes went back to the pie.

Mercy knew what she had to do. She took it out and placed it on the table, laying two more shillings by its side. ‘You must get very hungry fulfilling your duties here, sir.’

‘Aye, that I do.’

‘Perhaps you might like this pie as a token of my thanks. It’s fresh baked with a cherry filling.’

He licked his lips. ‘That’d go down well with a sip of wine.’

With a sigh, she took out the bottle of Burgundy she had carefully transported this far.

The man took the wine, signalling she had given enough – for now. ‘He’s in the pit. I’ll bring him up to a cell above ground so you can see him.’ The gaoler jingled his keys. ‘No talking, mind. No carrying of messages to the outside.’

Mercy nodded, taking his injunction literally. She only brought word in, and had no intention of taking any out with her. A few minutes later, he came back to fetch her, steering her only a short step down the corridor to the first cell. The
place smelt damp and musty, the odour of human misery, she thought. He gave her a salacious wink as he ushered her in.

‘I wager that with you to eat, your young man won’t miss that pie,’ he chuckled. ‘Ten minutes – that’s what I’ll give you. Twenty if the pie is as good as it looks. Can’t say fairer than that.’

Kit couldn’t understand why he was being moved. At first he thought he was being taken for questioning, but then the gaoler showed him into an empty cell. A vast improvement on the dank hole he had been put in, and he hadn’t even had to bribe the man for the privilege.

The door opened again and Mercy stumbled over the lintel, in a hurry to put some distance between herself and the slop-bucket of a gaoler.

‘Mercy, what are you doing here?’ This was terrible. She had to stay away. He couldn’t bear it if his misfortune reached others. ‘Go away!’

‘That’s not very gentlemanly of you, sir,’ laughed the gaoler. ‘Your little sweetheart’s gone to all this trouble to see you and I’ve been so kind as to let her; I’d make the most of it.’ He shut the door on them, turning the key.

To his sorrow, Kit saw that his harsh words had bewildered his Mercy. Instead of running into his arms as she had plainly been intending, she hovered by the entrance, nervously squeezing the handle of a basket. ‘Master Turner, I’ve been told not to talk to you, but I’ve brought you some things to make your time here pass more easily.’

He took the basket from her and put it down without even looking at the contents. Wrapping his arms round her, he
folded her to him. ‘Ah, sweet, you shouldn’t be here.’ She smelt of home-baking and lavender, the complete opposite of everything in this place.

He could feel her swallow against his chest. ‘You … you don’t want me?’

‘Of course I want you. I meant that I don’t want you caught up in this. It’s going to take some time to sort out and it could get worse before it gets better.’

Mercy nodded. ‘Aye, I know.’ She went up on tiptoe. He hoped for a kiss, but instead got a whisper in his ear, which was almost as good. ‘Your brothers sent me. I would have come anyway, of course, but they asked me to be their go-between. There’s money in my pouch to pay for better accommodation. They said that they could only keep you safe by staying away.’

‘That’s true.’ He kissed her neck. ‘I pray you, don’t mention them again. We must be strangers, they and I.’

‘Just one more thing. They send their love. They thought it would be safe for me to come as I have no connection to any political faction. If your situation worsens, they’ll take steps to plead on your behalf, but for the moment they’ll keep away.’

‘Let’s not talk about my brothers,’ Kit whispered, making free with her ear for a nibbling caress. ‘In fact, let’s not talk at all. There’s little to say other than I love you, Mercy. Forgive me for upsetting you at Greenwich.’

She sank back down, heels on the ground, which had the most unwelcome result of moving her lips out of range of his mouth. ‘No, it is for me to beg your pardon. I was wrong. You … you spoke true when you said people did such things.
Can you forgive my ignorance? I was so arrogant to think I should correct you and I feel very foolish.’

He held her serious face in his hands, tracing her cheekbones with his thumbs. How her skin could be so soft was a miracle in this place of stone and iron bars. ‘There is nothing to forgive.’

