Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (43 page)

"Will you tell me some tales, Lily?" Dulcie asked, taking a bite out of the mincemeat tart, then handing a portion to Raphael, who promptly swallowed it. "I want to hear the tale of the wild white horses and how they defeated the witch when they reached England. I bet the queen would like to hear the talk, too, Lily. How does it begin? 'On the isle of pines and palms, where the waves
.
.
."

The fire had burned down to glowing coals when Lily heard a footstep outside her door. Yawning, she stretched from her cramped position before the hearth, reluctant to leave it's warmth. She remained still, listening for the sound again, but there was only silence.

"Lily glance
d
over toward the bed, but all she could hear was quiet breathing. She'd finally managed to calm Tillie down, and unable to watch her return to the narrow mat she slept on in the servants' wing, she had tucked Tillie into her bed beside a peacefully sleeping Dulcie, who'd dozed off during her own telling of her favorite tale.

Unable to sleep until Tristram returned, Lily had curled up close to the fire. During the long hours that had passed while she waited, she thought of the conversation she'd had with Tillie, and of the conversation she would have to have with Farley Odell, the father of the child Tillie now carried. Tillie had said that Farley wanted to wed her. Although she had said nothing to Tilley, Lily had promised herself that she'd see that Farley Odell did exactly that.

Lighting a taper from one of the glowing coals in the hearth, Lily lit a candle and slipped out of her room. Making her way along the darkened corridor toward Tristram's room, she opened the door and stepped inside without
knocking
.

In the flickering candlelight, Lily could see Tristram sitting on the edge of his bed, his head bowed, his fingers clasped together
tightly
.

"Well? Aren't you at least going to say good night after I've stayed awake waiting for you to return?" Lily greeted him.

Startled, Tristram jerked his head up, looking as guilty as he should after a midnight raid on a graveyard. "Lily!"

"I am certainly
relieved
to see that you are in one piece. Can we say the same of Farley and Fairfax, your cohorts in the escapade?"

"You know?" Tristram asked with
a sigh, but he sounded relieved.

"What happened in the village?" Lily asked him, moving to sit beside him on the bed.

"Oh, Lily," he said, his spirits momentarily lifting as he remembered, "I wish you'd been there. Farley rubbed this strange, glowing green, slimy stuff on the blanket, then he put it over Fairfax's head before he got behind. Fairfax had this boar's head, only you would have thought 'twas a dragon's. Then I was wearing a suit of armor, just like St. George, and sitting up on Farley's shoulders. We went running through the graveyard, Fairfax waving the torch, and I was slashing through the air with the sword, and Farley was moaning and crying and making this awful dragon's roar. You should have seen those villagers come racing out of church," he said nearly doubling over with laughter.

"The Reverend Buxby tripped over that woman, Mistress Fordham, and she must have thought the dragon had her, because she cut loose with this horrible scream and grabbed hold of a shovel that had been left by one of the graves. The she swung around with it and caught the reverend smack in the middle of his seat. Sent him flying over the nearest headstone."

Lily tried not to laugh, but her shoulders were beginning to shake as she envisioned the nightmarish scene.

"Of course, that's when everything started to go wrong. Fairfax tripped, and the blanket caught on a branch and got pulled off," Tristram admitted, glancing over at Lily.

"So you were recognized."

"I think so, Lily," Tristram said dejectedly. "I heard someone call out Farley's name, and Fairfax is the biggest man in the village. Don't suppose he'd be hard to miss."

"You had the helmet on. They wouldn't have recognized you, Tristram."
"I dropped the shield. It has our coat of arms on it," he said glumly. "I guess I'm in a lot of trouble. Hartwell will have every reason now to send me away to school."

Lily placed her arm around Tristram's shoulders comfortingly. "You do realize that it was wrong for you and Farley and Fairfax to do what you did," she told him, wondering how their father or Basil would have handled this situation.

"They deserved it, Lily," Tristram responded. "Even if I do get sent away, it was worth it to see them all racing around like scared rabbits."

"I'm not excusing the villagers, Tristram. They've been unjust in their actions too, but that doesn't mean we have the right to even the score," Lily tried to explain.

