by Olga Daniels
“Get me some men’s clothing.”
“Men’s clothing?”
“Anything will do—I don’t want to be a grand gentleman—the sort of garments that servants wear. I’ll pretend to be one of the stable lads, exercising his master’s horses. Can you do that for me? Please, Sarah.”
“Well, that’s possible, I suppose.”
Meg’s heart lifted. “Bless you, Sarah. Nothing special. I shan’t be fussy.”
“I’d have a word with Alan, but then he’d ask why I wanted it,” Sarah said, thinking aloud.
“No one must know,” Meg said sharply. “You mustn’t mention this to anyone.”
“I won’t. Don’t you worry about that.”
“But can you—?”
“Yeh, I think so. I’ve got to know most of the lads in the stable. Trouble is, they won’t have much in the way of clothing to spare. I’d have to pay for them.”
“That’s another thing I need. Money. I’ve some pieces of my mother’s jewellery. I hate to part with them, but needs must.”
“There’s no end of dealers in gold and gems in the City,” Sarah said. “Shall I look about for you, my lady?”
“I’d be grateful if you’d sell it for me, Sarah. I’ll fetch it—”
“If you please, my lady, could you make it enough for two sets of clothing?” Meg shot a sharp glance at her maid’s cheeky face and saw she was grinning. “You don’t think I’d let you go off on your own, do you?”
“Even though you know it could be dangerous? You realise I can’t be sure of a welcome back at the nunnery—or even if the place still exists?”
“Aye. And even though I think you’re stupid!” Sarah sighed with an air of resignation. “I’ve taken many a risk with you in the past, so I may as well go along with you now.”
“But what about leaving Alan? And your wedding?”
“I’ll be sorry about that—but if he really loves me, I reckon he’ll wait.”
“No, Sarah. I’ll go alone. I can’t let you risk your happiness for me—”
“If he won’t wait, then he won’t be worth havin’. First things first, my lady. That’s what I allus say. You’ve been good to me. I’ll see you through this muddle, if it’s the last thing I do. And in my opinion it may well be that!”
Meg flung her arms around Sarah and hugged her and kissed her cheeks that were wet with tears. “Dear Sarah. What a blessing you are to me.”
“That’s as may be,” grumbled Sarah. “I reckon I must be as soft in the head as you are! When do you want to leave?”
“As soon as possible. But you’ll need time to get the money and clothes.”
“I should think a couple of days will be enough. The quicker the better, before that Nancy woman starts ferreting around an’ gettin’ suspicious.”
“I can’t thank you enough—”
“Then don’t bother to try.” Sarah grinned, softening her words. “I’ll be right glad to be away from her and the Earl.”
“We’ll try and make it the day after the Tournament,” Meg suggested. “There’s to be a great banquet that evening. With luck everyone will be barrel-fevered and they’ll all lie late. We’ll slip away first thing next morning.”
Sarah nodded. “I’ll start makin’ enquiries tomorrow.”
By chance, on that same day Richard was also in the City. Since coming to London he had made several visits to his lawyer, an elderly gentleman whose name was Browhouses. Today’s had not been a satisfactory interview and he was deeply disturbed that no progress seemed to have been made.
When Meg had told him how her mother had been forced out of Bixholm Manor by Thurton, he had easily understood. He knew of many other misdeeds perpetrated by the Earl, not least how the cunning old devil had swindled him of his own birthright.
It had happened when he’d been too young to understand. Not until he’d reached the age of twenty-one had he discovered that he should have been heir to a small estate east of London. Thurton had taken it over, claiming authority to manage it on Richard’s behalf. Not surprisingly, though very suspiciously, in the intervening years the deeds had disappeared! It had been in an attempt to discover some proof of his claim that Richard had attached himself to Thurton’s household. Surreptitiously and methodically, whenever possible, he had searched among the manorial documents for evidence that might substantiate his claim—so far with little success.
