“Is Bonnie going to be able—?”
“In the long run, it will help her,” Margaret replied. “Though I was glad enough to give her a rest this afternoon.”
“Afternoon?” said Arden in disbelief.
“Yes,” said Charles, as Margaret excused herself and slipped from the room with Helena. Either the little girl liked and trusted the young Quaker woman, or she instinctively sensed something of royal protocol, for she made little fuss at leaving her mother again. “Arden, you've been asleep most of the day,” the King continued, sitting in the chair Margaret had recently occupied. “No doubt you needed the rest.”
Arden sighed. “Apparently so, Your Majesty.”
“Forgive this small room, Arden,” the King began. “Castlemaine's in an uproar you're here at all, but I told her, ‘throw yourself between me and a pistol, and then you may bitch.’”
Arden laughed. “The room is fine, Your Majesty.” Then she took a deep breath. “Your Majesty, I must beg pardon—”
“No, Arden, no,” Charles interrupted. “Robert, his servant, and your Quaker friend have explained all to me. I know you only associated with those men because they threatened your daughter’s life. And even that, in the end, didn't prevent you trying to give your life for me. Thank you, Arden,” he said simply. “If there's ever anything I can do for you, you have only to name it. Within reason, of course.” His dark eyes twinkled.
“There's nothing, Your Majesty,” Arden replied. “I am only glad you are unharmed. When can I go home?”
“My surgeon would like to keep you here another night, to make sure your wound does not become inflamed,” Charles answered. He paused as Arden nodded her assent.
“Um—Arden?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“I also realize you probably would have waited for Robert Courtenay, and not come to me had those Fanatick thugs not taken your little girl. Am I correct?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Arden hoped she did not hurt him.
“Then you probably would like to end our arrangement, wouldn't you?”
Arden thought. She did not really have any hope that she and Robert could be together now, after everything that had passed between them. She also loved the King as her sovereign, liked him as a man, and had frankly enjoyed his body. But it was wrong. Whatever passion she felt had been borne of mingled loyalty and desperation. She knew, too, that she would always be one of many, and that every touch, kiss, or caress she shared with Charles hurt the Queen. Part of her hated leaving him to the likes of greedy, controlling Castle-maine, but—no. Aloud she said: “I will always bear you the greatest affection, Your Majesty. But with your permission, yes, I wish to end it.”
“Of course, my dear,” Charles replied. “I shall miss you,” he added, smiling. Then he said, “You say you want nothing from me in way of reward. But if you think of something later, don't hesitate to ask.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Sam Thompson sat on a blanket in St. James' Park with a basket of food. He certainly didn't have sable, like the King. His blanket was one of the lesser cloths borrowed from his employer's linen closet. Neither did his basket contain pheasant, but a rather more humble bread and cheese. He had no wish to sit by the canal, either. Water made for pretty surroundings, true, but who wanted to meet a lady where shots had been exchanged? Not to mention that the lady in question might think, considering what her own employer had been doing down by the canal, that he had “expectations.”
He spotted Bonnie from far off, on the opposite side of Charing Cross. Something in the way she carried herself looked weary and defeated. The impression only intensified as she came closer. When she finally stood before him, pallor stalked her face and she did not smile.
Sam had stood up to greet her. He tried to take her hands, but she clenched them firmly at her sides. Something that looked like folded paper appeared in one of them.
“I only came to tell you goodbye,” said Bonnie, flatly. “And to give you this.”
He barely registered his employer's name written on the outer folds. “Why?” he asked. “Oh, Bonnie, please sit down for a little while, at least. I brought something for us to eat, and a little ale,” he added, indicating the cloth and the basket. “You look like you could use a little ale.”
“Just for a while,” said Bonnie, lowering herself to the ground, but keeping her skirts gathered around her. “You deserve an explanation,” she added, her voice quavering somewhat.
Sam offered her some of the bread and cheese, but she declined, saying she wasn't hungry. She accepted a pull from the ale bottle he passed her, however. As soon as he seated himself opposite her, she said quietly: “I am ruined.”
