The Rebel’s Daughter

by Anita Seymour

  Blanden bent to retrieve his cane. On the upwards movement his gaze flicked to Evelyn, and froze in recognition.

  “Not leaving so soon, My Lord?” Alyce asked, striking Blandness cheek with her fan so hard, it left a red mark, but he seemed too astonished to react. “Did you imagine Helena to be alone and friendless in London, sir?”

  “I-I have an interview with the Lord Chancellor.” Flustered, Blanden attempted to circumvent Robert, who sidestepped him, bringing him up short.

  Blanden turned to his other side, only to be halted again by Evelyn. “I believe, My Lord, you have been busy lodging petitions?”

  It’s perfectly valid,” Blanden almost whined. “The property is rightfully mine, and…”

  “Stop blustering, man.” Robert took a step toward him. “You’re a liar and a villain, and you will get no more of Sir Jonathan’s possessions.”

  Robert and Evelyn had deliberately positioned themselves far apart, which meant he had to constantly shift position as they took turns to talk in order to face his questioner.

  Evelyn stepped away and behind Robert’s back he directed a slow, knowing wink at her, which sent a ripple of warmth through Helena’s veins, like brandy on a cold day. Her ragged nerves settled, and she breathed normally again.

  Helena realised she had been foolish to be so frightened of Lord Blanden. He was no threat to her. He was simply a greedy malcontent who took pleasure in browbeating women. He could not even be true to his own faith. Robert had discovered that to ingratiate himself with the King, he had publicly converted to Catholicism. She wondered what his associates in Exeter would think of that.

  “I’ve perused the document, My Lord.” Evelyn’s tone made the last two words an insult. “In my position as Privy Seal, I decree it holds no merit. Therefore I have refused it.”

  “But - His Majesty…” Lord Blanden spluttered.

  “The King will not even see it, sir.” Evelyn’s voice was like a whip, slicing through the man’s protests. “It is over, My Lord.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Blanden gave a guttural snarl, his black cane tapping rhythmically into the palm of his hand as he glared at each of them in turn.

  Lubbock was either listening at the door, or his reputed psychic powers were not fantasy after all, as he chose that moment to fling open the door. He immediately stepped to one side and bowed an invitation for Blanden to leave.

  Left with no choice, Blanden strode to the door, turning back on the threshold. “I’ll be lodging the petition again in Exeter,” he growled as he swung on his heel, waving the cane at them. “I’m an important man. The Magistrates dare not ignore me.”

  “You would be advised to look to what you have already acquired by treachery, Lord Blanden.” Robert called after him. “Your ill-gained wealth can be lost just as easily.”

  The door swung shut with a resounding bang, and a smirking Lubbock retreated in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Are you quite well, my dear?” Robert asked.

  “I thought you were never going to get here,” she said, weak with relief. Then louder. “Thank you, Master Evelyn.”

  Evelyn flicked a thick lock of his peruke over one shoulder, his thin lips curling in a mischievous smile. “You’re quite welcome, Mistress Woulfe. I have to say I quite enjoyed that.”

  “We couldn’t locate that damned petition at first.” Robert’s eyes beseeched her to excuse the expletive.

  “I had my entire office turned upside down, but we found it in the end,” Evelyn said. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he continued when Helena took in a quick breath. “I ensured the thing was destroyed, and no record of it remains.”

  “I had no idea you were aware of Blandness threat.” Helena blinked back tears. “I had decided to solve the problem alone, or rather with Master Evelyn’s help.”

  “Couldn’t leave things as they were,” Robert slapped his gloves against the palm of his hand. “Not when you were so distressed the other day. Evelyn told me you had gone to see him. I insisted he tell me what it was about. Damned blackguard.” At Evelyn’s start he rushed on. “No, not you, sir. That Blanden fellow. Though I was a trifle disappointed he did not put up more of a fight.”

  “Even so, I’m grateful to all of you. Especially you, Master Evelyn.”

  “You are most welcome, my dear.” Evelyn made a courtier’s leg in acknowledgement.

