The Hawk and the Dove (9 page)

Sabre watched Matthew gentle and calm the horses to get them aboard. She was amazed when he showed her the section of the hold that contained heavily timbered stalls. “We transport horses quite frequently,” he told her. “Most come from Ireland, then we ship them to Holland, France, even as far as Morocco, then once in a while we’ll bring back Arabians from that part of the world. All Hawkhurst ships sail with special grooms who do nothing but look after the animals.”

The ship fascinated her. She had had no idea how many crew it took to sail a seagoing vessel. She took an avid interest in everything and the seventy-man crew returned the compliment.

Matthew insisted she take his cabin for the overnight run to Blackmoor, and he moved into the quarters of his
first mate. It was small but very comfortably furnished, with sleeping berth, desk, leather-upholstered chairs, built-in cabinets, and a fine wool carpet to keep the chill of the sea from seeping into one’s bones.

Sabre begged him to let her come up on deck with him so she could watch the
Devon Rose
catch the flood tide down the Severn and into the Bristol Channel. Matthew led her up to the bridge, bade her hang tight to the railings, then, bracing himself against the roll and sway of the ship, he raised his voice and shouted his first order. The tackle creaked overhead and it caused Sabre’s gaze to wander aloft. She gasped as she saw small figures moving about in the rigging, readying the mainsail for unfurling from its yard. They hung like monkeys with only an arm crooked over a spar, waiting for just the right moment to catch the breeze as they moved out into the open water of the Bristol Channel.

Her eyes sought Matthew’s and he grinned down at her, taking pleasure in watching her excitement.

“Port the helm,” he ordered, and his voice was carried by the wind the whole length of the vessel. “The land to starboard is Wales—a wild place.”

She nodded vigorously.

“Sky’s coloring up, we should have a showy sunset— just for you,” he said, grinning.

The salty tang of sea wrack filled her nostrils. The stiff sea breeze had taken the hood of her cloak from her head, and her hair flew about in wild disarray. Seabirds screamed and dipped around the tall masts, and the sound of the ship’s bow cutting through the waves set up a rhythm she could feel in her blood. She had never experienced such an exultant feeling of freedom in her life. In that moment she experienced a rebirth. This was her beginning.
She was going to meet her future head on. Never again would she let anyone make a victim out of her. She knew she was strong-willed. From this moment forward, she vowed, she would take the cup of life into both hands and quaff deeply. She would do exactly as she pleased. She would live well; she would take her sweet revenge, and it would taste like nectar. She filled her lungs with the intoxicating tang of the sea air and swore an oath that now she had begun really living, nothing would ever stop her again. She mapped out her course as she stood at the railing. It was all so very simple. Of course Matthew would object strenuously, but she laughed aloud, for she knew she had already conquered one Hawkhurst and now she just had one more to go. She licked her lips over the poor bastard!

Blackmoor Hall was craggy and windswept. Its atmosphere of mystery and isolation gave the impression that it was located at the end of the world. Matthew was embarrassed to be taking her to so wild and lonely a place and offered an apology every few minutes, starting when a ferocious pack of Irish wolfhounds almost attacked them before they were through the gates and their keeper had to whip them off.

Sabre fell in love with the place on sight, but she kept her true feelings from Matthew. He introduced her to the entire household as Lady Devonport and the head housekeeper, a handsome woman with cheeks like Devon apples, presented her with the enormous ring of chatelaine keys.

Matthew gave personal orders to the cooks to prepare enough food for his crew and told two of his sailors to take aboard fifty casks of cider from Blackmoor’s wine
cellars. Sabre and Matthew took supper alone in the parlor, where a cozy fire had been built. For though the day had been filled with sunshine, it hadn’t penetrated the thick stone walls of Blackmoor and they welcomed the warmth as they sat before it.

Wisely Sabre had waited until Matt was replete with good food and wine before she told him her plans.

“Absolutely not! My brother would have my—brains!”

“Matt, you did exactly as he asked. You stood in for him at the wedding ceremony and you delivered me safely to Blackmoor. Your duty is finished, ended. I don’t intend to go to court as Lady Devonport. My aunt is Kate Ashford, mistress of the queen’s robes. She wrote to tell me she needs assistance.” Sabre wasn’t exactly lying, and anyway, she was prepared to do more than lie to get what she wanted.

