Beauvallet (19 page)

She left the door then, and went to the window, and parted the heavy curtains that hung over it. Holding her lamp in her hand she stepped out on to the little semicircular balcony.

Moonlight flooded the garden below, and the trees cast ink-black shadows on the ground. From out the shadow a shadow moved; she saw Beauvallet cross the garden, and raised her free hand in a little welcoming sign. He was beneath her balcony now; she had to lean over to see him. How he would contrive to climb up she did not know, but that he would manage it somehow she was very sure.

He made surprisingly little work over it. A climbing rose gave him his foothold. He came up swiftly and silently, braced a foot against the iron pipe that ran down the side of the house from the rain-gutter, seemed to measure the distance with his eye, and threw himself forward.

Dominica stretched out her hand involuntarily to help him, but he caught the rail of the balcony, and the next instant had swung a leg over it, and was beside her.

Neither spoke a word. Sir Nicholas had an arm about Dominica's waist, and led her into the room, his other hand laid lightly across her parted lips. She set the lamp down on the table while he closed the long windows and drew the curtains over them.

He turned, a moment looked at her, and opened his arms. Dominica went into them in a little run, and felt them close tightly about her.

‘My heart! My dove!’

She could only say: ‘You have come! You have come! It is you, really you!’

‘Had you not my word?’

‘How could I believe? How could I think that you would dare – even you? Oh,
querida
, why have you come?’ Her hands tugged at his shoulders. ‘There's death lurking in every corner for you!’

‘I have played many games with Death, fondling, but the dice always fell my way. Trust me.’

‘Mad!’ she whispered. ‘Mad Nicholas!’

He kissed her. For a while she was content to lie in his arms, but presently she said on a sigh: ‘Folly, oh folly! I have brought you to your death!’

‘Nay, nay, I came of mine own free will, as I swore I would – to make an Englishwoman of you.’ He made her look up. ‘How now, my heart? Will you go with Mad Nicholas?’

She tried to hide her face. ‘It is not possible. You know it is not. God knows how you are here, but you must go quickly, quickly! You could never escape with me to burden you.’

‘Give me a plain answer, fondling. Will you go with me?’

She evaded him. ‘I have been so unhappy,’ she said pitifully.

‘You shall never be so again, I swear.’ He held her away from him. ‘Will you trust me further yet? Will you put your life in my hands?’

She looked up into his eyes, her own troubled and questioning. He had taken her by storm; he was a lover from a fairytale, and she had longed for him, and dreamed of him, but now that he spoke so urgently, and looked so keenly, she realised all that it would mean to her if she gave herself to him. He was a stranger and an Englishman, and if he won out of Spain a strange land and a strange people awaited her. She loved him, but how little she knew of him! A girl's fears shook her; she looked searchingly, peering for the future, and the colour ebbed in her cheeks. He awaited her answer; she thought how bright his eyes were, how compelling.

‘Nicholas – you could not understand,’ she faltered. ‘I am so alone. I do not know –’

‘I do understand,’ he answered instantly. ‘I love you. Trust me!’

Her fingers sought his. ‘You will be good to me?’ she said in a small voice.

He smiled. ‘I will never beat you,’ he promised.

At that she smiled too, but fleetingly. ‘Nay, do not jest, do not laugh at me!’ she said.

He raised her hands to his lips, and kissed them. ‘On my soul,’ he said, ‘I’ve only the one ambition left; to care for you.’

She nestled back into his arms. ‘If we could! If we only could!’

‘What, doubting still?’ he rallied her. ‘What do you fear, little faint heart?’

‘To lead you to your death,’ she said. ‘How can I not fear it?’

‘Nay, nay, ’tis I shall do the leading,’ he smiled. ‘Have faith, O Lady Disdain!’

‘Not that!’ she protested, but a smile trembled on her at the old memories the name conjured up.

His arm was hard about her shoulders. ‘Do you love me?’ he asked, and his eyes compelled an answer from her.

She looked up. ‘Do you not know that I do – doubter?’

He swooped then, and kissed her almost before she was aware. Holding her close still he asked her with the teasing note in his voice: ‘Shall I make an Englishwoman of you after all, my bird?’

