A Love Most Dangerous (2 page)

'It's made of rosewood,' Mary said. 'You said you
wanted to learn how to play. I shall teach you.'

It was a beautiful instrument, polished smooth and
glistening like morning dew.

'Smell it,' Mary said.

I put the recorder to my nose. It had the sweetest
fragrance, very like a rose.

'It's lovely,' I said in surprise.

'And it's ten years old or more,' Mary said. 'Rosewood
keeps its bloom and scent.'

I embraced Mary and gave her a kiss upon the cheek. 'I
look forward to my first lesson,' I said. Mary was a wonderful musician, the
finest of all the maids and ladies of the court. I blew a little note on the
recorder and giggled. Mary clapped her hands with pleasure.

I turned to Philippa who gave me a winning smile. My
heart beat faster at this and I wondered what gift she had chosen for me.
Countless ideas flashed through my mind and I tried to control their wayward
careering and wait patiently.

Philippa held out her gift; it was larger than those
my other friends had given and felt soft to the touch. I unwrapped it with
undisguised haste.

It was an embroidery sampler which Philippa had begun
but left unfinished.

'Oh,' I said. I could not think of anything else to
say.

'I have started it for you,' Philippa said. 'Practice
makes perfect. Your needlework leaves a lot to be desired. And it's not only me
who says this.

I nodded, knowing full well who else had been saying
this.

'It's lovely,' I said at last. 'I shall treasure it.'

'It's not to be treasured,' Philippa said, patting me
on the arm, as if I were a little dog. 'It's to be used.'

We said farewell to each other, so keen were we to be
out of doors and enjoying the celebrations. I hurried to the chamber and put
away my gifts. I wondered for a moment what to do with the locket Dorothy had
given to me. I knew it would be sensible to wear it but I could not bear to
think of Jane Seymour hanging round my neck, peering at everything I did on my
very own day. So I pulled it off and flung it on a table before hurrying down
to join my friends.

Dorothy saw that I was not wearing my locket and was
about to speak when Philippa touched her on the arm to stop her. I was glad of
that. I had no wish to explain or excuse myself at all today.

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was beaming from a
sky of washed blue, a sky dotted with clouds as soft as syllabub. A gentle
breeze danced in trees shimmering with the green shoots of spring. I glanced up
at the old castle on the bluff to the south. It was very small with no great
walls and only one tower but it looked the very image of a romantic castle to
me. I wondered what it would be like to be a princess living in such a lovely
place.

But then my gaze was torn from the castle by delights
closer to hand. The lawns stretching behind the palace were filled with all
manner of delights. There were scores of little booths and stalls, tables
readied for the feast, outdoor ovens with cooks already attending, spits of
various sizes loaded up with pork and boar and ox. Most of the court were
already here with only a few latecomers hurrying from the palace.

Musicians played light melodies upon a stage while
jugglers and acrobats cavorted on either side. Children screamed with delight
at jesters who danced and jigged. A small choir sang songs but the noise
surrounding them was so loud their voices could hardly be heard.

A large Maypole had been erected in the middle of the
lawn. I gasped when I saw it for I had never seen a Maypole so tall and
handsome. It was decorated with garlands, flags and flowers. Little purses hung
from it, filled no doubt with coins and charms.

'Gifts from King Henry and Queen Jane,' explained
Philippa.

I wanted to say, I guessed this, but thought better of
it. Philippa liked to explain things to me, as was her right, having been at
court much longer than me.

At that moment Susan Dunster appeared and waved to me
to join her.

I rushed across to her and she smiled and led me a few
steps further still from the others. She kissed me on the cheek and pressed a
gift into my hand.

It was a little book covered with soft leather which
was decorated with flowers and hearts.

'It's beautiful,' I said with a gasp.

'I hoped you'd like it.'

'I do,' I said, hugging her with joy.

I looked again at the little book. 'What's inside?'

'Nothing,' Susan answered. 'Yet.'

I opened the cover. The book consisted of empty pages,
cream and clean, without a single word upon them. I glanced at her in surprise.

'There's nothing in the book until you write in it,'
she said. 'It's for your poems. Your very own book of poesy.'

Tears filled my eyes and I could barely see her face.
I hugged her tight and kissed her.

'Oh, Susan,' I cried. 'It is the best of gifts.'

At that moment the rest of our friends approached.

'Let me look at your gift,' Philippa said, holding out
her hand.

I passed it to her and she flicked through the pages.

'There's nothing in it,' said Dorothy with a laugh.
'What a curious gift, Susan.'

I smarted at her words and was just about to speak to
defend Susan when Philippa held up her hand.

'It's beautiful,' she said. 'It's a charming little
thing. You will be able to press flowers in it, Alice.'

I smiled. I don't know why but I decided at that
moment not to tell them it was intended for my own poems.

I was just about to give Philippa some neutral comment
when I realised that she no longer seemed concerned with me at all. Her
attention had been taken by something in the middle distance. She grew
straighter and a little ill at ease, almost fretful. It was not like her at
all. I followed her gaze.

Standing close to one of the temporary kitchens was a
man of middle years. He was pale of face and wore a large, fawn coloured cap. I
took him for one of the cooks, or perhaps a baker.

He appeared to be watching us. Yet the moment he saw
that we were looking at him he averted his eyes and swiftly checked the crowd
nearby. Only when he had completed a good scrutiny did he begin to make his way
towards us.

He was a pleasant enough looking man with square face
growing a little pudgy around the cheeks. His forehead was broad and unmarked
with blemish, fringed by light brown curls which hung below his hat. He had a
straight, rather refined nose, and was clean-shaven with ruddy cheeks. There
was nothing remarkable or noteworthy about the man, I thought, nothing to make
him stand out in a crowd or draw a second glance.

