by Sam Burnell
“The lass, Catherine, was with me, they thought her your wife,” Richard replied, taking both documents back into his keeping but leaving the ring near Jack’s hand.
“No, another. Someone from the north,” Jack looked up into his brother’s face. “Or was I just losing my mind?”
Richard smiled, then supplied in an accent which resonated from just south of the Scottish border, “Aye, that might have been myself.”
“You! I thought it was a dream. Or worse. I thought the realms of Hell were full of Northerners,” Jack shook his head.
“Catherine told Kettering your family came from the North, so I invented James Kilpatrick from Newcastle. That’s the name and the address in the records at Marshalsea settling your debt,” Richard explained.
“And where did you pick up such an accent?” Jack asked.
“Chester Neephouse: I studied with him at university, hailed from Newcastle. I was the only one who could ever understand a word he said. Even the inn horses he hired hadn’t a clue what he was talking about,” Richard grinned. “I remember once, at Crofts Tavern, I had to translate his every desire to a whore who, ‘wor a fair canny lass,’ but she had not a clue what he wanted her to do.”
Jack laughed, “And did he get his way then?”
“No, not at all. I’m telling her all the things he wants to do to her and her to him and all the time she’s looking straight into my eyes and then she stands up, declares that she’ll not bed a foreigner, takes me by the hand and off I am dragged. What could I do?” Richard smiled at the memory. “I fair enjoyed Chester Neephouse’s suggestions as it happens.”
“I’ll have to get you to pass on those ideas to Lizbet then, so I can try them out,” Jack laughed.
“I doubt there’s anything you are shy of doing with a woman,” said Richard, then, “She’s been kind to you Jack, it’s not been the nicest of tasks looking after you. Don’t be cruel to her. From the look of you she’s doing a good job.” Richard pointed to the bandages on his arms and round his torso, clean and neat and any of the smell that had dogged his arrival was gone. Lizbet even had a posy of holly with berries and fragrant sage on the table.
Jack’s face reddened as he took the rebuke: he knew Richard was right. “Aye, I’m sorry for that, tell her I am.”
“Well next time you’ve a mind to lose your temper send for me,” Richard added, a cold note in his voice.
“Send the lass in. I’m sorry, I’ll tell her so,” He genuinely did regret his treatment of her.
Richard sat a while, the silence companionable. A loud snore from the other man told him Jack had succumbed to sleep again. Richard was more than a little jealous.
Chapter Nine
†
It was nearly a month into the New Year and Jack was now bored, prowling the rooms like a caged dog. Neither Richard nor Lizbet would let him out and his temper was sour. Blisters on his hands and ribs were now only pale scars, a fading reminder of the cold floor at Marshalsea. The only lasting memory his body would carry for the rest of his life were the brutally scarred wrists.
Richard was often absent which made Jack’s mood worse. Why was he allowed out? Where he went he rarely shared with Jack; time, it seemed, had not changed things that much. Neither Lizbet nor Richard sympathised overly with his dark moods. Richard was firmly of the opinion that if they humoured him they would make him worse, something Lizbet, getting to know her charge, was inclined to agree with.
Jack looked at his wrists; the right was worse than the left by far. The skin was puckered, pitted and twisted where it had grown back, as well as pale and painful to the touch, even more so when he bent his wrist back and stretched the new skin. Standing, he pulled the sword from its sheath and smiled as he hefted the familiar weight in his hand. Not his own blade - that had been lost to Bartholomew - but a good replacement supplied by Richard, along with a poniard, by Richard. He loosened his grasp on the hilt, letting it roll over in his palm then catching it quickly again to halt the spinning sword.
He held the blade out level in front of him - a move he’d practised thousands of times - and this was when he saw it. The blade was not still: the point which should be stationary was moving in an arc. He couldn’t see his hand moving but it must be. Jack dropped the blade to his left hand and held out his right flat in front of him. It shook. Jack balled it into a fist and held it out again. No – it trembled and there was nothing his mind could do to will it to stop.
What was he going to do?
That was how Lizbet found him, sitting on the edge of his bed his head in his hands. The sword lay discarded on the floor in front of him, the steel glinting in the fire light.
