Beauvallet

by Georgette Heyer

  Sir Nicholas lifted his pomander to his nose. ‘Give me joy, brother, I am about to get me a wife.’

  My lord was momentarily surprised, but he hid it quickly. ‘In good time. My lady hath her eye upon a likely maid for you. We had thought on the Lady Alison, daughter of Lord Gervais of Alfreston, but there are others beside. Ye might go into Worcestershire for a bride. My sister writes sundry names might please you.’

  Beauvallet held up his hand. His eyes were fairly brimful now with that secret jest. ‘Hold, hold, Gerard! I am going to look in Spain for my bride.’

  My lord set down his glass with a snap that came near to breaking it. He stared under his projecting brows. ‘What's this? What new folly?’

  ‘None, I swear. My choice is made. Give me joy, brother! I shall bring home a bride before a year is out.’

  My lord sat back in his chair. ‘Expound me this riddle,’ he said quietly. ‘Ye jest, I think.’

  ‘Never less. I give you a new toast.’ He came to his feet and lifted his glass on high. ‘Dona Dominica de Rada y Sylva!’

  My lord did not drink it. ‘A Spanish Papist?’ he asked. ‘Do you ask me to believe that?’

  ‘No Papist, but a dear heretic.’ Sir Nicholas leaned on the goffered-leather back of his chair. With a sinking heart my lord noted the scarce curbed energy of him, the exultant look in his face. He feared the worst. The worst came. ‘I took her and her father aboard the Venture after the sack of the Santa Maria. More of that anon. Since she would have it so, and since to that I pledged my word, I set them ashore on the northern coast of Spain. But I swore I would ride into Spain to seek her, and so I shall do, brother, never doubt me.’

  My lord sat still in his chair, looking up at Nicholas. His face was set. ‘Nick, if this be indeed no jest –’

  ‘God's my pity, wherefor should I jest?’ Beauvallet cried impatiently. ‘I am in earnest, in deadly earnest!’

  ‘Then ye are mad indeed!’ my lord said, and struck the table with his open palm. ‘Mad, and should be clapped up! Fool, do ye think to ride scatheless into Spain in these days?’

  The smile flashed out; Sir Nicholas nodded. ‘Ay, I think to come out of Spain with a whole skin.’

  My lord got up out of his chair. ‘Nick, Nick, what devil rides you? We have no ambassador in Spain today. How should you fare?’

  ‘Alone. The stars always fight for me, Gerard. Will you take a wager that I do not come home with a bride on my arm?’

  ‘Nay, have done with laughing! To what a pass has this senseless love of danger led you? Lad, heed what I say! If ye go into Spain ye will never come out again. The Inquisition will have you in its damnable toils, and there is no power under the sun can save you then!’

  Sir Nicholas snapped finger and thumb in the air. ‘A fig for the Inquisition! Gerard, my careful Gerard, I give you Reck Not!’

  Seven

  To my lady Beauvallet, discovered in the Long Gallery, Gerard exposed the folly of his brother. He sat him down heavily in a chair covered with gilded leather, and spoke bitterly and long. My lady listened in amazement and distress, but Nicholas wandered down the gallery inspecting such new pieces as my lord had lately acquired, and gave no ear to the discourse.

  ‘If you have more influence than I have, Kate, I pray you use it now,’ Gerard said. ‘I grant you he lives but to plague me, but I should desire him to continue to live.’

  Nicholas raised his head from a close scrutiny of a piece from one of the cabinets. ‘Whence had you this Majolica ware, Gerard?’ he inquired.

  ‘But Nicholas cannot mean it!’ my lady said hopefully.

  ‘Prevail upon him to admit as much, madam, and call me your debtor. Prevail on him only to pay heed to sager counsel!’

  She turned her head, and saw Nicholas at the other end of the gallery, intent upon Majolica ware. ‘Good my brother! Nicholas! Will you not tell me what you have in mind?’

  Nicholas put back the piece, and came sauntering towards her. ‘Pottery, Kate, but Gerard denies me an answer. What's your will?’

  ‘God sain you, Nick, can you not be serious even now?’ my lord said sharply.

  Nicholas stood before them, swinging gently on his toes, with his hands tucked into his belt. A smile lilted at the corners of his mouth. ‘Here's heat! I’ve said my say, Gerard, and mighty ill you liked it. What would you have now?’

  ‘Nick, put by this mad humour, and give me a sober answer! Tell me ye did but jest.’

  ‘Soberly I tell you, brother, I did not jest.’

