Fool's Paradise

by Tori Phillips

  “Come in, Richard,” responded Mother Catherine pleasantly when Tarleton rapped softly on her door. “I was wondering if you had forgotten my message.”

  “Never, good Mother.” Tarleton respectfully kissed her hand. “I was in the chapel, saying my prayers. Surprised?”

  A small lift of her eyebrows was the only outward sign of Mother Catherine’s amazement. “Nothing you do surprises me, Richard. It is merely a matter of the degree, which is interesting.”

  Shifting his feet, Tarleton waited for her to offer him a seat. There were only two women in the world he respected—the Queen and Mother Catherine. No—three. Now there was Elizabeth.

  Mother Catherine pointed to her desk. “There is some malmsey wine on the table. Be so good as to pour two glasses, Richard. And, Richard, mind the glasses. They are from Venice and extremely costly.”

  “Malmsey?” Tarleton lifted his brows in surprise.

  “They tell me that a glassful after supper does wonders for one’s digestion and aids one’s sleep.” Mother Catherine folded her hands comfortably over her stomach.

  “They do, do they?” Tarleton grinned. “Whoever ‘they’ are must be very generous. Malmsey and Venetian glass?” He handed her one of the slim, gold-flecked goblets.

  “Part of the dowry from one of our new novices. Now, sit down, you rogue. I have in mind some serious talk with you.” She pointed to the low footstool. Nodding, Tarleton seated himself.

  “Good!” Mother Catherine sipped a little of her wine, then looked directly into Tarleton’s eyes. “Now, Richard, tell me why, in God’s holy name, did you cut off that beautiful girl’s lovely hair, and what is she doing dressed as a boy and running around the countryside with you?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tarleton’s stomach lurched, though his smile never faltered.

  “A girl?” he asked smoothly. “You mean Robin?”

  “Do not play the fool with me, Master Jester. I am far better at it than you are. Who is she?”

  Twirling the delicate glass in his hand, Tarleton watched the ruby liquid shimmer within the golden-flaked crystal. “She’s a lass who—” he began, but Mother Catherine’s chuckle stopped him.

  “Oh, no, my son. She is no lass. She is gentle-born. Those hands of hers have seen nothing harder than plying a needle, though I noticed some recent blisters and cuts. What has she been doing?”

  “Riding a goat.” Tarleton smiled at the recollection.

  “Oh, Richard!” The ancient abbess took a large sip of wine before she continued. “She is obviously wellborn and well educated, too.” Pausing, she waited for some response from her favorite “black sheep.”

  The sheep, however, said nothing.

  Mother Catherine continued placidly. “Shall I tell you who she is, Master Trickster? Has she donned that shameful garb to hide her true identity? Perhaps she is fleeing from an unwanted marriage?”

  Tarleton poked at the fire.

  Mother Catherine nodded to herself. “Is your Robin the spirited Lady Elizabeth who is fleeing from Sir Robert La Faye?”

  A slow grin spread across Tarleton’s face as he continued to regard the leaping flames. “So you’ve heard that story, good Mother?” he asked softly.

  “Our walls are not as thick as some people’s heads, Richard. The whole county has heard the tale. But I must confess you don’t quite fit the description of a Scottish lord with a coach and four. I want the truth, Richard. All of it!” Sitting back, Mother Catherine sipped her wine and waited.

  Tarleton sighed. He should have known better than to try to bluff his way with the Reverend Mother Catherine. She had him pegged from the first day he arrived at her door— a half-dead, sixteen-year-old scarecrow with his back laid open by a whip. In the twelve years since then, she had doctored his brawling wounds, scolded his morals, given him sound advice that he usually ignored, and prayed unceasingly for his soul. He, in turn, adored her as the mother he had never known.

  “If I did not know you to be a saintly woman, Mother, I would think you a witch!” His white teeth flashed in the firelight.

  “Saints have been soothsayers in their time,” she observed.

  Tarleton drank deeply; the wine coursed warmly through his veins.

