The Queen's Captain

by Margaret Hope

  "That is the Royal Barge, taking courtiers back down-river from an audience with the Queen at Greenwich."

  Beth stared in awe at the dazzling array of silks, satins, velvets and plumed feathers which swung like a piece of earthbound rainbow, disdainfully past them, leaving the sound of shrill voices and the smell of exotic perfumes in the air.

  Time of war, wounds and men dying on gallant ships in the Narrow Seas were a far cry from such golden creatures. "They seem to belong to a different world to mortals," she said.

  The Captain laughed. "The Royal Court at Greenwich is a world in itself, Master Perkins, and not always a joyous or enviable world, for it feeds and grows fat upon ambition, deceit and corruption. Remember that while you are still young and have not yet travelled far from the hollow of God's hand." He grinned at her sober countenance. "We will make a man—ay, and a good man—of you yet, lad, for I feel there is a sensitive heart beating under that unprepossessing exterior."

  The barge had turned sharply as though twisting upon its tracks. "We are almost at Millefleur," he said and pointed to the right, where a great peninsula of land thrust forth. "Behold the Isle of Dogs."

  Beth considered the rural scene before them, peaceful with its gentle slopes. "Why is it so called, sir, for I see no dogs, only sheep and cattle grazing?"

  "You will not see the dogs, for they are well-chained. But you will often hear them, especially when the moon is full, for it affects them strangely and they howl all night long."

  "What do they do here, poor chained creatures? Have they no owners?"

  "Ay, they belong to the Queen."

  "Then why are they not kept at Greenwich?"

  "It seems that the Queen's father did not always sleep sound at night-—"

  With the violent death of two wives upon his conscience, Beth thought it reasonable that King Henry the Eighth should suffer from occasional sleeplessness.

  "He claimed that the dogs' barking kept him awake and had them banished by Royal decree. And so it has remained, the accepted practice of monarchs since."

  "What of the Queen's pet dogs?"

  "Lapdogs remain where they belong, in milady's chamber, but these others—they are fierce brutes, mastiffs mostly, trained for bear- and bull-baiting, experts in combat. Ay, and brave too."

  Beth shuddered. She had no taste for the popular bear-baiting, hating it, sorry for the huge tormented creatures who roared in pain and frustrated rage. Uncle Ephraim claimed that the bears enjoyed the sport and frequently the dogs were the losers, killed outright or severely maimed. As for the bears, the tough and cunning ones who survived became well-known and loved by the crowds, who nicknamed them after famous actors and wrestlers. She remembered bets being exchanged within the kitchens of Craighall upon two bears named Paris Jack and Hairy Harry who, despite their many scars, lived to a ripe old age.

  The barge twisted once again and the riverman made for the shore.

  "We approach Millefleur," said the Captain. As he prepared to leave, Beth took a great gulp of air. The moment had come.

  "Captain, I believe this barge travels upriver to London."

  "Ay, it goes to Southwark and beyond. Here, carry this, if you please," he said and thrust his cloak towards her. Seeing that she made no move to take it, he frowned: "What is amiss now?" he asked sharply.

  "Naught, sir, but—but I thought I might travel on to London," she continued rapidly, "with the wages due to me."

  Frowning, he counted out several coins. "Here are four ducats, will they serve?"

  She shook her head. "Nay, sir, that is too much. An ordinary mariner receives but two ducats for a month's wages and I served for only one week."

  "Take it."

  "Nay, sir, I wish to have only what is due to me."

  "Take it, Master Perkins. The times were exceptional. No more argument, if you please," he added irritably. "Return to me when it is spent and there will be more for you. Why do you hesitate?"

  "I did not think to return, sir. With your permission, I wish to leave your service—and the Sea Queen."

  "With my permission, eh?" He shook his head slowly. "That I do not give you willingly, Master Perkins. What is this about? Would you desert your Catain?" And although he smiled, his voice gentle, she thought she saw sadness in his eyes.

  "Nay, Captain, I thought to find myself new employment."

