Jack of Hearts
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Jack of Hearts
Part One
Knaves - April, 1586
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances…"
--From As You Like It (II, vii, 139-141)
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Chapter One
"Pray, Mistress, spare me a crust of bread?"
Driven from the high road by hunger and thirst, I had stumbled upon a farm yard where
an old woman fed hogs outside her kitchen door. Swine of all sizes, squealing and grunting,
crowded around her, and she clucked at them like a mother hen.
When I spoke, she whipped around, dribbling the contents of the slops pot across the
toes of my shoes.
"`Ere now, boy! We don't want no beggars about," she said, her voice hostile and agecracked.
I suppose I must have looked like a beggar boy with my once-fine clothing ruined by
three nights in roadside ditches and my shoes slops-strewn. Even my scrawny size must have
contributed to my beggar-like appearance.
But looks are not everything, and a parcel's exterior might conceal something very
different within.
A good thing, too, in light of the woman with the slops pot . She could not have been
new to her task, else the pigs would have fled from her in horror. I held my own ground out of
sheer bravado and starvation.
A halo of wispy gray-yellow hair escaped the ragged kerchief she wore about her head.
A sharp crook in her back bent her nearly double, so that she had to turn her head up to peer at
me. A great wen on the end of her beaked nose drew my gaze. A quantity of coarse black hair
grew from it, wiggling spasmodically when she spoke. I could not help but stare.
"Pray, mistress...." Hunger helped me muster the courage to try once more, but the
goodwife was having none of it. "I said no beggars! Off with you."
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I stood, frozen in place by hunger. The old woman made as if to throw the pot's
remaining contents at me.
"Are you deaf, boy? Begone!"
Ducking in time to avoid having slops dashed into my eyes, I ran from the farmyard. The
sound of her cackling laughter sped me on my way.
Once back on the high road the gnawing pains in my stomach nearly doubled me over,
and the memory of those wasted slops stayed with me.
*
On the fourth day, a fine spring morning in the year of our Lord 1586, I caught up to the
troupe of traveling players calling themselves Captain Jack's Men. I had hoped to overtake them
on the road to Malton, the village I had overheard their captain mention to my stepfather to be
their next destination. I had relatives in York, some miles beyond Malton, a town smaller than
my native Scarborough, and meant to travel there as an anonymous face among the players.
But I had misjudged the distance and the time it would take to travel it afoot. Upon
previous journeys it had amounted to no more than a day's uncomfortable jaunt in a jolting
coach. I came upon the troupe resting just outside the town. They lounged about on the
trampled grass beside their baggage wagons with their draft animals tethered in an adjacent
meadow. I took it as a stroke of luck because I might have bypassed them altogether, had I not
drifted off the main road in a daze of starvation and stumbled right into their midst.
I fell to my knees directly in front of a woman who was serving a midday meal of bread
and cheese to the men and boys of the troupe.
Jack of Hearts
Mouthed agape, the woman stared down at me.
"Here now, lad, what's this?" she finally managed to say.
I repeated the plea I'd made to the pig-feeding crone. "Please, Mistress, might you spare
me a crust?"
"Show 'im your boot up his arse, Chas," one of the men lounging nearby observed.
"But 'tis only a bit of a lad. And he's that pale and peaked. Here boy, have this."
She handed me a chunk of bread, enclosing a generous slice of rich, yellow cheese.
"Gramercy, mistress," I managed to say. I sat back on my rump and did my best to cram
the whole of it into my mouth lest the men, making an issue of her kindness, try to snatch it
away.
The bread was dry. I choked on it until the kindly woman rescued me, first pounding me
on my back, and then plying me with wine. Although no expert, to me the spirit seemed a very
good vintage for vagabond players.
The woman looked on as I ate the rest of the food, taking care not to strangle myself
again.
"'Tis young you are for wandering about on your own," she commented. "What's your
name?"
"Francis. And I'm not wandering, Mistress...?" I paused, waiting for her to supply a
name.
"Chastity Brown. The boys call me Chas."
I was soon to discover she called the male members of the troupe 'boys' whether they
were stripling lads or toothless old men.
"I'm not wandering, Mistress Brown," I went on. "I've been looking for you."
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Jack of Hearts
"Me? Whatever for?"
"Nay, Mistress. Not you in particular. This company of players." I waved my hand to
indicate the men lying about, their inquisitive stares belying their attitudes of disinterested
repose. "I plan to ask your captain for employment."
The men laughed and made rude noises, but Chas, to her credit, did not so much as smile
in derision at my audacity. Instead she plied me with more food as she did her best to discourage
me from my goal.
"Francis, 'tis a hard life on the road," she told me. "Like as not there'll be no roof over
our heads at the end of a day, nor coin in our pockets to pay for one."
As she spoke, I let her words drone over me unheeded. I took pleasure in the food and in
looking at her. She was plump of breast and hip and her cheeks wore a permanent rosy flush.
Granted, advancing age might render her blowsy and coarse, but those roses in her cheeks and
their possible brevity brought to mind the poets who advocated plucking rose buds whilst one
may.
"My advice, young Francis," she was saying, after having run through a catalog of the
hardships of travel on the highroad and in unwelcoming towns. "'Tis that you go back home to
your master and beg his forgiveness. Happen he'll take you back and not beat you too badly for
running away."
Chas thought me a runaway apprentice, I realized. I did not disabuse her of the notion
since it was preferable to the truth.
"I've heard tell of playhouses in London where great crowds come to see players
perform."
"Aye," she conceded. "There are such."
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"I've dreamt of going to London and treading the boards of such a playhouse. I followed
you and your friends because I overheard your captain say you were bound for London."
Although York was my destination of choice, London might prove a necessary
alternative. My aunt spent much of the year there. Either way the troupe seemed perfect as
traveling companions, especially if my aunt were not in residence at her home in York.
"Alas, lad, we'll not reach London until the autumn, and 'tis only April."
I'd been on the road a mere four days, and already that felt like half my lifetime.
Suddenly I felt weak and more than a little sick; then everything all at once went black.
*
The sharp nudge of a booted toe against my backside woke me. When I sat up, I could
see nothing, and after rubbing my eyes, decided I'd slept right through the day. For, eyes wellrubbed, I could see no better. Then, as my vision adjusted to the gloom with the help of a
campfire's flickering light, I began to make out shapes.
The nearest shape was the man who had awakened me in such an unmannerly fashion.
He now stood some distance away, next to Chas, whose anxious expression I could make out
even in the campfire's flickering light.
I recognized the captain of this troupe of players by his wide shoulders and the arrogant
set of his head. A black cape, longer than current fashion dictated, swirled about his ankles like
half-furled bat wings. An enormous ebon-furred dog sat at his heels. The eyes of both the man
and the dog gleamed like feral gold in the firelight.
I shivered when those eyes fixed on me.
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"What knave's this?" the dark man demanded, glaring at me without recognition. I felt a
brief moment of pique. How dare he not know me? Then relief and better judgment took over.
Had he recognized me, the game would end here and now.
"Francis," Chas supplied when I did not answer right away. "He's fain to join us."
"Aye, slit our throats, steal our purses and ravish our women, I warrant," the man said. I
thought him over-dramatic, but perhaps it came of his profession.
"You mean woman," a snide voice corrected out of the blackness. I presumed it to be one
of the layabout troupe members I'd seen earlier in the day. "And she's not ours. Unless you plan
to start sharing, Captain."
"Not just yet," the Captain said "For now, she's mine. Captain Jack's lady-love." The
Captain's arm went around Chas.
"Why should we be interested in a scrawny bit of a lad?" he asked.
"We could use a new boy, Jack," Chas said, "now Ozzie's voice has broke."
"Aye." Another of the unseen players spoke up. His voice went through several registers
on that one word, the sound resembling the complaint of a rusty hinge. I assumed he must be the
aforementioned Ozzie. "They was making sport of me last week when I did my Helen," he
explained.
"Right." Captain Jack stroked his neatly trimmed, pointy black beard. "Well, then,
perhaps it is time we promoted Ozzie to more manly parts. What's your surname, boy?"
"Just Francis. 'Tis my only name."
"Well, now, 'just Francis.' What stage experience have you?"
"Naught, Captain. But I can read."
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Jack of Hearts
"That's something." He looked at me with speculation in his amber eyes. "How is your
memory?"
An odd question, but I figured he had his reasons for asking it.
"Excellent, sir," I told him.
"Memory is most important in our trade, Frank."
"Aye, I can well imagine, sir."
"Can you now."
The captain turned away from me and cleared his throat. When he began to speak, I
found myself lost in the power of his voice. It rang clear and proud as the bells of York Minster.
I recalled it from the first time I'd seen him perform in my own home.
"I've just taken a look around the next town," he said. "A dull little place called Malton.
Things aren't promising. Missed their market day, we have, and the spring planting has them
busy."
There was an answering grumble from the men scattered about in the darkness, but the
captain stopped it short with a sharp gesture.
"However," he went on. "The next town of any size is a far piece. I'd liefer take our
chances with this one. Happen we'll pick up a coin or two and get a roof over our heads for one
night, at least."
He did not wait for their acquiescence. Instead he leaned toward Chas and, placing his
mouth near her ear, whispered. Even in the fire's illumination I could see a flush bloom in her
cheeks. She giggled, a giddy sound unlike anything I'd yet heard her utter.
The captain took Chas's plump hand and turned away. She said something I couldn't
hear. Captain Jack paused, looking back at me.
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Jack of Hearts
"You, boy. Find a place under yon wagon to sleep tonight." Then he disappeared with
Chas into the darkness.
It was the closest he ever came to inviting me to join his troupe of players.
The grassy space beneath the wagon proved slightly better than the roadside ditches
where I'd spent the previous three nights.. The ground was cold as well as hard and lumpy, but I
was too tired to care. At least I had a full stomach and traveling companions for safety.
I closed my eyes and was instantly asleep.
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Chapter Two
I went to sleep cold and shivering, but awoke warm and snug with bright sunshine in my
eyes. Savoring the moment, I did not move at first; then something warned me that the source of
all that comforting warmth was another body next to mine. Springing up, I cracked the crown of
my head on the wagon's bottom so soundly I saw stars, but they did not blind me to the creature
who shared my space.
It was the giant black dog, the one belonging to Captain Jack. The dog started at the
sound of my yelp of pain and bared its teeth. I did not wait to see if it meant me harm but
scooted on my backside from beneath the wagon. I found Chas not far away, tending her little
fire. Captain Jack I assumed was yet asleep in the wagon. She saw me and motioned me to
come to her.
"Here's soap and a cloth for washing, lad," she said. "Take yourself off to yonder brook
and make yourself presentable." She gestured toward a little copse that I surmised must conceal
the brook.
A little path led through knee-deep grass standing lush and impossibly green in this
spring season. As I made my way along it, I put my face up to catch the warming rays of the
sun. For the first time in days my fear left me, and I felt almost content.
Without difficulty I found the brook winding its lazy path among the trees. How pretty it
looked! Clear water flowed over small stones, and both banks were clothed in green bracken and
moss. Picking my way gingerly so as not to slip and fall into it, I made way to the nearer bank's
edge and peered down into the brook's crystalline depths, surprising a sleepy trout.
Then I saw my reflection in the water's glassy surface and took such a quick backward
step that my feet nearly went out from under me.
Jack of Hearts
My earlier pique at Captain Jack's lack of recognition faded. My own mother, God rest
her, would not have recognized me. In truth, I'd seen better-looking specimens begging on street
corners.
My clothes, of course, were quite ruined, filthy with ditch water, pig slops, and a fresh
coating of dust from having passed the night on the ground beneath the wagon. But I paid them
little heed. What else I saw caused me more grief.
A hollow-eyed gnome stared back at me from the stream, its exposed skin dusky with
ingrained filth. Carroty spikes of ragged hair, none of it any longer than my little finger and
some cropped so short as to expose white scalp, stood out all around the odd little head. Even
the eyes seemed demented, gleaming a startling pale blue from their darkened sockets.
Captain Jack must not have looked at me properly, else he'd have taken me on as a fool
instead of an actor.
The state of my hair pained me most. I could have wept for it, but all my tears were
many miles behind me. With no scissors or mirror to hand, I'd had to hack it off blindly with a
dull knife blade, resulting in this disaster. The filth caked in it did not help, either.
My bright spirits of only a few moments before dashed, I unwrapped Chas' little bundle
and set about my ablutions. Even after a careful look around to assure myself of my privacy, I
could not bring myself to remove all my clothes. I shed my doublet and stockings, leaving my
long linen shirt to cover me to my knees.
The water proved very cold and not nearly deep enough to immerse myself, so I knelt on
the soft mossy bank and washed as best I could. Then I put soap and water to my clothing,
which removed most of the dirt, but also did much damage to the cloth. So much for fine velvet.
A sensible worsted would have served me better, and I took this for a hard lesson in practicality.
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Not willing to don the sopping wet clothes, I hung them on a convenient branch. Clad
only in my soggy linen shirt, I sat myself down on a sunny spot of grass to wait for them to dry a
little. Warm sunshine and the monotonous drone of bees soon set me dozing, but not for long.
"Here now, not a full day on the job, and the boy's shirking already!"
Captain Jack's booming baritone voice brought me scurrying to my feet. Then I realized
the dampness of my shirt rendered it nearly transparent, and I clasped my arms around myself in
an attempt to shield myself.
In that moment, the players' captain might have seen me clearly as if I were bare-naked.
But the bright morning sunshine and the promise of a bath focused his attention elsewhere.
believing he would remove his clothing in preparation to bathe in the stream; then I heard a
splashing sound. Sensibilities outraged, I whirled around, meaning to upbraid him for his crude
manners, daring to make water in the stream before a virtual stranger.
The words died in my throat as he doffed his shirt and hose, and then strode proud as a
lord and naked as a babe into the stream. His dog galloped past him, splashing loudly as it
bounded toward the center of the brook.
"Fetch that soap here," he called back to me over his shoulder.
I scrambled for my coat and shrugged myself into it; then, seeing no way out, did as he
asked. Without meaning to look at him, I found myself staring. Never in my sheltered life had I
looked upon a naked adult man, and now I regretted my lack of having done so, for he was
magnificent, long-limbed, narrow of waist and wide of shoulder, with a vitality pulsing from him
that I felt to my bones.
But, as I have noted, my experience was nil, and novelty might have fed my imagination.
Striding
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He glanced back over the sleek, long-muscled shoulder I was admiring. Had he turned to
face me fully, I might have swooned, so overwrought I was at that moment.
"Well, boy, I can't say you don't dress in a hurry,' he commented. "Mayhap you're not
such a layabout after all."
I placed the cake of soap in his fingers, and then fled from the brook, forcing myself to
resist the temptation to look back at him. My progress slowed when I reached the path, and in no
more than a few moments, he caught up to me. To my relief, he'd donned his shirt and hose.
In such a short space of time, he could not have bathed at all thoroughly. But then I saw
no one else of the company even visit the brook that morning. I was to discover that bathing was
not considered a necessity among my new companions nor in the level of society in which they
moved. They were, on the whole, a scruffy lot, and as the weather warmed toward summer, they
ripened. Cleanliness stood out among these folk, and as I did not wish to stand out, I did not
pursue it too vigorously.
In spite of his cursory ablutions, Captain Jack seemed always the cleanest of us, smelling
more of leather and musk than rancid sweat. And for some time after that morning, images of
his naked backside bothered my dreams.
*
Moving our wagons into the town was accomplished with a minimum of fuss, at least for
the players. What this meant is that the men in the group lit their pipes, these a novelty lately
arrived from the Americas, and strolled off down the road toward the town, leaving Chas and me
to harness the horses and drive them ourselves. Before he left our camp, I saw Jack retrieve a
blackened fagot from our still-smoldering campfire, to what purpose I could not surmise.
When w
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no more than a few cottages strung together, its one or two commercial establishments centered
on a smallish square. On either end of the high street I could see the steeples of two old
churches. Having passed through Malton once or twice while on the road to York, I recognized
the place, but it seemed very different to me in my present circumstance.
Chas paid it little heed, driving the horses without looking right or left, and when we did
stop, it was in the yard of an inn before which hung a sign depicting a large black duck and the
establishment's name, "The Blak Swanne," limned in crude letters.
"Are you sure we're to stop here?" I asked Chas. "This innkeeper doesn't know a swan
from a duck."
"Aye?" Chas followed my pointing finger to the sign, but enlightenment did not dawn in
her face. It did for me, however, as I realized Chas probably could not read. In fact, only one of
our troupe could read, I eventually discovered.
Scrawled in some powdery black substance (charcoal?) across the white plaster wall just
beneath the duck-swan sign were some words:
Captain Jack's Men
Fresh from Tremendous London Success With
HELEN OF TROY
Sunset - One penny
"Look. That's us!"
Chas barely glanced at the writing, confirming my earlier suspicion. "Oh, Jack's been
here afore us, just as I said. He's posting our bills."
The innkeeper certainly expected us, because he made sure we placed our horses as far
back in his stable as possible, before he ushered us to a tiny, airless attic room.
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I complained, but Chas only shrugged. "Players don't get no respect," she said. "Jack has
a saying. We bare our souls to the rabble, he says, and then the ungrateful sods de- devour
them." She stumbled over the word, obviously an unfamiliar one.
She looked around the room, then poked and prodded the rope bed. "Needs tightening,"
she commented, "but all in all, 'tis not too bad. We've had worse, and I hate sleeping in the
wagon."
Chas had been so good to me that I did not have it in me to envy her the wagon.
"Where shall I sleep?"
"Jack says you can bide with us."
I looked around the room. There was only one bed, and that so narrow I wondered it
would hold even Captain Jack's large frame. Apart from the bed, a stool, and a rickety table, the
room boasted no other furniture.
Chas saw me looking. "I fear 'tis the floor, lad," she said, dimples popping in her plump
cheeks. "Either that or the stable. The rest of the boys stay in one other room, crammed in like
herring in a salt barrel."
Telling myself the floor was preferable to a ditch, I helped Chas unpack the bags we'd
brought from the wagon. There were a few things to make the room more comfortable, but
mostly the sacks contained clothing, made of cheap and gaudy fabrics in eccentric styles.
"What are these, Chas?" I asked.
"Why, they're the costumes for tonight's play. 'Tis my job, before a show, to go through
them and repair any damage I find. The boys can be hard on the costumes."
As I looked through them, I could believe her. Not one garment could I find without at
least one popped seam. One or two were rent in odd places.
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"Jack gets a mite energetic with his sword or dagger sometimes," said Chas when she saw
me poking my fingers through a particularly large tear.
Every garment displayed some degree of filthiness, from stains dribbled down the front to
dark, sour-smelling rings under armholes. Apparently, Captain Jack's men laundered their
costumes even less often than they bathed themselves.
One costume, in particular, attracted my attention. It was a gown made of an inexpensive
silk brocade stuff in an unusually bright shade of red. Not only was its color unique, but so was
its odor.
Holding my nose, I poked at it with a forefinger.
"Ozzie forgot to have that one off last time before he went a' tavern. He upped his supper
on the skirt after too much sour wine," said Chas.
I saw the supper on the skirt, a powdery white substance that flaked off whenever the
garment was moved. Not seeing any rents in it needing the attention of Chas' needle, I pushed it
under the table.
I notice she plied her needle with speed and competence. Her nimble fingers flew as the
silvery needle dashed in and out of torn, worn fabric. Her mends were nigh invisible. I envied
her. Until I could find something of such value to do for the troupe, I was in danger of being left
behind. They were in no position to take on charity cases.
"A seamstress, I was." She saw me looking. "In London. I worked in a little room with
scores of other girls. We had no light nor heat in the winter. Some of the girls took sick and
died of the cold. Others went blind. Too much close work will do that, you know." She sighed,
staring out the room's sole window, the casement thrown open to reveal blue sky and tree tops
beyond the inn's roof.
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"Praise God Jack took me from all that," she told me.
*
Several hours later, Jack returned. I felt his presence the moment the door opened,
although I sat with my back to him. He could fill a room all by himself, and his giant black dog
following at his heel only added to the dramatic illusion.
He was in a foul mood.
"Ruined," he said, stripping the lace cuffs from his sleeves and dropping them in Chas'
lap. I noticed they were smudged with black. The ubiquitous dog, as if sensing his temper, went
under the bed.
"'Steeth! Why must I do everything? 'Tis the second pair this fortnight." He reached up
to remove the snowy ruff at his throat, but Chas stopped him just in time, for his fingers and
hands were as black as the lace cuffs.
Standing close behind him so that her body pressed against his, she unlaced the collar
carefully and placed it on a clean cloth on our table. Looking away from this intimacy, I
wondered what caused the black stains that befouled the Captain's linen.
Then I recalled the crudely scrawled sign (black) and the fagot from our morning fire.
Jack had ruined his linen posting signs for the players. I had a sudden idea.
"I cry you pardon, Captain. I can write."
He stared at me as if one of the bed bugs had spoken, but I had his attention. Chas moved
away, busying herself with the costumes. Jack took up a rag from her pile of clothes and very
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carefully began to clean the charcoal dust from his hands. I noticed for the first time on his left
forefinger a heavy, white-metal ring from which flashed a blood-red stone.
"I reckon you told me that already," Jack remarked, but his gaze was on Chas. When she
leaned over like that, the pale swell of her breasts bulged like ripe melons over the top of her
bodice.
"I could write your signs and save your linen."
Jack's gaze sharpened, his eyes shifting from a warm golden color to a hard, hot yellow.
I'd seen eyes like that once before, early one long ago morning while riding on my father's
estates. A fox had crossed the path ahead of my horse, and then paused to stare back at me with
eyes exactly like Jack's. For the first time, it occurred to me there was something of the fox about
him with his narrow face and yellow eyes.
"Aye," he said, stroking his glossy chin hairs with a gesture I'd noticed before. "Mayhap
you could at that."
We did not discuss the matter further because a knock came at the door.
"Begone," Jack said, his voice very gruff and forbidding.
Whoever was without did not heed the warning. The door swung open. There stood the
group of men I recognized as Captain Jack's Players, although I could not yet put individual
names with faces. These faces all wore identically mournful expressions.
"We got trouble, Cap'n" one of them said, without greeting or other preamble. "Ozzie's
gone t' tavern."
Jack did not move, but I could feel a storm brewing.
"I thought I told you to keep an eye on him, Tom."
"Aye, that you did. But the boy's wily as a ferret when he wants a drink."
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Jack sighed. "How long has he been gone?"
"We're not for certain sure. A good while."
"Then it's probably too late to look for him. He'll be under a table somewhere, I vow."
"Aye, Captain." There was the murmur of general agreement among the players. The
man Jack called Tom, a tall fellow with thinning ginger hair, looked shamefaced.
"'Tis all my fault, Captain."
A dismal atmosphere settled over the room like a dark cloud.
"We'll improvise something," Jack said, smiling and waving his hand as if to conjure
another player out of thin air. "Fear not." This did not seem to reassure the players, for they all
looked even more mournful than before. They turned and left, closing the door silently behind
them.
As soon as they were gone, Jack's smile disappeared.
"God's teeth! Helen of Troy with no Helen."
"I could do it, Jack," Chas said. "I know it by heart."
"Lass, what if they discovered you were female? And who could mistake it?" He
fondled her in a way that brought color to her cheeks and warmth to mine. "They'd have you in
the stocks before you could blink those pretty eyes. These village folk are right liberal with their
stocks albeit narrow in their morals." He spoke with an air of experience.
"Besides," he said. "I' truth I do have a plan."
Jack turned to me. "The part needs a boy. We took this one on to replace Ozzie." He
indicated me with a jerk of his chin. "He'll just have to take the role on a little earlier than we
planned."
I recalled the vomit-stained red brocade gown. Chas had told me it belonged to Ozzie.
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"Nay!" I cried. "I don't know the part."
"Nothing to it. I'll whisper the necessary words to you. You can invent the rest of them
as you go. No one will notice."
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Chapter Three
And so, untrained and apprehensive, I became that very night a player treading the
boards.
Jack's assurances aside, I had ample excuse for my apprehension. He took a moment
before the performance to explain my role to me (it was very small, only two short appearances).
There were lines for me to speak, but Jack rushed away to tend to some detail without giving
them to me.
I mentioned this to one of my fellow players, Geoffrey Watts, a fat fellow with a ready
laugh and a ring of scraggly gray hair around his bald pate. He often played the evil Roman
cleric because of this natural tonsure, although he kept it covered with a knit cap when not
onstage for the same reason. When he heard my concerns, he slapped me on the back -- a merry
blow that buckled my knees.
"Bless me, boy! Jack ain't never written anything down," Geoffrey informed me. "He
just tells us what he wants, and we make it up as we go. Improvisation, Jack calls it. Course, he
always has the most lines."
Chas did her best to calm my fears as well. "Just follow Jack's lead, Francis. He'll not let
you down."
She did her best with the nasty red gown, brushing the loose dirt from it and altering it to
fit my slight form (Ozzie outstripped me by several hand spans both in height and girth). She
could do little on such short notice about the gown's length, other than to show me how to hitch
it up with a girdle so it looked shorter. But as I walked about, the heavy fabric slid from beneath
its mooring, threatening to trip me at every step.
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Then, Chas produced the wig, blonde of course, that I would wear as the beauteous
Helen. I could smell it before she pulled it from its cloth bag to dangle between her thumb and
forefinger--a hideous thing of the most unnatural shade of yellow. I looked at it, and it looked
back at me with dozens of pairs of eyes.
"Chas! The thing is lousy!"
"Sommat," she agreed. "Oz never was one to wash."
"Give it over. I'll wash it now."
Chas shook her head. "Nay. It's coming apart as 'tis. Wash it, and 'twill fall to shreds for
sure."
I made her put the thing back in its bag. Perhaps Jack would find something better for
me if I made my disgust clear to him.
"I never saw such a boy for cleanliness," was his response when I complained. "Never
mind the wildlife. We can't afford to run about buying new costumes on a whim. Give over.
Have a sip."
He handed me a wineskin, and I drank. Strong and sweet, it hit my empty stomach like a
stone.
"Take another," Jack urged. "'Twill stiffen your resolve. There's a good lad."
A few more sips, and things commenced to look better. Even the wig seemed not so
odious as it had before.
*
Our performance began at four o'clock or thereabouts, with stress on the thereabouts.
Legally, Jack told me as we stood sampling the contents of his wineskin and watching our people
Jack of Hearts
make preparations, plays were to begin no later than four o'clock, because they had the
reputation of leading to riotous behavior, and officialdom deemed it easier to control such things
during daylight.
Jack had other thoughts on the matter.
"The later the better. The shops are closed and the fields empty. More folk with time on
their hands, looking for entertainment."
And so we dawdled, setting up our makeshift stage in the innyard with a snail's torpid
pace. Exact time mattered little; there being at best no more than one or two clocks in the entire
district.
Custom began to trickle in, the majority passing through the inn's tavern and emerging
less steady on their feet than when they'd arrived. The innyard filled with those willing to pay
their penny--Jack posted me at the entrance with a small leather box to take the proceeds--and
those with deeper purses paid a little more to climb up to the gallery.
This structure was no more than the rickety walkway that ran around the upper storey of
the inn by which people entered their rooms. It had the benefit of overlooking the innyard, and
those who stood on it had an excellent view. Its architect had not planned that more than a few
people would stand upon it at once, for it complained bitterly, creaking and groaning, beneath its
unaccustomed load.
I took care never to spend more than a few seconds under it, in case the whole thing,
hapless patrons and overwhelmed walkway, should come crashing down upon my head.
No one else seemed to share my fears, for presently the innyard was filled to capacity,
and the entertainment began, albeit well past the advertised hour of four o'clock.
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Jack of Hearts
I took my box of coins to Chas, who hurried me into my costume. By now excitement
and the effects of Jack's wine had overcome my distaste for the wig and filthy gown and lent me
courage. My first appearance came early in the play, a balcony scene with no lines to speak. I
felt almost the fine lady as I hurried to the roughhewn stairs leading to the balcony.
I needed courage as I moved across the balcony in full view of the audience.
"Just stroll slowly across," had been Jack's sole stage direction. "Do not exit until the
players have finished their lines."
While taking tiny, mincing steps in a self-conscious attempt to ape a fine lady's gait, I
listened intently to the players' words, ready for my cue, whatever it was. I had difficulty
concentrating, for the instant I began my "stroll," laughter erupted from the audience, growing
louder with every step I took. The players' voices rose, becoming veritable shouts as they strove
to be heard over the noise.
"Is't the sun or yet the moon risen upon yonder height?" Jack's booming voice soared
effortlessly above the din. "Or, perchance, Aphrodite or Diana, taken on flesh to mine eyes'
delight."
One of the other players made some unintelligible reply, and I glanced down just in time
to catch Jack glaring up at me. He waved his hand in an odd pantomime which made no sense,
then repeated it, this time more vigorously. I shook my head at him, wholly at a loss. Members
of the audience, mimicking Jack, began waving their arms.
Then it dawned on me. Or rather I discovered the problem when my heel caught on my
trailing skirts. With a small rotten sound, audible only to me in the general din, they came
completely away from the attached bodice to fall in disarray around my ankles.
24
Jack of Hearts
At some point on my way to the balcony, Chas' quick alterations had come unraveled,
leaving the back of my gown open, exposing to view my hose-clad legs and shirt-tail, both
obviously male clothing. The incongruity must have made an amusing sight indeed.
Fortunately, I had retained those few items of clothing else I would have displayed my
bare backside for the whole world's perusal.
My cheeks burning, I snatched up my errant skirts and held them in place before me as I
sidled crab-like across the stage. Undaunted, Jack resumed his lines.
I was in tears by the time I reached Chas, awaiting me in her makeshift tiring room, and
there was a roaring in my ears. She had her needle and some kind words ready for me.
"Here now, Francis. Don't take on so. Let me see to it."
"Oh Chas, Jack's going to be so angry with me!" By this time my tears had gone over to
blubbering. "What if he banishes me from the company?"
Another voice then pierced my misery.
"Angry! My good lad, I think not! Listen!" Jack, fine in his black velvet costume, had
come into the tiring room.
"But...," I hiccupped around a sob.
"Listen!" It was Jack's most commanding stage voice, and I listened. What had seemed
to me like roaring was the crowd cheering and calling for "Helen."
"Hear that? They love you, boy. Get that gown cobbled together. We can't go back
without you, else they'll run us off the stage."
I stood in a daze while Chas finished her work. Then, gripping the scruff of my neck,
Jack propelled me out of the tiring room and to the edge of the stage. He threw a cloak over my
shoulders and drew up its hood to hide my face.
25
Jack of Hearts
"There now. You'll do."
"B-but my lines," I stuttered, still not convinced. "You haven't given them to me."
Jack winked at me, his yellow eyes glowing with mischief. "Never fear," he said. "Just
follow my lead."
Luckily, I did not fall flat on my face when Jack shoved me out onto the stage, although
its uneven surface promised disaster for clumsy feet such as mine. I found myself surrounded by
the other players of the company. They were speaking lines which I barely heard, much less
understood.
Then Jack strode onto the stage, magnificent in black velvet and paste jewels which
looked almost realistic at a short distance. He came directly to me and began to speak. Staring
at him for the promised cues, I slowly began to comprehend his words and the context of them.
We had reached the point in the story where Paris, Prince of Troy, made known to his
ship's crew his plan to elope with Helen, the fair queen of the Greeks. This band of heroes
protested the wisdom of Paris' plan.
Then, with a dramatic flourish that nearly dragged the odoriferous wig from my head,
Jack swept off my cloak. The players all dropped to their knees upon this sudden revelation of
Helen's beauty. A few sniggers arose from the audience, likely those recalling my previous
appearance, but mostly they were quiet, caught up in the story.
I got through this scene with a few falsetto "yes, my lord's" in response to Jack's leading
questions and felt at better ease by the end of it.
"Well done, boy," Jack whispered to me as he escorted me from the stage, my hand
tucked ceremoniously in the crook of his arm.
26
Jack of Hearts
As I had only the one costume, I stood quietly by while the rest of the players changed
over their clothing, transforming themselves into Trojan courtiers. I was beginning to know
them, and a more motley collection of individuals never trod the boards.
Ginger-haired Tom Bartlett had a bashful manner. Sully Watts, Geoffrey's brother,
appeared tall and impressive at a distance but pock-marked and gap-toothed up close. Slender
Robbie Hawkins, was soft-spoken until he stepped onto the stage, but then he could play any role
to which he set himself. Most often he was the foil to Jack's hero (in this case Achilles to Jack's
Paris). Had they been younger, handsomer, and less inclined to strong drink, any man of them
might have made a successful career in London.
As it was, they were lucky to find employment even among such a provincial troupe of
players.
Once more I found myself on the balcony, relegated this time to weeping and tearing at
my hair as a horrific battle scene played itself out upon the stage below. It might have seemed
more convincing had we had more players--five men could not easily portray the entire Greek
and Trojan armies, but Jack had devised the scene so that it was composed of quick vignettes
during which various players met in single combat. In the end, both Paris and Achilles lay dead,
and I wept over Jack's prone body surrounded by the victorious Greeks.
Sully Watts, as Helen's jilted husband Menelaus, came solemnly from the sidelines to
lead me away, supposedly back to Sparta, while in our wake Jack rose to his feet and delivered
an impassioned soliloquy to unfaithful wives and their unfortunate husbands. He so stressed the
details of the cuckolded husband that the audience broke the silence the play's tragic end had
imposed on them, laughing and jibing back at him.
27
Jack of Hearts
"Now for the jig," Sully shouted, and grabbing a wooden flute and tattered woman's skirt
from Chas, donned the skirt and went back toward the stage, blowing the flute so hard his hair
stood on end. He motioned to me to follow.
Skirted already, I did. The other players had come to their feet and, joined by members
of the audience, began to dance to the sound of Sully's shrilling flute and a tambourine Jack had
produced from the good Lord only knew where and was beating enthusiastically if not in any
particular rhythm.
Not the kind of dancing I'd ever known, this. Not the elaborate figures of formal society
in my mother's hall, nor even the more robust country dances the farm laborers held in
celebration of the harvest. Instead I found myself at the center of a maelstrom of frantic, stinking
bodies, barely able to draw breath in the crush.
Then the hands came, what felt like dozens of them, crawling over my body.
A face, its coarse features drawn into a nasty, yellow-toothed smile, pressed close to
mine, and the odor of stale wine threatened to steal my breath. The hands found my breast,
concealed from view but not from a determined groper beneath the fabric layers of my silken
bodice and linen shirt, and the expression on the face that owned the hands sagged with
momentary surprise. Then, an ugly leer replaced it.
In the uproar I could not hear what he said, but I read his lips and his meaning clear
enough.
"Well, well, what have we here?"
No use to scream so I struggled, but the man's wiry arms may as well have had bands of
steel in them instead of flesh and bone. His hands were everywhere, both grabbing and probing.
28
Jack of Hearts
I gagged with fear and disgust. Serve him right if I disgorge my dinner upon him, I thought, but
panic closed my throat, and I lost even that defense.
Then Captain Jack was between us, breaking the man's grasp as if his arms were weak as
a babe's.
My attacker opened his mouth to protest this intrusion, but he had to tilt his head way
back to look up at Jack, and what he saw when he did must have stifled him, for he turned
abruptly and disappeared into the mass of cavorting bodies.
Jack's hand clamped over the nape of my neck, and he steered me off the stage. When we
broke free of it and the surrounding crowd, I could see that not only the people standing in the
innyard had joined the jig. The balconies stood empty, and I could see through the low door of
the tavern that it, too, looked deserted. People were thronging into the innyard from the high
street beyond, people who had not paid to see the play but were drawn by the jig.
Jack muttered something under his breath about this blow to his purse, but he did not
pause to collect. Instead he continued to push me toward the tavern.
He pulled me to an abrupt halt just outside the establishment's door.
"See you keep your lips tight-laced, boy. Say naught to anybody inside nor to anybody
afterwards about what you hear or see tonight."
He stared hard at me, his eyes hard and yellow. I nodded my assent.
"Ozzie normally comes along to watch my back, but drink has made him unreliable."
"I...I will say nothing," I said. After all, he'd saved me from that awful man.
Jack turned and strode into the shadowed depths of the tavern, and I followed in his
wake. He'd covered his stage clothes with his long black cape which swirled around his ankles
29
Jack of Hearts
as he moved, and his booted feet rang on the floorboards. In spite of his warning to me to remain
quiet, he made as dramatic an entrance as any I ever saw him make on the stage.
Pity, for I saw no one inside to take notice of it beyond a bored barkeep and a few inert
bodies sprawled over tables at the back, apparently far gone in drink.
Jack did not hesitate, but crossed over to one of them. Drawing his dagger, he prodded
the man with its handle butt.
Thinking he'd found Ozzie, I could only feel surprise when a man much older than the
missing player and more sober than his former posture indicated sat up, touching his forelock in
a respectful gesture.
Jack seated himself at the bench opposite him, glancing back over his shoulder at me.
With a flick of his eyes, he indicated I should seat myself at a nearby table, this one empty of
custom. Then he returned his attention to his companion.
No need for the promise he'd elicited from me, for with their heads pressed close and
their voices pitched low, I could not catch a single word of their conversation, although I thought
it must be serious. I could see the tension in Jack's posture and in the furtive glances he cast back
at the door.
He waved away the hopeful barkeep who approached them, and the man turned to me. I
nodded, feeling awkward sitting there without something in my hands.
The barkeep brought me a tankard of ale, and I fumbled in my clothing for a coin. Then I
realized I still wore the putrid red gown. Mortification burning my cheeks, I had to raise the
tattered hem of the skirt to find my purse.
30
Jack of Hearts
The man's dull eyes did not so much as flicker, as if boys in lady's dress were an
everyday occurrence with him. He took the coin in a grubby hand and turned away without
comment.
The first gulp of ale took my breath, but subsequent swallows were not so difficult. I'd
drained the tankard when Jack suddenly appeared beside me.
"Let's go."
I rose and found myself unsteady on my feet. Used only to well-watered wine and, more
recently, Chas' mild ale, the strong tavern brew had gone straight to my head.
Jack, as usual, missed nothing -- I could see it in his yellow gaze -- but he made no
concessions to my condition when he turned on his booted heel and walked out of the room. I
had to run to keep up to his long-legged stride, even thought it put me in imminent danger of
tripping on my cursed gown and falling on my face.
Fortune smiled, however, for I made it to our room only a pace or two behind Jack and
with no major mishaps.
Chas and the black dog met us at the door. Relief replaced worry on the girl's face when
she saw us.
"Where...?" she began, but Jack wrapped his arms round her waist and half-carried her to
the bed, stifling her questions with kisses.
As for myself, I doused the one remaining candle and curled up on my pallet on the floor,
trying my best to stop up my ears from the sounds coming from the bed. The black dog joined
me, apparently glad of my warmth, and in spite of myself, or perhaps because of the tavern's
strong brew, I went right to sleep without even having doffed the malodorous red gown.
31
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32
Chapter Four
The prodigal Ozzie reappeared the next morning, putting an end to my short-lived stage
career. I had my first inkling of his return when shouting in the innyard awoke me from a deep
dreamless sleep. Weak sunlight streaming through the room's one tiny, soot-begrimed window.
Scrambling unsteadily to my feet, I found myself alone. Even Chas' costume sacks were
nowhere in evidence. Avoiding the rumpled bed and its evidence of last night's revels, I went to
the window and threw open the sash. I had to lean far out to see the source of the altercation that
had roused me, for Jack and the young man named Ozzie were directly beneath my window, and
the inn's second storey cantilevered over the high street of the town outside it.
"The Devil take thee for a sodden, piss-brained oaf," Jack proclaimed in his best stage
voice.
Ozzie's mumbled answer escaped me so I leaned farther out the window in an effort to
better hear him. I could see Ozzie trying to sidle away, but the Captain was having none of it.
He grabbed the boy by the front of his leather jerkin and shook him like a dog shakes a rat.
Ozzie's head bobbled crazily. For a moment I feared Jack might injure him; then I realized the
boy was still wobbly from drink.
"God's teeth, get thee from my sight," Jack proclaimed at last, giving the boy one last
powerful shake, then releasing him.
Ozzie staggered away, his hand to his head.
"You'd best remember that sore head next time you think about going in a tavern, sirrah!"
At that moment, having leaned so far out the window sill, I nearly lost my balance and managed
to save myself only by grabbing at it. The sudden movement sent my wig, forgotten since the
Jack of Hearts
previous night, sliding over my brow. Grabbing for it proved perilous. For a moment I hung
suspended half in and half out the window.
Then one of my flailing feet found purchase against the wall beneath the window, and I
managed to leverage myself back inside it.
Needless to say, I lost the wig.
"Boy!"
Sitting on the floor once again safely inside the room, I had trouble drawing breath, and
for a moment could not move to answer the Captain's call.
"Boy!" Captain Jack's voice brooked no foolish resistance, and so I dragged myself once
again to the window, still panting, and looked out, taking care not to lean far.
It did not matter. Jack had moved farther out into the innyard and stood grinning up at
me, the wig hanging like a limp yellow rag from his fingers.
"Hark!" he boomed, swinging the lousy wig to and fro. "What light breaks through
yonder window?" A wicked grin split his handsome face from ear to ear. I decided to play
along.
"'Tis I, Francis."
"Aye, young Frank, and here I thought 'twas the sun." He brandished the wig, then threw
it straight at me, his aim so sure I had to duck to avoid being hit square on. As it was, the thing
whizzed past my ear and plopped to the floor behind me. "Best get your young arse down here
now or it's left behind you'll find yourself."
For the first time I noticed the wagons in the innyard -- the company's wagons -- Chas
harnessing the horses to them. A few more moments, and they would be ready to leave.
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Jack of Hearts
34
"Wait!" I yelled and scrambled back inside the window. Yanking off the red dress, much
the worse for wear for my having slept in it, I bundled it around the wig as I made for the door.
When I reached the innyard, it was just in time to dash across and catch the back of the second
wagon as it rolled out into the high street beyond the inn.
*
As I had heard we were making for York, I expected us to turn south and west; instead
we meandered westward and even to the north a bit. Captain Jack seemed loathe to bypass even
the smallest village where it appeared to me our earnings could not have stretched to keep us in
bread and wine much less provide much of a profit.
As a consequence, we saw much more of the countryside than a direct trip might have
warranted. Jack seemed in no hurry; he dawdled. And there were times he disappeared
altogether to leave us cooling our heels in some roadside camp, inns in these parts being few and
far between.
No one seemed to question Jack's odd behavior, but I have always owned an insatiable
curiosity. I took to watching his movements and found he often left in a stealthy manner as if he
hoped no one would notice. During his absences I kept my eyes and ears open for the slightest
sign of his return.
But try as I might, I could find no rhyme or reason to his behavior.
My only clue lay in Chas' behavior, for she became downcast in a way that seemed an
overreaction in the face of Jack's faithfulness in returning. I questioned her about it only once:
Jack of Hearts
35
"Where's the captain?" I asked her one morning after I'd heard him creep away in the
predawn darkness, leading his horse so as not to rouse anyone.
"He's gone," she answered unhelpfully.
"Again?
"Aye."
"God's teeth." I swore one of Jack's favorite oaths. "The least he could have done was
found us decent shelter before he ran off to one of his doxies." The sentiment was heartfelt
because it was a drippy, misty morning.
Then I saw the expression on Chas' face and realized that she believed Jack really had
gone to some other woman, even though I'd meant it only in jest.
"Chas, Jack would never look at another lass. I didn't mean what I said. I was only
disappointed he left us behind."
"So am I," she said in a low, toneless voice, and then disappeared into the back of her
wagon before I could say anything else to make matters worse.
I could have flogged myself. The memory of the misery on Chas' face stuck with me for
a long time after, and I vowed never to bestow my heart on another lest that person do me as
much ill as Jack had done Chas.
Of course, I was very young and green and would break that vow soon enough.
*
Jack returned the next day without a word to explain his absence, just as in all those other
times, and the pink returned to Chas' waxen cheeks. But I became aware after that of a certain
anxiety that lurked behind her blue eyes. Jack apparently did not notice it, for he was as
Jack of Hearts
ebullient and careless of her feelings as ever, and she took him back into her bed without a word
of recrimination.
We took to the road once more, bearing this time due north, and soon Jack directed us to
a fine manor house nestled cozily between two stretches of Yorkshire hills.
"We were here last season," Robbie Hawkins informed me. "Cap'n's that tight with the
lord of this place."
"Who lives here?"
"Charles Durant. Not a great lord, like the Duke of York, but not the least of them,
either."
Oddly, the manor reminded me of my own home, now far away, although the two bore
little resemblance. This place seemed so new, the gray stone of it gleaming as if cut from the
quarry only yesterday, and the grounds spoke of careful grooming. Even the surrounding
farmsteads, early in the season as it was, reflected careful and considerable husbandry.
As our ramshackle wagons rolled along the wide lane leading up to the house, I tried not
to recall neglected gardens and ivy-choked masonry, blank staring windows, and the constant
cold wind bearing in off the Channel.
Those days and that place were behind me, I told myself, and tried to believe it.
An important-looking man met us and directed us to the back of the house, where we
could stable our horses and find room for ourselves alongside them.
"Was that m'lord Durant?" Chas wondered, wide-eyed and impressed by the man's fine
livery.
"No. Only a servant."
She looked at me with her eyebrows raised, and I hurried to explain this insight.
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Jack of Hearts
"The master of such a fine house would never greet the likes of us at his door."
That seemed to satisfy her, but later my words proved false, when Lord Durant did come
out to meet us - or rather he came to find Jack. I happened to be there, because Jack had taken it
in his head that I should learn to juggle as a further attraction to draw custom to our
performances, and we were in the midst of one of our lessons.
"Here, now, boy," he was saying to me just as I noticed a portly man strolling toward us,
wearing a green velvet gown, a stiff white ruff, and several yards of thick gold chain. His back
to the man, Jack chided me when my futile attempts to follow the lesson ceased altogether. "You
have to keep the balls in the air, not on the ground."
"And whose balls might those be?" The newcomer spoke blandly, but there was an
undertone to his words that I did not comprehend.
Jack's yellow eyes narrowed a bit, but his face reflected no other expression as he turned
to face our visitor.
"Mine, my lord," he said, his words polite, but his tone not the least bit deferential.
"Tis a pity, for I know you to be a man loathe to sharing."
Jack nodded, but I sensed a tension in him I'd seen only once before - on that night he'd
bade me accompany him to the tavern, the night of my debut in the lousy red dress. It piqued my
curiosity, even when the two men shook hands and heartily thumped one another on the back in
the manner of men who were long acquainted.
Just then, a spritely young woman, scarce older than I, came tripping into the stableyard,
wobbling elegantly on her high, carved-wood pattens. She trailed heavy damask skirts and
perfume behind her.
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Jack of Hearts
"May I introduce my wife, Felicity," Lord Durant said. "As you know, sir, my wife of
many years died not twelve months since. Lady Felicity is a joy sent to me in my declining
years."
"Pray, my lord," Lady Felicity begged her husband sweetly. "Do not forbid me to see the
players. I find players so-o-o interesting." She put her hands, covered in white kid gloves —
the expensive kind you wore once and then discarded — on the gentleman's green velvet sleeve.
Lord Durant smirked, and she batted her eyelashes up him and pursed her plump red lips.
I hated her at once, and my hatred turned black when I saw Jack's expression. Had he
been a dog, he would have drooled. As it was, he did nothing to hide the avid look in his eyes,
much the same look as Lord Durant himself wore.
Did I say Lord Durant was middle-aged? He was also grossly fat and had open sores on
his face, and when I saw Chas' stricken expression, I decided Lady Durant, young and beautiful
as she was, deserved no better.
The two men chatted for a while, with Lady Durant burbling between them. I did not
walk away. Instead I feigned interest in playing with the three small red wooden balls Jack had
given me for juggling practice, all the while keeping a close eye on Jack, Lord Durant and his
lady.
Therefore I felt the very moment their attention turned back to me.
"A likely enough looking lad," Lord Durant commented. His heavy hand, big as a ham,
fell upon my shoulder, and without thinking I twisted away from him.
"A mite shy, he is," Jack interjected.
I had dropped my balls and pretended to look for them, outside Lord Durant's reach.
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Jack of Hearts
39
"All the better. And so young. He might be a maid if a fair cheek were taken to
account."
"My lord husband," Lady Durant broke in. She sounded petulant, and I thought she
disliked not being the center of attention. "Bid the players perform a romance for us. I do like a
romance."
"Aye, wife," Lord Durant agreed. "You heard the lady, Captain. A fine romance to
please her sensibilities. She is most delicate of nature, I vow."
"We shall be honored to please such a one as your lady wife," Jack said, and I barely
recognized his voice. I did not know he had it in him to fawn, but fawn he did, all over the
unpleasant pair.
"And have yon young lad play the maiden's part. 'Twill make the performance more
piquant," Lord Durant said.
Leaving my wooden balls in the dust and dung of the stableyard, I skulked away, and hid
myself in a box stall with one of Lord Durant's fine horses.
*
"Captain says you're to stay with the wagon," Ozzie told me later that evening, looking
ludicrous in the red dress. He had grown so tall it barely cleared his shins, and his dirty hose
peeked out from beneath it. For once I did not envy him the dress, although it meant once more
I'd not join the players as they trod the boards and spoke their lines. I wanted to stay as far as
possible from fat Lord Durant and his simpering wife.
Jack of Hearts
I did not spend the evening alone, however, for Chas stayed behind as well, having
refused to help with the costumes for the first time since I'd known her.
"I told him my female complaint was on me, and my belly ached," she informed me, so
the two of us sat in silence, awaiting the players' return.
We heard them before we saw them, stumbling and singing as they came, obviously well
the worse for drink. Captain Jack was not among them. Eventually, Chas retired alone to her
pallet in the wagon, and I tried not to think of her misery.
Restless and unable to sleep although the day had been a long one, I found myself pacing
in circles around the stableyard, which lay in deep shadow with no moon to pierce the darkness.
So small a sound it was when it came, I almost missed it: a footfall, soft and stealthy, not
far from where I stood. I froze, motionless as Lot's salty pillar, staring blindly through the
darkness until my eyes burned. Presently, I heard it again, a little farther on.
Then, a door opened at the back of the manor house, and torchlight spilled into the
stableyard. I slipped into the shadow of several barrels piled one upon the other as Lord Durant,
identifiable by his bulk, emerged, leaving the door ajar behind him.
Peering over the barrels, I could see by the movements of his head that he was looking
for something.
Presently, several men approached him, one passing so close to me I held my breath lest
he discover me spying on that which could be none of my concern. The group of men stood all
in a knot with Lord Durant at its heart, their voices low and buzzing like bees, undecipherable
from my vantage point. Then the knot unraveled, and Lord Durant disappeared back into his
house. The light abruptly winked out, replaced by a stygian darkness.
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Jack of Hearts
I heard more footfalls as Lord Durant's men dispersed and held my breath, lest I betray
myself. When silence had returned, I withdrew from behind the barrels to make my way to the
straw bed awaiting me within the stable.
No more than two or three paces on, I came up hard against someone standing silent and
invisible just inside the stable door.
"Ooof!" Clandestine as I tried to make myself, I could not stifle the sound the collision
forced out of me. Then strong hands clutched my arms just below the shoulders in so vise-like a
grip I squeaked with pain.
"By God, it's a mouse I've found skulking this late about my lord's premises," Jack
declared in something like the loud stage-whisper he could project to the hindmost of the largest
audience. He propelled me roughly into the stable. I knew when we passed into its interior,
because, although the darkness could grow no deeper, somehow it seemed thicker, as if fogged
by the breaths of all those, both man and beast, sleeping within it.
"In future, boy, take more care where you venture after curfew." This time, Jack's voice
came as a true whisper, and his breath caressed my ear, so close to me he was as he spoke.
"I did nothing amiss!" Even as I protested my innocence, something in his hushed tone
kept my voice low to match it.
"Nay, lad." Weariness colored Jack's voice. "You meant no wrong. But there are those
about who would prey upon that very innocence."
Briefly I wondered if he meant Lord Durant and his minions, then something drove that
thought from my mind: a scent, musky and cloying, drifting from Jack's direction. I had to think
a moment before I recognized it.
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Jack of Hearts
Not being the type of man to wear a lady's expensive perfume, Jack could reek of Lord
Durant's wife for one reason only.
"You've been with Lady Durant!"
I did nothing to muffle my voice this time, and might have said more had not Jack
clouted me, so hard across the side of my head that I collapsed to my knees, lightning flashing
behind my eyes.
Never in my short life had anyone struck me in such a way, and the shock of it made the
blow worse.
I know not how much time passed before I managed to get to my feet and stagger to an
empty stall, but Jack had gone by that time. Curling myself into a ball of misery, I silently wept
myself to sleep.
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43
Chapter Five
With the morning came another move. Chas gasped when I came to help her load her
wagon.
"Francis, lad! What...?"
"Tis nothing," I interrupted the question, not knowing quite how to answer. Speaking
hurt; my jaws did not seem to fit togther correctly and my words, barely more than a mumble,
pounded painfully in my sensitive ears.
"I ran into the stable door," I assured her when, looking troubled, Chas opened her mouth
to ask again.
Although Chas' concern had warned me, I barely recognized the misshapen face reflected
in the bucket of water I drew from the well.
Gingerly I touched the purple swelling over my cheekbone, wincing as I did so; then I ran
my fingers through my spiky red hair. Such a colorful visage, and I had Jack to thank for it. I
went looking for him.
"Dunno," was the general consensus of the sleepy players emerging from the stable,
scratching themselves and spitting, so I returned to Chas, in spite of my reluctance to undergo
her scrutiny. By now she had the troupe's gear stowed securely and was harnessing the horse.
I fell in to helping her and thought my question casual enough under the circumstances.
"So where has the Captain taken himself this morning?"
Chas paused and cast me a knowing, sidelong glance that bit right through my
nonchalance.
"Gone on ahead," said she, a noncommittal answer in spite of that look. "Said he'd meet
us at York."
Jack of Hearts
York! The word put my headache at ease almost as quickly as it helped undo the hurt
Jack had dealt me. So long I had waited to get to York! My aunt was there, and I hoped to find
refuge with her.
I would leave Captain Jack high and dry and sorry he'd treated me so ill.
We had before us several days of travel to reach York. During this time I practiced my
juggling and helped Chas with the cooking and other tasks that kept our little troupe going. The
men lifted not a finger to help, and even made things difficult for Chas through a form of
unsubtle harassment.
With Captain Jack away and not likely to return, several of them, especially young Ozzie,
bothered her with what she made abundantly clear were unwelcome attentions. Yet the more she
spurned their advances, the more emboldened they became.
One evening as Chas stood at her stew pot, ladle in hand, Ozzie approached her with an
empty bowl.
"It's starving I am, Chas," he squeaked in his discordant voice. "What ya got for a hungry
man?"
"We've stew tonight."
"That'll warm my belly, right enough, girl, but what about my bed?"
"Stew's all you're getting, Oz." She took a no-nonsense tone as she ladled out a generous
helping. As she started to turn back to her pot, Ozzie tried to grab her arm.
Without hesitation Chas swung the ladle and struck him hard just above the ear.
"Ow!" He wailed, his voice wavering between man and boy. The other men sniggered
as he stumbled away, rubbing his wounded head. Chas went on with her task, a picture of
unruffled composure.
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45
This incident brought back uncomfortable memories of my own aching head. I tried to
occupy myself by practicing my juggling -- not that I thought I'd need the skill. The pain in my
jaw and the livid bruise on the side of my face continually stiffened my resolve to leave Jack's
troupe of players in York. I would find my aunt and soon forget my days on the road with
Captain Jack's men.
*
We reached York at sunset of the third day, entering the city through the gate called
"Monk Bar". The imposing portcullis stood open; in these quieter days the city no longer closed
its gates nor posted guards at night. Once, upon a long ago visit to York, my father had told me
tales of how the heads of traitors were mounted on pikes and hung over the city's gates as
gruesome reminders for any like-minded folk. My mother had shushed him. "Not fit words for a
child," but it was my last clear memory of him and as such took on no sinister connotations.
As we passed under the Bar, Chas, riding in the wagon beside me as the men were
leading our horse, nudged me in the ribs and pointed. There, on the age-encrusted stonework I
saw black marks - Jack's scrawled invitation to one and all to come to the Angel for an evening's
entertainment.
With the evening well underway, I realized we were late to our own performance.
"Chas, he's obligated us for today."
"Jesu!" Chas rarely swore. "He'll be that fierce."
"Mayhap we can find him before it is too late."
"Where did the writing say?"
Jack of Hearts
"The Angel Inn," I told her.
"Aye. That's in the Shambles." She shook her head. "We'll never make it afore dark."
I understood her lack of optimism when we emerged into the city. People hurrying home
to their suppers filled the narrow streets, slowing the progress of our wagons. In some places,
the buildings stood so close on either side of us I feared we could not pass through. And,
although the sun had just slipped beneath the horizon, darkness had fallen before time, due to the
fact that the upper stories of the buildings were so close that from those high windows someone
on one side of the street might shake hands with someone on the opposite side.
And then there was the stench. As we moved deeper into what Chas had called the
Shambles, it grew stronger, until it became a palpable presence threatening to stop up my nose.
I'd never been to this part of York, having come through the more fashionable Micklegate Bar
entrance with my parents on those few visits so long ago.
"Pfhaw!" I exclaimed. "What's that stink?"
Chas pointed to the shop keepers scurrying to shutter their storefronts for the night. "It's
the butchers' district," she said.
My imagination running rampant, I thought of all the blood, guts and gore that must
inundate this street's buildings each day, and I identified the odor. It would be a long while
before I could come near raw meat without recalling it.
We made our torturous way through the crowds, the horse ankle deep in the mire made
by many a dumped night-soil or kitchen slops pot. At long last, the "boys" drew our wagons to a
stop outside a particularly scurvy-looking establishment. No sign identified it as our destination,
but its front door stood open, spilling light and drunken, riotous citizens out into the street.
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A charcoal scrawl on the peeling white-washed wall beside that front door informed us
we'd reached our destination.
Captain Jack awaited us in the innyard, pacing back and forth in the less crowded space
between the public house and the ramshackle building that I surmised served as the Angel's
stable. One glance at his black visage, and we all braced for the storm that would surely break
upon us.
To my utter amazement, his face cleared when he spied us, and he seemed almost
relieved to see us.
"God's teeth, Chas," he said. "I was worried you had been set upon on the road by
bandits or sommat."
"Nay, Jack. A full three days' journey it is."
"Still, you might have hurried it a bit."
"I'm that sorry, Jack," she said and her voice quavered.
"Aw, lass, don't take on." Jack put his arm around Chas' waist and pulled her down from
the wagon letting her slide down the length of his tall body. I marveled at the pink hue her face
took on by the time her feet reached the packed earth of the innyard. "T'was naught that a few
coppers could not mend. A few drafts of the ale they serve here and the play was forgotten."
I slipped unheeded out of the back of the wagon, not wishing to catch Jack's eye.
Although my bruises faded, my jaw still ached as a result of that unkind blow he'd dealt me
outside Lord Durant's stable door.
I helped the boys fork some of the rotting, slimy hay from a few stalls for our horses, next
to the box stall where Captain Jack's stallion stood. Our work done and the horses situated for
the night, the boys went whistling off toward the inn, looking for their supper. Not wishing to
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48
cross paths with Jack, I remained behind and bedded down in one of the clean stalls which
housed not a horse but our tack and other gear.
Presently, something warm and purring came to snuggle against my breast – the stable's
cat, glad of a companion for the evening.
"Sweet Puss," I told her, rubbing behind her ears. She purred louder and grew warmer
against me, and we soon both drifted off to sleep.
*
Shake, shake, shake.
"Francis! Rouse yourself!" A voice and a vigorous shaking roused me from a deep sleep
some indeterminate time later.
"Frank! Wake up!" Shake, shake, shake.
"Leave me alone." I slid away to escape from the strong hand that shook me as a feist
dog might shake a rat.
"God's teeth, Frank. We've work to do."
Captain Jack. Mayhap he had come to apologize. I sat up, rubbing at my bleary eyes and
disturbing my companion the cat who murmured her displeasure and slid away from the stall, to
less chaotic surroundings no doubt.
"'Tis still dark."
"Of course, it is. 'Tis the dead of the night."
I came fully awake. Jack would never apologize, much less do it in the wee hours.
"Is something amiss?" I asked.
Jack of Hearts
"Nay, just a job. I have to meet a man and need a lookout. That Oz has disappeared
again."
"Have you looked under the tables in yon tavern?"
"Tavern's shuttered for the night."
I sighed. "Very well. What do you want me to do?"
"Good man, Francis." Jack thumped me on the back, very nearly sending me to my
knees. "Follow me."