In the course of this he had recently discovered charters and deeds regarding Bixholm, and he had no doubt that all Meg had told him was true. He had passed this information to Mr Browhouses, who had suggested it might be possible to bring a case against Thurton on both counts. Richard hesitated to tell Meg, however, feeling it would be cruel to raise her hopes if nothing came of it. He also had a deep-seated fear of Thurton’s reaction, should his plan to marry her to the King be unsuccessful.
He knew from bitter experience how vicious the Earl could be. He’d had men, and women too, put to death for defying him, using trumped-up charges against them. Thurton was banking everything on this marriage of his niece. He would have no use for her otherwise. Marriage to any other nobleman would require a dowry, and, as Meg herself knew, his lordship wouldn’t part with a penny to provide that. Richard felt angry and frustrated as he strolled back through the City.
He had delivered letters which in his opinion established his rights beyond doubt. Mr Browhouses had agreed that it might be so—but then again, he’d added, humming and hawing, it might not. It all depended on the interpretation of one word, or maybe of one sentence. He would have to take advice from a colleague, but could not do so immediately as the colleague was at that precise moment defending a client in court. A client with more means at his disposal than he had, Richard had thought grimly, and with some justification. Mr Browhouses was a master at stalling him, instead of getting on with his case.
Disgruntled and dismayed, Richard wandered into that area of London where the goldsmiths plied their trade. By coincidence at that same time Sarah was seeking a buyer for her mistress’s jewellery.
Richard recognised the girl immediately, though he could not remember her name—just thought of her as Meg’s maid. Or, more to the point, the wench who was playing havoc with Alan Crompton’s emotions. Never in all the years of his friendship with Alan had Richard known the fellow so forgetful. He’d teased him about being in love and in response had received a moony-eyed smile.
Richard was about to speak to Sarah, then hesitated, for it struck him that her movements were suspicious. He drew back into an alleyway so that he could watch her unobserved. What was the woman up to? She looked about her, peered into doorways and windows, then, after yet another glance around, moved on to another shop. This time, after a brief hesitation and another anxious look over her shoulder, she darted inside.
Richard left his hiding place and sauntered along with a pretence of nonchalance. The shop door stood open and he was able to see inside. Sarah was talking to a wizened little man who was holding a necklace up to the light. Those were no ordinary cheap beads; they sparkled like diamonds and were delicately set in gold.
Money changed hands. Sarah dropped some coins into a drawstring bag that hung from her leather belt. Richard’s suspicions deepened, but he decided not to challenge her there and then. He drew back so as to be out of sight when Sarah emerged from the shop. She turned and, walking with the swinging strides of a healthy young countrywoman, set off along the street.
He followed at a discreet distance. Sarah didn’t look back even once. Her mission accomplished, she seemed intent on getting back to Thurton’s house as soon as possible. Richard harboured grave suspicions. He must ask Meg if any of her jewellery was missing, tell her what he had witnessed. He was glad to have a positive reason for approaching her, for Meg had been avoiding him ever since that evening, when she had asked the impossible. How could he marry her now? Where could he take her if he did? It would probably be one of the shortest marriages on record anyway! He had no d
oubt that Meg would be a widow almost as soon as she became a wife. And—apart from his own reluctance to contribute to that state—how could he then be any help to her?
Only when Sarah reached the back entrance of the house did Richard make his presence known. She was about to step inside when he caught hold of her arm. The girl jumped as if she was a mass of nerves. Then she recognised him.
“Oh, Sir Richard! You gave me such a fright! I thought you was a robber.”
“Now why should a robber be after you, I wonder? Are you carrying valuables?”
Colour spread all over the girl’s face. He had never seen anyone look more guilty!
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“Just out. Seein’ to something for my lady.”
“Something for your mistress?” he queried.
“That’s right. An’ nothin’ a gent needs to know about.” Sarah quickly recovered from her surprise, and tossed her head with something of the cheeky confidence she normally had. “I gotta go in now, sir. My mistress will be a-wonderin’ where I’ve got to.” She lifted her skirts and ran.
