She fished out her mysterious letter from her sleeve, and read its contents one more time. Alicia did not yet know all the inhabitants of Wolf Hall, though they certainly knew who she was. One of them, more scholarly than the rest, must have found her to his liking. The situation bordered on utter madness. She must act as if she had never received this letter, pretend that its sweet words had not touched her heartstrings. She must assume an innocent mask to show whomever it was that she had not been beguiled by his penned poesy.
With a deep sigh of regret, Alicia crumpled the paper into a ball, then pushed it deep amid the feeble embers in the fireplace with the poker. She watched the pretty words burn to ashes.
Giving herself a shake, she tied on the apron she had brought from home, then opened her door. Georgie greeted her with a thumping tail and his tongue hanging out.
“Good morrow, my champion.” Alicia caressed his ears. “Have you been sent to guard me, or did you hear the word dinner?”
Perking up, he regarded her intently with his deep brown eyes.
Grinning, she nodded. “I thought as much. Come, Georgie, let us see what miracles we can cook in yon kitchen.”
Bowing his head, Thomas knelt before the altar in Wolf Hall’s chapel, and prayed for guidance and strength. Blue light twinkled through the stained glass window, giving the holy chamber an unearthly glow. Over his head, the sanctuary candle burned in its suspended red glass globe.
Thomas squeezed his eyelids tighter, in an effort to block out the nagging distractions in his mind. He had never given any serious thought to marriage. Never saw the need for it. Now, as the Earl of Thornbury, one of his most pressing concerns was the continuation of the ancient title. If he did not produce a son and heir before he died, the line would die with him.
Who would have thought such a dire situation possible only six weeks ago? His father and two elder brothers had been in excellent health and spirits when they rode off to York, only to return to their ancestral home a few weeks later inside three oaken coffins. Now Thomas was alone in the world, and the burden of his responsibilities weighed down his shoulders.
His secular thoughts turned again and again to Alicia. She had looked breathtaking in the garden last night. He recalled the sparkle of her blue eyes, the golden sheen of her hair in the moonlight and her creamy complexion. He had been afraid to touch her, lest he frighten her. It was a good thing she could not read his thoughts and know his desires. One day he would dare to unbraid her hair, and run his fingers through its long gleaming tresses. He would unfasten the lacing on her gown, and allow it to fall to her feet, while he worshipped the fair Alicia in all her natural glory.
Thomas gulped as he felt himself harden below the belt. It must be a sin to think these wanton thoughts while kneeling in a chapel. Yet Alicia was the core of his current petition to heaven. How could he speak to her of their marriage agreement when he was mute as a fish in her company? Worse, how could he muster the courage to tell her how much he admired her looks, her voice, her every graceful movement? He hoped that his morning’s letter to her had revealed something of his true feelings for her.
Thomas grinned when he thought of his predawn frenzy with quill and ink. By the rood, his penmanship must have been horrible to decipher. He hoped Alicia had been able to read his message. Reticent of the spoken word, he had always penned his secret thoughts in flowing prose. In times past, he had burned his work, lest one of his brothers find it, and badger him all the more. Now he could write to his heart’s content without fear of discovery. He longed to know what Alicia had thought of his work. He wondered if she would mention it at dinner. It seemed a thousand years to the midday meal.
He finished his prayers with a hasty sign of the cross. Still deep in his meditations, he almost knocked over his sister-in-law, who skulked outside the chapel door. Her very presence renewed the anger he had tried so hard to curb.
“How now, Isabel? Still here?”
She smiled at his frown. “Of course, my lord. I knew you did not mean your command of yestereve. ‘Twas the arrival of that…woman that put your good temper to flight.”
Grinding his teeth, Thomas maintained his customary silence. Bolts and shackles! The shrew sorely tried his patience.
Isabel paused, waiting for him to say something. When he did not, she hurried on. “Indeed, Thomas, ‘tis concerning Mistress Broom that I must speak to you. Hourly, she mimics the airs and graces that are not hers by right. When will you send the jade down the road?”
Thomas raised his brows very slowly. “Alicia stays at Wolf Hall.”
