The Rogue's Princess (8 page)

‘I’m a hopeless case,’ Mercy admitted, rubbing her eyes.

Rose looked between the yawning Ann and Mercy suspiciously. ‘When exactly did you two go to sleep?’

‘They were gossiping until the small hours, I’m afraid.’ Mistress Belknap gave her daughter an indulgent smile. ‘They had lots to discuss. We’ll see you soon, I hope, love?’ She kissed Mercy on the top of her head.

‘Aye, mistress, and thank you for having me to stay.’

‘You are welcome under this roof at any time – particularly when we have guests we want to impress!’ Mistress Belknap called after her as they stepped out into Goldsmith’s Row.

Waving farewell, Rose linked her arm with her niece. ‘I hear you were a success.’

Mercy looked abashed. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Mind that you played the lute? Of course not. I love to hear you.’ Rose shook her head at her niece’s ability to put so many barriers up between herself and honest enjoyment of life’s few pleasures. There was enough suffering in the world without subtracting the things that made it bearable.

They walked on in silence a while until Mercy spoke. ‘I was wondering, Aunt: would it be possible to go with you to the Theatre when you next attend a play?’

Rose would not have been more surprised if Queen Elizabeth had popped out from Watling Street and knighted them both on the spot. ‘Did I hear you right? You want to go to a play?’

Mercy fumbled with her cloak. ‘Not if it is wrong to wish to do so.’

Some would say it was, but they were the kind of men who had been most cruel to Rose after her disgrace so she had little time for their opinions. Her brother-in-law, Mercy’s father, would frown, but he was not a rash man, suspending judgement until he saw proof that his fears were founded.

‘I do not think it wrong,’ Rose replied honestly. ‘I enjoy a good play.’

Mercy smiled at her. ‘Then I do not either. Indeed, I have
been told that the stage has the power to sway men to correct their faults when they see vice punished and virtue rewarded.’

‘Indeed.’ And since when had her niece started arguing like a university man?

‘And I thought that it was best to judge for myself. I have been taught to be responsible for my own salvation, weighing each sin I commit and confessing it to God alone. I think I should therefore decide if the stage is good or bad in the same way.’

‘Or you could just go and enjoy it, you goose,’ Rose teased, tweaking her niece’s sweetly serious nose.

Mercy struggled with this unlikely idea. ‘I suppose I could. But is it right to do so?’

‘Oh, Mercy, when are you going to realize that God rejoices in our happiness and shares our sorrows? A little laughter at a play is not going to send you to the Devil, no matter what some say.’

‘But should I tell Father?’

‘I can’t see why you should keep it from him for that would make something innocent suspect. I will choose the play with care, make sure it is one he will approve. You should ask him when you get home at dinner.’

‘Yes, yes, I’ll do that.’ Mercy bit her lip. ‘And should I tell him about my playing the lute yester eve?’

Rose laughed. ‘Of course, Mistress Goose, he will be proud of you. An accomplished daughter who can offer music in a man’s house is something to cherish and set in plain sight, not stuff under a pillow.’

Mercy skipped with excitement. Rose had to pull her back
before she scattered a flock of sheep being driven across the bridge by a sour-faced shepherd.

‘Good.’ Mercy laughed, spinning on the spot, forcing even the herder to smile. ‘That’s settled then. I’m going to a play!’

After greeting Faith and Gran, Mercy took herself off to the bedchamber she shared with her sister to read her daily portion of the scriptures as set out for her by her father. It was a particularly enjoyable sequence about Daniel in the lions’ den so it was no hardship. She then took out her journal to make note of her spiritual thoughts – the problem was she didn’t have any. She chewed the end of the quill.

Almighty God, thank you for granting me a splendid evening at Ann’s. I pray I did not fall into the sin of the proud by taking too much pleasure in the applause for my playing.

She let her pen rest too long, making a blot. Did she have to record the kiss? She still wasn’t sure if that had been right or wrong. At the time it had felt so very, very right, but now she wondered.

Pray keep my heart from evil thoughts.