  "You wish to leave the sea?"

  "I do not think I have a calling to follow it."

  "We will discuss that later," he said as the riverman muttered: "Come along, sirs," and stared at them impatiently. "Meanwhile," he continued, "I have employment for you at Millefleur." Smiling, he handed her his cloak as they stepped on to the landing-stage. "Or does that go sore against your inclinations too? Have I been a cruel master and you would be rid of me?" he added mockingly, but he sounded disappointed and Beth replied hastily, knowing she would regret her decision:

  "Nay, sir, I thought only that you would not have use for me in your home, that you would have servants enough." And straightening her shoulders, she looked at him proudly. "I do not wish to be a burden."

  "That you shall not be, Master Perkins." He smiled. "That I do promise, and you shall have regular wages too. Come now."

  Stone steps led upwards from the landing stage. Across long smooth lawns whose green lay snowed-over with summer daisies, stood a manor house. Huddled in the shadows of late afternoon, a harmonious mingling of rose pink brick and white stone facings, it was guarded by a small parkland of trees.

  Beth followed the Captain over the shimmering carpet of flowers, while the whisper of insects unseen and butterflies joyously dancing seemed to welcome home the master of Millefleur. She glimpsed evidence of a formal garden with bronze Cupid forlorn among neglected shrubbery, while the perfume of a lost rose garden drifted heavily towards them.

  The house of Millefleur consisted of an ancient central tower to which had been added, in more recent years, two wings of modest proportion. The house was handsome but smaller than she had imagined, and despite the charming motif of marguerites abundant upon its stonework, it shared with its owner a touch of melancholy—of being somehow forsaken.

  The Captain marched past the front door and opening an arched door to the right led the way into a large courtyard with central dovecot whose occupants went into an immediate furore of anxiety. Two horses peered mildly out of vast and seemingly empty stables, whinnying hopefully, and the square was completed by a small terrace of thatched cottages, prettily arranged with roses at their windows.

  The sound of their footsteps brought forth from one of the doors an elderly woman, wiping floured hands on a large apron. The pleasant disposition suggested by rosy-cheeked plumpness was marred by a small tight-lipped mouth.

  "Oh, Captain sir, you are back. And nothing is prepared for you," she wailed, curtseying to him.

  "My stay is but a short one, Mistress Pyck. My usual apartments in the tower will suffice. Do not go to any trouble on my behalf, my needs are simple as you know. A place to lay down my head, some of your excellent cooking—"

  Quickly he told her that although the Armada had been scattered in the most recent battle at Gravelines, the threat of invasion remained and the Queen's ships had gone in hot pursuit. He would be returning to his squadron as soon as the damage to the Sea Queen was repaired.

  The woman nodded politely but did not seem particularly moved by the news, obviously more concerned by the Master's unexpected return to an unprepared house than the anxious condition of the country at large.

  "The house will be damp, sir. The beds have not been aired. I was intending to give it a thorough cleaning—the silver too, all will be tarnished—"

  "Do not concern yourself, Mistress Pyck. I will not be reopening Millefleur. Nor will I require extra servants, for I now have a serving lad who has looked after me well at sea and will continue to do so here." He nodded towards Beth. "This is Master Perkins."

  The woman inclined her head. "Shall I put him
into one of the cottages, sir?"

  "Nay, I shall keep him with me in the house. Prepare the room next to mine."

  "But—Captain—" Her eyes said that the room was too grand, unsuitable for a servant. "I mean, it would be no trouble to put him into the cottage next mine. I could have a bed made up within moments."

  "I wish to have him in the house."

  The woman's lips gave a faint disapproving twitch as she gazed at Beth, indicating that as a servant Master Perkins was getting treatment far above his station in life. "I will unlock the front door for you, sir."

  "No need. I will take the key." As she detached it from the ring at her waist, the Captain continued: "Ask the servants to bring a tub of water—the lad too would enjoy the luxury of being so provided." At her disdainful glance he added quietly: "I wish him to be taken care of at Millefleur, for he has taken good care of me."

