To Tempt the Devil (A Novel of Lord Hawkesbury's Players) (13 page)

It was a point that had bothered her for some time, and still didn’t quite make sense. Of all people, James knew what his brother had done, knew about his tendency to violence. Being capable had nothing to do with the equation. Rafe was capable of a lot of things, killing being one of them.

Blake returned to the desk and filled up a pouch with coins from the casket, then walked with Lizzy back to the kitchen. She was still deep in thought when they rejoined Rafe and the cook. He smiled at her. She didn’t smile back.

“Your left breast is higher than your right,” Blake said to Rafe. He held out the pouch. “For supplies or bribes. Cook, make up a parcel.” The cook, still chuckling into her chins, disappeared into the adjoining storeroom. Blake jiggled the pouch again.

Rafe shook his head. “I can provide—”

“Thank you,” Lizzy said, taking the pouch. She arched a defiant eyebrow at Rafe. “We’ll pay you back when this is over.” She bobbed down and kissed Annie on the top of her head. “Say hello to your mama for me, little one.”

Blake clasped Lizzy’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. His lips came away smudged with the black charcoal she’d used to define the creases around her mouth.

“G’bye, Uncle.” Annie reached up with both arms, her pale little face watching Rafe intently. “I’m not your uncle,” he said, squatting in front of her.

Her big blue eyes swept across to Lizzy then back to Rafe. Did she think them married? “G’bye, Aunt?”

Blake and the cook erupted into laughter. Lizzy grinned behind her hand.

“I told you it was a good disguise,” Rafe said, taking the parcel of supplies from the cook.

They said their good-byes and left through the servants’ door. Rafe checked the street for signs of anyone watching then hooked his arm through Lizzy’s and walked her back the way they’d come.

“He’s a good man,” she said wistfully.

“Yes,” Rafe said.

“Rafe.”

“Yes?”

“Can you not squeeze my arm so hard? I can’t feel my fingers.”

He let go. “Apologies.”

They walked until they reached the river, the silence long but not uncomfortable. It was easy and uncomplicated and made the stroll pleasant. They could have been promenading around manicured gardens instead of down hilly Dowgate Street to the grimy warehouses and shipyards along the Thames.

“What shall we do now?” Lizzy asked him when they reached the junction with Thames Street.

“Now we get supplies on the other side of the river. This parcel won’t be enough.”

“We’re not going to investigate further?”

“No. There’s nothing further to learn. Blake told me everything I need to know.”

“It’s him, isn’t it? The man who wants his revenge on you. You’re sure now.”

He nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Then you can go to the authorities! Tell Treece. Tell Blake to speak to his friends in the sheriff’s office and give them the man’s name.”

He caught her cheeks and caressed his thumbs along her mouth to calm her. Her eyes remained wild inside her disguise, but with urgency and frustration, not fear. “Not here.” He took her hand and they walked through a muddy alley that stunk of dead fish until they reached the water’s edge.

A waterman spotted them and rowed his wherry to the nearby waterstairs. “Eastward ho! Westward ho!” he shouted.

Rafe held up his hand for him to wait. “I can’t tell them anything,” he said to Lizzy.

“Why not?”

“Because I need to take care of this on my own. Quietly.”

She snatched her hand out of his. “And how do you propose to do that? Or are you a witch beneath that disguise too?”

He deserved that barb. He deserved all the anger she could muster toward him. She was afraid for herself and her parents and perhaps feeling helpless, all thanks to Rafe. If only he’d done his duty properly in Cambridge, none of this would have happened and Barker would be dead.

“It’s something I must do alone. For now, we buy supplies then return to the house.”

They caught the wherry across to the other side and alighted at the bankside waterstairs near the theatres and bearbaiting pits. Rafe paid the waterman with Blake’s money then helped Lizzy out of the boat. When he let her go, she stumbled on a slippery stone and he reached out to catch her. She pushed his hand away, steadied herself, then walked off.

He deserved that too.

He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed the unnaturally nimble elderly woman. Most people appeared to be heading toward the Rose or the inns, but lingering in the yard of a nearby church he saw a man on his own. He was short and thickset with a fat, crooked nose. He lounged against a tree trunk, picking his teeth with his thumbnail. An idle man
waiting for a friend. Then Rafe saw his eyes. They were fixed firmly on Lizzy.

