The Lost Duchess (11 page)

‘Young Thomas must wait,’ he said.

Rob’s face fell and, to cheer him up, Kit stopped by an ironmonger’s and bought the boy a fine bone-handled knife. He’d need a good blade in the New World where there’d be no means of procuring another. He also bought two ribbons in soft deep blue silk from a pedlar-woman in the street. They’d be for Mistress Fifield, the maiden whose hand he had reached for when he’d last seen her nearly two months ago, though why he had been so forward he could not rightly understand, and her response had been to flinch from him as if he’d given her a fright. He had not meant that; he had been too hasty. Maybe the fervour of the moment had taken hold – hearing the cheering outside Durham Place that day,
knowing the voyage to Virginia had won the Queen’s approval, that it was almost certain to happen and he would be gone in a few months. Perhaps the prospect of another sailing had triggered some impulse to abandon caution, or maybe he had felt sympathy for the maiden alone in that crowded hall – a woman whom everyone else seemed to have forgotten, though her beauty shone like a beacon. The memory of her filled his mind: her sable hair and dark eyes, and cheeks dimpled by smiling, though he sensed that she no longer smiled as easily as she had done once. He had wanted to plant a kiss on her lovely mouth when she had first smiled at him by the Richmond fountain; then, when her smile had faded, he had wanted to say things to bring it back. But he could not kiss a woman freely just because she attracted him as he had done once. Mistress Fifield was beyond his reach. She might want nothing to do with him. She was one of the Queen’s ladies, far above him in station, a lady from whom he would soon be separated by an ocean. So why had he taken her hand? He shouldn’t have been so rash; it must have alarmed her and left her confused. When he saw her again he would try to make amends: give her the ribbons as a token against the day when he left, and perhaps, after he was gone, pretty Mistress Fifield would wear them in her hair before the memory of him faded and she forgot him altogether.

Without paying much attention he walked out of the city, down to Fleet Street and along the Strand. He only noticed what was around him when he saw the footmen outside Durham Place with the badge of the royal household on their doublets and cloaks.

He turned to Rob, busy examining his new knife. ‘Better put that away; the Queen is here.’ He strode up the steps and pushed the ribbons into the pocket on his belt.

At the doors of the hall he handed his pistol to the steward and strode inside while his name was announced. He looked for the Queen, ready to kneel before her; instead he saw Mistress Fifield and stopped in his tracks. His eyes met hers and he could not bring himself to look away. It was as if he’d stumbled upon a deer in a glade, one looking straight back at him, uncertain and wary. He was enthralled by her face, the graceful arch of her brows and her liquid, questioning eyes. He took in the sweet dimples in her cheeks, her fragile, nascent smile, and the sensitivity of her mouth with its slightly protruding upper lip that made her seem both vulnerable and striking. He caught his breath; she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

The voice of the Queen brought him to his senses.

‘Mistress Fifield, are you with me?’

He saw the Queen at the far end of the chamber, resplendent in pearl-studded satin and a stiff lace ruff that framed her impassive face.

Mistress Emme turned and hurried towards her. ‘Yes, Your Majesty. I am here.’

‘Good,’ the Queen replied. ‘I had begun to fear you were lost in another country.’

A wave of muted laughter followed.

Kit tightened his jaw, and watched Emme curtsey low and bow her head until fine wisps of hair became visible at the nape of her slender neck. He glanced down feeling that he should not have noticed, hooked his thumbs in his belt, and felt the weightless change in shape caused by the ribbons in his pocket.

*

All the way down from the tower on the hill at Greenwich Palace the slope was blanketed white. The Queen and her party had ridden up
from the east so the snow was untouched: a soft sparkling coverlet that reflected all the tints of winter light from quartz-pink to gold, while deep blue shadows set off the oaks in lapis filigree and transformed the deer trails to tiny opal-studded chains. The prospect was so inviting Emme wanted to give her mare a kick, gallop down ahead of everyone and be the first to mark the drifts. But she kept the reins tight and sat motionless on her side-saddle. The Queen and Sir Walter Raleigh were together in front, the hawk was still hovering and the other ladies had not caught up.