I immediately lost him in the gloom, but I could hear the shuffle of his boots on the straw
we'd thrown out of the stalls earlier. When in daylight he saw the mess on the boots from the
filth he strode through, he'd have a temper fit, but I did not warn him of it. A bit of pique for his
cavalier treatment of me, mayhap. I had no trouble following the sound of his footsteps, for
nothing stirred in the innyard, not so much as a crickets's creaking voice breaking the silence.
Jack left the innyard and made his way into the street beyond. Here I could see a little
better, as my eyes began to adjust to the gloom aided by the glow from a window or two of those
citizens of York still awake at such an hour. I caught up to Jack and walked unspeaking beside
him, attempting to match my stride to his - with some difficulty, for Jack was a very tall man
with long legs.
After we gone a short distance, Jack caught my arm, then pressed something into my
hand.
"Here. I bought you a gift," he said. "Do not hesitate to use it."
I fumbled with the object in the darkness, and then managed to work it from its leather
sheath - a dagger with a narrow, sharp blade. A gibbous moon chose just that moment to peep
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Jack of Hearts
over the roof of one of the cantilevered storeys above, and the dagger's blade caught fire,
moonlight spilling liquid fire along its polished steel surface.
"Hsst!" Jack said. "Hide that thing away - moonlight on metal's a sure eye-catcher."
"What use have I for a knife?" I wondered aloud as I sheathed the weapon safely from
prying eyes. Jack's caution seemed a bit extreme, taking into consideration the deserted street in
which we stood.
"It occurs to me you have a penchant for finding trouble, lad," Jack answered. "Like as
not, I'll need you to replace Ozzie in more ways than one. I first thought to buy you a sword, but
that will come later. Learn to use that blade, and it will serve you well enough."
He bade me tie it to my belt and then turned away. His kindness, I suppose, was all the
acknowledgment I would receive of an apology for having struck me.
We walked on a few more silent paces. Suddenly, Jack stopped so short I ran up on his
heels. He did not chide me for it. I peered around him to find we were standing before a house
the dimensions of which I could barely make out, the moon having hurried across the minute
opening between roofs and disappeared beyond them.
Jack scratched lightly at what must have been the door - better eyes than I he had for I
could not make it out in the gloom. A moment later a crack of light appeared as the door edge
open.
"Aye?" came a whispered question from within the house.
" 'Tis Jacko."
The door opened a bit wider, and I saw someone silhouetted within.
"What's the word?" the silhouette asked, its voice a bit louder.
"Our Lady."
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"Right." The silhouette stuck its head out the door, looking up and down the dark
deserted street. "Come inside."
Jack mounted the single step into the house and the door swung wider to allow him to
pass. I made to follow him, but an arm shot out, stopping me as short as a heedless rider caught
by a tree branch. If that had not driven the breath from me, looking up into the face of the
silhouetted man would have. The lighting having changed, I could now see him clearly. A tall
man he was, and dressed in the garb of a Jesuit priest.
I fumbled frantically for my knife, but it hung up in the folds of my over-sized coat.
"Francis!"
"What's this?"
I heard the warning in Jack's voice and said nothing.
"My lookout," Jack answered for me. "A mite over-zealous he is."
The arm, heavy and hard as oak fell away, and I scurried past the Jesuit to Jack's side.
I'd heard horror stories of the Jesuits, sent to England by Rome to steal the throne from
our good Queen and hand it over to her Scots cousin now sitting imprisoned in an English castle.
Secret papists within our own borders gave her succor and support for their cause. I'd heard tales
of priest's holes and secret ceremonies involving sorcery and stolen babies, all very hair-raising.
In fact, I could feel the fine hairs on the back of my neck lifted by this one's proximity.
We stood in a small anteroom. The priest went into another room beyond, but Jack
stopped a moment to speak to me.
"Keep close watch, Francis," he said in a very low voice, barely a whisper. "If someone
comes in from outside..." he gestured toward the now closed doorway into the street. "Come
warn me."
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He started to follow the priest. But then he stopped and turned back to me. "And if
something untoward should happen to me in that room, run for your life, Frank."
Trembling so hard my teeth rattled, I stood outside the door and kept watch as Jack bade
me to do. I strained my ears to hear what went on between the two men, but they kept their
voices so low I could make out nothing of their words. My rattling teeth and jangling nerves did
little to help.
What was Jack doing having a civil conversation with a Jesuit?
How long I waited I know not, but the time crept by. I expected any moment that a squad
of soldiers would burst in from the street to arrest us all for treason. Or perhaps more Roman
priests would come drag me away, having determined I was no Catholic.
By and by, Jack came back out into the anteroom, alone, although I could feel the Jesuit's
icy presence in the room beyond, and I exhaled. Jack shot me a look I could not decipher; then
he made for the door. I had to hustle to keep up with him.
Back in the street we walked in silence for a space of time. How late the hour I could not
tell, but it seemed to me dawn should not be far off.
"Frank," Jack said at last. "Say nothing to no one of tonight's doings."
"Aye, Captain," I answered him obediently, but my heart ached with uncertainty.
First the violence against my person of a few days before and now this. I decided as we
made our way back across the innyard that at daybreak I would set off in search of my Aunt's
house. Something was amiss with Captain Jack and I was fearful of being caught up in it.
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53
Chapter Six
Five years had elapsed since my last visit to my aunt's. Until the moment I set foot
outside the innyard into the early morning bustle of the Shambles, I had not thought I might have
difficulty finding her house.
I discovered in that I did not know whether to turn right or left - We'd come here in
darkness, and since we'd passed the black bulk of the great Minster on our way in, I knew my
aunt's house must be located some distance away. She lived in a newer section of the town, her
late husband having built their fine home away from the squalor that was the old medieval town
center.
I recalled it as one of a number of houses set among lawns and gardens, but nothing I'd
seen of York so far resembled the area in which the house stood, and to my consternation, I
realized I could not remember the street name, if I had ever known it. In my haste to flee what
had become a dangerous situation, my planning been sketchy at best.
In those long ago visits, we'd entered the city through the gate know as "Micklegate Bar."
Perhaps, if I went there, I would see something familiar. Standing at the deserted passage from
the innyard into the street, I squared my shoulders and set out resolutely to the left down the
Shambles, stopping after a few paces to ask directions at the stall of a street vendor selling meat
pasties.
A pleasant looking woman stood behind the stall, taking coins and handing out the greasy
delicacies. My stomach churning with hunger as I had eaten no breakfast nor supped the night
before, I dared not look at her wares. I had no coin in my pockets to purchase them - Chas had
said that Jack would pay our wages in York, but I could not wait for them.
"Tuppence," the woman said to me, mistaking my intent as I paused.
Jack of Hearts
54
"Nay, Mistress. It's not food I'm wanting, but direction. Do you know the way to
Micklegate?"
"Aye." She gave detailed instructions but in my hunger induced state I had to struggle to
focus upon them. "'Tis a far piece," she concluded. "Sure you don't want a pasty to tide you
over?"
I shook my head. The motion made me dizzy. The woman must have noticed something,
for she reached out and placed a hot pasty in my hand. "This one's a little out of shape. Take it."
In the face of such unexpected kindness, I could only dip my head respectfully in thanks,
but she'd turned already to another customer, dismissing the gesture as unimportant.
Tossing the pasty back and forth from hand to hand to cool it, I set off in the direction the
kindly vendor had steered me.
*
"Which way did she say?"
Right or was that left at the church with the broken belltower? The streets, narrow and
muddy with no more than a footpath and a wagon track through them, all looked much the same
to me. None of the residents seemed confused as they moved around in the usual bustle of
townspeople. Following my nose, I took a left and soon found myself standing before a bridge
spanning a wide, slow-moving river.
The sight stopped me short. This was the first landmark I'd recognized since entering the
city. We'd crossed this very bridge, albeit from the southerly direction, on our way to my aunt's
house, and now that I thought about it, I had a clear memory of that house standing on the bank
of a river just like this one.
Jack of Hearts
I stepped out onto the road paralleling the river. I'd had remarkably good fortune so far
in following my hunches and distant memories; mayhap my luck would hold.
Of course, it did not. All the houses along this stretch of the river seemed very much
alike; my aunt, married to a wealthy courtier, had a very imposing house, with many rooms and
many expensive windows piercing its brick walls. Windows were a prominant feature of many
of the houses I passed. Apparently the well-to-do citizens of York fancied a river view.
Midday came and went, and I grew more and more confused. There were no venders in
the street to ask for direction here in this quarter of the city, and the citizens, those who were
afoot, hustled past me, in no mood to mingle with a threadbare ragamuffin like me. I had to keep
a sharp lookout for those on horseback, for they seemed inclined to run me over rather than turn
aside.
Just as I reached a point of exhaustion and utter dejection that seemed likely to send me
back to the Angel Inn and Captain Jack's crew, I spied a man coming along the street wearing the
livery of a fine household - black with a silver badge depicting a swan. I recognized it instantly
as the insignia of my aunt's deceased husband - I even recalled his massive seal ring that she
wore on a length of chain about her neck.
If I could follow this man, undoubtedly a servant of my aunt's, he should lead me right to
her house.
He must have sensed my stare, because after casting a suspicious look my way, he
stepped up his pace and I had to scurry to keep him in sight, although his cautious behavior led
me to hang back to escape detection. I followed him for a considerable distance, back along the
way I'd passed earlier. Then I saw him pause at the gate of a house I'd previously paid little heed
and strike a bell inside it.
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Jack of Hearts
Presently, someone, another man in the same black livery and badge came and opened
the gate allowing my unwitting guide to go into the courtyard of the house. I hung back for a
moment until both men left my sight, then ran across the street, this one much narrower and
cleaner than that the Angel stood on, to the gate which now stood closed. I put my hand upon it
and pushed in the outside chance the two men had neglected to lock it behind them, but it held
firm.
Undaunted, I reached through the iron bars and struck the bell with the clapper hanging
on a chain next to it.
Almost immediately the man in black livery, the second man whom I had seen to open
the door for my erstwhile guide, appeared. He must have a post somewhere just inside the gate, I
surmised, so that he could serve as gatekeep. Either that or my guide had warned him of a
suspicious rascal trailing him through the city.
When he looked at me I feared the latter.
Eyes narrowed in an expression that spoke of suspicion if not outright hostility, he
challenged me.
"Who's this? State your business or begone."
"I am here to see Lady Masrdon." I spoke as clearly and genteely as possible, hoping I
would pass inspection.
"Her ladyship is not at home." He turned away almost before the last word left his lips.
"Please, sir!" I called after him. "'Tis a matter of life or death."
He ignored me and continued to stroll away. I dragged the cap from my head and ran my
fingers through my hair.
"Tell her it is her niece, Frances. I vow she will see me if you do."
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57
The man came back to the gate and looked me up and down, a sneer twisting his lips. I
tried to stand straight as possible, in the stance of a fine lady, my chin held high and haughty, but
I saw my true appearance reflected in his expression – no more than a ragged, filthy boy with
poorly cropped copper hair and empty pockets, looking for a handout.
He spat at me, so accurately I had to hop a couple of quick steps backward.
"Bugger off!" He turned and walked away. Thunderstruck by such ungentlemanly
behavior, I could think of nothing to call after him that would sway such a final dismissal. I
could understand boorish behavior amongst the likes of Captain Jack's people, but one of my
aunt's own servants?
I stumped down the street a little way, then slumped down inside a recessed doorway, its
gate barred as if the occupants were long absent. From this vantage point, I could still see the
from of my aunt's house. Perhaps she herself would come to the gate, and I could make her
recognize me.
I sat a vigil that lasted well into the night so that I eventually nodded off.
*
When next I opened my eyes, a strange noise awakened me. At first I thought that the
noise that so disturbed my sleep was the grumbling complaint of my own empty stomach.
Having had nothing since the meat pasty of the previous morn, I was ravenous. Then I heard
another, fainter sound that brought me to bleary-eyed attention - the creaking hinges of my aunt's
gate.
Jack of Hearts
A faint light had begun in the sky, so I could just make out two furtive figures passing out
of the gate. Realizing they were coming straight for me, I shrank farther back into my alcove
and waited until they passed.
I need not have bothered for the two, a man and a woman, were so entwined they
stumbled as they sidled crab-like down the footpath that I could have stood out in plain view
without them detecting me. The two came to rest only a short space past my hiding spot, and I
could hear odd whiffling noises that put me in mind of something....
Gingerly, I peered around the corner, unable to suppress my curiosity to see that the man
had the woman backed up against a wall. I could make out little about the man except he seemed
to have his head buried beneath the woman's skirts that were rucked up about her hips. The
noise came from the woman, who seemed to be panting as if from some great exertion.
Then it came to me – the noise was exactly like that I'd heard Chas make when she and
Jack were being particularly amorous. I'd never watched them, but mistake that sound I could
not.
I crept from my hiding place, placing my feet very carefully lest a disturbed stone draw
the couple's otherwise engaged attention, and made my way to my aunt's gate which stood open,
just wide enough for me to slip through it.
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59
Chapter Seven
The gatekeeper nabbed me straight away.
Just a few steps across the cobbled court yard, he grabbed the collar of my coat. I twisted
desperately away from him. Good fortune smiled, for the collar gave way, the worn fabric rotten
with abuse and too many washings. As I recalled from one of my earlier lessons in the
management of a great household, one should brush fine velvet clean, never immerse it in water.
"Blast!" The gatekeeper shouted his aggravation as I hot-footed my way toward the
house. Pray God the amorous couple in the street had left it open as they had done with the gate.
I sprang up two steps, pushed the thankfully unbarred door open and rushed inside.
Immediately, my feet went out from under me, and I crashed to the floor, feet up, head down.
I'd forgotten my aunt's modern penchant for clean-swept stone floors covered only with
colorful wool rugs imported at great expense from Arabia.
The blow should have addled my wits, and did set stars spinning behind my eyes, but all I
could think of was my need to reach my aunt. The thought gave my feet purchase, and I made
for the staircase that led to the house's living quarters on the upper storey.
I could hear the gatekeeper's booted footsteps heavy on the wooden stairs just behind me,
but I did not pause to look back. A hand grabbed at my ankle and caught it in a grip that sent me
sprawling, screaming my aunt's name as I fell.
Then there were people all around me, some of them carrying candles that flickered
wildly in the rush of bodies in the hallway. I fought, struggling against the hands that clasped at
me, dragging me back towards the stairs and the front of the house, and I kept screaming for my
aunt.
Needless to say, she did not come.
Jack of Hearts
Only the gatekeeper, his face inflamed with anger, and others like him in the familiar
black and silver livery of my aunt, answered my cry for help. He grabbed me by the nape of my
neck and proceeded to pummel and curse me.
"Thou damned runty hellspawn of Satan!" the gatekeeper exclaimed when my flailing
feet connected with his groin.
But his grip on me did not loosen, and just as the sun rose above the river, he dragged me
out of the courtyard and into the muddy high street beyond.
"Please, sir, let me go!" I begged him in my most piteous voice - not entirely an act at this
point.
"Nay, I'll see you in the gaol afore breakfast!"
Curious onlookers joined our strange procession, and by the time the gatekeeper
manhandled me into a square before the town hall, we made a considerable crowd. A noisy one
at that as I continued to alternate between begging for mercy and demanding my freedom while
the gatekeeper cursed me. His face grew very red, and I found myself goading him further, in
the faint hope he might expire of an apoplexy.
No such luck, he bellowed for the magistrate.
The man I supposed must be that very personage emerged from the building, wiping his
face.
"What have we here?" he asked. We'd disturbed him at his breakfast. He brought half a
loaf of bread with him and ate as the gatekeeper poured out his charges against me.
A portly man with a weak chin and oversized nose, he stared down the latter at me, as the
gatekeeper finally sputtered to a close.
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Jack of Hearts
"A very rascal, this," the magistrate pronounced, his tone pompous as his looks. "Bent on
a bit of thievery, I vow."
"Nay, sir." I finally had room to speak. "I am looking for my aunt."
"Your aunt! In Marsdon house. Is she one of the servants there?"
"Nay, she is Lady Marsdon. She lives there."
The magistrate laughed, a loud braying sound mixed with bits of chewed bread flying
from his lips.
"Aye. Lady Marsdon. And what would she to do with the likes of you?"
"I told you, sir. She is my aunt - my mother's sister."
The magistrate looked around at the gathered crowd with a manner so theatrical it would
have done Captain Jack proud. The moment the name popped into my head I found myself
wishing I'd never left Jack – anything seemed preferable to this.
"Boy, if you were truly Lady Marsdon's relative, then you would know the good lady is
not currently in residence," the magistrate said, leaning closer to me. "Come now, confess and I
will go easy on you." His voice grew low and wheedling.
"I have naught to confess," I told him. "If my aunt is no longer here, where has she
gone?"
"To London, to wait on the Queen."
I knew the game was up, with no one to vouch for me and my aunt having hied off to
London. The magistrate must have sensed victory.
"Ho, Sergeant Wat!" he called, and a pot-bellied and liveried man-at-arms came forward.
"Take this young knave down t'gaol 'til after breakfast. Then we'll make room in the stocks for
him."
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I might have fled, but, faster than he looked, Wat laid hands on me and dragged me past
the magistrate, not through the open door of the town hall, but around to the left side of the
building. He opened the door to what looked like a root cellar and pushed me through it, flinging
me headlong down past a rickety ladder to a hard-packed dirt floor. Wat, followed, the ladder
groaning pitifully beneath his bulk.
A fitful rushlight burned in a rack on the wall. He grabbed it with one hand and me with
the other. The gaol, located along the walls of the cellar, amounted to two small rooms,
separated from one another with rusty iron grates. The metal door to the room on the right side
stood open, but its companion on the left was closed and held a single occupant, who I at first
mistook for a pile of rags on the floor.
As if I were no more substantial than that pile of rags, Sergeant Wat tossed me into the
empty cell and closed the door, its rusting hinges complaining loudly behind me. Then he turned
to my companion in the next cage. Yanking open its door which screamed even more piteously
than mine had, Wat grabbed up the pile of rags and shook it. The pile resolved itself into a
semblance of a man, who stood shakily and brushed himself off.
He pushed back the forelock of matted dark hair that hid his features just at the moment
that Sergeant Watt's sickly rushlight sputtered, flared briefly, and then died. But in that brief
illumination, I recognized my fellow prisoner's face.
It was Ozzie, the over-imbibing younger member of Captain Jack's players.
"Ozzie! Oz!" I shouted, hoping to make him hear and understand me through his alebesotted wits. "It's Francis! They're throwing me in the gaol for no good reason. Get help." In
the darkness I could not see whether Ozzie recognized me or paid me any heed at all.
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63
I peered after him, as the Sergeant opened the outer door and manhandled him through it.
By the looks of him, Ozzie was in no shape to climb the ladder. But he managed it somehow,
without a glance back at me.
*
After what seemed an interminable amount of time alone in the stygian black of that
cellar, the Sergeant came back, took me outside and put me in the stocks that stood in the square
before the York town hall.
I had never before considered how it felt to spend time in the stocks. Nearly every town
had them, even my own town of Scarborough, but I had not lived those circles threatened by
them or for whom they were a source of entertainment. So, with the bright morning sun on my
face, I was just deciding the stocks might not be so bad a thing compared to the dank, black gaol,
when the first bit of rotten vegetable, hurled by an urchin no higher than my waist, hit me right
between the eyes.
As it was only the first of a number of such disgusting missiles, I came to realize that the
child and the several cohorts who soon joined him had practice at this. They seldom threw wide
of their target. Although constructed for someone much larger than myself, the stocks held me
close, and I could do little to duck away from whatever the children hurled at me.
Presently, my tormenters tired and moved on, only to be replaced by fresh recruits. By
mid afternoon, covered with slimy, rotting vegetation and other, more unmentionable things, I
could do little more than hang uncomfortably in the stocks, squeezing shut my eyes against the
onslaught. Benumbed, I barely noticed the lull in sound and hurled objects when it came.
Jack of Hearts
What did bring me around was the sound of a familiar voice.
"Aye, that's my charge!"
I looked to see a man directly before me who I did not immediately recognize in spite of
his being mounted upon Jack's handsome black steed. Resplendent in blackberry brocade
embellished with seed pearls and embroidered netherhose, his hair was long and grey and he
wore a full, cottony white beard. But when he spoke to the magistrate who stood smiling
obsequiously up at him, his voice sounded just like Jack's.
"We caught him after he broke into a house, with the intent to steal, no doubt, my lord."
"No doubt, sir. No doubt," the apparition with Jack's voice and horse agreed. "He's a
very knave, not fit for the honor of living beneath my roof."
"Indeed not, my lord."
"But, his mother, you understand...." the gray-haired man lowered his voice into the stage
whisper Jack had perfected so that it had the carrying quality of a shout. "She's done me certain
... favors."
The magistrate's bushy eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared from his forehead.
"You must understand when she came to me and said her boy had fled – well, well, what
could I do but dry her tears?"
"Aye, my lord."
"Assurances were made, you see, and the lady will bless me with her gratitude." Jack, for
I was now sure it was him, stroked his beard with an oily leer.
"So, my good sir," he said. "I am sure you gladly will aid me in returning the boy to his
doting mother."
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For the first time in this strange conversation, the magistrate looked doubtful. He shot a
long glance at me. I did my best to make myself appear as the son of one of Jack's light o' loves,
glaring at him as any adolescent might whose mother's behavior demonstrated less than the most
sterling of morals.
"Bugger off!" I told him and spat in his general direction, not entirely an act as some of
the slime on may face threatened to slip into my mouth when I spoke.
A look of distaste crossed the magistrate's face.
"You are quite welcome to the young knave. And take care he does not murder you in
your bed, my lord!"
"I shouldn't worry," Jack said. "My bed is seldom occupied. He'd have better luck
looking in his mother's."
He and the magistrate shared a snigger or two, at the unlikely thought I might work up
the bottom to attack a man in my mother's bedchamber. Then producing an iron ring that held a
clutch of jangling keys, he opened the pillory lock. I'd stood a-tiptoe for so long my feet were all
pins and needles. Jack had to wait while I stamped them to get the feeling back in them, and he
put on a great show of impatience for the magistrate.
"Women!" he said. "What we poor souls will do to get in good favor with them!"
When I could walk, Jack indicated with an imperious gesture that I should take hold of
his stirrup. With a final nod of his head which set the plume on his velvet cap fluttering, he bade
the magistrate good day and set off at a leisurely pace down the street. Even then, I had
difficulty keeping pace with his horse, due to the poor condition of my feet and the length of the
animal's legs.
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Mercifully, I did not have too long a struggle. After making several turns in the warren
of York's streets, Jack guided his horse into a secluded corner and drew it to a halt. Then, he
leaned over, caught my arm and helped me clamber up behind him onto the horse's broad rump.
I did my best to avoid his eyes during the maneuver, as I had done since he'd shown up so
incongruously to rescue me.
My teeth still fit together ill as a lingering result of the last expression of his displeasure
toward me, and I dreaded his ire in memory of it.
"Pfaw!" my rescuer exclaimed as soon as I was settled, putting my arms around Jack's
waist to stay astride the great black beast he rode. "Frank, what a stink you have!"
I could feel my cheeks burn with the humiliation of my stench and the day's other events.
That and sheer exhaustion suddenly got the better of me: I broke into sobs, loud racking ones that
surprised me. I had not wept since fleeing my old home after the death of my dearest mother.
Jack shot me a glance as full of consternation as I felt. He fished around in one of the
deep decorative slashes on his embroidered sleeve and produced a finely-woven lace trimmed
handkerchief which he handed me.
"Stop your blubbering, Frank," he told me - not unkindly in his tone, I thought.
"Someone will think I'm abducting you and ruin my reputation with the ladies."
For a moment, I believed he referred to me as a lady, thinking he meant a lady would go
with him more willingly. Then his true meaning dawned on me - a grown man abducting a boy
might prove unseemly in any circumstance.
But I could not help myself. The handkerchief did little good, and so, to protect Jack's
good name, I pressed my face into the back of his doublet to hide my sobs. When I came up for
air, I noticed the utter mess I'd made of the fine fabric of the garment, with the salt tears from my
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eyes, snot from my nose, and rotten vegetable matter from my time in the stocks. It set me
sobbing anew. Jack hated his clothing becoming soiled, and I could only imagine what his
reaction would be to the damage I'd done his fine suit. Jack would take ill the destruction of
such an expensive garment.
Although, knowing Jack, I suspected the thought must have already crossed his mind, but
he did not let on. Instead he continued to steer the horse though the city. I could hear the
cacophony of it, the street venders crying their wares and the housewives gossiping at the wells,
dogs barking and children laughing and crying. Once or twice, I even heard bells, each time
growing a little more distant, and I thought we must be moving away from the direction of the
great Minster where they were hung.
As we passed through the various commercial districts of the city, scents even more
powerful than my own accosted me - fish, the rancid whiff of a tannery, the sour smell of milk
and butter displayed in unwashed tubs. Jack's doublet smelled of sweet woodruff and leather, I
noticed.
Presently, both noise and stench faded, my tears dried on my besplattered cheeks, and I
slept, rocked into slumber by the rhythmic movement of the horse.
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68
Chapter Eight
I awoke to a different world. Sweet, clean country fresh air teased my nostrils and no
sound but birdsong rang in my ears. I opened my eyes to find myself in familiar surroundings,
the interior of Chas' wagon. Warm blankets wrapped me in a cocoon of comfort. Something
else warmed me as well. To my surprise, I found the yellow innyard cat stretched out alongside
me, snoring gently. The last I'd seen of her had been in the street outside my aunt's house in
York.
But I had a feeling we were not in York anymore.
"Well, Malkin," I addressed the cat, giving her the name of a similar yellow cat once
owned and loved by my old nurse. "And where are we now?"
The cat slitted one eye at me, yawned widely enough to display an impressive array of
needle-sharp teeth, and went back to sleep without answering my question.
Rubbing my own scratchy eyes, I sat up, then abruptly pulled the blanket back up around
myself, for beneath it I wore not a stitch of clothing. And I was clean, cleaner than in weeks.
Someone had removed my ruined clothing and bathed me, removing the soil of my day
spent in gaol and in the stocks.
How had they done it without awakening me? Who had done it? A terrible thought – had
Jack undressed and bathed me?
Swaddling the blanket around myself, I looked about for my clothing and could not find
it in the wagon. Leaning forward, I peeped out from under the tarp that covered the wagon, and
saw Chas, working at a cook fire with her ample backside tilted up at me. We were indeed out of
the city; for as far as I could see, there were only rolling hillsides, trees, and meadows. The
spires of York were nowhere in view.
Jack of Hearts
"Hsst!" I called out to Chas in my best imitation of Jack's stage whisper, after first
checking about to make sure no one else was about. "Chas!"
She turned at the sound of my voice. Then she straightened, wiping her hands on her
apron, and walked toward me. I searched her face for clues regarding my present condition, but
her expression gave nothing away.
"So you're awake at last, Francis." She stopped short of the wagon, arms akimbo, and
regarded me gravely. "Or is that your real name? I vow 'tis not."
She'd caught me out. Who else knew?
"'Tis my real name," I told her. "Have I you to thank for the bath?"
"Aye," she answered. "And a good thing, too."
"Does the Captain know?"
"Nay, but I've a mind to tell him." She frowned. "Jack does not like charlatans."
I could think of no greater charlatan than Jack himself, but he had saved me. And, by the
looks of things, moved the troupe well before they'd had time to tap into the coin of York playgoers.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"On the Leeds road," she said. Then she changed the subject back to the one I'd tried to
leave. "Why didn't you tell us?"
"Chas, you of all people should understand," I replied. "A female alone on the road with
no one to protect her." I'd never traveled half a mile from my home before without an entourage
including the chaperonage of my mother and several men-at-arms.
She nodded in reluctant agreement. Chas, with harder experience than mine, knew first
hand the evil lurking in the world and had told me she owed much to Jack for taking her away
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from a miserable existence. Although the arrangement between them would not pass scrutiny in
the world from which I had come, it nevertheless provided her with safety and companionship, at
least for the time being. Jack, a man who even I knew, in my ignorance of such things, had a
roving eye, and might tire of her at anytime. And she had no guarantee for her future after that.
Chas clambered up into the wagon to sit beside me.
"Well," she said. "Since part of the tale is out, you might as well tell me the whole of it."
So I did. And when I had reached the end of the whole lurid thing, her rosy cheeks were
a good shade or two paler. At one point in my sorry story she'd even wept, albeit not for me.
But I could only hope she would see the necessity now of keeping my secret.
Thankfully, she seemed to understand.
"Welladay," she said at last in a low tone. "I suppose there is nothing for it but to keep
you a lad, at least for now."
She produced a knapsack from a corner of the wagon and handed it to me. "Jack said you
were to have these in place of your old suit, which I had to burn."
The knapsack contained a treasure: an entirely new suit of clothes, including a black
doublet with sleeves, black woolen hose, and clean undergarments. All were of a cut and grade
such as the apprentice of a well-to-do merchant might wear, and they appeared almost new. At
least I could find no noticeable stains or ripped seams. Tucked in beside the doublet I found a
small round cap, black with a green feather, and beneath the whole, in the bottom of the
knapsack, a pair of soft leather ankle-high boots.
My heart warmed toward Jack as I pulled these treasures from within the bag, inhaling
the scent of lavender that clung to them. It had been so long since I'd worn fresh clothing next to
my skin!
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71
"Jack said he picked the color to match his own wardrobe seeing as he always fancied
having a page."
I refused to let Chas' recital of Jack's comment spoil the new clothes. A page indeed!
They fit me as if tailored to my person, and I wondered how Jack had managed to come
so close to figuring my size. And, after having removed everything from the bag, I found the
dagger he'd given me at the very bottom of it. I'd left it behind on that morning I set out to find
my aunt. Had it been only two days ago?
"Damn your eyes, Jack," I said aloud, turning the thing over in my hands. I never knew
what to expect next from the man, kindness, cruelty, or even, mayhap, treason. After all,
consorting with Jesuits had a treasonous flavor connotation.
I joined Chas at the cookfire, and she made comment on my new clothes.
"Look quite the lad, you do."
"Chas, you won't tell," I pleaded, afraid she'd changed her mind.
"Nay, I'll not go back on my word," she said. "But if it comes out some other way, I
never knew about it."
I agreed, understanding that she did not wish to anger Jack.
*
Jack and the "boys" returned later in the afternoon, just before eventide. I expected he
would have something sharp to say to be, but other than a single slanting yellow glance, he said
not a word. Chas dished out the supper and I helped her, keeping my eyes down so as not to
attract any undue notice.
Jack of Hearts
The men gossiped and laughed, and none made comment of my absence. I knew they'd
hoped to pick up a fair amount of coin for their work in York, large cities being few and far
between. They might have held that against me, but, although they seemed a bit more subdued
than normal, I could sense no recrimination from them.
A full, gibbous moon had just risen over the horizon when Jack ordered everyone to bed
down for the night.
"We'll need to set out early to make Ripon in time to catch their market day two days
hence." he observed.
"Ripon? Chas said we were to Leeds." I'd stayed quiet throughout the men's supper,
hoping not to attract Jack's attention, but this unexpected change of plans drew a protest from
me.
"Nay," Captain Jack said. "Ripon has a prosperous market day. And we could use the
coin after losing our chance in York."
"But Leeds is south and Ripon is north." I'd never visited either place, but my education
had included Yorkshire geography.
"Aye. What of it?"
"I thought we were going to London."
Jack threw back his head and laughed heartily.
"Only an ignorant lad would think London a fit place to live in summer," he finally said.
"They close the theatres most every hot season due to pestilence. Those with the wherewithal
retreat to the countryside to await cooler weather."
My chest tightened. "So we're not to London?"
"Oh, aye, eventually. But not 'til Bartholomew's Fair-time, at the earliest."
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Bartholomew's Fair. When or what that might be, I hadn't a clue.
In recent days, Captain Jack had taken to smoking a pipe, an elaborate affair nearly as
long as my forearm. He wielded it to great effect, striking thoughtful poses with one arm akimbo
and a knee cocked. During our conversation, he'd produced the thing, tamped some of the
pungent herb he called "tobac" into its bowl, and lit it with a fagot from our campfire.
"You should take this up, Frank," he commented after inhaling a quantity of the acrid yet
not unpleasant smelling smoke. "Make a man of you."
Then he strolled off toward the wagon where Chas awaited him, leaving me alone to
wonder about London, Saint Bartholomew's, and tobac.
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74
Chapter Nine
The journey to Ripon proved fairly uneventful. By now I'd become the jaded traveler;
the rolling Yorkshire countryside no longer entranced me with its beauty. I fact, I barely noticed
it at all, for Captain Jack had taken it upon himself to teach me a new skill.
"Where's the blade I gave you, sirrah?" he asked me early on the next morning just before
we set out on the road.
I produced it from the knapsack that had held my new clothes. I had taken it to hold my
one or two meager possessions.
"Little good it will do you tucked away in yon bag," Jack said. He showed me how to tie
its leather scabbard to my belt so it hung just so. "Keep your blade where your hand will fall
upon it easily."
He spent a little time showing me how to draw the knife most speedily from its scabbard.
Then, he proceeded to demonstrate its use as a weapon.
In my life as a lady, I had owned a small eating knife with a decorative handle that I kept
tied at my girdle, ready for the next meal. In Jack's hands my new blade, although not much
larger than that dainty tool I'd worn before joining Captain Jack's men, seemed most formidable.
"'Tis a matter of coordination between the hand and eye," he told me. "First, hold the
blade tip between your fingers like so; then toss it upward so that it pivots in mid-air and catch it
by its handle."
Jack demonstrated with a few deft movements. He reversed the process and continued in
the opposite direction, increasing his speed until the knife appeared to twirl through the air
without ever really resting in his fingers.
Jack of Hearts
75
"Ha!" I found the knife tip at my throat without any warning other than Jack's sudden
exclamation. I gulped audibly. He looked at my face and laughed aloud.
"Never take your eyes off a knife when out of its scabbard, lad," he told me. "Else you
may find it where you'd least like it to be."
He placed the weapon back in my hand.
"Now sit in the back of yon wagon and practice with that," he told me. "I'll check your
progress at dusk."
*
I soon despaired of ever learning to juggle the knife. I'd grown reasonably proficient
with juggling the red balls, so much so that Jack had promised I should perform in our next town,
but the knife was another thing. Soon my fingers were bleeding from a myriad of cuts. Jack
rode past once, nodding at me where I sat with my feet hanging over the wagon's rear. He did
not acknowledge my wounds, but continued on oblivious to my pain.
Jack's lack of regard stung more than the steel had done, and I redoubled my efforts. By
late afternoon, when the low sun sent shadows stretching across the narrow wagon track we
bumped along, I could twirl the knife in a close, if not perfect approximation of Jack's
demonstration earlier in the day. Soon after that, he reappeared.
"Well, now, lad, let's see how you've faired."
I twirled the knife for him to see, careful to compose my features so as not to let on how
sore my fingers were. He watched, eyes narrowed as he stroked his beard.
At last he nodded, and I caught the knife handle in my fingers and palmed it.
"'Tis a start," he said.
Jack of Hearts
"A start! My fingers are well nigh severed from my hand!"
"Aye, you toss it prettily enough." He reached out and took the knife from me. "Now for
the hard part."
I sighed and awaited the next demonstration of some unlikely skill he'd expect me to
learn, but he began to lecture me instead.
"Juggling a knife is one thing," he said. "But knowing how to use one as a weapon is
another."
"Are you going to teach me how to throw it?" As a child I'd once seen a man performing
with knives at a fair. He could throw them at targets set so closely around a young woman that
the knives pinned her clothing to the board she stood against.
"Nay, not yet," Jack said. "Throwing a knife is a desperate act. Can you tell me why?"
I thought for a moment. "Because one no longer possesses the knife," I ventured.
"Aye. Throw your knife, and you've disarmed yourself."
He hefted the little blade in his palm and fingers and then handed it to me. "If you
desired to kill me fast and quiet, where would you hit me with this knife?"
"Right through the heart!" I pushed the knife toward the center point of his black velvet
doublet.
"Aim there and hit bone. Know you where the human heart resides?"
"Within the breast," I answered.
"The heart is but a insignificant lump of flesh. The human breast is large, with a bony
cage of armor containing the heart." He spoke as one who had seen the interior of many a
human breast, and something in his tone forbade me to gainsay him.
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77
He caught my hand in which I held the knife, then turned a little away from me, so that
the point of the blade was now low on his side and the blade itself upward sloping.
"In order to bypass the ribs, 'tis best to come in low with a quick thrust upward."
"But is the blade long enough to reach the heart?"
"Nay, not the heart. The kidney."
"Kidney?" I knew it for an ingredient in many a tasty stew or pie dish, but of its origin I
had only a hazy idea.
"Aye. A small organ. You have two of them," he said, patting his flank. "A quick stab
into a kidney will drop even the strongest man."
He left me to ponder the matter while we prepared our stopover for the night.
*
Upon the afternoon of the next day, we arrived in Ripon, a small city nestled like a jewel
among the moors. The streets were lined with prosperous-looking homes, well-fed cattle and
children running about unheeded by the plump, red-cheeked women gathered at the public wells
to gossip. Few glances were cast our way, albeit we were strangers to these townspeople.
All in all, the quiet confidence and relative wealth of the folk we encountered in our
travels were a testament to the long, successful reign of our Queen and her policies, according to
Jack.
Two things I did notice about Ripon – the derelict state of her minster and the play bills
scrawled in charcoal on a number of prominent walls. I mentioned both to Chastity, beside
whom I sat in the wagon.
Jack of Hearts
"I know naught in particular about that church," she said. "But you will see similar
damage in many towns. Ask Jack."
As for the writings on the walls: "Another crew is here afore us."
"Another troupe of players?"
"Aye."
I squinted at the next writing we came upon. "Lord Lunsford's Men," I read aloud to
Chas. "Do you know them?"
"Aye. By repute."
We had passed by the ruined church, part of its roof gone and gaping holes where
magnificent windows must have once gleamed in sunlight on fine afternoons such as this one,
and were entering the market district where vendors and their goods narrowed the streets and
thickened the crowds.
Chas turned her attention to maneuvering the wagon between throngs of pedestrians, so I
jumped down and went in search of Captain Jack to satisfy my curiosity.
I found him riding alongside our other wagon and delivering a tongue-lashing to Ozzie.
Distracted by the dressing-down, Ozzie looked poised to drive the vehicle over anyone
unfortunate enough to cross his path.
"Sirrah, see you refrain from so much as entering a tavern here," Jack was shouting. "I
will need my entire company fit and at the ready."
Ozzie nodded, but I noticed he made no promises. When he drew the wagon to a
momentary halt to let pass a poultry man, his screeching wares strung by their feet to a long pole
hoisted across his shoulders, I took advantage of the opportunity to climb up and sit myself
between the beleaguered young man.
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Jack paused in mid-harangue, distracted by my sudden appearance, and then turned his
attention to me.
"Frank, this sodden scoundrel needs a keeper. See you keep an eye on him, and if he so
much as sniffs the fumes off a tankard of ale, report to me."
"Aye, Captain," I agreed, not thinking much about the task he'd set me. "Captain, I
would ask you a question."
"Oh?" Jack arched his brows at me and waited. I almost lost my topic of thought as I
watched him, a striking figure on his tall horse. He sat posed with one gloved hand on his hip
and the reins looped through the other, the very portrait of a stylish gentleman.
"What befell the minster we passed?"
"Greed and politics, lad."
"Pardon?" His cryptic answer gave me no clue.
"'Tis an old story," Jack said. "Our late king dissolved the monasteries, including the
minsters, or monastery churches."
Although it all happened before my birth, I was vaguely aware of the religious turmoil of
the previous monarch, King Henry. "You mean when Henry purged the kingdom of popery." I
searched Jack's face for tell-tale clues. After all, I had seen him with a Jesuit. Mayhap Jack
played a political game of his own.
"Aye. In many cases, the old king handed over Roman property to his supporters. But
no one laid claim to Ripon's minster."
"Who damaged the church?"
"As I've heard tell, the minster’s steeple fell many years ago. Repairs had just begun
when Henry issued his edicts, work stopped, and looting began. Look around you."
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Wondering what he meant, I did so, seeing only the prosperous people and town I'd
noticed before.
"Note the fine stone buildings and their handsome leaded windows," Jack answered my
unasked question. "Lead and stone thieved from the minster."
"Oh, aye." Now it made sense, and although I had no sympathy for the papists, I did feel
an odd sense of loss for the forlorn minster, recalling the gaping window spaces and missing
roof.
To my relief, Jack seemed very matter-of-fact about the whole story. I could detect no
sign of sympathy on his part for the minster's former occupants. I decided to take advantage of
his obvious good mood.
"An it please you, Captain, I have another question."
"'Tis a very inquisitive child today," he remarked.
"Aye, Captain," I agreed. "Chas tells me there is another troupe of players in Ripon. We
saw their playbills."
Jack frowned. "As did I," he said. "Lord Lunsford's men. A sorry lot, overall."
"So we needn't worry about the competition."
Jack displayed even, white teeth. "Nay, lad. There are few to meet the measure of
Captain Jack's men!"
He spurred his horse forward, leaving me with an Ozzie made surly by Jack’s
remonstrance. I did not attempt to coax him from his ill mood, devoting my thoughts instead to
Jack's information regarding ruined churches and competing players.
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Chapter Ten
Like the town, the inn Jack found for us looked a cut above those we had visited on
previous occasions. A spacious innyard and clean, well-appointed stables greeted us with no less
a gracious welcome than our host, the innkeeper. This jolly, rotund man wore the same well-fed,
self-satisfied look I'd noticed characterized the townspeople of Ripon.
"I give you good day, Captain Jack," he bowed to Jack. "An it please you, I give welcome
to your folk as well."
"Many thanks, Master Mudd," Jack replied. "Think you tomorrow's market will draw
enough custom for a performance?"
"Aye, certes," the innkeeper replied and the two men fell to negotiating our company's
use of the inn the next day.
My attention wandered as did my eye, which fell upon the inn's sign, the likeness of a
white boar with little red eyes. Unlike most inn's signs, a practiced hand had rendered the
design, and the paint appeared fresh.
Presently, the innkeeper and Captain Jack concluded their negotiation, and Jack turned
his attention back to us.
"Tom, Geoff, I've two rooms for the lot of you. See to the horses and then sort
yourselves between them."
"Aye, Captain." Tom answered for his fellows, and they fell to work with a good will,
cheered by the prospect of a good supper and pleasant lodgings.
"Chas, the proprietor says he has reserved his best room for you and I. Frank, you may
bide with us," Jack nodded to me. "The landlord says there is a truckle bed."
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"The stable looks to be comfortable enough, Captain," I answered. Sharing a room with
the two of them gave me increasing discomfort. Better some things remain private.
"Please yourself, then," Jack said. Some perversity within me wished he had revealed
more regret regarding my decision, but that passed as I busied myself with the horses. The
beasts needed attention after several long days on the road. I enjoyed wiping the travel stains
from their hides with a rough cloth and forking sweet smelling hay into their mangers. They
rewarded me with soft sounds of pleasure and pushed velvet noses into my palms, seeking gifts
of grain. Even the stables in Master Mudd's inn were commodious, I noted, as I made my own
bed of clean straw in an empty stall next to those occupied by our horses.
Malkin supervised my efforts, watching me work with the horses with unblinking
interest. I'd no more than just finished making my straw bed when she placed herself in the
middle of it and set to grooming herself.
"Aye, warm it for me, Puss," I told her; then set off to the tavern in search of my supper.
*
The next morning began with a flurry of activity in the innyard as we set up our stage for
the afternoon performance. Captain Jack informed us we were to perform the Trojan play that I
assumed must be his favorite, because he reserved it for special occasions. It certainly displayed
his dramatic skills to great effect as he strode around the stage in the guise of Paris, Prince of
Troy.
To my surprise and consternation, he came to see me in the stable where I was freshening
the horse's water trough.
"Frank, lad, I would you take the part of Helen. I reckon you know it well enough by
now."
Jack of Hearts
Indeed, I had practiced the piece a number of times and watched Ozzie in the role more
than once, but the thought of going back onto the stage after my initial debacle there struck fear
into me.
"Pray, Captain, had I not better juggle my balls before the performance? Mayhap it will
bring in more custom." My skills with the red balls had grown to the point where I scarce
dropped one throughout the entire routine, which pleased me greatly. In my previous life, before
joining the traveling players, I would have considered such a thing beneath me.
But then in those days, I owned not one skill useful for earning my bread. Now I did, and
I was proud of it.
"I would liefer you do the Helen," Jack said.
"What of Ozzie?"
"'Steeth, boy! Ozzie's put to work elsewhere. Do as you're told."
"Aye, Captain."
"Belike you stand yourself outside the inn before the performance and juggle," he said,
sounding a softer note. "'Twill draw custom."
"Tom," he called as he strode away from me. "Let's have a look at the playbills." Before
dusk of the previous evening, Jack had posted playbills in the form of scrawled charcoal
messages on walls throughout the city.
With no tasks for the day other than practicing my skills with the balls, and mayhap my
new knife although my wounds had yet to heal from my previous work with it, I set off in search
of Chas.
"Good morning, Mistress Chastity," I bade her when I found her, needle in hand, working
on the play's costumes in the tiring room, one of the inn's rooms behind the stage.
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She nodded at me, flashing her sweet dimpled smile. "And the same to you, Frances."
Now that she knew my true gender, she refused to call me 'Frank' or 'lad' as the men were wont
to do.
I found the malodorous red gown and vermin-ridden wig I knew I'd have to don as my
costume in the Trojan play.
"Mayhap I'll air these out a bit. They could do with a little freshening," I said.
"Belike they could," she agreed. Again she smiled, and the expression had become so
rarely directed at me that I sat on a stool beside her, forgetting the filthy costume for the moment.
"Chas, I would ask a question."
"A question?"
"Aye. Since you discovered my secret, you no longer look at me the same."
Chas frowned, but I could tell she understood what I meant.
"Mayhap things are different now," she said.
"I am yet the same person I was before. Does it matter so much that I am a female?"
"Ere now, I have been most comfortable dealing with the lads." She sighed. "Other
women are so jealous and spiteful."
With Chas' fine looks, I could well imagine the truth of her words.
"Then the problem's but a small one. See me as one of the lads." I stood up and took a
turn before her. "Do I not seem a lad?"
"Aye, mayhap, to one who does not know the truth of it."
"Then forget the truth. You see before you a lad, therefore a lad I am."
She smiled, displaying the dimples that had likely made enemies of those who should
have been her gossips.
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"Away with you, Frances."
"Once upon a time you called me Frank, Chas."
"Frank, then."
I caught up the gown and shook it, filling the air with dust and other things I cared not to
know about; then I leaned over and gave Chas a quick hug.
"Gramercy, Chas. Your high regard means much to me."
I took the gown out again on the balconey and hung it over a railing where the sun shone
on it and fresh air could reach it. There Ozzie found me, and I could tell by his expression the
visit had not a cordial purpose.
"Thou whoreson thief!" he bellowed, pushing his face close to mine so that his breath,
sour with ale fumes although it was barely past mid-morning, came near to gagging me.
"I've stolen naught," I answered mildly, not wishing to further inflame his ire.
"Naught. Naught! Only my livelihood."
I reckoned he spoke of the Helen part in the play we were to perform later that afternoon.
Although not of my doing, I had taken on the role he was wont to play.
"T'was the Captain's decision."
That explanation did little to mollify him.
"Aye, ye gulled him with those green eyes and that piping voice. As well be a maid you
might, for all he moons over you."
That jab came a mite too close for comfort.
"Mind your tongue, Oz," I told him. "Captain hears you speaking such nonsense, and I
doubt not you'll find yourself put out of the company!"
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"Piss on the Captain!" Anger suffused Ozzie's complexion with the redness of blood, and
spittle flew from his lips with the violence of his words. He caught hold of my arm and began to
shake me.
"Belike, you'll be the one who's out!" He shook me hard with each word, as if to make his
point. "If you know what's good for you, you'll leave on your own."
His manhandling of me prevented my answering him, but someone else did it for me.
"Unhand the lad." It was Captain Jack, standing a few paces away, his stance so relaxed I
thought he must have been there for a while and would have heard a good deal of what had
passed between Ozzie and me.
Ozzie did release me, albeit with a shove that nearly toppled me.
"Explain yourself, Oz" said the Captain, his voice and demeanor mild.
"T'were naught," Ozzie mumbled. "A tiff between the lad and myself."
"Who told you Frank would play the Helen this afternoon, Oz?" As I had suspected, he'd
heard something of what had passed between us.
"Tom."
"What else did Tom tell you?"
"Naught. I came straight away to speak to Frank about it."
"Frank had nothing to do with my decision," Jack said. "Had you waited a bit, Tom
might have told you the rest. I had planned you should perform the Paris lines."
Ozzie muttered something beneath his breath that may have been an obscenity.
"'Swounds, Oz," Captain Jack's voice sharpened for the first time. "Belike 'tis time we
parted company. You're nothing but trouble these days."
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Ozzie glared at the Captain with narrowed eyes. "You daren't," he sputtered. "I know
things…"
The tone in Ozzie's voice made the threat obvious, and I recalled the times I'd gone along
on some clandestine rendezvous with the Captain in his place when Ozzie had not been available
to do so.
"I care naught for what you think you know, Oz."
Removing a few coins from his purse, he tossed them to the angry boy. Most of the coins
fell into the dust at Ozzie's feet. Red-faced with anger, Oz bent to retrieve them; then he
straightened with a jerk and stalked away towards the innyard's exit.
Captain Jack watched him leave, his expression indecipherable. Then he glanced at me.
"He did not hurt you?"
"Nay," I told him, although my arm still ached in remembrance of Ozzie's grip on it, and I
rubbed it without thinking.
"Tom should learn to mind his tongue." Jack's sharp, shrewd eyes missed little.
"Aye, that he should," I agreed.
"Mayhap I will have a word with him."
"Ozzie will be hard to replace," I said, but Jack had turned and was striding away from
me so that I addressed his back.
*
As it happened, Ozzie's place in the troupe was filled before the afternoon performance. I
was sweeping the stage with an old straw broom borrowed from the innkeeper's plump daughter,
when I spied Captain Jack strolling across the innyard in the company of a tall, thin, youngish
Jack of Hearts
man I did not recognize.
"Where are the boys, Frank?" he called to me as they came within earshot, using Chas'
pet term for the other players.
"Tom and Sully are in the tavern," I told him. "Geoff and Robbie are with Chas having
their costumes repaired."
"And Oz?"
"Since you let him go this morning, Captain, I've not seen him. Belike he's gone."
"Fetch them all, here, then. I would have a word with them. And fetch Mistress Chastity
as well."
I managed one curious glance at Jack's companion as I ran off to comply with his order.
Deep in conversation with the Captain, he paid me no heed, but I got a good look at him.
Of almost equal height to the Captain who topped most men by a head, he was nevertheless
slighter of frame. Also, he stood with a stoop and with something of a languid air that made him
seem much smaller in stature than Jack.
Although he was turned somewhat away from me, I managed an impression of longish
brown hair and a high brow over large dark eyes wearing a thoughtful expression. At least that's
what I told the boys as they questioned me about the newcomer.
"Ozzie's no more than out the door when the Captain brings in this new fellow," Tom
complained to Sully when I told them they were wanted in the innyard.
Although I'd said nothing about the man being a replacement for Oz, the boys were
prepared to resent him as such. And even though Ozzie had become something of a nuisance
with his insatiable thirst for ale and lack of dependability, he had been one of the group. Living
and traveling together as they did, they viewed outsiders with suspicion.
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Tom's assumption was validated when the company gathered in the innyard.
"This is Master William Shakespeare," Captain Jack announced to our assembled group.
"Late of Lord Lunsford's Men."
"Told you," Tom said in a low tone, but not low enough that Jack's sharp ears missed it.
The Captain shot us one of his yellow glares, fierce as a falcon's glance.
"We are short one man, and Master Will has joined us at an opportune time."
No one spoke, and the Captain took the silence for assent.
"Master Will is both an actor and a poet. Happen he'll provide us with some fresh lines to
perform."
After a pause that extended into an uncomfortable length of time, Tom stepped forward
and made a leg as graceful as any courtier.
"'Tis pleased we are to make your acquaintance," he said
The rest of us nodded and
made noncommittal sounds of support for Tom, who generally spoke for the troupe.
Master Will responded in kind and Captain Jack looked pleased, although I am sure he
expected no other outcome.
"The hour grows late," he said. "Chas, Master Will needs fitting up for the play. He's to
have Paris' lines for this afternoons' performance. Frank, you should know them well enough
now to teach them to him."
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Chapter Eleven
Master Will put himself out to make a good impression on Chas.
"Captain Jack is most fortunate to possess such a talented tiring woman," he told her as
she refitted his costume for his role as Paris in the upcoming performance. It had belonged to
Jack and was somewhat full in the shoulders.
I managed to mask a derisive snort with a sniffle, because even when new the stuff that
made up the costume had been cheap and gaudy. Now it stank of stale ale and stains, and rows
of darning decorated it. Mayhap Jack had given up his role as Paris due to the disgusting state of
the costume. He could be fastidious about his person.
But to give Shakespeare his due, Chas' clever needlework had disguised many of these
blemishes with embroidery and beadwork. Perhaps he looked past the obvious and saw the
handiwork and the hand behind it that kept the garment usable. He certainly displayed a degree
of regard for Chas well beyond their short acquaintance.
Shakespeare upon first inspection appeared average in many ways, but his large
expressive eyes and courtly manner soon made him the center of attention in any gathering. I
feared this quality would not endear him with the other players, who already resented his
presence and made no bones about showing it.
When the man had sauntered off to the tavern in search of ale to aid him in learning his
lines, I lingered behind to ascertain Chas' opinion of the newest addition to Captain Jack's Men.
"Chas, what do you think of Master Shakespeare?"
Chas pondered the question a moment, her needle poised over Master Shakespeare's shirt.
"Polite," she said and plunged the needle into the fabric.
"Do you think him handsome?"
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"No-o-o," she said. "But he does have a way of looking at a girl…" She put her hand to
her hair in a gesture I recognized. She often did it when thinking of Jack.
I could only shake my head in wonder. Master Will had no appeal for me, but then he'd
mostly ignored me, too. With Chas he was all smiles and long, liquid stares.
He'd better take care, I thought. Jack might prove a jealous lover, although I'd not yet
seen any sign of it in him, other than an unwillingness to share with the rest of the troupe. Then
again, until now, Chas had given him no cause for concern.
*
That afternoon's performance went well. I'd now practiced my Helen so often my lines
came fluidly, and I'd even embellished them a bit. Master Will, as we came to call him, made
quite a sweeping entrance with his Paris, delivering his lines in a flourish. I knew those lines,
too, having listened to them many an afternoon, and Master Will did more than a little
embellishing of them.
In fact, he quite stole the limelight. Heretofore our performances of the Helen play had
focused on Jack's rendition of Paris, with the minor roles of Priam, Odysseus, and Achilles
shared among the other players. In this new version, Jack took on all three roles, adding his
usual flourish of words and sword.
But Master Will's Paris proved a match for Jack's triumvirate of characters, and during
the times I was off the stage (which was most of the play), I could see the rapt attention the
audience paid him.
I also saw more than a few black looks cast his way by Jack.
Jack of Hearts
This could mean trouble, I thought to myself. Jack might not be jealous of his woman,
but his Odysseus was quite another matter. Likely Master Will would find himself out on his ear
before sunset.
So, later when the troupe retired to the tavern, I could only watch in amazement when
Jack and Master Will sat across from one another for hours, drinking one pint after another and
telling tales of their exploits.
Lies, I could almost hear Chas calling them, and as if my thought had conjured her, she
came through the tavern door.
It was very late, well into the early morning hours, and most of the tavern's custom,
outside our lot, had staggered off into the night. With no money to speak of, I'd managed to
nurse for much of the evening the one pint I could afford, but it had long since gone. I sat in a
forgotten corner drowsing until Chas came in.
A frown marred her pretty face as she stopped in the doorway and looked around the
room. Her glance almost immediately fell upon Jack and Master Will. They were not easy to
miss as they were the last two upright individuals in the room.
Chas made her way through the empty tables and tumbled chairs to the trestle table the
two men occupied.
She said something to Jack in a low voice, but he only half shook his head and continued
his conversation with Master Will. Chas stood, arms akimbo for a long moment; then she leaned
forward, so far forward the contents of her well-filled bodice nearly spilled out, and put her
mouth near Jack's ear.
Again, I could hear nothing of her words, but this time they had the desired result. The
flesh of Jack's face and neck reddened, and he stood hastily.
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Chas did not so much as cast a single glance back at him as she swept from the room, her
hips swaying, but he exited hard on her heels.
Master Will's gaze followed them both. I saw something in his eyes that unsettled me,
but being very young, I could not put a name to it.
Once more I passed the night in the stable, with better reason than on the prior evening.
*
Because of our success that first night, we stayed two more days in Ripon and offered
two more performances, one a repeat of the Helen, the other a tale of two star-crossed lovers
from warring families Master Will cobbled together for us. Both of them proved uneventful.
Then, late on the last night before departing the town, Jack woke me where I slept in the
stable.
"Hist! Boy! Awake!" He shook me roughly until I sat up, scrubbing at my bleary eyes
with my fists.
"Look alive," Jack told me, impatient with my grogginess. "That's a good lad."
I followed him as ordered, out of the innyard and into the dark street, our way lit only by
a waning moon. Soon, I found myself in front of a huge building, its bulk black against the
starry sky. Ripon's tumble-down cathedral, I realized as an urge to take to my heels nearly
overwhelmed me.
"Now, Frank, stay here in the shadows and watch for me. If any man comes, whistle like
a nightingale. You can do that, can you not?"
Jack of Hearts
I could not, but he did not stop to rehearse me; instead he turned away, and I immediately
lost sight of him.
Unease in the face of Jack's midnight treks into strange places had grown in me in recent
days. I had my suspicions about his activities. My stepfather had spoken of papist plots in
hushed tones, and that had impressed me. I'd never known my step-father to show fear before.
I knew the penalty for those involved in such plots; a hanging on Tower Hill or worse
awaited them.
Sitting in the gloom, my eyes peeled for the Captain's return, I praying silently for him. A
world without Jack suddenly seemed a darker, more forbidding prospect than the hulking mass
of the cathedral ruins.
So fixated upon the old cathedral I was that the men were almost upon me before I heard
them. In fact, one of them stumbled over my out-stretched foot and grunted as he nearly fell. I
withdrew the foot and sat still as a stone in the darkness, willing myself invisible.
The trick must have worked, for the men, a group of them who walked in step so that I
imagined they must be soldiers, continued without pausing. I held my breath as they entered the
ruined cathedral, debris crunching under the soles of their booted feet. No word was spoken by
them outside it, but no sooner had the last one passed into the blackness of the building than
there came an uproar of shouting from within, and the sound of steel blades crashing together.
I suddenly recollected I should be whistling like a nightingale, but when I pressed my lips
together and blew, nothing emerged from them but a sad squeaking hiss.
No matter. The chaos within the building had calmed a bit. I heard moans; then came
the shocking, explosive crack of a pistol shot. I scuttled even farther back into my shadow and
waited, listening and barely daring to draw breath for fear of discovery.
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A hallo of voices rose, as if rallying a group of pursuers to the chase; I heard the sound of
many feet in the street beyond the cathedral, running away from me. I imagined Jack, desperate
as a fox before hounds, being tracked like a common criminal, and I wanted to weep. I might
have done so, too, had not a sound of a single shuffling set of footsteps shushed me.
A heavy hand fell on my shoulder, and my heart nearly failed me.
"Frank!" Jack! My poor heart rebounded with joy; then something in the single spoken
instance of my name stilled me. Something was amiss.
"What's wrong, Captain?"
"Give me your shoulder, there's a lad."
I stood, and he leaned on me so that my knees near buckled under his weight.
"Captain…?"
"I've been shot lad," he said, and I could hear an ominous hissing in his breath. "Help me
back to the inn."
I tried to steady him with my arm around his waist, but he fell to cursing with such
intensity that I understood he must be wounded in his side. So, I clutched his arm and let him
lean on me as he wished, bracing myself against his weight as best I could.
I shall never forget the nightmare of that slow progress to the shelter of our inn, expecting
any moment for the night to erupt with more gunfire or the shouts of discovery at the hands of
pursuing soldiers. When we reached it at last, Jack gasped to me to help him to his room.
Somehow, I got him up the narrow stairs. Expecting to find the door barred, I scratched
at it, not loudly enough to disturb the other patrons but hoping Chas might hear it within.
But when I touched the door, it moved under my hand, the hinges squeaking a little.
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I gave it a tentative push, and it swung open to reveal the empty room beyond. Only
Chas's pile of darning and a guttering candle on the floor indicated recent occupation. Thinking
Chas must have gone for a visit to the communal jakes outside the tavern – although why she
might have done so when the clay bowl under the bed would have sufficed did not then occur to
me.