Rafe gave him a wide berth and directed her toward Borough High Street. It was market day and apart from the usual shops and industry, there were carts and temporary structures set up to sell everything a busy Londoner might need. They purchased bread, pies and tarts, sliced pork and beef, fish because it was a fish-eating day, eggs, spices, and fresh vegetables. Lizzy stopped at a lopsided cart filled with rags and old clothing, gloves, hats, and shoes.

“Good for disguises,” she said. She paid the saleswoman who looked more aged than Lizzy pretended to be, and set off alongside Rafe.

“We should buy some ale,” he said when he spotted a tavern.

“Wait until we’re closer to the house. Bottles will weigh you down and you’re already as laden as a packhorse.”

She was right. They weren’t out of danger yet and he needed to be swift if necessary. The fat-nosed constable wasn’t in sight but that didn’t mean he wasn’t near. The theatres were still very close, which meant Lizzy’s friends were too. If Treece had any sense—and Rafe suspected he was not a stupid man—he would be watching Lord Hawkesbury’s Players and the Rose day and night. Lizzy and Rafe were probably safest staying on the busiest stretch of road.

“Shall we ask one of these carters for a ride up to the house?” Lizzy asked. “You cannot carry everything on your own the whole way.” The carters were mostly farmers leaving the market and heading south to their farms, their goods sold and their carts empty.

He hefted the two sacks, one filled with food, the other with clothes. “You doubt my strength?”

“I doubt your reasons for purchasing so much. We’ll never eat all that food before it turns rancid.”

He didn’t plan on only the two of them eating it, but he couldn’t tell her that. “I’m hungry.”

They set off down Borough High Street but he paused outside the gate to St. Thomas’s Hospital and looked back to check if they were being followed.

“What is it?” she asked.

At first he didn’t see anyone suspicious but then he spotted Fat Nose inspecting the wares at the rag and clothing cart. He was speaking to the old woman and she shot them a curious glance, a sure sign that Fat Nose was asking her questions about them. Rafe had underestimated him. He must have seen Lizzy stumble at the waterstairs after all, then pick herself up the way a young woman would.

“Rafe,” Lizzy whispered. She’d spotted him too. “Rafe, what shall we do?”

“Be calm. If we quicken our pace then we look guilty and ruin our disguises completely. There’s still a chance he thinks we’re simply a pair of aged women. Walk like your back aches then turn into the first lane we come to.”

“Shouldn’t we stay on the high street?”

“Not now that he’s seen us. If he raises a hue and cry out here we won’t be able to get away. Our disguises won’t matter.”

“Through here then,” she said, nudging him toward the stone arch of the hospital gate. “It opens onto a courtyard, but there’s another gate on the other side that leads to a lane. I’ve been there before.”

Rafe glanced around once more before following her through the arch. He counted another four men watching them from across the road. One was the tall, lanky frame of Treece himself.

Bloody hell.

He followed Lizzy through the gate, then urged her to hurry. God knows how women ran with so many layers of
underskirts, but he managed it with only a few curses and Lizzy did so with none. They bypassed the hospital buildings and headed to the far wall and the second gate. Once through to the alley, Rafe felt happier. Shadowy, narrow spaces suited him better than open ones with witnesses.

But the alley was a dead end in one direction. The other led back to the high street. It was the only exit.

Footsteps thundered across the hospital cobblestones. It sounded like an army. Rafe and Lizzy could risk running to the high street but Treece would probably have set someone there to stop them. Perhaps Rafe could use his favorite trick of catching the beam of the overhanging story and lift Lizzy up. No, there was no time and he’d have to drop their supplies, leaving a clue as to where they’d gone.

They were trapped. He would have to fight his way out of this one with only the dagger strapped to his forearm and his fists. Why the hell didn’t women carry swords?

The footsteps became louder, dangerously close.

“Back against the wall,” he growled to Lizzy. “And whatever you do, stay there.” When she didn’t answer, he glanced over his shoulder.

She was gone.

