Traitor

by David Hingley

  Thrown by the proposal of a title, Mercia cleared her throat. ‘He is not my manservant any longer. I can scarce call on his time now.’

  ‘He has no choice, if you will it. And I shall furnish you with a maidservant to help you dress, provide you with the finest gowns and jewellery. You will need to convince, and you will need help with the fastenings. They are so complicated, these clothes, do you not think?’ She held up a fold of the opulent dress she must have known Mercia could never afford. ‘But keep your attentions to Sir William, do you hear? The King is inclined to younger women than you, however beautiful.’

  And you, thought Mercia. How long now until you are usurped?

  ‘But His Majesty seems to trust that you can achieve his purpose here. Accept it for the honour that it is, Mrs Blakewood. The King has had little call to put his faith in many, besides his brother the Duke – and myself, of course.’

  ‘No other person?’ asked Mercia.

  The younger woman’s beauty vanished into the narrowing of her eyes.

  ‘Lady Castlemaine? If I am to do this, I shall need to know everything of import.’

  ‘Just that … jackanapes.’ The grinding of her teeth was audible. ‘Hyde.’

  ‘The Earl of Clarendon?’

  ‘Him.’ She held up a quivering finger; even through the layers of her dress, it seemed her whole body had turned rigid. ‘But be sure not to trust him yourself. As Charles’s chief minister, he is free to attend the war council, and he receives its reports.’ She pursed her red lips. ‘You must be aware how he arranged for Charles to take a barren bride. He intends his own grandchildren to inherit the throne.’

  Uncomfortable, Mercia looked to the fire. ‘I know, my lady, that the Earl’s daughter is sister-in-law to the King. But to be so devious as intentionally to—’

  ‘Devious?’ All the restraint in Lady Castlemaine fled, replaced by a rampant fury. ‘You have no idea. Not about Clarendon, nor any of the men at this Court. Surviving in the palace …’tis every bit as hard a battle as on the soldiers’ fields.’ She sighed and shook her head, as if to clear her angst. ‘I merely urge caution. And to report to no one save myself or those I say we can trust.’ Her dress brushed the floor as she turned to collect her book. ‘Now I will see you installed forthwith, so you can best your obsequious uncle and return to your manor house.’ She bestowed her with a piercing look. ‘Where you belong.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘And remember, Mrs Blakewood. You may be here on the King’s business, but I am in charge of the women of this Court. Take care not to cross me in mine.’

  She broadened her smile as she swept from the room.

  Mercia returned none of her own.

  Chapter Three

  The apartment was spacious, she would concede that. Huge, indeed, comprising three separate areas: a sitting room in which to pass the time, or to receive guests; a smaller space with a table, perhaps for dining, or playing at cards; and a bedroom, equipped with the largest silk-canopied bed Mercia had ever seen. Off the bedroom adjoined a partitioned wardrobe awaiting clothes and finery, and in the opposite corner, a sparse closet with a pot and an ample-sized hole in a wooden bench.

  ‘Do you approve?’ asked the richly dressed man at her side, switching his ostrich-feathered hat between his gloved hands.

  ‘’Tis somewhat different to the quarters we have been used to on board ship of late, Sir William. Much grander than the room I was given last night.’ She looked up at him. ‘These were not … were they?’

  ‘My wife’s?’ A sadness passed his face. ‘No. That would not have been proper.’

  ‘Well then. I suppose I shall make the most of them.’

  ‘This was not my idea, Mercia.’ He bit his lip. ‘I hope you realise that. I would have intervened in Southampton, had I known you had been led away.’

  She ignored his beseeching look. ‘It matters not whose idea it was. I am here.’

  ‘Still, you must agree it is an excellent disguise for the mission at hand.’ He drew himself up, his usual confidence reasserting itself. ‘The King must value your wits indeed to grant you such a vital task.’

  She approached the window to look through the diamond-paned glass. The view gave onto the Privy Garden below, familiar to her from a previous meeting with Sir William, its multiple grassy squares intersected by gravelled paths.

  ‘Do you suppose the sundial is still … yes, it is. I had thought the King might replace it.’