“When my brother finds out, our lives will not be worth a penn’orth of parrot shit!”

“There’s no way he could possibly find out unless you tell him, Matt! He married Sara Bishop … I’m Sabre Wilde.”

“You’re mad! It would be playing with fire! Dammit, Sabre, why do you look pleased as hell when I say that?” he demanded.

“Well, you might be afraid of him, but I’m not!” She threw out the challenge.

“’Tis impossible. Though court is bulging at the seams, you couldn’t be an anonymous face in the crowd … you’d stand out anywhere. Believe me when I tell you my brother would notice you.”

“In other words Shane Hawkhurst is a womanizer?” she asked.

“Where women are concerned, Hawkhurst is a bloody predator, as his name suggests,” said Matt bluntly.

“Good! I intend to become his mistress,” she announced with green fire flashing from her eyes. “I will call the tune and I will lead the measure.”

Matthew stared at her as if she had gone mad. “You’ll pay the bloody piper too. The answer is no!” he shouted.

The corners of her mouth went up. Matt was her friend, he wouldn’t leave her here to rot! She’d see to that!

Matthew Hawkhurst sailed slowly down the coast of Devon. He dropped anchor at Tintagel to show Sabre the legendary castle that was said to have been King Arthur’s. They rounded Land’s End and again he anchored at the quaint seaport of Mousehole for Sabre’s amusement. He used every delaying tactic he could think of. He knew Shane had been commanded to go on progress with the queen, and he didn’t intend to deliver Sabre to Greenwich until the second day of July.

Shane Hawkhurst, knowing the queen would depart on her progress July first, also dallied on his return trip to court. The last thing he wanted was to leave London; he had too many contacts to meet. He delayed his departure from Devonport another week to assure himself that Georgiana would be all right and to avoid Elizabeth’s departure.

Both Hawkhurst brothers miscalculated by one day. Her Majesty’s progress had been planned for the county of Norfolk, ending at Norwich in East Anglia. Her first stop was to be at Theobalds, Cecil’s country house just outside London. Her usher of the Black Rod was sent ahead to make all the necessary preparations for the queen and her court. Her ladies had been to Theobalds before and had been appalled at the accommodations available. Though the queen’s apartments were lavishly luxurious, her ladies of the privy chamber were crammed into one room with the lesser servants, and her male courtiers were crammed into another.

Dismayed to find Bess was only just leaving for Theobalds, Lord Devonport seized upon the appallingly in
adequate accommodations as his excuse to join the progress when it moved to the castle at Bishop’s Stortford. Hawkhurst seldom occupied his permanent rooms on the fourth floor at Greenwich because he had a London residence of his own along the Thames, but he and the baron intended to stay there the next few days, as there were apartments he wished to search, once their occupants had left on the progress.

Sabre couldn’t believe the crush of people at Greenwich, not only in the palace, but in the park and the courtyard and stables. It reminded her of a fair she had attended once where jugglers and players put on a fine show for the townspeople. The clothes were so colorful and exaggerated, they seemed like costumes. Everyone had a purpose and went about it noisily with little or no thought for the next man.

Matthew promised to look after the stabling of Sabbath and keep her two trunks until she returned from Lady Ashford’s. There would be room aplenty for them in the palace when everyone accompanying Her Majesty had departed. Sabre missed seeing the queen by half an hour, as she had already departed for Theobalds; however, there was a backup of her baggage train and attendants, and in turn their luggage and servants. She despaired of finding Lady Kate Ashford in the throng, for it seemed people were too busy to give her more than vague directions at best.

The halls and corridors of the palace were most confusing to Sabre. She went right, then left, then right again, ascending at least three flights of stairs in her search for her aunt. Finally a young page, curious about the new face, ushered her to the rooms where the queen’s wardrobe was housed, and she came face-to-face with a
woman who looked considerably older than she remembered. The two women stared at each other rudely for the space of about two minutes, then Sabre took a deep breath and ventured, “Lady Ashford? … Aunt Kate?”

The tall woman, who at one time must have been quite handsome, ruefully pursed her lips and said bluntly, “So, they stuck me with the redhead after all!”

“I’m afraid so,” said Sabre, mirroring her aunt’s rueful expression.