“Tell Lady Margaret I wish to call on her.”
Sarah looked back at him over her shoulder. “I’m not sure if she’s at home, sir.”
He was quite sure that was a lie, but the girl was gone, almost immediately out of sight in the maze of passages at the back of the house.
Richard turned away. He wanted desperately to see Meg, to speak to her, to plead with her yet again to trust him. He could understand why she doubted him. He had been part of the deception played upon her by the Earl. When he had ridden to Norwich to bring her to Bixholm, he had never expected to fall in love with her. If only she’d been someone different, a woman who would be happy to be Queen of England! But then she wouldn’t be Meg.
How could he expect her to forgive him—ever? All he could do was continue with the plan he had instigated. Then, he hoped, somehow—if—when—it was successfully concluded, he would be able to win back her trust—and her love.
At least she was safe for the moment. Thurton and Nancy would see that no harm befell her. She was far too valuable for them to take any risks. She would be cosseted and cherished, kept fresh and beautiful ready for those times when she might meet the King. Strangely, she was safe enough in his company also. There was no doubting the lust she awakened in the bawdy old monarch, but, with all his faults, he had never been a rapist. Indeed, many would suggest that it would be impossible for him, for he was, it was rumoured, almost impotent.
Richard gained little comfort from the thought. He could not bear to think of Henry even holding her hand! He had seen his fat fingers clutch at her knee, and the revulsion Meg had tried to cover had been visible.
He tried to push the picture from his mind and turned away from the house. He strode off at a cracking pace, because movement might help him to keep his sanity and he had one more task to undertake before he set out for the field where, on the next day, he would ride in the Tournament.
He headed for the docks and walked along the wharf, reading the names of the vessels moored alongside. The ship he sought was not to be seen—probably it had not yet arrived from France. He chafed at the delay and prayed that the vessel was safe.
On the day of the Tournament people began to gather soon after dawn, anxious to get the best viewpoints. The atmosphere was excited, noisy and carefree. Gaily striped fair-booths appeared around the field, cheapjacks and fraudsters shouted for punters to try the three-card trick. Vendors arrived with food, hot and cold, ales and beers, fairings, penny ornaments and toys. Strolling musicians and players began to entertain the crowd long before the jousting was due to begin.
Only noblemen and gentlemen of high birth were permitted to ride in the Tournament, but for them it was an essential exercise. Its original purpose had been for the development of skills in horsemanship and fitness for leadership in times of war. Over the centuries it had developed into a sophisticated but still dangerous sport. The King watched from his place of honour in the centre stand, surrounded by courtiers, older knights and their ladies. Meg was seated at his side.
Henry was in the best of moods, living up to his nickname of bluff King Hal. He laughed and chatted with those around him and from time to time turned to address some remark to Meg. This second meeting emphasised even more than the first that he found her fascinating, for he made no attempt to hide his feelings. He grasped her hand and held it, looked deep into her eyes and smiled.
As the Earl and Nancy had escorted Meg to the Tournament they had instructed her how to play her part. Merely smiling was not enough; she was to laugh and flirt openly.
“Try and get him to take you to bed,” her uncle had urged.
“Shouldn’t be difficult!” Nancy had chuckled. “He’s as eager as a lad at his first affair.”
“I couldn’t do that unless he’d asked me to marry him,” Meg had objected, genuinely shocked.
“Don’t you worry about that, my dear. It’s not only a wife he’s after—the King yearns for sons.”
“He has an heir in Prince Edward,” Meg had pointed out.
“The boy’s said to be sickly. He’s not growing up into a strapping big lad,” Nancy had told her. “Henry feels cheated that he’s got two daughters and only one son, whereas the Kings of France and Spain have a quiverful.”
“You get with child and your cares will be over,” the Earl had said. “He’ll rush you into marriage quick as lightning.”
