Kissed by Shadows

by Jane Feather

  Bernardina closed the door at her back. She looked around. Every instinct rebelled at the idea of snooping among Luisa's possessions but surely she had a responsibility. If the lax moral climate in this wretched country was corrupting her charge, then Bernardina had a duty to Luisa's mother to put a stop to it.

  She opened drawers in the chest, peered into the armoire, but her heart was not in it. She saw nothing to confirm her suspicions and was not prepared to dig and delve.

  Her unease unabated, Bernardina returned to her own chamber and rang the handbell for her maid.

  “I will dress, Ana.”

  Ana was one of the few servants they had been able to bring from Seville; room on the boats that had transported the party had been hard to come by. Ana had served Bernardina for twenty years and despite her years was still spry and still had an ear to servants' gossip.

  She helped her mistress into the formal gown without which Bernardina would not show her face downstairs, even if there was no one in the house but herself.

  “Have you seen Dona Luisa this afternoon?” Bernardina inquired casually, adjusting her mantilla.

  “No, madam. Is she not in her chamber?”

  “I expect she went for a walk,” Bernardina said. “Or perhaps for a ride with that Malcolm.”

  “Malcolm has gone into the city, madam. He had some errands to run for Don Ashton.”

  “I see.” Bernardina offered a smile that she hoped was casual enough to deflect Ana's curiosity. “I don't care for this mantilla, Ana. Bring me the black one with the gold embroidery.”

  Bernardina made her stately progress downstairs just as the master of the house came in through the front door.

  Lionel cast aside his cloak, tossed his riding whip onto the bench by the door, and stripped off his gloves. He saw Bernardina standing both hesitant and expectant on the bottom step of the staircase.

  “Dona Bernardina.” He bowed, trying to conceal his impatience. Everything about the woman shouted a need to unburden herself about something. And that something had to be Luisa. He was already feeling guilty about his neglect of his ward, but he couldn't seem to find the time to devote his energies to her concerns.

  “I must beg a few minutes of your time, Don Ashton.” Bernardina stepped down as she spoke and offered him a hurried curtsy.

  Lionel sighed inaudibly. “Indeed, madam. I am at your disposal.” He gestured towards the parlor. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask where Luisa was, but prescience bit his tongue.

  “Don Ashton, I am very concerned about Luisa,” Bernardina began.

  Prescience could not be faulted. He nodded, perching on the carved arm of a gilt chair. “What is the trouble, madam?”

  “I don't know exactly,” Bernardina said. “But she is not in the house at the moment, and I believe it is not the first time.”

  Lionel frowned. “She is not a prisoner, Dona Bernardina.”

  The woman's faded complexion took on a pinkish hue. “That may be so, but it would be only courteous of her to inform me, her duenna, of where she is going. Instead she slips out when I am asleep. That is not right, Don Ashton.”

  “You have no idea where she is?”

  The woman shook her head. “She has become very secretive, that is another thing. She always confided in me before, but now she has secrets, I know it.”

  Lionel's frown deepened. “She is a young woman now, madam. 'Tis only natural that she should wish for some privacy.”

  Bernardina shook her head vigorously. “No, that is not the way a young Spanish maiden should behave.”

  “Well, tell me exactly what you suspect.”

  “I do not know,” Bernardina declared. “That is why I am so worried.”

  “If you do not know, I cannot see what I can do.” Lionel's impatience crept into his voice. He couldn't imagine what harm Luisa could come to. If she went out riding she had Malcolm with her, if she went on the river she had the boatmen.

  “You have allowed her too much freedom, Don Ashton,” Bernardina said, her color growing higher. “If you had not encouraged her to ride out by herself, she would not have taken strange notions into her head.”

  “But what are these strange notions?”

  Bernardina's mouth pursed. Again she could put no words to her suspicions because apart from her present absence Luisa had said or done nothing apparently out of the ordinary. And yet her duenna knew that something was going on.

  “Would you like me to talk to her?” Lionel offered, seeing the woman's wordless distress.