  Helena smiled, but she was still uneasy. Lord Blanden hadn’t been all bluster when he informed on her father; nor was he a coward when he demanded Judge Jeffreys hand him Loxsbeare. She shivered, telling herself it was simply a reaction to seeing him again. “What if he does present his petition to Exeter?” She broke off, unable to voice her worst fears.

  “Oh, I doubt he will receive a sympathetic hearing,” Evelyn said airily, offering Alyce his arm. “Not when it has already been rejected here. I shall send word to the City Magistrates to inform them of the fact.”

  “That is settled then.” Alyce tucked Helena’s arm beneath her elbow. “Let us go in to a well-earned dinner and forget all about Lord Blanden. I simply do not wish to hear the man’s name mentioned again.”

  “Neither do I,” Helena whispered.

  Robert halted her with a hand on her elbow. “Helena, when I came into the room, did I misinterpret what I saw?”

  For a long moment as she stared into his sympathetic eyes, tempted to tell him about Blandness proposition.

  She summoned a bright smile. “He won’t bother either of us again.” She tucked her arm through his, hoping she was right. “Let’s go into dinner. I’m quite ravenous.”

  * * *

  Helena leaned her hands on the wooden sill, breathing the sharp night air through the open window. In only her linen shift and underskirt, she waited for Chloe to arrive and help her dress. The cold had dampened the worst of the coal smoke, and she didn’t mind the winter wind that tugged her unbound hair away from her face.

  From downstairs came the bustle and clattering of the cooks and serving men as they prepared her wedding dinner. Since morning, daylight had strained through a layer of yellowish cloud drifting northward from the industrial city fires south of the river, the cobbles slick with ice that clung treacherously, thawing during the day to freeze again as the temperature dropped near dusk.

  The inn lamps had been lit, throwing a welcoming glow onto the darkening street.

  Pitch torches flanked the door in preparation for the guests, who would have to pick their way through a layer of grimy water between their carriages and the main door. The larger dining hall was shut off from the curious public for the nuptials, and by evening, the intense cold had dampened down the worst smells of the city.

  Helena’s looked at a small canvas propped up on her bureau, depicting a scene of Exeter’s North Gate with the road leading up to the Weare Cliffs; a view Helena knew intimately. The letter that came with it sat at her right hand, and she read the most interesting part again.

  Dear Helena

  I hope you will accept this gift to remember me and your home city.

  I relate here a strange tale of your former home, which may interest you. Lord Blanden has complained for months about disturbances in the property at night, which have increased in frequency since he returned in such sour spirits from London.

  His lady’s screams brought him running in the middle of the night, armed with a loaded musket. He fired at what he describes to anyone who will listen as a white apparition.

  When the house was roused and the candles lit, there was nothing there, not even bloodstains.

  More rational citizens suggest that Blandness frantic shot went wild and the intruder fled, but his lordship swears he aimed true. Blanden claims it was a demon; one that couldn’t die and would be returning to kill them all.

  Now everyone talks of Blandness ghost with a wry smile and sage nod.

  He isn’t seen much in the city now and even his servants have deserted him, which is no more than he deserves for the way he treated the Wo
ulfes. His Catholicism is a particular cause for censure, as is the sad-looking old priest living at Loxsbeare.

  Go into your marriage with an easy mind, dear sister, and be happy.

  Your loving brother, Tobias.

  Be happy. Could she dare expect such a blessing? Wasn’t it enough to have the chance of a secure home with a man who gave every indication he cared for her and would be kind? Did being happy simply mean not being miserable? Or was there more to it? She shivered, wrapping her arms around her upper body, but it was not the night air that turned her blood cold. I wish Mother was here.

  A sigh of disapproval and the distinctive scent of bruised roses reached her, announcing the arrival of Alyce. “What have I told you about unhealthy practices, my dear? The night air is most injurious to your lungs.” She sailed across the room and slammed the window shut, muttering darkly.

  A smile tugged at Helena’s mouth; she had never been able to explain to a city dweller like Alyce that sometimes, she longed for the clean air of Devon and would dream about filling her lungs with the scent of cut grass and damp leaves.