There that ought to do it – a general catch-all for any sins that might creep up on her when she thought about Kit. It was difficult to confess all in a journal that she knew her father might read one day when he asked to see the progress of her journey in faith. She realized people, Kit included, thought her naive – and perhaps she was – but she tried not to be so gullible, she really did. Men often stole kisses from maidens, making promises they meant not to keep, but her heart told her that Kit was different. Love of man for woman was a godly thing when blessed by the church. The kiss could be but a
prelude to so much more and she couldn’t wait to find out what that might be.

Unable to pursue such heated thoughts without straying into sin, she flicked back to her previous jottings to see how she was doing then added on this day’s tally:

Scripture verses read: 40.

Prayers said: at least 5.

Sinful thoughts: 6 and a half
(if thinking about the kiss was a bit of a mixed bag).

She scratched down her usual conclusion:

Lord, I offer you this record of a poor servant and pray you pardon my trespasses.

With a sigh of relief having unburdened herself of this, she tucked the journal back in its hiding place under her mattress and then flopped on the bed. While exhausted from having gossiped with Ann until the early hours, she was strangely abuzz with excitement. Poor Ann must have tired of her ‘will he, won’t he?’ ramblings about Kit. Her friend had, unusually for her, kept her counsel, saying she would not give an opinion on the matter as she thought it would do Mercy good to find out all there was to know about him for herself. For some reason, Ann believed Mercy needed her horizons expanding, whatever that meant. Ann had agreed unreservedly, however, that Kit was the handsomest man in the whole of London – not that Christian girls should judge their future partners by such worldly measures, of course.

Mercy rolled on to her side and hugged herself, aware of her body in ways that she had never been before. It was as though she were the lute and meeting Kit had plucked her strings for the first time. Twelve hours later she was still
humming. She couldn’t wait for him to call. Perhaps he would come this very day? The next at the latest. And she had a play to look forward to, something to share with him when he did visit her. Wouldn’t he be surprised to find that she had so swiftly taken his advice and gone to judge for herself?

Sometimes, life was just too, too sweet.

5

Tobias Lacey woke to find his half-brother snoring gently beside him. He smiled up at the ceiling. His guess had proved correct: Kit had not been so hard-hearted as to turn him out in the middle of the night and had left him to sleep on. He slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake him, and pulled on his hose and boots to go in search of breakfast. Dame Prewet, Kit’s landlady, was already preparing dinner so his hopes were somewhat dented that he was in time for the earlier meal.

Happily, she understood the appetite of the shaggy-haired seventeen-year-old. ‘Good morrow, young sir, there’s bread in the pantry, and good butter. Help yourself,’ she called to him as she rolled the pastry out on the table, elbow deep in flour.

Tobias bowed. ‘You, Dame Prewet, are a jewel among women.’

The old lady chuckled. ‘And you are an imp of a noble house. Now make yourself useful – take some up to your brother. He has a rehearsal to attend – it’s already close to ten.’

Tobias loaded a platter, grabbed two cups of small beer and
balanced his tray up the stairs. Kicking the door open, he plonked the lot on the side table.

‘Breakfast is served, my lord!’ he called merrily, whisking the covers from his brother.

‘It can’t be time to get up yet,’ growled Kit, turning to bury his face under the pillows leaving the rest of him exposed to the daylight.

Tobias dumped a wet cloth from the ewer on to his bare back. ‘You don’t want another fine for being late. Rise and shine – your public awaits!’

Kit’s reply was to throw the rag and pillow in the general direction of Tobias’s voice. Tobias caught the pillow and chucked it back, which only gave Kit the excuse to bury his head again.

‘Ah me! Sometimes one has to be cruel to be kind.’ Tobias picked up the ewer and began to drip the icy contents on his brother. It produced the desired result. Kit leapt from the bed and squawked in fury.

‘Pestilential whoreson!’

Tobias put the ewer back on its stand. ‘Now, now, I won’t have you slandering my mother like that,’ he said without rancour.

‘Your mother is doubtless beyond reproach; it is you who is the menace!’

‘I brought you breakfast.’

The peace offering was noted and seized on as Kit began pulling on his clothes: lace-edged shirt, and a particularly flamboyant doublet of green and yellow, trimmed with silver bonework. Tobias always admired his older brother’s flare for fashion; he must spend most of his earnings on his wardrobe to afford such fine stuff, skimming a fraction of an inch below
breaking the sumptuary laws that dictated what each class could wear. Nicely judged indeed.