Suddenly Kate’s eyes gleamed with a hint of humor. “In chapel this morning I asked both God and the devil to send me an extra pair of hands … it looks like one of them has complied!”

Sabre smiled and dropped her a curtsy; she knew they would be able to get along tolerably well together.

Kate Ashford talked incessantly. She never shut up. She was a well of information, advice, instruction, and gossip, and she set about Sabre’s education with a vengeance. “Actually, you couldn’t have arrived at a better time. The queen has gone on progress and left me behind to clean and refurbish all the wardrobe she didn’t take with her. A vast undertaking,” she said, shaking her head. “Her Majesty has at least two hundred gowns— and that’s just at Greenwich … same thing at Windsor and Hampton Court.” Her sentences ran into one another, allowing Sabre only space enough to nod her understanding.

“Faugh! The palace stenches. Let’s get these windows open. These progresses are ostensibly so her people can see her at every little country burgh along the way, but in reality the progress was designed to empty this place, which has housed fifteen hundred bodies all winter—fifteen hundred unwashed bodies, by the reek of it,” she
said, wrinkling her nose. “By God’s feet, they had better get the privies emptied before the weather gets any hotter, or we will all be down with the plague!” She scarcely reached for a breath before going back to the subject of her own responsibilities. “It’s not only the dresses, it’s the underpinnings, the shoes, the jewelry to be cleaned and repaired, to say nothing of the
wigs!”
She said the last word in a loud stage whisper and rolled her eyes. “I’ve two assistants who between them haven’t the brains of a louse. At least you look as if you might have initiative. I shall have to pay you out of my own household purse. Of course, the palace will provide your room and board, so eat until you positively groan, ’tis the only thing you’ll ever get out of her. She’s so tightfisted she’d cut a raisin in half! That’s another advantage of a progress, d’ye see? The poor bloody gentry she visits get stuck scouring their countryside and neighbors to feed and entertain over a thousand people, and all so she’ll dance in their bloody manor houses. Well, enough of this chatter. I’ll give you one of our chambers, it will only be a tiny space, but at least it will have a bed and a window, which is a luxury in itself. Would you believe there are rooms without windows at Greenwich? Now you’ll be on the third floor, so get your bearings … Sara, is it?”

“No, ma’am. I am called Sabre … Sabre Wilde.”

Kate gave her a penetrating look. “Ah, yes, I remember now.” Kate took her to the small room on the third floor and instructed, “As soon as you get settled, come back down to the wardrobe and I’ll put you to work. The dresses need sponging—under the arms—sweat stains you won’t believe! And that damned white paste she daubs all over her face; ’tis made of egg white, alum, and
borax. Borax is hell to clean off ruffs and …
wigs.”
Again she whispered the dreaded word.

Now that she was alone for a few minutes, Sabre adjusted herself to the smallness of the room. There was at least a comfortable bed with decent covers. There was a cupboard built into the corner to hold her dresses, and a small washstand with bowl and pitcher, and the cupboard beneath the bowl held a chamber pot. By far what made the room habitable were the tall windows that reached from floor to ceiling. She grasped the window handle, pushed it open, and stepped out onto a tiny stone balcony. She pulled back the heavy drapes as far as they would go and left the window open to air the room; this high up from the ground she needn’t worry about intruders.

Again she needed the services of a page to direct her back to the stables, where it took her another half hour to find Matthew. He took her trunks up to the tiny chamber, then they faced each other and said in unison, “I don’t think we’d better be seen together.” They laughed, reading each other’s thoughts, and Sabre said, “When we meet we must pretend it is for the first time. If anyone asks about me, all you know is that I am Lady Kate Ashford’s niece. Now, I suppose you must have business with the high-and-mighty Lord Devonport, and if the knave is curious as to what his wife looks like, tell him I am toothless, cross-eyed, and positively avid to have him dash up to Blackmoor to bed me!”

“Oh, I won’t have to worry about Hawk for a while,” he said airily. “He’s gone on progress with the queen.”

Sabre’s face fell. Damn the man, dancing attendance upon a woman whenever she crooked her finger at him, merely because she was a queen. Well, before she was
finished with him, he’d dance for her, dance as pretty as a corpse on the end of a hangman’s rope!