I managed with my last bit of strength to get Jack to the bed. He flopped onto it with a
groan and some muttered curses. Lighting a new candle from the remains of the last, I turned to
examine his injury.
Jack wore a dark leather jerkin with sleeves laced tightly to his arms as well as black
nether hose. The leather of the jerkin felt damp and slick under my fingers. Jack's blood, I
thought. Beneath the jerkin Jack wore dark linen, a contrast to the snowy white he normally
affected. However, I'd grown used to this uniform of his secret assignations.
The bloody shirt had begun to dry. I had to peel it away, wincing for Jack as I did so. He
made no sound; with his face in the shadows I imagined he must have swooned. Beneath the
shirt, low on his left side, I found a tiny, puckered hole in his flesh that confused me for a
moment. How could such a tiny wound account for the blood-saturated clothing?
Then I realized the shot must have passed right through his body. I lifted him slightly to
view the exit wound, large and angry and still weeping a quantity of blood.
The extent of the damage stunned me so I could not think what to do. I had no medical
knowledge. Jack clearly needed a physician, but I dare not go in search of one. To be sure,
those soldiers would be visiting all the town's physicians, hunting their wounded prey.
A clatter from without, down in the innyard, brought me to myself. The shutter was
closed; I parted it a crack. In the innyard below I spied a company of men, most of them heavily
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armed with drawn swords and one or two with pistols in their hands. They were shouting at the
inn's landlord who stood before them in his nightshirt, wringing his hands.
Fear clutched at my throat. If those men searched the inn, they would find us. I had
made a bad choice in bringing Jack back to the inn. So close by, it only made sense our pursuers
would track us here.
What to do?
I cast my gaze feverishly around the room, desperate for some hiding place, but it
contained only the bed and some stools and tables. Any soldier worth his salt would search
under the bed.
Then I spied the lousy red gown, lying atop one of Chas's darning piles. It had ripped
beneath the arm in my last Helen appearance. I recalled some remark Chas had made under her
breath when she saw it about the growing girth about my breasts which had alarmed me at the
time. My disguise as a boy counted a great deal on the flat bosom which had so disappointed my
poor mother.
I stripped off my clothes and kicked them into one of the piles of costumes. Pulling the
red dress over my head, I took another glance out the window. The soldiers were dispersing to
search the inn. Their captain waved his arms as he directed them to do so. I could not hear his
words, but his gestures were more than obvious.
After donning the yellow wig, I turned back to Jack, who lay quietly, regarding me with a
quizzical expression. Ignoring the implications of that, I bit my knuckle, trying to think what to
do. I needed to remove and hide his bloody clothes, a prospect that seemed daunting. I grabbed
up a flagon of wine resting on Chas's work table.
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"Here, Captain, drink this down," I said, holding the wine to Jack's lips. He did so,
sputtering a bit. I had the impression he was trying to speak to me, but I did not give him
opportunity. He'd been drinking all evening, and so I figured he was already well on his way to
drunkenness, a state which would aid me in my task.
Although, with Jack, one could never tell. He held his drink very well. I'd noticed his
capacity on other evenings spent drinking.
"There, now." When he'd downed a quantity of the wine, I took up Chas's little silver
scissors and used them to cut the laces to Jack's jerkin and sleeves. They would not cut through
the leather so I had to pull those articles of clothing from his body. By this time, the wine had
begun to take effect, and he did not pay the operation much heed, although he did continue to
watch me from beneath heavy-lidded eyes.
The shirt proved less troublesome as the scissors easily sliced through it. I found one of
Jack's white shirts, only lightly soiled, in Chas's dirty laundry pile. She complained often of the
number of shirts he went through in a week's time, but now I was glad of the habit. Wadding the
shirt up, I placed it beneath Jack so that his weight pressed it firmly against his wound.
Hopefully, it would both staunch and disguise the bleeding which I noticed had slowed.
Jack's blood-stained garments from his evening adventure I hid within a small pile of
Chas's most malodorous costumes, the same one from which I had extracted the red gown. A
little wine remained in the flagon. I took a long sip for courage, and then sprinkled the rest
liberally around the room, taking care to spill some over my person and over Jack, prone in his
bed.
Just then I heard stamping feet on the stairway outside the room, setting the floor to
vibrating as they reached the landing. Placing my wine flagon on the floor beside the bed, I took
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care that it lay on its side, the last dregs of it spilling like blood drops over the rough wooden
planks of the floor.
Then I got in the bed with Jack, straddling his body and taking care to ruck up my skirts
to expose most of my legs. I tried to avoid his gaze as he stared up at me.
Do not think about it now, I cautioned myself, as a loud banging upon the door
announced the arrival of our pursuing soldiers.
They did not wait for an occupant to answer. Rather, they kicked it open, with such force
it swung hard into the wall and bounced back again, nearly flattening the nose of the first man to
enter.
"'Ere now – Wot's this?" I screeched, matching my accent to that of the doxies who
sometimes inhabited the shoddier taverns I'd attended with Jack.
The sound of my voice must have been ear-splitting and unexpected, for the men at the
front of the contingent coming through the door stopped short, their fellows running up on their
heels.
Then, the captain I'd spotted in the innyard a few moments before strode into the room,
less affected as he'd not been close enough to catch my protest's full force.
He had searching eyes, and I saw him glance around the room. The arch of his brows
told me he did not miss the filthy clothes heaps nor the splatters of wine. I could only hope those
sharp eyes did not distinguish the blood stains mingled with the wine.
Then he looked at me for the first time as if I were the least important thing in the room.
A chill went through me, as that gaze probed me with an icy touch. I stared back, steeling
myself not to flinch.
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This man was dangerous, perhaps the second most dangerous man I'd ever had the
misfortune to encounter. Tall and pale, he had so little hair on his head, it appeared polished. He
wore no facial hair, either, and the whole gave him the unpleasant aspect of a babe, albeit one
from Hell, given the evil in his eyes.
"What's the meaning of this?" I demanded, deciding to take the initiative before he did.
""Tis not bad enough poor wee Willie here's too sodden to greet me properly; now we've got
visitors."
I turned slightly toward him so that he had a clear view down my low-cut bodice. Having
no illusions as to what he saw there, the slack-jawed gaze of his fellows was a sight I tucked
away to recall later.
The captain sniffed the air audibly. I'd grown used to the sour stench of the wine and
dirty clothing, but he'd come in directly from fresh nighttime air outside the inn.
"We are searching for someone. A man, likely wounded."
Jack stirred beneath me, and his hand plunged down my gaping bodice.
"Wench!" he snarled, his voice slurred with drink and blood loss. "Give over!"
I pressed my mouth to Jack's and proceded to kiss him as lechorously I had ever seen
Chas do so.
The watch captain's face went red as the spilled wine on the floor next to the bed, and he
cleared his throat.
"Gentlemen, let us be off," he said to his men, his gaze never leaving my face.
"Vermin!" He spat the epithet in our direction. Then with a dismissive wave he turned
and ushered his men back out the door, closing it soundly behind him.
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For a long while, I lay frozen in place, listening to the retreating soldiers, their booted
footsteps like thunder on the stairs. Then I steeled myself to look down at Jack, fearing what I'd
see in his sardonic gaze.
Instead, my look was met by a soft snore. Wine, blood loss and weariness had sent Jack
into unconsciousness at last.
Carefully, I crawled out of the bed. A glance out the window confirmed the departure of
the soldiers from the innyard, and I drew a long, shaky breath of relief. Jack had seen me as a
girl, but I'd saved him from certain arrest and imprisonment or mayhap worse. Surely he would
forgive my deception out of gratitude.
A noise came at the door, and I whirled around, expecting to see the sharp-eyed captain
of the soldiers, returning to surprise me out of my charade.
Instead Chas came into the room, and then stopped short when she saw me standing next
to the bed. Her eyes widened as she took in my costume.
"Frances! Is something amiss?"
"Aye," I told her. "'Tis the Captain. He's hurt."
With a little cry, Chas ran past me to bend over the bed where Jack now lay still and
silent.
"What happened to him?"
"Someone shot him with a pistol."
"How did it happen?" For the first time I noticed her dress or lack thereof. She wore
only a thin nightshift, and her thick hair hung loose about her shoulders. How could she not have
known about the soldiers searching the inn? Then, I recalled how precipitously the soldiers had
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left the room. They had not gone to the inn's other upstairs room, hidden from view by a turn in
the hall.
"There were soldiers of the Watch. They came here searching for him afterward."
Chas leaned over Jack's bed and touched his face.
"We must summon a physician," she told me.
"Nay," I told her. "'Tis too dangerous. The Watch will be keeping an eye out for him."
I watched, feeling stony inside as Chas examined Jack's injury, exclaiming over his
bloody linen and the bullet hole through his side. Where had she been this evening? Did I dare
ask her? The last thing I wanted to do was antagonize Chas. She knew secrets about me I did
not wish revealed.
As she set about stitching Jack's wounds, I exchanged the old red dress for my familiar
boy's garb. Suddenly, I felt very tired and wanted my comfortable bed in the stable. Chas
seemed competent in her administrations, so there was nothing more to be done here.
What lay between Jack and Chas was none of my concern, I told myself.
"Night, Chas," I said to her as I slipped from the room, but she did not answer. When I
looked back over my shoulder, I saw her concentration upon her work, the tip of her pink tongue
pressed out between her lips as was her wont when she sewed.
*
Not wishing to be seen by anyone, I took the long way back to the stable, past the other
guest room beyond the crook in the hall. There was a balcony there, overlooking the innyard, the
balcony where just that previous afternoon an audience had watched me perform my Helen in the
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ruined red dress. Someone stood on the balcony, leaning forward on the rail to gaze out over the
innyard.
I immediately recognized the tall, thin figure with its languid posture, even in the
darkness.
"Good evening, Master Will," I told him as I made for the back stair with a brisk step. If
he answered, I did not hear him.
*
I slept like the dead the rest of that night, right through the crowing of the stable cock.
Not until bright sunlight came streaming through a crack in the wall to shine in my eyes did I
awaken.
The late hour and unusual hush disconcerted me. On a normal morning, Jack's booming
voice and very often his boot toe rousted me from my beauty sleep, usually well before the sun
rose over the rooftops.
But as memory flooded back, I knew this was not a normal morning.
Had Jack survived the night? Brushing straw from my clothing, I ran across the empty
innyard to the door leading into the lower hallway. Inside, leaning against the walls or seated on
benches, were the "boys," Tom, Geoff, Sully, and Robert. Even Ozzie, who I was not surprised
to see. Once might feel anger towards Jack, but carrying a long-term grudge was another thing
altogether. Seeing Oz like that made me understand how much Jack's men loved him.
Even Master Will, a newcomer, stood nearby. I gave him a hard look, searching his
expression for some sign of discomfort, but he only stared back at me, his eyes deep and dark
and unreadable as a limpid forest pool. None of my concern, I told myself even more sternly
than I had the night before.
Jack of Hearts
I mounted the stairs two at a time and crossed the short distance to Jack's room. The
landlord stood outside the door, his hat in his hand. My heart sank. Had the Captain died, and
me not there for his passing?
The landlord stepped aside without a word, and I opened the door. The room's interior
was gloomy, its windows shuttered, and at first I could see little. Then, my eyes adjusted and I
made out Chas's form, sitting huddled on a small stool next to the bed. I went to her and put my
hand on her shoulder.
She started. She'd been asleep.
"Is he…?"
"Sleeping," she told me. "Peaceful, like a bairn."
I looked past her. Jack's face was turned from me, his black hair tousled on the pillow,
but I could see the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the blanket.
"If he don't take an ague, I expect he'll be up and about in no time." Chas sounded
hopeful.
But he did take a fever. Later that day, Jack's sleep became restless and sweat doused his
body. Chas and I took turns changing his bed linens and mopping his face and chest. His skin
burned to the touch, yet he shivered, his teeth chattering at times as if he were covered in snow
rather than a woolen blanket.
Chas fretted, wanting to call a physician.
"Landlord says there's a right fine leech who will come to us for a shilling."
"Jack said no physician." He had not, but I didn't tell her that. I recalled the dirty cell
where I'd spent some hours in a few weeks before and knew Jack could never survive such, not
in his current condition. A physician would surely report a gunshot man to the authorities.
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By the next morning, however, I'd begun to have my doubts whether he'd survive at all.
Jack's condition had deteriorated. Fever-wracked, he gasped and begged for water. He could not
swallow, so I put sopping rags in his mouth to keep it moist. To cool his burning skin, Chas and
I wrapped him in water-soaked clothes, taken from the costume piles.
The men came at intervals to the door, announcing themselves with a light scratch. Chas
or I would update them with a sad headshake, and then they would go back to their vigil
belowstairs.
In the darkest part of the third night, Chas began to break down. She took to pleading
with Jack, kissing his face and begging him to get well.
"Jack! Please, love! Speak to me."
But he remained senseless by all outward appearance, no longer even asking for water. I
could tell he grew weaker by the hour.
Finally Chas could take no more. Bursting into tears, she fled the room. The hall beyond
the gaping door was empty, and I imagined the exhausted men had taken themselves off to get a
bit of rest.
Left alone, I pulled my stool close to the bed. Jack seemed more peaceful than he had for
hours. The candle flame guttered then extinguished itself. In the stillness of the pitch black
room, my own exhaustion overcame me. I put my head down on the edge of Jack's rope mattress
and slept.
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Chapter Twelve
Something, perhaps the crowing of the stable cock, awakened me. I raised my head,
yawning and unsure of where I was or why. Then I looked into Jack's eyes. He looked back at
me, if somewhat blearily.
"Frank," he said to me, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. "I dreamt you were a
girl. Get me wine."
In that moment, I knew he'd live.
*
"The magistrate's not likely to turn a blind eye to the Captain's being here much longer,"
the landlord warned Chas and me only a day later. "He'd as lief catch him outside in the street as
here in the inn – less ruckus that way."
The Captain, tried to sit up in his bed, but with little success.
"Aye," he said, lying back with a huff. "We'll be off."
"Nay," Chas exclaimed. "You cannot even sit up. Think you to outrun the Magistrate
and his watch?"
"'Fore God, that codswipe will n'er lay a hand on me."
The landlord, a man much put upon by our presence, looked worried. "Perhaps you might
hide yourself in the wagon."
"'Tis the first place they would look," I told him.
"Have faith," the Captain said. This time he managed to sit more or less upright, albeit
propping himself with his elbows. "Call Master Will in here and the rest of you can clear out."
Jack of Hearts
William Shakespeare emerged from Jack's room a bit later with orders for all of us.
"The Captain wants the wagon packed and ready to go by dusk," he announced to all of
us who awaited him near the tavern door.
"But…!"
"How…!"
"God's teeth!"
All of us chimed in at once with our protests. We knew Jack would have difficulty just
leaving his bed. The idea he might walk out of the inn and not be detected by the watch seemed
to us hare-brained.
Master Will raised his hand and his eyebrows. "Enough. Trust your master. He's a
canny one, I'll give him that."
Our trepidations aside, we did what the Captain asked. By dusk our two wagons, heavily
packed with our personal goods and the company's props and wardrobe, stood just inside the
entrance to the innyard. Tom and Geoff harnessed the horses and put them to the wagons, and
Jack's tall black stallion was brought out from the stable.
I was putting some finishing touches on the laces on one of the canvas wagon coverings
when Master Will came out from the tavern where he'd spent the better part of the afternoon. In
his hand was a flagon of wine.
"You, boy!" He gestured to me. "Come here."
He bade me follow him to Jack's room. I'd not see Jack all day, but Chas had sat with
him and made report to the troupe.
He was sitting up in the bed, his feet on the floor, but, pale of skin and sunken of eye, he
looked like Death.
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"Frank," he greeted me as I came into the room. "I would have you help me."
Clutching the flagon of wine Master Will had handed him, he directed I should help him
dress. "My dark clothes, if you will."
"But…should not Chas…?"
"I will not let her in on our plan. Chas could never lie well enough not to give us away."
I found the Captain's black leather jerkin and dark shirt, freshly laundered and darned, the
neat stitches reflecting Chas's careful handiwork. She'd also bathed and shaved Jack that
morning. He smelled of her herb scented soap as I stood close to him, helping him don the
garments he'd requested.
He wore nothing but the bed sheet which he had wound about his waist and dropped so I
might help him don his trunk hose.
I recalled that day, in what seemed another life, and yet happened only little more than a
month ago, when the sight of the Captain bathing in the creek wearing little more than his jaunty
smile had sent me running.
"What ails you, boy?" Jack demanded. "'Tis not a moment for levity."
I must have been grinning like a fool for him to notice, in his weakened condition.
Composing my face, but not my feelings, I found myself enjoying the moment. I was becoming
as shameless as Chas, I thought to myself as I swatted Jack's fumbling hands aside and tied his
points myself. My own mother, God rest her, would not have recognized the person I had
become.
Then Master Will came into the room. I'd not noticed him leaving, but he must have
been away for some while, for he, too, had made a change of costume. Instead of the rather
plain, mouse-grey doublet and white shirt he normally wore, his costume came near to matching
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Jack's thread for thread. He'd even fastened a long black cloak over his shoulder, a garment very
similar to the one Jack affected on his midnight adventures.
My fingers pausing at the lacings at Jack's shoulder I looked up at him. The Captain, his
face inches from mine, grinned a wolfish smile, and my heart sank.
I'd hoped being gunshot might engender more caution in him, but with that one reckless
smile, I knew better.
"'Tis time, Master Will," he said to Shakespeare, who made a gesture of salute to the
Captain, then swung out of the room with a flourish, the long cloak billowing behind him. I
heard him on the stairway and rose from where I knelt beside Jack to go to the window.
Just as I looked out it, Master Will emerged into the innyard. Or, should I say, Captain
Jack did, for Master Will had undergone a transformation. He strode across the innyard, a twist
of the cloak over his head, looking for all the world like Jack in a hurry. He leapt into the black's
saddle and addressed the men in a loud voice that, had not the very man sat in the bed behind me,
I would have sworn was Jack's.
In those few moments, Master Will proved to me his prowess as a player of the very
highest caliber. He did not just look like Captain Jack, he WAS Jack.
"Cease your daydreaming at the window and bring me my boots," Jack ordered from his
bed. I chided myself for my foolishness. No mistaking the real thing, if by nothing more than
his impatient nature. William Shakespeare, fine a player as he was, could only render a pale
imitation.
I heard our wagons roll out of the innyard, and I wondered had Chas thought to take up my cat
Malkin. But Jack made no remark on his people's departure. Instead, he sipped steadily at his
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flagon of wine and sat on the edge of his bed. But there was something in his manner of a hawk
poised to spring into the air.
Jack was ready to launch himself into one of his adventures and as was becoming his
habit, it seemed I would be included, for he made no move to send me after the troupe which by
now should be well on its way out of the town.
Darkness fell. I sat on a stool and waited with Jack, hearing only the sounds he made
swallowing his wine. For a time, I must have dozed, for I started when Jack finally spoke.
"'Tis time," he said, his voice low and lacking any of its customary grandiloquence.
"Lend me your shoulder, boy."
Jack leaned hard on me until we came into the hallway and met the innkeeper there.
Then he straightened, his hand but light upon my shoulder.
"How now, Landlord," Jack said. "We're taking our leave of you. Many thanks for your
hospitality."
"'Tis the least one can do in times like these," the innkeeper said, crossing himself. I
looked away from the gesture, although it went towards confirming my fears about Jack's
secretive activities.
We did not leave by the courtyard. The innkeeper took us to a side entrance, where two
tethered horses awaited us. Both the innkeeper and I found all of our strength required to push
Jack's heavy frame up onto his saddle, but once there he seemed steady enough. The innkeeper
handed him a broad-brimmed hat which he pulled on low over his eyes.
I climbed onto my own horse. The two beasts were not fine like Jack's stallion, nor big
and strong like the wagon horses. Instead, they were rough-coated animals such as a farmer
might own to work in his fields and give him an occasional ride into town.
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The disguise stood us in good stead, for we made our way undisturbed through the dark
streets of Ripon and passed without challenge through the city gates onto the high road beyond.
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112
Chapter Thirteen
A steady drizzle set in. We'd ridden for what seemed hours along a road rendered nigh
invisible by low clouds and fog. I kept my horse close to Jack's so we would not become
separated, and I knew when he began to falter.
How he'd ridden for so long as ill as he was I have no notion. At first he'd sat the farm
horse as if it were his fine black steed, but as the road passed beneath us, he slumped in the
saddle. The landlord had pressed a wineskin on him as we left the inn in Ripon. I saw the
Captain drinking from it often.
Then Jack swayed in the saddle. Fearing he would fall from the horse's broad back, I
caught its reins, which hung loosely in Jack's hands, and pulled the animal to a halt.
"Captain, are you still fit to ride?"
He did not answer and so I spoke again, more sharply this time.
"Captain!"
"Aye." Jack's voice when he finally spoke was low and hoarse. The sound of it
frightened me. He'd said nothing of our destination, and I feared he'd faint away and leave me
here alone in the dark with no notion where we were going.
And if he fell from the horse, I knew I did not have the strength to get him back in the
saddle by myself.
I slid down from my horse, and managed to clamber onto the broad rump of Jack's beast.
It laid back its ears in protest of the extra weight, but continued on when I kicked its sides with
my booted heels. I put my arms around Jack to steady him and to hold the reins in front of both
of us. My previous mount trailed along behind us as if unwilling to be left alone in the cold and
darkness. I knew exactly how it felt.
Jack of Hearts
We rode thus in silence for a space then Jack said something, his voice too low and
slurred to understand.
"Aye, Captain?"
He spoke again, this time the single word audible enough for me to understand it was the
name of a town.
"How far, Captain?" I asked him.
"Two leagues, maybe more."
Two leagues!
Right away I began searching the sides of the road for farmhouses. A warm dry barn
would provide us shelter from the drizzle which was fast becoming a steady rain and allow the
Captain to rest. He could not continue another two leagues.
At this late hour, most country people were long abed and so it was a mere stroke of luck
I soon spied a dim light in the distance.
It proved to come from a huddle of small cottages around a meager church. The light
came from a narrow window at the rear of the church. I slid from Jack's horse, tied its reins to a
post, and went to the church door.
The door was not barred and opened beneath my hand with only the merest of protests
from its rusty hinges. The interior of the church seemed blacker at first than the night without it,
but given a moment my eyes adjusted so I could see a dim glow beyond the blackness.
I felt my way down the narrow central aisle of the nave. To the right of the alter, a door
opened into a tiny chapel and from whence came the light, brighter now as I approached. I
peered through the archway into the chapel and saw the source of the light, many tiny candles
flickering on a small altar covered with a white cloth.
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Before the altar, on the rough hewn stones which made up the floor of the church, lay a
man prostrate, face down with his arms outstretched beside him.
I cleared my throat, hoping to announce my presence without startling him, but he did not
so much as move a muscle.
So I cleared my throat again, this time with an exaggerated loudness.
After a long pause, the man on the floor sat up, albeit very slowly. Then he rose to his
feet, gathering the folds of his gown about him and making a final bow to the candle-covered
altar.
Had I not been desperate, I would have fled when he turned and revealed his countenance
to me.
He had the face of a cadaver. My brother had died, drowned, and his poor, stark face had
worn the same expression of despair, his skin the same grey hue while he lay in our chapel
before his burial.
It came to me that I'd disturbed a ghost praying for admission to some long denied place
in heaven. Dust covered the apparition's long black gown as if he'd lain there on the floor for
months.
But the candles behind him were fresh, new lit, so I thought of Jack, outside in the cold
rain and stood my ground.
"Please, Father, we need help." I gave him the title of a churchman because of his gown,
and he did not gainsay me.
"How now, child?" he asked, his voice as sepulchral as his face.
"My friend is hurt, Father. He's outside in the rain, and we have nowhere to go. I pray
you, please help us."
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"Take me to your friend."
I led him back through the church. I could feel him looming behind me and took care not
to glance back over my shoulder, part from fear of what I'd find and part from determination not
to let him see my dread of him.
Outside the church, our horses still stood, waiting patiently with their heads down and
their rumps turned to the rain, but Jack lay on the ground at the feet of his beast. With a cry, I ran
over to him and knelt in the puddle into which he had fallen. Putting my hands on his cold still
face, I called his name.
"Jack! Jack!" He made no response, and my chest tightened so I could not draw breath.
Surely he was dead.
"Make way, child." The man from the church, whose existence I'd totally forgotten in my
frantic concern for Jack, gently pushed me aside. He knelt in the mud beside Jack's prone body;
then he rose, the Captain held in his arms as easily as if he weighed no more than a child.
Jack's arms and legs swung limp and lifeless as the man in the black gown mounted the
stone stairs leading to the church door. I followed, dashing moisture from my cheeks that did not
come from the rain. Certain I was that Captain Jack was dead.
The tall man turned in the doorway to look back at me.
"Child, you must secure the horses out of this weather. There is a small stable beside this
church. It is empty, and your animals are welcome to bide there. Then come around to the back
of the church where you will find my house."
I took up the horses' reins and led them fast as they would go to the promised barn,
finding it just where the man from the church had said I might. Although empty as he had said,
it was a fine tight barn, dry and warm against the night air. I found clean straw and put the
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horses together in a single stall. A barrel of rain water stood outside the barn door. Tapping
some of it into a bucket I found within the barn, I sat the bucket inside the stall.
Behind the barn I discovered a tiny house, smaller than the barn. Its door stood open, so I
went inside, finding myself in a small room dominated by a fireplace on one side and the figure
of the man from the church on the other. He knelt beside a pallet on the floor which, aside from
a small table and two stools, was the only furniture in the room. There I saw Jack, covered with
a blanket.
"Your friend is not dead, child, but he is sorely ill," the man told me. "Come, see."
I went to kneel beside him. Jack looked a bit better, his face not so ashen, but he seemed
insensible, not moving or responding to our voices.
"What happened to him?" the man asked me. "He seems a strong fellow to be so ill."
"He was shot, father," I answered. Perhaps it was not wise to admit the source of the
Captain's illness, but the man would be able to see for himself, should he care to look.
"Ah, you must needs not address me as 'Father'," the man said. "I am not a clergyman, at
least, not here."
I took up one of Jack's cold hands and tried to chafe warmth back into it.
"Then what name should I give you, sir?"
"My name is Samuel. That should suffice."
"Samuel."
"Aye. Now I know a little something of leech-craft. I will attend to your friend and see
what might be done for him."
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Something about the inflexion he placed on the word "friend" made me look at him
askance, but he appeared not to notice. Instead he set about mixing some things from jars and
pots set on shelves beside the hearth into a small black cauldron hanging over the fire.
Almost too quickly for the cauldron to have boiled over such a small flame, a delicious
odor filled the room, a scent I could not place, but which brought up the saliva in my mouth. I'd
eaten but little over the past several days, and whatever brewed in that pot beckoned to me.
Samuel worked at his table, preparing another concoction from some different powders
which he mixed with wine in a large bowl using a stone pestle. He dredged a length of cloth in
the mixture, then glanced up and caught me watching him.
"A poultice for your friend's wounds. It will draw the evil humours from his body."
"Are you a healer?"
"Nay, child, I am naught nowadays. Once…" He sighed, a low melancholy sound, and
his face grew even more cadaverous.
Samuel went to the fire and ladled some of the contents of his cauldron into a bowl, then
brought it to me.
"Eat. Else you will end as weak as your friend."
I took the bowl and a spoon he handed me. The contents of the bowl, a thick soup, were
delicious beyond description, although my hunger surely added spice to it.
Samuel watched me eat for a moment; then he turned to Jack. Stripping the clothing
from Jack's upper torso, he tied the poultice around him, covering the wound.
"May I ask how your friend came to be wounded?"
"Someone shot him." I dare not mention the soldiers. I could not trust Samuel to keep
his peace about Jack.
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118
In fact, it occurred to me I should not trust Samuel at all. The sparse room, with its
cauldron and strange bottles and jars put me in mind of an alchemist I'd once heard about, a man
hanged for suspicion of witchcraft. I looked down into my bowl, very nearly empty now, and
wondered about the contents of my soup. The flavor had been like nothing I'd ever tasted before.
"Samuel, are you a clergyman?"
"Why do you ask, child?"
Had he said yes immediately, I might have breathed easier. His reticence unnerved me. I
pushed a little further.
"My friend might have need of such."
"I am very sorry, but I cannot minister to your friend. Tend his wounds, aye. But his
soul is beyond me."
Thinking on his answer, I finished my soup. I was so very sleepy and could no longer
stifle my yawns. The food warm in my belly added to my lethargy.
Samuel produced some blankets which he spread on the earthen floor next to Jack's
pallet.
"Lie down here and sleep, child," he told me.
Earlier, my head had buzzed with questions for Samuel, but now I only felt as if it were
stuffed with sheep's wool. I followed Samuel's suggestion. No more had my head found the
folded blanket he'd set out as a pillow for me than I fell fast asleep.
*
Jack of Hearts
Morning brought with it confusion and not a little fearfulness. The most vivid dreams had
disturbed my sleep, but when I tried to recall them, the details were lost. Jack slept quietly on his
pallet; his sleep seemed natural. His brow was cool to my fingertips when I touched it.
I sat up. The cottage seemed very quiet, and I could see no sign of Samuel. The single
room had no windows, but enough morning sunshine to light the room streamed in around the
ill-fitting door. Taking care not to disturb the captain, I went out in search of Samuel.
I might have expected to find him in the church, but instead discovered him seated on a
small three-legged stool just outside his door, peeling vegetables, a black cauldron pot at his feet
to hold the ones he'd finished.
"Join me, and we can share the sunshine," Samuel said, producing another stool.
I did so. He handed me a small blade and a carrot, then took a moment to show me the
proper way to pare it when my skills proved lacking.
We work in silence for a while; then Samuel broke it.
"You have not told me your name, child."
"I am sorry, Father. My name is Frances."
"You must not address me as "father," he chided me. "I told you–-I am no clergyman.
'Tis Samuel and nothing more."
"Aye, well, Samuel, then."
"Tell me, child. You seem to have a tale to tell. How did you come to be in the company
of the gentleman who rests inside my house?"
I looked at Samuel. His face appeared no less cadaverous than it had on the previous
evening, but his eyes had a kindly look to them. Something about him set me at ease, and
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without quite knowing how, I found myself telling him things about myself I'd told no one
amongst Captain Jack's men, not Jack himself or even Chas.
Samuel sat turned a bit away from me as I spoke, looking down, but when I faltered, he
raised his head and fixed me with his compelling gaze. That gaze gave me strength to continue,
even through the difficult parts of my narrative.
And there were many of those.
When I had at last finished my story, Samuel did not immediately comment. Instead the
two of us sat in companionable silence, peeling our vegetables. Presently we had enough to fill
the black cauldron.
Samuel took my knife and wiped it with a cloth, then placed it in a pocket in his tattered
grey gown. I rose to help him carry the cauldron into the hut and Samuel's cooking fire, but he
stayed me with a motion of his hand.
"Stay a moment, child. I would speak to you."
I did as he asked, resettling myself on his rickety stool.
"I take it upon myself to give little advice to others these days, Frances," he told me. But
I have three things to say to you."
"Go on," I urged him.
"The first and most important is that you are in danger," he said. "But I think you know
that. The path you have chosen is a circuitous one, but may hold you in good stead."
I nodded, pleased that he agreed with my plan.
"Secondly, your trust in your Captain Jack is not misplaced. I can assure you, he is not a
follower of Rome, far from it."
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How Samuel knew this, I had no clue, but he did seem very certain, so again I nodded in
agreement and with a little inward sigh of relief.
"Third, and Frances, this is most important." He stopped and fixed me with a focused
and melancholy stare.
"Aye?" I prompted.
"The third thing is – tell no one what you have told me until you have reached the end of
your journey. Not your Captain, not your friends."
"Chas knows a bit of it."
"And she should know nothing more. It is a dangerous intelligence and only one person
should hear it."
"And who might that person be?"
"That I cannot tell you, child. But I assure you, when the time is ripe, you will know."
Samuel rose abruptly.
"Come," he said. "These vegetables need cooking."
*
Jack slept away most of the day, but awoke in the early evening looking more alert and
with a better color to his complexion. I fed him stewed vegetables, well flavored with herbs
from the store hanging from Samuel's low ceiling, and he ate with the appetite of a man who'd
not eaten for days.
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122
Samuel stayed away from us, busying himself by his fire. Once or twice I caught Jack
staring at him with open curiosity and something else that might have been caution or even
trepidation.
"'Tis only old Samuel," I assured him. "He sheltered us from the storm last evening."
"I recall a church," Jack said.
"Aye, there is a church just outside this house."
He glanced warily once again at Samuel, who chose that moment to depart the house on
some errand or other.
"Hisst!"
I turned back to Jack.
"Aye?"
"How certain are you that old skeleton is not the priest? His robes look clerical enough."
The same thought had occurred to me, but I felt beholden to Samuel.
"He saved us last night," I said again.
Jack nodded, but I saw doubt in his expression.
"'Tis best not to speak of the matter with this grey benefactor," Jack said to me in a low
voice. "Best we get back on the road as soon as we can."
*
I just managed to keep Jack from leaving that very evening, but with the coming of the
following morning he was on his feet, albeit shaky ones, and demanding his horse. I brought the
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beasts out from their stall in Samuel's lean-to shed and saddled them. Samuel stood back,
watching without comment our preparations to leave.
Jack managed to heave himself into his saddle, and I followed suit, although I had less
trouble mounting my own horse. He took leave of Samuel with no more than a curt nod.
However, I pulled my mount to a halt in front of Samuel, meaning to thank him more
politely than had my employer.
"Samuel…." I began.
Samuel raised his hand and stopped me. "No need, my child," he said. "The pleasure has
been all mine. Such an amazing story you had to tell a lonely man!"
Somehow, amazing did not seem to me the best way to describe my tale. "I must thank
you, fa…" I stopped, realizing I'd almost called him "Father." It seemed the only appropriate
title, he stood so tall and serious in his dusky rags. But I was not a Papist and the words would
not come.
Samuel smiled, a singularly sweet smile considering the face he wore.
"Go with God, child," he said. Then he turned and disappeared through the door into the
gloom of his house.
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Chapter Fourteen
"Hallooo!"
By prearrangement, we were to meet the others in a meadow just off the Leeds road.
Jack spied them before I did, and called out to them in his great, ringing voice. The sound of it
roused them from what must have been a cozy mid-afternoon snooze in the warm summer sun.
"Jack!"
Chas emerged from the back of her wagon and came running towards us, her skirts flying
and her hair coming down. The Captain was off his horse by the time she reached us, and when
she came into his arms he hoisted her into the air as easily as if she were a child and not a buxom
young woman, an amazing feat from a man so recently risen from a sick-bed.
"That's my girl," he told her, setting her back on her feet. "Has everyone behaved
themselves in my absence?"
"Aye, you know we have, love."
Chas' cheeks went cherry red, belying her words. Once more I found myself wondering
about Jack's casual reaction to the situation developing between his woman and the newest
member of our troupe. He did not seem the sharing sort.
But then, I told myself as I saw Master Will climb out of Chas wagon, brushing off his
clothing and shooting us a look just like that of a cat caught at the milkmaid's pail, what did I
know about what went on between lovers?
*
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Although hard pressed, Jack did not speak to anyone about our adventures. He directed us
to an inn in Leeds where the proprietor seemed well known to him, and we spent the better part
of a week there, performing to fair-sized audiences.
After Leeds, the towns seemed to run together. We meandered around the countryside,
stopping off at small towns and large manor houses for our performances. Our course seemed to
have no rhyme or reason, but when I asked Chas about it, she seemed unconcerned.
"No need to get to the City until St. Barts Fair time," she told me when I asked about our
slow progress. "Too hot. The whole city stinks, and there's plague in summer."
Plague! The sound of that might have put me right off my hurry to get to London, but as
the days passed I felt it more and more urgent that I get to my aunt in that city.
I knew my stepfather would not be dawdling on the road south, and must have passed us
by weeks ago, although I'd not seen him. Mayhap, if he reached my aunt before me and found
me absent, he'd tire of the chase and return home.
Try as I might, I could not believe that. My stepfather was a dogged man, if not
necessarily a patient one. The doggedness, I feared, would win out over the impatience.
"When is the fair?" I asked Chas.
"St. Barts? August. I'm not sure of the day, but Jack always gets us there."
By St. Barts, she was referring to the great Saint Bartholomew's fair held annually in
London. I'd heard of it from other members of the troupe. They looked forward to it because it
marked the road season's end and the onset of winter, with plenty of time to relax in the warmth
of a tavern with friends.
Most often the winter also meant a berth in one of the city's many playhouses, numbers of
which were popping up all over the southern shore of the Thames like so many mushrooms, or so
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Chas said. These playhouses were built to protect both audience and players from the worst of
the elements and as a result were so much more comfortable than an innyard.
*
Once Jack had recovered from his injuries, his pattern of leaving the company to fend for
itself became more prevalent. With the Captain absent sometimes for days on end, supervision
duties fell to Master Will, who appeared to have become the defacto second in command, much
to the consternation of the rest of the players.
I recall in particular one night, after a performance notable only for its lackluster
attendance, the men gathered in the inn's tavern room and sat huddled together, complaining
bitterly.
"Master Will, indeed!" Sully said. "Who made him our master?"
"The Captain did leave him in command," Tom pointed out.
"Better he'd left young Frank here in command," Sully said. "At least he's one of us."
The backhanded compliment warmed my heart. Although the men usually accepted my
presence without comment, it was the first time they seemed to actually welcome it. After
Ozzie's departure, I feared they might harbor some lingering ill will.
And I shared their opinion of William Shakespeare. Granted, he displayed a talent for
words and story-telling, improving the quality of our performances immeasurably. But
something seemed not quite right about him. And it bothered me that the Captain trusted him so
implicitly upon such short acquaintance – especially in the light of the dalliance I suspected lay
between the poet and Chas.
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127
I longed to tell the Captain. Had not Chas held a secret of mine, I might have done so.
*
About midsummer Jack led us more westerly to the little city of Bath. Situated in a hilly,
rather sparsely populated landscape not far from the Welsh marches, Bath was a city which had
suffered neglect over the years, but now was becoming a popular destination for folk who wished
to take the medicinal waters found there.
"The Queen is restoring the old Abbey," Jack told us and pointed out the little jewel box
of a cathedral that took command of Bath's central thoroughfare. "'Twas ill-treated during her
father's reign, but she has taken an interest in Bath and would like to improve it."
We stopped at an inn not far from the city center where we were met by a landlord
remarkable among the others we'd seen on our journey only by the unusual amount of deference
he paid Jack. He liberally peppered his comments to our Captain with "sirs" and even the
occasional "my lord." To the rest of us he paid little heed. I thought his fawning behavior a bit
overdone but Jack seemed to take little notice of it.
Once the men had set about unloading the wagon and setting up our stage platform, Jack
beckoned to both Master Will and I to attend him.
"I have a call to make in the vicinity. Take a horse and accompany me."
We had only one riding horse besides Jack's and that one Master Will insisted was
rightfully his as he was the elder. That left the draft horse that pulled our wagon to me. I did not
particularly mind; this animal had a broad, comfortable back and easy gait, although I often
lagged far behind the two men as we made our way down a twisting country lane. Nothing I
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could do coaxed my steed to speeds beyond its customary amble so I sat back and took in the
view and the warm afternoon sun. My steed obediently followed his stable mates and did not
require much direction from me.
Because of this, I nearly missed the spot where Jack and Will left the road for a narrow
path into a densely wooded forest. This forest had thickened steadily around us for some time,
great trees rearing over the lane and blocking out the bright summer sky.
"Frank!" Jack's bellow sounded somewhere to my right. I drew my horse to a standstill
and peered into the woods from whence the Captain's voice eminated, and only then did I find
my way onto the track which seemed too narrow for the ample barrel of my horse.
We made our way through, albeit my legs and arms soon became sore from the constant
assault of underbrush and small trees. Spider webs plastered themselves against my face, and I
could no longer hear Jack and Will's horses ahead of me.
I was becoming unnerved, thinking I had gone astray; then my horse emerged without
warning into a more open area.
Not much more open, for grass and weeds grew higher than my steed's belly, but I could
at least see Jack and Will ahead of me and soon caught up to them as they had drawn to a halt
and were awaiting me.
"Not much speed in that animal," Jack remarked eyeing my mare as if seeing her for the
first time.
"No matter," I answered, driven to defend my mount. "She's right trusty at the wagon."
Jack lost interest and pointed toward a huge dark mass ahead of us – a tumble-down
manor house. It seemed deserted and overgrown with vines.
"There's our destination."
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"Surely no one lives here!" I could see pigeons taking wing from gaping holes in the
slate roof and windows empty of glass or shutters in the upper storey. Vegetation mostly
obscured the lower storey, but it could have been in no better condition.
Jack shot me a black look in spite of the reasonableness of my supposition.
"Nay, not now," he conceded, and I thought the words, although his own, angered him.
Jack urged his horse forward, toward what I assumed to be the front entrance of the
manor. The animal snorted and swiveled its ears in a display of nerves, but my own mount and
Master Will's horse moved along in its wake with no similar sign of trepidation.
Thick ivy and other vegetation obscured the entrance to the house. Jack drew his sword
and hacked viciously at it. His efforts soon revealed an oaken door heavily reinforced with iron
strips and bearing none of the signs of decay as the rest of the rotting hulk of a building around
it.
Jack withdrew a key from his purse and fitted it into the door's lock, then pushed inward.
The door gave way, its hinges complaining only a little. Without hesitation he disappeared
inside the forbidding ruin. Master Will and I looked at one another.
"You first, lad," Master Will said. So with a shrug I followed the Captain's footsteps,
trusting in his sword to protect me from anything within.
Passing from midday sun into utter gloom blinded me for a moment and I could see
before me only darkness that seemed to swirl with an invisible motion. I stood for a while,
giving my eyes time to adjust, and I thought Master Will, standing just behind me, must be doing
the same.
Then slowly my eyesight grew used to the gloaming and I found myself within a large
hall. Small windows, away up near the high hammer-beam ceiling let in what little light there
was, heavily filtered by vines and overhanging tree limbs.
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130
I could see no sign of Jack.
"Captain?" I called out to him, and jumped, startled at the way my voice echoed in the
great hall.
Another sound came to me then, a rustling near the ceiling as of many wings; at first I
threw up my hands to cover my head thinking of bats. I'd seen bats roosting in large dark spaces
before. Then I saw them – wings beating silver in the light of the clerestory windows. Not bats,
angels, I thought.
"Pigeons," Master Will said. "Disgusting, filthy creatures, good only for plucking and
roasting."
The Captain returned just then, his boots ringing on the stone floor.
"I am finished here," he said.
"What is this place?" I asked him, but he said nothing, bushing past me towards the door.
The daylight streaming through it revealed his grim expression and dark smudges on his white
linen.
We rode in silence back to town. All the way, lagging behind on my slow horse, my
mind returned to those pale wings beating high above my head in that dark, deserted hall. I
wondered why Jack had gone to visit the ruin and why he insisted Master Will and I accompany
him.
*
I asked Chas about the place when I saw her, but she only shook her head.
"Nay, lass," she said. "We did not pass this way last year. The year before that, I was
still a seamstress in London."
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"He's never mentioned the place?"
"No, he has never spoken of it to me."
I might have pressed the point with the Captain, but he spent the rest of the afternoon and
well into the evening in the inn's ale room, drinking. In fact, the time for our performance came
and went without him. The other members of the troupe did not join the Captain but wandered
aimlessly around the innyard, casting surreptitious glances in the ale room's direction.
When the time for our performance passed and it became obvious there would be none,
Master Will and Chas disappeared into the inn. Behind them, some of the men sniggered and
whispered among themselves, but none made comment loud enough to be heard within the ale
room where Jack sat drinking.
The innkeeper came out and woke Tom and I much later, long after midnight. We'd
fallen asleep on a bench outside the inn's stable, near our wagons.
"Come get your master," he told us. "I want to close up."
We discovered Jack slumped over a table. I thought him insensible with drink, but when
Tom slipped his arm around the Captain's waist to lift him, Jack murmured something beneath
his breath.
It took all the two of us could do to get the Captain into his room and into bed. There
was no sign of Chas, which did not surprise me. Tom pulled the Captain's boots from his feet
and we left him there in the bed, otherwise fully clothed.
I retired to my straw bed in the stable, kept warm for me by Malkin the orange cat, but I
slept little in the few hours that remained of that night. Instead, I tossed and turned, thinking
about the day's strange excursion and the single word I'd heard Jack mutter several times when
we removed him from the tavern. Although he spoke it low, I knew I had heard it aright.
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"Mother," Jack had said, and in that word I had heard a tone of loss and despair which I
could not associate with Jack and his usual air of Devil take the hindmost.
The mystery of it all cost me a night's sleep and came back to me at odd moments for
weeks afterward.
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133
Chapter Fifteen
Eventually, Jack turned us east. In spite of my poor knowledge of the countryside, so far
from my home, I had a feeling our new direction would lead us to London.
When I questioned Chas as we sat around a table in our latest inn, she allowed this was
true. "Season's getting on," she said. "We can't afford to lose our place at the inn."
Everyone seemed to approve of our route except Master Will.
"Should we not take in a more southerly route and bypass Warwickshire?" he
complained. "'Tis naught but a lot of farmers and dairymaids there."
"The Captain likes Stratford town," Geoffrey maintained, a smile betraying his pleasure
at nay-saying Master Will's position on anything. The men still regarded the poet as an
interloper.
"Aye, that I do!"
We had not seen Jack's approach until he spoke; in fact, I had the impression he had been
seated somewhere in the shadowy rear of the inn's taproom.
"I have affairs needing attention in Stratford. And the town is bustling with fat merchants
willing to part with a few pennies to entertain themselves. Affairs and commerce are a happy
mix, I say."
"Mayhap for you!" Master Will muttered displeasure under his breath, but did not take
issue with the Captain. I soon forgot the discussion and only had reason the recall it as we
approached what the Captain had told us was the town of Stratford.
No sooner had we reached the far outskirts of the town, passing through the hamlet called
Shottery, when Master Will, pleading a megrim of his head, retired to the interior of our canvas-
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covered wagon. On a hot summer afternoon, it cannot have been the most comfortable mode of
travel.
In fact, Chas chided him about it.
"Come join us," she called to him, patting the wagon seat beside her. "Plenty of space for
three."
"I am feeling unwell," Master Will quavered. He certainly sounded ill, but Chas was
having none of it.
"Great fat layabout," she retorted, although Master Will was not at all fat; in truth, one
might call him somewhat slight of build. "Best not let the Captain catch you napping."
Master Will did not respond to this dire threat, nor did he emerge from beneath the
wagon canopy until we were well within the confines of our Stratford innyard. Even then he
avoided helping the boys unload the wagon or setting up our stage; instead he trudged off to the
room the Captain had taken for the night as quarters for the players.
Our work done, I stood and stared out the inn's vine-hung gateway into the high street,
wondering what sort of town Stratford might be. The Captain broke my reverie with a small
bundle of charred sticks he pressed into my palm.
"Post the playbills," he told me. "You know how to do it."
Although this was his job, I leapt at the chance to explore the town.
Situated along the meandering banks of a picturesque river, it boasted a number of wellconstructed homes and businesses, evidence of the prosperity the Captain had mentioned as his
reason for playing here. A well at the center of town made a handy gathering place for a busy
cluster of housewives. As they drew water they shared tales with their gossips, snippets of which
I heard as I passed them by.
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"He's been gone since April," a short, rotund female was saying. "When will he come
home to bide?"
"Never, I pray," retorted her confidant, a rawboned woman with black hair peeping from
beneath the sides of her bonnet. "Nay, should he bring a fat purse we would welcome him, but
there's no fear of that!"
"You would not welcome him?"
"Aye, with this!" At which she crudely hiked up her skirt to reveal a large booted foot
that she swung as if to kick someone.
I might have dawdled to hear more but wished to see the river more closely. I would
have to hurry in order to complete my task and get back to our inn.
The town's main thoroughfare wound down a gentle incline to the water. A wooden
bridge spanned the river there, the very one over which we had approached Stratford from the
north. I could see a manor house just beyond it, with a smooth lawn of creeping thyme and
chamomile sweeping down to the riverbank. Swans floated on the river's leisurely current, halfasleep in the warm late-summer sun.
I fought the urge to cross the bridge and throw myself down on that inviting lawn, so
similar to the one back home. Closing my eyes, I imagined its familiar fragrance.
Then a heavy hand clapped me on the back of my head.
"Look alive, Frank! We want a fair crowd tonight."
It was Jack, intruding rudely upon my daydream. I turned and followed him up the
cobbled street, stopping here and there to take turns with him in scrawling our playbills across
any convenient structure. We squabbled over rhetoric and who had the finer hand and at last
found ourselves back at our inn.
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136
*
The sun still stood above the roof ridge of the inn when we gathered ourselves to prepare
for our night's performance. I had no role this evening as there were no females in a rollicking
tale of privateers on the high seas that Jack had created for the troop the previous season. It was
a crowd-pleaser, full of sword play and dash and one sure to result in a bloody melee during the
final jig.
I was adjusting the lacings at the back of Jack's leather doublet when he suddenly rose
from his stool and demanded, "Where's the poet?'
The players, Chas and I could only look at one another for we had not seen Master Will
all afternoon. Then, I recalled his megrim.
"Master Will was taken ill," I said. I pointed toward the inn. "I saw him go in there."
The Captain swore with the vehemence and vocabulary of a well-seasoned actor. Then he
strode off in the direction which I had indicated.
We all loitered about and waited. I noticed smirks on the men's faces. They were
pleased with any turn of affairs that might set the Captain against his favorite.
Presently, both Jack and Master Will emerged from the inn. As they approached, I noted
the thunderous expression on Jack's face and made a promise to myself to keep far away from
him for the rest of the day. He had a habit of striking out when annoyed, quick as a horse's tail at
a pestering fly.
With little further ado, Chas and I got the Captain, Master Will and the rest of the boys
into costume. Master Will looked very pale and had little to say. The look suited his role in the
play very well – he was a captured Spanish Don in the clutches of Jack's notorious privateer
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captain. The Spanish Don was a shifty-eyed fellow who was both craven and abject albeit he
boasted a fine wardrobe heavily adorned with gold.
It was that gold and the promise of yet more of that precious metal in the hold of his
galleon that set the Queen's privateers upon him.
Jack, as usual, played to the crowd, striding the boards of the stage as if they were truly a
ship's deck. The sound of his boots made a most convincing sound, although I thought his silver
spurs a bit out of place. What use spurs on the Spanish Main? But they clinked and made a
pretty sound.
Master Will's performance was uncharacteristically understated. He lurked in the rear
quadrant of the stage and kept his back to the audience. The Captain, in an effort to cover his
lack of participation created some new lines for the play.
"Fie on thee, thou mewling milk-livered fellow! Stand up for yourself!"
When Master Will continued to hang back, the Captain went after him, clapping him
several great clouts with the side of his sword, and finally driving the poet before him toward the
expectant crowd.
"What ill fate shall this foul miscreant meet?" The Captain addressed the crowd, grinning
widely, his teeth very white and feral behind his neatly trimmed black beard.
Having awaited just such an invitation, the audience erupted, sending a barrage of rotten
fruit toward the supposed Spanish Don. Jack skipped out of the line of fire, leaving Master Will
to defend himself as best he could, and then sketched a courtly bow to the audience to indicate
the end of his performance. They reacted with a great cheer and a redoubling of their efforts at
plastering the Spanish Don with filth.
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Having left the stage, Jack returned to the dressing area set up behind us. As he
approached I saw the smile leave his face, to be replaced by the thunderous expression already
evident in his eyes. He ripped off the jerkin, ignoring the damage done to its laces, and through
it atop Chas's pile of mending.
The roar that rose from behind him indicated that the jig had begun and immediately
devolved into the melee the privateer play so oft evoked, but sooner than was customary.
The Captain ignored the commotion, pacing back and forth and muttering fearsome
curses beneath his breath.
Then the object of his ire, Master Will arrived, his person much the worse for the unkind
attentions of our play's audience. Chas went to him, to begin removing his be-splattered
garments from him, but the Captain was having none of it and sent her scurrying away with one
look.
"By God, man, what were you thinking?" he roared.
Master Will hung his head, looking abject and about to speak in his own defense when
his efforts were overwhelmed by a female person who appeared suddenly in our midst, shrieking
incoherently and waving her arms above her head.
"Will Shakespeare! You scoundrel!"
She set upon Master Will with her fists and her feet, displaying a ferocity that might have
done a lioness credit. We onlookers backed off, but Will stood his ground, hands raised with his
palms towards his attacker in a stance of surrender or supplication. Given the circumstances, it
may well have been both.
I found myself next to Jack. "Captain, should we not intervene to rescue Master Will?"
"Nay, 'tis only his wife."
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"But she's hurting him."
"Mayhap he deserves a beating."
I took a closer look at the wife and realized she had a familiar look – a tall woman, her
black hair escaping from beneath a mobcap set askew by her exertions so that she had something
of an antic look about her. Then I recognized her as one of the women I had noticed at the
community well in the town center.
Suddenly, Chas flew into the fray, putting herself between Master Will and his attacker. I
shot Jack a look out of the corner of my eye, trying to see his reaction.
It was not what I would have expected. Rather than anger with Chas for her involvement
in another man's domestic affairs, I saw only mild amusement in his expression.
"Verily, the fur shall fly now," he remarked calmly and to no one in particular. With that
comment he drew out his pipe and the pouch of tobacco he wore about his waist like a purse and
proceeded to fill the pipe. This was a complicated procedure involving tamping the tobacco into
the pipe's bowl with a number of silver tools he carried within the leather pouch. "Frank," he said
presently, "Fetch me a light, there's a good lad."
I pretended not to hear him, for Master Will's wife had turned her attentions away from
her hapless husband and was attacking Chas.
"Captain, should we not do something to rescue Chas?" I asked.
"Nay. ‘Tis the best entertainment we've provided in weeks."
And mayhap it was, for the audience from our earlier performance had mostly left their
jig and were now surrounding the poet and the two combative women. One man not far from me
even began taking bets as to who would win out – the black-haired woman or the buxom blond.
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140
Jack placed the pipe in his mouth. Something about the way he held it between clenched
teeth, his lips bared, led me to believe he was not as detached from the fracas as he pretended.
But it was the only such indication I had.
I even saw him place a wager shortly before he made a motion with his hand that brought
several of the players to him.
"'Tis an unseemly row," he told them. "Get these miscreants put away somewhere out of
sight and sound else the landlord will send us away."
Geoffrey and Tom had to physically remove the women from the innyard.
Master Will remained behind, shamefacedly twisting his felt hat in his hands.
"I said I did not want to come to Stratford," he said to the Captain.
"Because you feared encountering your wife?"
"Exactly."
*
A few cups of ale later in the inn's tavern, Master Will told us more of his sorry tale. At
least, he told Jack. I had come along to quench my curiosity rather than my thirst. Neither man
indicated any awareness of my presence. So I sat and eavesdropped.
“’Tis not so unusual a thing,” Master Will said, after having paid the barmaid for a round
of ale for us all. “A green lad, a bit of drink and one lonely strumpet make for a foregone
conclusion.”
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Jack regarded him gravely across the rim of his tankard, only his cocked eyebrow
commenting upon Master Will’s revelation. The eyebrow and perhaps the ale spurred the poet
on to more sordid details.
“She’s years my senior. And well-used to boot. But I had no doubt at the time the babe
was mine. And her father is influential in the county. He owns a large and prosperous farm.”
“There’s consolation for you,” Jack remarked. “An heir and property to inherit.”
Master Will shook his head. “Alas, she has a flock of older brothers and sisters. And the
babe is tow-headed.”
I looked at Master Will, dark as a gypsy, and recalled the black-haired Mistress
Shakespeare. Little wonder a fair-haired baby was a disappointment to him.
But there was more. “Mild as milk she was, before the wedding. But as soon as the
words were spoken and the bridal feast eaten, she became a very shrew!”
“So,” Jack said. “I take it the life of a traveling player had an added luster to it.”
“I did not succumb immediately. I tutored for a while and taught a bit in the grammar
school, but her tongue had a way of following me about, and no one wanted to employ me for
very long. I even went to another county, sent her money to keep her sweet and far away, but
she followed me there.”
“Then you fled?” asked Jack.
“Aye, far and fast as I could. Pray, do not pity her – I sent money and set her up in a
house. But I took care she could not track me down again. Until now.” The poet pulled a
melancholy face.
I glanced at Jack, and saw the twinkle of humor in his eyes. “Aye, now I see why you
wished to give Stratford a wide berth.”
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Master Will nodded.
“And I take it you wish to stay with us until London?”
“Aye.”
“Very well, but you shall need a plan to escape your wife. She will suspect you are with
us.”
And so that was how Master Will Shakespeare came to travel the rest of the way to
London with our little troupe of players, wearing the disreputable red dress and malodorous
yellow wig I only too gladly donated to his cause.
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Part Two:
The Red Queen
"She had all the royal makings of a queen,
As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown,
The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems
Laid nobly on her…."
The Life of King Henry the Eighth (IV, i)
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Chapter One
We entered London on a warm Sunday morning. Church bells were ringing, producing a
great cacophony of sound. The religious turmoil of our past three sovereigns' reigns had silenced
many church bells across England, but not so in London.
"Bleeding bells," Chas grumbled. She sat next to me in the wagon, guiding the horse
through increasingly narrow and crowded lanes. "Going on and on when working folk should be
abed of a Sunday morning."
Captain Jack, riding astride his fine horse, happened to be alongside us, near enough to
overhear her complaint.
"London – the City of Bells, the poets name it," he proclaimed, swinging an arm to
encompass the horizon before us. "'Tis only one of the charms of our fair city."
"Aye." Master Will, never one to remain silent on any topic, sat up in the rear of our
wagon where he'd indulged himself in a mid-morning nap. "I fear those poets are long dead. 'Tis
said the bells you hear this fine morning are only a pale reflection of those of a century or more
gone."
"Still and all, I'd prefer the quiet," Chas said.
I soon forgot the bells because the city's assault on my senses drowned them out. We'd
passed through some fair-sized towns on our tour, but the largest of them did not hold a candle to
London. Chas drove the horse with care, threading our way through narrow streets packed with
carts and carriages and pedestrians of every ilk.
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I saw tradesmen scurrying between their shops, 'prentices running about on errands for
their masters, maids in aprons and matrons with their shopping in baskets over their arms. Every
now and again, mounted gentlemen, fine and proud in their best garb, rode through, their horses
parting the crush of humanity as Moses had once parted the seas. Small boys, footloose and
carefree, darted here and there, so that I gasped and had to look away when our wagon seemed
sure to run them over.
Once, we had to stop for a troop of soldiers, several dozen of them, carrying pikes and
wearing the queen's colors and stern expressions. For a moment as they came through, the
frantic activity of the street paused, as if everyone held in their breaths all together, then resumed
as the backs of the troop passed out of sight around a turn.
If the sheer numbers of people in the street did not overwhelm me, their din almost did.
Chas had complained of the bells but I could hear them no longer, for the voices of thousands
raised in conversations, shouts, laughter and the myriad utterances of so many throats, merged
together into a roaring such I had never heard before.
Then there was the stench, which permeated everything. The malaise arose from the
proximity of so many unwashed bodies perspiring in the late summer heat amid the droppings of
horses and cattle left to lie fly-blown beneath our wheels. Maids shrieked "Ware!" as they
dashed the steaming contents of household night jars from second storey windows to the peril of
everyone beneath. And, in open ditches meandering along the cobblestone paving of the street,
something liquid and indescribable and stinking ran in slow progress downhill toward the great
river somewhere just ahead of us.
"Stop your gawping!" Chas yelled in my ear. I could not have heard her had she spoken
in her normal tone. "'Tis only Southwark. Wait until you see the city!"
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I decided London Bridge was a fitting demarcation of the City's southern-most limits.
For all intents and purposes, the Bridge was the city, because buildings lined it so thickly I first
knew we were no longer on solid ground when cobblestones gave way to wooden planks. The
bridge narrowed in places; so overbuilt it was that the cantilevered upper stories of the shops
along it seemed close to meeting over our heads, and the width of it seemed scarce enough for
our wagon.
If Southwark had seemed well-populated, the Bridge was packed with buildings and
humanity like salt fish in a barrel. It brought to mind a song the children sing:
"London Bridge is falling down!"
The strains of the tune began to wind through my head the way songs sometimes do; I
heard it behind the shouts of the street vendors hailing their wares and the piping voices of the
young ragamuffin lads running alongside our wagon, holding on to its sides for dear life and
begging for pennies.
London Bridge reached the far shore at a point about equidistant between St. Paul's
Church and the Tower, both of which commanded the riverfront. The street actually widened as
we left the Bridge and proceeded into London proper.