  ‘Oh, no. He has a passion for scientific pursuits.’

  ‘I meant he might want to improve it.’ She turned back round. ‘Sir William, I think we should discuss my role here. For that is what it is – a role, not a truth.’

  ‘It could be both.’

  ‘I do not …’ She took a deep breath. ‘Even if I were … so inclined … I do not think it would be appropriate beyond what will be expected to maintain the pretence. You will have to visit me from time to time, but I hope for no further expectation on your part.’

  ‘Mercia.’ He smiled. ‘We have been through much these past several months. May I be frank?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then you should know how my opinion of you has only increased. You have aided the King in a matter of import, uncovered a murderer and saved my own life. I cannot think of you in the same way as before. Our friendship is more than that now.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I expect nothing of you, save to enjoy my company and to accept my admiration. And then we shall see where our mutual benefit shall lead us. For now, I suspect you shall want to change your attire.’ His eyes roved her drab-looking dress. ‘I am told a maidservant is on her way with an array of clothes. But Mercia, heed me when I say Whitehall can be a dangerous place. It is full of suspicion and intrigue.’

  ‘Lady Castlemaine said as much yesterday.’

  He snorted; an unexpected reaction she had never heard of him before. ‘Indeed. She is the expert.’

  ‘You do not like her?’

  ‘She is the King’s mistress, Mercia, and so I am bound to like her. But you see how she toyed with you in bringing you here. I do not have to approve of her, and nor does all the Court, which fawns in her presence or else tolerates it.’ He sniffed. ‘But there are other, equally pretty women growing old enough now to catch the King’s eye. She meddles in political affairs. One bad move on her part may be her downfall. Separate this task from her person. Take care not to become too involved.’

  ‘No doubt there are those here who would work to expedite that fall.’

  He replaced his hat, straightening a limp feather. ‘You learn quickly, Mercia, as I knew you would. But believe me when I say be careful. Not solely your uncle will seek to undermine your presence.’ He held her gaze: as often, a moment too long for her comfort. ‘You are an attractive woman, I will never stop telling you that. But there are others who will not welcome such a new rival in Court, whether you intend to play that game or no.’

  A muffled knock sounded at the door, or rather a kick, for as it swung open a pile of clothes seemed to enter of its own accord, obscuring the person carrying them in.

  ‘Well.’ Sir William stepped out of the servant’s way. ‘I shall leave you, then.’ He gave Mercia a swift bow. ‘If you need anything – there may be a thousand souls living in this palace, but truly I shall not be far.’ He looked over the small tapestries dotting the walls. ‘My, ’tis good to be back.’

  He disappeared into the corridor, leaving the door ajar. Mercia turned to the new arrival, watching through an inner doorway as, her back turned and head down, the maid deposited the clothes on the bed, deftly ensuring no sleeve was left overhanging the sides. Then she re-entered the principal room and dropped to a curtsey. To her immediate embarrassment, Mercia felt a flash of unintended surprise.

  ‘My Lady Blakewood,’ the servant said.

  Recovering herself, Mercia smiled. ‘I am not a lady by title.’

  The maid looked uncertain. ‘That is how I have been told to
address you, my lady, and so if you please, then I must.’

  As she talked, she held her eyes averted. Mercia imagined how foolish she herself must have appeared on meeting Lady Castlemaine. Fawning, as Sir William had said.

  ‘If those are your instructions.’ Wondering why her curious spymaster was so keen to upgrade her standing, she tilted her head. ‘You are the maidservant Lady Castlemaine promised me?’

  The servant bowed lower.

  ‘Then please, stand up in my presence.’

  The maid raised herself up. She was pretty, her brown eyes keen, her skin and hair black under a loosely-tied coif.

  ‘What is your name?’ Mercia asked.

  ‘Phibae,’ she replied.

  ‘And you are to serve me while I am here?’

  Another low nod.

  ‘Well, Phibae. What have you brought me in the other room?’

  ‘Let me show you, my lady. I hope you approve of—’

  ‘Hey!’

  Mercia frowned as a tumult in the corridor carried her attention to the open door. To her astonishment, Nicholas was standing in the threshold, rubbing at his arm. But instead of entering, he set his face and disappeared into the corridor.

