She turned to Captain Drake who pulled a wry face while White looked aghast.
‘Would it be worth expending the shot?’ Sir Francis asked jovially and gave Emme a wink.
Master Harriot broke in, eyes flashing, ‘I hope that Englishmen would show more civility to native peoples who barely know us and are simple souls in need of guidance.’
‘Is there gold to be found here, or mineral wealth of any kind?’ The Queen looked from him to White and then Manteo. ‘We need to question the advantage of re-manning the Roanoke fort or establishing any other positions in the territory.’ She looked back at Captain Drake who blew another stream of smoke in the direction of Master Harriot.
The Captain turned to a model globe and ran the back of his fingers down the east coast of the Americas as far as the Antilles.
‘A base from which we could pick off Spanish treasure ships would be useful, the further south the better.’
Harriot coughed, turned his back on Sir Francis, and inclined his head towards the Queen as he placed the drawings neatly together. ‘There may be precious metals, though as yet …’
He was silenced by a disturbance at the doors and the sudden arrival of a gentleman who marched straight in.
‘Sir Walter Raleigh,’ the herald announced.
The Queen turned and watched as Sir Walter entered, knelt, strode towards her and knelt again. She gave him her hand which he kissed and then motioned for him to rise with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘My Walter,’ she said softly, and Emme recognised the fond name Her Majesty had for him. ‘Come and slake my thirst in a desert of worry.’
Sir Walter replied as gently, ‘Always.’ Then he wheeled round to face Captain Drake with an expression as hard as flint. ‘I would appreciate an explanation in private, Sir Francis.’ His eyes narrowed as he took in the papers which Harriot was rolling up. ‘And you may report to me next, Master Harriot.’ A gesture towards the door made plain where he expected him to go, and Secretary Walsingham spread his arms to motion everyone else away.
The exit was brisk and the doors closed quickly leaving Sir Francis and Sir Walter alone with the Queen. Emme found herself with Secretary Walsingham settling like a raven at her side.
‘Find Master Doonan lodgings here, then keep an eye on what he does. Let me know if you pick up anything about Sir Walter’s plans for Virginia. The mariner should be easier for you to follow than the Indian.’
With a nod, Secretary Walsingham was gone, and she was left to hurry after the others. She caught up just as stewards led away Manteo, Harriot and White. Master Kit eyed her quizzically and stepped aside at her bidding; only then did she realise that a boy was with him and that Biddy was following as well.
The boy did not intrude; he hung back respectfully behind Biddy while Emme walked with Mariner Kit. She supposed the boy must have been acquired on some exotic voyage because his skin was the colour of cinnamon and his features were like a blackamoor’s, except more fine, with a neat pert nose and curling dark lashes to his downturned doe eyes. Another glance back at him prompted Kit to give the boy’s name.
‘This is Rob, my page. I would like him to stay with me.’
‘I’ll make sure he has a bed,’ she said, deciding that she would not mind the boy since she was pleased enough to have Master Kit at her side, conscious of his lithe, straight-backed stride as they passed through the gallery and the Watching Chamber beyond. A few heads turned as they left, but she acknowledged no one’s look, and, once they were over the moat and in Fountain Court, she spoke to the mariner more freely knowing that she had his attention to herself.
‘Have you sailed with Sir Francis many times?’
‘Yes,’ he said, slowing as they neared the fountain, and fixing his
blue gaze upon her in a way that made his words seem to slip past formality and reach straight to her soul. ‘I have been with him on every voyage since he helped me escape from the Spaniards thirteen years ago.’
‘Escape?’ She probed softly, aware of a sadness about him lying like darkness behind a veil – she saw it in his eyes as he looked straight back at her.
‘I was held hostage by the Spaniards before the battle of San Juan de Ulúa, and taken captive when they reneged and destroyed John Hawkins’ fleet. They marched me to the City of Mexico and sold me as a galley slave; then I was sent to the mines in Panama and panned for gold until I was freed by African runaways. I lived as an outlaw with these people, the Cimaroons as they’re called, until I heard of English ships nearby, and then I found my brother, who was in Drake’s crew, and sailed back to England with Drake and the Spanish treasure he’d seized.’