  “You are right, as usual. My humble apprentice is the Lady Elizabeth Hayward of Esmond Manor and goddaughter to the Queen. Yes, she is the runaway wife, though, in truth, she was never married to Sir Robert, who, incidentally, is a foul… hedgepig.” Checking his language, Tarleton continued. “The lady was on her way to court when her horse bolted. She found me—” remembering, he chuckled “—and she asked for my protection and assistance. In faith, we are on our way to the Queen.”

  “And her father is, in fact, dead?”

  A muscle in Tarleton’s jaw tightened. “Aye, and by foul play, I suspect. I’ll take the matter to Sir Francis Walsingham by and by.”

  “Yes, I thought her sorrow was genuine,” mused Mother Catherine. “How long have you dragged this poor lady around the countryside on your way to Hampton Court?”

  “Six—seven days.” Tarleton suddenly felt uncomfortable as her eyes sliced into his soul.

  “All that time, and you are only halfway there?” she murmured.

  “There have been…complications along the way.” Taking a deep breath, Tarleton recounted their adventures, including their accidental meeting with Sir Robert. He voiced his fear that Sir Robert’s hirelings would discover them.

  Mother Catherine sipped her wine reflectively. “There is one more reason, sweet Richard. You do not wish your journey to end.”

  “Not wish it to end?” Tarleton looked at her with amazement. “God’s teeth! Every day we spend out on the road we are in danger. Elizabeth has nightmares. She is tired, dirty, hungry—”

  “And she is desperately in love with you, my son.” Mother Catherine finished quietly.

  Tarleton gaped at her. How could Mother Catherine know that? Tarleton only half believed it himself.

  The wise woman chuckled. “Don’t look like a landed trout, Richard. It is as plain as the nose on your face.”

  “How… how do you know she loves me?” he flustered. “I am merely her servant. She is a noble lady.”

  “And she loves you, poor little thing. One only has to see her smile at you. What is worse, my fine jackanapes, you are equally besotted with her!”

  Laughing nervously, Tarleton drained the remains of the malmsey. “You know me, Mother. I have a love in every village and town. In haylofts, under hedgerows, by kitchen fires—”

  “Enough, Richard! I am well aware of your history. This time, it is different. I can see it, and if you refuse to admit it, at least to yourself, then you are the biggest fool the good Lord ever created!”

  “I do love her,” he whispered. “God help me, Mother, but I do.”

  “How much?” Mother Catherine leaned forward to read his face.

  “I love her more than my own life.”

  There was a heavy silence in the room. Only the fire, sinking into embers, gave an occasional hiss and pop.

  “Does she know this?” the mother abbess probed.

  Tarleton nodded slowly. “I think so. I have tried to show her.”

  “Have you taken your obvious advantage?” she asked directly.

  Tarleton gazed unflinchingly into her bright eyes. “Elizabeth came to me and lay willingly with me. I won’t deny it. I would, by all that is holy, make her my wife!”

  “Ha! The Queen will have you hung, drawn and quartered. You know how she feels about marriage and virginity. She is obsessed with the second and despises the first. And I speak no treason within these walls, Master Spy, so don’t start taking notes. You have gotten yourself into a pretty pickle this time. Pour us more wine, Richard. I fear I will not sleep well this night.”

  Tarleton generously refilled their glasses from the bottle on the table. He could almost hear the humming inside Mother Catherine’s head as she examined his problem from every
angle. It was actually a relief that she had forced his story out of him.

  “Well, good Mother?” Handing her the goblet, he sat again at her feet. “Can you give me absolution?”

  “I will give you several pieces of good advice. Like bird shot, I will fire them forth all in one volley. You decide which will strike home.” She sipped her wine thoughtfully before continuing.

  “The most practical thing would be to leave the lady in my care. I could have her safely to Hampton Court within two days’ time, while you can continue on your merry way. I understand York has very nice weather this time of year,” she suggested.

  “York is damned cold this time of year.” Tarleton dismissed her first idea with a shrug of his shoulders. “Next?”

  “You say she rides? I could loan you both good horses. You would be at Hampton by this tune tomorrow night.”

  “Horses have a particular dislike for my hide. The feeling is mutual.” Tarleton grinned ruefully. “I do better on goats.”

  Mother Catherine sighed. “Very well. Continue in your disguise as master and apprentice, but not by the back lanes. You must travel with all speed on the main road. I can provide you with funds. You could be at Hampton Court in less than three days—two, if the weather holds.”