  “Yes, and you must tell her that she may no longer leave the house without my permission, and you must dismiss that Malcolm.”

  It was a social taboo for Bernardina to give the master of the house orders or to use such a peremptory tone and it told Lionel that Bernardina was even more upset than he'd thought.

  He said gently, “Let's not overreact, madam. There can be no harm in her going out with Malcolm's escort. I will talk with her this evening.”

  Bernardina shook her head and dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her mantilla. “If harm should befall her, Don Ashton, I will have to answer to her mother.”

  “No harm will befall her. What possibly could happen to her?” He was once more impatient.

  Bernardina turned her head aside and whispered, “Men,” as if the word was almost too evil to be spoken aloud.

  Lionel might have laughed, except that he understood the seriousness of such a fear for an aristocratic Spanish matron in charge of an aristocratic Spanish maiden. “Oh, come now, madam, Luisa hasn't met any men,” he pointed out. “She's not been to court, she has no society.”

  “Nevertheless, she has come under some evil influence.” Bernardina nodded vigorously.

  This struck Lionel as overstating the case, but he made no attempt to argue with her. She was clearly distraught. “Very well, I will talk with her this evening,” he repeated. “Now you must excuse me, Dona Bernardina, I have an audience with the king in an hour.” He bowed and turned to the door.

  It opened and Luisa stood there, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. “Why, Don Ashton, we don't usually see you at this hour.”

  He regarded her closely. “I understand you've been out of the house, Luisa. Dona Bernardina was concerned.”

  “Oh, Bernardina, why would you be concerned? You know I cannot sleep in the daytime. I went for a walk in the garden and a stroll by the river. What harm can there be in that?”

  “What indeed?” Lionel agreed, glancing at Bernardina. “There, madam, I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

  Bernardina saw that whatever support she might have gained from Don Ashton was now gone. He was palpably relieved at Luisa's reappearance and clearly only too happy to accept her innocent explanation, one that Bernardina herself didn't believe for a moment.

  “There is mud on your shoes and on the hem of your gown.” She pointed to the offending dirt with a moue of distaste. “That is most indecorous, Luisa.”

  “I explained that I was walking along the river,” Luisa said with a sharp edge to her voice. “'Tis muddy there.”

  Bernardina tried one more shot before Don Ashton could make his escape. “Did you meet with anyone while you were walking?”

  Luisa shook her head. She modified her tone, saying reasonably, “I don't believe so, Bernardina. Oh, I may have exchanged a word with the gardener, and I believe I passed a fisherman or two along the bank.” She shrugged. “Is there anything wrong in that?”

  Bernardina was defeated. She could see it in Don Ashton's expression.

  He said cheerfully, attempting to dispel the strained atmosphere, “Well, I will leave you two ladies to enjoy your afternoon. If I can I will sup with you this evening.”

  “Perhaps you could bring a guest?” Luisa suggested, gazing up at him with wide-eyed innocence. “It would be so enlivening to see a fresh face and have someone new to talk to.”

  Bernardina drew a sharp breath and Lionel's eyes narrowed. It was not
Luisa's place to make such a suggestion and she certainly wouldn't have done so at home in her parents' house. He looked at her more closely. There was something different about her. An air of self-possession that he hadn't noticed before. And her deep blue eyes were particularly bright and shiny, as if something had pleased and excited her.

  He was about to dismiss her request when it occurred to him that there really was nothing objectionable to the idea. It would salve his conscience a little if he could give her some outside entertainment, and since the guests would be chosen by him Dona Bernardina could not really protest.

  He turned to the duenna. “Would it put the household out too much if I invited a couple of guests for supper this evening, madam? It is short notice, I know.”

  Bernardina bridled. “Why, of course there would be no difficulty, Don Ashton. I ensure that the household is provisioned and run well enough to accommodate twenty people at table at the shortest of notice.”

  He offered a placatory bow. “I know your talents, madam, and appreciate them every day.”