"I think Father would have laughed tonight, Lily," Tristram said softly. "He wouldn't have let those villagers say things about you and Dulcie like they do. And he would have defended our honor, just like I have, only maybe I did it a little differently than he might have. I haven't done any harm to anyone. I just made those people feel like the fools they are. I don't think Basil or Mother would have been ashamed of me, do you, Lily?"

Lily took a deep breath, wondering how to answer that. She was searching her mind for an appropriate parable to tell him when a frightening bellow filled the silence, followed by high-pitched squealing and wild barking and cries of "Rape!" and "Murder!" and "Lily, help me!"

Lily nearly dropped the candlestick when she jumped to her feet. Tristram had already reached the door and was racing down the corridor to her room. A couple of steps behind him, Lily stumbled against him when she entered. And unable to move as they stared at the scene, they continued to stand in the opened doorway.

Tillie was standing on the bed, clutching to her breast the nightdress Lily had lent her and which was now torn almost in two. Her howls, coming between gasping breaths, were almost deafening and rivaled Cisco's screeching as he flew around the room, until finally coming to roost on top of the bed, where Cappie was clinging to the tall headboard and chattering non-stop. Dulci
e
sat huddled against the pillows, her black eyes full of wonder as she stared at Hartwell Barclay's bare legs protruding from the tub. Next to it, Raphael, who had a death-bite on one of Hartwell's slippers, was growling and pawing at the offending
object that had dropped from his
enemy's foot.

"He attacked me!" Tillie cried, pointing an accusing finger at Hartwell Barclay. "Out of the dark like some demon, he came! Jumps on the bed and pins me down. He tried to
.
.
.
to
.
.
.
well, I'll not repeat such a thing before young, innocent ears. He slobbered all over me! I thought at first 'twas Raphael, until he started talkin'," Tillie told them, but all the while keeping a watchful eye on the tub.

“Oh, Mistress Lily! He said terrible things, he did. And he thought I was you! He’s drunk, mistress. Said them Whitelaws wasn’t goin’ to get their greedy hands on his money. Nor was that Simon Whitelaw ever goin’ to wed ye. Said that after tonight ye’d marry him, or ye’d be a ruined woman! Said he’d see ye dead and buried before he’d let ye marry
anyone
but himself.”

“Lily?” Tristram said, eyeing the tub. “Do you think he’s dead?”

“I didn’t kill him! I’m no murderess! ‘Twas the dog! He jumps up on the bed when Mistress Dulcie started screamin’. Thought he was goin’ to tear the master apart, I did. The master started screamin’ then and leaps out of the bed. Then there was a funny noise, kinda like a splash, then a gurgling sound, and then I didn’t hear him again.”

Slowly, Lily walked over to the tub and peered over the edge.

“Oh, mistress!” Tillie cried. “Remember the Widow Hubbs and Dan Barber. Ye don’t think the master has drowned?”

Lily stared down at Hartwell Barclay’s pale face bobbing in the tub.

“He’s dead, Lily,” Tristram said, startling Lily. “The constable is bound to come tomorrow
morning
or maybe even tonight, because of what happened at the church. He and a group of them villagers will show up here at Highcross, Lily, and demand that we all be brought to trial,” Tristram warned her, clutching Lily’s arm and trying to drag her away from Hartwell Barclay’s body.

“But he tried to attack Tillie. It was self-defense, Tristram,” Lily said, as if explaining to the authorities. “He was crazed with drink. He might have killed Tillie, or me, if I’d been in my bed,” Lily suddenly realized.

“Do you think they are going to believe us?” Tristram asked. “After tonight, they aren’t looking for much of an excuse to send me to Newgate Prison. Farley and Fairfax said that’s what would happen if we got caught. Oh, Lily, please, listen to me. They’ll think you murdered Hartwell. They’ll think you murdered him because he was your guardian. They’ll hang you, Lily,” Tristram pleaded with her, still pulling on her arm. “And they’ll take me and Farley and Fairfax away. What are we going to do, Lily?”