  Tarleton shook his head. “Elizabeth has the courage that would shame half the Queen’s guard, but she tires faster than I do, though she hates to admit it. We shall reach Hampton Court in four, possibly five more days.”

  “Five days? What can you hope will happen in five days?”

  Tarleton spoke with quiet determination. “A miracle might happen in five days. You always told me I should put my fate in God’s hands.”

  The old lady sighed. “Why do you always take the right advice, and use it at the wrong time?”

  “Because I’m a fool?” Tarleton teased.

  Smiling sadly at him, she ran her fingers through his dark hair.

  “I shall ask that your body be buried here,” she told him half-seriously.

  He grinned. “Please don’t forget my head. It will be hanging around on London Bridge.”

  “Finish your wine, Richard,” Mother Catherine snapped. “Then go to bed. I’ve put you out in the gatehouse, as usual.”

  “I know—to keep the rooster away from the hens.” He wiggled his brows at her. “And where have you hidden my sweet chick?”

  “I think the rooster has had quite enough excitement for one day,” Mother Catherine remarked archly.

  “Point taken, good Mother!” Tarleton tossed back the rest of his malmsey, then replaced the glass carefully on the table. “My thanks for your wine—and for your good advice. I shall sleep like a babe. Good night, Mother.” Bowing, he winked at her.

  “God give you good rest, my son,” she answered as he closed the door behind him.

  Staring into the dying embers for a long time, Mother Catherine slowly sipped her malmsey and thought on Tarleton’s latest scrape. Finally she rose, rubbed her hands together to warm her stiff joints, then moved to her desk. Drawing the candle close to her eyes, she took out her writing materials. Dipping her quill into the thick ink, she began a letter to another one of her “black sheep.”

  “To Sir Walter Raleigh at the Queen’s court, Hampton. My dear boy, I am in most urgent need of your aid and influence…” she began.

  The clock in the courtyard struck half past midnight when she snuffed out her candle.

  The next morning dawned chill and wet, with rain falling intermittently. After a good breakfast of porridge, bread slathered with marmalade, and hot ale, Tarleton and Elizabeth made ready their goodbyes to the ladies of St. Aloysius.

  Mother Catherine drew Tarleton aside and pretended to adjust the lacing of his jerkin. “I have heard some news this morning, just after matins, which I need to tell you, my son.”

  Looking down into Mother’s Catherine’s eyes, Tarleton saw an unaccustomed fear in them. “What news, Mother?” He licked his dry lips.

  “The miller, when he delivered our flour this morning, told Sister Agnes that Sir Robert La Faye is offering a reward for the return of Lady Elizabeth.”

  “A reward?” Tarleton felt as if someone had punched him hard m the stomach.

  “Aye, one that would tempt St. Michael himself,” the mother abbess emphasized. “Twenty golden angels.”

  Tarleton whistled softly through his teeth. “I see.” For such a sum, most of the countryside would sell their souls to the devil.

  “Your apprentice will be most diligently sought…” Mother Catherine let the rest of her thought hang in the air. For such a sum, Tarleton knew his life was not worth a farthing if he came between Elizabeth and a fortune seeker.

  The jester glanced over to Elizabeth, who spoke in deep conversation with the animated Sister Agnes. Elizabeth’s face shone from good food, and a secure night’s sleep. He had half a mind to take Mother Catherine’s advice, and leave her in the care of the good sisters. Mother Catherine’s warnings had given him a restless night, despite the malmsey. This new piece of information made his blood run cold. Just then, Elizabeth smiled at him, which pierced his heart with a ray of sunshine. In that moment, he knew Elizabeth would fight to stay with him, no matter what the future held. For his part, he was equally adamant that he would keep her by his side for as long as possible. Hampton Court would loom on the horizon soon enough.

  “Sir Robert has raised the stakes, good Mother,” Tarleton said with a rueful grin. “It makes the game more interesting.”

  “And dangerous,” she added.

  “Life is dangerous, Mother. And I’ve never been able to resist a good wager.”

  “May God be with you and your lady.” Mother Catherine blessed him.