But then I saw his eyes.

I gazed into them and could barely suppress a shudder.
They were set deep in their sockets and grey in colour. But what had startled
me was that they looked dead. They were not unintelligent, in fact quite the
opposite. But nevertheless, they looked inert and torpid. I had a fleeting
memory of when I had previously seen eyes like this and the recollection came
to me with a sense of unease. Once at a fishmongers, I had seen a sword-fish
laid out on the slab. This man had similar eyes. Sharp, clever, far seeing. Yet
dead, quite dead.

As he approached he broke into a smile. It was a broad
smile, which lit up his face. Except for his eyes. They continued to stare at
us without a trace of life or humanity. I moved behind my friends and kept my
gaze from looking too obviously at him.

'Sir Richard,' Philippa said, giving a low curtsy.

He inclined his head towards her and she rose. As she
did so I saw her hand touch his, a fleeting touch which would have been easy to
overlook.

'Good morning, Philippa,' he said. 'I trust that you
are well.' His voice was quiet and low with little music in it.

'I am indeed,' she answered. 'And you?' Then she gave
a little smile showing teeth. 'And your wife?'

He sighed. 'I am in perfect health, dear child. My
wife, alas, is unwell. She abides at home and will not be able to attend the
May festivities.'

He stared into Philippa's eyes as if his words were
fuller of meaning than might rightly be ascribed to them. She stared back at
him, as if she were drinking in his every feature.

'So,' he continued, 'I am on my own. Or at least I was
until I happened to spy you good ladies.'

I glanced at my friends. Dorothy Bray gazed at Sir
Richard with a smug look like a fat old dog just given the juiciest of bones.
Mary looked uncomfortable. Susan wore an amused smile.

Philippa Wicks, on the other hand, continued to stare
into the man's face as if she were totally smitten by him.

I realised at that moment that she was.

Her face had flushed a little and her breast was
moving with fast, shallow breaths. I glanced up at Sir Richard. I could see
nothing about him to cause such a reaction in a woman as radiant as Philippa.
His chin was small and seemed to be retreating into his neck as if embarrassed
to stand out too far and his lips were full and bowed; more suited to a woman
more than a man. But it appeared that Philippa doted upon him.

'If only I had bought more than one Mayday gift,' he
said, looking towards me with appraising eye. I lowered my gaze still further
to avoid his glance.

'But I have at least brought this beautiful day,' he
said with a chuckle. 'A fair Mayday for even fairer maidens.'

'I thought it God who bears responsibility for each
day,' Susan said. 'Not the assistant to Sir Thomas Cromwell.'

My ears pricked up. So this was Sir Richard Rich, a
man I knew chiefly from the angry songs chanted against him. The second most
hated man in the Kingdom. It was whispered that the Pope in Rome prayed daily for his damnation.

'Indeed the Lord God does,' said Rich pleasantly,
though he could not hide the angry flash of his eyes. 'I stand corrected by...'
He paused, expecting Susan to offer up her name. She remained silent and smiled
instead.

'Susan Dunster,' Dorothy said quickly as if sneaking
to a priest.

'Susan Dunster,' Rich repeated, as if he wanted to fix
it firmly in his mind. He gave a plump smile then made a swift dart and
snatched at Susan's hand. I jumped at the speed of his move but then he lifted
her hand slowly to his lips and kissed it gently. She did not respond at all,
which much impressed me.

Next he kissed Dorothy's hand which made her preen and
giggle like a love-sick child. Then Mary who inclined her head in the smallest
of bows, diplomatic but not warm I thought.

His hand reached out for mine. It was warm and soft,
as if he had spent many years churning butter without recourse to a paddle. He
took my hand to his lips and then, with his other, took hold of my chin and
tilted it so that he could take a better look at my face.

His eyes displayed a sudden life. I felt his hand
squeeze mine more firmly.

'I do not think we have met,' he said.

'I'm certain we have not, Sir Richard,' I said,
removing my hand from his grasp.

He stared at me for long moments more and I realised
that in all that time his eyes never once blinked. Perhaps a sword-fish cannot
blink either, I thought.

I saw him swallow and the tip of his tongue peeked out
of his mouth, like a mouse out of its hole, and wet his lips.

'I am delighted to meet such a charming young woman,'
he said. I wanted to avert my gaze from him but I found I could not. His eyes
held my eyes fast as much as if they were under lock and key. I felt a sense of
panic begin to seize me.

'She has not been long at court,' Susan said quickly,
'and you are such a seldom visitor, Sir Richard.'

'She?' he said, still feasting his eyes upon my face.
'She has a name, I trust?'

'Alice Petherton,' Dorothy said quickly.

'Don't burden Sir Richard with names he does not need
to know,' I heard Philippa say sharply.

Her voice broke the spell in which I was being snared.
I turned towards her, shocked by the coldness of her tone.

Her face had lost its flush and was now cold and grey.

Rich smiled at her, a smile I thought cold and
mocking.

'Well I for one am pleased to know you, Alice
Petherton,' he said, turning back to me. He paused. 'What age are you my
child?'

'Seventeen,' said Dorothy. 'It is her birthday this
very day.'

'Is it?' Rich said. 'How appropriate for such a lovely
child to share her birthday with the new-born Spring.

He reached inside his tunic.

'I said I had but one Mayday gift,' he said. 'I think
it should do double service as a birthday gift.'

He pulled out a silver ring with a tiny ruby in its
clasp. Before I could move he had caught hold of my left hand and was putting
the ring upon my finger.

'Not that finger, pray,' said Mary. 'That finger is
reserved for marriage.'