‘There is. You were treating me with care and respect; I was the one to go too far with my reaction. I’ve since learnt that not all men are so kind.’

What was this? He brushed his thumb across her smooth cheek to touch the corner of her mouth, seeking the smile that usually put a dimple there. ‘Has something happened, Mercy? How do you know this?’

Her eyes slid to the wall behind him and she pressed her lower lip between her teeth.

‘Come, sweet, nothing you can say will anger me.’

Her fingers plucked the cording on his doublet. ‘My father arranged for a suitor from my church – a horrid man called Righteous Field.’

Kit reminded himself he had promised not to get angry. ‘And what followed?’

‘He took me for a walk.’ She glanced up at him, her green eyes earnest. ‘I didn’t want to go, I promise.’

‘Aye, I know you didn’t.’

‘He accosted me when we reached the field beyond the bear-baiting.’

‘Accosted you? In what way?’ His voice shook, but he continued to soothe her by stroking her face.

She gave an embarrassed shrug. ‘Well, you know, kissed me and tried to … um … touch my legs and …’ Her gaze went to the centre of his chest so he got the message.

‘He’s a dead man.’ Kit wished he wasn’t in gaol so he could go dowse the man’s pretensions in the nearest horse trough – but only after rearranging his features into a more pleasing shape.

‘There is no need, truly, Kit. I drove him off with a branch –’

Kit choked.

‘– and then my father gave him a drubbing when my aunt told him about it.’

‘Your father!’

Mercy smiled, restoring the dimples in her cheeks that he loved to see in their rightful places. ‘Aye, he does not approve of any such meddling before marriage. He’s quite changed his opinion of Master Field.’

‘Then there’s hope for me yet.’ Kit kissed her forehead, promising himself that, if fate allowed, he too would have serious words with the would-be suitor. He glanced behind him to the door. ‘How long do you think you will be permitted to remain?’

Mercy gave him a proud look. ‘At least another quarter of an hour. Aunt Rose and I are masters of the cherry pie.’

He chuckled. ‘Explain.’

‘Where avarice failed, gluttony prevailed. I now know how to gain entry to this place: keep the gaoler supplied with pastries.’

‘In that case I have time for this.’ Striking swiftly, he pulled the coif from her head. ‘I’ve had many dreams about doing this. Let me see what you’ve been hiding from me.’ He unravelled her braid. ‘In sooth, mistress, you are full of surprises.’

Mercy clapped a hand to her hair. ‘Oh, Kit, it’s a terrible mess.’

‘Is that what you call it? I call it a beautiful mane.’ He picked up one lock, stretching the corkscrew curl straight so that it reached the small of her back. When he let go, it sprang to rejoin the others by her shoulder blades. ‘You have every colour here from the lightest sack to the darkest Bordeaux. I can drink of you and never tire of the taste.’ Weaving his hands into the locks at her temples, he tilted her head to kiss her lips.

‘Oh, Kit.’

‘It’ll turn out right, I promise.’ And, in her presence, he could not doubt. If God had let this angel visit him, then He had Kit’s interests at heart. It was time to mend the breach between him and his Creator. He knew Mercy would have it no other way.

‘I’m so scared for you,’ she confessed.

‘Don’t be. I’ve friends on my side – and I’ve you to visit me. Many in this place are in far worse straits than I, for I know I am innocent. I count myself blessed.’ He kissed her again, shaping her to his full length, one arm angled across her hips, the other on her back.

Coming up for air with a sigh of contentment, she took his right hand and moved it to cradle her breast. Kit smiled into her hair. It had taken a spell in prison, but he and his little Puritan now understood each other perfectly.

On the gaoler’s return, Mercy reluctantly left Kit, promising to return as soon as she was able. The warder showed her to the door.

‘I’m partial to a savoury pie now and again,’ the gaoler said to the air as he let her on to the street.