  “Amen to that, good Mother!” Tarleton kissed her hand. “Perhaps he’ll have an ace or two up his sleeve for me!”

  “I missed you last night.” Elizabeth’s silver voice broke into Tarleton’s thoughts as they slogged down the muddy road toward Oxford. “Sister Agnes took all my clothes to wash them, and I had to keep to my bed for decency’s sake. I waited for you,” she added reproachfully, “but I must have fallen asleep.”

  Tarleton smiled. Twenty angels? Elizabeth was worth a hundredfold. “‘Tis not from lack of wanting, sweetling. Indeed, I spent a restless night wishing to hold thee in my arms.”

  “Why did you not come to me, then?”

  “Because Mother Catherine put me far away in the gatehouse.”

  Elizabeth furrowed her brows. “Did she think I was there?”

  Laughing, Tarleton touched her cheek lightly. “Nay, my love. She knew exactly where you were—and exactly who you are.”

  Elizabeth drew in her breath sharply. “She knew I was not a boy?”

  “Aye, and she knows you are Lady Elizabeth Hayward.”

  “How?”

  “Because she is the wisest woman in England—and because she heard the tale of the runaway wife.”

  “Oh!” A brilliant blush stole into her cheeks. “Did she guess that we… that is, that you and I are… I mean… ?”

  Tarleton laughed softly at her confusion. “That we are lovers? Aye, my lady, she did. She put a large flea in my ear for that! That is why you were hidden deep in the cloister, and I was banished to the gatehouse.”

  Elizabeth arched her brow. “I am surprised that the mother abbess let you take me away from her protection.”

  “Oh, she suggested strongly that she keep you,” Tarleton replied with a twinkle in his eye. “But I said you weren’t cut out to be a nun.”

  “What ho! If you have a Christian charity about you, help me!”

  The unusual greeting halted Tarleton and Elizabeth less than a mile from the outskirts of the great university town. The distressed voice of a young man was clear enough, but the speaker was nowhere to be seen.

  “Who goes there?” Tossing the pack to Elizabeth, Tarleton quietly drew his dagger. Though they were within sight of civilization, the jester took no chances. Mother Catheri
ne’s warning made Tarleton doubly cautious.

  “In the tree! I’ve been hung up here the whole sottish night, and I am half-dead with cold.”

  Looking up, Tarleton made out a dark shape caught against the black bark of an ancient oak beside the road. As the jester approached the base of the tree, a large, gray animal rose up, growling menacingly. “God’s nightshirt, ‘tis a wolf!” Gripping his dagger tighter, Tarleton crouched, ready if the beast sprang.

  “Down, Toby!” the voice in the tree commanded.

  “Oh, the poor thing!” Brushing past Tarleton, Elizabeth crouched down by the animal. “He’s been tied up on a short lead!”

  “Eliz…Robin!” Tarleton moved toward her, but the huge beast growled at his approach.

  “‘Tis only a dog, master.” Elizabeth fumbled with the stout rope that the hairy brute pulled taut. “He’s a beautiful, beautiful wolfhound!” Making soft, cooing noises, she untied the animal from the tree. She led him to a puddle of muddy water, which the dog lapped up greedily.

  “He’s all bluff,” said the voice above them. “That is why I’m up here. For sweet Jesu’s sake, get me down!”

  Sheathing his knife, Tarleton stepped up to the oak for a closer inspection. A young man, extremely red in the face, hung by the nape of his student gown on a thick branch. His feet dangled a good six feet above the ground.

  Casting a wary glance at the dog, Tarleton swung himself up into the tree. “Get ready for a drop,” he warned the student, then he cut him free. Jumping lightly down, Tarleton helped the unfortunate boy to stand.

  “I am in your honor’s service forever!” the student gasped, rubbing the back of his neck. “Jonathan Biggs, of Christ Church.” Jonathan tried to bow but found himself too stiff. Tarleton caught him before he tumbled over.

  “Tarleton, roving player and jester. Yon wolf-tamer is my prentice, Robin.” Tarleton regarded Elizabeth and the dog with open amazement. The animal far outweighed her, and should the beast take it into its head to stand on its hind legs, it would tower over her. Yet, both the girl and Toby seemed perfectly at ease with each other.