by C. J. Archer
“Has Style made any more public threats toward him?” he asked.
“No.”
“Private ones to you or any of the players?”
“Not that I’m aware.” It was almost impossible to thread the needle in the waning light but she managed it.
Rafe plunged the cloth into the pot of water and squeezed the excess out of it before wiping one of the bowls. “Gripp seemed furious yesterday. Furious to the point of irrational. They both did, he and Style. I’ve seen men like that before, men who want revenge no matter the cost.”
Lizzy paused and watched his back. She’d seen men behave like that too. One man in particular. A young man, intent on doing harm and not caring about the consequences.
“People like that are dangerous,” Rafe went on.
She concentrated on her mending, lifting the tunic so that the window was behind it and she could use as much of the fading daylight as possible.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Rafe said, glancing at her over his shoulder again. He frowned, shook his head. “Economizing is one thing, Lizzy, but you shouldn’t work in this light. Your eyes will suffer.” He used the low flames in the fireplace to light the candles and set the candelabra on the table near her.
“Thank you,” she said. She wanted to add that he was being very kind, not at all like he used to be, but she bit her tongue and bent to the mending.
“I’ll pay Gripp a visit in the morning,” he said.
“What?” She missed the stitch and stabbed her finger. A drop of blood bubbled out of the skin. She sucked on it.
Rafe pressed his lips together and swallowed hard. “I…uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The sooner the better.”
She removed her finger. “No, Rafe. Thank you but don’t trouble yourself. Please.”
“It’s no trouble. Don’t worry, it’ll just be for a talk. I’ll make sure Gripp understands that he can’t ruin the company and get away with it.”
How would Rafe make him understand? With fists? A blade? “It’ll sort itself out,” she said.
“It might but I doubt it’ll be in a way that will be good for the troupe and your job.”
Her job. Yes, she needed it.
“I’ll come.” It was out before she’d thought it through. Perhaps that was a good thing. If she had thought about it, she wouldn’t have spoken at all. She should go with him. She needed to go with him—at least Rafe might not be inclined to use his unique powers of persuasion if she was there.
“Very well,” he said cautiously. “But don’t be alarmed if you hear me say some…threatening things.”
Too late for that. She was already very alarmed.
They had just set out for the long walk to Gripp’s home and office in Clerkenwell when a rider on the back of a magnificent white horse trotted proudly down the street toward them. Lizzy hadn’t seen such a fine animal since Leo had courted her sister nine years ago, although Leo’s horse had never been so pristine. It was like something out of the tales the older playwrights told over their ales, minus the shining armor. If the gentleman rider wasn’t at least a knight in rank, she would be surprised.
“’Lo!” the horseman shouted. “Fletcher! I need to speak to you.”
Rafe held the horse’s bridle and patted its nose. “Can’t keep away from me, eh?”
“Is that any way to speak to your superior?” the man said, sliding off the horse and landing lightly on his feet. He wore a black doublet with gold thread and gold buttons and a large lace ruff high up under his chin. Lizzy had seen gentlemen wear similar elaborate garments to the playhouse. “In front of a lovely young lady too.” He flashed a smile at her. It was dazzling. She smiled back, and then she flushed, of course.
“My superior?” Rafe grunted. “Have you forgotten I bettered you the last time we fought?”
They fought? Was this man an enemy of Rafe’s? Neither seemed on guard. In fact, Rafe looked pleased to see the newcomer.
“That was hardly a fair fight,” the gentleman said. “My left arm was in a sling and I wasn’t trying very hard. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“How considerate.”
The gentleman bowed to Lizzy. “My apologies, dear lady, for this ruffian talk. Rafe, are you going to introduce us?”
“If you’ll let me get a word in, gladly. Elizabeth Croft, this is the earl of Oxley.”
An earl! Good lord. She curtsied and the earl bowed low. She should say something, but what does one say to an earl? In the end, her face grew hotter and she said nothing.