Looking back as we made our way uphill, I could see the underpinnings of the bridge,
great piers that went down into the water. Decorating the upper parts of the bridge on those
sections nearest the shore was a grotesque garden – many human heads in various states of decay
mounted on pikes, hanging like overripe fruit.
Most of the towns we'd passed on our long journey south had boasted a few poor relics,
but here there were scores.
Will saw the direction of my gaze and commented, "'Tis a sign of the times, lad."
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"Lower East Cheap," Chas called to me. She'd taken on the role of tour guide. I needed
one, for beyond the environs of the river, the city dissolved into a warren of unmarked streets
and alleyways, all crawling with humanity thick as the fleas on a hound's back.
When we emerged into the relative openness of a small square, Chas pointed to the
ominous edifice of the White Tower, several streets over to our right, and then indicated the
spires of Saint Paul's to our left.
"You'd get a better look at them from the river. Happen we'll take a boat trip after the
Fair.
With so much to see, I lost track of time and distance. How far from the river we were
when we passed by St. Bartholomew's church, the namesake of the great Fair, and made our onto
Smithfield Street, I could not tell. Captain Jack had reserved an inn for us a whole year before,
and he rode ahead to make certain of our place.
I'd heard tales of Smithfield, not many of them pertaining to Saint Bartholomew's Fair, or
St. Bartlemy's, as Chas named it. My stepfather used read to us at supper from Foxe's Book of
Martyrs, so that I half expected to hear the crackle of flame and the smell of burning flesh in this
place instead of a rather pleasant open commons bustling with early arrivals setting up their
booths for the upcoming fair. I recalled a recurrent childhood nightmare, the result of his
rendition of the burning of Anne Askew, a tale full of horrific events.
Punishment for miscreants in the small city of my birth seldom surpassed the occasional
pillorying, but my stepfather had seen to it that all within his care knew of the terrible fates of the
Protestants during the reign of our current Queen's older sister.
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So, when Chas guided our wagon into the courtyard of a rather pleasant, if somewhat
small and crowded inn, I found to my great relief that it was as if the ghosts of those unfortunates
were left outside. Jack awaited us, smiling broadly next to a prosperous looking man who I took
for the landlord.
"Welcome to the Lamb," the man told us, confirming the impression. He had a booming
voice and an open, friendly manner. Perhaps he kept Smithfield's restless spirits at bay; I hoped
so.
*
Later, while helping Chas unpack the wagon, I asked her about London Bridge.
"Is it true it fell down?"
"Aye, many times," she told me. "They stack houses and people on it until it falls under
the weight. But, more often than not it burns. 'Tis always being built back up again, for one
reason or another."
I had an idea this might be an exaggeration, the bridge seeming such a sturdy structure to
me.
*
I forgot my reluctance to venture outside the innyard the very next morning when Chas
invited me to accompany her on a shopping expedition. Since Ripon, Jack had been paying me a
salary, a pittance to be sure, but as the company provided all the food I needed and a place to
sleep, I'd held on to most of it.
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The street outside the tavern seemed at least as bustling with humankind as it had the day
before. The Sabbath having passed, there were shops open for business as well as portable stalls,
all adding to the congestion. Having had no breakfast, I found myself inexorably drawn to the
cooking stalls. The first I came upon held a steaming display of meat pasties, dripping with
melting lard and oozing gravy.
I reached for my purse, which I had secreted inside my doublet as defense against
pickpockets – Jack had shown me this trick early on when he realized how green I was about
such things – but Chas put her hand on my arm to stop me.
"Bad meat," she told me. "Let your nose guide you."
She approved of the wares displayed at the next meat pasty stall. For the life of me I
could discern no difference in smell or appearance of their product, but I'd had a bout of stomach
illness from bad food served at one of the poorer of the taverns that had hosted the troupe. Not
an experience I cared to repeat.
The meat pasty proved delicious. I gobbled it down and was still licking my fingers
when Chas reached the used clothing vendors. Ranging from the ragmen with their wretched
display of mildewed and rotting rags to shops specializing in the castoffs of the gentry, the used
clothing merchants commanded the better part of a street of their own.
Chas made her way to a small shop packed to its ceiling with piles of garments.
"Why if it's not our Mistress Brown!" A man hustled up to us. I thought he must be the
proprietor, and Chas confirmed this with her next words. She also confirmed my suspicion that
he knew her.
"Aye, the one and only," Chas replied, thrusting out her ample bosom as was her wont in
the presence of the male sex.
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The man, whose truncated height put his eyes on a level with Chas' bosom, seemed apt to
loose those eyes as they threatened to pop from their very sockets. He did not, however, forget
his livelihood in the face of such distraction.
"What can I do for you today, Mistress Brown?" he asked.
"My assistant and I are looking for several items, in particular a lady's fancy gown and a
man's trunk hose."
"I may have just the thing," the little man told her, gesturing to a pile of garments near the
back of the shop.
Another heap drew my own attention, boy's clothing of varying size and quality. My
own wardrobe had deteriorated beyond Chas' ability as a skilled needlewoman to repair,
threatening to leave me bare-bottomed if not replaced soon. Shifting through the heap I soon
found replacement hose, doublet and a coat of medium quality wool. All were in good if not
new condition and seemed like to fit when I held them up against myself.
"Chas! Look what I found."
My treasures in hand I set off to the back of the store in search of Chas. I did not see her
at first, then movement in the shadows beyond the heap of clothing the proprietor had offered to
show her caught my eye.
Chas and the proprietor were standing very close together, but separated when I called
Chas' name. The tiny windowless shop sweltered in the warm summer morning, albeit not
enough to explain the flush across Chas' cheeks or the damp strands of her hair escaping what
had been an immaculate coiffure only a short while before.
I vow I liked Chas, even loved her at times. Other times I did not like her at all. Lately
those times seemed to be coming more often.
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Her expression as guileless as my cat's when discovered at some misadventure, Chas
looked through the items of clothing I held. She approved of them, and even found a shirt for
wearing beneath my doublet which I had overlooked.
"You need shoes, child," she told me, pointing at my dirty toes peeping through the holes
of the pair I wore.
"And a hat," I added.
The merchant did not deal in these items, but Chas had other custom to throw his way.
"You mentioned a gown," she said to him.
"Aye." He disappeared beneath a less than promising heap of garments and produced a
lady's gown, at first glance as fine as any I had ever seen. With a flourish, he spread it for Chas'
perusal.
She touched the fabric, a fine light stuff that had to be silk, rubbing it between her
fingers.
"Such a lovely shade of green and blue – like peacock feathers." She took it from the
landlord and held it before me. "Well, Frances. What think you?"
The gown brought tears to my eyes. I'd not worn or even seen anything so lovely since
leaving my home so many months before.
"With the red gown gone, you need it for the Helen," she said, perhaps misinterpreting
the tears for reluctance to have such a valuable thing bestowed upon me.
I nodded at her and the negotiations began.
I'd seen Chas at work haggling over supplies in town markets, but here in the city she
came into her own. The shop's proprietor mentioned a figure for the gown and some other items
she had chosen that seemed high, even to my untrained ears.
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152
"Thief! I could have a courtier's finest duds for less," Chas retorted and headed for the
door, her skirts swirling with dramatic indignation.
The proprietor somehow got between Chas and the door and made another offer, which
Chas countered. This went on for long enough to bore me into disinterest. I lost track until I
heard my name spoken.
"Lower your price by one shilling, throw in the lad's bundle here, and we have a deal,"
she said.
The proprietor agreed, albeit with reluctance and some handling of Chas' person which
did not seem strictly necessary to me under the circumstances. Then he wrapped our purchases
in a clean cloth and followed us to his door.
"The Lamb in Smithfield you say?" he asked as we exited.
"Nay," I called back over my shoulder.
"Aye," Chas told him, and planted a parting kiss on his cheek.
*
We returned to our lodgings, I with a new costume for my Helen and a new wardrobe to
replace my tattered, travel-worn clothing – the latter thanks to Chas' bartering skills – and Chas
with packets of multicolor threads and needles and fabric scraps for mending the troupe's torn
costumes.
Jack's men had busied themselves in our absence. Our stage now stood fully erected to
one side of the innyard, and Geoffrey, Tom and Sully swarmed over it, hanging curtains and
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153
banners which could be moved about as scenes changed. Tom, a good hand with a paintbrush,
worked at touchups to the travel-worn paint on both stage and the canvas backdrops.
I saw no sign of Jack, but Master Will greeted us from behind the stage where he liked to
practice his lines. Jack hoped to present the poet's new play for the London audience, a clear
sign of his confidence in the man. With so much at stake, Will pushed us all through rehearsal
after rehearsal and did not spare himself in the process.
The poet hurried towards us, a big smile directed at Chas.
"Where's the Captain?" I asked him.
Shakespeare left off his perusal of Chas' bodice, and glanced down his long nose at me.
"Gone out to post playbills," he said and handed Chas a large square of parchment.
Because this was London and not some rural backwater, Jack had some broadsides
printed advertising our troupe and its repertoire.
"Besides, the London watch frowns on those who scribble on City walls," he'd told Chas
when he had them printed up in our last town before London.
Chas held the document up to her eyes. From where I stood I could see she held it with
the printing upside down.
"Hand it over," I said, realizing she did not wish to let on to Master Will that she could
not read.
I read it aloud for her:
"The Trojan War
Readings from the Life of Henry VI
Two Plays Performed in Alternate
By
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Captain Jack's Men
To Commence August the 19th
At 4 O'clock
Every Afternoon Excepting the Sabbath
The Lamb Inn
Smithfield"
Chas clapped her hands together in excitement. "We will be beating them away with
staves."
Master Will smiled indulgence as if at the antics of a child. "Not beat them away – pack
them in as groundlings."
"But the Fair hasn't begun yet." I had understood the official opening of the Fair,
accomplished with great ceremony and a pronouncement by the Lord Mayor himself, was nearly
a week away, on the 24th.
"Captain doesn't want the boys cooling their heels their heels here for that long, eating
and drinking away his profits," Chas informed me. "Besides, there is plenty of custom
hereabouts even this soon before St. Bartleby's."
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Chapter Two
Jack returned in the early afternoon.
"Come along with me, Frank," he said to me. "And bring your knives. We have stiff
competition this time and will have to work for our custom."
Wearing his handsome black cape and mounted on the ebony stallion, he cut an
impressive figure in the street outside our inn. I followed in his wake, stopping when he did,
which was often.
During these pauses, Jack struck various heroic poses and announced our troupe's
repertoire for the afternoon. As he did so, I stood at his stirrup, juggling my knives and keeping
an eye on the restive stallion in case he should tramp on me. Following each performance, we
distributed copies of Jack's printed handbills.
An enthusiastic group of young lads took to following us from street corner to street
corner, but I could not tell whether we attracted much attention from their elders.
The proof of our success came when we returned to the Lamb to find the innyard already
possessed of an impressive crowd. They milled about, searching for the best position from
which to view our stage. The Inn's taproom did brisk business, as the warm midsummer sun
parched throats.
Chas clucked over us like a nervous mother hen. By her tense attitude and the absence of
the usual light repartee amongst the boys, I gathered this London play would be a more serious
affair than our sometimes haphazard performances in the small villages and country manors to
which I was accustomed.
I was to play Helen to Jack's Paris, and had looked forward to wearing my new gown.
However, when I tried it on and Chas saw me, she shook her head.
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"Nay, not today," she said. "The Captain sees you in that and the game will be up. Save
it for a more opportune time.
Chas cobbled something together that resembled skirts for me to wear instead.
And so, I made for a rather unglamorous Helen that afternoon. I felt especially shabby
beside Jack who wore what looked like a new suit, black velvet as was his wont and spangled
with small glass stars across the front of his doublet. 'Twas a shame I could not wear the
beautiful new gown, I thought when I saw how dashing the Captain looked.
"Come along, Frank," he ordered when he saw I had completed my wardrobe. "We shall
stand outside the inn and solicit custom."
Once more he had me juggle, both knives and parti-colored wool felt balls, while he
stood in various heroic poses and took money from customers as they came in to the innyard.
Several appeared to be gentlemen of some rank, by their bearing and dress, and I saw them
pressing an extra measure of coin into Jack's palm.
I found out later these dandies would stand or sit upon the very stage during our
performance, making a show of themselves and their fine attire and other accoutrements in return
for the extra fee they paid.
In recent weeks, Master Will had played the part of Paris, leaving Hector and Achilles to
Jack (something of a feat especially when he had to battle himself). But Jack had taken the
major roles to himself in the Trojan play, leaving Master Will to focus on his own work, some
scenes from a play about King Henry VI which he was writing.
This play was something of a mystery, for most of it he had rehearsed alone, showing no
one but Jack. The Captain must have been impressed by the quality of the work, because he
generally preferred we perform his own compositions.
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The Trojan play went well, Jack making his usual heroic impression upon our audience,
striding about the stage and brandishing his rapier with enthusiasm. The audience became so
enthralled with our performance that they made themselves a part of it, shouting encouragement
at the Captain when he fought imagined enemies and catcalls when he stumbled over the stage
dandies, sending them sprawling in heaps of injured dignity.
Alas, I fear my own performance was somewhat lacking as the huge audience, the largest
I'd ever seen, had my teeth chattering with stage fright. But, I managed to stutter my way
through my lines. Any road, nobody paid me much heed for they were thoroughly entertained by
the sight of a boy wearing lady's clothing. This was a novelty that apparently never grew old,
even with jaded London audiences, as evidenced by the ribald remarks that came my way.
"Give us a kiss, hon!"
"Bend over and show us your bum!"
I paid them no heed, but I caught sight of the Captain glaring at them once or twice,
perhaps jealous of the attention paid me.
Then the play was over and we made our final bows. Normally a jig would follow, but
on this occasion, we had Master Will's bit to do.
I left the stage and went straight to Chas' tiring room, less makeshift in this inn because
plays were regularly performed here. I found Master Will there, as Chas was making some last
minute adjustment to his costume.
"Frank! Just the young person I was wishing to see," he said, a big smile lighting his
features. "I have a role for you in my new play."
"But…but you haven't mentioned this to me before. I have had no time to rehearse
lines."
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In truth, I'd seen no lines.
"No matter," Master Will assured me. "I've written some things here, and I will prompt
you as we go on."
He handed me a scrap of stained and wrinkled parchment upon which I could see some
writing. Perhaps because parchment cost so dear, Master Will always wrote small. On this
particular piece, I could see he had outdone himself with the tiny size of his words, so crabbed
they were I had to hold the parchment just before my eyes to read them.
"I cannot read this," I protested, but Master Will was already halfway to the stage. He
had very long legs.
"Chas! What am I to do?"
She did not answer at first, but was busily rearranging my costume. "Will says you will
need to remove this skirt, as you are to be a girl in lad's clothing."
I did so, still complaining.
"I do not know my lines. I can't read this." I waived the bit of parchment, but she ignored
it and bustled me to the rear of the stage.
By his stance, his body half turned in my direction, I could tell Master Will awaited me.
With a sigh I did so, clambering up onto the wooden platform of the stage in what must have
been a most unladylike maneuver.
"This will go badly," I hissed, pitching my voice for Master Will's ear, but he only
smiled, turned to the expectant audience, and began to speak.
Captain Jack had known what he was about when he added Will Shakespeare to our
group of players. The man had a fine voice and stately bearing and looked every inch a king in
his fine robe – Chas had outdone herself with it – and gold-painted crown.
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I had difficulty following the gist of the lines he spoke, not having paid much heed to my
brother's tutor when he discoursed upon history; geography and poetry had been my favorite
areas of study. So I knew little of King Henry VI.
After a particularly energetic interchange with himself, I found Master Will suddenly
prompting me. He'd removed the crown, evincing his change from one role to another, but
whoever he professed to be in this scene was beyond me.
I brought held my tattered bit of parchment before my eyes and strained to read the lines,
attributed the text said, to a person called "La Pucelle.":
"Then l..lead me hence;" I began. "Um, with whom I leave my c..curse:"
The next line, so tiny I could scarce make it out, stopped me cold.
"May never glorious sun reflex his beams
Upon the country where you make abode;" Will whispered.
Yes, I could just make out that those were the words on my parchment. I read them aloud,
if not well.
The next bit was writ clearer:
"But darkness and the gloomy shade of death
Environ you, till mischief and despair
Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves!"
The last words had no more than left my mouth when something whizzed past my face –
a rotten vegetable of some kind. Another followed, with better aim. Previous experience served
me well, however. I ducked and the offensive missile caught Master Will full on the side of his
head with an audible "Whumph!"
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Bent low so as to present as small a target as possible, I retreated from the stage, Master
Will close on my heels.
"Coward!" he hissed at me when we a safe distance from rotting projectiles pitched our
way. "I had another set of lines to read."
"Pray, go back and continue, then," I retorted.
He made no move to do so. Bits of moldering potato oozed down his face, plopping onto
his velvet robe. Chas would complain when she saw it.
The sound of piping from the direction of the stage drifted towards us - the jig had begun
and Master Will's chance to return to the stage had passed him by.
"What set them against us?"
"You just cursed the entire English nation," Jack said. "Told them to hang themselves."
He stood close by, leaning against one of the stage supports. That the afternoon performance had
deteriorated into a near riot seemed not to bother him at all. In fact, I vow I saw the hint of a
smile in his eyes.
"'Twas also an insult to the Queen."
The rest of the evening saw the Captain continue in a remarkably good humor. He sent
the boys to the taproom with the promise of as much free ale as they might consume. And he
gave me an extra penny to buy my supper amongst the vendors in the street outside our inn.
Later, back in the taproom I saw him with the boys drinking and laughing in the easy
manner of old comrades. Only Master Will sat apart, head down over his tankard. Only once
did I see the Captain glance his way, and that glance did not reflect the smile upon his lips.
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Chapter Three
On St. Bartholomew's fair day's morn, the Captain gave us all some coins and sent us out
to see the sights.
"See you stay close to Chas," he told me, handing me a twist of cloth which clinked in an
inviting manner. "The fair can be dangerous to a greenling like yourself."
As he started to walk away, he shot another bit of advice back at me. "Put that bag inside
your cod pocket. 'Tis the only place the cutpurses avoid."
I did as he suggested and went off in search of Chas. I found her in the stable, conversing
with Master Will.
"Captain told me I should stick with you."
She shot me a look that was not at all welcoming, but it suited me that she should not
spend the day alone with Master Will. No matter if Jack were careless with his lady's honor, my
company would go some way to help preserve it. It aggravated me that she did not seem
grateful.
"Come along, then," she told me and I set off in her wake. Master Will took her arm, as
if to protect her from the crush of people in the street. Better someone to protect her from Master
Will, I thought, seeing the gesture.
I stayed close on Chas' heels, and for a while she tolerated me, even acted as my guide to
the sights of the Fair.
"The Lord Mayor called the Fair open last night, St. Bartholomew's Eve. He shared a cup
of sack with the governor of Newgate on his way to the great ceremony."
"I wish we could have seen it," I said.
"We were occupied with our performance," she said. "Work before play."
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"And this morning, we play before we play," Master Will quipped, referring to our
upcoming afternoon performance. He had a wicked gleam in his eye as if there were some
double entendre in his words, but I did not get it.
Chas did, and laughed loud enough to draw stares from others close to us in the street.
I soon lost interest in them as the wonders of the fair drew me in. My first impression
was of food. Every variety of food display on tables and in stalls. There were fresh fruits and
meats, savory baked goods such as pasties, delicacies such eels frying in oil. I saw oranges from
Spain. Heretofore, I had seen only one orange in my whole life, a wizened pomander studded
with cloves and belonging to my dear mother who wore it on a ribbon at her waist. They brought
her to mind, and I Imagined I could smell that spicy-orangey scent that followed her about.
I bought an orange – they were shockingly dear - and put it my pocket with the remainder
of my money.
The sellers cried their wares, a disjointed chorus of voices. "Oranges from Spain!" the
orange ladies called. "Ginger boys! Ginger cakes!" cried a baker, not to be out done. And the
fishmongers and their wives out did everyone. "Smoked eels! Smoked salmon! Mussels fresh
from the river!"
Even I knew enough to pass on the purportedly fresh fish and passed on to the cloth
merchants stalls. There rich fabrics imported from throughout the world lay in bolts cheek to
jowl with good English wool. Master Will bought Chas a scarlet silk ribbon for her hair, and she
giggled like a young lass.
The sound of shrieking voices waylaid me, and I found myself in front of a booth where
players performed. No such players as Captain Jack's men, these. They were tiny dolls worn
over the hands of people who crouched hidden away behind a tiny stage. The little "puppets," as
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Chas later named them to me, fought one another viciously and without any apparent reason.
They screamed vile obscenities and used swords and clubs in their struggles. The violence held
me in thrall, and I stood there for a while, gawping at the puppet play.
The play ended at last. A little boy went around collecting payment for the performance.
I dropped a penny in his hat, well entertained, and then turned to look for Chas.
Neither she nor Master Will were anywhere that I could see. I stood on tip-toe, peering
through the throngs of fairgoers, but my search proved fruitless. The street had become so thick
with people that I found myself jostled about and had to move along with their flow to keep my
feet.
Unable to get my bearings, I was soon hopelessly lost.
I would have to ask someone for direction, I decided, and made my way to a stall selling
roast pork. The aroma set my mouth to watering.
"Pray, sir," I called out to the man slicing a great haunch of meat. "Can you tell me the
way to the Lamb Inn of Smithfield?"
I had no sooner spoken when someone bushed past me, a lad of about half my size. He
reached out, plucked a greasy packet of meat from the pork man's stall and darted away. The
pork man looked up to discover the meat gone and me standing there.
"Stop, thief!" he bellowed, pointing straight at me."
The pointing finger froze me in place until I realized the consequences of staying put.
Self preservation took control of me and I turned and ran, hot on the heels of the actual fleeing
thief. I could see him just ahead of me, his dripping trophy tucked under his arm, and in my
wake I could hear the pork man screaming for the watch. I heard other voices take up the hue
and cry.
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Fear lent me speed and I caught up to the lad who was only about half my size and much
shorter of stride. Just then, the watch caught up to us both, several stern-looking men with pikes
and pistols.
"Two of 'em!" This from their captain by his livery.
"Nay, Captain," I cried. "I took nothing. This boy is the one who did it." I pointed out
the incriminating bundle of meat in the boy's possession.
"Working together, more like," the captain said. "Grab 'em both."
The pikemen confiscated the meat and took the lad and myself in tow, half-dragging us
both along by the backs of our collars. Bystanders laughed and threw kicks at us which
mercifully mostly missed due to the speed with which the watch moved us along. Eventually,
our strange procession stopped at a iron-bound wooden doorway, the apparent portal to a
massive structure looming over our heads.
"Newgate!" I heard my fellow captive mutter under his breath. In the next instant, he
went from a limp raggedy thing hanging from his captor's hand to a creature resembling a
wildcat, all shrieking teeth and claws.
The suddenness of his attach took all of us by surprise, myself so that I did not think to
copy his bid for freedom. And his captors, who dropped him and neglected to immediately give
chase as he dashed away to disappear among the crowd.
"Welladay!" said the captain of the watch. "We have the meat for our dinner and one
young rascal. That should suffice."
'Twas then I realized my own jeopardy. "Unhand me!" I shrieked and kicked the man
who held me as hard as I could. He grunted but did not loosen his hold. I twisted about and tried
to bite his hand, but he was not about to be taken by surprise a second time.
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The door creaked open, and several armed men in chain mail emerged from the black
depths of the prison. I redoubled my struggles. One of the prison guards strode toward me and
raised his heavy steel-gloved fist, making to strike me across the face. Had the blow landed, I
doubt not it would have killed me or at least done me great harm. But it did not.
"Hold!"
A man's voice, loud and authoritarian in tone stopped it. The guard stared up and past
me. I contorted myself so as to view the owner of that voice.
It was Jack. Seated high on his black stallion and dressed in fine silks and velvets, he
looked every inch the courtier.
"So, lad, here you are in trouble again," he called down to me from his perch. "God's
teeth, 'tis a shame you cannot behave yourself."
"This young man is a thief," the watch captain said.
"He's my new squire. Insists on running away. Says he's homesick for his mother. I see
he dressed himself in rags this time and got farther than usual."
The attitude of my captors changed immediately.
"He stole from the pork vender," their captain said.
"Aye, hungry from running the streets, I expect. I will pay his debt. Or would you rather
I return the pork? Either way, he's mine to deal with."
I could see by the expressions upon their faces that the pikemen had no wish to give up
their supper. And Jack sweetened the deal with the offer of money. He held a large coin in his
black-gloved fingers, displaying it for the other men to see, then flipped it to the watch captain
who caught it deftly.
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166
"See your men get your share," he said, then leaned down from his horse and heaved me
across his saddle. "I have a mind to give you a hiding here and now," he told me in a voice
pitched loud enough for my erstwhile captors to hear. But he urged the horse away as he did so,
fast enough to put us beyond following by men afoot.
We reached the Lamb in a shorter time than seemed possible. I had been desperately lost
only a short distance away. Jack dropped me off his saddle so that I sprawled in the dusty
innyard, then leapt down from the saddle himself, agile as the acrobats I had seen out on the
street.
"I bade you stick close to Chas," he said leaning over me. "And I gave you money. Why
did you stoop to thievery?"
"I stole nothing," I retorted, trying to get to my feet. "There was a boy who got away…"
"If you must steal, at least ask someone how to do it properly, without getting caught."
He was angry enough to be beyond listening to excuses and pushed me back down into the dust.
"They had you at the prison door," he said. "What if they had gotten you inside?"
For just a moment, I thought I heard a thread of real fear in his voice. Then I dismissed it
as my imagination as he turned and stalked away, leading his horse toward the stable.
*
The next day, inexplicably, the Captain was gone. It had been his wont to leave us on our
own, more so in the past few weeks, but it seemed odd he should disappear now we were in
London.
I voiced my concerns to Chas.
Jack of Hearts
"Why, 'twas just a few days ago he was making a show in the streets with his handbills.
Who will play Paris and Hector now?"
Chas looked worried, but she had an answer. "I suppose Master Will can step in," she
told me. "He'd best not do the Henry VI again. Another commotion and the landlord might put
us out, with Jack gone."
I took some of our handbills out to post them in the streets, only to find London
embroiled in such an uproar that my curiosity made me forget my mission.
On a normal day, one might expect to see people going bout their business with little ado.
But today they reminded me of the occupants of an anthill I'd once rubbed flat with the toe of my
boot, running about frantically as if unsure where to go. Goodwives huddled in groups, their
unruly children forgotten and left to mischief. Merchants stood outside their doors, shaking out
their aprons and calling to their neighbors with shrill voices. Dogs barked and babies howled.
And then there were the troops, the Queen's soldiers, some afoot in formations that drove
straight through the throngs of folk on the street and some mounted, carrying wicked long pikes.
One such passed so close that I had to stop short. A woman with a bucket of water drawn
from a nearby public well ran up on my heels, her burden threatening to inundate us both. I
turned, half-expecting her to launch a verbal attack on me for my clumsy stupidity. Instead, her
face was white as new washed linen and her eyes wide and frightened.
"What's amiss, goodwife?" I asked her.
"Have you not heard the news, lad?"
"Nay. I've heard nothing."
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She set down her bucket and began to dry her hands on her apron, then leaned toward me
with that air of satisfaction that comes of enlightening the ignorant. I missed the first half of her
words for just then more mounted troops clattered past.
"….a plot."
"Plot?"
"Aye! Against our Queen!"
An anxious feeling attacked my throat. After all, I had come all this way hoping to see
my aunt and if possible, the Queen herself.
"What's this plot? Has the Queen come to any harm?"
"Nay, she is well, and at home in Greenwich."
"So, what's happened?"
"The Queen's men have arrested hundreds they say. Jesuits and such like, all planning to
kill the Queen. And they say the trail leads back to Scots' Mary." The last she spoke in a
whisper, as if fearful some agents, whether our queen's or those of the imprisoned Scots Queen,
might overhear her words and snatch her away forth with.
"But the Queen of Scots is safely tucked away in Chartley Castle, or so I have heard."
We'd passed not far from there on our way south, weeks before reaching London. Jack
had pointed out the track leading to it.
Then, I recalled, he'd disappeared for several days, as he so often did. Same as now.
The anxiety drained from my throat and tightened my breast. I turned and walked away
from my gossip without another word, weaving through the busy streets to find our inn, the
handbills forgotten. I needed to think.
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For weeks I'd thought the Captain's activities suspicious. I'd suspected, nay feared, some
intrigue, perhaps the perilous politics of religion had ensnared him.
Now, the news of a dire plot and the Captain was again mysteriously absent.
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Chapter Four
Days passed without a sign of Jack. To say our performances became lackluster would
be an understatement. Eventually, they devolved into something that was little more than our
closing jig, fueled by ale and the general anxiety in the folk who were our customers.
Wild tales circulated; some worse than others. We heard more than once that the Queen
had been taken and the Papists had her imprisoned in the tower. Then we heard she had fled the
capital and was running for her life in the wilds of Cornwall.
Eventually, it became clear the Queen had remained in her favorite residence, the palace
of Greenwich, and from there she and her councilors directed affairs so decisively that the
culprits in what had come to be known as the Babington plot were tried and sentenced to death
within weeks of their discovery.
Details of the plot became general knowledge. The names Babington and Ballard came
up in every conversation. As did that of the Queen of Scotland, who was deeply implicated in
the matter by her own letters. The populace became divided deeply between those who felt
sympathy for the captive queen and those who felt her treasonous actions had put her beyond the
pale.
One vocal, if relatively small faction cried out for her head, preferably posted on the
pikes along London Bridge.
Most of the members of our troupe seemed only vaguely aware of the furor surrounding
them. Even Chas, who loved gossip, spoke seldom of the matter, except to sigh every now and
again and speak of the Captain.
"'Twould set my mind at ease if Jack were here, safe and sound."
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But mostly she seemed concerned only with Master Will. The two of them sat in the
tavern until late in the evenings, most companionable in their attitudes toward one another.
Master Will, alone of all of us, took the political news most to heart. I overheard him
speaking of it to Chas.
"Poor lady! All alone without the comfort of her son and relatives."
The poor lady to whom he referred I deduced was Queen Mary of the Scots and not our
own sovereign lady whose life the Scots queen's plotting had imperiled.
"Shush!" Chas told him. "Do not speak of such things!"
Even the simple seamstress knew troublesome speech when she heard it.
So, I was not much surprised when Master Will announced he wished to attend the
executions of the traitors.
"'Tis history in the making," he told us. "Mistress Chastity, will you do me the honor of
attending the event with me?"
"Oh, aye," she exclaimed. "That sounds lovely."
A lovely chance to be alone with Master Will away from the watchful eyes of those who
knew Jack, I thought.
"Pray, take me with you. I have never seen a hanging."
"I don't think it's fitting for such a young lad..." Chas began to protest, but Master Will
broke in.
"Of course you should go. Official murder is quite a spectacle."
I hoped he would cease such inflammatory comments when we were outside the confines
of the inn, else he might join the traitors' fate. And, endanger those around him.
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172
But I was determined to prevent a more immediate treason, for Chas seemed bound and
determined to betray Jack with the playwright.
"Thank you, Master Will. I should like very much to go and see it."
*
The morning of the executions, Chas rousted me out of my warm nest in the back of the
wagon. With autumn coming on, the nights grew more chill and the mornings more difficult to
face. Sitting up, I groaned and complained like an old beldame; then I saw Chas' eager
expression and recalled the reason she had me up before cock's crow.
Babington and his co-conspirators were to be executed, and I had persuaded Master Will
to allow me to tag along to view the spectacle.
Now, with the event hard upon us, I wondered if I'd made a mistake in judgment. Having
never before witnessed an execution, I could only imagine the horror of it.
But Chas bore watching, and I owed Jack for taking me in. I could always close my eyes,
I told myself.
"Chas," I asked her a little later as we put the horse to harness, "why must we take the
wagon? It seems to me travel by foot might be easier."
"Aye," Chas agreed. "But there will be a crowd – too big for us to see over their heads."
When we'd finished with the horse, Chas hurried me into the wagon.
"They'll bring the traitors up from the Tower and take them to Tyburn Tree on hurdles,"
Chas told me as she deftly maneuvered the horse through narrow streets which seemed more
densely crowded than normal.
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"Tyburn Tree?"
"Aye, the hanging place," Chas said. "No tree to be seen thereabouts, alas, unless you
take account of the gallows." She chuckled, amused by her own wit. "In my mother's day, they
burned them. Right here at Smithfield."
Just then a familiar voice hailed us, and Chas drew the horse to a standstill.
"Well met, Mistress Chastity, Master Francis," exclaimed Master Will Shakespeare,
placing his hand on the side of our wagon. "Let us be off to the execution."
The streets were very busy. I soon forgot my resentment of Master Will and began to
appreciate his presence. The crowd was growing worse by the minute and something about it
felt more ominous. A male escort might better ensure our safety.
Master Will clambered into the wagon and took the reins in a gentlemanly gesture. I
moved farther back, allowing the couple space; I had no wish to eavesdrop upon their usual
insipid conversation.
I found myself pining for Jack and wondering when he would return. He'd now been
gone away from us for the better part of two fortnights. I feared the worst, but Chas appeared
remarkably unconcerned. Master Will seemed to have replaced the Captain in a number of
ways, not the least of which was in his mistress' affections.
I might have left the troupe, had I elsewhere to go, but we were paid up at the inn until
then end of that month. I tried not to think about what I must do should that time pass without
the Captain's return.
Just once, fearing such a circumstance, I had talked Chas into a day trip by riverboat to
the Queen's residence at Greenwich. I had hoped to determine how I might get in to the palace to
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find my aunt, but the ranks of troupes surrounding the place seemed impenetrable. With the plot
against the Queen's very life having come to light, her people were understandably cautious.
We worked our way west through the crowded streets, our pace picking up as the swell of
the crowd bore us along. I muttered a silent word of thanks to Chas for her forethought in taking
the wagon. Otherwise, those throngs of people well might have swallowed us up.
At last, Chas halted the wagon and pointed. I had to stand and follow the direction of her
gesture to see our destination.
The scaffold. I had not expected to see such an imposing structure. It loomed above the
crowd, a kind of hulking, rectangular construction with beams supported by three uprights along
its corners, like a winter-bare tree with three trunks. Along its upper beam a number of white
ropes hung, all of them with loops at the bottom. The nooses, I realized, laid out for the viewing
pleasure of the seething crowd.
"God's teeth," I swore, borrowing one of Jack's favorite oaths. "'Tis stouter built than
most houses."
"Aye," Master Will replied. "The gallows-maker builds stronger than the carpenter, for
that frame outlives a thousand tenants."
A thousand. I hoped not. "I heard no more than eight were to swing today."
"Seven," he corrected me. "Ballard, Babington and five more."
We waited a bit and the crowd grew in size and restlessness, until I could feel the wagon
being jostled about. Then, not too far away, a roaring and shouting arose, signalling the
approach of the condemned.
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Men-at-arms in the queen's livery moved through the crowd, clearing the way with pikes
and clubs. Then, I saw the men bound to wooden carts which were dragged along behind horses.
The carts made a dreadful clatter on the cobblestones of the street. Several finely dressed
gentlemen paced alongside the carts, passing so close to our wagon I might have reached out to
caress the soft fur lining the hoods of their gowns.
The condemned were taken from the carts and dragged up onto the gallows. I noticed
their garb rivaled that of the officials who had accompanied them. In fact, they were decked out
like courtiers rather than men come up from the dank pits of the Tower.
"They look very fine!" Chas remarked. "Mayhap they will make a good death."
A good death? I was prompted to ask her what she meant when my attention was
distracted by one of the men on the gallows. Tall, but very slight of frame, he appeared no more
than a boy. He wore a blackberry-colored velvet doublet with a high white ruff. His sleeves,
themselves of the same blackberry velvet as his doublet, were slit to display the fine white linen
of his shirt.
Another man had mounted the gallows, this one in black doublet and hose – I took him
for the executioner. He wore a black hood over his face, obscuring his features. He moved along
the line of prisoners until he reached the first, blackberry boy's immediate neighbor.
I had paid this man little heed, for he wore the hood of his clerical gown pulled over his
head so that it shadowed his face. The executioner jerked the hood back to reveal the man's
features. An involuntary gasp rose in my throat. That face, long and melancholy belonged to
Samuel, the monk-like man with whom Jack and I had taken refuge more than two months since.
"Ballard!"
"Jesuit bastard!"
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Catcalls arose from the spectators.
"Who is that man?" I asked Master Will.
"'Tis Ballard, John Ballard," he told me, but this enlightened me only a little.
"And what is he supposed to have done?"
"He's the leader of the Papist plot to murder our Queen," he said. "Where have you been,
lad, that you have not heard of it?"
Of course I had heard of it. Indeed, 'twas the talk of the town. But never had I connected
those words – Papist plot, murder - with Samuel, the gentle benefactor with whom Jack and I had
taken refuge on that dreadful rainy night so many weeks ago.
I watched as the executioner put his hands on the man I'd known as Samuel and pulled
one of the white nooses over his head. Samuel did not flinch; rather he stood square-shouldered,
only his head bowed. His lips moved, and I wondered if he prayed.
In sudden cowardice, I could not look. Sitting myself down in the bottom of the wagon
so that its high wooden sides shielded my eyes from the spectacle, I said my own prayer. I'd not
said one since my mother's funeral and had found it of little comfort then. But I imagined it to be
what Samuel would have wanted me to do, and so in the face of his kindness to two wayfarers in
the night, I prayed.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I waited. The crowd roared. Oddly, the smell of meat on a spit
came to me, and I wondered if food were being hawked to the onlookers. How could one think
of eating at such a time?
"That's it, then," I heard Chas shout after what seemed an hour, but must have been no
more than minutes. "Ready for the next one."
Curiosity got the better of me.
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I sat up, dreading to see Samuel hanging on the scaffold but the great beam held no one,
and I could see no sign of him. The body had been removed from sight, I supposed.
Then, the executioner caught my attention. He came up behind the boy in blackberry
colored garb, drew a blade, and cut the ruff from around the boy's neck. The ruff fell to the
ground beneath the gallows. I could estimate the price of its loss to him by the stricken look on
the boy's face.
"Why won't they let him keep his ruff?" I asked Chas.
"Rope won't fit," she answered.
I saw that to be the case for by now the man in black, the executioner, led the blackberry
boy into position and began fastening a length of clean white rope about his neck. High above,
the rope ended in a knot around the top of the scaffold.
Chas pointed out the trap doors beneath his feet.
"The hangman will drop the doors soon," she told me. "Then we'll see the traitor hang."
I'd hope to have some warning, but the moment came without any. One moment the
blackberry boy stood, erect but with a quiver to his lower lip; the next he hung so that the lower
half of his body disappeared through the trap door. The other condemned men stood by, their
faces contorted in horror. The executioner meant to do them one at a time.
I heard a scream nearby, and then realized it came from my own throat. Whether the
hanged boy uttered a sound I could not tell for the crowd screamed along with me,
overwhelming any utterances he might have made.
"God's teeth!" Master Will's strong voice rang through the din. "They neglected to let
him have his say!" I'd not realized the condemned were expected to make a parting speech for
the edification of onlookers. It seemed a dreadful thing to me.
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Then came worse. The boy had hung there on the gallows for only a brief time, too brief
a time, surely. But the executioner cut him down. Cradling the boy's limp body in his arms, the
executioner clambered back up onto the gallows. I'd not noticed the boards across sawhorses
atop the gallows which formed a rough table until now, and that is where the executioner laid
blackberry boy. I saw his head lolling back and his fair hair flowing down to the rough floor of
the scaffold. Then, as if I stood just beside him, I saw the boy's eyelids move.
He was not dead.
"He's alive!" I cried out. "Look! He moves."
I heard similar cries from around me, but the men on the gallows, intent upon their work,
appeared not to notice.
For it began to dawn upon me in those awful moments that the executioner was not yet
done with blackberry boy.
"Babington's in for it," I heard Chas say, and she did not sound alarmed by the prospect.
Some men brought a brazier and a black cloth bag to the executioner. He placed the bag's
contents into the brazier's glowing coals. The implements soon took on a glow of their own —
— knives and pinchers much like surgeon's tools, but meant to harm rather than heal human
flesh.
I willed myself to close my eyes, but my eyelids would not obey me. Chas and Master
Will leaned closer to better view the executioner as he set about his grisly work. He withdrew a
long curved blade, smoking and white with heat from the coals, and turned to blackberry boy.
"God 'a mercy!"
Whether I said the words aloud or not, I do not know because as I felt the words on my
lips, blackberry boy screamed, and the crowd went mad.
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A wave of humanity surged over our wagon and swept me to the ground. I felt the crush
of feet on my back, pressing me to the cobblestones. The wagon stood less than an arm's length
away, and I scuttled beneath it for a moment's respite.
All the while, over the roar of the crowd, I could hear a shrill keening sound.
I rose to my hands and knees and peered out from beneath the wagon. Soldiers had
pushed the crowd back somewhat, and I found myself looking at the empty area beneath the
gallows. Or very nearly empty, I should say. I could see two girls, about my own age, scuffling
over the fine white ruff the executioner had cut from Babington's throat.
Only it was now soiled and trampled and the gore dripping through the planks of the
gallows floor had stained it red.
My gorge rising in my throat, I turned and exited the other side of the wagon. Two arms,
strong as iron bands, came around me just as I stood to hoist myself back into it.
"Nay!" a voice said, so close to my ear I could feel the speaker's hot breath. "Come with
me."
"Jack!"
Without acknowledging my cry of relief, he pushed me back toward the far perimeter of
the crowd of frenzied people. His grasp on me did not relax, even as we emerged into a
relatively quiet area.
Instead, Jack shook me as if I were a rag poppet, so hard my teeth rattled together.
"God's teeth!" he swore, color rising in his face. "What did you think you were about?
Or did you think at all?"
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"Ca-a-aptain!" I wanted to tell him the idea had not been mine at all, but he seemed
beyond listening. Finally he let up shaking me, put his hand round my upper arm so tightly it
hurt, and steered me away from the crowd.
Some carriages stood there, finer vehicles even than the one my mother had owned, and I
could see folk sitting in them watching the spectacle of the gallows from a vantage more genteel
than Chas' rough wagon.
Jack saw them too. "Bloody vultures!" he snapped, still dragging me along.
We had to stop when the inhabitants of one of the carriages spilled out directly in front of
us, a girl and an older man, both courtiers by their dress. The girl sobbed and screamed, and the
man struggled to get her back into the carriage. Then he happened to glance at us and a look of
recognition came into his eyes.
I recognized him in that brief moment, too. It was Lord Durant and his silly wife, her
pretty face reddened and distorted by furious sobs.
The high, keening sound came again from the direction of the gallows, and Lady Durant
screamed in answer, her voice hoarse with weeping.
Babington was not yet dead. I shuddered as I identified the source of that inhuman cry.
Then Lord Durant turned away from us and pushed his wife back up into the carriage
much as Jack's unrelenting grip steered me into a narrow alleyway.
I glanced up at Jack's face. Anger still evidenced itself in the set of his jaw. Suppose he
was so angry he evicted me from his troupe of players?
I had meant to leave them when we arrived in London, but seeing my stepfather had put
an end to that idea. Now, I needed to see the Queen.
If only we could get a playhouse. I had to placate Jack so he'd keep me on.
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"It was Master Will's idea," I told him.
Jack started, almost as if he'd forgotten my presence in spike of his grip on me.
"What?"
"Master Will and Chas. They wanted to come to see the execution and insisted I come,
too."
"Tis no place for decent folk, Frank" Jack said. "The vultures come out to gawp at the
blood. 'Tis no more than a play to them."
"What about Lord Durant and his wife? Even the gentry came to watch."
"Lord Durant's wife is poor Babington's sister," Jack retorted. "Are you telling me you
enjoyed watching?"
"Nay. It was disgusting."
"There, now. You have made my point for me."
"I'm sorry," I told him, attempting to mollify him further. Anything to stay in the troupe.
"I only hope Will has the sense to rescue my wagon."
His voice sounded less angry, so I ventured some questions that nagged me.
"How did you find us in that mob, Captain? And where have you been? Chas fretted
about you the whole time you were gone."
The last bit was a fabrication; Chas had expressed no concern about Jack's whereabouts
in the preceding days, but I thought he might answer the question if I put her name to it.
Instead of answering my questions, he changed the subject.
"Get yourself back to the inn," he told me. "I will collect Master Shakespeare and
Mistress Chastity. We have no time to lose."
"No time to lose?"
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182
"Aye. Tonight we perform for the queen!"
*
At the Lamb I found the men all a-bustle. The Captain had given them the news and they
were running about preparing themselves for the performance.
"Which will it be?" I asked Tom. "Helen, I hope."
He snorted at me. "You just want the Queen's eye! Drop your skirt again, give 'er a look
at your bum – that'll do it."
The very thought made my stomach hurt. I had to devise a plan to get to the Queen, but
making a fool of myself did not seem the wisest of plans for achieving this goal.
Presently, Captain Jack strode into the innyard, Chas and Master Will not far behind him,
and began shouting orders.
We would not need the stage, but everything else we packed into the wagon, excitement
speeding our hands. Even Jack displayed signs of tension, keeping a sharp eye on the troupe's
every movement and issuing commands for tasks already done or well underway.
"The Queen is at Greenwich – we shall have to travel by river."
The streets were still packed with people streaming away from Babington's hanging. The
Captain rode ahead of our wagon, pushing his stallion through the throngs of humanity. The
opening provided sped our way somewhat, but it was still very slow going, in spite of the
Captain's curses uttered in his booming stage voice at those slow to remove themselves from his
horse's path.
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Eventually, we reached the river. Jack had a boat waiting there for us, more of a barge,
really, with two boatmen, one in front and the other in the back. Our troupe clambered aboard,
all the while casting wary eyes at the filthy river water lapping against the sides of the boat. I
doubt a single one of us knew how to swim. Considering all the sewage of the great city
eventually made its way down into the river, even a good swimmer would not have had an easy
time of it.
"It stinks!" I commented. I'd grown used to powerful odors in my time on the road,
especially since arriving in London, but this topped them all.
"'Tis a ripe old stew," Chas agreed, covering her mouth and nose with the hem of her
skirt.
I did not have the luxury, since I wore my boys' suit and my gown was packed in a cloth
bag along with the rest of our costumes.
The trip to Greenwich lasted several hours and passed beyond the environs of the City
and into beautiful countryside. We all gazed at it, our enchantment enhanced by our excitement
at the royal summons. Shakespeare even took to scribbling on a bit of paper he always carried
with him, and I imagined the moment had inspired his poetic sensibilities.
"We are to perform the Trojan play," the Captain informed us.
Master Will left off his scribbling. "Not the Henry VI?"
"Nay," the Captain said. "I was told the Queen wished for a diversion. Reports from the
executions left her distraught. And, as I recall, there were some inflammatory lines, last time I
heard it performed."
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Master Will looked distraught. The Henry VI was his major contribution to our
repertoire, and although it lacked the dramatic flare of Captain Jack's Trojan play, he was right to
be proud of it as a reflection of his skills as a poet, even if it did result in tossed vegetables.
At Greenwich, where an imposing brick structure I took to be the palace overlooked a
quay large enough to service several rivercraft at once, we exited our boat as clumsily as we
boarded.
"Ware!" Chas shrieked when Tom and Sully both slipped on the wet and slimy boards of
the quay's decking and nearly pitched headlong into the smelly river. "Mind those bundles!"
By some miracle, everyone kept their footing, and we at last made it onto solid land.
None too soon for me it was for my stomach felt very queasy, the result of the rolling motion of
the river and its disgusting aroma. Similarly affected, Master Will turned aside and emptied the
remains of his lunch into a ditch on the side of the street.
"I hope we can return afoot," I told Chas. "If I never see another boat it will be too soon."
"Jack's careful with his finances," she said. "But it's a long walk, likely late at night. I
prefer the river."
Several flights of stairs led upward from the quay to the gates of the palace. The troupe
trudged wearily upwards until we reached these gates, curiously undermanned considering the
recent plots against the Queen's life. Only a couple of pikemen, dozing in the late afternoon sun,
stood guard, and a sergeant, only marginally more lively than the pikemen, waved us through
with little more than a cursory inspection of Chas' bundle. And I suspected that had more to do
with Chas' ample bosom than what she carried in her hands.
Walking totally unheeded beside her, I voiced my suspicions.
"Chas, does it never tire you that men ogle you so much?"
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"Nay," she said. "A little attention does a girl good."
I might have answered that not all attention was good, but I had to focus on making my
way through the crowded courtyards. We followed Jack's tall, black shape and had to trot to
keep up with him as his legs were long, and he carried no bundle to hamper him.
Presently we reached a small door set in an alcove at the back of one of these courtyards.
Here, the guards looked much more alert, but Jack merely nodded at them, and they let us pass. It
seemed we were expected.
The hallway behind the door was very dark and windowless. The Captain stepped ahead
with confidence and led us through a winding labyrinth of hallways and rooms that opened into
more rooms, all leading down into the bowels of the palace. Within fifty paces I was hopelessly
lost.
The hallways and rooms were not what one might expect of a royal palace - one of the
grandest in the country at that. The halls stank of urine and worse. I was to later find out that
there were so many people crowded into the palace with the Queen in residence that the nearly
non-existent sanitary facilities were soon overwhelmed, and both men and women took to
relieving themselves in any dark corner.
Indeed, the Queen never stayed in one place for long for fear of contagion; she moved
constantly from one palace to another, leaving behind the contaminated ones behind to be
scrubbed and washed clean of the court's accumulated filth. Ever stingy with her coin, she loved
to go on progress throughout the countryside, dallying here and there at the manors and castles of
her wealthier subjects, leaving them far less wealthy in her wake and her own pocket little
lighter.
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"Phaw!" Master Will exclaimed at one point as we passed through a particularly filthy
hallway. "'Tis a hell-pit in here!"
"Greenwich is the Queen's favorite palace," Jack told him. "but 'tis showing the signs of
an overlong stay. With treason in the air, the only place safer for her to reside might be the
Tower. But Her Majesty has ill memories of the Tower."
I started to ask him about that; then I recalled the young Elizabeth had been held prisoner
in the Tower by her bloody older sister. Then we passed into a chamber slightly better appointed
than the previous ones, and I turned my attention elsewhere.
This room actually held a bit of furniture – several side tables and a bench or two, the
first seating I'd seen thus far. A man was there waiting for us.
"Ah, Captain," he exclaimed. "Here you are at last. You must hurry. The Queen has
requested your performance as soon as she has finished her supper."
He left us and the men began to unpack their bundles and put on the bits and pieces that
made up their costumes. Only the Captain and I had what might be considered a complete
costume, the Captain with a fine suit of nearly new black velvet and my own peacock blue gown.
I helped Chas with her minor repairs, taking a moment to whisper in her ear so that the
others might not overhear.
"I want to wear the gown over my own skin. Not this shirt and hose."
She nodded understanding, and when the men were all dressed to her satisfaction, she
shooed them from the room.
"I have a surprise," was all she told them.
The room empty except for us two, she turned to me, arms akimbo.
"So, the game is up."
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"Aye," I answered. "I've waited patiently for this chance to see the Queen. Likely, it will
be my only chance."
She helped me strip off the suit of boy's clothes. Lately, I'd taken to binding my chest
with strips of cloth. The flat bosom that was my mother's despair had begun to blossom. I
removed these and found I did the gown's bodice justice. Chas also took some pains with my
hair, which I normally wore slicked down against my head to give me a more masculine look.
"Tis nearly to your shoulders, Frances," she said. "And such a lovely color."
"Red," I said in disgust. "Who wants red hair?"
"The Queen is a redhead," she told me. "I've never seen her, but I hear 'tis red as hot
coals."
I liked that. At least the Queen and I had something in common. Perhaps she would look
upon me with some approval because of that.
"Here, lass. I have something for you."
From her bundle, Chas carefully removed something wrapped in fine white linen. She
unwound the linen to reveal a lace ruff such as fine ladies wore to court. I'd never had one of my
own; such luxuries were rare in the North country, and my stepfather too penurious to shed coin
on such fripperies for the ladies of his household.
I took it from her as reverently as if it were a crown, then Chas had to take it back from
me to attach it to the peacock gown's bodice, where points were worked into the silken fabric to
fasten just such a ruff.
"Where did you get this, Chas," I whispered, overcome by her generosity and wishing I
could find a mirror.
"Jack bought it for me, ever so long ago. But I think I'd look foolish in it."
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Then she turned me around for one long, last look.
"But you," she said. "You will rival the Queen herself."
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189
Chapter Five
Captain Jack's Men did not get their promised surprise, at least not right away.
"Chas, lend me your black shawl," I asked just before opening the door.
"Aye."
She handed it to me, a thick knitted shawl that I wrapped around my head and shoulders
to disguise my new, more feminine look.
The players lounged about in the hall outside the door and paid me no heed. The
Captain, whose sharp eye I most feared, looked us over with only a cursory glance, his mind on
other matters.
Once more the Captain led the way through the palace. This time our progress took us
through a series of rooms which opened into other rooms, each a little more well-appointed than
the last. There began to be people in these rooms, standing and sitting in various attitudes of
expectancy. I noticed the appearance of these folk improved with the quality of the rooms.
Chas took my hand, and I noticed her hand was ice cold and trembling.
"So many people…"
I'd seen Chas stride with confidence through throngs of humanity in the London streets.
Here, out of her element, these court hangers-on intimidated her.
"Just waiting to see the Queen. Like us!" I assured her.
We passed through one lovely room populated with particularly plainly-dressed ladies
and gentlemen. It occurred to me that my stepfather might be among them, for their garb had the
sober cut of those with Puritan leanings.
I pulled the black shawl more closely about my face.
Jack of Hearts
Presently, we reached an elegant antechamber crowded with courtiers splendid in satins
and silks. Although not large, the room glistened like a jewel box, mostly as a reflection of its
inhabitants, although the furniture here seemed very fine in comparison to that in the rest of the
palace, and mirrors, the largest I'd ever seen lined the walls.
Several hard-faced men-at-arms in the Queen's livery, nothing like the lackadaisical
pikemen outside the palace, stood guard in front of a small door set into the far side of the room.
They spied us immediately, and one opened the door for the space of perhaps two hands to speak
to someone just inside the next room.
The jumble of courtiers in our anteroom all drew closer to the door as if they might slip
through to the other side, but the soldiers snapped to attention. The crowd subsided in
disappointment as the guardian at the open door motioned towards the Captain.
Jack glanced back over his shoulder at us with a broad smile, teeth white against his
swarthy skin and black beard. I felt I would follow that smile into the midst of any danger, even
the presence of a Queen who that very day had ordered seven men to be hanged, drawn and
quartered. Jack had that effect on all of us.
A courtier, gorgeously clad in velvet and cloth of gold, awaited us within. With a few
graceful gestures such as holding a jewel-encrusted gloved finger to his lips and sketching a bow,
he indicated the proper manner for approaching the Queen. I could not have spoken if I had
tried, however, for the splendor of the Queen's reception chamber had me gawping like the green
bumpkin lad I pretended to be.
Master Will directly behind me muttered something beneath his breath; if things went
badly and I found myself back with the troupe after this performance I made a note to myself to
ask him what he'd said. Master Will often had apropos observations for such occasions.
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The courtier urged us forward like a hen with her flock of chicks. Then with sharp
gestures he indicated that we should stop and make our obeisances. Jack, just ahead of me,
made a leg as elegant as any courtier, and I sank into a deep curtsey.
I dared not look at the Queen directly and kept my shawl pulled close around my face.
She had a very sharp wit, I'd heard, and I imagined her eyes would be just as sharp.
"Captain Jack's Men performing 'Helen of Troy'," our over-dressed escort announced in a
stentorian voice.
The soft sounds of gloved hands clapping followed, and my curiosity led me to peek from
the edge of my shawl to see who might be our audience.
I had imagined the presence chamber would be very large; instead only a charitable
observer might deem it "cozy." Courtiers, both ladies and gentlemen, lined the walls thick as salt
fish in a barrel. In the crowd I could not identify any of them as my stepfather, but my heart,
beating in great lurching thuds within my breast told me he had to be there. I knew him too well
to believe otherwise.
At the far end of the oblong-shaped room sat the Queen on a small, straight-backed chair.
I knew her for her red hair and fabulous jewel-encrusted gown. Arrayed around her on floor
cushions were her ladies, clad in every shade of white, their looking in their flaring pale skirts
like a flock of elegant moths. I spied my aunt among them by her blazing red hair which rivaled
the Queen's own fiery locks.
She was looking in my direction so I ducked my head back beneath my shawl just as Jack
began to beat his tambourine and recite the opening lines of the play.
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After that everything flew past in a swirl. I recall Jack's voice and Master Wills', but if I
responded with the appropriate lines, I know not. I could see Jack glaring at my shawl, but I
took no heed of his disapproval.
Then it was over. We all bowed low again. My heart in my throat, I made my move.
Dropping my shawl, I scuttled forward and fell to my knees directly before the Queen. A
collective gasp arose around me, and I heard the whisper of steel. Courtiers were not allowed to
bear weapons into the Queen's presence, but this stricture did not hold for her guards. I recalled
the hard-eyed men-at-arms outside her presence chamber and felt the flesh between my shoulder
blades tingle in anticipation.
Nevertheless, this moment meant life and death for me in more ways than one, and I
continued to execute my plan.
"Madame," I addressed the Queen, looking her full in the face, "I beseech thee. Aid me in
my time of distress."
To her credit, the Queen did not flinch back from this sudden assault, but sat regarding
me, brows raised in a quizzical look.
"Frances!" My aunt rose to her feet, shouting my name. At the same moment, a man's
voice roared to my left and something hit me hard enough to send me flat on my back, gasping
for breath.
"Thou ungrateful wench!" My stepfather, his face so close to mine that I felt the spittle
flying from his lips, stooped over me, having slammed me to the floor. His complexion was
livid, and the incongruous thought passed through my head that he might expire of an apoplexy
before he could kill me.
It seemed my only hope at that moment.
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Then I heard once again the snick of a steel blade. My stepfather disappeared from my
distressed gaze, and I discovered I could sit up. As for my stepfather, Jack held him at bay, the
point of his sword – a sword allowed into the room only because it was necessary to the
performance - pressed to those fat jowls I so despised. Then the room erupted in turmoil as the
courtiers came to life, shouting and pushing in a frantic exodus from the chamber. The Queen's
ladies shrieked and flapped their arms, more moth-like than ever. Only a few courtiers, the
Queen's most faithful, stayed behind, watching and waiting in the case their services were
needed to rescue their sovereign.
I hunkered down at the Queen's feet. Her guards held back the chaos, providing us
shelter from the storm. Eventually, I dared cast a glance up at her.
She returned my look with a mischievous smile and a twinkle in her black eyes.
The Queen's gaze shifted to take in the melee in her reception chamber.
"Enough!"
The single command, spoken clearly but not shouted, had enough weight behind it to
paralyze every living soul in that room, freezing them in their footsteps.
Elizabeth rose slowly to her feet. She placed her hand upon my head ensuring that I
would hold my position. I did not have the courage to look back over my shoulder at the room
full of curious onlookers anyway, but I could feel their stares against my back.
"This child has come to me to beg aid in some distress," the Queen said. "Who here is an
interested party in this situation?"
For a long space no one made a sound, then my aunt Lilith spoke.
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"Your Grace, this is my niece, Frances, my late sister's child," she said, stepping forward
a bit from the Queen's ladies. "The gentleman at the tip of that player's sword is my brother-inlaw, Sir Thomas Skipwith. I fear I am at a loss as to why they are here."
"Sir Thomas, perhaps you may shed some light on the matter for us?"
I heard my stepfather clear his throat as he prepared a plausible lie for the Queen.
"The girl is a runaway, pure and simple," he managed, his voice understandably shaky
due to the proximity of Jack's sword. "I've followed her all this way to return her to her rightful
home with those who love her. I can think of no good reason why she should have deserted us,
unless, mayhap, these men took her against her will." He managed something of an injured tone
with the last of his words.
"Liar!" I twisted my body around so that I could confront him. "You care for nothing
save my mother's fortune. You even sought to marry me to that imbecilic son of yours to secure
it."
Then I leveled my most damning accusation. "I vow you caused my mother's death for
her estates and my brother's too."
A feather might have dropped to the floor with an audible sound in the silence that
followed my outburst. Then the Queen ended it.
"Everyone out," she ordered. "Save for Sir Thomas, Mistress Marsdon, Sir John and this
child." She looked at me once more and this time her eyes wore a serious expression.
The Queen's guards quickly cleared the room, then quitted it themselves, shutting the
doors behind them.
The Queen went directly to the point. "So, Sir Thomas, you say this is the child of your
late lady wife."
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"I do."
"And what is this about a fortune? And a marriage?"
"I know naught about any marriage, but the girl does have a considerable sum coming to
her."
