by Jane Feather
“Yes . . . yes . . . we cannot risk her health. She is to follow our physicians' orders at all times. They will examine her weekly and she will obey their dictates.”
Lionel glanced up at the great court portrait of Henry VIII and his family that hung above Philip's desk. Such a harmonious picture of family life, such a complacent paterfamilias. No one would guess at the innumerable betrayals, the cruel treacheries, the violent denunciations that informed the happy scene. He took his time with his response.
“Lady Nielson is no fool, sire. She will ask questions. Why should she, of all the women of the court fortunate enough to find themselves in her happy condition, be subjected to such close and careful attention from the queen's physicians? A woman, in addition, who's been ostracized by the court at the queen's command.”
“It matters not,” Philip said with a dismissive gesture. “Let her question how she wishes, she will receive no answers.” He swung his head towards Ruy Gomez. “The husband remains compliant?”
“Aye, sire. And will do so for as long as there is threat to his paramour.”
“Perhaps the threat should become manifest.” Simon Renard spoke now, drawing his black cloak around him as if feeling a chill. “An accident, nothing too serious. Just enough to make sure they don't become complacent.”
“The musician is already scared out of his mind,” Gomez said. “The love nest Nielson has created in the palace terrifies him. He would prefer the anonymity of the tavern. But you are right, Renard, Nielson could perhaps do with a reminder that his lover is vulnerable.”
“I will arrange something,” Renard said. “Nothing too serious, just a little accident.”
“And you, Ashton, will keep the wife happy.”
Lionel bowed. “In as far as it's within my capability, sire.”
“And you will find a way to deal with awkward questions?” Renard asked with an intent frown.
“In as far as it is within my capability, sir.” The papers in Lionel's doublet seemed suddenly twice the thickness, their bulk easily visible to a sharp-eyed suspicious watcher.
“We have every faith in you, Lionel.” Philip rose, his expression amiable, his hand outstretched.
Lionel took the hand, bowed over it. “I am honored, sire. I will do all I can to earn your trust.”
“We know it.” Philip smiled. “We place our trust in our good servant.”
Lionel glanced at the two others in the office. They were both smiling their acquiescence in the king's declaration. “I give you good afternoon, my lords.” He bowed once more and left the king's office, the order forbidding Lady Nielson's presence in open court still held loosely at his side.
She would be a virtual prisoner, able to leave the palace only with the permission and in the company of Lionel Ashton, who was to all intents and purposes now her jailer.
And her protector.
Fourteen
Lionel went immediately to the Nielsons' apartments. His step quickened as he drew closer and he wondered how he would find her. Would she be wan and tired? Or bright and sparkling the way he so loved to see her? Whatever her state of mind it was not going to be improved by the harsh message he brought her, he reflected grimly. Her initial reaction was going to be one of dismay and indignation, but if she would listen to him, he thought he knew how to soften the blow.
He heard the uproar before he reached her door. Pippa's voice raised in anger, a hubbub of male voices, Stuart Nielson's the loudest of them all.
Stuart was saying, “For God's sake, madam, you dare to countermand the queen's order? To refuse such condescension, such consideration?”
“I have no need of either!”
On Pippa's furious rejoinder, Lionel entered the chamber without attempting to knock. It wouldn't have been heard anyway.
Pippa was standing at bay, with her back to the bedcurtains, her hand at her throat holding her chamber robe drawn tightly around her. Three men in black gowns, black hoods with the lappets tied firmly beneath their chins, stood in a half circle facing her. They clutched the leather bags that, with their costume, denoted their profession. They were the queen's physicians.
Stuart Nielson was attempting to take hold of his wife but judging by her expression she would stick a knife in his gullet first. Lionel was unable to suppress a grin. He wouldn't give these four a ghost of a chance against the enraged Pippa.
She saw him first and the look of relief in her eyes made his heart turn over. Through no fault of her own she was beset on all sides, friendless and without the support of her family. Her brother could do some things to aid her, but he could not stand against the might of a royal decree. It was clear from her eyes that Pippa believed the one person who would be able to support her had come to her side.
“What on earth's going on here?” Lionel asked. “You can all be heard from the far end of the corridor.”
“I will not have these . . . these leeches . . . these black crows poking and prodding me, even if they are the queen's physicians,” Pippa declared in disgust, her eyes bright with anger and conviction. “I will have my mother's physician to examine me if I must be examined. They are saying they have to confirm my pregnancy. God's blood, do they think I don't know my own condition?”
“You cannot dismiss the queen's attendants,” Stuart said, a note of desperation in his voice. He too looked at Lionel as if upon a savior. “You must explain that to her, Mr. Ashton.”
“We have the queen's orders, sir,” one of the black-clad figures declared. “Lady Nielson is to submit to our examination every week.”
“God's blood! But I would rather die!” Pippa exclaimed, her voice rising alarmingly. “I will have my mother's physician or none at all, and so I tell you all!” She glared at them.
“I think it best if you leave the lady in peace for this afternoon,” Lionel stated. “It cannot be good for her health to become so distressed.”