Lily stared at Hartwell’s body. “We’ll tell the truth, Tristram. We have friends, we’ll get help.”

“There is no one to help us. Valentine Whitelaw is at sea. Artemis is married now, and she’s back in Cornwall. She’s going to have a baby, Lily. She can’t come to help us. Remember the letter from Quinta we got just last week? She’s in the North Country. She’s going across the border into Scotland. She won’t even know they’ve hanged you until ‘tis too late, Lily!” Tristram cried, shaking Lily’s arm frantically.

“They mustn’t hang Lily! They mustn’t!” Dulcie cried, hopping down from the bed and flinging herself against Lily. “Are they
going
to take Tristram away? Are they going to hang you, Lily? Don’t leave me, Lily! Don’t ever leave me, Lily!”

“Who’s going to believe us, Lily? Who’s going to help us? No one. No one, Lily.”

“Oh, Mistress Lily! They’ll think I killed the master. They won’t believe me when I tell them that he attacked me. When they see that I’m with child, they’ll think he was me lover! They’ll think I murdered him ‘cause he wouldn’t do right by me,” Tillie said wildly, her eyes darting around the room as if seeking escape until they came to rest on Lily. “What are we goin’ to do, Mistress Lily?” she asked with a pitiful look. “What are we goin’ to do?”

I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,

Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows

Quiet over-canopied with luscious
woodb
ine,

With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine:

There sleeps Titania some time of the night,

Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight;

And t
here the snake throws her enamel
l’d skin,

Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.

S
hakespeare

Chapter Seventeen

“
R
are
phoenix birds
from the deserts of Araby! Goldspun silks and precious spices from the Kingdom of Kublai Khan! Marco Polo himself brought back this fine piece of jade from Kinsai! Oranges from Baghdad! Ivory tusks from Malabar! Musk, given to me by the black-eyed daughter of a Tartar chieftain! I, myself, have seen the wonders of the world! Come closer, fair maids and gentleman all, and listen to my tale of desert caravans and golden-domed palaces. And see for yourselves these priceless gifts!”

Overhead the summer sky was as bright a blue as the lapis lazuli held in the outstretched palm of a dealer in rare gems. Colorful pennants and flags, strung along the length of stalls and tents lining the narrow thoroughfare, seemed to dance to the dissonant sounds from drummers, pipers, and strolling minstrels strumming lutes.

True Thomas lay o’er yon grassy bank,

And he beheld a lady gay,

A lady that was brisk and bold,

Come riding o’er the fernie brae.

Her skirt was of the grass-green silk,

Her mantle of the velvet fine,

At ilka tett of her horse’s mane

Hung fifty silver bells and nine
.
.
.

She turned about her milk-white steed,

And took True Thomas up behind,

And aye when’er her bridle rang,

The steed flew faster than the wind.

A fortnight earlier, on St. Bartholomew’s Day, the Lord Mayor of London, dressed in his scarlet gown, had read the proclamation that opened the revels of the Bartholomew Fair. With bells ringing and trumpets blaring, acrobats, jugglers, and dancers romped at the head of the procession of mummers, giants, and knaves dressed as hobbyhorses. Prancing to and fro into the crowd, they cajoled, bantered, and goaded, and singled out a likely dupe or two to be made sport of. Singers, musicians, and pranksters followed to keep the onlookers full of
merriment
and moving toward the booths of the fair. Horse peddlers, tinkers, and gold sellers; actors, palm-readers, and conjurors; fortune-tellers, herbalists, and mountebanks; strollers, beggars, and pickpockets awaited.

Across the thronged midway, a tightrope walker balanced precariously on a tautly stretched rope, his dangerous antics eliciting gasps and cries for more daring feats.

Astride a white horse, a parrot perched on her shoulder, a beautiful maiden with dark red hair flowing free and dressed in a robe of green velvet caught the eye. Tiny silver bells braided into the horse’s mane jingled melodically, while a funny-faced monkey dressed in his finest sat like a prince on the horse’s rump. A young girl with black hair and eyes danced beside the horse and shook a gaily colored tambourine. Her slippered feet hardly seemed to touch the ground as she pirouetted around a large, playful dog with a ridiculously big ruff tied around his neck. A young juggler deceived and dazzled the eye with his tricks while he cavorted behind them and picked up the coins tossed from the appreciative crowd.