“I
n here.” Lizzy pulled Rafe through the door, closed it, and slid the bolt across. She listened. For several moments all she could hear was the pounding of the blood between her ears and her own breathing. Rafe didn’t seem to be breathing at all. Then came the sound of running footsteps on the other side of the door.

“Which way?” someone shouted.

“Where did they go?” asked another.

The door handle twisted, rattled. The
thump thump
of a fist on wood made her jump. How long would the bolt hold?

She signaled to Rafe. They left the small room, which appeared to be used as a closet for storing coats and boots, and made their way into the adjoining kitchen. It was empty and the ashes in the fireplace were an old, cool gray.

“Whose house is this?” Rafe asked from behind her.

“Shhh.” She led him past the winter parlor and through to the main parlor at the front of the house. It was also empty but the embers in the fireplace glowed orange. “Lo!” she called out softly. “Anyone home?”

“Away from the windows,” Rafe said and steered her toward the stairs.

“Is someone here?” came a woman’s voice from the top of the staircase.

Lizzy looked up at the pretty girl with milk-white skin and a thick rope of wheat-colored hair drooping over her shoulder. “Kate? I don’t know if you remember me but my name is Lizzy Croft. I’m a friend of Will Shakespeare’s from the theatre. I came here once to deliver a message to him.”

“I’m terrible with faces,” Kate said. “Will!” she called out. “Will, someone here to see you.”

“He’s here?” Lizzy couldn’t believe her luck. Will would help. The playwright had an ingenious mind; he’d think of something to say to Treece to get rid of him.

A fist pounded on the back door through which they’d just entered. “Open up!” someone shouted.

“Who the bloody hell is that?” Kate asked, coming down the stairs. She wore a housecoat over a shift. Both were open at the top, revealing a lot of creamy flesh. Behind her Will Shakespeare appeared in nothing but a shirt reaching to his knees. His feet were bare.

“What’s going on?” He rubbed his eyes and squinted down at Lizzy.

“Will,” she said. “It’s me, Lizzy Croft, and this is my friend—”

“Lizzy!” Will gasped. “What in God’s name are you doing here? They’re looking for you everywhere!”

A fist pounded on the door again. “Open up! Now!”

“Keep your hose on!” Kate shouted back as she passed Lizzy on the bottom stair.

More pounding, this time on the front door. “Go delay them,” Will told Kate.

Kate
humphed
and turned her glare onto Rafe as he and Lizzy ran past her up the stairs.

“Our apologies for the intrusion,” Rafe said with a nod of greeting.

Kate’s jaw dropped and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “You’re a…”

“An ugly woman. Thank you, so I’ve already been told.”

“I…I…”

At the top of the stairs, Lizzy clasped Will’s hand. “We need your help,” she said, but Will was already pulling her across the landing.

They entered a bedchamber and he pressed a panel of the wainscoting. Nothing happened. He clicked his tongue. “It’s here somewhere,” he muttered and pressed another panel.

Down below, footsteps drummed across the floor. Treece shouted at his men to search then he shouted at Kate. “Has anyone come in here? Two women, one big, one small?”

Kate’s answer was muffled.

Please don’t betray us.
Lizzy had met Will’s mistress only once and very briefly. She owed Lizzy no allegiance. Whether she owed Will enough to harbor fugitives in her house was another matter.

“They’re not down here,” a man called out.

“Upstairs then,” Treece answered him.

Lizzy’s blood went cold. She willed Will to hurry, to
do
something, to use his creative mind to save them. Rafe lowered the sacks. Readying to drop them and fight?

“Ah.” Will’s murmur was punctuated by the soft click of the panel opening.

There was no time to think as he gripped her arm and threw her through the small door. She had to duck and Rafe had to bend almost double, but once inside they could stand albeit not move. Will closed the panel and darkness embraced them. She couldn’t even see a crack of light shining around the door.

For a moment the only sound was her own breathing. Rafe was silent but his arm touched her. He must have put the sacks down, because his hand found hers. She held on tight, giddy with gratitude that he was with her.

Giddy with fear.

The silence was shattered by Treece’s voice ordering his men to search the bedchambers. Footsteps muffled by the floor rushes
thumped
past their secret door. Lizzy held her breath, closed her eyes, and prayed.