"How so? Should you not have control of your wife's estate?"
"An inheritance gift from her paternal uncle, I believe," my Aunt Lilith supplied. "Lord
Ratcliffe."
"So, Sir Edward, the child has no blood relative living, besides Mistress Marsdon? And is
heir to a considerable estate?"
"Aye, your Grace," my stepfather said.
"Are you not aware, Sir Thomas, that orphans with property of any size are subject to
become wards of the crown?"
"Nay, your Grace. Her domicile has been with me, in her mother's home."
"And you, Sir John," the Queen said, looking at Jack. "What is your part in this?"
Sir John? I was bewildered. The Queen spoke to the Captain as if she knew him, but
addressed him with a title unknown to me.
"Naught," Jack said. "Except he – she – came to us, dressed as a lad and begging to be
taken on as a player."
The Queen laughed, a sharp sound as bold as that of any man and clapped her gloved
hands together. "How delightful!" She exclaimed. "Walshingham's keenest disciple, taken in by
a bit of a girl."
Jack did not seem to see the humor. In fact, knowing his moods as I did, I could tell he
was fit to chew steel. But he held his composure in the face of the queen's derision.
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None of this made any sense to me. I made a promise to myself to talk it over with my aunt.
Then the Queen banished the two of us from her chamber, directing us to await her in her ladies'
quarters.
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197
Chapter Six
"Sweet Jesus, child, what can you have been thinking? Foolish, foolish girl!"
My aunt had hustled me through a small chamber crowded with the Queen's ladies and
into an even smaller room that qualified as little more than a closet. She closed the door behind
her with a decisive movement that nearly took the nose of the inquisitive lady hot on her heels.
Fortunately, she had paused long enough to snatch of a candle for the room had no
window. The candle flickered and cast weird shadows around us, and the fact that my aunt had
taken my shoulder and was shaking me only made it worse.
"Auntie Lili...." It was my childhood pet name for her, my mother's sister who had doted
on me as she had no offspring of her own. But in her agitation she appeared not to hear my
words.
"To come all this way, in the company of strange men! Did you not consider the
consequences before you embarked upon this fool's errand?"
"Aye, Auntie Lili, I did and...."
"Bah! I think not!"
In a high dudgeon, she continued to rail on at me for what seemed an interminable length
of time, allowing me to slip in no more than a word or two in my own defense. I waited
patiently for her to run out of words. After all I had waited for this day for months. A little more
time could elapse without causing me reason to fret, now I was safe.
"He killed my mother," I finally managed to say, forcefully enough so that she heard my
words through her agitation. "And I believe he had a hand in James's death, too."
Jack of Hearts
James, my beloved older brother. I'd had little enough time to mourn him after the riding
accident that sent him to his grave much too young before my mother met a similar fate. But the
accident that sent her down a long flight of stairs had not killed her outright.
She'd had time to tell me about the hand that had come out of the darkness and pushed
her down. A hand that had to belong to my stepfather for, besides my self, asleep and oblivious
in my own bed, he'd been the only other living soul in the house that night.
My mother, broken and battered had lingered for a fortnight, and at times roused enough
to speak to me. She never accused her husband directly, but she made her suspicions clear and
she voiced her suspicions about my brother's 'accident' as well.
"No one had a better seat on a horse than James," she said. "I cannot believe he fell as
Thomas says he did."
"Sir Thomas says the horse shied when a hare ran beneath its feet," I told her, trying to
comfort her fears. "'Twas an accident."
"Aye, so he says."
The physician came and brought potions to dose my mother and bled her often, but she
seemed weaker after each visit. Finally he spoke to my stepfather in the corridor outside her
bedchamber. I could not hear his words clearly, as I hid myself behind a nearby door, but I could
see his face through the crack between its hinges. He shook his head, his posture signaling an
attitude of defeat.
After that he came no more and within a day's time my mother slipped into a deep sleep
and then into death.
Forbidden by my sex to attend her funeral, I could only sit in the window seat in her little
parlor and pray for her poor soul.
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"Pray God she's together with Jemmie," I can recall repeating aloud, over and over again,
until exhaustion overcame me and I fell asleep there in the room where she had died.
Then came the morning and my stepfather waiting to tell me how things would change.
These things I related to my aunt, and by the shock I read in her expression, I could tell
she credited my words.
"My dear, my dear!" She took me in her arms and I could feel her body all atremble. I
thought for a moment I must cry having found safe haven at last, but my cheeks remained dry as
they had throughout my ordeal. Perhaps I could not bring myself to believe my danger had
ended.
And perhaps it had not, for my stepfather could be very persuasive when he wished.
What would I do if the Queen believed his story?
"Auntie, suppose the Queen says I must return home?" My face still pressed against the
warm comfort of her shoulder, I voiced my concern. Aunt Lilith answered with a wry laugh and
then an explanation.
"You have no fear of that, at least at the present," she told me. "As soon as the Queen
heard of your inheritance, it became hers. That fortune she will do with as she pleases. You are
only an inconsequential part of it."
She took her arms from around me. "That was why I said you have been foolish. The
Queen has many wards, all of them heirs to estates and fortunes. The occasional lucky one
might be bestowed upon a prospective spouse as a reward for services rendered to Her Majesty."
"Most, however, remain in a sort of limbo, neither free to do as they please nor to have
more than a token access to their rightful estate."
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She made it seem I had delivered myself into a fate scarcely better than marriage to my
half-wit stepbrother. As for myself, it had the appeal of safety and refuge.
"Far better the Queen's pawn than my stepfather's victim," I told my aunt.
We waited for a long while in the little room; then one of the Queen's ladies came.
"I am to inform you that Her Majesty has retired for the evening and says she will take up
your matter on the morrow."
With both relief and trepidation about my new circumstances, I followed my aunt to the
tiny cubbyhole she shared with several other women when they were not in attendance upon the
Queen. There Auntie Lilith prepared a pallet for me and helped me shed my gown, clicking her
tongue with disapproval over it.
"Praise God my sister is not here to see her only daughter arrayed as a strumpet." She
shared a thin nightgown with me from among her own linen, packed neatly in a trunk at the foot
of her cot. Her court gowns hung in a much larger trunk, tall enough so that it served as a sort of
makeshift clothes press. That trunk and those of the other ladies took up most of the available
floor space in the room, leaving very little for my pallet.
To reach it, I had to crawl over my aunt's cot and wedge myself between the cot and the
wall.
It seemed I no more than closed my eyes before someone shook me awake.
"Hsst! Tis time to wait upon the queen." I heard my aunt's whisper through a haze of
sleepiness and rose, rubbing my eyes.
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She shared from her wardrobe once again, this time a simple gown of black woolen cloth
much like the one she wore herself, in contrast to her white damask of the previous evening.
"We must be very quiet. Her Majesty is still sleeping," she instructed me as we wove our
way through the warren of narrow halls leading through the center of the palace, so narrow my
fingertips could brush the rich tapestries lining them without having to stretch my arms very far
apart.
Auntie Lilith carried a single rushlight to light our way. It flickered and smoked and sent
huge weird shadows moving against the tapestries so that the figures of courtiers and characters
from mythology woven into them seemed to come alive.
Two bleary-eyed gentlemen in rumpled but courtly garb stood at the door to the queen's
bedchamber, pallets at their feet indicating they had spent the night guarding their royal mistress.
Nodding at my aunt, they cast curious glances my way, but said nothing as I moved in the escort
of one of the queen's trusted ladies.
"Speak not to the courtiers, nor let them approach you in any way," my aunt hissed at me
as we passed through the door. "They will make sport of young girls, even under the queen's
eye. Even under threat of the tower both for man and maid, should Her Majesty hear of any such
dalliance."
The queen's chamber seemed little brighter than the narrow hallways without, for the
windows were heavily draped no candles were yet lit. My aunt's rushlight dimly revealed a
slight female figure at the chamber's single fireplace.
"Help Cecily get that fire lit," Auntie Lilith whispered, her nearly inaudible voice
reiterating the need for silence so as not to disturb the sleeping Queen. Her Majesty's monstrous
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bed, its curtains still drawn against the damp night air, stood not far from the fireplace, where the
aforementioned Cecily, a young, whey-faced girl with colorless eyes worked ineptly at her task.
Months on the road in all manner of conditions had taught me a good deal about building
a good hot fire. It had been one of my special chores. Cecily stood aside and looked on with
vague disinterest as I set to and soon had a roaring blaze going on the hearth.
No more had I stood up from my task when I heard the Queen rousing in her bed. There
came a sharp slap, followed by a squeak from within the curtained monstrosity; then the heavy
crimson damask parted to let a young girl slip out. Wearing only her nightshift, she ran barefoot
to the chamber door, opened it a mere crack and squeezed out of the room.
Wondering if the Queen habitually met the morning in such an ill temper, I stepped back
out of the way as her ladies sprang into action.
One of them parted the bedcurtains and held out an arm which the Queen used to support
herself as she stepped down from the bed. Another lady threw a heavy velvet robe over her
shoulders and others rushed to help her behind a large embroidered screen which shielded her
privy from the rest of the room.
A scratch came at the door and one of the gentlemen without let the young girl who had
just a few moments before fled the chamber reenter it. She held in her hand a chased silver
tankard, which steamed in the morning chill and gave off an aroma of rich spices. Her hands
shook as she shivered from cold or fear of her mistress, and the tankard was rescued by my aunt
who carried it behind the screen.
Through all of this activity no one spoke, and I heard no sound from the Queen.
Everyone, except for me, knew the routine and went about her business with quiet efficiency. I
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imagined the Queen would have it no other way, for she had a reputation for attention to detail
and an exacting nature.
Trays of food were brought into the chamber by one of the gentlemen, who took a tiny
silver spoon and made a great show of tasting everything. The food's aroma set my stomach to
growling, reminding me I had not eaten since the morning before, the gruesome executions and
the hustle of preparation for our royal performance had put me off all thought of food.
One might imagine a queen's meals would consist of splendid examples of the culinary
arts, but from what I witnessed, our lady monarch preferred a simple diet. She broke her fast on
new baked bread with fresh butter and a tankard of warm spiced ale. There was also a variety of
savory and sweet cheeses.
The queen ate very little. I wondered if she worried about her figure, as she was of an
age when women so often put on flesh. But when her bed robe was removed by the ladies who
began to dress her, I saw a thin, frail-looking old person with short, wispy white hair. I had
difficulty making out the regal presence of the previous evening with this elderly lady.
She stood before a window. Its heavy drapes were drawn back to reveal a lovely garden
outside. Morning light came in through the window, setting aglow the Queen's bedchamber.
She wore only a thin white silk shift with long sleeves.
Aunt Lily and I stood a little apart, and as the Queen's toilet progressed, she whispered to
me a little running commentary about it.
"Sometimes her Majesty has guests for the wardrobing, but lately she has become
somewhat self-conscious. Even a queen cannot defy time."
I saw the truth of Aunt Lily's words in the Queen's person, illuminated by the morning
sun. Even from some distance I could make out the smallpox scars on her face and limbs, a
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souvenir of the deadly disease that had nearly claimed her life more than a quarter century
before.
She stood quietly, reading from a tiny book as her ladies dressed her. Striped silk
stockings with embroidered clockes on the ankles were drawn onto her pale, bony legs, followed
by a corset, Spanish farthingale and bumroll. Next came a white taffeta kirtle and gold forepart,
black embroidered.
Up to this point, Queen seemed to pay no more heed to her ladies activities than might a
child's doll, but then a number of gowns were produced for the Queen's perusal. All of them
were black.
"Tis her Majesty's favorite hue this season," my aunt whispered.
After some consideration, she chose one of black and white, albeit this garment was
nothing like the plain dusky garb adopted by my step-father and his Puritan brethren.
Constructed of a thick silk damask ornamented with seed pearls, the fabric alone would have
infuriated those of the Puritan persuasion as would have the quantity of fine embroidery on the
bodice.
The sleeves alone were a wonder, and, since they were separate from the gown, were
laced onto the bodice by a lady on either side of the queen. Another lady had taken the queen's
book and held it so she could continue to read while the ladies used small hooks to pull tiny puffs
of white silk through slits in the black damask.
Once dressed, the Queen was ready to go about her business. Several of her ladies
escorted her to the door where she was met by her gentlemen – not the two I had seen there
earlier, but their replacements looking fresh and ready to attend their royal mistress.
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My aunt did not follow, so neither did I. Those of us who did stay behind set about
tidying up the Queen's bedchamber. I found a few moments to speak to Aunt Lilith as we were
no longer under the Queen's watchful eye.
"Aunt Lilith, what is the Queen doing this morning? Will she meet with my stepfather?"
"She is meeting with her counselors this morning. I am very sure she has far more
pressing concerns than you."
"But when will I know what is to become of me?"
"I told you that last night. Your foolish actions have put your life out of your control.
The Queen keeps her wards close, uses their fortunes for her own and sometimes bestows them
upon those she wishes to reward."
"And my stepfather?"
"Gone home, if he has any wits about him. We can make inquiries about him at
breakfast. Mayhap someone has spied him lurking about."
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Chapter Seven
I accompanied my aunt and a small group of the Queen's ladies down through the
labyrinthine depths of the palace to the kitchens. Along the way, my aunt pointed out various
landmarks of the palace so that I might find my way about. Nearing the kitchens, we passed the
great hall where the Queen took her public meals, which Aunt Lilith explained were great affairs
of state.
There were smaller rooms nearer the kitchens where the more lowly people of the palace
and even some of the lesser courtiers took their meals.
My aunt and the Queen's ladies made their way to one of these, already near its capacity
of raucous hungry people breaking their fasts. Men were somewhat segregated from women. I
scanned the rows of trestle tables of men, looking for the familiar dark shape of my step-father,
but I could not see him there.
And so I followed my aunt to a place at the table where several ladies sat. My aunt
introduced me to several of them and I made an effort to keep names and faces put together
properly. But I was so hungry I found myself distracted by the platters of bread and pitchers of
ale the table's occupants shared around freely.
Once I had sated my hunger, I felt restless. My aunt seemed inclined to linger with her
gossips, but my transition from wandering player to court hanger-on had come much too
abruptly. I wished to explore my new surroundings and think about my future. Surely it was not
so bleak as my aunt had intimated.
She paid me little heed when I rose from the table.
"Mind you do not lose yourself in the palace. "Tis a warren," she said, giving me a
distracted little wave.
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I knew she meant for me to return to the queen's privy quarters, but no more had I left the
dining hall when I was lost in the aforementioned warren of narrow passageways.
The passageways were very dark and twisted about, with many side passages. After
exploring aimlessly for a while, I began to take notice of how deserted they seemed. Most of the
court was either at breakfast or attending the queen. This deep within the palace there were very
few guards and those paid me no heed as I passed them by.
Nor did I ask them for direction, for I had no inclination to leave off reconnoitering my
new surroundings.
At least not until it occurred to me in one of the darkest stretches of hallway that I heard
the echo of footfalls somewhere behind me. I could see no one when I turned and looked back.
The hallway was twisting. Anyone might have been only a few paces behind me and I would not
have seen him. And the sound of footsteps ceased in the instant I stopped.
Moving forward, I once again caught the sound of what I took to be a booted foot on the
stone flooring – there being no rushes strewn to muffle any such noise – and even a slight clink
such as a spur worn on that boot might have made.
I have very keen hearing and an imagination to match. Several times I stopped, holding
my breath until my heartbeat pounded in my ears. No footsteps while I stood motionless.
My aunt had warned me of no dangers in the palace other than amorous courtiers, but this
raised the hairs at the back of my neck. I knew something stalked me in the darkness.
I could see only two alternatives to my situation, neither of them especially good.
Either I could run away from whoever lurked in the shadows behind me or I could and
charge headlong back in the direction from which I had come. In the first case, I might get clean
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away or I might run into a dead end and so be trapped. In the second, I might take my stalker by
surprise and get past him before he reacted.
Surely Aunt Lilith would have cautioned me against any lurking dangers in the palace, so
I decided upon the second course.
I walked forward a few paces to throw off my follower, and then caught up my skirts in
one hand, turned on my heel, and ran in the opposite direction as fast as the heels on my slippers
would let me.
A turn in the passageway and I flew headlong around it and straight into a pair of very
strong arms.
I struggled mightily and with as little effect as a mouse caught in a falcon's grasp. In fact,
the harder I fought the more securely it seemed I was held.
It came to mind at last that I should scream for help. This I did or at least I commenced
to doing so, but a gloved hand clamped over my mouth before I let out more than a preliminary
peep. I left off that effort and began kicking at my captor's legs with the hard points of the shoes
Aunt Lilith had loaned me.
The man thrust me against the wall – not too roughly – and held me at arm's length so
that I could look up and see his face in the dim glow of a rush light mounted away down the
passage.
It was Jack.
I gobbled something unintelligible against the muffling hand over my mouth, and he
gingerly removed it, placing one finger over his lips to indicate I should remain silent.
"Captain!" I shrieked, ignoring his cautionary gesture. "What's this? Unhand me!"
"Shhh!" he said. "No need to bring the guard down on us."
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"Why not? Why are you following me?"
"I wanted to catch you alone."
That did not bode well, so I drew in my breath to scream again. His hand went back over
my mouth.
"Listen to me, Frank. Or Frances. Or Lady what's your name. Be quiet. I just want to
speak with you. On a matter of some importance."
Not really fearing him, I nodded. After all, he'd never hurt me, aside from that night in
Lord Durant's stableyard when he had clouted me. But I was no more than a runaway 'prentice
lad to him then. Surely he would not hit a lady.
I glanced at his eyes, narrowed and yellow as an angry cat's.
Thinking I might be wrong, I began planning an escape should I need it. "That's better,"
he said, once more removing his hand.
Recalling something my brother had once quoted his old fencing master as saying, I
decided the best way to defend myself against whatever had him so riled was an offensive move.
"How dare you hunt me down and grab me like this!" I hissed at him.
"Good's teeth, girl, you lied to me!"
Chas had once told me the worst way to cross the Captain was to lie to him.
"I lied to save my own life," I said. "Would you have taken me on if you had known the
truth?"
"Nay, of course not," I went on, reading my answer in his expression.
"'Twas false pretense that got you into my troupe," he said. "And with false pretense you
took my hospitality."
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"And I gave good value in return," I retorted. "You never had a better Helen. And you
lied to me, too. Lied to all of us."
"How so?"
"Sir John. What else have you been hiding?"
The anger drained from his expression which became wry.
"You have me there, lass. And you were indeed a fine Helen. Most lifelike."
Jack released his grip on me so suddenly I almost slid down the wall. I caught Jack's arm
with one of my newly freed hands to steady myself.
His expression changed again, becoming the most dangerous yet as he looked me up and
down. It made me acutely aware of the expanse of flesh Aunt Lilith's court gown revealed above
the bodice.
I released his arm and changed the subject.
"Where is Chas?" I asked.
"Went off with that Shakespeare fellow, I suppose." He placed a hand at his waist,
unconsciously striking a pose. Jack was as natural actor as I would ever meet, I thought as he
spoke of Chas as if she were no more than a passing acquaintance.
"Have you plans to go after her?"
"Hardly," he said. "I took her from the street and if she desires to return there, so be it.
She well knows Master Will has a wife. He's too poor to keep a paramour in addition."
"Chas loves you."
"Mistress Chastity Brown is far too canny to tie her fate to mine. She will settle for a less
dangerous lover."
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In spite of my travels, I was young in the ways of the world and this talk of paramours
and lovers made me uncomfortable. I could feel my face and neck grow warm. Jack noticed,
too, for he smiled widely at me, his teeth very white beneath his neat black mustache and a feral
gleam in his eyes.
"My aunt will be looking for me," I said.
"Let her. It is a very large palace. People have been lost in these passageways and
wandered for days."
"I doubt it not."
"Would you like to be lost, my Lady?"
There was an invitation in his voice. It scared me how tempted I was. Should I leave, I
would find my aunt and the dreary future she had described to me as a ward of the Queen. If I
stayed – I knew not what might happen. I had run away with this man once before. I was
mightily tempted to do so again.
Then I recalled his flippant dismissal of Chas.
There was danger here. I sketched a brief, polite bow in the Captain's direction, and then
set off down the passageway. I did not hear him following me, and I had the impression he stood
there watching me walk away.
He had said he had followed me to speak of something important, but our conversation
had not seemed so important after all. I doubted he had gotten around to his subject, and I spent
the rest of the day working with my Aunt in the Queen's chambers and wondering what Captain
Jack had wanted to tell me.
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Chapter Eight
Winter came on hard that year heralded by a dreadful hailstorm that struck people dead in
the streets. The hail melted, then immediately froze in the gutter when the first blasts of frigid
air swept in. Those of us lucky enough to have secure roofs over our heads huddled together in
the fear the winter gale might bring them down on top of us.
Those who had no roofs froze.
Eventually the storm calmed, leaving a heavy blanket of snow in its wake. The snow
muffled sound and kept most everyone indoors so that heavy silence came over the city. But
beneath the frozen tranquility, something seethed, something restless and unstoppable that would
lead to the execution of a Queen.
As for myself, living both at the heart of that restlessness and yet inexplicably isolated
from it, the dreary days passed slowly, one after another. Because of the cold, we kept great fires
ablaze on the hearth and yet our fingers and toes became chilblained.
I did know something of the accusations against the Queen of Scotland and the
subsequent trial and conviction in October. Mostly, I knew, because on those most critical days
the English Queen, my warden, was in a foul temper, more often than not.
The Queen, in such a mood, could be a terrifying creature. She woke screaming at us and
threw her food and clothing back in our faces when we tried to feed and dress her. When letters
came for her to read, she threw inkwells at us. And when it was bedtime, one or two of the
youngest girls had to stay in her bed with her and try to coax her to sleep.
This lot fell more than once upon me, and I always dreaded it. Her Majesty would slap
and often pinch me most painfully. I knew she did it to see me cry because I had watched her
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with the other girls and studied her reactions carefully. When she knew she could not make me
cry, she called on me only when the other girls were indisposed.
And I sometimes felt her watching me, as if studying me. It was unnerving and added to
the discomfort of that long winter.
I did make a sort of friend during that dreadful period of time – Lettyce Wilford, the
daughter of a baron from the North of England. Very close to my age, we suffered some of the
identical indignities from the Queen.
We took to sitting together out of our elders' earshot and sharing the kinds of confidences
young girls are wont to do.
"I have a lover," Lettyce told me.
"No! You dare not."
"Oh, but I do. At least, we have kissed, and he has pledged his heart to me."
"Who is it?"
"Tis Robin."
"Sir Robert! He's one of the Queen's courtiers. My aunt has warned me away from them
most strictly."
"Aye, tis dangerous," Lettyce conceded. "But I love him so much."
I had nothing so earth-shaking to share with her. My aunt had warned me to say nothing
of my misadventures during the summer with Captain Jack's men, but in light of Lettyce's
revelation, I did tell a little about fleeing my evil stepfather and spun some floss about having
been rescued and brought to the Queen by a handsome actor.
Lettyce had not been among the Queen's ladies that night of my dramatic arrival in the
court, but she had heard something of it for she smiled.
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"Was he very dashing?"
"Aye. Very," I confirmed, and we giggled like idiots. I had never had a friend with
whom to share confidences before. It was a giddy feeling and her friendship helped get me
through the long dark autumn days.
The Christmas season came at last. I recall my ealriest Christmases as times of
celebration, but the dark rule of my stepfather had put an end to that. The Puritans did not hold
with the observance of any holiday, and my stepfather treated Christmas as a time for extra
prayer and inner reflection.
Elizabeth's court celebrated the holiday very differently. Servants hustled about bringing
in greenery to adorn the halls and packing the larders with food for the weeks of feasting. Strong
men struggled with huge Yule logs, one for each of the palace's myriad fireplaces. Gifts for
special friends and sweethearts were bought and secreted away.
The Queen, perhaps in an attempt to lighten the general mood, planned a grand masque
for the day after Christmas. She decreed that everyone must wear a disguise.
"Because it falls upon the second day of Christmas, our theme will be the Twelve Days of
Christmas!" she declared.
Her ladies, in what little spare time they had, searched through the royal wardrobes for
castoff bits and pieces that might be cobbled together for costumes. No matter that their
everyday dress might appear ornate enough to most of the Queen's subjects, they went for the
outlandish and bizarre.
Lettyce had an idea for my costume that I took to immediately. In an old trunk at the
back of a storeroom, we came across a young man's clothing from some previous generation. A
long jerkin of silver embroidered black leather, a white linen shirt with wide sleeves only slightly
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foxed with mildew, and black woolen hose caught my eye. There were soft boots and a cloak,
ankle length in contrast to the short cloaks popular among Elizabeth's courtiers.
"Mayhap a prince wore these," I said to Lettyce, holding the garments up to myself for
her perusal. "I wonder who?"
"The Queen had a brother who died when he was but a boy," Lettyce said. Then a
mischievous smile lit her face. "Frances, you told us you wore a boy's garb to escape your
stepfather's house."
"Aye." I had not told the story entire to anyone but my aunt and the Queen, but Lettyce
knew more of it than most of the others in our circle.
"Then I think your choice of costume is clear! You should disguise yourself as a young
princeling."
"Suppose the Queen should recognize the costume?"
"After all these years? Never!"
"Very well. I shall be a lord a-leaping."
The costume fit well enough although I had to bind my breasts tightly with cloth to
present a boyish line in the fitted jerkin. Passing myself off as a young man would no longer be
so easy as it had been the previous spring when I joined Captain Jack's Men wearing the garb of
a runaway 'prentice.
My aunt shook her head when she saw me in it, and I thought she might forbid me to
wear it, but the Queen approved.
"I still cannot credit how you fooled anyone with eyes in their heads to see," she said.
"Let us see how well you succeed at the masque."
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Lettyce found a bodice and round gown she modified to represent the costume of a
milkmaid. The robin's egg blue of the silk fabric matched her eyes and the bodice, cut low and
very tight almost to the point of immodesty, displayed her full bosom and pale complexion.
The Queen eyed her costume doubtfully, but said nothing. The Master of the
Bedchamber looked and looked again, his eyes bulging slightly, but he knew better than to
express his obvious opinion in earshot of the Queen.
The day of the masque dawned at last. This day, the feast of St. Stephen Martyr, was
observed in the Queen's household by giving gifts to the poor and less fortunate. Mummers and
carolers and ragged beggars swarmed the entrance gate outside Whitehall Palace's kitchens
where an army of cooks were preparing the food for that night's feasting. The Queen had given
us all small purses of coins. These we distributed to the waiting crowd, along with bits of food
and cups of spiced ale gleaned from the kitchens .
It was a particularly cold morning, with a frigid flurry-laden breeze. Several especially
ragtag women wearing striped skirts and threadbare cloaks caught my eye. Many of them had
their feet wrapped in cloths in the place of shoes, albeit the snow lay ankle deep in the courtyard.
The clustered in a group apart from the others waiting for handouts and were mostly ignored by
my fellow alms-givers.
Thinking of the pattens on my own shoes that lifted me well above the snow, I took my
coins and treats directly to them. One woman held back, a shawl held over her head obscuring
her features.
"Pray, take this," I said to her, pressing the remainder of my coins into her hand. Her
shawl slipped as she jerked her hand away from me and, for an instant before she pulled it into
place, I could see her face more clearly.
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217
Although much changed in the months since St. Bartholomew's Fair ended, I recognized
her instantly.
"Chas! Wait!" I cried, but she turned in a swirl of striped skirts and blowing snow and ran
away from me, leaving only a glimpse of pinched cheeks and sunken eyes.
"Who was that woman?" my aunt demanded of me as we fled the cold to return to the
warmth of the Queen's kitchen's.
"Chastity Brown, the seamstress who traveled with the players this past summer," I told
her.
"Well, she has fallen into ill company. Those were doxies from the wharves," Aunt Lilith
replied. "The worst of the lot, too full of pox and drink to fend for themselves."
"Doxies?"
"Aye! You can tell them by their striped skirts. Times must be hard for them to make
their way here for a pittance."
Throughout the rest of that afternoon, while the Queen's other girls and women worked at
dressing themselves in their costumes for the upcoming festivities, I spent at a window staring
through the wrinkled glass watching people in the snow covered streets outside Whitehall Palace,
but I never caught a glimpse of anyone wearing striped skirts.
*
Some of the Queen's courtiers came at dusk carrying torches to escort us through the
labyrinthine hallways of the Palace to the Great Hall where the court awaited their sovereign.
She strode in front of us, wearing her interpretation of the attire of a barbarian Queen. The
motley colors of her cloak reflected the myriad jewels strung about her throat and in her towering
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red wig. Beneath all that, she wore one of her more elaborate court gowns, her skirts so wide she
swept along like one of King Phillip's gold-laden galleons.
Her ladies moved in her wake, many of them nearly as fantastically attired as their
mistress. I suppose I must have stood out among them because of the plainness of my costume;
even the courtiers were far more gorgeously bedecked. My boy's suit hailed from a soberer age,
apparently.
Had I not seen Chas, I might have enjoyed the evening. As it was, the feasting and
dancing did little to distract me from my misery. How could she have been brought so low in
such a short span of time?
The Queen dove into the festivities almost feverishly. I knew she had troubles of her
own from which she desired distraction. In spite of her advancing age, she participated in some
of the more energetic dances, including the volta, in which the dancers jumped leapt high into the
air.
I stood to the side, watching the dancers without participating. No one invited me to
dance, I imagine due to confusion over my gender. I did see Lettyce sweep by me once or twice,
her face flushed and her yellow hair flying. Then, late in the evening, someone came to stand
close by me.
"I could use a well-turned-out lad with smooth cheeks in my next play," Jack said,
sweeping me a bow as elegant as any he might have performed for the Queen. I knew him by his
voice if not his dress.
Looking him up and down, I had to frown. Only the white falling band around his throat
broke the unrelieved Puritan black of his coat and hose.
"I cannot say much for your costume," I told him.
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"God's teeth, must you always be so sour, Frank?"
"I am not the one dressed as a Puritan.
"Near enough," he retorted.
"And, speaking from my own certain knowledge, Puritans do not swear. By God's teeth
or anything else."
"Then we shall both stand here silently, two ravens in our dusky finery." He leaned back
against a wall, his arms crossed before him and one foot propped behind.
I suddenly recalled Chas, out in the snow with rags on her feet.
"Jack, when did you last see Chas?"
"Not for months. I told you before, she left me for that Shakespeare fellow."
"I saw her today. With some...women. They came to the kitchens begging for alms."
"Women? What women?" To my relief, he straightened and seemed interested.
"My aunt called them doxies. From the wharves."
"What do you know about doxies?" he asked me, a teasing tone in his voice.
"I know what they are," I told him. "Chas has been brought low. She could use some
help. Please help her, Jack."
"London is a very large city, teeming with such rats," he said, looking doubtful.
"She is a woman, not a rat!" I felt my cheeks flush with anger at his careless tone. "She
cared for you once. And I think you cared for her. You are not that fine an actor."
"Mayhap a better actor than you know."
"Does the Queen know about your acting? I could tell her some tales about midnight
meetings. . . ."
He shot me a sidelong look.
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"Do not undertake to threaten me. The Queen knows enough. As does her spymaster."
Then he turned to face me fully. "Frank, I will try to find Mistress Brown, but not
because I fear any threat a girl in boy's garb might pose. Your darts have missed the mark
entire."
Without another word he spun away and disappeared into the throngs of courtiers lining
the room.
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The days following New Years were bleak, cold and dark. Held a virtual prisoner by my
wardship to the queen, I looked back on my summer spent with Captain Jack's men as a halcyon
time in my life. I began to resent the Queen and tried to think of ways to free myself. Aunt
Lilith had warned me away from the courtiers who constantly lurked about in the halls.
They did not seem so ill a prospect now. If I could draw the eye of some handsome, well
set up young man, perhaps he would marry me and take me away from this miserable place.
When I mentioned this to my aunt, she blanched. "Do not even think of such a thing,"
she implored me. "Her Majesty has sent young people to the tower for marrying without her
permission. And her wards are a special source of funds to her that she is very stingy about
doling out."
I even thought about running away. I had done it before and it had not worked out so
badly. But I had someone to run to that time before. Now I was alone at the heart of a great,
unfamiliar city. Chas had told me once that Captain Jack's men always disbanded after very cold
weather set in and did not come back together until it was time to go out on the road in the early
spring. I had no idea where any of them had gone.
Jack, on the other hand, seemed to appear at the oddest moments.
I thought of him often. Jack presented a puzzle. The Queen had spoken to him that night
in her audience chamber as if she knew him well. She had called him "Sir John." I accused him
of hiding something that day he had stalked me through the labyrinthine halls of the palace and
caught me alone. He had not denied it, but coward that I was, I had lost my nerve and run away.
I vowed to get the truth from him should I ever see him again.
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If anything, the weather grew colder after Christmas. The river froze, so solid one could
ride a horse upon it. The boatmen, frozen out of their livelihood, became bandits, robbing from
their former customers who could now walk upon the frozen waters.
The irrepressible people of the City set up a Frost Faire on the river, with stalls much like
those of any fair. Treats and trinkets went on display. Bonfires burned, although why they did
not burn through the ice is beyond me. We heard about it in our cold rooms in the palace and
dreamed of Spanish oranges and gingerbread.
Then, one afternoon, the Queen roused herself. She had been in a particularly blue mood
all week, keeping herself barricaded in her bedchamber and speaking to no one, not even her
favorite courtiers. Her ladies walked on eggshells around her, lest she strike out as she was wont
to do.
But on this afternoon, she was suddenly all smiles.
"Let us go to the Frost Faire," she announced.
Furious activity followed this pronouncement. We dressed her in her warmest woolen
chemises and petticoats, many layers of them, followed by several gowns and a heavy fur-lined
cloak. The Queen's ladies, my self included, owned no such cold-weather attire, so we layered
all we had and covered that with woolen cloaks.
When we emerged from the Queen's bedchamber, we found her courtiers awaiting us.
Someone had sounded the alarum that the Queen meant to go out, and they were not about to
miss any opportunity to wait upon their sovereign lady.
I followed in their wake, lest someone, perhaps my aunt, perhaps the Queen herself, bade
me stay behind. After all, my aunt had continually drilled into me my worth to the Queen.
Should I go wandering in the City, I might get lost.
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It had happened before. And now it did not seem so ill a prospect.
The Frost Faire was more than I had expected. Runners had been put on the Queen's
carriage and other equipages. Wrapped in fur rugs we rode in comfort upon the frozen Thames
to the fair, situated at the foot of Saint Paul's.
We saw the great bonfires first, lighting the night sky and setting ablaze the ice-encased
limbs trees lining the river. Then, there were the throngs of people and the sounds of many
voices, intermingled with delicious aromas of food cooking in the stalls of vendors.
My aunt had a fur muff, and we shared it, as we followed the Queen. Like a great ship
she passed through the crowd which melted aside before her, applauding and calling out her
name. "Glorianna! Good Queen Bess!"
Our procession must have made a wonderful spectacle for the people, with so many
courtiers gorgeously clothed in fine furs and jewels. Throngs of onlookers pressed close
together, the better to see us pass by. Wiser now in the ways of such things, I could well imagine
the heyday the cutpurses were having among so many people distracted by their sovereign's
progress.
The Queen called for her senior ladies to accompany her more closely and so my aunt
had to leave me. Surrounded by courtiers, I did not feel particularly alone. One of them, a
young man I had seen once or twice, sidled up to me when I had paused at one of the vendors'
stalls to look at some embroidered herbal sachets.
"How now, my Lady," he said. "Allow me to purchase one of those for you."
Aunt Lilith had warned me away from the courtiers, but she was not looking for a
husband or to escape the palace. This one, handsome with pale features and golden hair, had
possibilities. I did notice he had eschewed a warm cloak in order to show off his shapely calves
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and wondered if that indicated a lack of intelligence. In spite of this possible shortcoming, I
gave him a sideways glance and a brilliant smile. I had not studied Lettyce's flirting techniques
for nothing.
"Thank you. I like that one," I said, pointing to one of the more ornately ornamented
items.
My courtier did not so much as blink an eye when the vendor told him the price, but
handed the man a coin.
"May I?" he asked, pointing to one of my gloved hands. I raised the hand, and he tucked
the sachet inside the glove so that it rested on my palm.
I thanked him again, and we walked on a space. "My name is Henry," he said after a
while. "Sir Henry Coyne. What's your name?"
Ideally we should have been introduced by a third party, but I did know him as one of
Her Majesty's courtiers, and I was feeling restless and adventurous.
"My name is Frances," I told him. I gave him no title or surname, figuring that if he were
really interested, he could discover those particulars on his own.
"Frances," he said, rolling the word around in his mouth and letting it out very slowly as
if tasting it. I had a sudden impression he was no green boy, although very youthful in
appearance. Lettyce would have swooned had he spoken her name like that.
But foolishly, I imagined prided myself more worldly than Lettyce and not so easily
impressed by a young gentleman whose sense of fashion outpaced his common sense.
We strolled along, stopping here and there when something on display at one of the stalls
caught our fancy. Once there was even a puppet show, much like the one that had gotten me lost
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at Bartholomew Fair. This time I had no worries along that line since the river was the only road
and the quay would be impossible to miss.
However, there were other pitfalls as I soon found out. Somewhere past the puppet
booth, Henry managed to maneuver our path so that we were in a dark space between two stalls.
I stopped short, realizing there was no egress beyond the stalls, and turned around to find Henry
blocking my way out.
He loomed over me, but in the dark I could not make out his face.
"Let us find the Queen," I told him, keeping my tone light in spite of my sense of danger.
He did not answer my suggestion. Instead, moving fast, he crowded himself against me,
pushing me so that my back came up hard against the rough plank wall of a stall. Then his lips
covered mine in a kiss, rough and slobbery. I tasted wine on them.
"My beauty!" he said, panting a little and moving the unwelcome kiss to my throat. "I
want you now!"
Perhaps the wine had befuddled his wits.
I had not had any and my own wits were sharp, in spite of his sudden assault. Screaming
some of Jack's best oaths, I kicked his shins hard and tried to push him off me. Henry had
chosen his ground well, for the alleyway muffled sounds, and if my cries did escape it, they must
have been lost in the bustle of the crowds outside.
Without a young man's strength and with the disadvantage of size, I was no match for
Henry. He fumbled at my cloak, tearing the pin away that held it together in the front, and went
straight for my bodice with both hands. I might have taken advantage of this activity, but he
thrust a leg between mine, pressing his body so hard against me that I was trapped against the
stall. I could only beat uselessly at his back with my fists.
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This was getting serious. He was hurting me and laid himself so hard against me that I
could not kick at him with any effect. And I feared for my bodice, where I could hear ripping
sounds.
So I bit his ear. It was the only part of him I could reach. The choice proved effective
because he roared in pain and stepped back from me so suddenly I almost fell.
"Bitch!" he shouted. "Whore!"
Then Henry came at me again, roaring with anger. I knew his strength, having felt its
force, and for the first time, real fear coursed through me. I tried to scream again, a futile effort
because his hands went around my throat so that I could not draw in my breath.
He pressed himself against me this time to pin me against the stall, then removed a hand from
my throat. With this hand, he pulled at my skirts, and I could feel the cold flesh of his fingers as
they scrabbled against my bare thighs. With that hand gone and only one left in its place at my
throat, I could scream again, but my damaged throat emitted on little squeaking sounds.
Think, I told myself through rising panic. In moments, I would be raped and maybe
worse. I did have his name, and as one of the Queen's ladies I might be believed if I accused
him. It would do Henry no good to leave me here, ravished and alive.
Then suddenly Henry was gone.
I sank to the hard ice, my legs too weak to support me. If anything, it had grown darker
in the alleyway. I could hear only sounds of a struggle. Men were fighting, very close by.
Then, I heard the distinctive snick of a blade being drawn from its scabbard, and for an
instant I could see Henry and his attacker clearly in silhouette against the backdrop of a moon
just rising over the far bank of the river. Both men were tall, and I could distinguish the
moonlight reflected on the blade held between them, but no more.
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The frigid cold of the ice beneath me burned its way up through my limbs, and for the
first time in my life, I fainted dead away.
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228
Chapter Nine
I awoke to warmth, luxurious under the circumstances. There were voices as well, but I
paid them no heed. With my eyes closed, I lay there, just soaking up the warmth. The voices
grew more insistent, and I began to recognize them. Her Majesty. My Aunt Lilith. Jack.
"Captain?"
I sat bolt upright and looked around. To my consternation, I found myself back in the
Queen's bedchamber, in her very own bed. Worse than that, a crowd of people stood in front of
me, wearing various expressions of concern, outrage and humor. They began talking again, all at
once.
Only Jack was silent, a smile lurking at the corners of his lips. I was looking so hard at
him that the Queen had to pluck at my sleeve to get my attention. It was then I thought of my
ruined bodice and put up my hand to discover that someone had dressed me in a sleeping gown.
The Queen snapped her fingers at me. It was a familiar gesture, one I had seen her use
with unresponsive servants and unruly courtiers.
"Lady Frances," she yelled. "Do you hear me?"
"Aye, your Majesty," I told her.
My aunt slipped past her to come and stand at my knee, a sign of her concern for me, I
imagined. Never would she have put herself in front of the Queen under normal circumstances.
"Tell us what happened. Are you well?"
"Quite well."
"Aye, we need to hear what happened to you," the Queen said. She motioned to her
Master of the Bedchamber, hovering somewhere close to the door, and shouted: "Clear the room,
Jack of Hearts
Robin!" He did so with alacrity and there were soon only a few of us left in the Queen's privy
bedchamber.
"Now," the Queen said. "My outing at the Frost Faire was spoiled by this ruckus. So tell
me what happened."
So I told her about Sir Henry Coyne, the sachet and his attack upon me in that alleyway
between some vendors' stalls. Her Majesty's black eyes glittered dangerously as I finished my
tale. I wondered if she were angry at me or because of what had happened to me.
"Sir John, what is your part in all of this?" she demanded. "I know of no Sir Henry
Coyne. Are you quite sure you did not accost my ward yourself? Is she lying for you?"
Jack did not appear particularly affronted by the accusation, but it had me hopping up and
down on the bed. Only the Queen's hand raised in my direction, palm held outwardly, silenced
me.
"Indeed, I did not, Your Majesty," Jack said. The smile had left his lips, so at least he
took her seriously, but he did not look at all frightened. But then I had never seen him look
frightened of anything.
"In fact, I rescued your ward from a young rascal, too deep in his cups to be of sound
mind, who had dragged her behind a fair vendor's stall to have his way with her."
"Then you are telling me I should be grateful to you."
"Aye, your Majesty. Had I not happened along I am afraid you ward would not be here
with us now, safe and sound."
The Queen did not look convinced.
This was silly, I thought. She cannot imagine Jack would have hurt me. "He saved my
life!" I blurted out, in spite of the frown Jack sent my way.
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The Queen ignored me as if I had no more substance than a buzzing fly. "And Sir Henry
Coyne? What of him?"
"I did not recognize the young whelp," Jack said, sounding contemptuous. "I showed
him my blade and the coward ran."
"Why did you not take him into custody? He had committed a heinous assault on one of
my ladies."
"My first concern was for the lady in question," Jack answered, glancing my way. "She
was lying on the ice, and I was afraid he had done her some grievous harm."
"He did do me grievous harm! You should have killed him dead, Jack!"
I immediately regretted my outburst. They both stared at me in surprise. Then the Queen
came to sit beside me on the great bed. She pulled closed the heavy draperies around us, shutting
out the rest of the room's occupants and most of the light.
"Sweeting," she said, her voice pitched low for my ears alone and gentler than I'd ever
heard it. "How did he harm you? Did he ravish you?"
"No. But he would have. A few moments more and Jack would have been too late. I
fought him, hard, but he was too strong for me."
The Queen put her fingers on my neck, and I could not refrain from flinching away.
Even the light touch hurt. I had not seen myself in a mirror yet, but I imagined there must be
bruises.
"Aye, I can see you fought him most bravely," she said. "You do realize what he might
have done to you?"
Suddenly, the gravity of my situation hit me and I tried to fight back tears.
"Aye, Your Majesty."
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"That brings us to the crux of the matter. Why did you speak to him at all and what was
his true identity. I do not believe he gave you his correct name."
Here was dangerous ground. The Queen had warned her ladies time and again to stay
away from the men of the court. It was a joke among those females who served her that she
reserved their attentions solely to herself and there was perhaps some truth in it. I had heard of
young couples thrown into the Tower for marrying without her permission.
But this was different. Henry Coyne – or whoever he was – had coney-catched me.
"He tricked me," I told her. "We were surrounded by all the court one minute and the
next I was in a dark alley."
There had been a little more to it than that, and I had been more than a little foolish, but
there was no reason to admit this to the Queen.
"I can identify the man. I have seen him here in the Palace. That and the fine suit he
wore made me believe he was a gentleman."
"I think he was no gentleman," the Queen said. "Should you see him about, raise the
alarm forthwith."
"Please do not hold Jack – Sir John – accountable for any of this. He saved me from that
man."
"I know Sir John to be a man of honor," the Queen said. "However, it strikes me he is a
bit protective of you. I recall another altercation in my reception room where he drew a blade on
someone on your account. You must take care of him, child. He is, after all, only a man, and not
your kin."
"He thinks of me as a child," I insisted.
"Not such a child," the Queen remarked, looking me up and down.
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232
"Be that as it may," she continued. "It is late, and we should all be abed. I will think on
all of this later."
"And see you stay quite clear of my courtiers in future, Frances."
She drew back the bed curtains and left the bed. On his way out of the Queen's
bedchamber, Jack paused to take my hand and bow politely as if taking my leave.
"Kick higher next time. It has more effect," he whispered. "You should have learned that
when you were with me. But, then, I reckoned you were a boy."
Jack straightened, and then directed another, deeper bow to the Queen.
"I am your servant as ever, your Majesty," he said, every inch the polished courtier.
The Queen gifted him with one of her rare smiles, closed lipped so as not to reveal her
bad teeth. From her middle finger, she drew a small ring and handed it to Jack.
"As always you have been, Sir John," she said. "Take this token as a sign of our gratitude
and esteem."
Jack placed the ring his smallest finger, where it stuck at the first knuckle joint.
"Thank you, your Majesty," he said, dipping his head, then he rose and backed away,
turned at the door and sauntered from the room. The Queen watched him leave, but I could not
interpret her thoughts from her inscrutable expression.
*
If my assailant dared show his face in the palace in the ensuing weeks, I did not see him.
However, the Queen's ladies were somewhat isolated, and I especially. I imagined she had asked
my aunt to keep a close eye on me, for the woman kept me at her side at all times. I was only
able to go to the garderobe unaccompanied with great difficulty.
Jack of Hearts
Nor did I see Jack. I longed to speak to him if just to ask a few questions. Granted, I had
deceived him by dressing myself as a boy, but I suspected he held more secrets than I.
The Queen's ill-mood continued all through that long winter. The Queen's minions who
were the first to suffer kept as far clear of her as possible under the circumstances. Only during
our communal meals, taken when Her Majesty was occupied with affairs of state, did we discuss
the situation.
Detail about the death warrant
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234
Chapter Ten
We were shut out of the Queen's bedchamber for several days, seated in an alcove close
by but out of sight of her door. The idea was to be at hand should she call us. But she did not.
Her older ladies worried that she would die in there all alone, but certain of her braver courtiers
such as her Master of the Bedchamber would occasionally crack the door and look in on her.
"Alive if not well," was the general verdict.
Left on our own, the younger ladies chafed at the boredom and invented creative ways to
escape it.
One afternoon, my partner in mischief, Lettyce, and I had an idea. The weather had
warmed so that the winter snows were melting away and some very early spring flowers were
beginning to emerge in the Queen's privy garden, situated as it was behind a sheltering wall.
We proposed to pick those flowers and create nosegays to present to the Queen thinking
they would lighten her mood.
"I shall accompany you," my aunt said, but she sounded reluctant.
Reluctant indeed, because we had chosen a time in the afternoon when she had the habit
of taking a nap. The Queen's older ladies had learned to catch sleep when they could because
their mistress kept late hours and rose early.
"No need, Aunt Lily," I said. "'Tis just outside the Queen's apartments."
This was true, but the short avenue to the garden was through her bedchamber, now off
limits to us. Our route would be a more circuitous one through the palace.
"You look tired, Aunt Lily. A short nap would do you good."
Aunt Lily struggled but a short time with her duty and her love of a good nap.
Jack of Hearts
"Very well," she said, waving us on. "'Tis late. See you are back before darkness falls."
We made our way down through the palace, our heads together in whatever foolishness
crossed our minds, giggling and casting flirtatious glances toward any courtier whose path we
crossed.
Together we managed to coax a key to an exterior door from a guard. 'Twas a huge old
rusty thing, nearly as long as my forearm. It squealed a protest as we put it to use, but finally the
door swung open and we were free.
Just as we emerged into the garden through a low archway, someone reached out, caught
Lettyce about the waist and swung her in a circle, her skirts belling out prettily around her
ankles.
"Robin!" she squealed. It was, indeed, Sir Robert Harper, the Queen's Master of the
Bedchamber. He was little older than Lettyce and myself and known to all the younger girls
simply as Robin. Lettyce had taken to stealing moments with him in dark corners and had
danced every dance with him at the Christmas masque.
I had thought the foray into the garden my idea.
"You two planned this!" I accused Lettyce.
"Aye!" she said. "Robin has been begging to spend some time alone with me. Pray,
Frances, be a love and stand watch for us."
So much for my aunt's warning to stay away from the courtiers, I thought.
Robin winked broadly at me. He was a handsome young man with golden curls, a perfect
suitor for Lettyce, I thought. But the thought of waiting alone here for them did not appeal to
me.
"Please!" Lettyce begged.
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"Oh, very well," I finally told her, relenting only reluctantly. "But do not take long. It
will be dark soon, and cold."
I felt myself immediately forgotten as the young couple strolled away arm in arm, to
disappear from sight within one of the garden's many private alcoves.
Since our mission to the garden had been to pluck flowers for the Queen, I decided to do
so while Lettyce dallied with her young man. The snows had only lately receded; there were not
so many blossoms as reported. I had to search about until I finally found a few brave yellow and
lavender souls, early primroses raising their faces to the weak winter sunshine.
I busied myself picking them, placing them in a corner of the work apron I wore while
waiting upon the Queen in her privy chambers. Soon, I had enough for several nosegays and few
blossoms remained unplucked. Lettyce had not yet returned. I strolled along the garden
pathways, ducking my head in several alcoves where I hoped to run across her, but with no luck.
Time passed, and I began to worry. The shadows were lengthening. I did not wish to
leave Lettyce and could not have done so in any case. She had kept the rusty iron key to the door
back into the palace.
Then I did find someone. It was Jack, seated on a garden bench beneath a rose arbor,
looking as if he expected me.
"How now, my beauty?" he asked, rising to his feet to bow as gracefully as one of the
Queen's courtiers.
I knew myself no one's beauty, with my hair, now grown to my shoulders, escaping my
cap all a-tangle and holding a dirty apron bundled before me. Without a mirror to verify the
suspicion, I felt I probably had a smudge of mud on my nose. But, I decided to play along with
his penchant for the theatrical.
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"You need not bow to me, Captain," I told him. "I am only a lowly player in your
company."
"A player, perhaps. But not lowly, methinks."
I conceded him the point with a dip of my chin; then it suddenly occurred to me that this
was not a chance meeting.
"What are you doing here? This is the Queen's privy garden. Did Lettyce…?"
"Aye. She let me in." He produced a large, rusty key, the one Lettyce had taken.
"Let me have that!" I tried to snatch it from him but he held it high above my head. I
cursed him for his height and his arrogance, and he threw back his head and laughed.
"I will sell it to you, Frank," he said, grinning at me.
"I have no money."
"Who spoke of money? A kiss will do."
I looked around for a glimpse of Lettyce. The day had grown sharply colder, and I was in
no mood for games.
"Your friends have gone. Pay me."
I let my breath out in a long, exasperated sigh. "Very well," I told him. "I'm cold and
Aunt Lilith will be looking for me. Likely, I am already in trouble."
"Very likely," he agreed.
I threw back my head, closed my eyes, and pursed my lips.
Nothing happened.
After a while I opened my eyes and looked at Jack. "Well?"
"Frank, you look just like a fish. Have you never kissed anyone?"
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"Aye. My mother and brother. And most recently the Queen." I shut out the thought of
Henry Coyne's assault. That did not count as a kiss.
"Then I venture you have never been kissed properly."
Jack tucked the key inside his belt and without further ado leaned over and kissed me on
the lips.
I decided then I had never been kissed – not properly, anyway. Jack's lips were firm and
warm and lingered on mine for far longer than could be fitting. That thought set me to wondering
if anyone could see us, and I pushed myself away from him.
"Now," I demanded. "You are paid. Give me the key, Captain."
He shook his head at me and kissed me again, this time until my knees felt wobbly.
Eventually, common sense got the better of me. I snatched the key from Jack's belt and stepped
backward.
"You are no gentleman," I accused, half expecting him to come after me.
He did not. Instead, he just smiled at me, baring white teeth.
"Nor did I ever claim to be." Then, his expression became solemn. "I searched for Chas,"
he said.
"Did you find her?"
"Nay, I did not. I made inquiries at the wharves and in the taverns along the river. But I
have heard nothing."
"Promise me you will not forget her, Captain. I fear for her."
"As do I, Frank. But she left us and not the other way around. Mayhap she does not
want to be found."
I recalled how she had shied from me that day in the snow.
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"Mayhap," I agreed. "But spring will come soon, and she will want to join the players."
"Aye, I would be hard pressed to replace her skills with the needle," he said.
Then something occurred to me, a possible avenue of escape from my miserable
existence with the Queen's ladies.
"Jack…"
"Aye, my lady?"
"May I come back and join the players in the spring? Performing with Captain Jack's
men last summer was the best time of my life."
He looked me up and down.
"What use have I for a fine lady?"
I took a chance.
"I vow you could think of something," I told him, looking up at him through my lashes in
a way I'd seen Lettyce look at Robin.
For a moment I thought it had worked by the glitter in his eyes.
Then he grinned and grabbed for my key. I managed to keep hold of it, but loosing my
nerve, I grabbed up my apron of flowers where I had dropped them unheeded to the ground and
ran for the door.
Once safely inside with the lock turned behind me I fell to cursing myself as a coward for
running away.
When I got back to the Queen's privy apartments, I discovered that I had been missed.
"Frances! Child! Where have you been?" my aunt exclaimed as I slipped in through the
door.
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"Picking flowers for Her Majesty," I said. "I have them here."
My aunt opened her mouth to say something but another voice cut in.
"Were you alone in the garden?" the Queen asked, her voice echoing from behind the
curtains of her bed. Something in her tone of voice warned me she suspected I had not.
"Nay, Majesty," I answered, hoping I sounded truthful. "Lettyce went with me."
"Where is that girl now?"
"I know not, your Majesty. She said she was cold and left me behind in the garden." I
did not want to get Lettyce in trouble with the queen but I relied on her to find any number of
innocent reasons for her absence upon her return.
But she did not return.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, her bare feet and bony legs dangling from her nightshift
like a child's, the Queen began to shout orders to her ladies. "Call the guard. Have them look for
the girl. God forbid some harm has come to her."
I hoped Lettyce had better sense than to be discovered with Sir Robert.
Busying myself with chores, I tried to escape further notice, but the Queen was not done
with me.
"Where are the flowers that caused all this commotion?" she demanded.
"Here, your majesty."
I found the limp bundle on a bench where I had left them and put it in her outstretched
hands. She unwrapped the apron from the crushed and bedraggled flowers, not much of a
present for a Queen. But their scent did fill the room with a pleasant aroma, and she pressed her
face against them.
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For a moment I felt a little sorry for her, an old woman with a handful of crumpled
flowers. Then she threw them aside and returned to shouting orders. Soon she had the entire
palace scurrying about to find Lettyce.
Not until late in the evening did the Queen allow us to go to bed and by then I was very
worried. Lettyce had not yet returned. As I knew from experience, the palace might not be the
safest place for a young girl alone. And what did we know of Sir Robert Harper? A noble name
did not necessarily indicate noble intentions.
Several days passed with no word of Lettyce's whereabouts. Her parents were
summoned and stood before the Queen, the mother wringing her hands and weeping and the
father glowering his anger. The queen berated the both of them, which I thought unfair, as they
had no part in Lettyce's disappearance.
Then, after perhaps a week, a message arrived from Sir Robert Harper, announcing his
marriage to Lettyce.
The Queen snatched the offending note from the hand of the unfortunate courtier who
had delivered it, and read it through several times herself. Then she balled the paper inside her
fist and threw it in the courtier's face.
"Summon the guard," she said. "Arrest them both."
Robin and Lettyce had hidden themselves well for it was the better part of three days
before they were discovered by the Queen's men and imprisoned in the Tower on the Queen's
orders.
Throughout the turmoil, I kept my head low and did my best to keep out of the Queen's
way lest she recall I had played some small roll in Lettyce's escapade.
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242
Chapter Eleven
In some ways, the episode involving Lettyce and Robin's elopement diverted the Queen
from the black humor that had overtaken her following the Queen of Scotland's execution. She
left her bed and began to dress again, invariably choosing the black garb of mourning. She
attended meetings with her councilors, albeit she forbade from her presence some of the ones she
vociferously blamed for having persuaded her to sign the death warrant.
Davison she even had imprisoned in the Tower. His employer she forgave, eventually.
In spite of the Queen's rally in spirits, the atmosphere around the palace did not improve.
The news from the Netherlands was all bad. In October, Sir Philip Sydney, a favorite of the
Queen and the entire court, had died there from wounds received in battle, and the Protestant
cause seemed doomed to failure. Bitter protests continue to pour in from the Continent in
response to the execution of the Catholic Queen Mary, and the court gossips circulated rumors of
a Spanish invasion.
Those were lonely days for me with Lettyce absent from court. In late April, the Queen relented
and released her from the Tower along with Robin, but banished both of them from court.
Lettyce sent me one letter in that time, full of woe concerning her fall from grace and
complaining about her young husband's negligence. I replied, my own letter describing my
boredom and discontent and ill-disguising my envy of her good fortune.
I never had another letter from her nor heard anything else about her circumstances.
Another missive did reach my hand one day in late April, a tiny scrap of a note with the
words "Meet me at the Privy Stairs. Tomorrow at dusk." It came to me in a mysterious fashion,
through my laundry. I found it folded into one of my nightshifts. The note bore no signature and
Jack of Hearts
243
as our laundry was invariably ill-dried, the ink had run somewhat, obscuring the hand of the
author, but I immediately took it to be Jack's careless scrawl.
My heart sang. Spring had come and so had Jack, to invite me back into his troupe of
players.
I hid the note in my mattress and set about planning my escape. I need not pack much.
My boy's clothes were long gone, but I had no intention of masquerading as a male. Being a girl
had become infinitely more interesting.
The hours passed slowly, but eventually the time came to make my escape. The privy
stairs, actually located quite near the Queen's apartments, led down to the river. Her barge tied
up there when she wished to travel. Other times, the stairs remained empty and only lightly
guarded.
In fact, I saw no one after leaving the Queen's apartments. Perhaps the guards were at
their evening meal, I speculated as I made my way down the slippery stone steps. I expected to
see a boat there, but the river was quiet and empty of any traffic at that hour. I waited a little
while, and as the sky grew darker, so did my mood.
Perhaps the note had not been meant for me after all. Or perhaps it had been meant to
reach me days earlier. In any event, it seemed there would be no rendezvous. Then I heard a
footstep behind me. I half-turned and something came down over my head, something like a
cloth bag or heavy cloak.
Kicking and screaming, I struck out, my foot once connecting so solidly on someone that
he grunted. I might have pulled free, but my assailant clubbed me on the side of my head,
sending me to my knees and into darkness.
*
Jack of Hearts
Something stank, and I awoke with my face pressed against it.
I sat up quickly to escape the stench. Utter darkness surrounded me, and straining my
eyes to see did little to ease the pain in my head. Something pressed against my face. I realized
the cloth bag still covered my head and I yanked it off.
The removal of the bag helped alleviate the odor, but did little for my eyesight. I could
tell I was in a small room and a hole in the ceiling let in just a little moonlight. Struggling to my
feet, I reached out and felt for the room's walls which I found were rough lumber. It felt greasy
and damp and dirt fell away under my fingers.
So tiny I could touch the opposite walls with my fingertips, the room had little to hide,
and I found the door within moments. It had a handle of sorts, but would not open when I pulled
at it with all my strength, in spite the apparent decrepitude of the rest of the room. Someone had
taken care that I could not escape.
I pounded at the door with the flats of my palms and screamed but that did nothing more
than hurt my hands and throat. I heard no response to my efforts.
The room had a dirt floor, like that in a country cottage and something flat in one corner
that turned out to be an old straw-filled mattress. I sat down on it, ignoring the threat of fleas or
bedbugs. After all, I'd slept in ditches and under wagons in my life as an actor with Captain
Jack's men.