He turned to go, but Isabel grasped his arm. Her claws reminded him of a cat’s. “But the woman is so…common, Thomas. You cannot seriously think to marry the daughter of a goldsmith. The Earl of Thornbury should have a noble lady as the mother of his children.”
He shook off her hand from his sleeve. “I will, and ‘tis Alicia.”
Instead of answering him, Isabel began to sway on her feet. “Thomas, help me, ere I faint,” she murmured. She almost fell into his arms.
He held her against his chest, while he searched around for something on which to seat her. No bench nor coffer in sight. Where was his sottish squire at a time like this? No doubt, Andrew had experience with fainting women. He often bragged of his worldwide knowledge of the fair sex.
“What ails you?” He shook her.
She opened her eyes, and stared up into his. A soft smile parted her lips. “Oh, Thomas, you saved me from a nasty fall—and in my condition too.” She fluttered her eyelids, and moaned a little.
A chill crept down his spine. “What condition?”
Stepping out of his arms, Isabel unhooked her fan from her golden girdle, and waved it back and forth in front of her face. She shot him a coy glance over the half circle of pierced ivory sticks. “Why, Thomas, do you not understand what a woman means when she speaks of her condition? Methought with the example of your dog, who drops a litter every few months, you would know.”
A bitter taste of bile rose in the back of his throat.
His hands turned cold and clammy. Isabel couldn’t possibly be breeding. After nine barren years had she managed to conceive at her last possible chance? “Explain yourself, madam!” he snapped.
She fanned herself even more. “By my troth, must I tell you every intimate detail? You costernoggin! ‘Tis plainly this—I am with child, William’s. Aye, you look amazed. Trust me, so am I. ‘Tis a blessing I had often dreamed, but never realized—until now.”
Blood roared in his ears. Sweet Jesu! Not now when he had finally met the one woman to whom he felt safe enough to give his heart. He looked down his nose at the simpering harpy. The devil take her! The mere sound of Isabel’s nasal voice set his teeth on edge.
“Of course, Thomas, I pray that you and I become better friends—now. ‘Twill be important for the child to have someone to look up to; someone to teach him the manly arts as he grows.”
“Mummph,” he muttered, his mind whirling like a weather cock in the north wind. Damn William! Why did he have to leave a belated reminder? Thanks to the tiny sprig growing within Isabel’s belly, Thomas could be saddled with this harridan for years to come.
Closing her fan, Isabel tapped him on the arm with it. “And you would be a hard-hearted, cruel man to cast me out of Wolf Hall at a time like this. ‘Twould be a great disgrace if I were forced to bear the poor babe in a ditch.” She dabbed her handkerchief to her eyes, even though they appeared to be remarkably free of tears.
He wondered how many months a woman carried a child. He dimly recalled his mother’s final pregnancy, and thought that Mary had taken a very long time to arrive. With a growing dismay, he realized that Isabel had him backed into a corner.
What of sweet Alicia? His sister-in-law will surely demand that he send her away. If Alicia stayed, Isabel would make her life—and Thomas’s—a living hell. His throat tightened. The stone walls of the passageway closed in on him. He could not draw in enough air to brea
the. He needed space and time to think through this horrifying dilemma.
Isabel stamped her foot. “Thomas! You have not heard two words that I have said. I asked you, what do you propose to do with me now?”
Send you to the devil! Aloud, he rumbled, “Go hunting!” He raised his voice to its full battle pitch. “Andrew! Andrew!”
His squire, who had been playing ball with Tavie down the corridor, ran at his master’s summons.
“Aye, my lord?” Andrew replied, slightly out of breath. “Good morrow, my lady,” he added to Isabel. “I wish you a safe and pleasant journey—”
Thomas cut off the squire’s insipid remarks. “Tell the grooms to saddle our horses, and pack provisions for the day—nay, for several days. We go a-hunting.”
A slow grin spread across Andrew’s lips. “For hares or pheasant, my lord?”
“For whatever blasted thing we can find. At this moment, I could strangle a boar bare-handed. Quit gawking, loon! Get you gone!”
The lad glanced from Thomas to Isabel. His smile broadened. “I am ever at your service, my lord.” Turning on his heel, he then raced down the passageway that led to the mews.