She nodded. ‘Only take me away,’ she said. ‘Take me away from here! Anyway!’

For a moment he held her closely embraced, cheek to cheek. Then he let her go, brought her to the fire, and made her sit down on the faldstool before it. He stirred the smouldering log with his booted foot, and it fell apart, and the flames sprang up. ‘Do they seek to wed you to that pretty cousin of yours?’ he asked abruptly.

‘I hate him!’ she said. ‘I have told my aunt I will never, never wed him, but she – Nicholas, you do not know her! She smiles, and nods, and agrees with me, but she is like a rock! She frightens me, Nicholas. She is so quiet, and it is like a fate pursuing one! Yes, I am afraid, I!’

‘No need,’ he said. ‘Remember I am near you, and take heart. Now how to spirit you away?’

‘How did you come?’ she said. ‘In the
Venture
– that fishing village?’

‘Nay, over the border, openly, with letters to King Philip,’ he replied.

She gasped. ‘Are you a wizard, then? Tell me, how?’

‘Very simply, child. My luck, no more. I fell in with a secret envoy to the King, and him I slew perforce, and came on in his place. But to get you to the coast is the problem now. It is a-many weary leagues, and the hunt will be up then in right earnest. Barful, barful!’

She sat straight on the faldstool. ‘Nay, but listen, Señor Nicholas! We leave Madrid soon now – I do not know when,
but soon. Dona Beatrice told me so tonight, and hoped I might like Diego better in the country than I do here. We go north, to Vasconosa, near Burgos. I do not know when, but Dona Beatrice would wish it to be soon.’

‘God ’ild her, then! What keeps her?’

‘Diego, I think. Oh no, she does not care for him, but of what use to take me into the country if he be not by? And he hath engagements still, and will not go till they are done.’

‘Fiend seize the princox!’ Beauvallet said. ‘North of Burgos? It will serve, it will serve.’

She looked eagerly up at him. ‘It is not more than a day and a night from the coast, but they will watch me close. Can you do it, Nicholas?’

‘Surely, surely, sweetheart. Have no fear. The
Venture
will lie off that port you wot of, and if the luck holds we may make it safely.’ He went to the window, and drew back the curtain a little way. ‘It is growing light, child. I must be gone.’ He came back to her, and took her hands. ‘Leave me to find a way, chuck. Only let me have a sight of you, and a word with you at need. I lie at the Rising Sun if you should want me, and Joshua is with me to bear a message. I have been about this town a little, but in no house do I meet you. You lie close, love.’

‘I would not go out. That's over now. I shall go with my aunt to Don Alonso de Alepero's house on Monday. Will you be there?’

‘I can arrange it,’ he said. ‘Expect to see me in this house as soon as may be. This aunt of yours seems to have a fondness for me.’ He bent, and kissed her hands. ‘Now fare thee well, my heart, and fear naught.’

‘Only for you,’ she said.

‘Fear for me when you hear of my death,’ he smiled. ‘Not till then.’ He held her close a moment. ‘Keep Diego at arm's
length, my lass,’ he said, twinkling, ‘or I might be tempted to out sword and thrust him there.’

‘Oh, you must be prudent!’ she said urgently. ‘Promise me! He hates you already; he said tonight almost as much.’

‘God save his puppyhood!’ said Sir Nicholas lightly. ‘Am I to be in a sweat for fear of Master Puke-Stocking? We shall come to grips yet, he and I. I can snuff out a fight with the best. He's hot for it.’ He bent to kiss her lips. ‘A last good-night!’

She gave it, clinging to him. ‘You must go – yes, you must go. Oh, my love, I love you!’

Thirteen

I
t was not perhaps surprising that in so short a time the gay Chevalier de Guise made some noise about the town. He had the trick of it. To be secret, to lie close, seemed to be no part of his design. His credentials were good, Losa's patronage carried him whithersoever he listed, and he used it to the full. There was scarcely anyone in Madrid who had not heard of the Chevalier, few who had not met him. From the Court came no sign. Philip must ponder his reply, annotate the despatch, sleep upon it, lay it aside to ponder it yet again. Those who sought to hurry the Catholic King did so to their own despair. He would do nothing without carefully weighing it; if his brain worked slowly he at least was not aware of it. He was methodical, plodding, infinitely conscientious, and he prided himself upon his cautious judgment.