I must have dozed for a while, or maybe swooned because my head still hurt that badly.
When the sound of someone walking outside the door brought me to myself, the moonlight had
disappeared to be replaced by a little reluctant sunshine that found its way in through cracks in
the ceiling and walls.
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Jack of Hearts
Then there came the sound of chains, and the door crashed open. The sudden bright light
sent painful needles into my eyes and poor aching head as I peered into it to see who had come to
rescue me.
At first, I could make out only a tall silhouette of a man standing in the door. But when
he spoke to me, my chest constricted so that I could not draw my breath.
"How now, wench?" asked my stepfather.
He strolled into the room followed by another man whose features I could barely make
out. I struggled to my feet, the better to protect myself or mayhap flee if I got the chance. I could
see trees beyond the door, confirming my impression I was no longer in the city. If I could just
make it to those trees, perhaps I could lose myself in them. . .
"You need not try it. There's no one about for miles," said my dead mother's husband and
murderer.
He always did have an uncanny way of reading my mind.
"Not such a fine lady now, are you?" he commented, looking me up and down. "The
Queen, that thieving bitch, is not here to protect you nor is that popinjay actor."
"Please Sir Thomas. . ." I began. I would like to say I made my voice quiver but it did
that of its own accord, so fearful I was.
He loomed over me, although he was not a particularly tall man. "It pays to do your own
work," he remarked. "Hiring Coyne was a mistake, letting a wench and a strutting coxcomb do
him in." He gestured to the man who had come into the room with him
It was Henry Coyne, the man who had accosted me at the Frost Fair.
"What do you want of me?" I asked.
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"I daresay you know the answer to that question. 'Tis what I've always wanted. 'Tis only
my due."
"The Queen has taken control of my estates."
"If you were to marry, that control would be in contest."
"Before God, I would not marry you!"
"Rest easy, girl. I would liefer take a viper to my bed," he said. "But Henry here says he
is willing. And, better yet, he is willing to share."
"The wealth," Coyne corrected him. "Not the lass. Any road, what's a toothsome young
wench to an old stick like you, Sir Thomas?"
"As I said, better a viper," Sir Thomas said.
"You had best let me go free," I told Coyne, looking him as steady in the eye as I could.
"If the Queen's ladies marry without her permission, both bride and groom are most often subject
to imprisonment in the Tower. How much worse it will be if the lady in question is a ward of the
Crown. She is sorely jealous of her wards' wealth."
I thought I saw a flicker of uncertainty in Coyne's eyes, so I drove the point home.
"The Queen will believe me when I say I was unwilling. I daresay you would stand little
hope of avoiding her executioner in such circumstances. Did you witness Babington's
execution? I did."
"The Queen will have to find us first."
"And how do you propose getting my estates out of her without revealing yourselves?"
"All in good time, wench. When Coyne here has done his part and put a brat in your
belly, she will not quibble."
"Aye, she forgave your young friend Lettyce soon enough," Coyne said.
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"Lettyce went to the Tower."
"And came right back out again," My stepfather interjected. "She told Coyne here that the
Queen dotes on you and will not mete out any great punishment."
I stared at Henry Coyne, aghast. "You spoke to Lettyce?"
"If speaking is what you call it. I found her not averse to discussing her fellow attendants
upon occasion, when I did not have her otherwise occupied."
I'd had no idea. The thought of pretty Lettyce and Coyne together sickened me. Then it
struck me my friend had betrayed my confidence, had betrayed me.
I could only shake my head, stunned.
"How now, wench?" My stepfather asked. "Speechless at last?" He turned to Coyne. "We
best be going."
The two men closed in on me and, although I kicked and screamed, they soon had me
trussed as tightly as a Christmas goose. Then, with Sir Thomas taking my feet and Coyne
catching me under my arms – not without a great deal of unnecessary groping – the two men
carried me out of the hut to a small horse-drawn cart and heaved me into the back of it.
Sir Thomas threw an old dirt-encrusted woolen blanket over me. Thus blinded, I strained
my ears and heard them scramble up onto the cart's seat. Someone clicked to the horse, and the
cart began to move. It bounced along what seemed to me to be a country lane, the wheels
clattering and complaining.
The cloth, pressed against my face, exuded a powerfully unpleasant odor. I wriggled to
get out from under it, both to escape the odor and perhaps my bonds and thus the cart. I had
some success, so that I could see daylight and treetops, then one of my captors struck me in the
head with either his fist or a handy club and everything went black.
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248
*
I awoke later on, the cart jolting beneath me. How much time had passed I do not know,
but I could see daylight through the coarsely woven cloth covering my face. My head pounded,
and the pain sharpened when I tried to move.
Think, I told myself. The agony buzzing through my poor abused skull did not help, but I
endeavored to apply what few addled wits were left to me to an escape plan. I had little doubt
what would become of me if my stepfather and Coyne had their way. They would both take
what they wanted of me and kill me in the end.
Kidnapping a ward of the Queen had to be a serious crime, and I could identify them
both. The would not wish to leave me alive to testify.
It struck me that the cart wheels, while complaining no less than before, made a different
sound as if passing over firmer ground, perhaps even cobbled streets. Mayhap we were back in
London, returned from whatever country hideaway of my stepfather's finding.
What other sounds could I hear over the cartwheels' clatter? Did I hear voices? The
sound of pedestrians walking near the cart? Surely, that was a wailing babe and not a new
squeak in the cart's poorly sprung frame.
I tried an experiment.
"Help!" I yelled, turned on my side as best I could. "Here, in the cart! Help."
Then, I ducked my head to avoid my stepfather's inevitable retaliation which came in the
form of a glancing blow off my back and shoulder.
It hurt, but not so badly as to dash my wits from me. I lay quiet, listening and waiting for
a possible rescue.
Jack of Hearts
None came. Presently, exhausted and with my head still pounding from my stepfather's
previous attentions, I believe I must have dozed a bit, because all at once the cart was no longer
moving. And now I was certain I did hear voices, not Sir Thomas or Coyne's, but raucous female
voices.
Hands scrabbled at my feet and beneath my arms, taking hold of me to lift me from the
cart. I drew in my breath to scream and perhaps attract some attention to myself, but a big hand
came down hard over my mouth, so hard nasty woolen cloth was driven inside my lips.
"Keep your pie hole shut, bitch!" Sir Thomas hissed, the whisper doing little to blunt the
crudeness of his words.
Mutely, I wriggled, trying to free myself. If they did anything overtly to restrain me,
surely someone would see more than two men carrying a heavy bolt of damaged wool. But the
two men were both strong and my overwrought strength was ebbing quickly.
Abruptly the sunlight working its way through the cloth over my face faded, and I could
tell we must be inside a building. The two men changed their grip on me and began carrying me
up what seemed like a stairway, a steep one.
"Damnation!" Coyne complained. "God's teeth. Who would think such a bit of a wench
could weigh so much?"
"No need to blaspheme, Coyne," my stepfather said.
It struck me funny that my stepfather could retain his Puritan sensibilities in the midst of
a kidnapping and perhaps worse. I began to giggle.
I giggled all along the way up that flight of stairs and the next, the second one so steep it
was a wonder they held on to me. Then, I heard a door slam back against the wall behind it. My
captors threw me down so hard it drove all the air and giggle out of me.
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My stepfather yanked the cloth from my face so I could look up and see Coyne and him
looming over me.
"Do not think you can slip away from this place," he said. "The folk here know how to
keep hold of a lass."
"Aye, and if you behave, I will come back later and maybe loosen those ropes," Coyne
added. "At least the ones around your legs. A wench with her legs tied together is poor sport."
Both men stumped out of the room, their boots tramping on the wooden floor, and
slammed the door closed behind them. Briefly, I heard a clatter as they descended the stairs,
then all went quiet.
Their last threat motivating me, I twisted myself around so as to better see the room that
imprisoned me. It seemed little different than the plank-walled shed where I had spent the
previous night, with the exception of a window on the wall opposite me. Its shutters hung askew
and did not appear to be latched. Perhaps if I could get to the window, I could make my
presence known to someone passing by in the lane outside the house.
I managed to roll onto my stomach, and, like the little green worms you sometimes see
looping their way along apple twigs, inched my way across the rough floor. My progress was
slow and tedious, and I picked up more than one vicious splinter on the way, but I eventually
reached the window.
For a space of time I lay there, sweating and panting from my exertion and wondering
how I might rise up to look out the window which seemed an impossible distance above my
head. After a few failed attempts, I turned myself over onto my side and from there lurched to
my knees. I teetered there for a moment until I achieved some semblance of balance.
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A quick look up told me the window was only a few scant inches above my eyes. I
strained my body, stretching to rise as high as I might and was able to peer through the window.
Of course it was without glass, a good thing for only the Queen and her richest lords could meet
the expense of glass transparent enough to actually see through. And no house as dilapidated as
this one would ever boast windows filled with even the nearly opaque stuff the only richest
merchants could afford.
I peered through the window. Below me lay an open space of a type very familiar to me
– a space like the enclosed yard of a coaching inn, much like the many I had seen last summer
while traveling with Captain Jack's men.
But something was different about this innyard. My stepfather's cart was nowhere to be
seen, nor were there the usual horses, wagons and dusty travelers one would surely notice in such
a place on a late spring afternoon. The slanting sun told me the time of day; my dangerheightened senses told me more.
I spied an entrance into the yard, and several men stood to either side of it. Deceptively
relaxed, they leaned against the wall and chatted back and forth, although I could not make out
the sound of their voices. My knees began to hurt, but I did not call out the window as I had at
first thought to do. Something about the men sent a frisson of warning across my shoulders.
Then I saw a woman. She sauntered across the innyard, her hips a-sway beneath a dark
red skirt, and the men watched her approach with inscrutable expressions. She reached the
closest man and put her hand on his arm, throwing back her head to display her face and upper
body to him. He reacted just as one might expect, leaning down as if to kiss her, but a shrieking
voice stopped him short, his face poised just above the woman's.
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"Alice!" Just as I identified that raven-like voice as female, another woman strode into
view, this one all in black and apparently emerging from a door just below me. "Get your arse
back inside."
The man caught the first woman's arm in a grip that brought a visible grimace to her face
and spun her around to face the second woman, who stood waiting arms akimbo. The woman in
the red skirt protested, but her strength was nothing to the man who held her. He was very large
with the shoulders and facial features of an ox. He half-dragged his charge forward and dropped
her at the black-garbed woman's feet, where she wept and raised her hands in supplication.
Alice's pleas apparently few on deaf ears for the woman in black raised back her arm, and
brought it down, striking a hard blow to the side of her tear-streaked face. Then, she drew back
her foot, a foot I noticed wore a heavy man-like boot, and kicked Alice full in the abdomen so
that she flopped back onto the ground and lay motionless.
"Get the fly-blown doxy back inside, Ned" the black-garbed woman said. I wished I
could see her face, thinking such an evil woman must be a wondrous hideous thing to behold, but
all I could see was the neatly starched white cap atop her head.
"Aye, Dame Judith," Ned said, ducking his head politely.
Dame Judith turned on her heel, her black skirts swirling around her, and disappeared
from view.
Ned followed along behind her, half-carrying, half-dragging the woman Dame Judith had
called Alice. I saw blood on the corner of Alice's mouth and a purple bruise blooming across her
sallow cheek. Just then, Ned looked up, and as his gaze met mine, I sat back abruptly, almost
sending myself crashing unto the floor.
The evil in Ned's cold black stare set me wondering what manner of place this was.
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Darkness came on quickly after that. I curled myself up on the bare floor and set to
worrying about Henry Coyne's threatened return, but exhaustion soon overcame me and I slept
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254
Chapter Twelve
Sunlight streaming through the window and a desperate need to relieve myself roused me
the next morning. I'd become familiar enough with my prison the evening before to know it was
bare of any necessities such as even a chamber pot, and a trip to the jakes was out of the
question, considering my bound hands and feet.
My stepfather had warned me that no one would rescue me and I believed him. Not even
Jack with his uncanny habit of appearing at the most fortuitous moments would come for me this
time. My salvation was in my own tightly bound hands.
I set to the tedious and excruciating task of freeing them, twisting and turning and testing
for the slightest bit of wiggle room. Just as the situation seemed most hopeless, something gave
way and my right hand was free enough to work at the knots binding the left. Soon after that, I
had liberated both my hands and set to working at the rest of my bonds.
Add Something here
The door opened and the dark woman I saw outside my window the day before came into
the room. Accompanying her was the man I had heard her call Ned and two other women,
carrying sundry items including a mattress, food and water, and, thank God, a chamber pot.
The dark woman came to stand directly in front of me, looking me up and down as one
might peruse a horse on display for possible purchase. She took the fabric of my sleeve, now
torn and dirty, between her fingers and rubbed it, testing the quality of it as I had seen women do
at the cloth fair. She glanced down at my feet, bare save for my stockings or what threadbare
remnants there were of them. 'Twould not have much surprised me had she examined my teeth.
Jack of Hearts
Her proximity did give me an opportunity to take her measure as well. She was indeed
dark, black hair drawn back severely, her complexion more olive than ivory. But her eyes were
at odds with the rest of her coloring, for they were a pale and piercing icy blue. A disinterested
observer might have called her handsome, but not one whit of sentiment resided in those cold
eyes that stared into mine for a few long seconds before she finally spoke.
"How now, girl," she said in a voice deep and guttural as a man's. "I vow I do not see the
value in you. These wenches...," she gestured to the two women who stood behind her, now
empty handed, their heads down, "...at least bring me some coin with what they earn on their
backs."
"Appearances are not always what they seem, Judith."
Henry Coyne had strolled into the room and now stood just inside the doorway, his right
hand upon the hilt of his sword and one leg set slightly forward of the other and bent at the knee.
The Queen had a full length portrait of Robert Dudley in just such a pose, meant to show off a
man's shapely legs. The portrait may have done the Earl of Leicester justice, but it did little for
Coyne's skinny shanks.
It apparently did nothing to impress Dame Judith either.
"I want payment up front," she informed Coyne in her deep voice. "I vow you'll tire of
this scrawny wench quick enough. Better one of these toothsome lasses here." She indicated the
other two women in the room with a flash of her pale eyes.
I caught one of them looking hard at me, and something about her, what little I could see
of her silhouetted in the doorway, was disturbingly familiar. When she saw me looking at her,
she ducked her head.
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Coyne handed Dame Judith a bag which clinked when she hefted it. "Not very generous
are you, Harry," she said.
"Generous enough for the likes of you," he retorted. "See she's fed and cleaned up. I
have business here with her tonight."
He leered at me, an expression I was growing used to seeing him display.
My visitors streamed out of the room, Dame Judith pulling closed the door behind her. I
waited until the sound of their footsteps on the stairway outside faded and then double checked
the door in the hope it had not been locked. Dame Judith had not struck me as a woman who
would easily overlook such details, and the locked door confirmed my appraisal of her.
I wasted no time before putting the chamber pot to good use and going through the rest of
the items Dame Judith and her people had deposited in my room. I made short work of the bread
and cheese wrapped in a cloth and drank some water. Simple victuals but the first I'd had in
more than two days.
My hunger sated and feeling a little more myself, I explored the room. Not that there was
much to discover – a small square space with only the single window and the things Dame
Judith's women had left behind. But Henry Coyne had made me a serious threat, and I needed to
find some avenue of escape before he returned to act upon it.
I sat myself down on the mattress, the sole item of furniture the room boasted and set
about mulling over my situation.
Coyne had said nothing concerning the whereabouts of my stepfather. Sir Thomas had
made clear his plans for me the previous day, and they included far more than simple ravishment
by Henry Coyne. I wondered if the two men had fallen out with one another. Mayhap my
stepfather might come for me. At this point anything was preferable to Coyne's return.
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Then I pondered the chance familiarity of one of the two women who had accompanied
Dame Judith. Even the look of her as she departed, wide hips swaying beneath her full skirts,
brought someone to mind, someone whose identity just escaped me.
Green as I was, I had a good idea Dame Judith's occupation involved selling the services
of such women. They brought to mind Chas Brown and the other women freezing in the snow
outside Whitehall Palace on the morning of the Queen's masque. Doxies, my Aunt had called
them. At least these women had a roof over their heads and likely enough food to eat. Then I
recalled the guttural sound of Dame Judith's voice and wondered if food and shelter might
sometimes come too dear.
"God's Teeth!"
The epiphany, when it came, was clear and sudden as lightning on a summer eve, and I
slapped my forehead with my palm in frustration at the slowness of my wits.
One of Judith's women, the one who seemed familiar, had looked very much like
Chastity Brown, albeit I'd not gotten a good look at her face. I was not mistaking the way she
carried herself, and I recalled the attempt she'd made to hide her face when she ducked her head.
Chas, here in this awful place. I had to try to communicate with her. Perhaps we might
escape together. I tried not to take into consideration that Chas might not have the best of
intentions towards me. This time last year she was traveling the English countryside with
Captain Jack's men. I could only hope she held me in no way accountable for the change in her
situation.
After all, she had made her own choices in regard to Master Will.
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The hours passed at a crawl. I kept track of them by the spot of sunlight that came in
through the window and crept along the rough hewn planks of the floor below it. No one
bothered me until very late in the afternoon when Dame Judith came into the room, this time
accompanied only by Ned, to my great disappointment.
"Strip those rags off," she ordered, turning my disappointment to dismay. I glanced at
Ned, who stood behind her, arms crossed and making no move to leave the room in order to
preserve my modesty.
Dame Judith's breath expelled in a sigh of disgust as she saw me looking at Ned. "Never
mind him. What's he going to see in a poor skinny thing like you when he's surrounded day and
night by my fine girls?"
She thrust a bundle of clothing into my hands. "Here, put these on. Coyne wants you
presentable."
"I do not wish to make myself presentable for the likes of Henry Coyne!" I told her.
Dame Judith slapped me hard across my left cheek, the blow so sudden and vicious it left
me gasping and holding my hands over my throbbing face.
"I am warning you, girl," she said, her voice little more than a guttural whisper. "I am law
in this house. I withhold my hand only because Harry has paid me well. The Devil only knows
why he's taken such an interest in you."
"But if you gainsay me, I will hurt you in ways he won't notice. And when he's tired of
you, I will give you over to Ned."
I had dropped the bundle of clothing. She pointed at it.
"As I said before, strip and put those on. If you cannot, Ned will assist you."
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Shuddering at the thought of Ned's ham-like hands on me, I turned my back on him and
removed my clothing, first down to my chemise and petticoats and then to my bare skin when
Dame Judith prompted me again.
I imagined I could feel Ned's gaze on my back as I hurried to pull on the new garments. I
found there were far fewer items of clothing there to replace my old ones, merely a kirtle of
some flimsy fabric and a bodice to lace over it. The bodice had apparently been sewn for
someone smaller than me. My bosom, never one of my more ample attributes, threatened to
overflow it at any moment. And the sleeveless kirtle left my arms bare.
But the wardrobe change apparently met Dame Judith's expectations, because she nodded
after looking me up and down and left the room, Ned, like a faithful dog, right on her heels.
By the time they were gone, I noticed the light coming through my window had dimmed
perceptibly. Coyne had promised to return in the evening. The fading daylight told me my
situation was fast becoming dire.
I went to the window and leaned out, looking for another living soul. I'd kept an eye
peeled most of the day for activity outside that window, but Dame Judith's business activities
most likely picked up only after dark. I needed to be out of there before nightfall.
My vigilance was at last rewarded when a figure emerged from a door below me. I could
see only the top of her head and back, but immediately I knew she was the woman I had taken
for Chas earlier in the day.
I blew a low whistle to catch her attention, and then called out to her in the stage whisper
I had practiced to perfections with Captain Jack's players.
"Chas! Up here!"
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She stopped, indicating she had heard me, and then turned slowly to look up at my
window. It was indeed Chas, although I could see why I had not recognized her before. Her
face was round and puffy, as unhealthy looking as lard pudding. She had always been ample of
form, but now she looked blowsy and unkept.
But she recognized me and that was all that mattered.
"Chas! Help me, please. Get help."
She put her finger over her lips to caution me, and then turned as if hearing something I
could not. Even with the distance separating us I saw the fear come into her eyes. She mouthed
something at me and disappeared back into the lower story of the house.
I recalled the beating Dame Judith had meted out to another woman on the previous day
and hope froze in my breast. Chas would be too frightened of the possible consequences to risk
helping me.
All I could do was wait for nightfall and Henry Coyne.
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261
Chapter Thirteen
In spite of myself, or perhaps out of nervous exhaustion, I must have dozed, because I
was lying on the straw mattress with no recollection of how I got there when the door opened,
letting in a confusion of voices and rush lights.
Two voices I recognized – Sir Henry Coyne and Thomas Skipwith, my stepfather. They
sounded as if arguing a point, but I could not determine what it was. Another man and several
women had come into the room with them; the women carried food and flagons of wine and the
man carried a book and a wine tankard.
I got to my feet, tugging at my bodice so that it covered as much of me as was possible
for that meager garment. The intruders at first paid me little heed, but continued with their heated
discussion.
"I shall not leave until I see you and the wench properly married," my stepfather said.
"'Twould better to do it in daylight. Rich here is half-blind and cannot see to read the
vows even in the best light," Coyne retorted. His words were slurred, and that, along with the
tankard in his hand, provided evidence he had been drinking. By the giggling and wine fumes, I
could tell the third man and his female companions were also well into their cups.
Unfortunately, my Puritan stepfather was not a drinking man. I might have had a fair chance of
escaping a crowd of drunken sots.
AS it was, with the argument continuing, I began to sidle around my visitors, through the
shadows, and toward the open door. Should I see an opening, perhaps I could make a dash for it.
I kept an ear on the conversation. Apparently, my stepfather wanted the legalities done and
sealed before turning me over to Coyne.
Jack of Hearts
Coyne, on the other hand, seemed squeamish about signing anything too hastily. The
third man's place in this drama remained a mystery so far.
But my stepfather was not taking anything on faith.
"Suppose you kill the wench, Harry?" he wanted to know. "Then where would we be?"
"I've never killed a wench yet!"
"This one's not willing. And she's damned stubborn."
"Some wine and a bit of a cuddle and this one will be willing enough. I stand to lose, too,
if you recall. A dead wench will benefit neither of us."
I'd nearly reached the door and could espy no one, especially Dame Judith nor Ned her
shadow, in the stairwell beyond. Seeing my way clear, I hiked up my skirts and made a run for
it, pell-mell down two narrow flights of stairs, through an empty vestibule of some kind and out
a door that stood open and beckoning, a portal to freedom.
The open portal lied – I ran straight into Ned's arms.
He caught me up as if I weighed no more than a bit of eiderdown. I kicked and
screamed, cursing him all the way as he returned me to the top of the stairs and the men awaiting
me there.
It happened that the third man, Rich, was a minister. He carried a prayer book and some
papers that appeared to be legal documents. He was also very drunk and preoccupied with his
two doxies, turning away from them only reluctantly to face Ned and Henry Coyne. They held
me suspended between the two of them so that my feet did not touch the floor, rendering my
kicks at them ineffective. My foot did connect with Rich's wine tankard sending it and its
contents flying.
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"Damnation!" he exclaimed.
"Are you sure this man is a minister? Maybe he's a damned papist. They all drink to
excess," my stepfather said.
"Certain I am," Coyne assured him. "He's a vicar without a flock at the moment and so
he's amenable to these circumstances."
My stepfather made a disparaging sound through his nose, but protested Rich's
credentials no further. I supposed he did not care, so long as the man's signature stood up to the
slight scrutiny the marriage documents and other papers handing over to him most of my estates
might incur.
Holding his book before him, Rich muttered a few words in the general direction of
Coyne and me, then made an odd, truncated motion with his hand, as if halting something done
out of long habit. The motion gave him away, at least to me, but perhaps I was the only one
paying him any mind to see it.
Rich was a priest, mayhap defrocked or in hiding, but a Papist all the same. Had my
position been less dire I might have enjoyed the joke at my rabidly anti-Roman stepfather's
expense. As it was, I concentrated on making my reluctance to be married known to the priest.
"I will not take this man to be my husband," I shouted. "I will not....!" Ned's massive
hand clamped down hard over my mouth, stifling any further protest.
Any road, Rich appeared to notice nothing out of the ordinary. He muttered on, halfcrossed himself a few more times, then closed his prayer book. The book took on another task
when it became a makeshift desk for the signing of the marriage documents.
"I will sign for the girl," my stepfather said. "I am her legal guardian."
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Ned had removed his hand, and I mustered another protest. "Tis a lie," I shrieked. "The
Queen is my..." Once more Ned's hand cut off my objections.
After the papers were signed, Dame Judith's doxies shared wine around. My stepfather
even deigned to take a sip, although I doubt he swallowed. Coyne did his best to ply me with
wine.
"Open your mouth, girl," he said, pushing a tankard against my firmly clamped lips as
Ned held me from behind. "'Twill soften your resolve."
I shook my head violently, having no desire to soften my resolve, and wine sloshed over
the both of us.
Coyne jumped back, rubbing at his wine-stained doublet.
"Damnation and hellfire, bitch," he swore. "I will have the worth of this velvet out of you
ere this night ends."
My stepfather heard that.
"Aye, the bridegroom is anxious! Let us move the celebration below stairs and leave the
happy couple in peace." He herded Rich and the others out of the room. One of them, Rich I
suspected, fell on the stairs. I heard him crashing all the way to the bottom.
Sir Thomas Skipwith, my stepfather and supposed guardian spoke only to Coyne upon
taking his own leave.
"See she survives the night, Harry," he said, pausing at the door. "That special license
cost me dear, but it's not worth a penny to me without the girl."
He closed the door, and I was alone in the dark with Henry Coyne.
While his eyes were adjusting, I took advantage of the gloom to move quietly away from
Coyne. I could hear him breathing, but for a while he did not speak. Then, after a long and
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noisy gulp of wine, he began to stalk me, his boots shuffling on the wooden floor. That sound, as
well as the sour wine smell of his breath, kept me more than an arm's length away from him for
quite a while.
But slowly my vision accustomed itself to the ambient light that crept into the room
through the window. I froze in place, knowing my movements would be discernable to Coyne,
but did so too late. He pounced upon me like a big cat, putting his hands around my neck. I
kicked out at him and tried to claw at his face, but his fingers tightened dangerously around my
throat.
"Well met, sweeting," he crooned into my ear. "Enough games. Or rather, on to better
games."
He scuffled his feet, holding me so tightly I had difficulty breathing and dragging me
with him as he searched the floor for the mattress. I knew when he found it because he threw me
down so hard that I lost what little breath I had left. Gasping, I could only lay limp and stare up
at his dark silhouette as he knelt over me.
"Here, you'll take wine now, I vow." This time I could do little to prevent him forcing
the wine past my lips, but when I had a mouthful, I spewed it back in the general direction of his
head.
My aim must have been good. So was Coyne's. His fist cuffed me on the side of my face
so hard my ears rang. Leaving off any further attempts with the wine, he began to tear at my
clothing. I had laced my bodice firmly, but it parted easily beneath his assault. I slapped at him,
with little noticeable effect except to anger him even further so that he hit me again with his fists.
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I managed to connect with one good defensive blow, but then he caught my arm and
twisted it above and behind my head so viciously I heard the bones crack. The arm went numb. I
began to realize I would either have to surrender to him or die fighting.
Recalling my stepfather's parting words, I made my choice.
I mustered all my waning strength to twist myself around and kick out at him, keeping
before me the hellish image of a marriage to Henry Coyne. Something Jack had said to me once
about defending myself came to me, and I lashed out at Coyne with my bare feet.
'Twas a lucky blow I must have got in. He reeled backwards suddenly, cursing and
sputtering. I scrambled up and made for the door.
Coyne recovered himself too fast and caught me half way there. Tangling his fingers in
my hair, he clouted me across the side of the head with the wine tankard, sending me to my
knees and seeing stars.
The second time he hit me everything went black.
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267
Chapter Fourteen
I came to gasping for breath, but the air was so full of smoke it set me to coughing and
choking. Where the room had been dark before it was now well-illuminated with flickering red
light streaming in through the window and the open door.
No normal daylight this, I realized. The house was on fire
My left arm hung limp and useless, but I managed with my right hand to remove my
tattered bodice which I pressed over my face. It helped filter the smoke a bit, and for a moment I
could think. The house was an old wooden structure. From the looks of things, I had only
moments to escape before it became fully engulfed.
I managed to get to my feet and made my way first to the window, with the idea of
getting a long breath of fresh air before I tackled those flights of stairs. But what I saw out the
window stopped me there.
The courtyard below was full of soldiers wearing the livery of the Queen's guards.
Somehow, she had found me and sent them to rescue me. I dropped the cloth I was holding,
leaned out the window and waved at them.
"Here! Here I am!" I screamed. Not one soldier looked up at my window. All of them
were scurrying around and there was such a din perhaps they did not hear me.
Then, one man was directly below me.
"Soldier!" Look up!"
Miraculously, he did, but instead of calling reinforcements over to help affect my rescue,
he went on about his business.
I needed his full attention.
Jack of Hearts
All I wore was a chemise, hanging loosely across my shoulders. I slipped my good arm
out and waved again at the soldier, exposing the whole of my upper body to him.
He looked my way, first a glance, then a longer look, changed direction abruptly and
headed into the burning house beneath my window.
I shrugged my chemise back onto my shoulders and went to the door to meet him. The
stairs were empty and went I looked down disappeared into the black, smoke-filled depths of the
house. Within moments I was sure no one was coming. I'd have to save myself.
Pressing the cloth of my torn bodice over my mouth and nose once again, I started down
the stairs.
Heat and smoke hit me like a wall. I could feel my hair lifting and imagined it burning
about my head like a nimbus. I had burnt my fingers on rushlights before, most painful those
injuries had been, and I began to wonder how it would feel to burn alive.
I made it to the first landing before my strength left me entirely, and I fell to my knees,
unable to breathe at all. My chest burned deep inside as if I had inhaled live flame. Then
someone was there, right in front of me. He scooped me up in his arms and carried me down the
last flight of stairs, out of the house and into the cool night air beyond.
Breathing too much smoke must make one giddy, I recall thinking, because staring up at
my savior, his face lit by the burning house, I thought he looked just like Jack.
"Chas was in there, in the house," I told him. "I pray she got out."
"She is stirring," a man's voice said.
I opened my eyes to find myself lying in a comfortable bed with a strange man looking
down at me: strange because I did not recognize him and also because of his appearance.
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An older man, he wore a thick white beard on his chin, and a skull cap topped his shiny
bald head. The most interesting of his features were his enormous nose, proud as a ship's prow
and his large, dark eyes. Those eyes were regarding me with an expression of curiosity and
something resembling anger. He was speaking, in an oddly accented voice, to someone outside
of my line of sight.
"She awakens," he told the invisible other person. Then he spoke directly to me.
"Welcome back to the world, my lady."
I tried to speak, but my throat burned painfully with the effort. "Thirsty!" I managed in a
hoarse whisper.
"But of course you are," the strange man said and made a gesture with his hand. A
woman came with a cup and handed it to him. He pressed the cup to my mouth. I swallowed and
found it was watered wine. It stung my lips, and I put my fingers to them, finding them raw and
sore.
"Take only sips for now," the man cautioned. "In a short while it will get easier.
I followed his command and presently I found I could speak a little.
"Where am I?"
"In Lady Prynne's house. She has kindly taken you in."
The name meant nothing to me. "And who are you?"
"I am Mathias Blum," he said. I had heard that name before.
"The physician."
"Aye, my lady."
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I had heard he treated the Queen years before for smallpox, saving her life, although she
had not used his services recently. Some disagreement between them, apparently. The Queen's
ladies had gossiped about it, but I had so little interest at the time I had not retained the details.
"Are you Lady Prynne?" I asked the woman who had brought the wine and hovered just
behind Master Blum.
"Nay, my lady. I am Esther, Maestro Blum's daughter." She used the Italian form of
address for her father, and I wondered if that were their native country. A slight foreign accent
colored the English of both father and daughter.
I could see the resemblance, once she mentioned their relationship. In her face, his
aquiline features were softer, and she had large, dark eyes, much like her father's. She had also
inherited his impressive height.
I was becoming aware of a number of aches and pains, not the least of which was the arm
Henry Coyne had manhandled in his attack upon me. In fact, it hurt so badly, I could not
suppress a groan when a futile attempt to move it sent sharp agony from my fingertips to my
shoulder. My throat still ached, even after the wine, as did my head.
"He hit me," I said.
"Aye, my lady. Apparently several times."
"I thought I saw Jack." I could swear I'd recognized the face of the man who had rescued
me from the burning brothel.
"Jack?" Master Blum gave me a puzzled look.
His daughter said something to him in a low tone. The words were unintelligible to me,
mayhap a foreign language. I knew no Italian, but I imagined it must sound like that.
Master Blum nodding, agreeing to what I know not, then turned back to me.
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"I must attend to your injuries, my lady," he said. "You have a fractured bone in your arm
and that must be manipulated into place and immobilized so it will heal properly."
A broken bone was not a good thing, I knew. Often such injuries went septic, resulting in
the loss of a limb if not of life. And most amputations in themselves proved fatal.
"I hope you are a good physician."
"The best," Master Blum said with a half-smile hovering around his lips. "Or so my
patients tell me."
"The ones who survive!"
His smile widened, revealing unusually even, white teeth. "Aye, my lady." he agreed.
Then a more sober expression came over his features. "This will be very painful," he told
me. "Which is why my daughter is here. She will assist in holding you motionless while I
perform the procedure I described."
Esther came to stand at my head, leaning over me, a foreboding look in her eyes. She
handed me a small piece of soft, padded leather. "To clench between your teeth," she said,
indicating that I should bite down upon it. Then she put both her hands on my shoulders,
pressing me down onto the bed.
For the first time since escaping Dame Judith's brothel house I felt real fear, but before I
could think to protest, Master Blum took up my injured arm. He manipulated it deftly in his
long-fingered hands. I could feel the bones shifting and grinding against one another as they slid
into place.
The pain was excruciating. Gagged by the leather, I could not scream out loud nor could I
escape the physician because his daughter held me with a mighty grip that would have done a
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wrestler credit. The room began to spin and darken. I shut my eyes against the nausea that rose in
my throat.
Nothing Henry Coyne had done to me compared to this.
Then there came a loud cracking sound that drew a grunt of satisfaction from Master
Blum. "There we are!" he said in a triumphant tone, and the pain lessened considerably.
He produced some strips of dampened cloth and small flat slats of wood. The cloth he
wound tightly about my arm, interspersed with the wooden slats, until it had reached a thickness
that almost doubled the arm's circumference. Then he interspaced some larger lengths of wood
around my arm and bound them in place with more cloth.
He bade me sit up and after I did so with Esther's assistance, he immobilized the arm by
binding it to my body with more strips of cloth. After Esther helped me lie back on the bed, the
physician administered to my other hurts, applying a compress to the side of my head where
Coyne had struck me with his tankard and salves to other cuts and scrapes.
Then, Esther pressed another cup to my lips. "Here, this will make you sleep," she said. The cup
contained a vile liquid that made me sputter and gag, but I was asleep before I could spew it back
out at her.
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273
Chapter Fifteen
I next awoke to darkness and nagging pain. When I tried to sit up, I found myself too
weak and awkward with my bound arm to do so. A familiar smoky scent burned my nostrils.
"Jack?" He was the only one in the small circle of my acquaintance who smoked a pipe.
A chair creaked, quite close to the bed.
"Aye, Frank?"
For a moment I could not breathe so overjoyed I was to hear his voice. Then the
questions cascaded from my lips like water past a broken dam.
"Why are we here? What about Coyne and my stepfather? What about Chas? Jack, she
was in that house!"
The chair complained again, and with my eyes becoming more used to the darkened
room, I could make out his shape as he leaned toward me.
"Chas sent a boy to tell us where you were, where Skipwith and Coyne had hidden you,"
Jack said. "I never saw her in that house."
"And the others?"
"Coyne is dead. I dealt with him myself. And I believe Skipwith escaped. I did not see
him, either."
Henry Coyne, dead. It was a weight off my heart.
"I would have killed him myself if I could have," I told him through clenched teeth.
It was too dark to see but I could imagine Jack's white teeth bared in a wide grin. "I
believe you," he said. "Doctor Blum says you engaged in a most fearsome battle."
Then another thought struck me. "Why are we not at Court? I am certain the Queen
wonders where I am. Her soldiers were outside Dame Judith's that night."
Jack of Hearts
"Court may not be safe for you now."
"Why not? The Queen has shown nothing but concern for my well-being."
"There is the matter of your stepfather. And Coyne...," he said after a pause.
"Coyne's dead, you said. And my stepfather could not touch me at court, especially once
the Queen has heard my story."
"He will have a tale to tell of his own. That, in truth you are Coyne's widow now. There
was a marriage, the papers were signed and the marriage consummated."
"'Tis a damned lie!" The words wrenched out of me, tearing at my throat, still raw from
smoke and Coyne's attempts to strangle me. "I fought him off!"
At least, I hoped I had. The concern had nagged at the edge of my thoughts that perhaps
my defense had not been so successful. What had Coyne done to me after knocking me
senseless? I had no experience in these matters. Would I know?
At that moment I missed Chas. She could have answered the question for me. And of the
few people I knew, she was the only one I could have asked without embarrassment.
Then, a more positive thought occurred to me.
"If I am now a widow, does that mean I am my own woman? Not a ward of the Queen's
Court nor subject to my stepfather? Mayhap, 'tis not such a bad situation."
"Nay," Jack said. "An heiress of any degree is never her own woman. The vultures and
ravens will circle, and you will fall prey to the first one bold enough to strike."
"Surely, I have another choice?"
"Take care you fall prey to the raven of your choice."
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I realized I was seeing him clearly for the first time. The grey light of dawn had crept
unremarked into the room. Jack slipped his cold pipe into the leather pouch he kept it in and
leaned forward.
"Frank, you have some thinking to do. The vultures are cunning. They will make the
connection and find you here soon enough. There are things you can do to protect yourself."
What connection? I wondered, but I asked him a more pressing question.
"What things can I do?"
"Marry, and quickly."
"'Tis only one thing and not a pleasing prospect," I pointed out.
Jack expelled his breath in an exasperated sigh. "Then what would you consider a
pleasing prospect, my Lady?" The "my lady" he said mockingly.
"Mayhap I should join your group of players for the summer."
Jack laughed aloud. "Captain Jack's men are no more. There has never been a Captain
Jack. Did you not realize we were always players in a deeper game?"
"What game?"
"There are and have been for some time sinister forces at work in our country. Think
upon Babington and his fellow conspirators."
I recalled the execution of the boy in blackberry velvet. And that of the Jesuit Ballard,
whom I had known as Stephen. The memory yet raised the hairs at the back of my neck, even
after all these months.
"Who better than traveling players to root out well-hidden conspiracies? 'Twas all the
Queen's idea, actually."
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The news that I had been wrong in my assumptions, that Jack was not a secret Papist
involved in nefarious activities against the crown, should have set my mind at rest. Strangely, it
did not. I recalled Stephen's gentle eyes and his efforts to nurse Jack back to health.
"A pig roots out truffles," I said. "But that makes it no less a pig. What of Stephen? He
might well have saved your life."
"The man plotted to take lives – most notably that of the Queen. Would you prefer the
Spaniard in Whitehall and the fires burning at Smithfield once again?"
"Nay, I would not."
"That is a relief, for most assuredly it is what Ballard and his ilk worked to accomplish."
"But what of Geoffrey and Tom and Sully? And Master Will?"
"They have scattered to the winds." Jack flung his arm in one of his theatric gestures. "Do
not concern yourself about them. I heard only a fortnight or so ago that Master Will has joined a
group of players in London. They are all well settled."
Master Will concerned me little, but the other men were older and not like to find
themselves a comfortable situation so easily.
I might have argued the point, but the door opened and a woman entered the room. Jack
rose to his feet and kissed her cheek with a gesture that seemed more familiar than courtly.
"You smell wonderful," Jack told the woman.
"'Tis the bread. Fresh made this morning," she said, smiling up at him, a tilt of her chin
indicating the tray she carried.
I noticed she had dimples. And white teeth behind full red lips. I stirred in the bed. It
made an impatient, rustling noise, and they both turned to stare at me as if surprised to find me
there.
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"Introduce me to your friend, Captain." I gave him the title although he'd just told me it
was a sham and a cover for his secret activities in service to the Queen.
"Very well. Lady Celia, this young rapscallion ensconced in your bed is Lady Frances
Jessamyne."
Lady Celia nodded at me most pleasantly, and had, I noticed, placed her hand in the
crook of Jack's arm. I took an instant dislike to her, but peeled my lips back in what I hoped
would pass for a friendly smile.
"Frank's arm is paining her," Jack explained. "She is less likely to snarl when she is
feeling well."
Lady Celia smiled, revealing those damnable dimples again, and she set her tray on the
bed beside me. It contained a breakfast of fresh bread and butter and cool wine, all smelling so
delicious I almost forgave her the dimples.
Then my stomach growled, audibly enough to be an embarrassment.
"It has been days since I've eaten," I muttered ungraciously as I went at the food and
drink with my good hand.
"Well, then, I must take my leave," Jack said, sketching a bow aimed somewhere
between Lady Celia and my bed. Then he was gone and I was alone with Lady Celia.
She took Jack's chair and sat with me until I ate my fill, then took her leave along with
the tray. I watched her depart the room, her womanly hips swaying a bit beneath her skirts.
Jack had not waited so very long to replace Chas in his bed I recall thinking.
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278
Several days passed without another visit from Jack, but Lady Celia was there. So
patient and kind she was that I warmed to her in spite of myself. Dr. Blum paid me a visit during
that time, looking down his long nose at my fading bruises and examining my damaged arm.
"A fortnight or two and you will be well on the road to recovery," he announced,
professing himself pleased with my progress.
The prospect of healing brought with it uncertainty. I could already dress myself, in
clothes lent me by Lady Celia, and could walk around the room. But, I dared not venture out.
Jack had mentioned the dangerous circumstance in which I found myself, and I imagined
adventurers lying in wait for me outside Lady Celia's very door.
I asked Lady Celia about Jack's whereabouts, voicing my concern. "We are so isolated
here," I told her. "I'd feel safer with him about."
"He's gone on one of his mysterious missions," Lady Celia told me.
"Missions?"
"Aye. Did you not know he is an intelligencer for the Queen? Or rather for
."
"Of course I did," I retorted. But I had done so in just the instant she spoke the words.
I'd heard of these men at court, but had never put two and two together in Jack's case. I felt a
fool, but recovered my self composure so that Lady Celia did not realize I was caught unawares.
"Well, then. Long absences without explanation are his wont. I haven't any idea where
he might be."
Jack of Hearts
Before the end of Dr. Blum's fortnight Jack returned and brought with him a proposition.
Actually, I fell into it with an innocence the consequences of which would change my life
yet again.
I was feeling well enough to join Lady Celia at her meals. We were at breakfast when we
heard someone at the door. My throat tightened and Lady Celia half-rose from her seat when
Jack swept through the doorway, smelling of sunshine and horse sweat. He bowed to me and
planted a kiss upon Lady Celia's cheek.
"Pray join us," Lady Celia told him. "We have just begun. These sausages are very fresh
and tasty."
Jack and Lady Cecily kept up a desultory conversation as they ate, but I only watched
them and piddled with my food. Inexplicably, two things aggravated me: Jack's long unexplained
absence and his attention to Lady Cecily.
In truth, he had no reason to explain himself to me, but I planned to press him on both
accounts on the very next opportunity I had – which presented itself soon enough.
When Lady Cecily rose to excuse herself from the table, Jack stood and helped her with
her chair. He did no such thing for me, and I would have stalked out of the room in a temper, had
he not stopped me.
"Stay, Frank. There is something we must discuss." He pushed the door closed and
turned to face me.
"Sit!" he said, indicating the bench from which I had just arisen, and then settled himself
beside me when I had done so.
"What's there to discuss?" I asked. "Are you planning to return me to the Queen?"
"I've told you once that would not be your best option."
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"Aye, I do recall that conversation. You said I must marry. But I can assure you the
Queen will not give me leave to do so."
"Must you ask her leave? Are you really so anxious to grow old in her service? A
prisoner amongst all those other whey faced-women she keeps about her?"
"Nay!" The words spilled unchecked from my lips. When he put it that way, marriage did
not seem so bad an alternative. I had that one letter from Lettyce, and she seemed more than
content with her choice.
"But who shall I marry? And my stepfather will try to interfere. I am sure he has told
everyone who will listen about Henry Coyne."
"Aye," Jack said. "I hear your reputation is quite besmirched at court."
"There you have it in a word. Who would have me?" I was feeling very sorry for myself,
and although marriage had been the farthest thing from my mind only moments before, I
suddenly mourned my lost opportunities.
"I would."
For a space of time I could only stare at him gape-jawed.
"Think on it," he said, filling the void introduced by my speechlessness. "Who better? I
am a man in need of a fortune, you have one. You are a woman in need of a husband willing to
overlook some rather glaring peccadilloes in your past."
"It was through no fault of mine..."
"No one knows that better than do I."
Then, he leaned forward and kissed me full on the lips.
When I'd caught my breath, I pushed him away hard, both my hands planted firmly
against his chest.
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"How dare you insult me in one moment and make love to me in the next. I doubt the
sincerity of either deed."
Jack's eyebrows rose to an almost comical height and he stared down his long nose at me.
"Sincere? I assure you, my lady, I have never been more sincere in my life."
"But I do not wish to marry."
"I fear your logic is faulty, my lady. Only a few heartbeats ago you were bemoaning
your lack of eligible suitors."
Whenever he titled me "My lady" my hackles rose as he only used it to mock me.
"I have had a change of mind. I will not marry. And I will especially not marry you."
I attempted to stand but he caught my arm and held me.
"I shall scream," I warned. "It will bring Lady Cecily and her people."
"So?"
"So your leman will see you dallying with another. It may well create an unpleasant
scene." I almost called Lady Cecily a doxy, but the term seemed too crude for such a fine lady.
I had heard the word leman once, in an old ballad, and it seemed more fitting.
"My leman?" Jack stared at me with a twinkle in his eye that told me he knew something
I did not. Then he threw back his head and laughed aloud, a hearty sound that must have rung
throughout the house. But he did not free my arm.
"Frank, I vow you will make a most entertaining wife!" he said. Just then a scratch at the
door announced Lady Cecily, who opened it just enough to look into the room.
"Is something amiss?" she asked.
"Nay," Jack told her, his voice still rich with left over laughter. "Tis only a
misunderstanding, albeit one that involves you."
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"Me?"
She looked puzzled and came into the room a bit further.
"Aye! I fear we have been remiss in our introductions because Lady Frances has come to
the conclusion that you are my leman."
Lady Cecily blushed scarlet and put her hand over her mouth.
"Never fear," Jack assured her. "I will set her to rights."
He turned his attention to me. "Frank, you goose, Lady Cecily is my dear older sister."
"Not so very much older!" Cecily protested.
"Old enough to have thrashed my bare backside more than once when I was a boy and
too often into trouble."
"Aye, you were that. A more troublesome little lad I cannot imagine."
"And courting trouble once again! So kindly leave us, Sister. Frank and I have business
to discuss."
She did as he asked, discreetly pulling the door to behind her. By her expression, I did not
imagine she would come to my rescue again, no matter how loudly I protested.
As it happened, I had little chance to protest. After the space of no more than a heartbeat
or two, Jack proceeded to pull me onto his lap and work very hard at showing me how illfounded my misgivings were.
I would like to say I fought him like a lioness, but my injured arm still pained me I
moved it much. Or so I told myself.
Much later, tousled and sweating, Jack propped himself up on his elbows and looked
down at me quizzically.
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"Frank," he said, "you never told me you were a virgin."
I slapped him hard across the face and wriggled from beneath his weighty body. Jack had
taken me on his sister's table among the scraps of the morning's breakfast. There were still over
turned cups lying upon it as well as a mashed manchet of bread that had served me as a pillow.
It was a humiliating sight. I could feel my face grow hot and tears slipped down my
burning cheeks.
Jack stared at me in obvious astonishment, as well he might as I had not wept since my
mother's death. That thought send me running from the room, my hand pressed over my mouth
to prevent open sobs from welling out of me.
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284
Chapter Sixteen
I took to my bed. I heard a knock at the door and a muffled voice – Jack. When
did not respond and he tried opening the door. But I had barred it against him. Presently, he
went away
Midday sunlight lapped at the windowsill and birds sang in Lady Celia's rose garden
outside that window as I lay abed and surveyed the ruins of my life as epitomized by the
condition of my person. Stains, likely breakfast food marred my skirt and there was blood, too.
Jack had hurt me. I could recall him saying it might pain me, at some point in those
fevered moments rolling about on Lady Celia's table, but I had not realized how much. He'd
stopped my cries with kisses. The blood refreshed that memory.
Then I recalled having seen stained sheets hung out windows mornings after weddings
and fresh humiliation washed over me. I was no bride and not like to be. I had given away freely
that which marriage should have bought.
All Jack's talk of marriage had likely been no more than a ruse to have his way with me.
I turned my face to the pillow and tried to shed a few tears, but my self-pitying mood had
passed, leaving me dry-eyed as ever. Thinking on my hurts to dredge up a few more tears did not
help, either. I felt surprisingly well. The pain of giving up my chastity had barely lasted beyond
that one kiss-be-stifled cry.
One day, I vowed, I will yet weep for my mother.
By the next day, Jack had arranged our wedding. He burst into Lady Celia's bedchamber
where his sister and I sat quietly working at embroidered cloths for the small chapel situated
nearby. The occupants of the manor house and attached farms attended church there on Sundays.
Jack of Hearts
These morning sessions plying our needles had become a habit I found relaxing, although
I was an indifferent seamstress. I enjoyed Cecily's company. Placid and calm, she spoke
endlessly of the small estate and her absent husband. The obvious affection she held for her
husband made my assumption regarding her relationship with Jack all the more humiliating.
On this particular morning, I had appeared as usual and made an effort to pretend nothing
had changed. Lady Cecily did not ask about my absence on the previous day. I'd missed our
sewing time as her brother and I were embarrassing ourselves upon her dining table, and I'd
spent the afternoon barricaded in my room.
She'd only smiled when I came into her bedchamber, a large pleasant room well lit by a
tall window glazed with expensive near-transparent glass. "A gift from my husband," she had
told me once. "He wished to spare my eyes."
I thought of that when I sat down in my customary seat and retrieved my sewing bag
from beneath it. Captain Prynne must be a kindly man and considerate of his wife, I thought as I
sent some silken floss into my needle's eye.
But with Jack's sudden appearance at the door, the needle went into the fleshy pad of my
thumb and a drop of blood stained the fine damask altar cloth.
"Damnation!" I cried, dabbing at it with a linen handkerchief Lady Celia had lent me.
"See what you've made me do. 'Tis ruined."
My cursing placed a little line of disapproval between Lady Celia's eyes, but she took my
cloth from me and looked at the stain. "I believe I have a remedy for this," she told me.
"Thank you, my lady," I told her. I pushed my sewing bag back beneath my seat and rose
to my feet. "I should take my leave now your brother is here."
"Stay," Jack said. "I have news for you both."
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I remained standing next to my chair, feeling very awkward and far too self conscious to
look at him. And so he caught me off guard when he grabbed my hand and held it captive.
"Sister," Jack said to Lady Celia. "Lady Frances has agreed to marry me."
I jerked my hand from his, this time catching him off guard as evidenced by the ease in
which I was able to do so.
"I will not!" I exclaimed. "I have agreed to no such thing!"
Lady Cecily had come to her feet and was looking back and forth between the two of us.
I noticed she did not look as surprised by Jack's announcement as she might have.
"Perhaps it is for the best, my dear," she said to me. "under the circumstances."
I realized by the look in her eyes she knew exactly what Jack and I had done on her table,
amongst the leftovers of yesterday's breakfast. How could she not – we had left a mess behind
us.
Mortification washed over me and made me wish I could sink through the floor. All I
could think to do was flee.
"I will never marry you!" I spat the words at Jack and ran from Lady Cecily's
bedchamber.
I did not stop until I had run down the stairs, past a rather pale-complected man standing
in the entry hall. Garbed all in plain black and holding a flat, round-brimmed hat in his hands, he
stared at me as I rushed past him and out the front door.
A groom stood without, holding both Jack's big black gelding and a rather docile-looking
brown mare. I went for the black, tearing the reins from the astonished groom. Grabbing the
saddle's high pommel, I pulled myself upward and threw one leg over. My skirt and petticoats
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were ruched up above my knees, revealing the white stockings with clocks at the ankles given
me by Lady Celia – in truth I owed every stitch of clothing I had to her – but I did not care.
Digging my heels into my steed's sides, I shouted a curse in his ear. He half-rose on his
haunches, and then set out at a pelting pace down the lane. I leaned forward, spitting out the
black mane blowing in my face and ignoring the angry shouting I could hear fading away behind
me.
I had no idea where I was headed, but the wind felt good in my hair. For the first time in
many weeks, I was free and in control of my own destiny.
Of course it could not last. Jack caught me before I reached the nearby village, his mare's
common looks at odds with her apparent speed. I heard hoof beats on the road behind me, then a
piercing whistle. I knew what that whistle meant – I'd seen Jack practice it many a time – and I
braced myself.
My horse planted all four of his hooves firmly in the dust and nearly sent me flying over
his head in spite of my preparation. "Traitor! Turtle-legged, addle-pated sluggard!" I shouted in
the black gelding's ear.
Jack came up beside us on his plain little mare and caught my mount's reins away from
me. "No need to berate the beast," he said. "He's canny enough to know his master. Unlike some
erstwhile maidens I ken."
He had angered me before, but the erstwhile maiden remark and the smile that played
about his lips sent me wild. I attacked him with outstretched claws and kicked out at him from
my superior height.
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"Damned cat!" Jack exclaimed. And then to my astonishment he somehow transferred
himself to my horse so that he sat mounted behind me and out of my direct reach. He put his
arms around me, holding me straitly so that I could not move.
"The good pastor awaits us," he said. "I have paid him for a wedding today and a
wedding there will be."
"Nay! You cannot force me."
"I can do so and will!"
And so we returned to Lady Cecily's house, where she and the pastor, the black-garb
gentleman I'd noticed earlier, awaited us.
Neither of them remarked upon my flight or my disheveled appearance. But I tried to put
it to good use.
"I cannot marry you, Jack. I haven't a wedding gown."
"No matter. I will marry you in what you are standing in."
"But..."
"Enough!" Jack roared in a voice that would have reached the back of the largest
audience. I'd heard that roar once or twice when he'd lost his temper. Even Chas tiptoed around
him in that state. He reached out, caught me about the waist, and then heaved me over his
shoulder. "Let's to the chapel."
Located just down a tree-lined lane from Lady Cecily's manor house, the walk seemed
much too short and afforded me no chance to escape. Jack kicked open the door with his booted
toe and carried me inside. I kicked and spit and pounded his back with my fists until my injured
arm ached, but none of my struggles hindered him one whit.
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Jack dropped me in front of the altar so that I almost fell to my knees – had he not caught
my shoulder and steadied me.
"Do your job," he snapped at the parson who along with Lady Cecily had followed
meekly in our wake down the chapel aisle. Jack's sister looked very pale and distraught, but she
did nothing to gainsay him as he held me there.
"Stop him," I begged her as she came to stand beside me. I was shaking with exertion
and the new pain growing in my arm, but she only glanced sideways at me, a little shake of her
head her only answer.
The parson crossed to stand in front of us, opened his prayer book, and began to read.
The whole thing bore such a resemblance to that terrible night with Henry Coyne that my knees
grew weak and without Jack's arm about my waist I would have sunk to the floor.
I did interrupt the parson once. "A license! None of this is legal without one."
"I bought a special license," Jack said, but he did not deign to show it to me. He nodded
at the parson who picked up with his reading.
Nobody appeared to notice that I made no responses in the appropriate places. I merely
stood in a daze, held upright by my unwanted groom and let the parson's words drone over me.
Then, Jack was pushing me to the floor.
"What? Do you mean to ravish me right here in the chapel? In front of the pastor and
your sister?" I hissed at him.
"Nay, woman, you must kneel for the prayer."
Jack's voice was fraught with exasperation. It occurred to me that if I vexed him enough
he would give over and leave me alone.
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"I will not!" I locked my knees so that he had to force me to the stone floor. I heard Lady
Cecily sob next to me. I did not care. "I will never forgive you for this!" I snarled at the two of
them, both the brother who cared only for my fortune and the sister who refused to help me.
It was over soon enough, and we retired to the hall. Lady Cecily's servants scurried about,
preparing a wedding breakfast for us. I sat silent and sullen at the table as food and drink were
produced, looking neither to my left at Lady Cecily nor to my right at Jack who sat at the head of
the same table where he had taken my maidenhead. The parson had fled, the coward. As a man
of God he should at least have stood up for me.
The meal was mostly silent. I ate nothing, but Jack attacked his food with his usual vigor
and drank a quantity of wine.
"Well, Sister, Lady Frances and I have business to which we must attend," Jack finally
announced, pushing back from his plate. He took a wine jug from the table. "Come, Wife."
"Nay, I will not."
Jack pushed my bench back from the table, nearly oversetting me. I caught myself on my
injured arm, already throbbing from my previous exertions. Since he made it quite clear he
would brook no opposition, I decided to make an appearance of cooperation, but I palmed my
little eating knife, stashing it in my tight sleeve without his notice as I rose.
He took my hand, in a sham of courtly manners, and led me upstairs. I did not fight him,
simply biding my time and testing the weight of the concealed knife. A brief struggle did ensue
at the doorway to my bedchamber when I attempted to slip inside and slam it closed behind me.
Any luck and I might have latched the door against him, but my luck had long since worn thin.
He managed to wedge the door open with his foot.
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Stripping off his doublet, he stalked me as I backed away from him. But the room was
small, and I had nowhere to go, soon coming up hard against the bedstead.
"Now, Wife," Jack announced, "let's to bed." He took a long swallow of the wine then
caught me around the waist, pulling me tight up against him.
My heart fluttered inside my breast like an injured bird. He kissed me. I tried to push him
away, but he reciprocated, driving me backward onto the bed, and then crawled atop me. I could
not breathe. I thought I might suffocate.
I thought of the knife hidden in my sleeve.
Thought became action. Almost without my willing it, the knife was in my hand, and I
buried it up to the hilt in the fleshy part of Jack's breast, just above his heart. I closed my eyes
and waited.
What I expected to happen I cannot tell. Jack did not collapse dead atop me. In truth, he
did not react at all for several heartbeats. Then he sat up, still astraddle my body and stared down
at the hilt of my knife protruding from his white linen shirt.
"What have you done, Frank?" He grabbed the knife and pulled it free. I felt the pain of it
in my own body and cried out as he tossed the bloodied blade aside. Remorse coursed through
me as he clasped his hand over the spreading red stain on his shirt.
Jack made no effort to stay me when I slid from the bed. I might have escaped him then,
while he was incapacitated by shock, but the thought never occurred to me. Instead I ran to the
door and called for help.
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The wound did not prove fatal or even very serious. It had, after all, been a very small
knife and had not penetrated through to any vital spot. But all through his sister's ministrations as
she cleaned and bandaged the wound he stared at me with a stricken expression.
I felt as badly as if I had murdered him. At least a corpse would not have glared at me
like that. I could still feel the knife in my hand and the give of Jack's flesh beneath the blade as I
pushed it into him and the memory sent shudders of horror through me.
Cecily wrapped my knife in the remains of Jack's bloody shirt. "Is my brother safe here
with you, Frances?"
"Aye." I answered her with a slow nod. "I am so sorry."
"And you, Jack, your behavior has been disgraceful today. Frances acted as any lady
might who has been so mistreated."
"Sister, I know it full well."
"Then you must make it up to her." She tucked the bloodied knife inside her kirtle exited
the room without a further word, leaving the two of us sitting side by side on the bed like scolded
children.
Jack broke the silence between us. "I could do with a drop of wine, Frank."
I poured some into a smaller cup, from the wine jug he'd brought with him. My hands
shook, but I managed it without spillage. When I tried to give him the cup, he refused it.
"I'd rather have the jug," he said. "Take that yourself – you look like you need it."
"Aye."
The wine did calm my nerves, but did little for my remorse.
"Jack..."
"Aye?"
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"Please forgive me."
"Nay," he said. "The fault is mine."
He reached out and touched my cheek, then let his fingertips slide down the side of my
throat.
"Shall we start over?"
I did not say yes, but then he rendered me unable to speak in no more than the space of a
few wild heartbeats.
"'Tis a pity," I remarked, one afternoon several days later. "Twice wed and twice
widowed in so brief a time."
Jack had taken me for a ride around the estate. A sudden summer storm had sent us
scurrying for cover. One thing had led to another.