If indeed Margaret knew, she had quite properly kept silent. But Sam had suspected the possibility from both Margaret’s evasiveness and Bonnie's own general appearance when rescued.
“I don't care,” he said, softly.
“Well, I care, very much!” she exclaimed.
She started to rise, but Sam grabbed a wad of her skirts. “I didn't mean it that way,” he said quickly. When the hurt and fury in her blue eyes had softened a bit, and she stopped struggling against his hold, he continued. “In that way, I care very much. I'd like to tear out the guts of the bastard who hurt you and stomp on them!”
“He's dead,” said Bonnie. “In far too easy a way.”
“I'm sorry for that. His lack of suffering, I mean,” Sam added. “But what I mean—” He gathered his courage. “What I mean is that it doesn't change me loving you. It doesn't stop me wanting to marry you.”
A brief moment or two passed before Bonnie started crying. She began with several rapid gasps and ended in a heartbroken wail, hands up, covering her face. Yet, of course, the sound escaped, and Sam understood the words of it all too well: “But what if I don't want to marry you?”
He thought he felt his heart plummet to the bottom of his stomach. His face must have reflected the fall, for Bonnie said, “Not just you, Sam. Not anyone!”
He managed to breathe again. Sam would never have described himself as a worldly man, but he had seen a thing or two. He reached for a vague hope that with time and care, he could help Bonnie feel better. “I'll never lay a hand on you without asking you first,” he told her. “Never. I'll wait as long as you need me to wait. But I want to ask you right now, if I can touch you,” he continued. “Just to hold you, nothing else―nothing more than what you'd do with little Helena if she cried.” Still sitting, he held his arms out to her. “Please, Bonnie?” he coaxed, as she leaned the smallest bit towards him. “I won't hurt you. I'll never hurt you.”
Trembling, she forced herself into his lap. “Oh, Sam, it was so horrible!” She sobbed, but quietly, so that other people using the park a distance away could not possibly know her distress. She felt rigid in his arms at first, but she went limp as he gently stroked her back. “Can you hear it, Sam?” she asked. “Can you bear it?” She choked back another sob. “At least if you can't, you'll stop your talk of marriage.”
“I doubt it,” said Sam, his voice even and soothing. “I don't think anything could stop me, short of you saying you hate me.”
“I don't hate you, Sam,” she replied, her voice almost normal for a moment. “But I do hate him. I'm glad he's dead! I'm glad!” She sobbed again, into his chest. Despite the muffling, he heard her all too clearly. “He used me horribly, Sam! He stripped me naked, bent me over, and took me from behind like a street cur. All the while telling me what a dirty, hell-bound whore I was. Dirty!” she cried. “He was the one who gagged me with his stench. Did you know bathing's a sinful vanity, Sam?”
She shook with her sobs. Sam tightened his hold on her, wanting to convey more comfort, but careful not to frighten her. “It's not your fault,” he murmured, stroking her wheat-blond hair. “I still love you, Bonnie. I still want to marry you. I'll give you all the time you need.”
“And I was so scared, Sam. So sc
ared he'd planted a babe in me, and I'd have the spawn of that hateful, hateful man growing in me. I didn't know if I'd ever get away from there alive, but I knew if I did, I'd do whatever it took to get rid of it. Do you think me horrible?”
“No. I think if I'd been in your place, I'd have felt the same way.”
“You couldn't be in my place,” said Bonnie coldly.
Sam did not think it wise at that moment to tell her some of the things he'd heard happened at Newgate prison.
“Each time my courses came, I thanked Jesus,” said Bonnie. “I began to think maybe I was barren―and I felt glad. That's another reason you shouldn't marry me.”
“Maybe it's just God was kind, given the sins of others,” said Sam. “I will take my chances, and leave it up to God whether or not we have children.”
“I could have escaped, Sam,” she added softly. “If I had left Helena and run. But I couldn't leave a baby with men like that!”
