solves everything.”
He grinned and caught her wrist. “Let her sleep.” He pulled her back down with pretend violence, landing her on her back with a thud that made her laugh. He kissed her hard, and when his hand reached her breast, she gasped in pleasure. “That can wait until morning,” he said. “I can’t.”
6
The Visitor
M orning came with sunshine so bright it blazed through the staircase windows of the Thornleighs’ London house, warming Isabel as she hurried down the steps still tying the lacing at the back of her bodice. She felt full of hope. Ice dripped from the eaves, melted by the strong sun. Birds chittered in the garden hedges. It felt like spring. She felt like spring, felt as eager as an April robin. She was bursting to tell her mother what she and Carlos had decided.
She found her at the east end of the great hall, where the bay of the oriel windows was festooned with a small jungle: flowering plants, vines, cuttings, seedlings, and sprouts. Her back was turned as she lifted a watering can to sprinkle a hanging vine.
“It looks like the rain forest of Peru,” Isabel said.
Her mother turned with a start. “Oh, you frightened me, my darling. I didn’t think you were up yet.”
She said this lightly, but Isabel saw the tiny lines of worry that radiated from the corners of her eyes. They hadn’t been there five years ago. And the way her right arm hung lifeless at her side, was it still painful? It had to be horribly cumbersome, at the very least. For all her mother’s verve and intellectual curiosity, there was a new weariness that she could not hide. Isabel felt a pang of pity. “You look like you didn’t get much sleep,” she said.
“I never sleep well when Richard’s away.”
“I’m the same when Carlos is gone. The moment he leaves, the murderers and ogres circle the house, waiting to get at me and Nicolas. The moment Carlos comes home, they slink away.”
Her mother nodded, amused. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
They shared a smile.
A ginger kitten lay on its back, batting a dead leaf between its paws like a practice mouse. There was an earthy smell from all the potting soil. Isabel realized she had always associated the smell of spring earth with her mother. As a child, looking for her, she had often found her in the garden.
“Shall we breakfast together? Is Carlos up, too?” Her mother pinched a sprig of sage from a tier of herbs and handed it to her. “Ellen has made barley bread, and there’s fresh churned butter.”
“No, no breakfast just yet.” Isabel twirled the sage between her fingers to release its fragrance. “I want to talk to you.”
“Oh?” Her mother set down the watering can and picked up a pair of scissors. She inspected a tendril of English ivy and snipped off a brown leaf.
“You told me Father was going to Antwerp to see an old friend. But I know the truth. He’s gone to buy munitions for the Queen. And you’ve been helping her, too.”
Her mother turned, the leaf stilled between her fingers. Her face betrayed no hint of emotion. “Who told you that?”
“Father did, told Carlos. But I heard it from Adam, too.” She gave a quick account of the mob at St. Paul’s, and Adam coming to her rescue.
“Good heavens! Did they hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine. That’s not what I want to talk about. Adam told me about the crisis in Scotland. The huge buildup of French troops. The fear that they might invade England. How weak Queen Elizabeth’s position is. Mother, there’s no need to pretend anymore. I know the peril you face.”
There was the merest flicker of unease. “My. He told you a great deal.”
Isabel could not forget Adam’s other words: You’re Spanish now. You’re Catholic . Was her mother thinking the same thing? She hated this barrier between them. “Mother, you can trust me.”
“Certainly, my darling. I just didn’t want you to worry. None of this is your problem.”
“Of course it is. Your problems are my
He grinned and caught her wrist. “Let her sleep.” He pulled her back down with pretend violence, landing her on her back with a thud that made her laugh. He kissed her hard, and when his hand reached her breast, she gasped in pleasure. “That can wait until morning,” he said. “I can’t.”
6
The Visitor
M orning came with sunshine so bright it blazed through the staircase windows of the Thornleighs’ London house, warming Isabel as she hurried down the steps still tying the lacing at the back of her bodice. She felt full of hope. Ice dripped from the eaves, melted by the strong sun. Birds chittered in the garden hedges. It felt like spring. She felt like spring, felt as eager as an April robin. She was bursting to tell her mother what she and Carlos had decided.
She found her at the east end of the great hall, where the bay of the oriel windows was festooned with a small jungle: flowering plants, vines, cuttings, seedlings, and sprouts. Her back was turned as she lifted a watering can to sprinkle a hanging vine.
“It looks like the rain forest of Peru,” Isabel said.
Her mother turned with a start. “Oh, you frightened me, my darling. I didn’t think you were up yet.”
She said this lightly, but Isabel saw the tiny lines of worry that radiated from the corners of her eyes. They hadn’t been there five years ago. And the way her right arm hung lifeless at her side, was it still painful? It had to be horribly cumbersome, at the very least. For all her mother’s verve and intellectual curiosity, there was a new weariness that she could not hide. Isabel felt a pang of pity. “You look like you didn’t get much sleep,” she said.
“I never sleep well when Richard’s away.”
“I’m the same when Carlos is gone. The moment he leaves, the murderers and ogres circle the house, waiting to get at me and Nicolas. The moment Carlos comes home, they slink away.”
Her mother nodded, amused. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
They shared a smile.
A ginger kitten lay on its back, batting a dead leaf between its paws like a practice mouse. There was an earthy smell from all the potting soil. Isabel realized she had always associated the smell of spring earth with her mother. As a child, looking for her, she had often found her in the garden.
“Shall we breakfast together? Is Carlos up, too?” Her mother pinched a sprig of sage from a tier of herbs and handed it to her. “Ellen has made barley bread, and there’s fresh churned butter.”
“No, no breakfast just yet.” Isabel twirled the sage between her fingers to release its fragrance. “I want to talk to you.”
“Oh?” Her mother set down the watering can and picked up a pair of scissors. She inspected a tendril of English ivy and snipped off a brown leaf.
“You told me Father was going to Antwerp to see an old friend. But I know the truth. He’s gone to buy munitions for the Queen. And you’ve been helping her, too.”
Her mother turned, the leaf stilled between her fingers. Her face betrayed no hint of emotion. “Who told you that?”
“Father did, told Carlos. But I heard it from Adam, too.” She gave a quick account of the mob at St. Paul’s, and Adam coming to her rescue.
“Good heavens! Did they hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine. That’s not what I want to talk about. Adam told me about the crisis in Scotland. The huge buildup of French troops. The fear that they might invade England. How weak Queen Elizabeth’s position is. Mother, there’s no need to pretend anymore. I know the peril you face.”
There was the merest flicker of unease. “My. He told you a great deal.”
Isabel could not forget Adam’s other words: You’re Spanish now. You’re Catholic . Was her mother thinking the same thing? She hated this barrier between them. “Mother, you can trust me.”
“Certainly, my darling. I just didn’t want you to worry. None of this is your problem.”
“Of course it is. Your problems are my
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