  My lord's hand clenched on the arm of his chair, and he spoke with some force. ‘It's to throw away your life for a whim. Are you tired of it? Does the thought of death please you so well? Or are ye besotted with success and now think even to succeed in this?’

  Nicholas nodded.

  ‘Oh, but Nicholas, this is not like you!’ fluttered my lady.

  ‘It's very like him, madam!’ Gerard retorted. ‘Any wild scheme is meat for Nick! I might have known what would come of it! But to think to snatch a wench out of Spain, to bring her home, a foreigner and an enemy, to be my lady one day passes all bounds!’

  ‘Does it so indeed?’ Nicholas interposed swiftly. ‘You’re at fault, Gerard. I do but follow the example of the first baron, who also brought home a foreigner and an enemy to be his bride.’

  My lord glared; my lady stirred restlessly, and hurried into speech. ‘Of what like is she, Nicholas?’

  ‘Tush!’ said my lord awfully.

  Nicholas looked down at my lady; a gentler light was in his eyes. ‘Kate, she is a little lady all fire and spirit, with great brown eyes, and two dimples set on either side the sweetest mouth in Christendom.’

  ‘But a Spaniard!’ my lady protested.

  ‘Trust me to amend that,’ he said lightly.

  She liked the savour of romance, smiled, and sighed. My lord brought her down to earth again very speedily. ‘What boots it to ask of what like she may be? Ye will never see her. Nor will ye see Nick again if he goes on this mad quest. That is certain.’

  Nicholas laughed out. ‘Marry, only one thing is certain, Gerard, and that is that ye will never be rid of me. I always come back to be your bane.’

  ‘Lad, you know well I’ve no wish to be rid of you. Can I not prevail with you? For the sake of the house?’

  Nicholas held up his hand, and showed the lady's thumb-ring upon his little finger. ‘See my lady's token. I swore on it to reach her. Are you answered?’

  My lord made a gesture of despair. ‘I see there is once more to be no ho with you. When do you look to go?’

  ‘Some three months hence,’ Nicholas answered. ‘The Venture lies in dock, and will take some time refitting. I must to London within the week to pay my duty to the Queen. I have appointed young Dangerfield to meet me there. I might go thence into Worcestershire to see how Adela does. You will see me home again in a month, never doubt it.’

  He left Alreston two days later upon the Barbary horse from my lord's stables, with Joshua Dimmock riding sedately behind him, and travelled cross country at his leisure until the post road was reached.

  ‘Never at quiet!’ Joshua remarked to the heavens. ‘Court drowning at sea, court foundering in mire upon land: it's all one.’

  ‘Peace, froth!’ Beauvallet said, and made his horse curvet on the green.

  They came within sight of the city late one evening as the gates were closing. ‘What, the good-year!’ Joshua cried, roused to wrath. ‘Shut Beauvallet out, is it? Now see how I will use these churlish Londoners!’

  ‘No swashbuckling here, crackhemp; we rest at the Tabard.’

  The great inn showed welcoming lights, and placed her best at Beauvallet's disposal. He stayed only one night, and was gone in the morning over London Bridge to the Devil Tavern in East Chepe, where he had reason to think he might find Sir Francis Drake.

  The host, who knew him well, accorded him a deferential welcome, and bustled about to prepare a chamber for his honour. Sir Francis lay at
the inn indeed, but was gone forth that morning, mine host knew not where. But there was a dinner bespoke for eleven o’clock, and Master Hawkins would be there – nay, not Master John, but his brother – and Sir William Cavendish, so mine host believed, with some others.

  ‘Lay a place for me, Wadloe,’ Sir Nicholas said, and went out in search of Sir Francis, or any other friend who might chance to be abroad.

  Paul's Walk was the likeliest place to find Sir Francis; he would be sure to go there to learn what news might be current. Sir Nicholas strode off westwards through the crowded streets, came in good time to the great cathedral, and ran with the clank of spurred heels up the steps.

  Merchants and money changers no longer congregated in the church, as they had done only twenty years ago, but Paul's Walk was still the meeting ground for every court gallant who wished to show himself abroad. If a man desired to see a friend, or hear the latest news, to Paul's Walk he must go, where he would be bound to meet, sooner or later, most of the notables of town.