A moment passed. Two. Three.

Rafe’s hand squeezed hers. She leaned into him, soaking in his confidence and the comfort he exuded just by being there. He pulled her into his chest, lumpy from the grain-filled sacks, and massaged the back of her neck.

Without thinking, she wrapped both her arms around him and clung on, desperate to hold on to the one sure thing in a life that had quickly gone from normal to insane. It felt so right and so good that surely there was nothing wrong with taking comfort from someone who shared the same dangers.

The footsteps left. Treece’s men informed their leader that they’d checked everywhere and found no sign of “the murderers.”

“Murderers!” Kate’s exclamation was quickly followed by Will saying, “Bloody hell! You won’t find any murderers in here. We’re good English subjects. We don’t harbor that kind.”

More silence. What was happening? What was Treece doing?

Rafe stopped massaging and a small whimper escaped her. Tears welled.
Don’t stop. Please hold me
. As if he could read her thoughts, his big warm hands caught her cheeks and drew her face up.

Then he kissed her.

Shallow, teasing kisses so tentative it was hard to imagine they came from the big, brusque man. But they did and they were oh, so good. But not enough. Not nearly enough.

More…

She wanted to taste him, feel his lips everywhere. Heat spiked through her and she tingled all over. It was like she’d been rolling around in the snow then plunged into delicious warm water.

Her heart pounded in her chest and he pressed her against him. His hands seemed to be everywhere—on her face, back, shoulders, digging through her hair, cupping her behind.

It was madness and she didn’t care.

The door jerked open and they sprang apart, or as far apart as the space would allow. Rafe snarled and grabbed the shirt of the man standing there but when he saw it was Will he let go.

Lizzy pressed herself back against the wall for balance. The world had tilted and she needed to hang on or she’d slide off.

“Well,” said Will, glancing from one to the other. “Interesting what fear and confined spaces can do.” He broke into a grin. “You can come out now, if you want to. They’re gone.”

Rafe snatched up the sacks and pushed past Will. Lizzy followed and watched him stride to the door, checking his surroundings. His face was pale and drawn. He looked ill, but his eyes were darker and fiercer than ever.

Kate passed him coming in. “Is he in disguise or does he always dress like that?” she asked Lizzy, a wry smile on her lips.

Lizzy tried to think of something witty to say but her mind failed her and her voice probably would too. So she lifted one shoulder and shook her head.

Kate looked to the large bed with its rumpled covers. “Where
were
you two hiding?”

“Not under there.” Will sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to show you now.”

“Show me what? What have you been keeping from me, William Shakespeare?” Even with hands on hips and an expression that could wither a tree, Kate managed to look beautiful. “Well?”

“Don’t frown so, my sweet shrew. If the wind changes, your pretty face will stay like that forever.”

“There is no wind in here. And you are not so high and mighty that you can speak to me like I’m no better than a speck of dirt on your hose. I can find myself another man who won’t treat me with such, such…rudeness! One who won’t write trite plays about me either.”

“Trite? Ha! You loved it and loved your part in it even more.”

“Only up until the heroine capitulated. I would never do that.”

“I know,” he muttered.

Lizzy dared a glance at Rafe to see what he thought of the lovers’ spat, but he was too busy looking out the high window and didn’t seem to have heard any of it.

Will blew Kate a kiss. “Calm yourself and look at this.” He opened the secret door again and Kate gasped.

“All the years I’ve lived here and I never knew it was there!” She poked her head inside. “How did you come to know of its existence?”

“The landlord showed me when I first rented the house for you. This humble little abode was built by Catholics who found themselves in need of hiding a priest on occasion. Good, isn’t it?” He looked very pleased as he shut the door again. It was so well concealed it was impossible to know there was an opening hidden among the wainscoting panels at all. “The trickery and ingenuity that spring from desperation and fear never fail to intrigue me. Take a look at these two.” He indicated first Lizzy then Rafe. “Your disguises are extremely good. Your skill is to be applauded, dear girl.”

“I’m afraid they’re useless now,” Lizzy said. “Treece and his men have seen us.”

“Ah!” Will held up a finger and raced out the door.

Lizzy looked to Kate but the other woman merely shrugged.