She bobbed a curtsy and hurried away with her empty basket.

The rest of her family was home when she entered, her brother and father at the table, her grandmother dozing by the fire and her sister bringing in a tray of food. Faith’s eyes went to the basket on her arm.

‘Ah, my dear, good: you’re back just in time for dinner. I thought you’d gone to market.’

‘No, sister, I was visiting.’ She put the basket down on the table. ‘Do we need anything? I can go out again.’

John Hart beckoned her to the table. ‘You’ve not eaten. Have your meal first.’

Edwin pulled out a stool next to his and served a portion of meat on a plate for her. All were showing her particular marks of their concern since the Field affair – it had shaken them all profoundly that they could have been so mistaken in one of their congregation. But each caring gesture of her family was a twist of a knife in a wound, making the coming confrontation more difficult. Mercy couldn’t help but delay the moment, taking a seat and cutting the ham up into small strips. Every mouthful tasted like sawdust and swallowing was almost impossible.

John Hart pushed his plate away with a satisfied sigh. ‘Excellent, Faith. That Seville orange sauce is very good.’

Faith looked a little embarrassed. ‘Aunt Rose gave me the recipe.’

‘Aye, she’s a fine cook. I’m glad you learnt so much from her.’ He turned his attention to Mercy. ‘You’re very quiet, my
dear. Is there bad news? Which neighbour did you say you were visiting?’

Oh, Lord. Here it came: the moment she’d been putting off.

‘I was visiting Master Turner. He’s in prison.’

Edwin’s spoon clattered on to his plate.

‘
Master Turner?
In
prison
?’ repeated her father.

‘Aye.’

He got up abruptly, his chair falling backwards to the floor with a dull thump. Grandmother jerked from sleep and blinked confusedly around the room. ‘You know what I said about that man?’

Mercy nodded, squeezing her hands together in her lap.

‘Obviously you don’t remember clearly for you are sitting here at my table. Tell me what I said.’

‘You said …’ Mercy cleared her throat. ‘You said that I had to leave the name of Hart and go to him barefoot if I wished to see him again as you’d have nothing to do with me if I chose him.’

‘And yet you went. To prison of all places, exactly the place I would’ve predicted a man of his nature would end up.’

She ignored that unfair swipe as she could not enter into the reasons Kit was there without involving her family in the dangerous business. ‘But in the Gospel of Matthew, chapter twenty-five, we are told to feed the hungry, clothe the naked and visit the sick and those in prison.’

John Hart swept his plate from the table so violently that it clanged against the wall. All three of his children flinched. ‘Do not quote the scriptures at me, Mercy, for it also says, in the ten commandments, “Honour thy father and mother” and
you have just ignored a most solemn order from me. You will beg my pardon and go to your room. From this moment on, you must not venture out of doors without one of us to accompany you. And you most certainly shall never see that villain again.’

Mercy stood up. ‘No, Father.’

Her father gaped at her – the first time she had seen him so floored by a remark of hers. ‘What do you mean, “no”?’

‘Kit is the husband of my heart and I will not abandon him. I stand here the sorriest girl in Christendom for the offence I cause you, but it seems that I cannot reconcile my duty to you with my love for him.’ She took up what was left of Tobias’s money, which she had put aside before going to the prison and slipped it into her own pouch at her girdle. ‘Knowing this, do you still wish me gone?’

‘Are you going too, Mercy?’ quavered Grandmother. ‘Not like Rosie? No, you can’t.’

Mercy silently prayed that her father would change his mind. He had been her staunch defender against Field; would he now put his convictions before her wishes? When she plucked up the courage to raise her gaze to his face, she saw that he trembled with emotion – rage and distress at the breach opening between them. Tears flooded her eyes.

‘Nay, do not try to soften me with crying.’ John Hart flung away from her, taking refuge at the far end of the chamber. ‘I cannot … I cannot let a wilful sin go unchallenged in my house, no matter how I love the sinner.’