Constant Heart (40 page)

I could not look at her. “I was never that man.”

“You have always been thus, Lytham. You have always been that man to me.”

46

A
nd so Lytham and I began an intricate dance. It was set to the tune of austerity, though the words
reduced, impoverished,
and
insolvent
were never sung. With a household staff of nearly one hundred, I could not reduce the expense of food by much, though I began to water our soups, ales, and wines. And, though we had paid for our annual flesh-eating license, we began to eat fish on Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday.

We forwent sweet oranges, melons, and other culinary luxuries. And when our French cook was enticed to the household of the Earl de Winter, we let him go. The former assistant provided admirable, though less cunning, meals.

The work at Brustleigh was halted and the workmen dispersed. Without that army of men to feed, the burden on our purse was lightened. I broached the idea of selling some of our horses but was quickly taught that it was an imprudent idea. In all of our dancing around words, we made not one mention about clothes. There was no need. When we had to force savings from our clothing, then all at court would be lost.

We could not hide our secret long. Not from those who ran our estates. And not from the beggars who came seeking food. Joan told me the word had spread that there was no charity at the Earl of Lytham’s house, that beggars had warned each other away from us toward more generous hearts. They were right, those indigents. But only God could save them from the knowledge I had: there was no charity anywhere.

Lytham returned to court that spring only to ask permission to leave. Expenses were significantly reduced while we lived in the country. But when he returned to me at Holleystone, he was accompanied. By an alchemist.

There was nothing overtly sinister or malevolent about the man. He both comported himself and dressed himself as a gentleman, although once or twice I noticed the lining of his cloak to be shredded and the cuffs of his sleeves to be worn. But I confess I did not like the way he looked about with his eyes. He gazed upon all as if he might own it, and he made no distinction in his interest between person and thing. I put up with the man for a fortnight, with his impudent glances, his lurking in the estate’s halls, and the malodorous fumes from the room Lytham had assigned him. And then I could delay no longer.

I went to my lord when I knew he would be at work. But the alchemist had preceded me and he sat, ensconced, across the table from Lytham.

“My lord, I must speak with you.” As he glanced up from his paper, his companion turned around in his chair to face me.

“Proceed.”

“My lord, I desire a word alone.”

At my statement, the alchemist leered.

Lytham dismissed the man, then addressed himself to me, his mouth lined with displeasure. “And what would this word alone entail?”

“My lord, an
alchemist
?”

His lips went straight with impatience.

“Where did he find you?”

“In St. Paul’s.”

“St. Paul’s! And you believe him to be honest? You might as well search for a virgin in Southwark! He cannot be licensed.”

“The Queen herself employs an alchemist in order to build the treasuries.”

“And has he?”

“Has who what?”

“Has her alchemist contributed to them?”

Lytham blinked.

“Has he actually added any gold to the treasury?”

“Why else would she employ him?”

I threw up my hands. “Why does Her Majesty do anything?”

“You told me once that I must sell one of the estates.”

“And so you must.”

“Not if I can obtain some monies.”

“And how will this alchemist help you?”

He sighed and folded his hands in front of him. And then he proceeded to address me as if I were Tom Fool. “An alchemist makes gold.”

“He
makes
it?”

“Aye. Everything changes state. An acorn turns into an oak tree.

A cloud turns into rain. An alchemist turns things into gold.”

“And what are we to give him to do this miraculous work?

Eggshells? Ham hocks?”

“He does not work in transmutation. He works in multiplication.”

“Multiplication.”

“He multiplies what we have and turns it into more.”

“My lord, one cannot take what we have, which is nothing, and multiply it. There can be no multiplication when there is nothing to begin with!”

He shook his head and turned back to his work. “I have given him some silver plate.”

“Sweet heaven, why did you not just give it to a band of gypsies?! At least then it might have been honest charity!”

“I have no other options.”

“You have
three
other options. Brustleigh Hall, Lytham House, and Holleystone.”

