Page 22 of Lord of Loyalty

Chapter Twelve

While Will was in conversation with Maybury, Isobel had been subtly trying to remove his ring. This, to her horror, proved an impossible task. He’d put it on her while she was in one of her deliriums—had he used a vise and a lever? The thing would need a blacksmith to get it off.

Learning that Pike had pursued her, and had a description of Will’s horse, was a further blow. The final cut was the way Master Maybury had uncovered their secret so easily—it did not bode well for their situation. Would all London know of their escapade? Would she be forced to wed Will after all, despite her refusal to countenance the idea?

As the jettied buildings crammed closer together, she realized they must be heading into one of the closely packed residential areas of the city. There was little room here for gardens such as she was used to at Marston House—Londoners had to purchase their provisions, not rear or grow them. There were costermongers on every corner, flower sellers crying their wares, and peddlers pushing through the throng of pedestrians with brightly beribboned baskets.

The smell had intensified, too—with this many pannier-laden donkeys, horses, and closely crammed humanity, ’twas hardly surprising. A kite flapped lazily away from a heap of something dead as they approached, and she wrinkled her nose. One of the first things she’d ask Will for was a pomander. Or an orange and some cloves, so she could make something for herself.

Maybury coughed loudly. “Why do you take us along this street, old friend? I thought the Cavendish house was in a less noisome neighborhood.”

“It is.” Will leaned closer to Maybury, but Isobel was close enough to hear. “I would prefer not to attract the interest of my neighbors by bearing the lady in through the front door. If I’m to continue with the deceit that she’s a Portuguese seamstress, we ought to enter via the service lane. I must introduce her to my housekeeper first, and get her accepted into the household before I risk any of my neighbors seeing her.”

Maybury turned to Isobel and pulled a face. “Best cover your nose, Mistress. This is the place from whence the night soil is collected, and we shall no doubt be passing the Cavendish midden. How charming of Sir William to take us in via such intriguing landmarks.”

She smiled. There was sense in what Will was doing, and now that Maybury was a co-conspirator, she felt more at ease. It was not that she didn’t trust Will, but she felt herself always off-balance in his company. Maybury caused her no unease at all.

They dismounted in the cobbled lane, and Will let out a powerful whistle which, after a few minutes, brought out a middle-aged gentleman wearing a stained apron, whose face brightened when he saw Will.

“Good day, Hagger. Pray, take these horses to the stables and see they’re given a good rub down. And if you could endeavor to keep Jennet between the others, I’d be most grateful. I have reason to keep her out of sight for the moment.”

He then took Isobel’s elbow and leaned his face close to hers. “And you, if you will, had best keep your eyes lowered submissively. Aye, I know.” He waved a hand at her. “You don’t approve of any of this, but please, if you would do as I say for now, it would serve us both well. Pretend you don’t understand the language. I’ll give you into the care of Goody Cooper, who keeps house for me. She’ll give you refreshment and find you a bed. Once Maybury has had sufficient Canary and departed, you and I will talk.”

She nodded. Will’s servants couldn’t question her if they couldn’t speak her supposed tongue. It would be a hard part to play, but do it she must, for exposure could be the ruin of them both.

She walked beside him as they traversed a small vegetable plot, entered a narrow passageway, and emerged onto a cobbled courtyard.

And immediately ran into trouble.

“Aha, Sir William!” A well-dressed gentleman with white hair and beard had just emerged from the main door of the house, followed by a small entourage. Isobel froze, but Will quickly whispered something to Maybury, who pulled her off to the shadowed side of the courtyard.

“We have no role in this masque, lady. Best give Cavendish the stage. I wonder who that golden-haired beauty is?”

She’d been wondering the same thing. A young woman, with a plump bosom and small mouth was fawning all over Will. A short but well-made gentleman stood on one side of her, looking sour, while the white-haired man—her father, mayhap—spoke to Will in slow, deliberate tones, loudly enough for his words to reach her where she stood with Maybury. Although, she must remember not to appear to understand what passed between them.

Alas, the blonde lady had noticed her, and the thin lips were pressed close together. Isobel shuffled and stared at her feet, then drew out her handkerchief and blew her nose loudly. She hunched her shoulders, too, for added effect, and eventually, the woman lost interest.

“You’ve been on your travels again, Sir William,” the older man was saying. “I’m disappointed. I thought we had business to discuss.”

“What kind of business?” Will’s manner was reserved, even cold. He didn’t look at the young woman or the fellow at her side.

The older man glanced over at Maybury, who was paring his fingernails with his dagger, a pursuit requiring a good deal of concentration.

“Concerning the packet I received on your behalf. Most particularly the personage from whom it came. A person with whom an ambitious man would not wish to be associated.”

“You already know the contents of the package. And a passing whim of Robert Dudley’s hardly bears the brand of treachery. What more is there to say on the matter?”

The white-haired man’s face darkened. He waved at his younger companion. “Take my daughter back home if you would, Comte. I shall return shortly, after a brief discussion with my neighbor here.”

The rosy-cheeked young woman was borne off, pouting, but as she departed, she subjected Isobel to intense scrutiny, then tossed her head haughtily as she sailed through the gateway to the street beyond.

Will had claimed to have no betrothed. But that didn’t mean no one had a claim on him. Isobel realized, with an unexpected twinge of her heart, that the woman had more than a passing interest in Sir William Cavendish.

Will and the girl’s father had vanished into the house, and peace descended on the courtyard, broken only by the odd coo and flutter of the doves inhabiting a small dovecote in the corner. Maybury glanced up.

“Ah, it looks as though Cavendish has sent us his housekeeper. She appears to have set a course for you, Mistress, so I’ll follow the gentlemen and demand my cup of Canary. And I should like to hear about this packet from the Earl of Leicester, and why Cavendish is so dismissive thereof.”

With a wink, he left Isobel and disappeared into the house.