  Beauvallet came up with a score of young gallants, exchanging Court gossip. His glance swept over these; he clove a way through them, and looked keenly round. Over the heads of two foppish gentlemen who eyed him with disfavour, he saw a bluff, square-set man, with a fierce golden beard, and long grey eyes set slightly slanting in a broad face. This man stood with feet planted wide, and arms akimbo, talking to an elderly gentleman in a long cloak. He wore a peascod doublet, hugely bombasted, and a jewel in one ear.

  Sir Nicholas pushed through the crowd, and raised his hand in greeting. The square man saw; his narrow eyes opened wider; he waved, and came to meet Beauvallet through the press. ‘What, my Nick!’ he rumbled. His voice had some strength, as if he were accustomed to make himself heard above wind and cannon-shot. ‘Why, my bully!’ He grasped Beauvallet's hand, and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Whence do ye spring? God's light, I am glad to see you, lad!’

  Some heads were turned. A gentleman pushed forward, saying: ‘Beauvallet, as I live! Save you, Nicholas!’

  Beauvallet greeted this friend, and others who drew near. With Drake's hand on his shoulder he stood bandying idle talk some little while, answering eager questions. But soon Drake bore him off, and they walked back together towards the Devil Tavern.

  ‘What news?’ Drake said. ‘I had word of you in the Main, ruffling still. What chance?’

  ‘Good,’ Sir Nicholas answered, and recounted briefly some of his adventures.

  Drake nodded. ‘No mishaps?’

  ‘Some few deaths, no more. Perinat came out from Santiago to teach me a lesson.’ He chuckled, and flung out a hand on which a single ruby ring glowed. ‘Oho! I took that from Perinat for dear remembrance's sake.’

  Drake laughed, and pressed his arm. ‘Proud bantam! What else?’

  ‘A galleon bound for Vigo laden with silks and spices, and some gold. More of that anon. Tell your tale.’

  Drake had Virginian news, being but just returned from the little colony. He had brought back the colonists, and had much to tell. Talk ran freely, and footsteps lagged. It was after eleven when they reached the Devil, and in an upper room were gathered some half a dozen guests awaiting their host.

  Drake rolled in with an arm flung across Beauvallet's shoulders. ‘Cry you pardon!’ he said. ‘Look what I bring!’

  There was some little stir, a cry of ‘Mad Nicholas, by God!’ and a babel of welcome.

  There was Frobisher, ready with a quiet greeting; Master William Hawkins, solid, frieze-clad man; young Richard, his nephew, standing beside Cavendish, a courtier among the sea-dogs; Master John Davys, rugged man, and a scattering of others, most of them known to Sir Nicholas. The rafters rang soon with wild tales tossed to and fro, laughter, and the clink of tankards. Drake sat fatherly at the head of his table, and had Sir Nicholas upon his right hand, Frobisher on his left. Frobisher bent his brows at Beauvallet, and said: ‘I heard of your coming; there were some men of yours met some of mine at the Gallant Howard. Fine doings! I am advised you sail with women aboard. How now, Beauvallet?’

  Drake cocked a wise eyebrow in Beauvallet's direction; young Cavendish looked as though he would like to hear more, yet hardly liked to raise his voice in this august gathering.

  ‘True enough,’ Sir Nicholas said lightly.

  ‘Rare work for a sailor,’ Frobisher said ironically. ‘A new cantrip, I doubt?’

  ‘You’re jealous, Martin,’ Drake cut in with a deep laugh. ‘What's the reason, Nick?’

  ‘Simple enough,’ Beauvallet said, and told it, very briefly.

  Drake dipped a sop in his wine, and looked sideways a moment. Frobisher said grimly: ‘Beauvallet looks for romance upon the high seas, and makes his fine gesture. I would not sail with you, Beauvallet, for a thousand pound.’

  ‘No stomach for it, Frobisher?’ Sir Nicholas said sweetly.

  ‘None, beshrew me. What fresh devilment this voyage?’

  ‘Some fine prizes,’ Drake said. ‘And a ring from Perinat – for remembrance's sake, Nick, eh?’

  ‘I am a plain man,’ Frobisher remarked. ‘Too plain for such doings. Drake and you, Drake and you!’ He shook his head over them.

  Master Davys let a sudden laugh at this, and began at once to speak of a mooted expedition in search of the North-West passage he so fervently believed in. ‘Ay, you’re a mad runagate, Nick, but there's a place for you with me if you care to venture forth.’

  At that there broke out a general discussion, some ribaldry, and a gentle twitting of Master Davys’ earnestness.