Isabel gave a cold little laugh. “True to form, as always, I see. When in doubt, run away and go hunting. I hope you find that boar, Thomas, and I hope he eats you. Just remember, I shall still be here when you finally decide to come home. Chew on that while you gallop over hill and dale.”
With her threat ringing in his ears, she stuck her proud nose up in the air, and left him. Thomas swore several oaths under his breath. Then he snapped his fingers to the two canines who trotted after him. At the stairs leading to the kitchens, they encountered Georgie, who fell into place behind them.
Thomas didn’t slacken his speed until he had locked the library door behind them. Then he knelt down, and lavished his attention on his beloved pets.
“My friends, I am trussed in a tight barrel, and that is no mistake. Isabel will surely try to chase Alicia away while I am gone, yet I must have time to think.”
Vixen licked his hand. Georgie flopped down on the cold hearth. Tavie tried to scramble into Thomas’s lap.
“A hard ride in the saddle is the only way I know to clear my head of cobwebs. Georgie, you must look after Alicia for me. Stay with her. Vixen, my sweet girl, do not have your puppies until after I have returned.”
Thomas held the terrier out at arm’s length, and smiled at his little brown-and-white face. “And you must be my watchdog, Tavie. I pray you three, do not harry Isabel—no matter how badly she treats you. Leave her to me. Above all, keep Alicia here. Understand? Keep Alicia safe.” He stood.
Thomas glanced at his desk. His writing materials still lay where he had left them in such a hurry at dawn. He pulled the cork out of the ink pot, then dipped a fresh quill into it. Andrew knocked just as Thomas poured blotting sand on his latest note. He turned the key in the lock.
“Enter!” he bellowed.
The squire opened the door. “All is in readiness. We wait upon you.”
“Good!” Thomas dripped a small blob of sealing wax on the flap. He blew on it until the wax hardened. Then he handed the letter to Andrew. “Put this in Mistress Alicia’s chamber—somewhere where she alone will find it. I want no other prying eyes.”
Andrew chuckled. “Another billet-doux? You have not done so much writing in a month of Sundays, my lord.”
Thomas frowned at the boy’s merry face. He knew the cheeky squire would probably tease him the entire day about this, but no matter. ‘Twas better than thinking upon Isabel and her blasted condition. “Hold your prattling tongue, maltworm. Deliver my letter, and mind you, do not let anyone see you do it.”
Andrew stuffed the paper inside his doublet. “Fear not, my lord. I will be as swift as a fox in a chicken coop, or—” He paused at the door. “Or as a lover stealing from a lady’s bed.”
“Out!” Thomas thundered.
With another chuckle, the lad disappeared on his mission. Thomas left the library and locked the door of his sanctuary behind him.
In the stable courtyard, his huntsmen already had the pack of lurchers out of their kennels; the hounds eager to be off. The falconer held his favorite peregrine on his thick leather glove. Several of the kitchen lads stuffed bread, cheese and cold meats into the saddlebags. Thomas adjusted his charger’s girth while he waited for Andrew to return.
“Well?” he bellowed when the boy finally appeared. He noticed that his squire had made a hasty change of clothing, trading his fine satin suit for a more sturdy wool and leather hunting garb.
“Where do we ride, my lord?” he asked, as he swung himself astride his gelding.
“To the devil and back,” Thomas replied. He kicked his gray stallion into a canter.
Chapter Six
Alicia blotted the perspiration on her forehead with the back of her hand. The large kitchens of Wolf Hall were far hotter and noisier than the simple cookhouse at her old home in York. A dozen loaves of parsley bread baked in the side ovens. Meanwhile, a brace of plump pigeons turned slowly on the spit while Alicia chopped dried cherries, and lentils for the stuffing.
Despite the heat and an ache in her low back, she hummed a tavern ditty—one that she had often heard her guardian sing. Master Konrad, the cook imported from Hanover, had been glad enough to let someone else do his work while he took his ease on a stool by the window that overlooked the vegetable garden. Now that the full menu had taken shape, he pushed his tankard aside and observed Alicia with growing admiration.