“Honored,” Lord Oxley said. “Tell me, what is a delightful lady such as yourself doing with a savage like Rafe?” He leaned forward, conspiratorial. “He’s not leading you astray, is he?”
She bit back a grin and felt herself relax. “He’s my neighbor.”
“Ah. And a better neighbor you’ll never find, I’m sure. However.” His blue eyes twinkled with boyish mischief. “I do hear he’s living alone while his brother is away. And you know what that means?”
“What?” Lizzy and Rafe both said.
“It means he’ll do anything for a hearty meal. You haven’t invited him to supper, have you?”
“None of your business, Hughe.”
Rafe called him by his first name? She’d never known any ordinary man to be so disrespectful to a nobleman’s face.
“It is my business.” Lord Oxley patted the neck of his restless horse. “It’s my duty as a gentleman to protect this lady.”
“You’re not protecting her, you’re turning her against me. She was just beginning to like me.”
“Were you?” Lord Oxley said with mock disbelief.
“I confess he supped with us last night,” she said. Clearly the earl was teasing Rafe and she was going to enjoy every moment of it. For some reason she didn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable around Rafe in the earl’s presence.
Lord Oxley clicked his tongue. “You’ll never be rid of him now. He’s like a stray dog that way. Feed him and he’s yours forever.”
“So I’m a dog now?” Rafe growled.
“What do you think, Mistress Croft?” He winked at her.
“I…uh…” Don’t think you should insult him. Who was this man who spoke to Rafe like a friend? Surely he wasn’t a mercenary too. For one thing, lords did not risk their lives unless the queen ordered it, and secondly, he looked incapable of wielding a sword, let alone defeating anyone. He was just as tall and broad across the shoulders as Rafe, but he wasn’t in the least aggressive or imposing. Indeed, he was quite foppish.
Rafe clapped Lord Oxley on the back and said, “I doubt you came here just to insult me.”
The earl’s smile faded and he cocked his head to the side. “I apologize, dear lady. It’s just that Rafe is so easy to tease that I couldn’t resist.”
Just like that, her shyness vanished once more. The earl made her feel comfortable without seeming to try. He reminded her of some of the actors. They knew how to read an audience and adapt accordingly. Lord Oxley would fit right into the troupe, absurd though that thought was.
“No apology necessary, my lord. I can see that you and he are great companions.”
Rafe huffed. “So great that he doesn’t mind it when I tell him to state his business then go away.”
“I think that’s a hint,” Lord Oxley said. “I’d better not be here when he decides to stop hinting and become persuasive. I’ve seen how he persuades people.”
So had she. Lizzy rubbed her arms as a chill wind blew up the street.
“Get. On. With. It,” Rafe ground out.
The earl glanced over his shoulder down the street. When he turned back, his face was suddenly serious. “Any news on that mutual friend of ours?” Was he talking about the madman Rafe had warned her about in the tiring house?
“Not yet,” Rafe said.
“I hoped it would be closer to being resolved by the time I had to leave this afternoon.”
“I’m afraid it isn’t.”
&n
bsp; The look of concern that passed from one to the other made the hair on the back of Lizzy’s neck stand up. Then Lord Oxley suddenly smiled again. “All jokes aside, can I ask you to take care of Rafe in my absence, dear lady?”
“I’ll do my best,” she said.
“I can take care of myself,” Rafe grumbled. “Been doing it a long time.”
“Perhaps too long,” Lord Oxley said with quiet sincerity. He clasped Rafe’s arm. “Be careful, my friend.”
Rafe clapped him on the shoulder. “You too. Don’t get that pretty doublet of yours dirty.”
Lord Oxley chuckled. “I’ll come and see you as soon as I return.”
Rafe held the bridle as his friend remounted. They followed Lord Oxley down the street and parted at the corner. He waved at them from the saddle and gave them a final, dazzling smile.
“Peacock,” Rafe muttered.
“I liked him,” she said before she could check herself.
“So I noticed.” He strode off and she trotted to catch up to him.