The Queen smiled as she glanced from Sir Walter to the hawk which suddenly plummeted from the sky. With a whoop she raced ahead, and Sir Walter spurred his stallion until they charged neck and neck, hurtling down the hill to the place where the hawk had caught a crow. Let them enjoy the sport together, Emme would not intrude; only when the other ladies trotted near did she give her mount her head and relish a moment of freedom, flying downhill through the freezing air with snowflakes stinging her cheeks and nose. She opened her mouth to the snow, let it melt on her tongue – this was the taste of release, the kind of sensation that Emme Murimuth would enjoy, the woman she would become if she ever left for Virginia. She would be brave and bold, free of shame or restriction. She was a Murimuth in blood, she could call herself one truly. The family had settled in her village over two hundred years ago; as a Murimuth she would be fearless and sail across the ocean. In a flurry of white she galloped into the panorama that unfolded before her, with the Thames like a silver snake slithering across from the horizon, and the towers of the palace glowing red in the sun. The lawns of the Privy Garden were a patchwork in white silk, while the fields of the Isle of Dogs lay like starched linen in
the distance, and the rooftops and city spires bristled like a teasel clogged with fleece.

She was on top of the world, seeing everything open out, before she entered the trees and the prospect closed around her. Then, beyond the edge of the wood, she saw the black crow fluttering its last, and the master falconer with the hawk already feeding from his glove, and the Queen close to Sir Walter patting her gelding’s steaming neck. Fine snow swirled around them while they spoke in low voices, and Sir Walter must have said something witty because the Queen tipped back her head and gave a light carefree laugh.

Emme rode behind them to the Inner Court in a clatter of hooves over fresh-brushed cobbles, and she was pleased to receive a summons to the Presence Chamber as she alighted. Perhaps Secretary Walsingham had won the permission she longed for and the Queen was about to announce that she could join the settlers bound for Virginia. Why else would Her Majesty want to see her? And if the Queen had given her assent then her father would not dare object. Her way to the New World would be clear. Emme felt as if the jesses that had held her were loosening at her feet; she might soon be leaving. She peeled off her gloves and cloak and hurried to the royal lodgings, but the expressions that greeted her as she was ushered before the Queen made her sink into a curtsey from which she dropped to her knees and hardly dared look up.

The Queen sat flanked by Sir Walter Raleigh and Secretary Walsingham, and the countenances of all three were as cold as blue ice. Only the glow of Sir Walter’s cheeks remained to hint at the ride that he and the Queen had enjoyed. With no more than a slight gesture the Queen bade Emme raise her head, and her gaze had the sting of lye as she searched Emme’s face.

A shiver of fear ran like quicksilver down Emme’s spine. Had the Queen heard the rumours and now believed she was shamed?

The Queen left her kneeling and continued to regard her with a penetrating stare.

‘We have received reports which put us in mind to sanction a fresh endeavour with the object of establishing a permanent colony of our realm in a place to be known as the City of Raleigh.’

Emme’s blood raced again; the Queen was speaking of Virginia after all. Emme noticed Sir Walter’s mouth twitch towards a smile at the mention of the city’s name. His hands rested on his knees, one of which was half covered by the voluptuous folds of the Queen’s skirts. The Queen blinked slowly, and she must have moved her head a little because the pearls trembled on the jewelled band that had been placed over her auburn wig.

‘The Governor and Assistants of this colony have already been determined, and a hundred of our good subjects are desirous of joining this enterprise, which number is likely to rise as the opportunities become better known, so I am told.’

Emme’s eyes widened as she hung on the Queen’s words. Was she about to be given her freedom?

‘Yes,’ she murmured under her breath.

‘I see you are familiar with these plans.’ The Queen’s scrutiny held her transfixed as she waited for the nod which Emme felt bound to give.

‘Yes, Your Grace,’ she said.

‘I would like to know why I should consent to your leaving my service in order to accompany this venture.’ The Queen inclined her head. ‘Well?’