  "There are no servants, sir, only Pyck and myself. But we will provide for your needs."

  "But where are all the servants?"

  "Gone, sir."

  So she was to be alone with the Captain, thought Beth in panic. Shut up in Millefleur with him would be as hazardous as in any ship's cabin. She had reckoned on other servants and her own impersonal place among them—until she could perfect other plans for her future.

  "What with these rumours of invasion and the like," said Mistress Pyck uncomfortably, "they were scared. Wanted to get back to their own homes and families. No one could blame them, sir, staying to look after an empty house, and it like to remain so. Different it would have been, had you been here. The lads mostly went off to the Militia." She paused breathless. "Once you are home and the house reopened, it will be an easy matter for Pyck and me to get servants," she added encouragingly.

  Following the Captain into Millefleur, Beth saw that the marguerite motif was continued on stonework and in the stained-glass window. From the staircase she noticed low arched doors leading through the thick stone walls, presumably to the more recent wings.

  "This is my bedchamber, Master Perkins," said the Captain, throwing open the door of a handsome well-furnished room with oak-panelled walls. Laying down his valise, he ushered her into an adjoining stone chamber. "You shall sleep here."

  Beth looked around with approval. Tapestries depicting some forgotten Grecian epic warmed the stone walls, and there was a canopied bed, grand enough for the master bedchamber at Craighall. There were handsome oak presses too—

  "Is it to your liking?"

  When she thanked him, he added: "I shall summon you when we have bathed, and you shall dine with me in my chamber." He smiled. "Mistress Pyck shall build us a fire, for although it is summer, the evenings are chill and I am in a mood to be comfortable, to cast away dull cares. For I must be brisk tomorrow. There are, I see, many matters at Millefleur which have grown neglected."

  "But you are wounded, sir—"

  He moved his shoulder gently. "As I told you, Master Perkins, it was but a scratch. I shall ask Mistress Pyck to look at it, for she has skill in such matters."

  "Perhaps you should rest, sir."

  He smiled. "Rest never came easy to me in this house, I assure you. Two or three days, then I am eager to be gone."

  By the door, he paused frowning. "What day of the week is this, lad? My mind misgives me—is it Wednesday or Thursday?"

  "Thursday, Captain."

  "You are sure?" He smiled. "Then, Master Perkins, but for the fortunes of war, this would have been my wedding day."

  And Beth, watching him go, did not reply. But for fate's bitter irony, aided by her own folly, she should this night have followed Captain James Danyell into his bedchamber, as his bride.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "Millefleur," said the Captain as they dined later that evening, "is a corruption of the French meaning 'a thousand flowers', hence the motif of daisies or marguerites you will notice everywhere, both inside and outside the house."

  Beyond the windows the dusk of evening had turned the river into a grey satin ribbon.

  Indicating that his empty wine goblet needed replenishing, the Captain continued: "We are neighbours of Her Majesty the Queen, and once this house was part of the Royal estate of Greenwich, Duke Humphrey of Gloucester's hunting-lodge. The' original palace which he built was but a modest mansion called Bella Court. Alas, he chose the wrong side in the Wars of the Roses, and after his imprisonment and murder, the property was seized by Henry the Sixth's queen, Margaret of Anjou, who changed its name to Pleasance. Among her extravagant alterations,, she ordered glazed windows and the decoration of marguerites, her personal emblem."

  "It is a charming story, Captain."

  "She was a less than charming lady, Master Perkins. Greedy, rapacious—at seventeen, already a virago. Nor did the passing years soften her. However, all that remains of those unhappy times, a hundred and fifty years past, is this tower; for under the victorious Tudors, Pleasance became Placentia and saw many other changes before it emerged as the Greenwich Palace of today. Two Queens of England were born there, our own Queen Bess and her step-sister, the late Queen Mary Tudor. Now, take more wine, Master Perkins. It is good Rhenish, I brought it back on the Sea Queen ten years since."