  Bernardina smiled for the first time in the interview. Indeed the prospect of guests pleased her almost as much as it did Luisa. She would enjoy organizing the supper party, something she had done often in Seville. Her mind was already turning to menus.

  “How many guests should we expect, Don Ashton?”

  Lionel considered. An idea had come to him. He could see a way to make this supper party both pleasurable and also useful.

  “No more than two, I believe,” he replied. “But I cannot guarantee that at such short notice the guests I have in mind will be free, so you mustn't be too disappointed, Luisa, if it can't be managed today. If not I will arrange it for another day.”

  Luisa lowered her eyes as she curtsied, murmuring, “You are so kind, Don Ashton. I know I plague you unmercifully.”

  “Not quite unmercifully,” he said dryly. “But it does seem that you cause your duenna some concern. It would please me if you would be a little more considerate.”

  Dona Bernardina looked gratified and Luisa swallowed the reproof without visible annoyance, although inside she seethed. It seemed that the more often she escaped for a few hours with Robin the harder it was to return to the confines and constraints of the house and Bernardina's stolid, predictable company.

  This afternoon they had merely walked a little along the river. In that she had not lied. Robin had told her of his childhood, of the mother he could no longer remember, of his stepmother and his stepsisters, whom he adored. The description of their lives, their childhood freedom, had made Luisa ache with envy.

  Robin had had only an hour to spare to walk with her that afternoon but he had promised that the next time they met he would tell her the story of his sister Pen's first marriage, and the excitement and adventure of her second to the French spy Owen d'Arcy. For Luisa these stories were as entrancing and fascinating as anything she could read in a book. More so, she amended, since the Lives of the Saints was her main source of reading material.

  Robin had also promised to take her to a real gaming house one night very soon. Luisa lived on these promises and stories, hoarding them, taking them out and examining them whenever the tedium of her daily life became too oppressive. Now, as the door closed behind her guardian, she sat down with her tambour frame and returned in her head to her walk and talk with Robin. There had been a moment when he had held her hand. So easily, so naturally. He had only released it when they'd come under the observation of the fishermen on the bank.

  Luisa hugged the memory to her and when Bernardina began to discuss the dishes that should be served at supper she was able to respond with an enthusiasm that gratified her duenna.

  Lionel left the house half an hour later dressed for an audience with the king. In the stable yard he met Malcolm, who had just returned from the city.

  “Sir.” Malcolm greeted his master with a bow. He reached inside his doublet and handed Lionel a slim leather-wrapped packet. “Captain Olson gave me this for you.”

  “Good. He had a quiet voyage from Bruges?”

  “Aye, sir. He said he would be returning on Saturday's high tide, so will take any dispatches you have.”

  “I will have several. You may take them to the dock for me first thing Saturday morning.” Lionel tucked the packet into his inside pocket. “Tell me, Malcolm, how are your rides with Dona Luisa?”

  Malcolm frowned slightly. “Without incident, sir. The lady rides well and likes to gallop.”

  Lionel nodded. “Where do you ride?”

  “Along the river mostly, sir. Wherever she can let Crema have her head.” Malcolm coughed into his closed fist before remarking, “I have the feeling that the lady feels very constrained, sir. Riding gets the fidgets out of her.”

  Lionel raised his eyebrows. “You may well be right. Just as long as that is all she is doing.”

  Malcolm shrugged. “She enjoys watching people, sir. On occasion she will exchange greetings. But she has never in my company dismounted.”

  “Good. See that she doesn't. In her country, the reputation of a lady of her lineage cannot be compromised even by a whisper.”

  “She is safe with me, sir.”

  “I know it. Otherwise I would not have entrusted her to you.” Lionel smiled, slapped the man's shoulder in easy camaraderie, and mounted his own horse.

  He rode back towards Whitehall, the packet of letters burning a hole in his shirt. He had no time to look at them now but they were enough to have him executed for treason. His sister Margaret had been active in the Reformation and had died for her beliefs. Lionel had little commitment to his sister's choice of worship, but he loathed the regime that had killed her. He loathed the fanaticism that led to the hideous persecution of those who chose another way of worship. Flanders and the Netherlands suffered most dreadfully beneath the Catholic yoke and it was among those who fought Spain's dominion there that Lionel drew his support for the defense of England.