  Alyce turned from the window, her wired fontange tilted forward from her crown with ribbon bows and lace, a new fashion she carried off beautifully.

  “There is something I need to discuss with you, Helena,” she said, arranging herself on the chaise at the end of the Helena’s bed. “I regard you as my own daughter, and as such feel I owe you a certain courtesy.”

  “How kind,” Helena murmured, surprised. Alyce had never sought her out this way before. Her gaze drifted to a brown, leather-covered book in Alice’s hands. Oh no, not Mistress Hannah Woolley? Amy Ffoyle dragged her copy out at every opportunity, regaling Helena with the woman’s wisdom for young housewives.

  “I know what you are thinking.” Alyce smirked. “And no, this is not the scribbling of that jumped-up lady’s maid with literary ambitions. My dear, this is a far more interesting work. It is called Aristotle’s Masterpiece.”

  “I don’t think I am familiar with it.” Helena frowned.

  Alice’s eyebrows rose. “I would be most surprised if you were. This book…” She patted the leather with affection, “…contains all a woman should know when they become wives. Or mistresses,” she added mischievously.

  Helena’s cheeks flamed. “I-I appreciate your sentiments, Mistress Devereux, but-.”

  Alyce interrupted her. “I don’t deal in sentiments, as well you know. This” she slapped the cover affectionately, “is a font of knowledge for an inexperienced woman.” She paused to fix Helena with a hard stare. “I presume you have no knowledge of men?”

  Helena gasped, horrified. “Never!”

  “Not even with that young man, Blanden, was it?”

  “We were no more than children.”

  “That is no safeguard in my experience.” Alyce sniffed, flipping the pages. “This part here will be of especial interest to you as a maiden.”

  Helena caught a glimpse of something she never imagined to see on a printed page, and certainly not on her wedding day. “There are - drawings.” She sucked in a shocked breath.

  “My dear,” Alyce gave a long-suffering sigh. “Later tonight, you will be expected to know something of what is laid out here. You should at least be forewarned.”

  Helena opened her mouth to protest, but Alyce held up a hand. “There’s nothing more disconcerting to a red-blooded man than a shrinking virgin. His pleasure will be quite spoiled if he has to make explanations and calm ragged feelings.”

  Helena swallowed. “Er-I feel sure Guy will make my duties in that direction clear when we…”

  “Huh! Then you will be more fortunate than many women. Oh, don’t glare at me with such an injured expression, Helena. It will not harm you one whit to read what Aristotle has to say.”

  Helena’s curiosity battled with her embarrassment, but before she could decide how to react, Alyce slammed the book shut, and rose. “Well, no one can say I did not try, but if you choose to walk into marriage with the ignorance of a lamb, I refuse to take the blame for any anguish that might be caused.”

  “Don’t go, Alyce. Maybe I was a little hasty. May I at least see?” What was it she was asking to see?

  Alyce inclined her head, sniffed and resumed her seat. “I can spot Guy’s ilk at a glance,” she gave a musical laugh, “he’ll need encouragement.”

  “What sort of encouragement? “Helena asked nervously.

  “He needs to know you aren’t hostile to the physical side of your duties.”

  “I-I have made it clear I shall be his true companion,” Helena stammered, hurt.

  Alyce regarded her with sympathy. “He doesn’t want a companion, my dear, he wants a lover.”

  “But I am to be his wife, not some tavern girl!”

  “Ah, that is where so many young women misjudge the nature of marriage. You should be civil and respectful towards him in the public eye and a saucy, forward wench in the bedchamber.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I know what I know. Now…” she softened her tone, “as a gentleman, Guy would not expect you to have the proclivities of a courtesan.”

  “Would I knew what those were, I might anticipate married life with a little less apprehension.” Helena surprised herself at her sharpness. She had never admitted, even privately, that the prospect of married life sometimes filled her with stomach-wrenching dread.

  “Then, my dear, I and my friend Aristotle will show you.”