“This is what I have decided must be done.”

“Lytham, hear me. The only way to make money is to exchange something for it. Listen to me. I am a knight’s daughter. A knight who began as a merchant and amassed a fortune.”

“There, you see: he began with nothing.”

“Aye. And he
worked
for what he gained. And what he gained enabled you to buy back Holleystone.”

“You cannot understand.”

“I do understand. I understand that trusting this stranger, this . . . alchemist . . . is as big a gamble as your brother ever undertook. And just as certain to fail.”

He did not bother even to look at me before returning to his accounts.

A week had not passed before I saw the stranger carrying a silver goblet down the hall.

“And where did you get that, sir?”

He did not even honor me with a bow. “My Lord Lytham has given it to me.”

“For what purpose?”

He leaned to the side and peered past my shoulder, then he crept close enough that I could feel his breath touch my cheeks. “For the alchemy, my lady. I must not be delayed. The dragon and the eagles have begun to fight.”

“The dragon and the eagles?”

“Aye, lady. And the dead of the battle will birth a crow.” He turned and continued on down the hall, clutching the goblet to his breast.

I went on a search for the steward and found him in the storehouse.

“My Lady Lytham.” He bowed and offered his hand so that he might better escort me.

“Good Steward.”

“I may assist you in some way, my lady?”

“In regards to the alchemist.” I had hoped to read his face and discern there some sign of approval or disproval, but I was disappointed, for I could find nothing.

“My lady.”

“I would wish him . . . watched.”

He bowed. “From now until you bid me cease, my lady.”

“I also desire an accounting and cleaning of the silver plate.”

“Aye, my lady.”

“Then I would like it closeted. And I wish to retain the key.”

“Of course, my lady.”

“And I wish it done as soon as is possible.”

It was done within the week. There were two platters and two goblets missing. But after the accounting, there remained nothing in the house that gleamed. It was all locked away into a cupboard.

The next week Lytham went on a search for me. Joan warned me of him and so I had enough time to enable him to find me out of the house on a stroll through the gardens.

“What have you done?”

I glanced at the rose in my hand. “I have plucked a rose, my lord. Might I be forgiven for such a temporal pleasure?”

“The silver plate! Where is it?”

“I have had it collected for an accounting and a cleaning.”

“And where is it?”

“I do not know.”

“Stop playing with me, Marget! Steward says you keep the key.”

I opened my hands and let fall the rose. And then I held my palms out toward him. “Then he is mistaken, for I hold nothing.”

“The alchemist needs more plate.”

“And what would keep him from needing more and more and more until all the plate is gone?”

“Would you see me in debtors’ prison?”

“Nay. I would see you guard what fortune you have.”

“He must have more for the multiplication.”

“My lord, why can he not first make a multiplication and then employ the new supply of silver that he has just made for his future use?”

“How can I know how it works? I only know what he tells me.”

“Here is how it works: he will demand your supply of silver and then, once he has obtained it, he will leave. And he will take with him what is ours.”

“Nonsense.”

“My lord. You have already given him two platters and two goblets. How much would those fetch from a pawn?”

“Two pounds? Five pounds?”

“Aye. And so the only one whose wealth will be multiplied is the alchemist’s. He is the only one here who will have started with nothing and obtained something. Seven pounds’ worth of something! Why can you not see that?”

“Because I have faith! And you cannot see because you do not.”

“It is not a question of possessing faith; it is a question of lacking sense.”

“Give me the key.”

“Nay.”

“Give it me!”

“Nay, my lord. I will not be made partner to your folly.”

He raised his finger in warning. “If he fails in the multiplication, then the blame will rest entirely upon you.”

I wrapped my hand around his own, kissing his fingertips. And then I looked into his eyes. “And I will take it. I will take all of the blame. Better his failure than your fortune . . . what is left of your fortune. After you give him all the plate, then what? Will he demand the jewels from your doublet? From my sleeves? Will he then ask for the tapestries? And the Turkey carpets? At least your brother had an honest whore for a mistress. At least he obtained some small pleasure for his possessions.”