  There would be promissory notes in the letters in his pocket for funds to be drawn on local bankers and promises of ships and armaments from the Flemish burghers if England should rise up against Philip and Mary. In return, he would supply information about the anti-Catholic movement in England, about how those who worked to undermine Mary planned to proceed. The news of Mary's pregnancy would not yet have reached Flanders, but it would cause an uproar. Lionel had not divulged the Spanish insurance plan should Mary fail to produce an heir, and he had no intention of doing so.

  Pippa was now his concern. His alone. And he would guard her safety jealously. He had helped to make her Philip's victim, he would do everything in his power now to undo the damage. It had become almost a sacred duty, an absolute obligation. Only by fulfilling it would he be able to live with himself.

  He left his horse in the massive stable complex of the palace, and made his leisurely way towards Philip's private office. As he expected, Renard and Ruy Gomez were in attendance.

  Philip laid down his quill and looked up from the parchment on his desk. He had a weary air, as if he was short of sleep. He sanded the sheet of parchment as he said, “Lionel, we bid you welcome.”

  “Sire.” Lionel bowed to the king, then offered a courteous greeting to the other two men. “You wished to see me?”

  “The woman.” Philip's nose twitched, his mouth turned down as if the very mention of the woman he had violated was repugnant.

  His next words confirmed the impression. “We don't care to see her every day. My wife finds it very difficult, very distressing . . . and of course nothing must be allowed to upset the queen in her present condition.”

  “Of course not,” Lionel agreed smoothly. “What do you suggest we do about Lady Nielson?” He spoke her name with quiet deliberation, compelling the men in the office to affix a face and a personality to their tool.

  An expression of fastidious distaste crossed Philip's face. Whenever he debauched a woman he would confess and do penance and was then disgusted by his victim, a
s if her violation and his own fall from grace had been her fault. He did not answer Lionel's question. It was Ruy Gomez who spoke.

  “The husband cannot be trusted to care for her. And her family are too powerful, their allegiance too uncertain, for us to permit them to take her under their roof until her pregnancy is resolved. Fortunately they are still in Derbyshire and we have already sent a messenger with the order that they remain there. Owing to their daughter's disloyalty to the queen her family are not welcome at court or even in London. Lady Nielson herself must not leave the palace, but she must be taken out of circulation. The king has written an order to that effect.”

  Philip nodded and folded the parchment on which he'd been writing, dropped hot wax on the fold, and pressed his signet ring into the wax. “You will take it to her and her husband, Ashton.” He held the sheet across the desk.

  Lionel took it, held it loosely at his side. He observed thoughtfully, “Everyone knows that the queen holds the lady in disfavor. I see no reason why it should cause undue remark if Lady Nielson is forbidden the queen's presence.”

  He paused before continuing, “For the sake of appearances her husband should, of course, remain in the queen's favor. Fully occupied in her service, and of course, the king's.” He bowed to Philip.

  “It will make it easier to keep him under close watch,” Philip remarked. “How much contact is he to have with his wife?” He leaned forward over the desk, his hands clasped on the papers in front of him.

  “I don't think that should concern us. He spends very little time in her company at present, I see no reason for that to change. But I would suggest, sire, that Lady Nielson continue in Don Ashton's charge.” Ruy Gomez made his suggestion softly and Simon Renard nodded.

  “Aye, and that should be made clear to the husband,” the ambassador declared.

  Philip regarded Lionel closely from heavily hooded eyes. “'Tis an irksome task, I fear, Lionel.”

  Lionel's expression was customarily impassive. “Not beyond endurance, sire. She will be required to keep to her own chambers, to walk about the palace only where she can be certain of not encountering Her Majesty. I imagine, since her health is of some importance, she would be permitted some freedom to walk about the grounds, to take a gentle ride on a well-mannered horse, to spend a little time on the river, while the weather remains clement.”