“And what’s the matter with you now then?” Lizbet groaned, seeing his downcast head.
“Oh Lizbet, sorry,” Jack instinctively picked the sword up and slid it back into the sheath.
The harsh metallic sound made Lizbet wince, “I hate those bloody things.”
“Aye well, I don’t think I’ll be using one again for a while,” he said gloomily.
“And why’s that then?” Lizbet heard the self-pity in his voice and ignored it.
“Look.” Jack held out the offending right hand.
Lizbet took it and turned it over. “What’s wrong with it? Looks alright to me,” she released it and pushing it back at him.
“Look woman, it still shakes like a leaf in a gale,” Jack held the trembling hand just under her nose for her to observe.
Lizbet took hold of his hand again. “It’s not that bad, not as bad as it was. Turn it over.” Jack complied and the shaking worsened when he held it palm-up.
“Bloody hell,” Jack cursed harshly, pulling his hand away from her grasp. “What use is that to me?”
Lizbet thumped him on the chest with the flat of her hand. “Stop being a bleedin’ child. It’ll take time, it’s not long ago you were in that bed and we were not sure if you’d ever come off it again alive. Give it here again.” Lizbet extended her hand for his, “Come on! I haven’t all day.”
Jack complied and held his hand out. She pushed his sleeve up and turned his hand over examining the scars on his wrist. “These were bad, Jack.” She ran her hands over them and he winced, her eyes quickly meeting his. “Do they still hurt?”
“Not hurt so much as ache,” he explained. “And when I do this,” he bent his wrist to demonstrate, “then I can feel it pulling the skin.”
“Well then, the answer’s simple, don’t do it,” Lizbet was still studying the scars. “Look, the skin is chafing on your jacket. If you cover it that might help,” Lizbet suggested, as she wrapped her small hand around his wrist.
“Squeeze tighter,” Jack said suddenly. Lizbet increased her hold. “Look, it shakes less.” Jack smiled.
“Oh well, that’s going to work isn’t it?” Lizbet laughed, letting go. “Every time you need your sword arm just call me over to hold your hand.” Jack couldn’t help but laugh.
Jack held his own wrist with his other hand. “Maybe if I brace it with a wrist guard, see.” He held his right wrist tight with his left hand and the trembling subsided. Their eyes met. “That’s better, much better,” Lizbet agreed with a smile.
Before she could retreat, he’d caught her in his arms. “Now then Mistress, you’ve promised me entertainment, so entertain me. I have been in here for weeks and if I stay in here any longer it will turn me into the village idiot.”
“Turn you into one, Jack? I think you are a good way there already,” Lizbet teased, slipping her arms around his neck.
“Richard’s away and I’m going out tonight and you, are coming with me.” Jack decreed.
“Ah now, no Jack. The Master said you were to stay in here until he returned and you agreed. Don’t go getting me into trouble,” Lizbet chastised, sliding from his embrace.
Jack wasn’t so easily put off and pulled her back, an arm round her waist, holding her firmly against him. “I see only one master here and I’m going out. You’re not likel
y to stop me lass are you? So either come with me, or sit in here and worry about where I’ve got to; those are the choices.”
“No Jack, he’ll kill me, he’s a right temper on him and I’m not getting on the wrong side of it again,” Lizbet had two hands now on his chest as she tried half-heartedly to push him away.
“I’ll tell him I gave you no choice.” Jack buried his face in her hair and finding an ear nibbled it playfully. “I’ll tell him I forced you to come with me.”
“You promise?” Lizbet had stopped pushing him away.
“I promise,” murmured Jack, intent now on exposing Lizbet’s white smooth shoulder from under her linen.
Lizbet smiled and let him slide his hands where he would. She liked the idea of going out and if he would say it wasn’t her fault then that should keep her out of trouble. “When the girls see you they are going to have to take back their words. They tease me rotten that I am caged up here all day with an old clod in his dotage.”
“An old clod in his dotage,” Jack repeated, his mouth seeking the place on her neck he knew would make her press against him harder with delight. “I hope you set them straight.”