‘What brings you to disturb my peace, brother mine?’ asked Kit through a mouthful of bread.

‘’Swounds. I just wondered how you were – thought it time to call on the more interesting part of the family. Will and Ellie are expecting another happy event; Jamie is insufferably single-minded now Jane too is increasing; where else can I go where the talk is not all of babies and female stuff?’

‘So you came to me for some good sound man-to-man talk, did you? It was nothing to do with the horse race you lost?’

‘I did not lose!’ Tobias said indignantly. ’Sblood, his plot had been discovered. ‘I won by a nose, but Kingsthorp reneged on our deal and left me in debt to the stables for the hire of the horse.’

‘Hmm.’

‘It’s only a small sum.’

‘But … ?’

‘But Will told me in no uncertain terms that there was no more money until Lady Day. His cargo from the Indies has still not landed and he’s up to his own ears in debt as usual.’

‘What about Jamie? Rich wife now: his money problems must be a thing of the past.’

Tobias snorted. ‘He would only laugh and tell me I had made my own bed and should learn the lesson by lying in it. Besides, he has this strange notion that he shouldn’t pillage his wife’s estate to bail out his impecunious brother – his words, not mine. He says he’s waiting until there’s something worth spending money on for me – like a position at court.’

Kit picked up a bundle of black clothes and tucked them
under his arm. ‘Gods, you have me feeling sorry for you. Come your ways then: if you’re dodging the bailiff after your debt you’d best stick with me like a preacher to his Bible. With my wise words, I’ll guide you out of mischief.’

Tobias brushed the crumbs off his rumpled clothes. ‘Excellent. I was hoping you’d let me watch the master at work. What is it today?’

‘We’re doing
The Merchant’s Daughter
again.’

‘What? That old chestnut?’

‘Don’t slight the play – I have very fond memories of that one. I had my first role in it as a boy – Clarinda, the daughter.’

‘Oh, aye, that’s a good part. So now you’re to be her lover, honest Tom Cobbler, who is in fact,’ here Tobias did an ironic roll of the drum on the table top, ‘Thomas Knightly, the baron’s son! Audience gasp and swoon at the happy chance, cue for the jig.’

‘Aye, that’s me.’

‘Do we get to dance?’

Kit grabbed his plumed cap. ‘We always dance, as well you know. No play, not even the bloodiest tragedy, would be complete without a merry jig to send all away in good spirits.’

‘True. Anything to please the crowd.’

An amusing day in prospect, Tobias took up an extra chunk of bread to eat on the way and followed his famous brother to the Theatre.

The cast stopped rehearsing shortly after midday to eat a quick dinner at the local tavern. Kit made sure to call into the stables to greet John Ostler, his old friend from the trough incident, and introduce him to his newest hanger-on.

‘John, here’s my lack-wit brother, Tobias Lacey.’

John sized up the young nobleman and decided a tug on the cap would suffice as a welcome.

‘Do you have time for a play today, John?’ Kit brandished a complimentary ticket endorsed by Burbage.

John scratched his head then hitched up his sagging hose, retying the points. ‘Nay, lad, not today. Party of young gentlemen come to see the play want to stable their horses here. That there Tom Saxon of yours invited them, they said.’

‘Shame. Any chance tomorrow?’

John brightened. ‘What’s it to be?’

‘
The Knights of Malta
again.’

‘Well, that’s more to my taste than the tale of love you’re serving today. Get ye within, lads, or you’ll miss dinner.’

Kit and Tobias pushed their way into the busy taproom. The rush before the theatre opened was upon the place and they had to squeeze in at the end of the board between a stout farmer’s wife and an ill-smelling tanner.

‘Lovely company you keep, Kit,’ Tobias murmured, annoyed that he’d got the tanner rather than the soft cushion of the dame to press against.

Kit waved to the maid to bring them a serving of the day’s stew. ‘Go back to Lacey Hall if you don’t like it, sprout.’

‘Turner, Turner!’

Kit swivelled in his seat to find Tom Saxon waving at him from a private booth on the far side of the room. ‘I think you’ve just been rescued.’ He grinned at Tobias. ‘Mary, we’re taking our fare over there,’ he called to the maid.

Heaving Tobias up by the elbow, he ploughed through the crowd to join Tom and his dining companions.