He turned to drink from the fountain, leaving Emme in awe as the wonder of his story settled over her. It chimed in her mind with legendary tales of Spanish treachery and John Hawkins’ defeat, and Drake’s famous first victory over the Spaniards in the New World when he had brought back a fortune after raiding a mule train carrying bullion. What must the mariner have been through: imprisoned, enslaved, outcast and then rescued as if brought back from the dead? What had he been through since? She watched him wipe the water from his mouth with the back of his hand, and pictured him in a prison cell, and then in a wilderness, and next on a rolling deck in the thick of a storm. He would have been graceful wherever he was, she decided; he did not need to drink from crystal to look like a gentleman.
‘Did you sail with Sir Francis all around the world?’
‘I did. I sailed with him to Magellan’s Strait, beyond the land of ice and smoke, and into the South Sea where no Englishman had sailed before, as far north as New Albion, and then to the Spice Isles rich in cloves and ginger, from Java to the Guinea Coast and back to England; I’ve seen the lion in the purple mountains of Sierra Leone, and birds that fly in the sea because the sky is too cold.’
His words both thrilled and unsettled her, swelling her heart then spearing her with longing.
‘I would that I could have gone on such a journey.’
The remark was out before she had considered the sense of it. Kit’s response was to smile at her as if she could not possibly understand.
‘I think you would have wished yourself back home within a month. Two-thirds of the crew died on that voyage.’
She almost protested that she would have gladly endured the hardship or died in the attempt, but she kept that thought to herself.
‘Will you sail with Sir Francis again?’
‘I might not.’ The sounds of splashing filled his pause. ‘The next voyage I make will be with Manteo, I have promised him.’
‘To Virginia?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does Virginia hold better prospects for you now? Greater even than finding fortune with Sir Francis Drake?’
He looked away to the arch that led through to the gate; then he turned back to her.
‘Fortune is not everything.’
‘You are right.’ She smiled to show how much she agreed with him, though that soon faded before the gravity in his eyes, and
not smiling was easier since she was still bleeding inside and out from the pain of her violation. She ushered him on in silence, with the boy padding behind, while her mind swam, and she mourned inwardly for the affinity she felt with this man, and the certainty that neither he, nor anyone like him, could ever be part of her life, so far removed from her was he in station and experience, and so tarnished was she now that no man of merit would ever want her.
‘There were many reasons why I sailed with Drake,’ Kit volunteered, carrying on as if their discussion had never stopped, and her heart opened to him at that, because she knew he was trying to be both considerate and forthright with her. He paced steadily at her side as he went on.
‘Gratitude and loyalty come into it, and searching too – searching for something,’ he added quickly, as if correcting himself.
‘What?’
‘I …’
Their words were uttered together, and with a wistful smile he carried on.
‘I now know that my search is at an end. There is no need for me to sail again with Drake, not to the Indies or anywhere else.’
They had reached the Gate House, and it was only natural that she should go inside to speak to the Yeoman Steward and collect the key to the mariner’s room; this done, she knew their conversation was close to a conclusion, though she wondered at his last words, and wanted to know more about his travels and why his search was over. She escorted Master Kit to his lodgings overlooking the Great Court, checked there was a pallet for his page, and prepared to say goodbye.
‘I suppose you will be meeting Manteo to discuss your return to Virginia?’ She put the question as blithely as she could.
‘Yes, there’ll be meetings, and Sir Walter will want a report, and to speak to me as well since it’s his capital that will finance the voyage. I hope he considers me worthy to be included in the enterprise.’
‘Oh, he will,’ she blurted out, which induced in him another small smile. ‘I would like to attend, if I may,’ she rushed on impulsively, simply not wanting to end their association and the glimpse of freedom he had given her. ‘I am very interested in this new land.’
‘You?’ He raised a brow and looked at her, and again his eyes locked onto hers, but the laughter that she thought might come did not. He spoke gently.
‘Well, John White is determined upon having women amongst his settlers. Perhaps you might be able to tell him whether the women who are needed will be encouraged to join.’