“A thirst! Have ye a thirst!” cried a wine vendor, holding out a leather flagon and a cup.

“Hot sausages!”

“Peppered meats, still sizzling!”

“Apples! Pears!”

“I’ve almonds and raisins!”

Inside a tent, close by the wrestling ring, cakes and ale could be had. Children playing games of hotcockle, leap
frog, blindman’s-bluff, and logge
t paused only long enough to purchase a piece of gingerbread or cup of cider from the booths nearby. Beyond the stalls, where artisans were displaying their wares, where ribbons and lace, tobacco from the New World, Turkey carpets and antique vases were offered for sale, the grounds had been given over to jousting and dancing. In the distance, pens of geese, pigs, and sheep were grouped in a wide meadow. Under the nearest copse of oak, mares and their foals, frisky colts, and strong-chested draft horses were being auctioned.

In a space cleared behind one of the tents, servants and laborers sought to be hired on the spot. Cheers and horrible cries drifted through the air from the makeshif
t arena where bull and bear bai
ting drew its share of eager sideline participants. Opposite, a stage full of players tried to attract the attention of the passersby, their voices raised in bawdy verse, after droll wit had failed to interest an audience.

“Have ye an ache
?
Losin’ yer hair? Trouble sleepin’?” a charlatan cried, holding up a small bottle of a strangely tinted liquid. “This magical potion, secret of the Pharaohs of Egypt until now and bottled on the banks of the Nile, will cure it all.”

“Find out what yer future be! Fortune? Adventure? Marriage, my fair one?” an astrologer, dressed in Oriental robes, his long white beard snaking beneath the silk-covered table, enticed a young woman standing before the booth. “Let me read the stars and tell ye what tomorrow holds. So much knowledge, fer so small a coin pressed into a my palm. Come, before the moon rises and the planets move.”

“Dice? Cards? Primero! All Fours! Riddles? Any game of chance! Why, a hod carrier not more than half an hour past won a fortune! Told me how he now intends to
buy
not build a rich lord’s mansion!”

Scattered around St. Margaret’s Hill, the Southwark Fair had opened within hours of the final day of the Bartholomew Fair across the river near Smithfield. Michaelmas was less than a month away, and the many festivals and celebrations accompanying the harvest were already being eagerly anticipated.

A handsome man dressed in a jerkin of forest green, his shirtsleeves of the finest linen, stood before a booth decorated with green boughs and garlands of wild flowers. With a roguish smile and a gleam in his laughing blue eyes, he indicated the drawn curtains of the booth.

“A quarter past the hour! Don’t be late! Don’t miss it!
G
et a seat up close. That is when the next performance of ‘The Wild White Horses’ will be presented. Get here early, for ‘tis the most popular show at the fair. A quarter past the hour! Don’t forget!” Romney Lee warned, and after bowing to those who were already finding a good seat before the booth, he sauntered off, his smile widening with satisfaction.

“Rom! Rom, wait!” a young woman called to him. With no attempt at maidenly modest, she lifted her skirts high as she ran to catch up to him. Her slim ankles, stockinged in scarlet silk, drew many an appreciative and outraged eye as she flew by, unmindful of all but the tall man making his way through the crowded midway.

Romney Lee casually glanced over his shoulder, not slowing his pace. He’d recognized the voice.

“Rom!”

With a sigh of impatience, Romney Lee halted. A boisterous group now blocked his way.

“Did ye not hear me?” the woman demanded breathlessly, her slender arm entwining around his possessively.

Romney Lee smiled down into her slanting eyes. “Hear? In this din? Now, am I a man to turn my
back
on a beautiful woman? And I’ve seldom seen ye lookin’ prettier, Navarre,” he said. He did not lie this time, for the gypsy girl, with her black hair and amber eyes, was one of the most beautiful women of his acquaintance.