  ‘Hey!’ he repeated. ‘Come back here and do that again.’

  Motioning to Phibae to remain where she was, Mercia followed after him. Where the corridor turned left beside a splendid porphyry vase, two guards had halted in comical fashion, their boot heels suspended above the floor. As one they turned, but broke off their retort as they noticed Mercia hurrying towards them.

  The taller cleared his throat. ‘Another parcel for you, my lady.’

  ‘Another what?’

  ‘Another parcel.’ The guard jerked his head at Nicholas. ‘Delivered on the orders of Lady Castlemaine. She said we should call him that if you asked.’

  The annoyance deepened on Nicholas’s face. ‘Did she also say to use your fists?’

  ‘If you will permit us, my lady.’ The guards bowed, continuing on their way. Nicholas made to pursue, but she held out a cautioning arm.

  ‘This is not Cow Cross,’ she warned.

  ‘No.’ He halted. ‘No, it’s not. At least I had a chance to go back there – for all of two hours, mind. I got off the coach from Southampton, went home, and before I knew it those shabberoons turned up to bring me here.’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘Did you see your daughter?’

  ‘Yes.’ He broke into a smile. ‘Growing bigger now. She turned five while we were away.’

  ‘I am so glad, Nicholas.’ A deep warmth coursed through her. ‘Truly.’

  ‘My old lodgings are taken, mind. That bastard Dapps stole them as soon as he could.’ He looked around. ‘My, Mercia, I’ve been to some strange places with you. New York, New England. Now here. My old mother would have died with the surprise of it, if she was living still.’

  ‘This will probably be the strangest.’ She lowered her voice. ‘What happened? Lady Castlemaine suggested you might be able to attend here, but I did not think … have you been told why they brought you?’

  ‘Of course not. All I know is those … guards said I would be dressed up so fine I should watch my arse.’ He looked at her, his sharp expression a mixture of accusation and relief. ‘When I went back for you in Southampton, you’d already gone. I had to force my way onto the first coach to come after. Good thing I had some coin. Sir William took care of your luggage.’

  ‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘Nicholas, Lady Castlemaine has made clear I have little choice in the matter she has required of me. But you do. There is no need to stay if you do not wish it.’

  ‘I can hardly refuse the King. The guards told me that, at least.’

  ‘I see.’ Pleased he was there, she rested a hand on his shoulder to steer him towards her rooms. ‘Then I shall explain later. Come, meet the maid I have been given. You should see the clothes she has brought.’

  Removing her hand, she led him through the door. The tiniest exclamation escaped from under his breath.

  ‘Nicholas,’ she said, ‘this is Phibae. Phibae, this is Mr Wildmoor. He has assisted me before and it seems is to do so again.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Nicholas.

  Phibae bowed. ‘Mr Wildmoor.’

  ‘Well,’ said Mercia, after a brief silence in which the two studied each other. ‘Do you know where your lodging is, Nicholas?’

  ‘Not as such. And – damn, I forgot.’ He glanced at Phibae. ‘I just need to …’ – he jerked his thumb behind him – ‘in the corridor.’

  He disappeared again, leaving Mercia to stare. ‘Phibae,’ she said as she followed. ‘Perhaps if you could hang my clothes?’

  ‘Very good, my lady.’

  Nicholas was loitering outside the door, looking nervously back the way the guards had gone.

  ‘What is this?’ she said. ‘I should think a man who has seen the Indians would not be much troubled by—’

  ‘God, no.’ He shook his head. ‘’Tis not that, not at all. I forgot to warn you who I passed when I was being marched over.’ Then his face fell. ‘Too late. He’s already here.’

  She turned to look at the reason for his discomfort. Her own expression plummeted to a darker state than his.

  ‘Well, Mercia,’ came a man’s steady voice. ‘Still consorting with this churl? And here I was thinking you had finally taken my instructions to heart and taken rooms near Sir William Calde.’

  A sharp rigidity raced through her being. But she held herself well, unsurprised he had found her so soon. At the end of the passage, a soberly dressed man was staring from beside the porphyry vase, and behind him, an entourage of women.