For Philip to be dilatory up to a point suited Sir Nicholas very well, since, as he saw it, nothing could be done in his affair while Dominica still lay at Madrid. If Philip delayed too long, however, he would have to employ another messenger to carry his answer back to the Guise. Sir Nicholas would be very well pleased to get that answer into his own hands, for it promised to be interesting to an English Protestant. Walsingham would be glad of it, but Sir Nicholas had no notion of serving Master
Secretary to his own plan's undoing. There was food enough for Walsingham in the Guise's cyphered letter, a copy of which was safe in Beauvallet's possession. It concerned one Mary Stewart, unfortunate lady, at present a state prisoner in England, and certain illuminating schemes for her future as compiled by his Majesty King Philip, and the Duc de Guise. Fine doings there! Enough to make Master Secretary's hair stand on end.

For the rest Sir Nicholas went junketting about the town, and by the way gleaned some useful information likely to interest not only Walsingham, but Sir Francis Drake, too, and not less the Lord Admiral, Howard of Effingham. There was a fleet building in Cadiz harbour; Sir Nicholas made copious mental notes of the size and strength of those tall galleons, and even toyed with the notion of travelling south to see for himself.

His behaviour during this period provoked nervous qualms in Joshua Dimmock, who declared himself to be a meacock creature, and shivered from time to time. He had reason for his qualms, for he had good cause to know that never was Beauvallet so reckless as when he played with danger on every hand. ‘Master,’ said he, ‘is there never one who suspects?’

‘Ay, the French Ambassador,’ Sir Nicholas answered. ‘One of his satellites hath been set to question me – very cleverly, so he thought.’

‘God's me! this is to undo all! And you said, master?’

‘Oh, I gave him a bountiful answer, be sure,’ was all he could get from Sir Nicholas.

On Monday evening Dominica was to be seen at the Alepere house, off the Calle Mayor. When Sir Nicholas could escape from the amiable clutches of her aunt, he made his way to her side, ousted an admiring caballero from his place of vantage there, and proceeded, to all appearances, to pay his court to her.

Don Diego, watchful in the background, was swift to interpose his presence, but got little by that.

‘Ah, my bridal friend!’ said Sir Nicholas, very urbane. ‘You are come in a good hour, señor. Dona Beatrice is inquiring for you. You shall not let us keep you.’

‘My mother, señor?’ said Don Diego, glaring his disbelief.

‘Your mother, my dear friend. You are loth to leave us, I perceive, and I should be flattered but that I suspect the charms of this lady to be the true cause.’ He bowed to Dominica.

‘I cannot suppose, señor, that my mother's need of me is urgent,’ said Don Diego, colder still.

‘I am sure you underrate yourself,’ returned Sir Nicholas.

Don Diego looked furious, but did not see how he might remain. ‘I am obliged to you, Chevalier,’ he said, mighty sarcastic. ‘I do not permit myself to forget that you are a visitor to Spain.’ There was a good deal of meaning to this. Dominica stirred uneasily, and shot a quick look up at Sir Nicholas.

The mobile eyebrow was up; Sir Nicholas waited. Don Diego met his look for a moment, then bowed ceremoniously, and walked away. They understood one another well enough: what the tongues were not permitted to say, the eyes said fully.

‘Oh, folly!’ Dominica breathed. ‘Why anger him? To what purpose?’

Sir Nicholas was watching Don Diego go across the room. ‘I am certain I shall not leave Spain until that paraquito and I have measured swords,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘Señor Nicholas, I do not think that I was ever afraid until I met you,’ Dominica said. ‘Why will you do these things?’

He looked down at her. ‘What, afraid for me? Let be, child; there's no need.’

‘You run on your fate!’ she insisted. He laughed impeni-tently. ‘I had liefer do that than run from it, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘What news for me?’

Her face clouded. ‘Not as we had hoped, Señor Nicholas. The King puts off his removal to Valladolid, and we wait upon
him. My uncle is in attendance till then, you see. But I think I could contrive a little.’ She looked up inquiringly.