“Of course you couldn't,” Sam agreed. “I love you all the more for that.”
After a time, Bonnie lifted her head and met his gaze. “You're mad, Sam,” she said, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. “But you're a very good man. I want to say ‘yes,’ but I can't leave Arden. Not after what she did to keep me alive.”
Sam didn't think he would sway Bonnie with the point that Arden had really done those things to save her child, and her cousin-in-law and servant had been relatively incidental. While he considered what to say, Bonnie added: “She doesn't have the money to employ you, too―even if I asked her.”
“So it's double or nothing,” said Sam.
“I didn't know you went to gaming houses,” said Bonnie.
“Oh, I was quite worthless before Mr. Courtenay picked me out of the gutter.” Sam ventured a chuckle. “Do you still want me?”
“As much as I want anyone,” Bonnie sighed. “Make sure you give that paper to your employer.”
*****
Arden would never tell Bonnie where she went, but she could not bring herself to ignore the summons. A note from Treadwell, begging her to visit him in Newgate. Of course she still hated him, of course he didn't deserve anything better. But Arden felt such gratitude that Helena, Robert, and Bonnie had all come out of the conspiracy alive. She felt she owed it to God to be merciful.
So here she stood, outside Newgate, Helena left safe in Bonnie's care. She knew it had long been the custom to bring prisoners useful gifts or money to make their incarceration more bearable, but Arden's mercy did not extend that far. She needed her money to pay her rent, and feed and clothe Helena, Bonnie, and herself. True, Robert would never let Helena want for anything, but she preferred her independence, especially now. After all, Robert had not come to see her as she lay recuperating at Whitehall. Nor witnessed her triumphant return to the stage, or called at her flat. Not that she had expected him. She understood perfectly, and did not blame him. Still, he had held her so tenderly, after the shooting—
Arden put those thoughts aside as she entered the right-hand tower of Newgate.
“He's in the Stone Hold, mum,” said the guard after she gave him Treadwell's name.
He has nothing, then, Arden thought, shuddering in spite of herself.
“Are you the actress what saved the King?” asked the guard, leading her down the dank, smelly corridor.
So much for her black disguise. She should have known merely asking for Treadwell would narrow any guesses about her identity. “Yes,” she admitted, putting her scented handkerchief to her nose.
“Come to make sure he's as low as he ought t'be?”
Arden stayed silent. Maybe some part of her had come for just that purpose.
“You don't want to go in the Hold, mum,” the guard told her, stopping in front of a small open room with a plain wooden table and chair inside. “Usually I'd ask payment for lettin’ you use me room and all, but seein’ as you're a national ‘eroine—” He trailed off, then added: “Don't worry, mum. I won't leave you alone wiv the devil. I’ll be right outside the door.”
Arden thanked him sincerely. The guard gestured her into the room and into the chair, and said, “I'll go get 'im now, mum.”
When Treadwell appeared before her, he had no shirt, and his breeches were ragged and filthy. He had never made a pretty sight to Arden, but previously she had been spared the sagging dirty-white flesh of his concave chest. Harsh purple bruises ornamented his torso. They look like the love-bites His Majesty gave me that time we got rough, thought Arden. Also, a fearsome stench emanated from her stepfather. While Newgate as a whole reeked horribly, Arden felt certain that the small room had contained little odor until Treadwell had entered. At first she stopped herself from resorting to her scented handkerchief―rude—but then she reminded herself again that she had no reason for courtesy. She pressed the perfumed cloth deliberately to her nose.
“I have been raped up the arse, Arden,” Treadwell said solemnly, when she lifted her gaze to his. “I am sorry for everything I ever tried to do to you.”
If Arden had heard this line in a play, she'd have been shocked into laughter. Experiencing it in life stunned her into speechlessness. Treadwell's eyes looked softer than she had ever seen them. Humiliation mingled with genuine humility. “I am sorry I tried to take the life of another human being,” he continued, “though I still hold no reverence for Charles Stuart as my King. Arden, you owe me less than nothing, but if you would please tell your mother I'm sorry for all I've done to her as well―especially the shame I bring on her now―it would be a great mercy.”