"What, Frank, are you planning to murder me?" We lay shoulder to shoulder on our
backs in tall grass, now much trampled. The sparkle in Jack's eye had nothing to do with the
dappled sunlight beneath the great oak where we had taken refuge from the storm.
"I'd have cause. But the Queen may well do it for me."
He flicked his long fingers in the air as if shooing a fly. Or dismissing a pesky problem of
little import. "She may protest a bit. But the documents are legal, signed and witnessed. You are
a married woman, twice over as you said, at the tender age of eighteen. And she owes me a
favor."
"Sixteen," I corrected. "My next birthday."
Jack sat upright and glared at me. "You...you are only fifteen? My God, the Queen will
have my head!"
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"Aye," I agreed and grinned up at him.
"Damnation!" he swore, but stopped my grin with a kiss.
The issue of the Queen's wrath loomed, a rising storm on the horizon largely ignored
while we enjoyed a span of perfect summer days. We heard nothing of substance from the
outside world. Few visitors came to Lady Prynne's house, situated as it was on a remote stretch
of coastline. The Queen could not have been expending much of an effort in searching for me,
for surely her intelligencers would have long since ferreted out the fact that I was with Jack.
From there, discovering the isolated location of his sister's home and its suitability as a hiding
place should have been inevitable.
The fact that soldiers had not shown up on our doorstep insisting upon our arrest Jack
took as an indication that she did not care where we were.
The world finally intruded upon us, but in an unexpected way.
It happened one perfect June morning. Bright sunshine streamed through the swirly glass
windowpanes, awakening me as it spilled across my face. I lay abed for a while because on the
previous morning I had felt dizzy when I first sat up. Perhaps this idle rural existence was
making me lazy.
Jack was long gone. His habit was to rise at first cock's crow and ride before breakfast.
A hush seemed to lie over the house; not even the little birds in the garden broke the silence with
their songs.
The sudden clatter outside on the drive seemed all the more raucous for the quiet
preceding it. Horses, several of them, their iron shoes ringing on the cobbles, had come into
Lady Prynne's courtyard, announcing our first visitors since the doctor had called upon us a few
days previous to check my injured arm.
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Trepidation tightened my throat. The Queen's soldiers had found us.
I scrambled out of bed and raced to the window. There were indeed several mounted
men, Jack among them. All but Jack wore breastplates and were heavily armed, confirming my
worst fears. Nausea rose in my throat, and I had to close my eyes and steady myself against the
window frame. I supposed the soldiers were here to drag us off to the Tower, and the thought
rendered me sick with fright.
Steeling myself, I turned from the window and dressed myself. I had few belongings
here, but I bundled them together, hoping I would be given time to retrieve them before the
Queen's men took us away. Then I went downstairs, telling myself to be brave and trying very
hard all the while not to vomit and display my weakness.
In light of my discomfort, imagine my surprise and confusion when I found Lady Prynne
at the front door, her hands clasped together as if in thanksgiving and a smile of utter joy
illuminating her face. She had thrown open the heavy oaken door, her servants gathered in a
cluster around her.
"My dear!" she cried as a tall, broad-shouldered man entered the open doorway and
bowed politely to her. Then he rose and took her in his arms.
William Prynne, the lady's seafaring husband and Jack's brother-in-law, had come home
at last.
That night's dinner proved a festive occasion with Sir William's accounts of his
adventures at sea, sailing aboard Drake's flagship, the Elizabeth Bonaventura. The greatest bit of
news was Drake’s success at Cadiz, where he had taken the Spanish fleet unawares.
"England's safe for this year at least," he told us.
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I took a liking to Lady Prynne's husband. He'd circumnavigated the globe and saved
England with Drake but there was nothing of the braggart about him. Instead Sir William spun
his tales as a series of escapades with Drake as the hero and himself as the unlikely and slightly
bumbling subordinate. His self-deprecating manner and adoration of his wife charmed me.
Throughout the meal he stared at her as if he wished she were one of the courses, his thoughts so
obvious as to bring hot color to her cheeks.
Before dessert, he rose abruptly and bowed to Jack and me.
"Forgive us," he muttered, his words coming out in a rush. "I have business with my lady
wife." He grabbed Lady Prynne's hand, and they exited the dining room at a trot, brushing past a
servant who almost dropped her tray of raisin custards.
I glanced at Jack. He shot me a wolfish smile and said, "There's a man who loves his
wife."
The servant placed the custards on the table, one for me and one for Jack. I looked down
at mine.
Usually I have a sweet tooth, but the dessert did not appeal to me at all with its dark
brown raisins squatting like beetles in the grayish custard. In fact, my stomach turned as I stared
at it. Clasping my hands over my mid-section, I rose from the table so fast I almost overturned
my bench and hurried from the room.
Jack was just behind me as I made it into the hall, stopping me there with a hand on my
elbow.
"And I thought my brother-in-law too hasty for his bed," he said.
I demonstrated what I thought of his sarcasm by vomiting my dinner all over his fine
leather boots.
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Waiting until my spasms had subsided to painfully dry heaves, Jack scooped me up,
carried me up the steep stairway as if I weighed a mere trifle, and then deposited me gently in
our bed. I closed my eyes and felt the mattress begin to circle beneath me. My stomach turned
and churned and I began to retch again. Jack retrieved the night soil pot and held it for me.
When I had finished, he wiped my face with a cloth dampened with rose water, his touch so
tender I began to wonder.
"I'm dying of plaque," I guessed. And imagined I could not have felt any worse with a
full-blown case of that scourge.
"I think not."
Jack's voice was gentle but his meaning cryptic. I was beyond curiosity, so ill my teeth
chattered, and he sat beside me on the bed, soothing me with his hands and confirming my worst
fears.
By morning, I felt somewhat better, having managed to fall asleep for some portion of the
night. But the morning light revealed a change in Jack's countenance far beyond what one
sleepless night warranted.
"What's amiss?" I demanded, sitting up in the bed as soon as I saw his haggard face.
"It's time we go to the Queen," he said.
I stared slack-jawed at him.
"Why now? She hasn't found us. Mayhap we are safe here."
"We cannot stay here forever. This is my sister's home and now her husband is back, we
intrude."
"Can we not find another place?"
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"I have a house, and I intend to take you there. But not before we have faced the Queen.
The time is most propitious now."
The house was news to me. I had thought of Jack as a rootless vagabond for so long that
it seemed out of what I knew of his character. But I was learning new things about him every
day.
"Why is this such a propitious time? Should we not allow her more time to cool her ire? I
am afraid of prison, and she will not believe this is none of my doing."
He smiled at me, a sincere smile, not his usual mocking one. "You have been less
uncooperative than you think, sweeting," he said. He caressed the side of my face and the flutter
in my belly was nothing like the previous evening's nausea.
I tamped the feeling down, refusing to let him change the subject.
"Nevertheless, I will tell her you forced me. She cannot punish me for that. I warned you
when you insisted upon marriage that it would come to no good end."
"Mayhap."
His hand deserted my face, brushed my throat, and then slid down the neck of my shift,
leaving a trail of heat in its wake. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on my argument with
him, but it was a vain effort in light of what that errant hand was doing beneath my shift.
He must have taken my closed eyes as capitulation because he came onto the bed and
covered me with his body, his mouth on mine. And it must have been capitulation after all, for I
surrendered myself to him with only a small sigh of pleasure when he came into me.
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Afterwards, lying there with our limbs intertwined and wet with sweat and love-making,
Jack broached the subject again.
"Should we continue to hide ourselves away, the Queen will think me a coward. And she
despises cowards. The time has come to throw ourselves upon her mercy."
"Ummmm," I said, having just recovered my ability to speak. His fingers were playing
between my thighs, sending little thrills through me and addling my wits. "Can we not just bide a
while in bed? She will not look for us here."
"Nay." Jack sat up abruptly. "Let's to London. My brother-in-law says the Queen is about
to leave on progress, but we can still catch her there."
I helped him dress. I was beginning to learn the vagaries of masculine dress – the points
that must be tied and boots that required two to remove. He had no such difficulties with my
clothing, and I tried not to think about the reason why. Jack knew so much about things like that
than I did. It was a part of what held me in thrall to him. He could play me like a harp.
And he proved it upon this occasion. "I still fear going to the Queen," I told him.
"I told you the time is to our advantage," Jack said. "Best strike when the iron is hot."
"I do not understand you, Jack!" I said. "What's changed?"
"Frank, you're with child. The Queen would not throw a pregnant woman into the
Tower. Nor would she behead the babe's father."
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Chapter Seventeen
But she could and very nearly did.
The journey back to London was hellish. Jack borrowed a carriage from his sister,
thinking it more appropriate for my condition, but I could not bear to ride in the stifling, jolting
thing. I rode instead on a palfrey, smooth gaited for a lady, but even that wreaked havoc on my
poor stomach.
"Are you quite certain I do not have the plague?" I asked him on one of the innumerable
times we had to stop so I could heave up my most recent meal.
"Quite certain."
What should have been only a few days' journey stretched to more than a week. We
reached London on a Sunday, as the bells were ringing. The recollection of the last time I had
come into the City on a Sunday to the accompaniment of bells set me to weeping.
And so we came to the Queen's palace at Richmond with me ill and woebegone, my horse led by
a harried-looking courtier in road begrimed clothing.
The guards must pity us, I thought, as they let us pass without challenge. Then I realized
we were expected when a contingent of them fell into step behind us, their pikes held at the
ready.
"Courage, Frank," Jack muttered as we were shuffled through the palace and to the
Queen's presence chamber.
I glanced at her cold face and was so glad to see her that I fell to my knees in front of her,
weeping aloud. Jack made a more courtly entrance, performing a deep and elaborate bow such
as I had seen him do many times of an afternoon stage performance.
Then the Queen spoke, to Jack and not to me.
Jack of Hearts
"What have you done to the child, Sir John? I vow I do not recognize her."
"My wife is carrying our babe and has had a hard journey, your Majesty." Jack stressed
the word wife, and I knew why. No need to have her jump to erroneous conclusions. The
consequences might be dire.
"Rise, child, and look at me," the Queen ordered.
I struggled to my feet and tried to straighten my rumpled, travel-worn clothing.
"Tell me, is the case as Sir John says? Has he treated you well? By God, you look as if
he has beaten you daily for a month and starved you as well."
I could feel Jack's eyes on me. The thought crossed my mind that I held his life in my
hands. I could kill him with a word. Then the thought of a world without Jack sent fresh tears
streaming down my cheeks, and I heard his breath hiss between his teeth.
"Nay, Majesty," I managed, my voice little more than a whisper. "He has done me no
harm. To the contrary, he saved my life."
The die was cast. Had I wished to protest my marriage, I had let that time past. What
else could I do? I was carrying Jack's child. Without him I would be at my stepfather's mercy.
And, much as I hated to admit it, I loved him a little more each day.
There now. I'd finally admitted it to myself.
"Sir John says you are his wife," the Queen said, her voice icy. "Our policy on that is
abundantly clear. Wards may not marry without our permission."
Again a dangerous moment. I'd seen her fly into a rage at the news of Lettyce's marriage
and order the unfortunate girl and her bridegroom thrown into the Tower. An ill-spoken word
here might imperil the both of us.
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"The marriage was a necessity," I said carefully, hoping the Queen would take the
appropriate meaning.
Her expression indicated that she understood, but that did nothing to mollify her. I saw
the storm rising in her black eyes in the instant before it broke over us.
She turned to Jack.
"Fie upon you, sirrah! What must we do to shield our young ladies from my courtiers,
lecherous strutting coxcombs such as you!"
She continued to berate Jack, screaming and stomping her foot to make the occasional
point. Jack stood meekly, his plumed hat in his hands and his head bowed so as not to look the
Queen in the eye and further incite her ire. This went on for a while. Just when it seemed she
might be winding down, she took a new tack and redoubled the abuse.
I had seen her throw some magnificent tantrums, but this was one that would have done
her ill-tempered father justice.
At first I only felt relief that I seemed to have escaped the brunt of her anger, but then I
began to sympathize with Jack. The Queen's invective built to such a point that I feared an order
to take him out and execute him on the spot must be imminent.
So I took action to save him. He was, after all as he had pointed out to the Queen, the
father of my unborn babe.
With all the dramatic expertise gleaned from my days on stage with Captain Jack's men, I
collapsed onto the reed strewn floor at the Queen's feet, rolling my eyes back in my head and
mustering my best imitation of a swoon.
The Queen's diatribe ceased mid-sentence as she stared down at me, gape-jawed. Then,
collecting herself, she clapped her hands together, calling her ladies to attention.
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"See to the girl. She has taken ill," she snapped.
"Let me, your Majesty." Jack's voice came from close by and a quick peak through one
mostly closed eye informed me he knelt at my side. "She may be feverish from our journey and
should not share any contagion among your women," he said. "I've comfortable rooms in the
City."
"Aye," the Queen said. "You may take her away." I knew there was nothing the Queen
feared more than contagious disease, having barely survived the smallpox some years before. By
craft or coincidence, Jack had stumbled upon one of her few weaknesses.
The "comfortable rooms" Jack had assured the Queen of consisted of a tiny attic space
over a noisy tavern in Southwark.
"The better to escape the Queen's notice," he told me when he saw my reaction to it.
"You have a very low opinion of Her Majesty's intelligencers. As one of their brethren,
would we have escaped your notice?"
"Any, but then I was accounted among the best."
Too tired and sick to argue the point, I put my hand on the bed and tested its firmness.
The straw mattress sank beneath my light touch and a poof of dust arose in place of it – both
evidence of poor housekeeping. The loose ropes could be tightened apace, but a worse fear in
such conditions was bedbugs. The little varmints had plagued me in more than one country inn
back in my Captain Jack's Men days. The thought of them set me to itching all over.
Jack obediently tightened the bed ropes while I inspected the suspect mattress. I found
nothing, but that meant little – as a habit they did not come out until after dark and hid within the
straw ticking in daylight.
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Exhausted, I spread my cloak – actually Lady Cecily's cloak that she had lent me – over
the bed and lay down upon it. The ropes creaked ominously but held. Folding my good arm
beneath me for a pillow I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep.
Sleep did not come easily. Upon closing my eyes, the bed spun beneath me sending
nausea welling up in my throat. I itched. Bedbugs, whether conjured from my imagination or
present in fact, made a meal of me. Jack clattered around the room, cursing to himself when he
overturned a tankard of ale brought up from the tavern beneath us.
When he made a move toward the bed, I snapped.
"Leave me be!" I shrieked. "I am sick and tired and a dinner for this mattress' population
of varmints. And it is every bit of it your fault. If not for you, I would be safe and sound with the
Queen and her ladies."
My tirade froze Jack in his footsteps. He had leaned forward, reaching for the bed and,
most comically, remained in that posture for a few moments, an expression of astonishment on
his face.
Then the twinkle returned to his eyes, and he straightened.
"Mayhap one of Her Majesties ladies would trade places with you, Frank." He made a
leg, aping the manner of a courtier bowing to a fine lady.
"You have too high an opinion of yourself, sirrah! Look around! What woman in her
right mind would trade a comfortable place in a palace for this?" I had sat up and gestured wildly
with my good arm to indicate the sorry room.
"I am not so bad a prize."
"Aye, to my knowledge you are penniless as are the rest of those worthless louts at court,
laying in wait for a handsome matrimonial prize."
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I swung my feet over the side of the bed and pointed to the door.
"Leave me be," I told him. "Doubtless there are serving maids below unkissed and wine
undrunk. Go oblige them and leave me in peace."
After I turned my back on him and lay down on the bed again, I heard him quietly leave
the room. The thought occurred to me that I should bar the door, if not against Jack then against
the other, more unsavory denizens of the tavern. But sleep overtook my intentions.
The creaking of the leather door hinges awakened me sometime later. I sat up, staring
through pitchy darkness to see the door open and reveal a dimly silhouetted male figure. I
opened my mouth to scream, but fear clutched at my throat so that all emerged was a strangled
squeak.
"I'm hoping you are in a better mood, Frank," Jack said, obviously unaware of the fright
he'd given me. "The landlord has closed down his establishment for the night and given me the
boot."
I was so relieved I let him come to bed without protest.
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Chapter Eighteen
I so despised the inn that the Queen's summons a few weeks into our stay there came as a
relief. In fact, Jack stopped me as I tried to escape it unnoticed by slipping out through the
ground floor tavern's front door. Once in the busy street I could lose myself in the bustling
crowd – or at least that was my plan.
No sooner than I had set shoe leather to the worn front stoop when he grabbed my arm.
"Frank!" he exclaimed. "I have a message from the Queen!" He made no mention of my
garb, cobbled together from what little wardrobe he'd left in our room in an attempt to blend in
with the men and boys passing in the street. I'd belted the leather jerkin tightly so as to hide my
growing belly. But with no mirror in which to inspect the results, I had no way to determine the
efficacy of the disguise, beyond the few incurious looks I drew from the tavern's denizens.
He waved a bit of parchment in my face. I recognized the familiar red seal, now broken.
"That has my name on it!"
"Aye. It does. And as your husband, what's yours is mine."
"Give it to me!"
I tried my best to snatch the parchment from his hand but due to his superior height he
held it high enough so that I could not.
He read the missive, his lips moving along with the words although he did not pronounce
them aloud.
"She has summoned us to court and says she's ready to pronounce a decision in the matter
of our marriage," he told me, after having read it through at least twice.
In spite of myself, I put my hand over my midsection, which strained against the leather
tunic. Jack patted my hand and smiled down at me.
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307
"Never fear. I doubt she will make a widow of you, Frank. And I think I told you she
owes me a favor.
He took my arm and escorted me back into the inn. I caught one last glimpse of the street
as the door closed behind us. So much for my carefully planned dash for freedom.
#
The Queen had taken residence in her palace at Greenwich. The next morning a boatman
took us upriver just as dawn broke, the early hour dictated by the appointed time set in the
Queen's summons. I could not stop yawning, but my stomach remained calm, that in itself a
blessing.
Once, after a particularly jaw-cracking yawn overtook me, the boatman said something to
Jack that I did not catch, being seated in the front of the boat while the two men stood in the
back. But from the raucous sound of their shared laughter and the looks they sent my way, I
imagined it must be something ribald.
I'd had little sleep overnight. Tossing and turning on the uncomfortable bed, I ran
through my options and found them lacking. I could think of only two and neither had much to
recommend them.
On the one hand I could throw myself upon the Queen's mercy and beg her to have me
back as one of her ladies. I could tell her I had been coerced into marriage against my will. But
the babe I carried complicated that argument, even if I maintained Jack had forced himself upon
me. And if the Queen's wrath were to turn upon Jack, she might indeed have him imprisoned or
worse.
In the second case, I could accept the situation as it was and throw in my lot with Jack
and whatever future he had in mind for us.
Jack of Hearts
308
My restlessness set the bed ropes to creaking in protest, but the sound did not appear to
bother Jack, who lay snoring gently beside me. I imagined he'd used his day in the tavern to
consume a considerable amount of ale.
I could have used some myself, but the room was devoid of both food and drink, and by
the time I had given up on sleep the tavern had long since closed for the evening.
Once or twice I left the bed and paced the floor, actually wringing my hands together in
distress, but cold floor against my bare feet soon sent me scurrying back to the warmest place in
the room.
By morning, when Jack shook me thinking me asleep, I'd made my decision.
#
The boatman put us off at the water stair below Greenwich. The guard there examined
Jack's letter and let us pass. Once in the palace, we made our way toward the Queen's chambers.
If Whitehall were a warren of passages, then Greenwich was a labyrinth fit for the Minotaur
himself.
I had never been there. "Never fear, Frank, I know this place like the back of my hand,"
Jack professed when I hesitated at a place where several hallways met. But I noticed a time or
two afterwards we passed the same door more than once.
"What did that boatman say?" I asked him as we made our way down one quiet stretch of
hall.
"What? When?"
"When you both had such a jolly laugh afterward."
"Oh, right. That was when he accused me of keeping you awake all night because you
were yawning the whole way upriver. I told him we were newly wed."
Jack of Hearts
"You lout!" I slapped his arm, hard. "You know you slept like a babe all night."
"Aye, but I did not have the heart to tell him my bride stuck me with her eating knife
when I recently tried to have my way with her."
I opened my mouth to argue further with him, but he silenced me with a look when we
stumbled upon a room full of waiting courtiers.
"Frank," he said, looking into my eyes. "You must trust me to do the talking to Her
Majesty."
I decided to tell him the outcome of my long night spent pondering our situation. "Jack, I
think...."
"The Queen will see you now, Sir John, Lady Leslie!" A young gentleman in
extravagant court dress interrupted me. His use of my unfamiliar new name confounded me so
that I could only stare at him.
"Aye, we are ready, Lord Robert." Jack smoothly filled in the void left by my silence
with a bow to the overdressed gentleman.
The Queen held court that morning in her bedchamber as she often did, lying propped up
by pillows on the big draperied bed, her gown and jewels arranged carefully around her. There
were no chairs in the room nor were they needed as courtiers did not sit in the Queen's presence.
I had heard that once in a while she would invite one of her favorites, most notably the Earl of
Leicester, to join her on the bed, although I never personally witnessed it.
Jack and I entered the bedchamber together and went down on our knees in unison, our
abject obeisances a silent plea for the Queen's mercy.
She had to sit up and peer over the side of the bed to see us.
"Get up, by God!" she ordered. "I cannot see the two of you sprawled out on the floor."
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I got to my feet with alacrity as did Jack.
The Queen's painted brows rose almost to the edge of her violently red wig as she stared
at us.
"Well, Sir John, at least the child looks less peaked than she did. Have you given over
beating her?"
"Your Majesty, I have never beaten my wife." Even in our perilous circumstance, Jack
took care to stress the word "wife."
The Queen's stare dropped to my waist. "I see you are still with child. Does that please
you, Frances?"
"It does, your Majesty."
The Queen's eyebrows nearly disappeared beneath her wig. "May I ask what has brought
about this transformation in your attitude? You did not appear so pleased with your
circumstances when you were last here with us."
"Your Majesty, I have become reconciled to my circumstances and have decided that I
am very well pleased with my situation. 'Tis not such a bad thing to be a new bride with a young
husband and a babe on the way."
The Queen's expression became thoughtful as she turned it upon Jack.
"How do you explain this change in my ward's demeanor, Sir John?"
From the corner of my eye I could see Jack was staring at me with much the same look of
surprise as the Queen had worn moments before.
"Ah...well...perhaps she has warmed to the tender regard and care I have shown her since
our marriage, your Majesty," he stuttered.
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Recalling our squalid room above the Southwark tavern I just barely suppressed a snort
of disdain.
The Queen seemed to sense nothing amiss.
"I am pleased to see her in such good health and spirits," she told Jack. "I was minded to
send you to the tower, sirrah, and shelter Frances here with us had circumstances been
otherwise."
The most dangerous moment had come, our lives teetering on the Queen's whim of the
moment.
"Your Majesty, I would stay with my husband," I interjected, stressing the word
"husband" as Jack had done earlier with "wife". "My child will need his father."
"And you believe Sir John will make a fit father? He is a very scoundrel, Frances dear."
"I know it well, your Majesty."
For the first time, the Queen's demeanor softened. "I would speak with Lady Leslie in
private," she said in a voice pitched to reach all ears. "Leave us."
The courtiers departed, reluctance evident in both their expressions and movements.
None wished to miss out on what might be an agreeably salacious episode and a topic of gossip
that might last for weeks. Jack hovered by my side, taking my hand in his.
The Queen waved her ring-encrusted fingers at him. "Yourself as well, sirrah. I wish to
speak with your wife when she is unencumbered by your presence."
Jack's hand squeezed mine. His fingers tickled my palm as he placed something there.
Then, with a sweep of his arm, Jack bowed his way out of the room. I did not watch him leave,
but the back of my neck tingled as I imagined his stare on me, even after one of the Queen's
ladies closed and bolted the door.
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The Queen did not speak to me immediately. A number of her ladies had remained
behind as her Majesty was never left utterly alone, and she called for my aunt to come forward. I
had not noticed her among the group of women lurking in the shadows beyond the great bed. I
saw a marked change in her since last we'd spoken. She looked pale, tired and worried.
"Lady Marsdon, what say you to this turn of events? I take it you have not spoken with
your niece since her marriage?"
"Nay, your Majesty," Aunt Lili said in a low voice. Then she cleared her throat and
spoke a little louder. "I cannot say I approve of the situation, but Frances has ever had a mind of
her own. Since she was but a little child no one could gainsay her."
"As we are discovering," the Queen said. "So, can you bring yourself to approve of this
marriage? Or must we send that rapscallion to the Tower and make your niece a young widow?"
For the second time in a short while I went down on my knees, but at my aunt's feet in
this instance. "Aunt Lilli, please forgive me. I know I have disappointed you."
She leaned forward and put her hands on my arms. "Please stand, my dear Frances," she
said. I did so, and we embraced.
Aunt Lilli took advantage of the advantage of the embrace to whisper in my ear. "Is this
what you truly want?"
I nodded, lest the Queen see my lips move and become suspicious of some secret
communication. Aunt Lilli released me, and we stood a little apart. I could see she was
distraught, having come to know her almost as well as my own mother in the weeks we lived
together among the Queen's ladies.
"You have my blessing, child," Aunt Lilli said.
But the Queen was not so easily convinced.
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313
"There is still the matter of your niece's estates," she told my aunt. "She is a considerable
heiress and our ward. As such, those properties belong in my coffers."
It had only ever been all about this. The Queen collected wards for their property. Her
greed might put everything in peril.
"Your Majesty," I said, keeping my voice calm with an effort. "My husband has told me
you owed him a boon. You gave him this ring as a surety of it."
I held the ring up, pinched between my thumb and forefinger for the Queen to see.
Morning sunlight streaming through the windows which looked eastward over the river ignited
the pigeon's blood ruby mounted in it and sent splinters of crimson light around the room.
The Queen caught her breath sharply and sat up in her bed. She reached out and snatched
the ring from me, then placed it on her thumb.
"Very well, girl," she snapped. Her black eyes glittered with spite. "You and your
husband are free to go as are your worldly goods. Minus a sum for your upkeep these last
months, of course."
She jerked her chin toward the door in a gesture of dismissal. "Leave us!"
I would like to have taken leave of my Aunt Lilli but she had returned to hide herself
among the Queen's ladies. So, I bowed low to the Queen and backed out the door, much as Jack
had done. All the while I vowed to myself to discover the story behind the ruby ring. Only a
very solemn promise could have prized my estates from the avaricious Queen's grasp.
Only Jack could tell me what deed had put the Queen in his dept.
*
Jack of Hearts
314
I came across Jack in the next room, pacing back and forth and looking pale and nervous.
The room was mostly empty, excepting for several dour-faced guards who seemed unaware of
our existence.
"We are free," I told him. "The Queen will not gainsay our marriage nor exact any
penalty for it."
"And your estates?"
"She is releasing them to us free and clear. Minus a fee for keeping me. I expect the fee
will be a hefty one." The fact that he seemed to care mostly about my wealth hurt me, a stiletto
sharp pain to the gut, but I did not let on.
The good news put a wide smile on Jack's face. He caught me about the waist and lifted
and swung me around so that my feet left the floor, my skirts belling out around us.
I was dizzy and breathless when he set me down and I had to hold on to his arm so as not
to fall.
"Frank, did you show her the ring?" he asked.
"Aye, she took it. About that ring..."
"Another time Frank. We have much to do."
*
We did not return to the miserable Southwark inn. Jack had found better rooms in the
City, near St. Paul's. The people there seemed to know him well and I wondered if he'd had them
all along, electing to secrete me away in Southwark. Jack had always been a man with secrets.
And still had them, as indicated by the comfortable City rooms and the Queen's ruby ring.
For the next fortnight Jack spent most of his time away. "Arranging our affairs," he told
me.
Jack of Hearts
Left alone, I occupied myself with exploring the city outside our rooms. These were
located above a small shop that sold various yard goods such as cloth and ribbons and attracted a
mostly female clientele. A far better class of people went about their business in the bustling
streets as opposed to those in Southwark, and I saw no playhouses or bear-baiting booths. There
were cookshops with the ubiquitous meat pasties displayed out front and wineshops for London's
thirsty citizens, of course, but these appeared clean and inviting.
I enjoyed those days on my own. My life had become far too complicated for my taste. I
could stroll the crowded thoroughfares of London in complete anonymity. No one looked twice
at me there nor did I have to worry about the safety of my inheritance.
After all I had, in effect, handed it over to Jack.
Perhaps that explained his prolonged absence. I missed him only mildly. Jack was an
exhausting man; together we were at perpetual odds. Apart, I only missed him late at night when
I lay alone in our bed and felt our baby flutter beneath my growing belly.
And so I greeted him with mixed feelings when he returned one August morning, with an
entourage of men, wagons and draft horses. Two of the men I recognized: Tom Bartlett and Sully
Watts, both of whom had traveled with Captain Jack's men. They stared at me with open mouths
and big eyes.
"The Captain told us, but I never would have believed it!" Sully, the more talkative of the
two, exclaimed.
The other men were strangers, big men in working clothes. Building material filled the
wagons, except for one lady's carriage. The very sight of it made me queasy, recalling my recent
trip to London from Jack's sister's house. If we were for the road, perhaps I could persuade Jack
to allow me to ride one of the horses.
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"Frank," he said, wrapping his arms around me in an embrace right there on the busy
London street. "We are going home."
"Home?" I asked him. "In the North?" All I could think of was my old home in
Scarborough. But surely my stepfather bided there yet.
"Nay,Somerset. Near Bath. You will recall it."
I did, a recollection of silver wings under a high broken ceiling that sent a shiver down
my back.
"The old manor house?"
"Aye," Jack said. "It belongs to me and now it will be our home."
I had next to nothing to pack so within the hour we were on our way out of the city. Jack
insisted I ride in the carriage, not on horseback. (Show argument)
A great surprise awaited me in the carriage. When Jack opened the door and helped me
in I could see someone inside. She leaned forward to take my hand and the light fell full upon her
face.
"Chas!"
I was so glad to see her I fair bounded into the carriage.
"Lady Francis, watch yourself," Chas said. "The babe..." I silenced her caution with a big
hug, and then turned back to Jack who stood just outside.
"How did you find her?"
Jack shrugged and evaded my eyes. I pushed back the uneasy feeling that caused,
vowing to myself to ask him about it later. All that mattered to me was that I had my good friend
back and she seemed as happy to see me as I was her.
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A hot August sun shone down on us as we made our way out of the city. Saint
Bartholomew's Fair began only a few days hence. The year had passed us by and now we
embarked upon a new journey where the previous one had ended.
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Chapter Nineteen
If anything the old manor house in Somerset appeared more tumbledown than when I last
saw it. Branches like grasping arms raked the faces of the riders, making me grateful for my
carriage. Several trees I did not recall lay across the lane outside the house, as if to impede us
from approaching. I could swear to new holes in the slate roof, and a chimney lay toppled out
onto the ground along the manor's west wing.
I spied movement near the chimney. Several men were there, hacking away at the broken
stone around the gaping hole left when the chimney fell. Workmen, I thought, repairing the
damage. In the next instant Jack proved the fallacy of my assumption when he drew his long
sword from its scabbard with a loud singing sound and set his horse pell-mell at the supposed
workmen. One glance at Jack on his big black horse coming at them at full speed sent the men
scurrying away into the forest like a brace of coneys flushed by hounds.
"Damned scavengers!" Jack swore, riding back up to the window of the carriage. "Do
not stray from the house without an escort. They will likely skulk about in the neighborhood
until we convince them we intend to stay."
Jack led us through the tumbledown hall I recalled from my previous visit. A door at the
back of it led to a second wing of the house. Behind the door stood a staircase, and we made our
way up it, taking care to place our feet gingerly for all the rubble lying about.
A long hall, mostly dark except for the occasional door sagging in its frame enough to let
in a little light, went straight through this wing.
Jack went to one of these. When it did not move easily beneath his hand, he put his
shoulder to it and sent it shrieking in protest all the way back to the wall. Then, with a flourish,
he indicated that we should enter.
Jack of Hearts
"Your bedchamber, my lady," he said to me.
I went in. I do not know what I expected to see, considering the condition of the rest of
the house, but I was bone tired and ready to lie down for hours. Although the room possessed
several glazed windows, the dirt and mildew on them let in but a little light.
What the dim light did reveal might have sent me fleeing the house in despair. But I was
too tired to run. In fact, my knees quivered and I had to brace my self with a hand on the door
frame so that my legs did not give way beneath me.
"My Lady!" Chas breathed.
I took a mental note to ask her once more not to call me that, but for now I had other
concerns. From my vantage point at the door, I could make out nothing in the room that
resembled furniture. There were several piles of debris that might long ago have been chests or
mayhap a bedstead, but cobwebs and dust lay so deep upon them they were no longer
recognizable as such. The desiccated remains of rushes and other, likely more unsavory things,
crackled under the leather soles of my shoes as I walked across to the largest pile of dusty rubble.
Something squeaked and scurried in a far corner of the room. Rats, I hoped, but did not
go look to see in case something worse dwelt in the shadows.
I reached out and pushed against the highest bit of the bubble and it shifted beneath my
touch sending up a cloud of dust that set the three of us coughing and choking. Chas handed me a
handkerchief and I held it over my nose and mouth. As the dust settled a bit, I could see the pile
was indeed a bed, a large one. It had collapsed inwardly so that the post fell toward the center of
it in a large X.
"And how long did you say it has been since someone lived her?" I asked Jack.
"My father was born here."
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"That does not answer my question."
Jack glanced down, avoiding my eye. "His father was declared a traitor back in the old
king's reign," he said. "He spent time in the Tower and died of prison fever. The crown seized
his lands and sent my grandmother and my father away."
"And no one has occupied this ruin since? How long has it been -- 40, 50 years?"
"Aye. No one has lived here since. Too isolated to prove a valuable royal gift or to sell
for profit. The old king and then his daughters have left it to molder."
"Then why are we here if it is no longer your house?"
"But it is – or what's left of it." Jack managed a weak smile. "The Queen lifted the
attainder against me and my family and restored our estates in return for a service I did her."
"And that's when she gave you the ruby ring?"
"Not then."
He seemed reticent about further explanations, and the day was wearing on. I squared
my shoulders and put my weariness aside.
"Chas, I believe I saw household goods in one of the wagons."
"That you did, my lady."
"Do you think you might find some buckets for water and a broom in that wagon?"
"Aye. I know exactly where they are."
By nightfall, our toil had improved the room considerably. Jack lent us several of his
workmen who removed the heavier debris from the bedchamber, including the remains of the
bed. With the broom I swept, beginning with the cobwebs festooning the ceiling and then the
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powdery rushes that covered the floor. Chas toiled alongside me, mopping surfaces so filthy even
after sweeping that she went through many buckets of water.
Jack deserted us early on, which suited me well enough. I wished to work out any
lingering discomfort between us. We'd had little enough opportunity on the long journey from
London because a driver was needed for one of the wagons and Chas volunteered.
I decided to address the matter head on.
"Chas, I hope you are not angry with me."
Chas stopped her mopping. "Why might I be angry, my lady?"
"Jack. He was your man. Now he's my husband."
"Jack – Sir John – was never my man."
"You were...together when I joined Captain Jack's Men." I could think of no term for
their relationship that was not degrading.
"Jack saved me," she said. "I repaid him with what I had."
I recalled that she had been one of a number of girls subjected to miserable working
conditions in a seamstress' shop. Life on the road with traveling players must have seemed
immeasurably better than sewing oneself blind for a pittance.
"And," she continued, "if you will recall, I left him."
"For Master Will?"
"Aye, for all the good it did me. William Shakespeare found a benefactor to take him in.
He did not spare me a second glance when he walked away."
"I am sorry, Chas."
"No need to be, my lady. I made my own bed." She glanced at the workmen dragging
the broken remains of the tester bed from the room at that very moment. "I deserved to lie in it."
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322
Then she looked me in the eye.
"Do not fash yourself, my lady. He was yours from that first day you walked into our
camp."
"How can that be? Everyone, including Jack, thought me a boy. You discovered the truth
long before he did."
"Jack keeps his thoughts to himself. Who can tell what he knew and when? All I know is
that I saw him watching you. And Jack is not one to favor boys."
I shook my head. "That I cannot believe. He never once let on he knew my secret."
Chas shrugged and set to with her mop. "Believe what you wish, my lady" she said,
looking back at me over her shoulder. I was not the only one to notice. Master Will saw it, too."
"Chas, do not call me 'my lady'," I said. "We are friends. You saved my life that night in
the fire. To you, I am just plain Frances."
Chas shot me a blank look, and I thought she might deny having been there that night at
Dame Judith's brothel. But she did not, nor did she agree to call me by my Christian name.
Mistress Chastity Brown could be a stubborn woman when she wished.
*
By nightfall we had the room swept and scrubbed clean enough to lay palettes on the
floor for sleeping. Where the men settled for the night I do not know. Chas produced some wine
and bread for our evening meal, but exhaustion robbed my appetite. After a sip or two of the
wine, I put my head down on my palette and went to sleep.
When morning came, I could not sit up. Weak and sore from the exertions of the previous
day, I only wanted to lie very still under my blanket and let the day wash over me unheeded.
Jack of Hearts
Concerned, Chas reported my condition to Jack. He came, looking worried, and asked questions
I was too tired to answer.
Then I suppose he sent for a physician, because later in the day a wizened old man
presented himself as such to me. After a number of questions and a deal of prodding and
pushing, he took Jack to task about my condition.
"A long, uncomfortable journey and hard labor at the end of it such as your lady wife has
suffered would tax a strong man," he chided. "As it is, she is like to lose the child unless she
remains in bed until brought to term and raises her hands for nothing more strenuous than to feed
herself."
Jack nodded, but I protested. "My babe is not due for months and months yet. I cannot
lie about for such a long time!"
"But you must, my lady," the physician said. "If you must leave this room, have your
husband's men carry you in a chair. Else you may go out in a coffin."
I could see Chas wringing her hands. Her reaction and the severity of his warning stilled
the protest that arose in my throat.
"You are in no circumstances to attempt the stairs," he continued. "Complete bed rest is a
necessity. Again, I stress, if you do not follow my orders, both you and the child will be in grave
danger."
The physician left several bottles of foul smelling elixirs for me, instructing Chas in their
dosages. When he was gone, I looked up at Chas who sat on the floor next to my pallet.
"I am quite certain this is more than you bargained for," I told her. "You can leave, you
know. Not even Jack can make you stay."
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324
"I will not desert you. There is much to be done here, not in the least a babe to birth. I
would not miss that for all the world," Chas answered.
She poured a spoonful of nasty stuff from one of the physician's bottles and insisted I
swallow it down, then laughed at my wry expression.
"Tis not so bad," she said.
"You are not the one who will have to lay abed for months and take horrid medicine," I
retorted.
"The physician did say you might sit in a chair. We can take you down to supervise the
workmen. They looked a bunch of lazy louts to me."
*
Several days later, when I was feeling a little better, Chas had Jack's men do just that.
Where she found the chair, I do not know. I had not seen one whole stick of furniture in the
house. But she did indeed produce it and instructed the men to take me down into the garden.
My destination was a surprise. From what little I had seen of the grounds around the
house, they had appeared overgrown from decades of neglect. Now the men carried me in my
chair – very carefully so as not to overset us – down the worn stone stairs and out a rear door.
Although nothing to speak of compared to Cecily Prynne's lovely garden, undergrowth had been
cleared away to reveal some ancient roses, red and white, still bravely blooming in spite of their
neglect. At their feet grew herbs and small daisies.
I clapped my hands together in delight at the sight. "How lovely," I exclaimed.
"It was Jack – Sir John's - idea," Chas said, spreading a quilt over my lap. She insisted on
acting the nurse, in spite of the warm weather.
Jack of Hearts
"Where is Jack?" I asked her. He visited me once or twice a day since the physician's
visit, uncomfortable sessions in which he shuffled his feet and had little to say, all out of
character for him. And on this day I had seen him not at all.
"Off on some business or other," Chas said, sounding vague.
"Do you know where? And for how long?"
"He did not say."
Since he had not taken time to tell me goodbye, nor share his plans as would seem right
for a husband to do, I imagined he would return by nightfall. But he did not. And the hours
stretched into days so that I became both worried and agitated at the same time.
"Do not fret," Chas told me more than once during his absence. "You know how he likes
to wander a bit."
But I did fret because it did not seem fair for me to be shackled in the tumbledown house
as I was while my husband went wander where he willed. And I worried Jack might not come
back. Why should he? Whatever property I owned was now his. He could bide at the Queen's
court and lollygag among her courtiers; there were beauties aplenty among them who would not
have a care for a wife deserted in the country. Would he?
I spent my days supervising the reconstruction of the house from my chair and my nights
in restless sleep on the uncomfortable pallet.
But, after about a fortnight, two things happened that improved my spirits.
In the first case, Tom and Sully lugged a new bed up the steep staircase and set it up in
my bedchamber. A replica of the ruined old tester bed we had cleared away along with the other
rubble from that room, they had made it themselves by hand from lumber cut in the trackless
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forests around the manor house. I recalled from our days as traveling players together that both
men loved to while away the time whittling, but I had no idea they were so gifted.
They held their hats in their hands and looked bashful when I rose from my bed and
hugged them both.
"Tis the best gift I can recall ever getting," I told them and meant it.
And that evening, Jack came home, the hooves of his exhausted horse clattering on the
stones on the drive.
He came to see me immediately and eagerly. I heard him taking the stairs two at a time.
He'd come bearing gifts as well, a pair of pearl drop earrings in a small polished-wood box.
Bought with my money, no doubt. I held them to my ears but possessed no mirror to see the
effect.
"I will bring you one next time," he promised as if I had put the desire for a mirror to
words.
I dropped the earrings back into their box, dreading already the next time.
"Tom and Sully carved a new bed for me," I told him, pointing at it, liking the gift of the bed far
more than the pearls.
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Chapter Twenty
But there was a next time and a time after that. As the autumn passed slowly, I lay abed,
becoming more and more ponderous. Frost came and killed my wild garden. The workmen
made repairs to the house, hurrying to get the bulk of the major ones done before hard winter
weather set in. Chas sat beside my bed on a stool, darning whatever clothing needed it and
making tiny things for the baby.
In truth, during those tedious days I spent scant time thinking about the baby, and what
little I did was with a certain amount of resentment. Jack most often stayed gone on whatever
nefarious business kept him away and my mind wandered, seeking to track him along muddy
roads and in the great halls he frequented. I fretted, wishing he would at the very least write and
inform me of his whereabouts and good health.
Chas did her best to entertain me, but I confess I treated her ill, my confinement
rendering me snappish and poor company.
Chas pretended to misinterpret the cause of my mood, at least she pretended to. "You
needn't fret, my lady. Jack..Sir John...has left men-at-arms to guard us."
"Whatever for? We have nothing to fear here," I told her. "This place is so far from any
other human habitation we might as well be hermits." I tried not to recall how uneasy the house
had once made me feel.
"Even so," she said. And I could not set her mind to rest on the matter. After all, she
came from London, where the inhabitants lived cheek to jowl, and she inadvertently drove her
point home by spending long moments at the windows, as if at watch. And at night, she pulled
closed the heavy drapes she had made for those windows as if fearing someone or something
lurking outside in the shadows.
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*
I brightened momentarily with the approach of the Christmas season. Chas hummed
holiday songs and hung greenery around the house, much of it in my bedchamber. It seemed an
odd thing to do, to decorate one's house for Christmastide.
"An ancient country custom," Chas told me. We had kept to no such customs in my old
home – my stepfather being a strict Puritan and frowning on such things. Nor had the Queen
shown much inclination to decorate her palace for Christmas in the previous year's yuletide. But
perhaps the circumstances surrounding the trial of the Queen of Scotland had stayed her hand
and set a more somber mood then.
It was not the greenery nor even the planning for a Christmas feast that improved my
mood. Instead the prospect that Jack might come home to us for an extended stay kept me
pestering Chas to watch the lane approaching the house for his return.
Chas had become my defacto housekeeper, and she had taken of the task of hiring serving
maids and cooks so that we were no longer the only females in residence. These cleaned and
baked and prepared for the upcoming seasonal feasting, and the house seemed abuzz with
activity. The men went hunting and brought back racks of game for the larder, and Chas
purchased produce from nearby farms with coins I gave her from a purse Jack left me to cover
expenses. The coins I bestowed liberally in the hope Jack might think me a spendthrift and stay
home to supervise my spending more closely.
But the days of Christmas came and went with no sign of Jack. Chas, with minimal input
from me, cloistered away in my bedchamber as I was, had prepared a feast for Christmas day.
Our people enjoyed the food and danced in the hall. Chas brought me a tray laden with rich food
I could not eat and bent my ear with tales of it.
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When I could take no more, I lashed out at her. "Working class people tracking mud
through my newly repaired hall!" I retorted after one rather breathless passage about "fiddlers
playing so fast the dancers' feet fair flew!"
Eventually, exhausted by the day's excitement, she fell asleep, on her cot next to my great
bed, hand-carved by those muddy-booted workmen I had scorned. Sleep came but slowly to me.
I had too much energy and resentment built up inside me to allow me to relax, exacerbated by
long runs of days spent abed, with only Chas for company.
And so it was very late that night, nigh on to Boxing Day morn, when I heard a horse
outside and the quiet respectful voices of Jack's men welcoming their master home. I sat up, the
first thought in my head to run and greet him. Then I recalled the doctor's orders and my
irritation with Jack's long absence.
So I closed my eyes and pretended not to hear him when Jack came into the room, and
whispered something to Chas. A dismissal, apparently, for she rose and tiptoed out the door,
taking her bedclothes with her. I kept my eye clenched shut even as I sensed him bending over
me to ascertain if I slept. Presently, with a sigh and after some rustling representing the removal
of his clothes, he came into the bed.
When he put his arms around me, I could feign sleep no longer and turned to meet him,
putting my face against his warm neck and breathing in his scent, man-smell mixed with horsesweat and leather.
I had vowed to put him to task for leaving us alone, when first I saw him next, but when
he put his hands on me and stroked away every planned reproach.
*
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Winter came roaring in the next day, howling around the rooftop and blowing snow
crystals against the window panes. We lay abed that morning, luxuriating in what seemed the
only warm spot in our universe. The room did have a broad hearth, but the fire had long since
burned out. At last, Jack took a deep breath and dived to retrieve his clothes off the cold floor.
"By God it's cold!" He ground the words out through gritted teeth. "Stay there. I will
fetch someone to stoke the fire."
Jack soon returned with one of Chas' new serving maids. The girl set to work at the
fireplace. Jack carried a number of parcels.
"I did not forget Christmas," he said. "But I was too long on the road. Will Boxing Day
suffice?"
He sat on the side of the bed and handed me a large finely wrought wooden box. Opening
the box involved a puzzle that took me a while to solve, but once open, it revealed its contents –
four perfect oranges, so fresh I imagined I saw dew still standing upon them.
"Oranges! In December?"
"Aye," Jack said. "Picked them with my own hands."
"Liar," I scoffed, and then drew in my breath sharply. If he had picked them himself, he
had not done so in England. "These are Spanish oranges. Where did you get them?"
He cocked a brow at me and smiled.
"Jack! You have been to Spain. Suppose they had caught you? Their inquisitors would
have put you to the question, and then sent you to die in the galleys. Or worse." The Queen's
courtiers delighted in circulating tales about Englishmen, Jews and other poor souls deemed
"heretics" by Philip of Spain and his minions. As loyal subjects of the queen of heretics herself,
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these were designed to send an extra frisson of fear down our backs, especially with an invading
armada under construction only a few scores of miles off the English coastline.
But we were never really frightened. We had only to look around at the high stone walls
of Elizabeth's palaces and her stalwart men at arms to feel safe enough. It never occurred to us
that those very men might have to fight and die to protect us and blood might be spilled in the
queen's own court.
Until now. Looking up at Jack's flippant smile I imagined him happily strolling into
danger without a thought for his own safety. Or for me and his child.
I balled up my fist and hit him in the arm.
He yelped.
"That's nothing to what the Spanish would do to you. And for what? Oranges?"
"What do you take me for, woman? The oranges only came as an unexpected
opportunity. I had other, important business at hand."
I recalled Cecily's letter. Captain Prynne had returned to his ship and was with the fleet
on duty in the channel.
"You were with your brother-in-law," I accused.
"Aye, for a short spell. He provided transport."
I hit him again, harder this time so that he nearly toppled backwards off the bed.
"Stop thumping me, woman! You will do yourself an injury. How would I explain that to
Chas and the physician?"
"You have some explaining to do to me. You are my husband. What would we do
without you?"
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332
Jack's expression sobered. "You would do what all the other well-to-do widows do.
Carry on." He took the wooden box from me and set a withy basket in my lap. "And sure I am
you would carry on better than most."
A length of ribbon tied the basket's lid in place. It was heavy for all its small size and
seemed oddly warm to the touch. I even thought I detected an odd vibration emanating from
within it.
There was more I wished to say to Jack, but my curiosity got the better of me, and I
untied the ribbon and opened the basket's lid. At first I saw only what looked like a bit of fur
within, perhaps a squirrel muff. Then it stirred, stood up and revealed itself as a tiny kitten
blinking blearily up at me. A yellow kitten like Malkin who went missing last year after St.
Bartholomew's fair.
Actually, I had gone missing, whisked away into the Queen's entourage without a
backward thought for the cat.
I scooped the kitten up out of the basket. "She looks just like Malkin!"
"Malkin?"
"My cat...oh, pay me no mind. You would not recall."
"I do recall a great orange beast hanging about."
"That was Malkin." I held the purring kitten to my cheek. "Thank you. She's lovely."
"Better than the oranges?"
"Far better. It is only luck that the oranges did not cost your life."
*
After Christmas, Jack showed little inclination to leave us. By my best estimates, my
child was due around the first of May, still months to go. The days passed slowly. Chas and I
Jack of Hearts
whiled them away stitching garments for the baby. Jack showed little inclination to wander, as
was his wont. He left the house only to hunt for meat for our table.
As heavy snow made the roads nigh impassable, I could not rest at ease for thinking he
bided with us only because of the difficulty of travel. I dreaded every break in the weather,
expecting him to go when the snow melted.
But he did not and the only thing improving travel conditions brought was the occasional
courier, bringing letters to Jack. The ones from his sister he shared with me; the others he did not
speak of.
"I have asked Celia to come to us in April, before you are brought to childbed," Jack said.
In contrast to the tedium of my days, with my husband now in residence the nights were
rather more interesting. Jack shared the great carved bed with me. We pulled closed the curtains
and shut out the world, leaving only ourselves to please. And please me he did, taking very great
care because of my delicate condition.
I learned much of pleasure during those long winter nights, both what Jack could do for
me and what I might do to gratify him in return. Sometimes, in the slow dark hours before
daylight intruded, I imagined we might continue like this forever. Life seemed perfect just as it
was.
Then one cold early spring morn, a host of men came riding up our lane and put an end to
that perfection.
I heard the commotion of many men down below stairs even before Chas came to me,
wringing her hands.
"Soldiers," she told me. "Here to see Sir John."
We sat together on the bed, holding hands, until Jack came to tell us the news.
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"Chas, see to our guests," Jack said when he came into the room. She lingered, reluctant
to leave without hearing what he had to say. Jack waited until she finally strolled out the door.
Knowing Chas, I suspected she remained just out of sight beyond it, but well within earshot.
"Lass," Jack began, and his gentle tone set my heart to pounding.
"Do not tell me you are leaving."
"Aye, I must. Captain Prynne has sent messages – there's dire news."
"What? What could be more important than the birth of your child?"
"The Queen's sources in Spain are reporting a gathering of warships set to sail with calm
weather."
"I thought Drake put paid to them last spring."
"He did them damage but it held them off only for the year. Phillip's armada is even more
powerful now. Sweeting, it is perhaps the mightiest fleet ever assembled. England will need all
her defenses at the ready."
"You are only one man," I retorted. "What difference can you make?"
He came and sat on the bed beside me and put his arm around me, not an easy thing to do
with my increasing girth.
"The Queen has need of certain skills now. There are those of us who may serve as her
eyes and ears to sniff out the Spaniard's intentions and strengths."
I jerked out of his grasp. The sudden move toppled me to the floor, had not Jack caught
my arm. "By God you plan to go to Spain!" I swore.
He did not deny it. My eyes burned and I wished I could weep. Perhaps a display of tears
would keep him by me. Perhaps a wife's honest fear might keep him from harm.
But the tears did not come, and he would not listen to reason.
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"I will leave in the morning," he told me. "I will send word to ask Cecily to come to you.
The babe is not due for nearly two months yet. By then, God willing, the war will be finished and
I can return home."
His soothing words might have fooled someone who had not spent those long months at
court. I had heard the Spanish armada spoken of and its might discussed. The general opinion,
whispered so that the Queen did not hear, was that England was helpless before it. And now Jack
said Drake's daring attack at Cadiz had only delayed and not forestalled the inevitable.
He left me alone to go see to the comfort of the men who had come to bring us their
dreadful tidings. I lay on my bed, feeling weak and exhausted and fearful of the coming days. I
finally dozed.
Needless to say, in that frame of mind the dreams that came to me were vivid and bloody.
In them, ships bearing the standard of Spain sailed right up the Thames and disgorged their cargo
of death upon London. Sweeping all before them, they dragged the Queen from her palace and
took her to the self-same place as had hosted the execution of young Babington and his mentor,
John Ballard.
I had been there and seen it and now it seemed as real as life to me. And beside the
Queen on that dreadful scaffold, already bloodied by the gore of England's defenders, I saw Jack.
His handsome dark head held high, he shrugged at his tormentors and smiled directly at me in
that familiar Devil-may-care way he had.
I sat bolt upright in bed. A trickle of sweat made its way down my back, in spite of the
burnt out fire which had allowed the room to cool. Rubbing my eyes to rid them of the remnants
of the terrible dream, I tried to calm myself.
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"Think!" I said aloud, although there were no ears to hear save my own. "How can I stop
him?"
I would beg him not to go – throw my arms and around him and hold him. A candle lit
the room, which had grown dark. Jack would be in the dining hall entertaining his guests. I slid
out of the bed and threw a dressing gown on over my night clothes.
The physician had ordered me to stay abed. I had done so and now my legs were shaky
and weak, but I managed the stairs without incident. At the foot of them, I paused. Sure enough,
I could hear men's voices and could well imagine them at their supper. There was laughter. It
made me grind my teeth in anger. How could men be so foolish as to laugh and eat when they
were shortly doomed to go to war and perhaps death?
I recalled my dream and the look on Jack's faced as he stood before the Spanish
executioner. The memory set me off toward the dining hall at a trot heedless of my condition so
that when I reached the doorway, I had to steady myself against the doorjamb with both hands.
Jack sat with his back to me, and was in the process of passing a wine jug to the man
across from him when that man's expression stopped him. He turned to follow the direction of
the man's stare, his wide smile fading when he saw me there at the door. The other men followed
suit. I felt suddenly short of breath under the scrutiny of so many curious eyes.
"My lord husband," I said, allowing him the courtesy in the company of so many
strangers. "May I speak with you?"
At the sound of my voice, the men arose as a group, perhaps half a dozen of them. One
or two, I noted, wore the livery of the Queen, but the others wore only the plain woolen garments
of plain yeomen farmers or the like. However, the intelligence belied their true station. Jack
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gestured that they should sit and resume their meal. Then he came to me and pulled me outside
the door.
"Why are you not in your bed?" he said in a low voice.
"I had a terrible dream!" I did not try to hush my voice. Perhaps a warning might save
the lives of the men who supped a short distance away. "I saw you die!"
"Sweeting, I am in no danger. I am eating my supper and enjoying some very nice wine."
"But you will be. You are going away. What if the Spaniards come?"
"You will not be alone," he soothed. "My sister is coming. Chas is here and I am leaving
men to look out for you all. There is no danger."
It struck me then that he thought I was fearful only for my own safety. But with that
terrible execution running itself through my head, my uppermost thoughts were for his danger
only. I shuddered at the memory. I drew in a breath to tell him. A sudden pain knifed through
me, bending me double with my arms clutched over my swollen belly.
Then there was a sudden warm gush of fluid from between my legs, and, bent over as I
was, I could see water and blood on the floor, cascading over my bare feet.
"My Lady!"
It was Chas, carrying a platter of food. She shoved it at Jack who stood staring at me, his
eyes wide with shock and confusion.
"Tis the babe," Chas said. "Coming way too soon."
Jack dropped the tray and caught me up in his arms. Oddly detached, I wondered that he
did so with such ease. Then he carried me up the stairs to our bedchamber, Chas following
closely behind.
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The pain had subsided but returned full force when he laid me out on the bed. I struggled
and screamed with its intensity. Dimly I could hear Chas ordering Jack to ride for the physician.
After that, I have only fragmentary memories of that terrible night. These included waves of
wracking pain and, once, a thin whimpering cry.
"Let's name him Thomas," I whispered to Jack when I saw him next, leaning over my
bed.
"Hush," he said. "Never mind that now."
In spite of everything, I noticed he wore his riding clothes.
"You are still leaving us," I accused.
"Sweeting, I must. The Queen has summoned me."
"Damn the Queen! We need you here." I was so weak my teeth were chattering, but I
found the strength to shout at him regardless.
"You will not be alone. Celia is on her way and Chas is here."
I clutched at his sleeve. "I am not afraid to be alone. I fear for you – I saw it in a dream."
He leaned forward and kissed me very gently on the forehead. The gesture told me I had lost the
battle to keep him safe at home and, in defeat, I gave myself over to the darkness.
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Chapter Twenty-One
sliver of light spilling through an opening in my bed curtains touched my face and woke me. A
bird sang outside my window, its melody full of the bright May morn I was missing. I stretched
my limbs until they creaked and sat up.
For the first time in weeks, I felt fully aware of myself and my surroundings. I pushed
aside the bed curtain and swung my legs over the side of the bed, and then wobbled over to the
window. When I threw open the sash, warm, fragrant air washed over me. Closing my eyes, I
turned my face up to catch the morning sun.
Then I heard a baby, its voice drifting in through my window. Little Thomas, I thought.
Chas must have him in the garden to catch the warm air and sunshine. I suddenly wanted to hold
him in my arms.
"Chas?" I called. "Cecily?" I had a vague recollection of Jack's sister's arrival. Neither
woman appeared. Then I noticed the baby's wicker basket sitting at the foot of my bed. Of
course I did not expect to see little Thomas there, but the basket was empty of anything including
bedding. My heart lurched and I put my hand to my breast.
Another puzzle – beneath my night shift, I could feel my breasts were bound, so tightly I
my breath felt short, now that I thought about it.
"Chas!" I went to the door and called out her name, more sharply this time. My voice
echoed in the empty hall. Again no answer came so I made my way to the stairs, feeling weaker
with each step. Somehow, I made it down the stairs without falling but by the bottom step I could
go no further. I sat on the step to catch my breath.
"My lady!" Chas found me there a little later. I had put my head down on my knees and
perhaps even dozed a bit, for some time seemed to have passed.
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"I heard little Thomas, crying. Where is he? Has Cecily got him? And where's Jack?"
"Oh, my lady! I should fetch Lady Cecily. Best she tell you. But first let me help you
back into your bed."
Somehow she managed to manhandle me back up the stairs and into my bed, no small
matter because I was so weak and dizzy I could help her little. She went in search of Cecily, who
appeared shortly at my bedside, looking down at me with concern.
Something about her expression gave me pause. "Where's Jack?" I asked her. "And my
babe? Is something amiss?"
"Jack had to go," she said. "He wrote me that he told you about it, but perhaps your fever
has made you forgetful."
Suddenly I recalled men coming to take Jack away from us. They had come with the
Queen's summons, God curse her.
"My husband's gone, too," Cecily added. "There is a very great threat from the Spanish."
"Jack's gone to Spain."
"Oh, Francis, I do not think so. He is with my husband aboard his ship." She looked very
uneasy.
"I know it. I saw it in a dream."
Just then, Chas came into the room, wringing her hands.
"Where's little Thomas," I asked her sharply. By the look of her, I sensed more amiss
here than Jack's desertion. "Have you given him over to a wet nurse?" I touched my bound
breasts.
Cecily's eyes filled with sudden tears.
"Francis, there is no baby," she said.
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341
A void opened beneath me, and I clutched the sides of the bed so as not to fall into it.
"I don't understand. I heard him cry – just a short time ago."
"Mayhap 'twas the cat," Chas said, misery writ plain on her face.
"I don't believe you. I want my baby. And Jack."
But I did believe them – about Jack at least, and although it tore at my heart, about the
baby, too.
Chas had come to stand next to my bed and I touched her hand. "Chas, tell me about the
baby. What happened to him?"
"Born too soon. Such a dear little poppet. You asked Sir John to name him Thomas, and
he took him up in his arms and called him by that name." Tears streamed down her face. "Then
the babe died."