  Steeling herself, she took a deep breath.

  ‘Uncle.’

  ‘So the rumours are true.’ He sniffed as he approached, his perfumed gloves scenting the air. ‘You are returned, at last.’

  ‘As you see, Uncle.’ She glanced down at his side, at the cane he was gripping. ‘I am pleased to see you are recovered.’

  ‘Recovered?’ He barked out the repeated word, causing his cane to slip, and for a moment he lost his balance. Pushing aside the maid beside her, the woman hovering nearest spoke in his place.

  ‘I would not have believed it,’ she said, ‘had Francis not told me himself. As soon as you are back in England, you install yourself at Court. Did your father’s disgrace not dissuade you from such brazenness?’

  ‘Aunt,’ said Mercia, not rising to her taunt. ‘It would appear that affairs have changed.’

  ‘Not by much.’ Her voice was cold and slow, as much a contrast to her husband’s anger as her white hair contrasted with the darkness of her maid’s. ‘You would do well not to forget yourself, or whose patronage your uncle enjoys.’

  ‘I know he has powerful masters. But I count others as my own support, as you know.’

  Lady Simmonds’ companions shared a worried glance. In the ensuing silence, Mercia studied her aunt’s face. Her speech was forthright, but there was something uneasy in her demeanour, however much she was trying to hide the disquiet through her bitter words.

  ‘I was about to change my clothing, Aunt,’ she said. ‘You see how I still wear my travelling dress. If you will excuse me.’

  ‘We will not.’ Recovering his wits, Sir Francis turned his head, commanding with a brisk nod that his wife’s friends leave. The younger of the two frowned, but she did as she was told, the other following close behind.

  ‘Go to my rooms, Nicholas,’ ordered Mercia, as her aunt dismissed her maid. ‘I will arrive presently.’

  He hesitated, but then retreated through the open doorway. At the same time, the threshold seemed to brighten, as though a shadow had lifted from the opposite side. Paying it little heed, Mercia turned around.

  ‘What then, Uncle, did you wish to discuss?’

  By now Sir Francis had drawn himself up. Lady Simmonds parted her lips, but a rap of his cane on the floor cut off her reply.

  ‘It would have been
easier for you if I had died of that wound,’ he said, his jaw lightly trembling. ‘Alas, I am merely wounded. Forced to walk forever with the aid of this poisonous stick of wood, obliged to return from America before I could aid the King in furthering his ventures. All because you disobeyed me.’

  His knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip, but Lady Simmonds laid her hand on his, calming his shaking somewhat.

  ‘Uncle,’ said Mercia. ‘I never wished you harm, but if we cannot speak with civility then perhaps we should not speak at all.’

  Shrugging off his wife, Sir Francis sidled closer. ‘You may think you have the King’s support, but His Majesty listens to his brother, and I am yet in the Duke’s favour. I will not allow you to shame me, not in this, or in anything.’ He steadied his voice. ‘I know why you are here. The Earl of Clarendon has informed me of the … problem. You may think your mind is quick, but you are no match. Keep yourself to Sir William. I am much more practised in affairs of the Court than a novice like you.’

  With a ferocious glare of hate, he returned the way he had come, leading his wife out of view. Her anger stoked, Mercia rubbed at her temples, tracing her fingertips across the tiredness of her eyes. Then she raised her head and re-entered her rooms. A scuttling sounded from further along the corridor, but nobody was there when she flicked up her eyes to look.

  Taking short breaths, she crossed the principal room. Nicholas was standing apart, leaning against a fine oaken table, clasping his hands as he watched Phibae through the bedroom door. Hearing her enter, he turned his head, absent-mindedly tucking a loose shirt fold into his breeches.

  ‘Is all well?’ he asked.

  She blew out her irritation through her cheeks. ‘In a way, I am glad he came, as I was not looking forward to our first encounter. Now I can stop worrying how it might unfold, for I know it went ill. But let us not dwell on that now.’

  She looked into the bedroom herself. Phibae was busy holding up dresses, examining them for defects and, finding none, hanging them in the closet.