Someone clattered down the stone steps.
“My Lady Isabel commands ye to attend on her,” a high-pitched voice announced over the kitchen din.
Alicia wiped her hands on her food-spattered apron before she turned to face the strident messenger. Everyone in the large room grew silent. She eyed the nondescript maid, who stood on the bottommost step as if the girl might be tainted if she came completely into the kitchen.
“Are you addressing me?” Alicia asked in her most formal manner.
The maid tossed her head. “Aye, that I am. My lady wants you in her room right quick.”
Alicia stifled her impulse to tell the obnoxious wench what she thought of Isabel and her minion. Instead, she answered, “I will come by and by, after I have seen to this stuffing.”
“My lady said this minute.” The maid drew herself up in a poor imitation of Isabel’s haughtiness.
The silence around Alicia grew even more profound than before, if that was possible. It seemed everyone held their breath at once.
The maid put her hands to her hips. “Have ye wax in yer ears, or are ye merely stupid? I said come now!”
Master Konrad cleared his throat. “Hush up your mouth, Meg. You are speaking to Sir Thomas’s intended bride. He will not take it kindly to hear of your ill manners.”
“Ha!” Meg tossed her head again. “Mistress Broom will have to walk many more miles afore she comes to her wedding day, methinks. Ye will see anon.” She glared at Alicia. “Well? Hurry up, wench, and take off yer apron afore ye step upstairs. No need to bring the kitchen slops with ye.”
“Mind how you—” Konrad began, but Alicia held up her hand. The cook fell silent.
“Tell your…lady that I am pleased to speak with her.” Alicia forced herself to act more in charge than she felt.
She would not give in to any display of anger, no matter how much Meg provoked her. One day, Alicia might be the lady of Wolf Hall, and she wanted the servants to respect her when she was. She untied her apron, then hung it on a peg by the door.
Konrad picked up a basting spoon. “I will keep a sharp eye on your victuals, Mistress Alicia.” Grinning at her, he rolled up his loose sleeves. “And do not fret yourself over these golden birds. I will finish the stuffing myself.”
She flashed him a wide smile. “My thanks, good cook. Please do not forget to add two measures of oats. ’Twill add to the flavor and—”
Meg tugged at Alicia’s skirt.
“My lady hates to be kept a-waiting, mistress, and she has a short temper.” The maid literally pulled her up the winding stairway.
In silence they hurried across the great hall. Alicia glanced about her as she went. The shabbiness and neglect of that noble chamber appeared more evident in the clear light of the morning’s sun. Georgie looked up from the hearth where he had been dozing. Seeing her, he gave a deep bark of welcome. Then he rose and ambled after them.
“Ye must keep that cur away from my lady.” Meg flapped her apron at the mastiff. He ignored her as if she were merely a droning fly.
Alicia slid her fingers through his short rough coat. “I am sure Georgie has no desire to renew his acquaintance with Lady Isabel.”
“Humph!” the maid replied. They dashed up the main staircase to the gallery.
Meg stopped at Isabel’s door and knocked. Out of the corner of her eye, Alicia noticed a shadow flit along the far wall. When she looked more closely she saw a light gray skirt disappear around the corner. She smiled to herself. ‘Twas Mary. Good. Alicia might need a witness to the coming interview.
“Enter,” Isabel replied in an imperious tone.
The maid opened the door. “Ye can go in now.”
Alicia lifted one corner of her mouth in a half smile. “My thanks, Meg, for your kind attentions. I shall remember you anon—in my prayers.”
The maid swallowed with a loud gulp that gave Alicia a small measure of satisfaction. “Stay here, Georgie,” she commanded the huge dog. “Take your ease until I return.”
Brushing a stray tendril of hair out of her eyes, Alicia sailed past Meg, and entered Lady Isabel’s lair. The maid quickly shut the door behind her. Isabel sat on her armchair; red cushions peeked from under her voluminous black skirts. For a fleeting moment, Alicia experienced the uncomfortable feeling that she had just become entangled in the web of a poisonous spider.
Lady Cavendish lifted one raven brow. “You have kept me waiting long enough.”
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