“ ‘Tis a long time since last I heard ye say so,” Navarre murmured, pressing closer, her lips parted enticingly. She was dressed in a gown of black velvet, but away in front to expose the richness of her scarlet petticoats. The bodice, cut low and square, and trimmed with lack lace and red satin rosettes, revealed the roundness of her breasts. About her small waist she had tied a rectangular piece of fringed, Indian cloth. Gold chains glistened against her dark skin and reflected the amber fire in her eyes when she stared up into Romney Lee’s face.

“My voice has been just one of many,” Romney replied mockingly, the heavy scent she wore filling his senses as she leaned against him and boldly allowed the bodice of her gown to gape wide to reveal a seductive expanse of warm, soft flesh.

“But ‘tis the only voice I wish to hear, Rom,” Navarre said softly, her gaze seeking to hold his glance, but Romney Lee had already looked away, as if searching the crowd for something or someone important.

Navarre’s full lips tightened into an unattractive thinness. “Ye be lookin’ fer
her
, aren’t ye, Romney Lee?” she demanded jealously. “Ye’d do well to listen to me, Rom, and ferget her. She’s no good fer ye. I’ve read it in her palm. She brings the evil eye on us. Ever since she and that little band of hers joined up with us we’ve all had a spell of bad luck. I say get rid of her and the others before ‘tis too late.”

Romney laughed, pulling his
arm
away from her grasp. “You expect me to take heed of your warning because of a simple palm-reading? You forget, I’m not one of these fools to be duped. You’re just
envious
, Navarre. When Lily Francisca rides through the crowd, all eyes follow her-as well as most of the coins. You and the others ought to be grateful that we’ve an attraction like Lily Francisca. There is something captivating about her...but you shouldn’t be greedy, my love, for with your dancing you’ve received more than your fair share during the past few years.

“Alas, times change, and I believe even the little one counted more in her tambourine than you did today,” Romney commented, smiling unpleasantly. “You shall have to keep on your toes, for Dulcie Rosalinda’s mother was Castilian, and the little one dances from the heart. I noticed you were strolling rather than dancing during most of the procession. You must be tiring easier than you once did, eh, Navarre? We may have to replace you with someone more spirited. I believe the Webbs need someone to serve ale in their booth
.
.
.”

“Ye swine!” she spat,
raising
her hand to strike, but Romney’s fingers closed around her wrist and forced her arm behind her.

“Don’t ever raise your hand against me, Navarre, or against those who belong to me,” Romney warned her, his grip tightening painfully.

Navarre spat at his feet. “Ye think this Lily Francisca belongs to ye? I’m goin’ to laugh in your face, Romney Lee, when she breaks your heart. And she will, my fine one. Ye think ye be good enough fer the likes of her? Pah! Ye be dreamin’, lad. Ye just wait, Rom. Ye’re nothin’ to her. Try to take her, if ye can get past them watchdogs of hers that are always fallin’ over themselves to keep everyone at a distance. I don’t know which is worse, that flea-bitten, four-legged one, or them other two.
There
isn’t much difference between ‘em now I think about it,” she said with a harsh laugh. “But if ye manage to get close enough to her to hold her in your arms, Rom, and knowin’ ye like I do, ye will, then we’ll see how much in love with ye she be,” Navarre told him, her eyes narrowed to little more than slits. “Ye don’t believe me, d’ye? Ye think she smiles just fer ye? She’d smile that way at a stinkin’ beggar.”

“Be quiet, Navarre.”

“Oh, that cuts, does it, Rom, to know that she thinks of ye like she does them half-wits who’d do anything fer her? Oh, she likes ye, yes, Rom.
But
as a friend! Or, maybe like some servant, or one of them animals of hers. Not as a lover! Never that, Rom!” Navarre said, her narrowed amber eyes full of malice. She wanted to hurt Romney Lee the same way he’d hurt her when he’d brought Lily Francisca into their camp.