“Would you like some paper and a pen to write to her?” asked Arden, letting pity rule.
“No. They'd only be torn from me and used to hurt me in ways I've never thought possible,” Treadwell replied flatly, making Arden wonder just what he had gone through to get his note to her. “Your telling her would serve.” Without waiting for Arden's response, he turned to the room's doorway and walked back to the Newgate guard who would return him to the Stone Hold.
Chapter Sixty
Days after visiting Treadwell, and following an after-noon on stage, Arden suppressed a gasp when she turned the last corner on the way home to her flat. She would know his stance and profile anywhere, no matter the long periods of separation they had always suffered. She forced herself not to run. He probably only wants to see Helena, told herself, trying to keep her heart from running riot.
A moment after she'd sighted him, Courtenay started walking to meet her. Arden couldn't trust her imagination, but he, too, seemed to be trying to keep from running. He definitely smiled, no wishful thinking necessary on her part. When near enough, he caught her in his arms and kissed her. Arden returned it hungrily, melting at the warmth of his lips.
Then she remembered they stood in the street, and all of London could see them.
“We can't,” she whispered, pulling away. “Not here.”
“Come back to your apartments, then,” he replied, his arm smoothly around her, guiding her.
As they walked together, an odd calm stole over Arden. “Wouldn't Bonnie let you in?” she asked. “You can't blame her.”
“I didn't try,” said Robert. “I just wanted to wait for you.”
Arden suddenly wondered why he hadn't come to the theater. Before she started to ask, however, she realized the answer. Too many gossipy people. He feels shame, obviously, over my having been with the King.
She opened the door, went in, and he followed after. Bonnie startled, but then relaxed, offering him a heartfelt curtsey. He scooped Helena up from where she played amongst her wooden blocks on the floor, made much of her for a few moments, and handed her to Bonnie. Arden heard the gentleness in his voice as he asked: “Bonnie, do you feel up to taking Helena to the park for a while? Sam is in the carriage nearby; he can take you if you'd like.”
“Yes, sir,” Bonnie agreed easily, taking her charge and vanishing out the door. Arden even thought she saw the trace of a smile cross the young woman's face, and she looke
d at Robert with grateful eyes.
Courtenay gestured for Arden to sit, and when she did, he took the remaining chair. “We have much to discuss,” he began.
“We do?”
“I hope so. First, I must apologize to you for not staying by your side as you recovered. You are quite well now, Arden?”
“Yes, I am fine. You needn't apologize.”
“Oh, but I must. The only reason I did not was that I thought you loved the King.”
“I do love the King,” said Arden quickly. “I love him as everyone in England ought.”
“I know,” said Courtenay. “This came to me.” He handed her the letter she had written when she thought she would die. “I knew Helena had been taken, and you did all that on pain of her death,” he continued. “But the way you shielded the King―I couldn't help thinking—” He trailed off. “Even with this,” he began anew, indicating the letter in her hand, “I believe you when you say you would have waited for me had Helena never been taken.”
“Yes,” said Arden. “I'd have waited forever.”
He gave her a sad smile. “But given that you had to enter into this—affair with His Majesty―did you come to love him? You loved him as a girl.”
“You know him, Robert,” said Arden. “You know his virtues, and―if between us it be not treason―his faults. I am honored―nay, even overjoyed—to have his friendship after how close I came to participating in an unspeakable crime. His forgiveness is second only to yours, Robert. For I know, even were I to tell you I fell madly in love with King Charles, that you've forgiven me. You showed up to save our daughter and our King, and when I awoke in your arms, I knew you understood. But Robert, I did not fall in love with His Majesty. I took comfort from him when I had no right to it. I lost myself in the things we did together, because otherwise I could not have stood my role in such a heinous plot. I gave him love―in many ways, much as I would give to any friend I feared marked for death. But did I give him my heart and my soul? I could not. They still belong to you.”
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