“When I take you out with me tonight that will certainly stop their tongues from wagging,” Lizbet’s voice was hoarse, his touch sending tendrils of fire through her veins.
“And now I’m going to still yours,” Jack stated, planting a kiss on her open mouth; it left her breathless. Smiling he felt her weight increase in his arms.
“Jack, you’ll not be cruel to me in front of them, please?” Lizbet said, for once her confidence absent, leaning heavily against him. “I’ve not seen the girls much since I’ve been tending you and…”
Spinning her round and then bowing low to her, he made Lizbet squeal with laughter and clap her hands together. “Tonight I shall extol your virtues, sing your praises and let no other shine in your presence.”
“No idea what you are talking about, but if that means you’ll be nice to me then I’d be very pleased,” Lizbet eagerly returned to his embrace.
Jack released her, smiling and slapped her backside. “Well then lass, get me some clothes and we’ll go and find out.”
Lizbet laughed then, as she realised he’d very much been intent on getting his own way. She smoothed out the clothes that had been made for him - his brother had been right to choose russet, it would suit him well. A cream snug-fitting doublet, with silver buttons, fashionably slashed to show the linen shirt beneath; a velvet jerkin with a low collar; Matching hose and stockings with calf skin boots; a felt cap trimmed with feather and a cloak; fur trimmed with a silken lining. next to all this was a pile of fresh white linen. Lizbet was sure she had never been so excited.
So Jack, in russet, a colour he had only just found out existed and Lizbet in her best and only dress, went to the Kings Arms on the opposite side of the street.
Richard discovered them both absent and tracked them to the tavern across the road. Opening the door, his eyes soon found the bright blond head of his brother, surrounded by women, with Lizbet balanced proprietarily on one of his knees. Jack was beaming broadly, happy and a little drunk: Richard resolved not to spoil his mood.
Lizbet, feeling the cold draught on her back from the opened door, turned and found her eyes locked with those of the Master. Her cheeks flushed. She’d fervently hoped they would be back in the room before he returned, then he would have been none the wiser that Jack had been outside. She gave Jack’s arm a warning squeeze.
Jack, on the other hand, was happy to see him. “Come and join me,” Jack stated, “I’m outnumbered and I need help.”
Richard dropped onto an empty trestle opposite his brother and looped his cloak over one of the partitions. “Since when did you need any help with women?”
“I have six! Four would be fine, five I could manage but it would be a long night, but six would be the death of me to be sure,” Jack pronounced a little drunkenly. Lizbet looked at him darkly and Richard hid a smile.
Blond, fair, with a smile born to charm Jack was cast in his mother’s image. Sometimes, when the light was right and he caught sight of Jack out of the corner of his eye for a brief instant he’d be aware of a sense of her bright, shining presence. It would have been a help if Jack had inherited just her looks and not her irrational and terrible temper. He supposed though, that the traits went together hand in hand: looks married to temperament.
“How did you end up here?” Richard asked.
“Lizbet wanted to show them what ‘russet’ was,” Jack laughed.
Lizbet shot him another accusing look; it hadn’t been her idea to come to the inn.
“Well as we are here I might as well join you for a drink.” Richard’s expression conveyed to Lizbet that he wasn’t holding her responsible for Jack’s escape; Lizbet’s relief was palpable. A whore, with a jug of wine, a bodice on the way to her waistline and an invitation written on her face, settled, unbidden, on Richard’s knee.
“Get your backside off him Saster. If he wants such as you, I’ll let you know.” Lizbet leant over and whacked the girl hard with the back of her hand.
“Well, get you with your graces!” Saster rose from her seat and shot Lizbet an evil look.
Lizbet hurriedly justified her action to Richard. “She’s not good enough for you, I’ll not have them taking advantage, just because I know you.”
Richard shook his head and laughed, “Lizbet, I can look after myself.”
“Aye, I’m sure you can, but I’m looking after you now and I have standards and she isn’t one of them,” Lizbet replied tartly. This time Richard laughed so hard Jack had to hit him on the back after the ale went down the wrong way.