With the office of the Master of Revels came the ample accommodations provided by the old Priory of St. John buildings northwest of the city proper. Walter Gripp didn’t have the space all to himself, however. He had to share with his vast staff as well as the props, costumes, and even the stage used for the courtly entertainments he managed.
A few inquiries within the priory gate led Rafe and Lizzy to Gripp conducting a rehearsal within the vast hall. The play looked to be some sort of grand re-creation of the Armada defeat complete with a quarter-size reproduction of the Golden Hind. Two carpenters hammered at the replica ship’s hull and another hung from a sling attached to the main mast. Rafe was impressed with the detail, right down to the complicated web of rigging. It would be quite a sight once it was completed, but difficult to transport it to wherever it needed to go.
“I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” Lizzy said. “What if I say the wrong thing? What if we make the situation worse?”
“Could it be any worse?” Rafe asked.
“I suppose not. But Rafe, let me talk to him first.”
Did she expect him to threaten Gripp without first talking to him? Perhaps she did.
They walked up to Gripp where he stood in a huddle with two other men inspecting a sheet of parchment. He paled when he saw Rafe but gathered himself quickly.
“What do you want?” he snapped.
“I want you to listen to my friend, Elizabeth Croft. She has something to say to you.”
Beside him, Lizzy seemed to shrink away. He touched her hand to give her courage and she curled her fingers around his. But then she let go, like a released trap, and took a step away from him.
“Is there somewhere we can talk in private?” she asked.
“No.” Gripp sniffed. “Now be gone, wench, I have business to tend to.” He looked down at the parchment.
Rafe snatched it out of his hand. “Listen to her.”
Gripp’s companions backed away and his bravado faded along with them. “We can talk in my private office.”
Lizzy and Rafe followed him out of the hall into a small building near the great southern gate. The first room was filled with piles of papers, some bound, stacked on one of the two large desks. A plan of a ship was spread out on the other desk. Gripp didn’t offer them a seat. He stood in the center of the room, arms crossed.
“Go on,” he said to Lizzy. “State your business.”
“I want you to leave our company alone,” she said. “The unfortunate matter between yourself and Mr. Style needs to be set aside or you’ll make us all suffer.”
“Your suffering will make Style’s suffering so much sweeter.” Gripp smirked. Rafe closed his fist at his side. He could wipe that smirk off the prick’s face with one punch.
“Please, Mr. Gripp.” Lizzy clasped her hands together in front of her, begging.
Rafe hated seeing her like that, pleading with the little turd. Gripp didn’t deserve it. Nor did Style.
“Style should not have taken your wife,” she said in a soothing voice he’d never heard before. Not that he’d heard her speak often. Not nearly often enough. “We all acknowledge that he behaved very ill toward you.” Her conciliatory words and gentle tone seemed to calm Gripp. “Style himself is sorry—”
“Ha!”
“He is sorry,” Lizzy insisted, “but he’s too proud to admit it. You know what he’s like.”
Gripp nodded. “He’s a coward and an arse—”
“Language,” Rafe cut in.
Gripp pouted. “I won’t release The Spoils of War.” Of course he wouldn’t; that would make him look weak after so vehemently banning it.
“We don’t want you to,” Lizzy said. “But perhaps you could allow the next play through. It’s by Lady Blakewell and won’t contain anything of a crude or dangerous nature in it. Her husband, Sir Robert, is very well connected.”
“I know that.” Gripp twisted the ends of his long moustache. Clearly he was pondering the dilemma. He didn’t want to appear to back down from his threats to Style, but Minerva Blakewell’s husband was indeed influential. He was a favorite at court and was said to have played an important role in the Armada’s defeat a decade ago.
“Please, Mr. Gripp. I promise you shall not have to see or hear from Mr. Style again. We will all do what we can to keep him from your presence.”
If Gripp didn’t capitulate after that plea, Rafe really would give him a bloody nose to remember them by.
But Gripp nodded and said, “If Mistress Blakewell’s play is as clean as you claim, I will not stand in its way. Sir Robert would have my head if I did.”