“And if I don’t produce a son, he’ll send me to the block,” Meg had muttered bitterly.
“Don’t keep harping on that, you silly girl,” Nancy had said. “It’s not likely to happen again. Not if you behave yourself.”
The conversation had ended there as the Earl had triumphantly presented Meg to the stewards in charge of the Royal Pavilion.
“His Majesty has expressed a wish for my niece to sit at his side.” Thurton’s voice had been loud and commanding.
So here she was, playing a part. She had to pretend, but it was not so difficult as she’d feared. Just as on the previous occasion, when she’d first met the King, she found him pleasant, even charming. She would have been perfectly happy to sit with him and converse with him if only she had not been expected to marry him.
Richard and Gervase were both riding in the Thurton colours of primrose and blue. All the knights were encased in armour, which made it difficult to tell one from the other, except that Gervase wore a favour, a lady’s silk scarf knotted on his helmet.
“De Heigham—have you no lady to ride for?” asked the King as Richard presented himself before the royal stand.
“I fear not, Your Majesty. Perhaps on another occasion I shall be in a happier position.” His eyes flickered for the briefest of moments in Meg’s direction.
She regarded him woodenly, unsmiling, hiding her feelings, for the love that had grown in her could not be discarded as if it was no more than an old shoe. She told herself that it was dead, that it had never meant anything, all affection had gone. He had refused to help her and now she felt only a deep void inside her. After that one quick glance Richard kept his eyes fixed upon the King.
“You shall have something from my new sweetheart,” Henry said magnanimously, turning to Meg. “You danced so delightfully with this knight, surely you will not let him ride without a favour?”
“Perhaps he does not wish for anything from me,” said Meg.
“Nonsense. Every knight needs someone to fight for, even if it is only for one day. Surely you can spare a scarf or a handkerchief.”
“Very well, if you desire it, Your Majesty.” Meg agreed reluctantly. She had vowed she would have nothing more to do with Richard and felt humiliated yet again by being made to hand him her lace-edged kerchief.
“You are most gracious, Lady Margaret.” He smiled, and there was such warmth in his face that her traitorous heart flipped. He bowed and continued, “As I am wearing Thurton colours, I shall be riding for you a
s well as for the Earl.”
She regarded him coldly. “Sir Richard, your loyalty is to the Earl. There is no difference between you and Gervase Gisbon.”
Her words stung. Richard flinched, then quickly regained his composure. “But only I have your favour. I shall cherish this token, and trust it to bring me good fortune.”
The King appeared not to notice the undercurrents of emotion that throbbed between Meg and Richard. “Good fellow! Gallantly spoken!” he said. “I know of old how skilled you are at the joust. We shall eagerly watch your performance.”
Heralds announced the events and the contestants rode forward. Horses were gaily caparisoned, and knights clad from head to toe in specially adapted armour, the helm reinforced and a grand guard covering the left side of the visor. A lance-rest was fixed to the breast-plate. They should be invincible in such gear, yet somehow the sight of it increased rather than lessened the impression that they were about to participate in a dangerous “sport”. Even the tiltyard had not prepared Meg for the fear that gripped her when she watched Richard riding in the Tournament.
The long lances were lowered, held under the right arm and directed across the neck of the horse. The combatants charged towards each other at full gallop, each with the central barrier on his left. They rode a straight course with levelled lances, attempting to unseat opponents. It was a trial of skill, necessitating great steadiness of aim. The air was alive with the pounding of horses’ feet, the shouts of the crowd, the clash of lance on metal. Richard’s daring won the applause of the onlookers, but so frightened Meg that she could scarcely bear to watch.
She closed her eyes when Gervase rode against him. It was quite unreasonable of her to pray that Richard would emerge the victor, but she could not help it. In spite of everything he held her heart. It was excruciating to watch him riding so bravely, with her kerchief fluttering from his helm, and remember so vividly how he had rejected her. She must never again trust him. Never! She had to act on her own to save herself from this hideous farce of a marriage.