It was much later, when, Lizbet was seated with her friends that the brothers finally found themselves alone. “So what are you planning for us next? I’m sure you’ve got something in your head,” Jack was now pleasantly drunk and enjoying his new freedom.
“What or who?” Richard replied.
“I’ll stand by you, brother and by whatever cause you commit us to,” Jack slurred his words a little, then clanked his cup noisily against Richard’s, spilling a quantity of ale over the table. “As long as it gets me out of that room. I’m fair tired of being inside.”
“Are you sure?” Richard asked.
“Yes, I’ve had enough of Lizbet’s company and those four walls,” Jack stated.
“That’s not what I meant,” Richard said.
“I know, I’m not that drunk. Whatever you decide, anything is better than being inside. I’d work for the Devil himself if it got me away from the fireside and Lizbet.”
Richard raised his glass and brought his head close to Jack’s, “To the Lady Elizabeth.”
Jack’s blood stilled in his veins. That was a name he never wanted to hear again: that bitch was the cause of a lot of sorrow. Richard’s face clouded as he read Jack’s expression, “That is where my loyalty lies.”
Aye, thought Jack and to hell with anyone else. Jack had already had a quantity to drink and an argument was not something he wished for. He stated simply, “It nearly killed you last time,” and then added, “and me.”
“Join me or not. It’s your choice,” Richard stated bluntly.
Jack sighed resignedly, “I’ll join you, as it happens. I’ve little better to do. So tell me then, what is it we are about to get involved with this time?”
From where they were sat Richard knew they could not be overheard and he told Jack of Fairfax’s plot to steal Elizabeth away from England and hold her in Holland.
“And that’s the plan?” Jack sat back, an incredulous look on his face.
“That is the plan, yes,” Richard conceded, palms spread in an expression of helplessness.
“Do they truly think it will work?” Jack shook his head as he considered the ludicrousness of it.
“God, they feel, will be taking care of the details,” Richard’s words were loaded with sarcasm.
“I usually find
God sticks to grand plans and leaves us mere mortals to make a bloody and unholy mess of the details,” Jack said equally sarcastically. “So they will just have a melée of men in the area, no coordination. They just hope that in the confusion they will be able to acquire the lady and get her away under the cover of a bit of smoke?” Jack asked, tapping his cup on the table, thoughtfully.
“Do they not know how well Elizabeth’s household will be organised? The men in there will be the Queen’s men. They will be well-trained and they are not going to be duped by a child’s plan such at this.”
“Well, actually her household is being run by Gardiner and Travers. Elizabeth does not have her own money. Her expenses are being met, for the moment, by Mary, who has not allocated a lot of funds, so what there is has been used to support quite a small household. There are a few servants, grooms and only two men at arms in the house,” Richard ticked them off on his fingers.
“And you know all this because…” Jack then held his hand up. “No don’t tell me, I’m not sure I want to know.”
Richard just shot him a blank look.
“And the Lady Elizabeth, does she want to go to Holland?” Jack asked.
“Ah now, you have asked the right question - one Fairfax and his associates have never entertained. No, the lady does certainly not want to go, for many reasons. And our task is to ensure she stays in England and out of the hands of this Protestant mob,” Richard concluded.
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Jack replied. “So what’s our plan?”
Richard smiled. “Our plan?”
“Tell me what it is. If I like it, then it can be our plan.” Jack produced a loud hiccup before continuing, “And if I don’t, then it can be your plan.”
“How gracious of you,” Richard said, more than a little caustically.
“Remember.” Jack pointed his finger accusingly at Richard, “I’ve been on the wrong end of some of your plans in the past.”
“Agreed.” Richard accepted the truth of Jack’s remark. “Well, at the moment we are waiting for them to decide on when. There is another meeting tomorrow and if their nerve has held then I suspect they will finalise a date,” Richard surmised. “Once we have a date we can put some measures in place. There didn’t seem to be much point in starting to act unless I know for certain that they mean to carry it out. A large pile of cut green wood is not exactly evidence that they will go ahead. Fairfax likes the sound of his own voice; when it actually comes to it, I’m not so sure they will press ahead. The longer they take the better, it will give you a little more time to recover. How are you faring anyway?”