there.’ She gestured in the direction of the street.
‘You’re being foolish, Milly. No good can come of this friendship,’ Christopher warned. ‘He’ll be off in a trice on the whim of his Lacey master, leaving you with his mess to clear up.’
Milly drew herself up to her full height, still a foot shorter than the player, a ruffled hen daring to cluck at the fox. ‘So you won’t be staying, I see. Goodnight then.’
The force of her disapproval drove him as far as the step. ‘Milly, listen to me. See sense before it is too late –’
‘Good night, Master Turner.’ The door clapped shut in his face.
James left the palace feeling as though he had just discovered that the Earth had left its usual place in the heavens to circle the Moon. Striding through the streets separating Whitehall from Durham House, his way lit by a torch-carrying linkboy, he had plenty of time to mull over the fact that everything he had thought about Jane for the past eighteen months had proved wrong. She had given up life as a countess for the sake of her friend. He had believed it as soon as he heard her confession – indeed, the truth had been obvious once she had provided the explanation – and now he only had himself to blame for persisting to think ill of her for so long. If he had gone to her after she had rejected Will, he could have heard the story from her side; perhaps then things would have developed differently – she would not have married her marquess and he …
I probably would not have gone to the Low Countries , James admitted to himself. He had taken the commission in a fit of temper, soured for the alternative of court life by his ill-feelings towards Jane, the consummate court lady.
But he had gone and now he was not fit company for anyone – outside he knew he seemed very much the same, but inside his soul had crumbled into pieces. If old King Henry had not got rid of the monasteries, he would have been tempted to lock himself away from the world in one so he did not inflict his presence on others.
Tipping the linkboy, he roused the doorkeeper to Durham House who ushered him in with a respectful, ‘Good even, my lord.’ His boots making staccato strikes on the stone stairs, he bounded up to his room, loosening the tight grip of the ruff on his neck. Pins fell from their anchorage but he did not bother to look for them – his chamber was lit only by a single candle on the cold hearth as Diego had asked for the night off to visit a friend. James cursed, having forgotten to order his fire lit by one of the maids before his return. He threw his cloak onto a bench by the door and stooped to light the kindling.
It had just caught with a voracious flare of flame when a voice by the window spoke out.
‘About time, my lord. I was freezing over here waiting for your return.’
James leapt to his feet, drawing his rapier and dagger. He didn’t recognize the interloper and had no intention of making his further acquaintance.
‘Get out!’ he ordered.
The young man had one leg braced across the embrasure, the other on the floor, his head supported by the arm resting on a raised knee – the picture of indolence. James glanced behind him, fully expecting to see an accomplice coming at his back. He had to be a thief – James had no political importance worthy of assassination.
‘I’m alone, my lord,’ the man said, as if amused by his suspicions. ‘Quite alone.’
‘Get out.’
The man slowly got to his feet, moving a step out of the shadows. He was about James’s age, tall and clean shaven with a curling mop of black hair. A pearl earring swung from one lobe. Oddly, James found himself thinking of his brother Tobias. There was something about the dark eyes that reminded him of the scamp.
‘My lord, I would ask you to forgive my intrusion but I know a Lacey never forgives what they see as an insult.’ He bowed. ‘My name is Christopher Turner.’ He paused as if waiting for a response.
‘What’s
‘You’re being foolish, Milly. No good can come of this friendship,’ Christopher warned. ‘He’ll be off in a trice on the whim of his Lacey master, leaving you with his mess to clear up.’
Milly drew herself up to her full height, still a foot shorter than the player, a ruffled hen daring to cluck at the fox. ‘So you won’t be staying, I see. Goodnight then.’
The force of her disapproval drove him as far as the step. ‘Milly, listen to me. See sense before it is too late –’
‘Good night, Master Turner.’ The door clapped shut in his face.
James left the palace feeling as though he had just discovered that the Earth had left its usual place in the heavens to circle the Moon. Striding through the streets separating Whitehall from Durham House, his way lit by a torch-carrying linkboy, he had plenty of time to mull over the fact that everything he had thought about Jane for the past eighteen months had proved wrong. She had given up life as a countess for the sake of her friend. He had believed it as soon as he heard her confession – indeed, the truth had been obvious once she had provided the explanation – and now he only had himself to blame for persisting to think ill of her for so long. If he had gone to her after she had rejected Will, he could have heard the story from her side; perhaps then things would have developed differently – she would not have married her marquess and he …
I probably would not have gone to the Low Countries , James admitted to himself. He had taken the commission in a fit of temper, soured for the alternative of court life by his ill-feelings towards Jane, the consummate court lady.
But he had gone and now he was not fit company for anyone – outside he knew he seemed very much the same, but inside his soul had crumbled into pieces. If old King Henry had not got rid of the monasteries, he would have been tempted to lock himself away from the world in one so he did not inflict his presence on others.
Tipping the linkboy, he roused the doorkeeper to Durham House who ushered him in with a respectful, ‘Good even, my lord.’ His boots making staccato strikes on the stone stairs, he bounded up to his room, loosening the tight grip of the ruff on his neck. Pins fell from their anchorage but he did not bother to look for them – his chamber was lit only by a single candle on the cold hearth as Diego had asked for the night off to visit a friend. James cursed, having forgotten to order his fire lit by one of the maids before his return. He threw his cloak onto a bench by the door and stooped to light the kindling.
It had just caught with a voracious flare of flame when a voice by the window spoke out.
‘About time, my lord. I was freezing over here waiting for your return.’
James leapt to his feet, drawing his rapier and dagger. He didn’t recognize the interloper and had no intention of making his further acquaintance.
‘Get out!’ he ordered.
The young man had one leg braced across the embrasure, the other on the floor, his head supported by the arm resting on a raised knee – the picture of indolence. James glanced behind him, fully expecting to see an accomplice coming at his back. He had to be a thief – James had no political importance worthy of assassination.
‘I’m alone, my lord,’ the man said, as if amused by his suspicions. ‘Quite alone.’
‘Get out.’
The man slowly got to his feet, moving a step out of the shadows. He was about James’s age, tall and clean shaven with a curling mop of black hair. A pearl earring swung from one lobe. Oddly, James found himself thinking of his brother Tobias. There was something about the dark eyes that reminded him of the scamp.
‘My lord, I would ask you to forgive my intrusion but I know a Lacey never forgives what they see as an insult.’ He bowed. ‘My name is Christopher Turner.’ He paused as if waiting for a response.
‘What’s
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