Emme looked from her to Secretary Walsingham, hoping for
some clue as to how she should respond. Would enthusiasm for leaving the Queen’s service be considered a betrayal? Her Majesty was notoriously jealous, and vengeful against those she thought disloyal. If Emme showed that she wanted to join the colonists, would the Queen condemn her as perfidious? Had she already decided to refuse her permission and was this now a test that might lead to her dismissal? Or did Her Majesty want to be sure about the strength of her resolve? What had Walsingham said and how had the Queen replied? If only she knew. But the Secretary of State’s demeanour gave nothing away. He sat with his hands clasped solemnly in his lap, and looked straight back at her with his dark-ringed hooded eyes, and not a hint of encouragement on his tight-drawn lips or the set of his lantern jaw.

‘I wish only to serve Your Majesty,’ she began. ‘With your leave, I could sail to the New World and report back faithfully on everything I observe. By this means you could have unique insight into the establishment of the colony and the reality of life for an Englishwoman in Virginia. If you have any special instructions, I could carry them out without anyone knowing that I served you …’

‘How would they not know?’ The Queen’s fingers drummed over the arms of her chair. ‘I understand that several of those involved in the venture have already seen you in my retinue.’

Emme shot Secretary Walsingham an anxious glance. He turned to the Queen and spoke softly.

‘Master John White has been introduced to Mistress Fifield and the same is true of Mariner Christopher Doonan, one of Drake’s men, and the Indian, Manteo. These three have seen her at Richmond Palace and Durham Place, but I think they may be trusted to be discreet. They have already proved their loyalty. They need be told
no more than that Mistress Fifield has been tasked by Sir Walter to accompany the colonists and account to him for the prospects of settling families in Virginia. Measures could then be taken to ensure that no connection is made in the general perception between Mistress Fifield and her service to you. If anyone else leaving for Virginia has seen Mistress Fifield in your company they would be unlikely to remember or make the association.’

The Queen waved her hand. ‘What measures do you mean?’

‘She could assume another identity. I believe she has given the matter some thought.’ He turned to Emme and raised his arched brows.

Emme closed her eyes briefly, drawing on her inner fortitude to answer with strength.

‘I could travel under my old family name and dress like a goodwife’s maid. I would be content to serve one of the families who have volunteered to go.’

Secretary Walsingham gave a nod. ‘The Governor’s family will have need of a maid. John White’s daughter will sail with him and she is expecting her first child; she is married to one of the chosen Assistants.’

The Queen looked hard at Emme. ‘This service would be very different from the singing and dancing you have been used to performing for me.’

Emme clasped her hands and stood rigid. She must not demur and reveal that she considered her service for the Queen likely to prove far harder than anything expected of her by the colonists. ‘I would be content to do it, nonetheless. I would work diligently in this role for Sir Walter’s endeavour which has so much inspired me.’

‘She could return within six months,’ Walsingham interjected.
‘Master Ferdinando will sail the flagship back once the settlers are established and Mistress Fifield could leave with him. The report she provides might be of use to you and Sir Walter in determining your future policy regarding colonies in America. To act on knowledge is always better than to act on conjecture, and she could help ensure you have a breadth of information about Virginia.’

Emme did not protest. Any contradiction from her might jeopardise her chance of winning the assent she needed, and the Queen seemed caught on the cusp of reaching a decision – she turned to Sir Walter. Emme noticed the flash of affinity shoot between them as their eyes met; she tried not to think of their legs brushing together under the spread of the Queen’s dress. She looked at Sir Walter’s white silk netherstocks, barely marked by the ride in the snow, then her eyes travelled to the silver-embroidered canions over his powerful thighs, and the line of silver buttons down his broad-shouldered doublet. He cut a dashing figure, and his clothes must have been worth a fortune, but still she did not consider him as handsome as Mariner Kit, not that Kit would give her a second thought now. She watched Sir Walter lean forwards and heard the promise of the New World in his voice.

‘A report from a lady could be useful; I am sure Master Harriot would be pleased to have it, as would others who share our objectives. I envisage that our colony in Virginia will lay the foundations for the establishment of English dominions across the world.’ His eyes shone as he looked at the Queen. ‘We must garner as much knowledge as we can about the experiences of our first settlers. Any information that Mistress Fifield gathers could be invaluable in encouraging other women to venture after her …’