“Lily Francisca. Such a pretty name, don’t ye think? Like a fair flower, and as easily bruised, I’d wager. Remember that, when ye climb into bed with her. She’s still innocent of a man’s touch, Rom. She’s not woman enough fer the rough kind of man ye be. The fair maiden will remain exactly that till the right man comes along, and ye aren’t him, Rom. I’ve seen the look in her eye when she thinks no one is watchin’ her.
She’s
dreamin’ of some other man holdin’ her and kissin’ her and makin’ love to her. Not ye, Rom. ‘Tisn’t your face she sees. She doesn’t look at ye with that lovin’ glance in them cat’s eyes of hers. She’s not fer a rogue like ye, Rom. What d’ye have to offer her? Not even a heart that will remain true, I’d wager. Ye like the taste of women too well, Romeny Lee. Ye’ve never been faithful to me, have ye, now?
And
I know ye care fer me more than ye have any other woman. D’ye really think ye’d be true to
her?
‘Tisn’t meant to be, Rom. If her father were alive d’ye think he’d let ye anywhere near his fair daughter? He was a fine gentleman,
wasn’t
he? And her mother, the lady of the manor, she was. Like a princess, Lily Francisca is, ridin’ that fine steed of hers. So cold. So haughty. So out of your reach, Romney Lee.

“Don’t be
fergettin
’ who and what ye are, Rom. Ye be mine. Remember that, too. We be two of a kind. Not of the true blood, either of us, that’s why our blood mingles into one when we’re together. We become like fire when we lie together, Romeny Lee. It burns in both of us. Ye can’t deny it. No one can make ye feel like I do. I am of your blood, Rom. Same as ye be of mine. Neither one of us can change what we are or what
we’ve
meant to each other. Listen to me, Rom,” she pleaded, staring up into his flushed face, at the angry disbelief written there, at the pain in the dark blue eyes she loved so. “Oh, ye be a fool, Rom! Can’t ye see she’s bewitched ye with dreams that can’t ever come true?”

Romeny Lee pushed her away from him. Stumbling slightly, Navarre spun around, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of the knife tucked inside the
scarf
about her waist, but she was smiling when she said, “Go to her then! But ye’ll come crawlin’ back to me, Rom. And I’ll be waitin’, as I always am. I’m not too proud to admit that I love ye, and I always will. Ye think this comes of just bein’ jealous?” Navarre asked with a contemptuous laugh. “She won’t be able to hold ye. I’m not frightened of that
gorgio
with her pale skin and gentle ways. I’m not the only one who thinks
she
and them others are bad luck.
There’s
been talk.
There
are others who
-
-”

Romney reached out and grabbed her arm. “What lies have you been spreading, Navarre? If I find out you’ve been causing trouble for Lily Francisca, I’ll
-
-”

“Ye’ll what? I haven’t said nothin’ that hasn’t already been said by others. Ye be so blind, Rom, that ye can’t see that she and them others have been takin’ money out of the pockets of the rest of us. Well, maybe not yours, eh? Ye be pocketing half of what they get, so ye be doin’ quite nicely. but there be some, and not just of my family, ones who’ve been travelin with this band fer years, who aren’t happy, Rom. She’s not one of us, and she never will be. She’s takin’ bread out of the mouths of those of us who don’t have no other way of livin’. Ye think that be fair? I got no other place to go, Rom. But her, ye think she’ll starve, or she’ll let that little black-eyed sister of hers go hungry if she can’t make enough money with us? Will she watch that innocent-faced brother of hers turn to thievin’? No, she’ll run back to h
er family. She’s an heiress. S
oon enough, Rom, she’ll tire of playin’ the fairs, and then she’ll ride out of here without a backward glance, and right into the arms of some fancy gentleman who’ll keep her in silks and well rounded with child. If ye think otherwise, then ye truly be livin’ in a dream. Ye go ask the wise one, Rom, see what Old Maria has to say about your fair flower. Ye have to believe her words, Rom. We both know she sees the future. ‘Tis no trick with her. Ask her, Romney Lee. If ye have the courage,” Navarre dared him, and with a seductive swing of her hips, she sauntered away. She hadn’t gotten far before
several
male members of the troupe joined her, laughing as she flirted with them, knowing Romney Lee stood watching her.