“A serene mind is certainly the greatest aid to a successful pregnancy,” the same physician said reluctantly, pulling at his neat gray beard. “But what are we to tell the queen?”
“You may tell her that since Lady Nielson was very fatigued and rather emotional you felt it advisable to complete the examination another day.” Lionel went to the door and opened it in a gesture that combined invitation with command.
There was a moment's hesitation, while the physicians looked between their furious potential patient and the calm but clearly authoritative man holding open the door. No one took any notice of Lord Nielson, still standing close to his wife.
“Very well, sir. We shall return another time.” The spokesman for the group peered at the lady. “Your color is high, madam. I would advise letting a little blood and taking only curds and whey for the next two days.”
“Get out!” Pippa demanded, pointing to the door. “If you think I'm going to let you weaken me with your leeches, you may think again. Leave me in peace and my color will return to normal, I promise you!”
Muttering, the three swept from the chamber. Lionel closed the door on them.
Pippa hadn't moved from her spot by the bed, but she was frowning now. It had occurred to her that something was very wrong with this picture. Lionel had marched into her bedchamber as if he belonged there. He had taken charge of the situation, ignoring Pippa's husband, just as if he had every right. Stuart had offered no remonstrance but had simply stood aside and let Lionel take over.
She was accustomed to, although still puzzled by, her husband's unusual subservience to the Spanish, but why with Lionel Ashton? Was it simply because he was part of the Spanish contingent and stood close to the king, and was therefore due the same deference? She shot a speculative glance at Stuart. He was standing in silence radiating acute discomfort.
“Well, you have my thanks, Mr. Ashton, for dispatching those crows so effectively,” she said with a slightly sardonic edge to her voice. “How fortunate that you happened to be passing my door.”
“Indeed, Ashton,” Stuart said w
ith sudden bluster, hearing implicit criticism of himself in his wife's tone. “Are you in the habit of bursting into private chambers without so much as a knock?”
“You would not have heard one if I had knocked,” Lionel said. “As it happens I am on Their Majesties' business. 'Tis convenient that I find you both here.”
He tapped Philip's document in the palm of his hand and said deliberately, “My business concerns your wife, Nielson. But you should hear it.”
Pippa felt cold trickle down her spine. She was afraid. She told herself that she had no reason to be afraid if Lionel had a hand in whatever this business was, but she couldn't find reassurance.
“Is that for me?” she asked, reaching out a hand for the document.
“It is perhaps better if your husband reads it first.”
Pippa's nostrils flared slightly and with a swift gesture she twitched the parchment from his loose hold. “If it concerns me, sir, then I will be the first to read it.”
Lionel bowed his acquiescence. His suggestion had been merely form, something that Stuart Nielson would expect. A husband, after all, had dominion over his wife, at least in public.
Pippa broke the seal and unfolded the paper. She read it in silence, then in the same silence handed it to Stuart.
His fingers quivered a little as he read the contents. He looked up and across at Lionel, who wore his usual air of quiet detachment. “So you are to ensure that my wife obeys these instructions?”
“That is the king's wish.”
“'Tis a task that should surely fall to her husband's hand.” Stuart's voice shook. This seemed to him the final insult. He could not imagine how to explain it to Pippa, who was looking at him now with raised eyebrows.
“One would think so,” she said. Her banishment from court caused her no pain, indeed it would be a relief. Enduring Mary's open hostility on a daily basis was wearing. But it was still puzzling. She had done nothing new to deserve it. “Presumably Stuart is not to be banished?”
“No, his services are required by Their Majesties. I imagine that is why they have given me the task of overseeing you.” He offered the sop to Stuart's pride. The man was on the rack, his anguish so palpable Lionel could not help but relieve it, however much he despised Lord Nielson. It wasn't as if his own hands were clean.
Pippa's frown deepened. “I do not understand any of this. Why would the queen insist that I receive the attentions of her own physicians? Why would she congratulate me on my pregnancy and say that we would carry our children together, and then banish me from her sight? I do not understand it at all.”
She moved away from her defensive position by the bed and sat on the window seat, her head turned sideways so that she could look out at the bright day that seemed somehow to emphasize the terms of her imprisonment.
Lionel suggested casually, “The queen is overjoyed at her own pregnancy. Perhaps she feels that yours will draw attention away from her own. She is not one to yield the center of attention. Not one to tolerate a rival. But perhaps she also feels that she owes you some compensation, so providing you with the same medical attentions as she receives herself will salve her conscience.”
There was just enough truth in this to make some kind of twisted sense to Pippa. She would accept the queen's ruling, not that she had any choice, but she would accept it on her own terms.
She said firmly, “If I'm to be exiled from court, then I will go to my parents. They will be returning to Holborn any week now.”
“That won't be possible,” Lionel said quietly. He knew the force of the blow he was about to deliver. “Lord and Lady Kendal have been informed that they too are persona non grata at court, or even within the city limits.”