  In the absence of servants, Mistress Pyck offered to wait upon them. After she placed the food before them, the Captain dismissed her with the assurance that Master Perkins would attend him. Beth was afraid that her rather sharp exit indicated that the woman was deeply offended. The Captain did not appear to notice.

  The dinner had been excellent, and they had both done full justice to roast capon, served with vegetables from the gardens of Millefleur and home-grown raspberries thick with cream.

  Reinforced by a large goblet of Rhenish, Beth discovered that firelight improved the Captain's appearance even more than the earlier sunlight, and she was wondering why, at first meeting, she had thought of him as old. Old at just past thirty, when men considered that such years were the threshold of their prime.

  Tonight he seemed to grow younger by the hour, the years that separated them folding away. She decided that other women must find him as attractive as she did. Her bedchamber bore ample evidence of female occupation and she wondered how often it had been occupied in the past fourteen years of his widowerhood. What pageant of fine ladies had it seen, for she could not imagine him as a man to whom being single would also mean to be blessed—

  Suddenly she realised she must be cautious and hold on to the thread of his discourse on Millefleur, which she was in danger of losing. The warmth of well-being after the trial of the last days, good food and wine in a cosy intimate setting, with the twilight of a summer's day beyond the windows and a log fire crackling in the hearth, caused her to drift into a dangerous wine-haze.

  She found herself wishing that before their paths parted for ever, James Danyell might see her once as a girl. A girl in a green velvet gown—one of the fine gowns she had espied in the closet in her bedchamber. "How came you by Millefleur, sir?" she asked, pretending ignorance.

  "It came into the Drake family some fifty years past. However, since Sir Francis has Buckland Abbey in his native Devon, and Millefleur was too small for the requirements of a large household, he bestowed it upon me as marriage gift. My late wife was his ward." As his face clouded at memory of that old sorrow, Beth noticed how many times the conversation had surged towards more personal topics and how carefully he had evaded the temptation by leading it back into the safe waters of history.

  As he paused, twisting his goblet between his fingers, Beth thought that Millefleur was no happy place for him. Here he relived the loss of beloved wife and stillborn son. Small wonder he preferred to spend most of his life upon the sea, away from the melancholy past.

  She looked around her. The house, though beautiful, retained a measure of loneliness, of the inexplicably forlorn. Neglected through the years, it cried out to be cherished by loving people, in order to thrive and glow in their reflected happiness. She wondered what James Danyell wou
ld say if she told him that she thought houses had spirits. Some people they rejected, others they took to their hearts-Closing her eyes, she saw him with a woman he loved at his side, laughing, older but fulfilled with a string of merry children making daisy chains and filling the still evening air with joyful excited cries. He was staring down into a woman's face, his heart in his eyes. The vision was so clear that she shivered.

  Ghosts of the future. Of James Danyell's future in which she had no part, she thought sadly, for although the beloved wife's face was hidden by a white coif, Beth was certain that her hair had been black long ago, her features and form,, although thickened by child-bearing and comfortable middle age, belonged to the mysterious Madeleine.

  "- But your eyes grow heavy, Master Perkins. I weary you."

  She opened heavy eyelids and saw him smiling down at her, laughing and content, as he had been in her vision. A trick of time, she thought, shivering again at that strange prophetic dream.

  "I too am weary, Master Perkins. I think we should both retire." Stretching his arms above his head, he said: "Millefleur will occupy my days until the Sea Queen is ready. I spend so little time here," he added guiltily, staring round the room as if it reproached him. "As for you, lad, come and go as you wish, for I ask nothing of you. But I fancy that you will be glad of time for your own devices." He smiled. "I notice that you are a solitary creature, and you have let me do most of the talking. I do not often converse with my fellow men at such length. I hope you are not too wearied."

  "Not wearied, sir, only grateful. I much enjoyed your talk of past days—and I am grateful to be here at Millefleur."

  The Captain looked at the walls, frowning. "Think you not that there is something Millefleur lacks? I feel it often, this sense of neglect."

  "I believe, with your permission, sir, that it is something a woman's touch might cure."