  Cavendish, listening bright-eyed to all this discourse, ventured a word here and there, and presently spoke of his own plans. He had three ships fitting out for a West Indian expedition, and was agog to follow brave examples set him. Sir Nicholas wished him God-speed, and drank success to his venture. He found the grave, considering grey eyes of young Richard Hawkins upon him. He threw him a gay word, and young Richard blushed, and laughed.

  ‘This babe sails with you, Drake?’ Sir Nicholas said. ‘Well-a-day! I left him scarce out of his swaddling-bands!’

  ‘Ay, ay,’ Drake said. ‘All alike, these Hawkins – born to the sea. Did you have speech with old Master Hawkins at Plymouth?’

  ‘Long speech, over a tankard of rare beer. I hear the great John grows greater still, Richard.’

  ‘My father talks of war with Spain,’ Richard said. ‘He says Walsingham looks keenly for it.’

  ‘A cup to the happy day!’ Beauvallet said.

  Frobisher struck in to inquire of Beauvallet's plans; Master Davys, aroused from a dish of eels, struck the table with his clenched fist, and loudly bade Beauvallet sail with him to the North-West passage.

  Beauvallet turned it off with a laugh, and gave Frobisher an evasive answer. Drake looked sideways again.

  But it was not until much later, when these two sat alone in the empty room, over a fire of sea-coal, that Drake put his question. Then he puffed at his long pipe, and stretched his massive legs out before him, and looked up at Beauvallet out of his narrow, all-seeing eyes. ‘What devilment, Nick? Let me have it.’

  Beauvallet brought his quick gaze up from the red heart of the fire, and looked challengingly. ‘Why must I needs have devilment in mind?’

  Drake pointed the stem of his pipe. ‘I know you, Nick, d’ye see? You’ve not given me the full sum of it, but Martin jumped your fine secret for you.’

  So he had it then, in a few graphic words. It made his jaw drop a little, but it made him twinkle too. ‘Pretty, very pretty!’ he said. ‘But what now?’

  ‘I shall go to Spain to fetch her,’ answered Sir Nicholas, in much the same tone as he would have said he would go to Westminster.

  At that Drake let out a mighty echoing laugh. ‘God amend all!’ He sobered suddenly, and leaning forward took Beauvallet's arm in a strong hold. ‘Look you, Nick, ha’ done. Art too good a man to be lost.’

  The gleaming blue eyes met those long grey ones for an instant. ‘Do you think I shall be l
ost then?’

  Drake twisted his beard upwards, and chewed the end of it. ‘Well, you’re human.’ His shoulders began to shake again. ‘Ho, pull me Philip's long nose, Nick, if ye see his Satanic Majesty! You would come safe out of hell, I dare swear. But how to come into Spain? Your smuggling port?’

  ‘Nay, I had thought of it, but it's to court exposure. I must have papers to show at need. The plague is on it we have no ambassador in Madrid today.’

  ‘English papers would never serve,’ Drake said. ‘You’re frustrated at the very outset. Go to, put the folly aside.’

  ‘Not I, by God! I shall try my fortune with my French kinsmen.’

  ‘God's Death, have you any?’

  ‘A-many. One in particular would be glad to serve me for old times sake, I believe. The Marquis de Belrémy, with whom I travelled many leagues on the Continent, years ago. Ay, and we saw some scrapes together, God wot!’ He laughed softly, remembering. ‘If he can put me in the way to get French papers, well. If not – I shall still find a way.’

  Drake puffed in silence for a moment. ‘And a licence to travel over seas, Master Madman. Letters of Marque won’t serve for this emprise. It's in my mind the Queen may have other plans for you than to lose you in a harebrained venture to Spain.’

  ‘Trust me to get a licence. If the Queen will not, think you Walsingham would be so nice?’

  Drake pulled a grimace. ‘Ay, marry, we know he’d be glad enough to send a spy into Spain. Beshrew your heart, Nick, it's madness! Do you hold your life of so mean account?’

  ‘Nay, but it's charmed. Yourself said so, Drake. Where lies the Court?’

  ‘At Westminster.’

  ‘Then I’m for Westminster tomorrow,’ said Sir Nicholas.

  He came to the palace in the forenoon of the next day, very bravely tricked out in a slashed doublet, scented with musk, and his beard fresh trimmed. He had a cloak of the Burgundian cut aswirl from his shoulders, and caught up carelessly over one arm. It was not difficult to gain access to the palace, especially for Sir Nicholas Beauvallet, who was known to be a favourite with the Queen's Grace. She had always a soft corner in her heart for a handsome dare-devil.