The women who are needed
: the phrase turned in her thoughts, and she knew that such women did not include her. Suddenly she wished all her finery away: her silk dress and pearls, her wired collar and corset, the farthingale, the busk and the whitening caking her face. She wished she had no maid to give him the impression she was pampered. She wanted him to see that she could be useful too.
He tipped his handsome head on one side then gave her a crisp bow.
‘I will ask whether you may come along.’
*
Emme felt herself falling, plummeting down through a lightless void with nothing that she could catch hold of to slow her descent. Her speed accelerated with each tearing moment, though she reached out with arms and legs, twisting and flailing in desperation, clutching uselessly while air streamed past her, filling her mouth which was open wide to scream. But no sound would come. The drop
went on and on. Her muscles locked and her nerves burned. She tried to yell again and again, until, at last, with a cry she woke, thrashing and sweating, twisting in her sheets, conscious of where she was just as she realised that someone was close.
Bess Throckmorton reached over from the bed beside Emme in their chamber at Richmond Palace and took hold of her in the darkness. Emme sighed with relief. She was safe and with people she knew. Her maid, Biddy, Lady Frances Howard and others familiar to her would be not far away. She jerked up on one elbow, rubbed at her eyes and gave a small moan. As her thoughts cleared, she realised nothing had changed. It was no surprise to her that she had dreamt of falling. In truth, she had fallen already even if outwardly she appeared unharmed. Still breathing heavily, she rocked back and forth.
Bess got up quietly, ghost pale in the shuttered dark. She squatted down by Emme’s bed and put her arms around her.
‘It’s all right, Emme,’ she whispered. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. You were only having a bad dream.’
Emme hugged Bess back, then buried her face against her friend’s linen shift, inhaling its scent of rose petals and human sweetness, aware of the young woman’s body beneath, younger than hers, one untouched. Her tears began to gush helplessly because Bess was so kind yet everything was
not
all right. It would never be all right.
Bess kissed her cheek, murmuring with soft sibilance.
‘What is it, Emme? Surely a dream should not upset you so?’
‘It’s not the dream, Bess, not that. It’s … No, I can’t tell anyone.’
‘Telling me might be a help, Emme. A trouble shared is a trouble made less; that’s what my nurse always said.’
‘Dear Bess.’ Emme gave her another squeeze. Bess was a true good friend but she could never begin to confess her shame to her.
Bess whispered softly.
‘You called out while you were dreaming.’
‘What?’ Panic gripped Emme again. ‘What did I say?’
Bess made her whispering even quieter, squeezing it into hot damp puffs against Emme’s ear.
‘You said: “
Joined
–
No!
” and “
Lord
…” At least I think that’s what it was.’ Bess gave a small suppressed giggle. ‘Were you blaspheming in your sleep?’
Emme shook her head as her tears flowed. She sniffled and groped for her handkerchief. If Bess meant to cheer her, she had failed.
‘So were you naming someone?’ Bess whispered again more urgently. ‘Did you not want to be joined with
a lord
?’
It was too much. Bess knew her too well. Her friend had guessed at her secret before Emme had any chance to try and better conceal it. She blew her nose and covered her eyes and could not stop the great shuddering sobs that racked her. She fell into her friend’s embrace and they held one another tight.
‘A lord has ruined me, Bess.’
‘No!’ Bess gasped. ‘Who?’
Emme took a deep breath and murmured in a small voice. ‘Lord Hertford.’
‘But he’s so old!’ Bess sounded incredulous.
‘Not too old for what he did to me.’
‘Oh no … He didn’t …’ Bess took hold of Emme’s hand and gripped it until her nails dug in. ‘Not with his … Not as a man should only do with his wife …’
‘Yes, that.’
Emme sensed Bess was struggling to imagine what had happened,
and she supposed the act was as much beyond her friend’s experience as it had been beyond her own until that night, just over two weeks ago, when her innocence had been ripped from her.
‘He trapped me here in the palace,’ she began to explain in an undertone. ‘He locked me in a room and then …’
‘Shhh!’ Bess shot back into bed and pulled the covers over her head.
The glow of a candle passed over them as Lady Howard surveyed all the beds in the chamber.