Pippa whitened. To be deprived of her mother at such a time. It was unthinkable. She could not go through pregnancy and childbirth without her mother's support.
She shook her head. “No . . . no, they cannot be so cruel. That is not possible. What have I done that they should treat me so barbarously?” Angry tears glittered in her eyes but she refused to shed them. Lionel now seemed to her the instrument of her torment. He was the messenger and the enforcer and she felt only betrayal.
She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. Then she turned to look at her husband, angry challenge in her eyes. Surely he would not stand aside at this injustice without a word of protest.
Stuart wrung his hands. What could he do? What could he say? They would never let Pippa out of their sight with the child she carried. And they would never let her family anywhere near her until all was done. But he had to say something under the glare of her accusation.
“Pippa's sister Pen, could she not be invited to stay with her? Lady Pen is a great friend of the queen's. The queen owes her much.”
Lionel heard the man's desperate attempt to cast himself in a good light by offering some comfort with a solution that he knew was spurious. He was aware of the reality and it did only more harm to Pippa to raise false hopes even for a second.
“It is for love of your wife's sister that the queen has treated your wife as leniently as she has done,” he pointed out sharply.
“Nevertheless, I will go and ask if Pen might be invited to court.” Stuart went to the door, knowing he would never ask such a thing, but desperate to get away from a pain he could do nothing to alleviate.
“Why will they not permit me to share the Lady Elizabeth's imprisonment again?” Pippa rose to her feet, her agitation setting her skirts swirling violently around her. “I will be well out of Mary's sight in Woodstock.”
“There is no point even asking such a favor,” Lionel said. “It will only anger the queen further.”
Stuart opened the door. “I will seek audience with the queen.” The door closed behind his hasty departure.
“Pen is supposed to be in England for Christmas,” Pippa said dully. “If they will not permit me to see her, I don't know how I shall bear it.” She sat down again, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. “Why would they do this to me?”
Lionel came over to her and knelt before her. “Listen to me now, Pippa. You must trust me.” He took her hands, unfolding them so that they lay small and thin in his own square grip.
“Why?” she asked simply. “You are to enforce the rules of my banishment. Why should I trust you? Your loyalty is to them. You would oppress me at their behest.”
“No,” he said. “That is not so. I play my own deep games, Pippa. I can tell you no more than that, but you can trust me. I will make this right.”
She looked at him closely. “Whose side are you on?”
He shook his head. “'Tis not as simple as sides, love. Your brother plays the same games. You trust him.”
“I have had good reason to do so,” she returned. “Forgive me, but I have seen nothing to encourage my trust in you. We have loved each other, lusted after each other, enjoyed each other. And I would dearly wish to feel that that was sufficient for trust. But I do not think that it is.” She shrugged, a little helpless gesture that made him want to weep.
“Think now, Pippa. This will not be so bad.” He held her cold hands to his face, blew warmly on her fingertips. “I will look after you. I will always be at your side. Is that so bad?” He cradled her hands in his and smiled up at her, the smile that always swept her with warmth and reassurance.
“There will be no prying eyes, and not even an inconvenient husband can object to the time we spend together.”
“But why is Stuart so willing to agree to such a humiliating situation?”
Lionel chose his words carefully. “He is in a very vulnerable position, Pippa. You discovered his secret, what if someone else did? I would guess he's terrified and will do nothing to rock the boat.”
Pippa nodded slowly. The consequences for Stuart and his lover if their secret was ever discovered were too hideous to imagine. “I had not thought him a coward,” she said in quiet acceptance of this change in her husband.
She leaned forward suddenly and sw
itched the subject. “And you will tell me nothing of these games you talk about?”
“Not yet.”
“But sometime?”
The prospect of telling her the truth was so dreadful to him that he could not contemplate it. He would find a way to get her and her child to safety without revealing the horror of what had been done to her. He had to.
Pippa scrutinized his expression and could read nothing there. It was wiped clean, as so often when he was physically present, but absent in mind or spirit. “Where are you?” she demanded. “Where have you gone?”
He shook his head. “Nowhere, love. I am here, with you.”
Pippa leaned back against the window, her hands loose now in his. They all had dark places. They all had secrets. Was it unreasonable to expect Lionel to reveal his dark places and his secrets in order to gain her trust? They had known each other such a short time. They knew so little of each other. Maybe knowledge and trust went hand in hand. And they could have neither without some struggle, some effort, some compromise.
“You are and you aren't,” she said with a tiny smile. “Do you think, since we are to spend so much perfectly legitimate time in each other's company, that we might spend some of it without clothes?”
He laughed, his relief sharp in his eyes, spreading through his body. “I am certain of it.” He released her hands and stood up. “I have a suggestion, one that I hope will please you.”
“Tell me.” Life seemed to have come back to her. Her skin felt warm, her hands hot where he'd held them, the blood pulsed strong once more in her veins.
“This evening, would you care to come and sup with me?” He regarded her closely. “My ward is desperate for company and I thought perhaps it might please you to learn a little more of me. For us both to spend time together in a more ordinary situation.”