"Jack left the next morning?"
"Aye. He could not ignore a summons direct from the Queen."
Of course he could. But the two women stared down at me, misery writ plain on their
faces and I held my tongue. I turned my back to them, my face to the wall.
"Leave me in peace," I told them. And in a little while I heard them depart from my
bedchamber, closing the door very quietly behind them.
*
I recovered my strength very quickly – after all there was no little Thomas to feed – and
could soon make my own way out to my garden where I spent long hours soaking up the mild
May sunshine. Alone, for I could not bear the melancholy company of either Chas or Jack's
sister Cecily.
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But one thing drew me to seek Cecily out on occasion. I suspected she knew of Jack
whereabouts. Letters came from her husband, and though she burned them soon after reading
them, I made a determined effort to coax their contents out of her. Finally she let slip the
information I craved.
A messenger came one afternoon. Although I had not made it a habit to share meals with
Cecily, preferring to brood alone in my bedchamber, on that evening I joined her for supper.
"Francis!" she said when I came into the dining hall. "Pray sit with me. I hate to eat
alone."
I made an act of grudgingly doing so. She overlooked my quiet demeanor and chattered
away like the little birds in my garden, so pleased she neglected to take care of her words.
Especially once prompted by me.
"Did a messenger come with letters today?" I asked. "Was there one for me?"
I'd had no word at all from Jack. "He could at the very least let me know how he fares," I
complained.
"I had a letter from Captain Prynne," Cecily said.
"Did he mention Jack?"
"He did not. I do not believe they are together." From what little I had gleaned from
earlier conversations, Jack had joined Captain Prynne on his ship.
"Where is he then?" Cecily answered me with a troubled look that told me she hesitated
to tell me.
"I have a right to know where my husband is." I pressed her hard.
"Not with Captain Prynne," she repeated. "My husband put him off...somewhere."
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Jack was in Spain. I knew it. Cecily's reticence told me the truth if her lips would not,
and I had foreseen disaster for him in Spain.
"The Spaniards will kill him," I told her. "I saw it in a dream."
"Only a dream," Cecily said. But her voice trembled. She feared for her brother, too.
The plan struck me like a thunderbolt. I would endeavor to find my errant husband and
bring him home to us.
Cecily must have sensed something in my attitude. "I'm certain Jack is well," she insisted.
"Are you? I am not. I will go to the Queen and ask her to recall him."
Cecily blanched. "The Queen! You dare not!"
"Oh aye, I dare."
"You cannot travel alone to London."
"I will take Chas. And you can accompany us. I am sure you are anxious to return to
your own home."
"Captain Prynne asked me to stay here. He said I would be safer."
Captain Prynne wished his wife to stay in the West Country, not in her home not so far
from the coast. This made for interesting news and added fuel to my determination to go to the
Queen.
"He would not want you here alone. And you will be if you insist on staying after Chas
and I have departed."
I could see the argument had its merits with her, but her expression remained doubtful.
"Never fear," I told her. "You may bide in London if you believe your home is not safe. If
London falls, we are all doomed for that matter."
*
Jack of Hearts
The third day after this conversation found us on the road to London. We traveled in
Cecily's carriage, and decided to make the journey in several short legs, as I had not yet fully
recovered my strength. But the adventure did much for my spirits, and I soon found myself
pushing our driver to pick up the pace.
We were accompanied by several of the men Jack had left us for protection. They wore
thunderous expressions the entire time, fearful of their master's wrath. But I had impressed upon
them the nature of my own wrath, should they refuse to come with us, and pointed out that they
were bound to look after me, which they could not do very well if they were not with me.
Niggling doubt rode along with me as well. I had no guarantee the Queen would even
see me, much less acquiesce to my desire that she should send Jack home with me. The plan had
seemed simple far from London. As we came within eyeshot of the city's many spires on the
distant skyline, it became less so.
We first had to find the Queen. Inquiring in several places, we got several widely
varying answers. At last we happened upon a troupe of the Queen's own pike men, lounging at
the door of an establishment that appeared half-tavern, half-brothel. I scandalized Celia by
calling to our coachman to pull our vehicle to a halt in front of it.
"Nay! Francis!" she exclaimed, clutching at my sleeve as I opened the door, but I shook
her off.
Three pikemen stood there, and they eyed me curiously as I walked straight up to them.
"Sir, do you have any knowledge of the Queen's whereabouts?" I addressed the
centermost of them, whose upright posture indicated less intake of ale than his companions.
He grinned at me. "Inside, sharing a pint with the boys," he said, one eye drooping in a
big wink. The two other men chuckled.
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Ignoring them, I drew myself up to my full height and looked the middle fellow up and
down. "Sirrah, I will have you know I am one of the Queen's ladies and need to reach her
immediately!" I told him, putting every bit of authority into my voice that I could muster. "And, I
might add, I will definitely report your egregious dereliction of duty." I stared pointedly at his
livery and emblems of rank.
I waited for him to point out to me that if I were so important to the Queen, how was it I
did not know where she was.
But logic did not prove his strong suit. "She's at Whitehall," he said. "And we are off
duty."
I acknowledged the information with only a slight inclination of my head, and then
returned to the carriage, walking slowly and with as much dignity as I could muster. Cecily sat
inside, her hand to her breast, looking distraught.
"Francis, you are far too bold. 'Tis unseemly."
"Mayhap," I replied. "But I have discovered that a touch of boldness is required to make
one's way in the world."
"A woman should rely on her menfolk – her father, brothers or husband to provide
guidance and protection."
"Aye! And, pray tell me where are my menfolk when I need them most? My brother's
dead, my stepfather outlawed. And then there's my husband. Where is he in my hour of need,
pray tell?"
Celia ducked her head and muttered something about her dear Captain Prynne.
"I don't see him about, either!" I retorted.
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Celia probably did not deserve the edge of my temper turned against her, but I refused to
take back my words as we rode on in silence toward Whitehall. She had indeed led a sheltered
life, but her dear husband was not at hand to aid us.
'Twas high time we took matters into our own hands.
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Chapter Twenty-Two
At Whitehall we discovered the Queen's pikemen had given us the correct information
regarding her whereabouts. We left our carriage with Chas and our men and made our way to the
main gate of the sprawling palace. Cecily visibly trembled and at one point I thought I heard her
teeth chatter.
"Fear not," I told her. "If we do manage to get in, it is I who will confront the Queen.
She will likely take no notice of you."
I had expected to have difficulty talking our way past the guard, but in a stroke of
serendipity we arrived there at just the same time as Lettyce's Robin. I had not seen him since
his elopement with my only friend amongst the Queen's ladies, but he looked very prosperous
and fine.
"Robin!" I called to him, hoping he would remember me.
For only a moment the look her turned upon me was blank, then recognition lit his
handsome blue eyes.
"Lady Francis, how do you do?" he greeted me politely, making a leg with the grace of a
true courtier. "Have you business within the palace?"
"Aye, I am here to visit my aunt."
"Very well, then please may I serve as your escort?" he asked, holding out his arm for me
to take. His smile to my companion held a question.
"Please allow me to introduce my sister-in-law, Mistress Cecily Prynne," I said.
"Very pleased to meet you, Madam," he said to Cecily, with another bow, albeit not so
deep as the one he had made to me. Robin had cut his teeth on courtly politics and knew
differences in rank instinctively.
Jack of Hearts
He did serve as our escort, a lady on each of his arms and made it seem as if he were
much taken with us both. He spoke with animation of court gossip and affairs which did not
interest me in the slightest. But by the rapt expression on Cecily's face I could see my sister-inlaw was not so diffident about court matters.
"And how is my friend Lettyce fairing?" I asked him when he paused for breath in his
chattering.
"She is in residence in our manor in the country," he said. "We are expecting a babe in
the fall. I did not want her here at court in the summer with all the contagion of the City around
her."
Poor Lettyce, I thought. Pregnant and alone, exiled from her friends and the life at the
royal court she loved. I could sympathize with her plight. But I did not let on to Robin how I
felt. Undoubtedly his wife's wishes concerned him little, and he would not understand my
feelings either.
He spent a few moments filling us in on current affairs at court. The Queen spent most of
her days closeted with her advisors, planning strategy in the face of the Spanish threat.
"I cannot say the situation is hopeless," he told us. "But we have been led to believe it is
dire. Only Drake and our navy stand between us and Phillip's Inquisition."
His words sent a cold finger of fear down my spine. England had known mostly peaceful
times during the span of my short life, but I had no trouble imagining the horror of a Spanish
invasion. We English were most of us heretics in the Spanish king's eyes and as such merely
fodder for the fires of his fanatical Inquisition. Our late Queen, Philip's wife, had attempted to
institute something similar on our shores – thus the burning grounds at Smithfield. Undoubtedly,
her death saved many innocent lives, not the least of them her younger sister, Elizabeth.
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Foiled in that attempt, Philip's attentions were turned to other pockets of Protestantism
such as the Dutch, but having had his way with them at last, he now used the execution of the
Catholic Mary of Scotland as an excuse to threaten England yet again.
Only our small navy, headed by such brave men as Lord Howard, Francis Drake and Jack
Hawkins, stood between Philip's enormous fleet, his armada, and us. By the anxiety that hung
palpably in the air in Elizabeth's palace and strained Robin's generally jovial features, one could
only assume the armada would sweep aside our defenders with no more effort than a bear might
expend against a few unfortunate hounds nipping at its heels.
Cecily's husband was with the English fleet. And so was Jack.
"So, the Queen is with her counselors?" I asked Robin.
"Aye, as we speak. There have been couriers. The court is agog with speculation of their
news."
I had wished to see the Queen straight away, but preoccupied as she must be under these
circumstances my chances of doing so seemed small.
So, with Cecily in tow, I set off in search of my Aunt Lilith. I had heard nothing from her
throughout the long winter, but then I had sent no word to her of my whereabouts either, being
otherwise preoccupied. I hoped she did not resent my silence, because I needed her help and
cooperation in my attempt to see the Queen.
I found my aunt with the Queen's ladies, as they were not attending their mistress at the
moment.
Aunt Lilith greeted me with a tearful embrace that sent Robin, having escorted us to the
Queen's chambers, scurrying on his way, embarrassed by her demonstration of affection.
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"My dear," she cried. "It has been almost a year!"
She wore the same pinched expression I'd seen on Robin's face, but a gladness to see me
warmed it away.
I introduced Cecily. "And where is Sir John, your husband?" my aunt asked me.
"With Cecily's husband. And they are both aboard a ship with the fleet."
The anxiety look returned to my aunt's eyes. "Pray God they are all safe!" she cried,
crossing herself out of old habit.
"Amen!" The Queen's other ladies, clustered around us, spoke as one, and Cecily and I
echoed their sentiment. "Amen."
But I was not one to sit and wait for fortune to turn my way.
"I wish to speak with the Queen," I informed Aunt Lilith when the other ladies had
returned to their chores. Cecily wandered about on her own, eyes wide with staring at the
majestic royal bed and wardrobe.
"Aye and so does half of London. She's besieged from all sides and fair maddened by it,"
my aunt said.
"Will she grant me a word, do you think?"
"Only if you catch her unawares and that's difficult these days."
"Suppose I were to await her here?"
"Her Master of the Bedchamber and the guard clear the room before she approaches.
Only those she requests to be in attendance are allowed to stay." My aunt turned to the bed,
which dominated the room as did the others in all of the Queen's royal apartments, and began to
fold back the fine embroidered coverlet.
"No exceptions?"
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"None, and you'd best be glad of it. Her temper has always been a touchy thing, but now
she burns with it."
The bed's coverlet folded down to the foot of the overstuffed mattress, Aunt Lilith set to
arranging its draperies. I watched her pull them carefully into place so no openings in the fabric
allowed one to see within. She set a small stool next to the high bedstead and tied back a small
portion of the drapery above it so that the Queen might comfortably get herself into the bed.
I had spent a few nights in that very bed. At least one of the Queen's women often kept
her company, especially on chilly evenings. The memory presented itself to me along with a
plan.
The day had been unnaturally warm for late May and had remained so well into the
afternoon. I imagined the Queen would want her bed to herself, if for no other reason than
staying as cool as possible. If I could hide myself in a corner of the bed I might escape detection
and have a moment for a word with the Queen once she retired for the evening.
I sidled up to Cecily, who still gawped at the bed, fascinated by it and my aunt's
painstaking preparation of it.
"Hsst," I whispered. "I have a planned to see the Queen."
"What?" She spoke aloud, not catching my cue to lower our voices against
eavesdropping. The Queen's ladies were a great stew of gossip, and any plot of mine they
learned would reach the Queen's ears long before I could execute it.
"Hush!" This I hissed with a finger over my lips so that she'd see clearly my desire for
stealth in the matter. "I have a plan to see the Queen. It will require that I remain here for the
evening."
"Never! They will surely catch you."
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"Mayhap they will. But my plan is a good one."
Curiosity sparkled in her eyes but I dared not tell her much. "You will have to leave soon
and make a show of it. I will pretend to go with you but merely as a pretense."
I took Cecily's hand and led her over to the side of the Queen's bed where my aunt stood,
still smoothing and folding its draperies and bedding.
"Aunt Lily, the hour is late," I told her. "We must take our leave."
"Aye," she answered. "I know you were anxious to see the Queen but that is a hard thing
to do these days. Have you somewhere to stay the night? And will you come back to see me?"
"Aye, on both accounts. We have rooms not far from here and I will return on the
morrow to seek an audience with her Majesty."
"You may have a long wait."
"I am resigned to that," I lied.
She saw us to the door, fussing over us both like a mother hen. A pity she'd never had
children of her own. A motherly woman, she should have a swarm of children and even
grandchildren about her feet. As it was, she spent her days with a cold old spinster who could
not abide children and was childish herself in all the unpleasant ways.
Before the door closed behind us, I did a bit of play-acting, pretending I had misplaced a
favorite purse. The bored guard at the door readmitted me and I slipped into the busy room. I
noticed to my relief that I did not see the Queen's Master of the Bedchamber. With her Majesty
away, he had undoubtedly found some more pleasant pastime away from the buzz of women's
chatter.
None of the ladies inside paid my return any heed, not even Aunt Lilith who had busied herself
across the room preparing towels at the Queen's hipbath.
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Hiding myself in a long fold of the bed-curtains I stood very still, willing myself
invisible. I had told Cecily to linger only a short time at the door and then to slowly depart, doing
her utmost to escape the attention of the guards. When a long stretch of time passed as indicated
by lengthening shadows and the lighting of candles around the bedchamber, I knew she'd
fulfilled her part of my plan.
Things grew quieter without my curtained hidey-hole. I heard several ladies depart the
room, their chores done for the day. The others settled down to await the Queen's arrival. That
did not seem imminent judging by her ladies' lack of activity. I took advantage of this lull,
sliding myself further back through the bedcurtains until I found an opening that allowed me to
crawl up onto the bed, something of a feat without the stool.
Once on the bed I wriggled down to the farthest corner at its foot, away from the opening
made for her Majesty's entry and burrowed myself down under a pile of cushions and brocade
coverlets I found there. Warmth and darkness soon overtook me and put me to sleep.
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Chapter Twenty-Three
Raucous voices.
Disoriented, I opened my eyes to stygian darkness and suffocating folds of cloth covering
my face. For a moment the feeling took me back to the day my stepfather and Henry Coyne
kidnapped me from outside the Queen's palace. Then I recognized her majesty's voice and my
pounding heart calmed.
No more than one of the Queen's fine coverlets covered my face, then, and I pushed it
aside to peer out of my hidey hole. Discovering more blackness without, I decided full night had
fallen. The dim light of candles and rushlights could not penetrate the heavily draped bed's
interior.
Counting upon that darkness to hide me from those without, I concentrated upon the gist
of the heated conversation swirling around her Majesty's bedchamber.
"Howard!" I heard the Queen say. "You are telling me you had to bring the fleet in or
lose it? Pray, tell me why!"
"Your Majesty," came a man's voice. "The ship's hulls were in dire need of scraping.
Supplies were low as well as the men's spirits."
I put the name Howard together with the word "fleet." The Queen was bellowing like a
fishwife at her Lord High Admiral of the Navy. He tried in quiet tones to placate her and failed
miserably.
"If the Spaniards catch your navy in port, they will send every one of my ships to the
bottom. Better a few barnacles than making cannon fodder of them!"
"Your Majesty, it simply cannot be helped."
Jack of Hearts
"Cannot! Cannot! Do not speak of cannot to me! Tell me you can. Drake, what do you
have to say for yourself."
A second man spoke, this one with a slow Devonshire accent. I thought he must be Sir
Francis Drake, Elizabeth's most feared naval commander and scourge of the Spanish. "I have
nothing to add, your Majesty, beyond the fact that I assure you Medina-Sidonia will not catch us
in port," he said.
"Medina-Sidonia may not be a sailor by trade, but with enough arrows even a blind man
will hit the mark," the Queen retorted. "Your reports are full of warnings – an armada of
unparalleled proportions, I believe one of them said."
"Aye," he agreed. "But poorly led. And, thanks to Drake, ill-equipped."
I had heard Cecily's husband speak disparagingly of the Duke of Medina-Sidonia, a man
known less for his prowess as the fleet's commander than for his whining cowardliness, having
avoided several other military appointments. According to Captain Prynne, only King Philip's
inexplicable liking for the man had gotten him command of the crown jewel of the Spanish
Navy.
Then a third male voice joined the conversation. "We have people with the Spaniard's
fleet – one's aboard the San Martin herself."
Jack! The scoundrel was here at Court after deserting me. I recalled my earlier
sympathy for Lettyce. Finding myself in similar case set my blood boiling.
I scrambled out from under my coverlet and made for the narrow opening in the bed
curtains. Just as I swung my legs over the side, one of my feet became entangled in the sheets. I
flew head first out of the bed in a summersault, landing in an ignoble heap at the Queen's feet.
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Three men reached for their swords, missing because of the prohibition against weapons in the
Queen's presence and then braced themselves to pounce upon me.
The Queen, to her credit, did not so much as flinch but regarded me steadily with an
inscrutable expression in her black eyes.
Straightening myself as best I could, I tried to arrange my clumsy dismount from the bed
into a low bow. "Your Majesty," I said. From the corner of my eye I looked around for Jack and
saw him alongside several unfamiliar men standing a bit further away from the Queen than my
position at her very feet.
"Lady Francis. Is this an unexpected visit? Your husband led me to believe you were at
home with a new baby."
The word baby struck a sore place in my heart, like a carelessly loosed arrow. How dare
she be so cruel. I opened my mouth to protest her callous words. Then I realized their import
and clamped my lips shut.
She did not know.
And neither did Jack. I knew it by the look on his face, which reflected anger at my
presence but lacked the terrible loss we shared together.
Cecily had sent letters, as had I, directing them to Captain Prynne. Had they never
reached their designation? I looked again at the Queen, who awaited my explanations, her brows
cocked high in question.
"Your Majesty, the babe is in good hands," I told her. 'Twas not a lie for such an
innocent could only lie with the angels.
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She nodded, losing interest in the subject of my baby in light of greater –- to her –concerns. "I would have thought motherhood might have tempered your impetuous nature, Lady
Francis, but it appears not to be the case. Take her in hand, Sir John," she said to Jack.
I looked up at Jack. His face had gone stiff and blank of expression. I knew that look.
He was very, very angry. He reached out his hand to me, and I got to my feet and went to him.
Jack caught my arm, his grip so tight I had to bite my lip to contain a yelp of pain.
The Queen switched her attention from me to her admiral. "Lord Howard, I have your
assurances that the Spanish will not catch our ships off-guard?"
"Aye, your Majesty," Howard said. I had seen him before, during my time living among
the Queen's ladies. His wife, Lady Catherine, was a cousin and one of her dearest friends and
mistress of her wardrobe. "We have eyes with the fleet, as Sir John has mentioned."
"Very well. See you do not disappoint me. The loss of our ships would bespeak
England's loss."
For a moment she looked very tired and older than I had ever noticed, then she squared
her shoulders and waved her jewel-encrusted fingers at us.
"Gentlemen, begone. The hour is late and I would sleep. Sir John, see to your young
vixen."
She turned her back to us and her ladies emerged from the shadows to help her ready
herself for bed.
The men made abeyances to her back, and we left the room, Jack half-dragging me along
in his wake.
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"Where are we going?" I demanded. He did not answer, but continued to stride along
through the corridors. It seemed to me he led me deeper into the palace. "Cecily is waiting
outside for me in her coach. Chas is with her."
"Let them wait," he said, anger palpable in his voice. "First we two have matters to finish
between us."
"Aye," I said, "there are things I need to tell you, Jack."
Just then we came upon a door. Jack shoved it open, sending it crashing into the wall
behind it, and thrust me into the room beyond. I stumbled, then caught my footing and turned to
face him.
Wearing a thunderous expression, he kicked the door closed. Trusting I knew his nature
well enough to gamble he would not do me too much physical harm, I raised my chin to let the
storm break over me. I put aside the memory of the clout he'd given me inside Lord Durant's
stable. After all, he'd thought me a boy then.
But instead of the tongue-lashing I expected, he spoke very quietly.
"Perchance I have forgotten. Did I send you a summons to come to me at court?"
"Nay...," I began, but he cut me off.
"I did not think so. I did not know I would be here myself, more than two days past."
His low voice, reasonable in every tone began to scare me. I knew Jack for a man with a temper
and had stiffened my resolve to outface it. This uncanny quiet took me aback.
"Jack, there are some things you do not know..."
"Aye, I know you are here. I know my sister's in this, too. And you say she and Chas
await you without."
"Aye, but...."
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359
"And where's our poor babe? Did you drag him all the way across the country on some
foolish female whim?"
The mention of our babe broke my resolve. I could no longer answer him for the great
lump in my throat. Tears welled in my eyes and flowed over my cheeks. I dashed them away
with the backs of my hands but they kept coming.
Then all anger left Jack's face as if washed clean by my tears, only to be replaced by an
expression of dread. Seeing it, I began to weep in earnest -- great sobs, rent straight from my
heart.
Jack's arms came around me, and I pressed my face into the hollow beneath his shoulder
where my tears wet the expensive fabric of his velvet doublet.
"Sweeting, tell me our babe is safe and healthy."
I could only shake my head but the breath went out of him and his grip on me tightened
as if he needed the support to stay upright.
*
Much later, when we were both seated on a bench, the only piece of furniture in the
room, I regained enough composure to tell. Jack held my hands while I told him about our loss.
"The baby died," I said. "Not long after he was born. He came too soon."
"We had a son."
"Oh, Jack, I did not have the chance to feed him or hold him in my arms," I said. "The
childbed fever took me over, and when I came to myself he was gone. Buried in the little
churchyard with your father and mother."
He slowly shook his head from side to side as if denying the news or recovering from a
crippling blow. I could only watch, having no comfort to give beyond the news.
Jack of Hearts
"How is it I did not know?" he asked at last.
"We sent letters," I said. "They were directed to Captain Prynne."
"I have not been with him. He could not have gotten word to me."
I thought he seemed evasive about his erstwhile whereabouts.
"Where have you been, Jack?" I asked him straightly.
He did not want to answer me. For the first time, my eyes were not blinded by our
tragedy and I saw him, all of him clearly. The cut of his doublet was new to me. Had male garb
changed so much since my banishment from court? Or did he wear the fashion of a foreign
court?
"You have been back to Spain," I accused. My voice sounded hysterical, even to me.
"You left me in childbirth to put yourself in such danger? The Inquisition puts Englishmen to
the question, racks them and then burns them."
I was shuddering all over in horror, the image of such tortures in my mind's eye.
"Nay," Jack said. "Do not fash yourself, Frank. I have been aboard a ship."
He did not look me in the eye, but he did not have me fooled.
"Twas a Spanish ship, was it not? You told the Queen we had people aboard those
ships."
He gave me an almost imperceptible nod.
"By God! And you were angry with me for coming to London!"
I stood up and began to pace the floor. The room was empty save for a single wooden
bench, I noticed. Beyond her own apartments, the Queen's palaces were generally sparsely
furnished. She had little concern for the comforts of her court and was too penurious to provide
even the scantiest of luxuries for anyone.
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I was learning, if I had not already known it, that she used her people hard as well.
"I do not know how much more I can bear, Jack."
"Pray God 'twill soon be finished," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"The Spanish fleet will come. We will either drive them off or not. Either way, it will be
done."
"And then what?"
He caught my hand and pulled me close to him. He smelled of leather and horse and
something else. Sea salt? "What was the baby's name?"
"Thomas."
"Twas my father's Christian name."
"Aye."
"Upon my oath, when this is done we will go home and make more babies."
"Can we not go now? The battle is set. Your work is done. The Queen cannot expect
you to do more."
"Nay, not yet. I must return to our ships with Howard and Drake."
"Then take me with you."
I knew the answer, reading it in his eyes. I expected a refusal, more useless explanations
of duty and country. But he kissed me instead. The kiss lingered, and he put his hands on me.
Those hands knew me better than I knew myself. I forgot my anger, I forgot everything.
The room owned but a single age-battered bench, and I vow we put it to novel use.
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Chapter Twenty-Four
Next morning, Jack left without a word. I awoke alone and went off in search of Cecily and
Chas.
I had no difficulty finding them awaiting me in a courtyard outside the palace.
Surprisingly, a third person, someone familiar, had joined their ranks.
"Frank...Lady Leslie!" Master Will Shakespeare exclaimed, quite deliberately stumbling
over my name. I deserved that - last time he saw me I had worn a boy's duds. Obviously Chas
and Cecily had filled him in on my new identity.
He continued to ply me with flattering words, but I paid him no heed. Scheming and
planning preoccupied my thoughts instead.
How dare Jack leave me behind! It had happened one too many times. Presently, I
stamped my foot, startling my three companions who stared at me as if I had grown another
head.
“I will not stand still for it!”
“Stand still for what?” Cecily asked, ever the kindly and concerned sister-in-law.
I ignored her question. “You hired rooms in an inn last night, I presume? Let’s go there.
I have preparations to make.”
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363
Following several hours of feverish activity and a number of quick shopping trips
delegated to Chas and her bargaining skills, we were again back in the carriage and headed south
on the Plymouth road.
*
Master Will had insisted upon accompanying us. Although I did not care much for the
poet, it did not hurt to have another male escort on a road known to be dangerous even in more
settled times. Now, as the entire country awaited invasion with bated breath, the possibilities
were both endless and dire.
In our previous acquaintance, Master Will had paid me little heed. He’d made it obvious
he thought of me as little more than a servant boy to run to his every beck and call.
Now he stared at me as if seeing something exotic and enormously interesting for the first
time.
“I pride myself on character judgment,” he said. “Comes as part of my calling as a
playwright. But by God, you had me fooled. How did you do it? Pass yourself off as a boy,
pray tell?”
I shrugged.
“There!” he exclaimed, pointing at me. “That shrug. ‘Tis most unladylike, but in your
present guise, I would never take you for a boy.”
“People see what they want to see, I suppose. A boy in a troupe of players is beneath the
notice of most, so no one notices.”
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364
Master Will shook his head. “’Tis more than that,” he insisted. “I’ve an idea for
something and I need to capture what you did.”
That night as we sat in the dining room of a roadside inn, he sat quiet in a corner, staring
alternately at me then back at something he was writing or drawing on a bit of parchment.
*
The following day we smelled Plymouth before we saw it. In the manner of most port
towns, it had a familiar odor of salt air and dead fish. The aroma brought back memories of my
old home town, hundreds of miles north up along this same coastline.
The town sat haphazardly arranged around Plymouth Sound. Our road crested a hill and
it lay below us, like a toy village. Ships filled the harbor – Elizabeth’s ships, the entire English
fleet. Not an unexpected sight as I had overheard Drake and Howard tell the Queen they had
brought the ships in for refitting and supplies. But even to my untrained eye, they seemed likely,
as the Queen had feared, to be trapped there should the expected Spanish appear.
Master Will found us an inn, once again proving the wisdom of allowing him to
accompany us on our journey. We asked the innkeeper about the whereabouts of the ship’s
officers, assuming they would be aboard their ships on the ready in case the invasion began, but
he had a different tale for us.
“Lying abed, I vow the lazy rascals are,” the innkeeper said. “Except for Drake. I hear
he and his fellows enjoy a game of bowls on the town green every afternoon. ”
I left my companions in the inn’s tavern while I retired to our room and made use of the
purchases we had made in London. I entered the room a lady and emerged from it a spindly
young boy, clad in a plain jerkin and hose such as any low class apprentice lad might wear.
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365
When I rejoined Cecily, Chas and Master Will in the tavern, the latter stared wide-eyed at
me for a space. Then, he grabbed the bit of parchment he kept at hand and began scribbling on
it, all the while staring at me and nodding.
“I’m off,” I announced.
Chas and Cecily both leapt to their feet in protest.
“Francis, you cannot do this. It is so unsafe,” said Cecily.
“Aye, listen to your sister,” Chas insisted.
I shook my head and held them at arm’s length, although they reached out to me.
“Nay,” I told them. “You were all aware of my intentions. I will come to no harm. Jack
is there.”
“But a woman on a ship, ‘tis bad luck I’ve heard my husband say many times,” Cecily
said.
I straightened. “Do you see a woman?”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Master Will start. He nodded, as if some question were
answered for him, and without a word, he turned back to his writing. I managed at last to
disengage myself from my clinging friends, threw my canvas bag over my shoulder and strode
out into the cobbled street, headed for the busy wharf.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jack of Hearts
Finding Drake's ship did not pose as much difficulty as I had imagined it might. As in
the year before, I discovered people paid very little heed to a ragged nondescript boy, and no
one looked closely enough at me to discover the female beneath my lad's costume.
I suppose the frantic activity on the quayside helped my cause. Word of the armada had
reached the general public, and people were streaming down to the docks to see the fleet.
Seamen and dockworkers cursed as they fought through the throngs to get themselves and their
supplies loaded out on the ships, several of which were not yet fully provisioned.
I stopped a hurrying youngster wearing a seaman's knit cap. "Boy, which is Drake's
Revenge?"
He turned and squinted into the setting sun, then pointed at a ship silhouetted against a
red sky. "There," he said. "If you've business aboard, you'd best hurry. I'm with the last of her
crew and we're setting out now." The direction of his pointing finger changed to indicate some
men gathered on the quay near a small boat of rowing size moored below some water-stairs.
I shot him a smile of thanks and made for it. The men were obviously sailors and one or
two, including my confidant, were young boys. I slipped into their ranks without a word. The
group of men and boys hopped gracefully into the small wooden boat. I aped their movements,
but with less skill, very nearly ending up sprawling headlong into the choppy strip of water
between the boat and the water-stairs when I tripped upon an uneven board. My boy managed
the feat with more skill and sat directly in front of me.
Even then no one saw through my disguise. All eyes were on the horizon, scanning it for
the ominous approach of enemy sail. I believe I might have gone onto that boat unchallenged
even in my finest court gown and slippers.
Getting aboard the Revenge did prove a challenge. Boarding involved clambering up a
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skimpy rope ladder. Several men went ahead of me, heavy gentlemen who climbed upward with
the agility of great pot-bellied spiders. I moved more slowly, my arms barely up to the task.
Halfway up the ladder, I stalled, my strength given out. Abruptly, a hand shoved my
backside upward. I stifled an urge to protest the indignity, hence revealing that I was not a
heedless boy, and took advantage of the boost to reach the ship's rail. One last heave and I
lurched over, landing unceremoniously on the deck.
"You a lubber or what?" jeered the dockside-boy whose hand had assisted my climb.
I ignored him and lost myself in the scurrying activity aboard the ship, looking about for
a place to hide myself from close scrutiny. The ship was over-manned and there were already
many who staked out a space for themselves above decks. A hiding place presented itself to me
when I heard a chorus of voices and looked back over my shoulder to see the little boat which
had brought us out to the Revenge being heaved aboard with ropes, upended and secured on the
deck. It joined a row of several such small vessels.
I walked along the line of boats and located a particularly tiny and decrepit one tucked
between some huge coils of rope. Only one desperate for one's life would consider setting out in
such a poorly maintained craft. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one observed me, I
went to my knees and lifted the bottom edge of the boat enough to slide under it. I pulled an
edge of one of the rope coils after me to hold the boat up enough to provide some ventilation,
but not so much as to reveal my hideout to curious eyes.
Once inside, I had nothing more to do, so I scrunched my jacket into a rather flat pillow
for my head and curled up for a nap.
I awoke to pitch blackness and a cacophony of men's voices and feet pounding on the
ship's deck. Peering out from beneath my boat shelter did not satisfy my curiosity, so I slipped
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from beneath it on the side closest to the ship's rail. Between the over-turned boat and a large
pile of coiled rope, I had ample cover to look around.
Had I slept so soundly as to miss a Spanish attack?
I took a chance and drew myself up on the rail to peer over it at the sea. At first I could
make out nothing in the night's pitch blackness. Then I caught sight of the boats - or rather dim
lights held by some of the men on them. They fanned out ahead of the Revenge in a wide arc.
Someone joined me on the rail - my young companion from the wharf.
"What's afoot?" I asked him. "Have the Spanish come?"
"Soon enough, but not yet," the boy told me. "Can't you see we're warping off?"
"Warping off? What's that?"
He sighed gustily. "You are a lubber. What's your name, anyway?"
"Frank," I told him. "What's yours?"
"Jemmy. And I was whelped in these parts. You're a stranger."
"Aye. I followed my brother. He's a soldier."
"Run away to sea, have you? Good luck finding that brother in this Bedlam."
"I heard him say he was bound for the Revenge."
"Oh, aye, as if he had any choice in the matter. He went where he was sent when he
set foot on the quay, most like."
A rhythmic sound reached my ears, reminding me of all the boats in the water.
"So, what's warping?"
Jemmy shrugged. "The Spanish have the weather gauge. We don't - the wind's
against us. Unless we warp out - tow our ships with those longboats - we'll be bottled up in
Plymouth Harbor."
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Even a greenhorn such as myself could see the danger. Trapped in the harbor, the
English fleet would be helpless and ripe for the plucking - except for the longboats with
their crews of oarsmen.
Climbing higher on the rail I could see more ships out beyond the Revenge, their great
black hulks barely discernable against a starless midnight sky. But the little boats swarming
around them carried partially shuttered lanterns, so that ghostly globes of very faint light
seemed to bob and sway over the water's surface.
As I watched, tendrils of fog wound their way through the small boats and larger ships,
dimming the lantern-light further. Soon after, the wind freshened and, moistened by rain, wet
my clothes through.
"Coming up a squall," Jemmy announced. "I've an oilskin."
He produced it, a greasy nasty thing, very smelly, but it did keep off the rain. Then, I
showed him my hidey hole under the little boat, and between that and the oilskin we spent the
rest of the night in relative comfort, talking at first, before finally falling asleep.
Jemmy asked me about myself, and I told him a story about having run away from my
master to join my brother in the upcoming battle against the Spanish fleet. He'd done
something similar, telling his family he was going on a fishing boat. He'd not wanted to worry
his mother who would fret if she had the truth of it.
Morning brought very little change in the weather and only a bit more light, but
activity aboard our ship increased mightily. I awoke to a man's voice, Captain Drake
presumably, braying orders answered by the thundering sound and vibration of feet pounding
the deck's planks beneath us. That same deck lurched and swayed, indicating further
deterioration in the weather.
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"Damnation!" Jemmy swore and clambered out from under our boat.
I followed right on his heels and up the side of the rail, where we both hung, peering
out over the roiling sea.
"Where are we?" I shouted, the wind ripping the words from my lips.
"Out to sea," Jemmy bellowed. He pointed toward the ship's sails billowing above us
like wet sheets left hung outside on a stormy day. "We must've gained the weather gauge
overnight."
The fog of the previous evening had lifted enough so that I could see ships even some
distance away. There were swarms of them. "Are those our ships?"
Jemmy nodded. "Aye." Again he pointed, this time toward the ship's bow. "But those
aren't."
A black mass of ships lined the horizon, so many I could not count them. I must have
looked as frightened as I felt because Jemmy grinned.
"Don't worry. The Cap'n eats Spaniards for breakfast. They're running from us
already."
Squinting, I could see that the massive Spanish fleet was indeed sailing away from the
English fleet.
"How did they get ahead of us?"
"Passed us in the fog while the Cap'n laid back and let them go, I'll wager," Jemmy said,
flashing a white smile at me.
Just then, the sound of distant thunder rolled over us. I ducked, but Jemmy climbed
even higher on the rail and hung precariously over it, peering out toward the Spanish fleet.
"Tis one of ours," he shouted. "We've fired on them."
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Not thunder, but cannon fire. My first instinct was to hunker down further, but Jemmy
displayed so little concern that I remained in place to watch the distant ships pounding away at
one another. The Spanish answered that first salvo and soon both sides engaged in a massive
barrage, ear-splitting even at our range.
Eventually, to my dismay, the battle drifted our way as our ships, having fired a salvo,
swung around behind the giant crescent the Spanish fleet formed ahead of us.
Soon, the first of them, a vessel much smaller than ours, after seeming to come
directly at us, turned away to our left.
"Distain! Distain!" arose in a simultaneous roar from the throats of the Revenge's
sailors.
"Tis one of ours - the Distain," Jemmy shouted, accustomed by now to my ignorance.
"Fired the first shots, she did!"
The gloomy morning wore on. If anything, the weather worsened but did not hamper our
view of the ongoing battle from the Revenge's rail. About mid-morn, several sailors rounded up
the ship's boys - including myself - and ordered us to distribute drink and victuals to the ship's
company.
I followed Jemmy to a staging area where these men were distributing hard-baked
wafers in cloth sacks -- "Ship's biscuits," Jemmy named them for me - and ale poured out into
buckets. When I attempted to lift one of the heavy ale buckets, Jemmy stopped me.
"Lemme take it. You've got scrawny arms. I hope your brother's more brawny if he's a
soldier."
I took up a bag of biscuit in Jemmy's wake and handed them out to men with cups of ale
newly poured by my young friend and mentor. We moved around the over-crowded deck with
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difficulty, but no one paid us much heed. Fortunately for me, ship's boys apparently attracted
little attention, and no one saw through my disguise.
Our supply depleted, save for a biscuit and sip of ale for each of us, Jemmy and I
withdrew to our station at the rail. Protected by the over-turned boat, it was a tranquil island in
a chaotic sea of activity. We settled down to our breakfast. My stomach rumbled reminding
me I had eaten nothing since the previous day. I found my first bite of biscuit not too
unpleasant, very crunchy and somewhat savory-flavored; then I noticed Jemmy tapping his
against the side of the boat.
"What are you doing to your biscuit?"
"Knocking the weevils out of it." He shot me an incredulous look. "What - you didn't
do yours?"
I shook my head wishing I hadn't swallowed already.
"Never mind," he assured me. "These are fair fresh. Only one or two of the little
bastards fell out of mine."
The deck lurched beneath us, signaling the worsening weather and my stomach lurched in
answer. Soon the nausea intensified. Whether due to the wormy biscuit or the pitching deck, I
did not care.
"You're going all green," Jemmy finally told me. I needed no more prompting than that
to send me clambering up the rail to hang over and heave the contents of my guts into the roiling
sea. When I could raise my head, I noticed others on the rail both to my left and right occupied
in the very same activity. Some ships were coming toward us, as had the Distain earlier, but I no
longer cared to watch.
Finally, weak and wrung out, I slid back down to squat miserably on the deck.
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"Lubber," Jemmy remarked, grinning at me and standing to peer out at the
oncoming line of ships.
Just then, something struck me a massive blow like a giant fist, accompanied by a
thunderous roar, that squashed me to the deck, my face pressed against the side of the ship.
A buzzing in my ears replaced the familiar sounds of the ship's company. Spots appeared
before my eyes and I struggled to draw my breath. When I managed it, the tiny movement
sent something dry and powdery past my cheeks. I brushed at them and my hand came
away covered in what looked like sawdust.
"Jemmy, what's happened? What's this?" When he did not answer, I tried to sit up, and
found I had to use my hands to push myself upright. They came away sticky and wet. I turned
up my palms and saw they were dripping with blood. And then I noticed the boards of the deck
beneath me ran red with it.
Shuddering, I rose to my knees, reaching for the rail to steady myself, but my fingers
found no purchase, and for just a moment I teetered there, close to falling out into the waiting
sea through a gaping hole.
"Jemmy - there's a hole in the rail!" I called out to my friend and mentor once I had
my balance.
I pointed at it and turned to see if he saw what I did, but he was not there. The buzzing
noise in my ears began to subside, inexorably replaced by men's screams and shouts and the
booming of guns not so far away as they had been before. Blinding smoke wafted past.
Clutching at the overturned boat, I scrambled to my feet. With the hole in the rail
behind me, it no longer seemed such a secure spot, so I crawled over the little boat and slid
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down its far side. That short journey landed me in Hell. My hearing returned fully. Someone
was screaming right in my ear.
A hand grabbed my shoulder and shook me. Hard. It was then I realized I had been
the one screaming, and I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle the sounds.
"Shut up! Shut up and help clear this deck," a familiar voice demanded. I looked up
at him.
It was Jack.
He did not return my stare, his gaze drawn downward to what I had seen already. The
sound of his voice stilled the new scream that threatened to work its way past my hands held
tightly to my mouth.
I sank to my knees on the bloody deck beside Jemmy's ragged remains. The Spanish
barrage that had taken down part of the ship's rail had cut him nearly in two at the waist. But the
blood that spilled over the deck was not his alone. There were other bodies, many of them as
mangled as Jemmy's.
"Set to clearing this deck," Jack ordered again, his voice loud enough to carry over
the din. Other boys had heeded his orders and were shifting the broken bodies.
"Jack!" the word came from my mouth as no more than a whisper. Pray God he
would recognize me and send me away from the battle. Perhaps I might persuade him to take
me away himself, trying not to recall his angry words upon our last parting.
But he made no indication of having heard or recognized me, turning to stride away
through the mass of milling survivors.
So I sat with the battered body of my young friend with a heavy heart.
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I saw men and boys throwing the dead overboard. I thought about the hole in the rail,
big enough to push a body through if I could get it past the overturned boat. I lifted the edge of
the boat and propped it with a coil of rope. But when I touched Jemmy, finding him still warm
and his face remarkably unscathed, I could not bring myself to do it.
Instead I crawled under the boat and pulled poor Jemmy in behind me. I found the
oilskin he'd shared with me and wrapped him in it, covering his face.
"Don't fret, Jemmy," I told him. "When this is over, you'll see your mother again."
I lay under the boat for the rest of the afternoon, praying for the battle's end, but the
fighting continued, its din rising and falling as the Revenge wove its way through the lines. Near
dusk, after something of a lull which gave me some false hope that fighting had ceased, a huge
explosion shook the Revenge, rattling the very timbers beneath me.
Were we once more under fire? The small space under the boat seemed suddenly very
close. Would I die here like a rat trapped in its den? The dreadful thought sent me scurrying from
beneath the boat. I could see through the hole shot in the ship's side and because of it spied the
source.
A Spanish ship stood not too far away, still smoldering from the massive conflagration
I'd heard from beneath my little boat refuge. I could see men in the water around it, some
moving feebly, some not at all. Had the Revenge's guns done the damage?
I would never find out because the Revenge swept on past the injured ship. Presently,
one of the ship's boys, his smudged freckled cheeks reminding me of Jemmy's, handed me a
ships' biscuit and a small bottle of beer.
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Tapping the biscuit against the deck as Jemmy had shown me, I sat next to the hole in
the rail where I had a good view of the battle. The weather continued to worsen, but I huddled in
against myself and did my best to ignore my discomfort.
Presently, just before the dusk turned over to full dark, a seaman carrying a lantern
came along. He seemed distracted, looking all about himself, but when he spied me alongside
the rail, he hailed me with a whistle.
"Whisst! Boy!"
Ignoring him would have only called more attention down on myself and so I
responded.
"Aye?" I answered, putting my hand to my face in a gesture of deference I'd seen
Jemmy make to his superiors.
"Come with me," the man said. "We're to hang this lantern from the ship's stern.
I followed the man as ordered, keeping my head low. The deck seemed much less
crowded now as the ship's company searched for places to bed down for the night. The raging
battle on the water seemed to have abated as well, only the occasional dull thump of canon fire
disturbing the sound of the sea.
When my companion and I reached the stern, he leaned way over the rail and pointed
to a hook several feet down. I wondered how he planned to hang the lantern on it - a monkey
would have had difficulty scampering over the rail in rough seas and reaching that remote
hook.
Then, the man placed the lantern in my hand in a gesture that answered my unspoken
question.
"Hang it there," he told me, pointing.
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Had I refused, he would have inspected me closer and likely my disguise would fail,
even in the dusk.
"Here, hold this 'til I get over," I told my tormenter, pushing the lantern back at him.
He grunted in disapproval, but took it anyway.
I took a deep breath and climbed to the top of the rail.
The constant fog and sea mist of the day had slickened the wooden rail so that only by
the merest stroke of luck did my feet not slip off immediately. Then they did, pitching me
down toward the roiling sea.
Somehow, I managed to catch hold of the rail as I fell, leaving me to hang there, my
feet scrabbling for purchase on the side of the ship. It materialized beneath my left foot - the
hook the seaman had indicated as a hanger for the lantern. Wrapping my arms around the rail
and wedging my foot firmly against the hook held me secure for the moment, but not much
closer to completing my task.
"Damnation, boy!" the seaman bellowed. "Belay the foolery!"
He thrust the lantern at me, coming dangerously close to striking me in the head with it. I
released my death grip on the rail with one hand and swung wildly at the lantern, with some
intention of attempting to catch it, but mostly to fend it off.
The lantern's side bounced off my hand and it went careening back onto the deck, where
it broke apart, spilling out its candle and a stream of burning wax. The deck planking caught fire
immediately, in spite of the damp evening air. Flame rolled simultaneously toward my
precarious position at the rail and back toward the center of the ship.
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The seaman scuffed at the fire, but burning wax spattered his shoes, threatening to set them
alight. "Thou damned puling Hellspawn!" Whether directed at me or the conflagration at his feet,
his oaths and scuffling did little to alleviate matters, and in a few moments he fled the scene.
Left on my own, I could only hang helplessly and watch a little tongue of flame work its
way toward my hands. Surely the seaman would alert the shop's company to their hazard - even
a lubber like me knew the dangers of a fire aboard a ship. After all, hadn't I just witnessed the
pitiful remains of that burnt-out Spanish ship, not an hour past? Rescue seemed overlong in
coming so I set up an alarm of my own.
"Help!" I shrieked. "Fire!"
When there was no immediate response, I imagined most of the sailors either hunkered
down for the night or standing at the front of the ship watching the lights of the Spanish fleet as
it swept up the Channel ahead of us.
Then I heard shouting and felt the pounding of booted feet against the deck. A great
burst of water washed over me from above, leaving my breath sputtering and my fingers
slipping on the newly wetted wood beneath them.
"Hallo! Someone's overboard," a man's voice came from nearby. Strong warm hands
caught mine and yanked me upward. The sudden movement lost me my hat at last. Although
screwed down tightly on my head, all the frantic activity of my fall from the railing had
loosened it, and my rescue proved the final straw. I caught a glimpse of it illuminated by
torchlight as it spiraled down toward the black sea.
All too aware of that torchlight and what it might reveal, with my hat now missing, I
averted my face from the men standing about staring gape-jawed at me as my savior sat me on
my feet. I could see blackened planking beneath my feet; lucky for all of us men had come with
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379
buckets of water to douse the flames when they did. Another little while and the Revenge might
have shared the fate of that hapless Spanish vessel.
"Enough excitement for one evening," my rescuer said. "Best you men turn in, for
tomorrow may put us all to the test."
A little frisson raised the hair at the nape of my neck. I knew that voice, well as I knew
my own. I waited until all sailors went about their businesses, taking their lanterns with them
and leaving the two of us alone in the dark.
"Satisfy my curiosity, wife," Jack said in a low voice. "I'm athirst to hear you explain
yourself this time."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Try as I might, I could not disappear through the deck of the ship, so I straightened my shoulders
and faced him with all the bravado I could muster.
"Hello, Jack."
Darkness hid his face, but I did not miss the anger in the set of Jack's shoulders and the
stillness of his stance. Time passed. Finally, he wiped his face with his hand.
"I should not ask why you are here," he said in a weary tone. "You have a habit of
appearing in the most difficult of circumstances."
"Jack. Listen to me...much has happened."
"Aye. I can well believe that. Where are my sister and our babe?
Jack of Hearts
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Chapter Twenty-Seven
We knelt before the Queen, early on her second morning in Tilbury. She was slow to
deign to notice us.
"Oh, get up," she snapped at last, breaking a long and increasingly uncomfortable silence
in the room.
I did as she asked, but Jack had difficulty, and I reached out a hand to help him. He did
not shake it off but neither did he acknowledge my gesture. The Queen looked at us, her
expression inscrutable, even when she looked at Jack. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had dreaded
this moment and so, I imagined, had Jack.
His profile turned to me appeared perfect, but I already knew by heart the ruin hidden
from my view. How remarkable that the fire should so scar the left side and leave the right
virtually untouched!
He wore his poor injured arm in a sling and usually walked with a cane which he had left
outside the house, thus his difficulty in rising. Fortunately, he had not had to walk very far
because the house belonging to Master Ritche, where the Queen had spent the previous night,
was not overlarge. Nor was the hall where the Queen received us.
Jack of Hearts
In fact, there were only a dozen or so courtiers surrounding us, all squeezed together like
salt fish in a barrel into Master Ritche's dingy and airless dining hall. Behind the Queen, seated
in a small, straight-backed chair, stood two men, the Earls of Leicester and Essex. Leicester, the
Queen's confidant of old, appeared tired and bloated and aged beyond his years. By contrast,
Essex, Leicester's stepson, looked even younger than he truly was, little more than a boy.
The Queen, God bless her, made no mention of the change in Jack's appearance, but
went straight to her point.
"There is this matter of the lantern," she said. "I had believed it to be a yarn spun for
my edification by Admiral Drake. But Cumberland tells me you two have another tale to tell."
"Aye, your Majesty." I spoke up after a moment when Jack did not speak. It was, after
all, my story. "Admiral Drake ordered a lantern be set on the stern of the Revenge, so that the
fleet might keep sight of him in the night. 'Twas very dark and murky that night."
"So I'm informed," the Queen said. "Did you witness the lantern being hung, Lady
Frances?"
"I was the one ordered to hang it."
The Queen stared at me.
"I do not believe I have to ask how that came about," she said, with a shake of her head.
"Cumberland has told me you were aboard the Revenge dressed as a ship's boy."
"Aye."
"So what became of the lantern?"
I did not dare tell her a lie. She undoubtedly knew the
truth already. "I dropped it on the deck and broke it."
She did not rage at me as I expected, but stood waiting for
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the rest of the story.
"Truth be told," I said, "'Twas an impossible task. The hook was far down the stern, the rail and
deck were wet and slippery and seas were so rough ship pitched like a drunkard."
"Go on..."
"I dropped the lantern and it set the deck on fire. Jack came along and saved me and
put out the fire."
The Queen's gaze left my face, and she turned to Jack.
"Sir John, how is it your lady wife came to be aboard a ship in the midst of a battle?
Disguised as a lad?"
"Ask her," I heard Jack say beneath his breath. Then he spoke for the Queen's hearing.
"She followed me aboard ship. I did no know she was there until the incident with the lantern."
Watching the Queen carefully, I thought I saw a hint of amusement in her black eyes.
For the first time in our audience I stopped expecting her to order us summarily hanged.
"Why did you not find another lantern?" she asked.
"I did not know of the order and my wife was in no fit state to tell me about it. Nor
did she know of its significance at the time."
"So I am to believe Drake is innocent of disobeying direct orders so as to fill his
coffers with the taking of a rich prize?"
"Your Majesty, I do judge that to be the case," Jack told her.
"Hrumph!" the Queen declared. Then she changed the subject.
"Sir John, I am very sorry to see you sorely injured."
Jack sketched a bow with a modicum of his old grace. "Taken in your Majesty's
service," he said. "Tis worse than it looks and will soon heal."
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"Your bravery shall be rewarded," she said. "As shall your coming forth with the truth of
the missing lantern." She paused, and then smiled, something she rarely did because of the poor
state of her teeth. "But I think I shall not let Drake off so easily. Let him worry a bit about his
fortune and whether I shall allow him to keep it."
Then she rose from her chair. "Sir John," she said. "Please allow your wife join my ladies
while they dress me for this day which I believe will be a momentous one." I had not really
noticed before that she wore only her dressing gown with a light wrapper over it.
She put her hand in the crook of Leicester's arm, and he escorted her from the room.
Obeying her oblique order, I followed them, glancing back over my shoulder just once, to see
Jack watching us depart.
Master Ritche and his wife had vacated their bedchamber for the Queen's use. Although
well-appointed the room suffered in comparison to the Queen's quarters as I had seen them in
Greenwich and Whitehall. She appeared not to notice as she swept in on Leicester's trusty arm.
Her ladies quickly surrounded by her, all of them but two, my Aunt Lilli and Lettyce, my former
friend, who deserted their mistress' side to come running to me.
Meeting them with a glad embrace, I shed not a few tears. Tears seemed to come to
me all too easily these days, I recall thinking, where once they were scarce. We quickly caught
up and I bore my Aunt's reproach with humility. I had been very foolish, after all.
I expressed my surprise at seeing Lettyce. The last I had heard of her she was
expecting a child and residing at her husband's country estate, far from court.
"My babe came just before Christmastide," she told me. "The sweetest little lad. We
named him Robert, after his father."
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The thought of her little boy, born only a few months before my own, sent a pang
knifing through my breast. But I kept my composure and asked her where the child was. "I
would love to see him and discover if he favors you or Robin."
Lettyce shot a look toward the Queen who was being dressed by her ladies. "Her
Majesty called me back to court. I left little Robin with his nurse."
Again the pang. I had known Lettyce to be a vain and shallow young woman, but I
never would have expected her to have deserted her child so soon. Still, who was I to judge,
whose foolishness surely contributed to the loss of my own child?
"Frances, come here." The Queen shook off the ministrations of her ladies to call me to
her. She stood arrayed in the most gorgeous garments I had ever seen her wear, and considering
I had spent the better part of a year with her court, that was saying something.
Dressed all in white, from the velvet of her gown and starched high ruff that rose behind
her head to the many strands of lustrous pearls looping about her neck. She wore a red wig in
which more pearls nestled and much white paint upon her face. At such close range she looked
tired in spite of the paint, and the flesh at her neck sagged more than I recalled. It had been a
difficult year for all of us, Elizabeth perhaps most of all.
I went down on my knees before her. She wore silver painted shoes and had silver clocks
on her white stockings, I noticed in a studious effort to calm myself. Whatever she wished to tell
me, the tone of her voice made it seem serious.
"We seem to have come full circle," she began without preamble. "How often
have I found you here at my feet? We cannot decide if you are to be admired for your
adventurous spirit or chastised for it."
I bobbed my head in a nod.
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"Rise, child, and look at us. We would see your expression."
I did as she asked with alacrity.
"It would seem Sir John is a fortunate man. Most of these flibbertigibbets run to our court
to escape their husbands, not vice versa to follow them about the countryside." She waved her
hand vaguely but I saw Lettyce had the grace to blush.
"But we could not fail to notice Sir John's apparent lack of appreciation. Have you made
undue notice of his wounds? A pity - he was such a handsome man!"
"Nay, your Majesty, nothing so trivial," I answered. "He holds me responsible for
the loss of our babe."
"And are you? Responsible?"
"Not intentionally. But I have behaved foolishly."
"The young are by definition foolish." She paused for a moment and seemed to
reflect, a melancholy expression in her eyes. This was a woman who mourned the passing of
her youth, I thought. Even a Queen cannot command time to stand still.
Then the snap returned to her eyes.
"Very well," she said. "We shall have to lay snares for that husband of yours. What we
cannot do by reason, we might well accomplish by wile."
She snapped her fingers at the woman guarding the door. "Send Leicester in to me!"
The man nearly fell into the room when the woman opened the door, and I could well
imagine him leaning there with his ear pressed to it to hear the Queen's activities within. Close
as I stood to her, I heard her chuckle beneath her breath. But it was a fond chuckle, not at all
offended by his obvious eavesdropping.
He crossed the room and would have bowed but she stayed him with a hand on his arm.
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"Robin," she said. "I am told you have a gift to me."
"Aye, your Majesty." He handed her the parcel he held, a large item wrapped in
white silk cloth embroidered with silver threads.
"Help me Frances, this is heavy."
I held the weight of the bundle while she unwrapped it to reveal a breastplate
wrought in shining silver. I recognized it immediately. The Queen had a favorite miniature
she often wore of Pallas Athena sporting a tiny replica of this very breastplate. She took the
item from my hands and held it to herself.
"Robin, I believe you have my measure exactly," she told Leicester, revealing a girlish
dimple when she smiled her close-mouthed smile.
"Always, your Majesty," the old earl answered, his voice pitched for her ears only.
But I was standing close enough to hear it.
"Well don't just stand there gawping, girl," the Queen said to me. "Bind me up!"
The breastplate had piercings down along its sides with tapes threaded through
them. I laced the tapes behind the Queen's back, binding the breastplate to her.
Ever impatient, she strode away from me almost before I had the job complete. "I
wager Master Ritche has no mirror," she snapped, bending her head down to try to see the
effect. One of her women held a small looking glass, and the Queen made a most comical sight
squinting to see her image in it from halfway across the room.
Then Leicester, ever the courtier, said, "Thou art a veritable goddess of war, your
Majesty!"
She simpered, pursing her thin lips and arching her penciled brows so high they
threatened to disappear beneath her wig. But I noticed Leicester's eye held only warmth and
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admiration. Here was perhaps the only man in the realm who still saw the girl beneath the
white-lead paint and preposterous wig.
"We are ready to inspect our troops!" the Queen told her courtier, and placed her hand
on his arm. As they made their way out of the room, she looked back over her shoulder at me.
"Never fear, Frances," she said. "We shall have that errant husband of yours eating out
of your hand forthwith!"
I joined the cluster of the Queen's ladies who followed from the room and out of the
house, where we found her male courtiers awaiting her with her horse. On the previous day,
only Leicester and Essex had escorted her on her tour of inspection, but today she indicated the
rest of us were welcome to follow and view the spectacle.
Once safely mounted, she paused the procession with a gesture. I saw her speak to one
of her courtiers who set off at a trot and soon returned with another man accompanying him. It
was Jack, plying his cane heavily to keep up with the courtier's quick step.
Elizabeth leaned down from her saddle, and this time I made out the words she spoke.
"See to your lady wife, Sir John," she said. "We shall dine in Leicester's pavilion tonight.
I would that you both join us there."
He did as she ordered, working his way through the crowed toward me with difficulty as
everyone set off in a rush to follow the Queen. When he reached my side, I noticed he looked
pale and ill, his eyes wincing.
"Jack," I said, "You're not well. Let's return to the inn
and rest a bit."
He shook his head. "Nay. I would see this."
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So, I threaded my arm through the crook of his, and under the guise of being a dutiful
wife, helped him along the rough-cobbled road leading to Tilbury fort.
It was a walk of some distance, and I insisted we stop and rest a bit. Finally, a small
wagon passed us and I begged a ride from the driver who let us sit on the open rear of his
vehicle. For a moment I was taken back two years to my first sight of London, from the back of a
wagon very like this one.
When we finally reached the fort and the huge encampment of forces arrayed around it,
we were among the stragglers making up the rearguard of the Queen's escort. Along with our
driver, we stood in the wagon to see.
"There," Jack said, pointing. Excitement warmed his voice, so that the knot in the pit
of my stomach eased a bit, and I followed his direction.
The previous several weeks had been notable for their foul weather, and this morning
had been little different, with fog, low clouds and a sporadic drizzle. But just as he pointed,
the clouds parted and dazzling sunlight fell through them, illuminating the Queen, shining
white and silver, among the motley colors of those around her. In the distance, all around us,
the sky was still gloomy and grey, so that it seemed we witnessed some miracle of God or
nature.
The Queen must have sensed it, too, because she rose in her stirrups and spoke to her
troops, lined up in their regiments before her. I could see her gesticulate with her words, but try
as I might I made out no more than one in twenty of them because of our distance from her
position in the vanguard. No matter - I have since seen her words copied out and printed for
posterity's sake.
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After the Queen's speech, her troops practiced maneuvers, both mounted and on foot
for her entertainment. The exhibition looked to go on all afternoon. I fretted for Jack's sake,
weakened as he was by his injuries.
"Goodman," I called out to our driver who stared open-mouthed at the spectacle. "Will
you drive us to our inn?"
The man managed to drag his rapt gaze away from the troops' display for a moment.
"Nay," he said, pointing back toward them. "'Tis history before our eyes."
"The real history is underway out in the Sleeve," I retorted, and then resorted to bribery.
"There's silver in it for you."
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