At that, my lord went white. And then he flushed red. He gazed beyond my shoulder at the house which sat in the distance. “He will not do it.”

“Will he not?”

His eyes found mine once more.

“He will not do it.” He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince me. And then, leaning against me, he clutched my arms as if some massive blow had rendered him senseless.

I staggered under the sudden burden of his weight.

“What have I done?”

“Nothing which cannot be undone. Simply ask the man to leave.”

“How can I . . . how did I . . . how could I have let this happen?”

“You are a good man, Lytham. Do not ignoble yourself in trying to maintain your family’s honor. You have enough of it in you if only you would know it.”

47

L
ytham asked the alchemist to leave that very forenoon.

“But . . . the multiplication is not yet achieved.”

“And will it ever be?”

“I . . . beg your pardon, my lord?”

“Is there more needed for the multiplication to be accomplished?”

“How gracious of you to inquire, my lord. I need only silver plate.”

“A platter? Another goblet?”

“Perhaps . . . a salt cellar.”

“A salt cellar?”

I coughed to cover my surprise at his boldness.

Lytham looked at me in reproof. “I cannot give you a salt cellar, for we have none.”

“But—” The alchemist’s words vanished with one glimpse at the look on my lord’s face.

Lytham glanced in my direction before continuing. “Perhaps . . . might I suggest, perhaps, a jewel?”

“A jewel! Of course.”

“Nay. I forget myself. For you are undertaking multiplication, not transmutation. Only silver will do, will it not?”

“At most stages, my lord, although at this step, the dragon must be fed. And rubies are the only thing upon which it will feed.”

“I see. Well, I am sorry to say that I have no rubies to give you.

Perhaps . . . would a tapestry work just as well?”

“A tapestry, I assure you, will be quite necessary after the dragon has eaten and he takes to slumber again.”

“A tapestry, I assure you, will never be granted. And I suggest, once more, that you take your leave of this estate.”

The fellow must have known he had been discovered, for he offered little excuse. Nicholas walked him from the hall to the stables and had him placed on his horse.

We watched him ride away up the hill and vanish from our sight. It was the only miraculous feat he accomplished, for when we entered his rooms, we opened his chest to discover a walnut resting upon a moldy apple. And fixing them together, the putrid remains of an egg.

We never did find the platters and the goblets, but assumed them to have already been given to a pawn. No amount of visiting London’s shops uncovered the plate. But I considered it a small sum to pay to be rid of him.

As Christmastide approached, we journeyed back to London. One could not possess a noble rank and not be present at court for Christmas. One evening, once we had returned, we were needed for supper at the palace. There was to be a banquet for Christmastide festivities with entertainments following. We were to dance in a masque. My part was easy to accomplish, though I was in no mood to make merry. Not before the woman, the Queen, who I held responsible for my husband’s ruin.

I spoke no words but stood at the back of the group pretending to be a tree. Later word went round that Her Majesty desired a dance in the Presence Chamber. When we arrived, she was already reclining upon her cushions. And someone had placed a tassel in suspension, so we knew it was to be a galliard. A dance at which Lytham excelled.

The music started.

We stepped right and then left. Right and left. I derived no pleasure from the dance, and knew my countenance to be sober, but at least in dancing a galliard, all attention was focused on the men. On Lytham. While I stood for the next step, he leapt into a cadence, landing one foot stretched out before the other in a posture. Together, we moved to the music, performing the steps that made the dance our own. And at the end, bounding into the air, Lytham reached out a leg and kicked at the tassel.

Our reward was Her Grace’s applause.

Again we danced. It was another galliard. First stepping left, stepping right, and then joining hands together. But then Lytham let go my hands. He took hold of my busk with one hand and pressed the other to my back, turning me to the side. It was then I knew my galliard had turned into a volt.