  Together, they leafed through the pages: Alyce enthusiastically, Helena with shaking fingers. “See here, for instance.” Alyce ran a finger along a line of text. ““A wife must never be sorrowful or despairing when she lays with her husband as should she conceive, the child would have a malevolent temper.”“

  Helena frowned. “Could that be true?”

  “It would certainly explain the disagreeable character of some of my acquaintances.” Alice’s laugh came again. “The knowledge that their parents conceived them in sorrow makes me less inclined to dislike them so much.” Her exuberant mood was so infectious, that Helena found herself laughing with her.

  “And what of this, Mistress Devereux?” Helena asked, “that man derives much more satisfaction in the embraces of a loving wife, than in the wanton dalliances of a deceitful harlot.”“

  “As to that,” Alyce gave a knowing smile. “I would not place all my faith in Aristotle’s wisdom.”

  Helena suppressed the smile that tugged at her mouth and turned the page slowly. “It appears most of this advice is aimed at those seeking to begin and keep a pregnancy, as if that were the only purpose of marriage.”

  “It is the reason for life after all,” Alice’s face lapsed into seriousness. “Apart from one’s duty to God, of course.”

  “Oh, yes of course I didn’t…” Alice’s gaze met Helena’s, her lips twitched and as one, they both burst into spontaneous, raucous laughter.

  The heady excitement of being part of the world of married women and their secrets banished all traces of Helena’s embarrassment. Being Guy’s wife was in reality far more than playing housekeeper in his house and the preparation of his meals; stuff of girlish fantasies compared with what Alyce was showing her.

  “And this is all quite necessary?” Helena asked, their reading finished.

  “More to be aspired to, rather than necessary. Such devices will contribute much to his pleasure, and to yours.”

  “Mine?” Helena lifted her eyebrows in surprise.

  “Of course.” Alice’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “If you imagined physical pleasure is solely a man’s domain, then you’ve been sorely deceived.”

  “Not so much deceived as kept ignorant,” Helena said, halted by the appearance of Chloe, her pale eyes fixed nervously on the chatelaine of Lambtons.

  “Ah, here is your maid, come to dress you for the ceremony.” Rising she hefted the volume into her arms, her eyes dancing with mischief as she delivered her parting shot. “I shall see you later, my d
ear, but remember, Aristotle and I will be waiting should you ever need us again.”

  * * *

  Helena woke the morning after her wedding in her husband’s arms, lying within the warm darkness of the closed bed hangings, not daring to move in case she woke him. Through a chink in the fabric, she saw it was not quite light outside. She teased the hanging closed again with a bare foot shutting out the frigid cold of the room.

  Guy moved in his sleep, his rough chin rubbing against her forehead. She smiled, recalling the power that had been hers mere hours before.

  Fortified by some of Robert’s excellent wine, and using phrases she had never used before, she had submitted to his embrace with uninhibited delight and curiosity.

  Disjointed images replayed in her head of pale skin glowing red from the firelight, their combined taut, urgent hands pulling and kneading; his broad, naked shoulders and the swish of sheets combined with the low creak of the bedframe beneath her.

  She had observed his responses in an almost detached way, marvelling as his eyes grew smoky and his breathing quickened to an urgent moan in response to her fingers exploring his bare skin.

  She gazed at the prone figure beside her, his arm heavy across her hip, and tried to identify what is was she felt for this man, who was to be her companion tell death did them part.

  No desperate longing tugged at her heart, nor did the prospect of his absence fill her with dread, but there was safety and warmth in his presence. Revelling in their new-found intimacy, she ran her hand across his naked shoulders, stroking the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

  Recollections of their first night together sent ripples of warmth into parts of her body she had barely been aware of before. She hoped it would all be repeated, and often. She stretched luxuriously under the coverlet, whispering to herself, thanks to Alyce and the wisdom of Aristotle, I am truly his wife now.

  “Is something amiss?” Guy groaned sleepily into her shoulder.

  Helena smiled. “Nothing at all, husband. Everything is as it should be.”