Lizzy rocked on her heels and gaped at Gripp. “Thank you, Mr. Gripp, I appreciate you listening to me.”
Rafe followed her out of the office, leaving Gripp behind. “The Crown should employ you in a diplomatic role,” he said as they walked beneath the gate’s arch. “England might become the most powerful nation in the world if you were let loose on our enemies.”
She bit her lip, suppressing what he assumed was a smile, but it didn’t suppress the light in her eyes. They danced with happiness.
“You shouldn’t do that,” he said.
“What?”
“Stop yourself smiling or laughing.”
Her eyes shadowed. “Oh.”
Bollocks. He’d said something wrong. Again. It seemed he couldn’t say the right thing around Lizzy. She must think him a thug compared to the actors, and beside Hughe he certainly must seem dull. It had been obvious that she’d liked Hughe, but then women usually did. It had never bothered Rafe before, however.
Perhaps it was because her shyness had only lasted a few minutes in Hughe’s company, whereas Rafe had been with her for hours and she’d hardly spoken a word to him directly.
He paused at the gatehouse and scanned the vicinity. Dozens of people walked past, going about their business. Only one was the same height and size as Barker, but the cloaked and hooded figure disappeared around a corner before he could be certain. Rafe kept close to Lizzy and checked and rechecked their surroundings. He spotted the man again when they reached Newgate. He kept to the shadows, walked with the crowd, and used all the same techniques to look inconspicuous as Rafe would.
Definitely Barker.
Time to flush him out.
Rafe told Lizzy to go ahead without him. He couldn’t pretend that her obvious relief didn’t deflate him somewhat. It seemed she didn’t want his company nearly as much as he wanted hers.
“Thank you for accompanying me,” she said.
“No need to thank me. You did all the hard work yourself.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps your presence was sufficient to convince him I was right.”
Great. Wonderful. So he was useful when it came to frightening people, just not interesting enough to have a conversation with.
He watched her until she was through Newgate’s arch, then he wandered into a nearby alley and waited. And waited. Barker didn’t joi
n him.
Strange. Barker never slunk away from a confrontation. He liked to state his case and fight. The fact he didn’t only confirmed what Hughe had said—Barker would find a way to hurt Rafe using those he cared about. Thank God Lizzy was gone. Even so, Rafe would follow her, keeping his distance until she reached the tiring house safely.
But the question remained: Had Barker followed them all the way out to the priory without Rafe noticing? Possible, since he’d been distracted by the way Lizzy responded to Hughe’s flirting. Rafe should have told him she was almost engaged to wed James, only he hadn’t thought about it at the time.
He seemed to be losing his wits. Ever since Lizzy’s mouth had beckoned him for a kiss over her kitchen table, he couldn’t think clearly. There’d been a smokiness in those big doe eyes, and for a brief moment he almost believed she desired him more than she feared him. But that was—
Bloody hell. She was doing it again and she wasn’t even there.
He was a terrible brother.
“Walter Gripp isn’t going to hold up any more of our plays!” Lizzy announced upon entering the tiring house.
Edward looked up from the prompt book. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I just went to see him and told him Sir Robert Blakewell would be most unhappy to have Min’s plays banned, and he agreed to allow hers through. I don’t believe he’ll allow Jonson’s, however.”
“Lizzy!” Antony hugged her. “You’re a marvel.”
“God’s blood!” Freddie whooped. “You got him to back down?”
“I did.” She grinned. She could hardly believe it herself. She’d convinced Gripp to back down. Not Edward, Henry, or one of the players, not even Rafe, but her.
“In that case,” Henry said, crouching down to rummage through a trunk, “we all have new lines to learn.” He pulled out a stack of pages tied together with ribbon. The other players crowded around him, but not before Antony gave her another hug and Edward kissed her forehead. Even Freddie congratulated her on her achievement. Lizzy couldn’t wait to tell Roger. He’d be so pleased. Perhaps he would give her a bonus this month.