“Did you really kill someone?” Kate asked. She was looking at Rafe but he either didn’t hear or was ignoring her.

Lizzy answered for him. “There’s been a terrible misunderstanding, which we are trying to fix before…” Before it was too late and they were arrested, tried, and hanged.

Will returned with his arms full of hats, wigs, and a beard. “You can borrow something of Kate’s,” he said to Lizzy, “but I’m afraid your friend’s size is a difficulty. I keep a set of clothes here for myself, of course, but none will fit him. Nor will Kate’s and not even your skillful fingers will be able to alter them to suit.”

“I bought some on our way here,” Lizzy said, relieving him of the wigs and beard. “One of the sacks contains all I’ll need for him, but these are perfect! I’m amazed you keep such things here.”

Kate licked her top lip. “He likes me to alter my appearance for—”

“I’m looking after them for our tiring house manager,” Will cut in with a sharp glare at Kate. “As you know, we are in a somewhat heated discussion with the Theatre’s landlord over our lease.” He shook his head. “The less property we keep there, the better.”

The Theatre had been the first dedicated playhouse but the land’s owner was not keen to renew the agreement that saw Lord Chamberlain’s Men performing there. Without access to their theatre, the troupe was experiencing some financial difficulty, so Lizzy had heard. It was even more amazing then that Will, a sharer in the company, could afford to keep his mistress in a house, albeit a modest Southwark one.

“Let us see what you have in that sack of yours,” Will said, picking them up. “You’ll have to stay awhile anyway, so you might as well dine with us. What say you, sir?”

Rafe turned away from the window and gave a nod. “I say you are a good man to help us. We’re grateful to you and your friend for harboring us. If you don’t mind our company until nightfall then we’ll be indebted to you. The danger isn’t over yet.”

“That is quite an elegant speech,” Will said. “And nicely spoken too. If ever you need a new profession, you should
consider a career onstage. What is it you do now? Aside from running from the authorities, that is.”

Rafe gave him a darkly humorous laugh. “I fix things for people.”

“Ah. Like a stagehand.”

Rafe extended his arm. “Rafe Fletcher.”

“Will Shakespeare, player and playwright.” Will nodded a greeting and introduced his mistress, Kate Manderring. Before he’d finished, Kate hooked her arm through Lizzy’s and led her out to the landing.

“Come help me in the kitchen,” she said.

“Yes, please,” Will pleaded from behind them. “Show her what to do with the pots and pans, Lizzy.”

Lizzy smiled, her fears fading quickly. “Ha!” said Kate. “I’ll learn what to do with them when you make me your wife, William Shakespeare.”

“I already have a wife,” he said without a hint of apology.

“So he says,” Kate muttered. “But has anyone ever seen the wench?”

“She doesn’t live in London.”

“And yet you do. What a convenient marriage.”

“The best kind.”

In the kitchen Lizzy found herself working alongside Rafe after Kate declared she couldn’t cook an egg let alone an entire meal. It seemed she usually bought cooked pies or roasted meats from one of the local cookshops. It was just like being at Hughe’s house with Lizzy and Rafe quietly preparing the food without getting in each other’s way. The only difference was that behind them, seated at the table, Kate and Will went through the sacks and discussed how to make good disguises out of the old clothes and rags. Occasionally their chatter stopped. Lizzy only made the mistake of turning around once and wished she hadn’t. Seeing the amorous couple kissing only reminded her of the one she’d shared with Rafe.

She could not think of that. Not now. Not later. Not ever. She didn’t even like him much, and she certainly didn’t trust him. Besides, he was James’s
brother
. No wonder Rafe hadn’t said a word to her since emerging from the priest’s hole. He must feel as despicable as she did. At least they both regretted it. That was a good thing. It meant there was no chance they would kiss again.

They dined on fish together at the kitchen table and afterward they all helped Lizzy create some new clothes for Rafe. By late afternoon, they’d finished. Somehow Lizzy managed to measure Rafe yet not touch him with any intimacy. It also helped that she didn’t look him in the eyes.

“That’s him done,” Kate said, folding up the new woman’s skirt and bodice they’d made for him. “Now for you, Lizzy. I have just the thing in a trunk upstairs.”