The Rogue's Princess (24 page)

That night, Mercy sat sewing a new shift for herself in a corner of the Dobbs’s kitchen, by the dull glow of smoking rush light, trying to work out how to outwit the gaoler and get both herself and her pies past him again. She couldn’t rest until she had seen for herself how serious Kit’s fever was and
was determined he would have decent food to aid his recovery at the very least.

No one broke the silence in the single room that the family shared. Goodman Dobbs read his Bible, chewing his lip with one of his few remaining teeth; Deliverance and Humiliation sat on the other side of the hearth from Mercy, darning hose with coarse wool thread; Goodwife Dobbs slept in a chair, exhausted by a day at the wash tub, arms reddened by long immersion in water. The whole family was as wrung out as the sheets the goodwife had struggled with all day.

There came a knocking at the door. Dobbs got up with a grunt, protesting at the late hour. Suppressing a troubling cough, he warily opened the door, hand on the club he kept ready by the entrance.

‘Open up, Dobbs,’ called a muffled voice on the other side. ‘Pray be swift.’

‘Master Edwin, what brings you here at this time of night?’ Dobbs threw the door wide.

Mercy was astonished to see Edwin enter, Faith and Ann Belknap with him, between them supporting Grandmother.

‘It’s Mistress Isham. She refuses to be quiet until she’s seen Mercy,’ Faith said. She looked exhausted, coif askew, cheeks pale. ‘I’ve had to catch her six times today to stop her wandering off on her own to search. Finally, Ann found her on her doorstep asking for Mercy so we decided we had to bring her here and put her mind at rest.’

Mercy rushed forward to help support her grandmother. ‘Oh, Gran, you shouldn’t have worried! See, I’m here, safe with the Dobbses.’

‘Safe!’ spluttered Ann, outraged that her friend had chosen
to lodge here rather than at her house. ‘Is that what you call it? Why ever haven’t you come to us, Mercy? I don’t care a fig that your father’s thrown you out – you must know that.’

‘It’s not about my father – the matter is deeper than that, Ann.’ Mercy begged her friend with her expression to bear with her until she had a chance to explain.

Ann gave a disgusted sniff, only now realizing what a wretched place they had entered, as far apart from her luxurious home as the north is from the south. ‘It must be if you’ve chosen to live here. It’s not some silly “punishing-yourself-to-please-God” idea of yours, is it? For, if it is, you and I will be having some very serious words.’

Mercy shook her head, tears sparkling. Ann was right: not so long ago that would have sounded exactly like her. Now she felt that she and God were in this together, putting up with the indignity to protect the innocent.

‘This is a fine parcel of trouble,’ grumbled Dobbs, shaking his wife to wake her. ‘Give up the chair, wife. Old Mother Isham has come calling. I think we have some fancy piece from the City, as well as the whole suit of Harts here, bar John, and I don’t doubt but he’ll follow on after.’

Rousing herself, the goodwife ushered Grandmother into the chair, pressing her hand to her aching back as she lowered the old lady down.

Gran sat, but refused to let go of Mercy’s hand. ‘Are you well, my sweet darling?’

Mercy nodded, biting her lip. No, she wasn’t really, but it was her own choice to put herself through this. And who was she to complain about a little suffering when she had her freedom?

‘I tried to take the paddle to John, but he took it from me.’ Grandmother fretted at her ancient cloak, hands quivering. ‘He shouldn’t have put you out like that – no shoes, nothing!’

Mercy had spared the Dobbses the details of her departure from her home; she would have preferred that they remain in ignorance, but they were listening avidly. Ann looked close to another outburst.

‘No shoes!’ she hissed.

‘That’s no matter. I have new ones. Look.’ Mercy lifted her skirts to her ankles so her grandmother and Ann could admire her fine red shoes.

Grandmother smiled, her eyes peering in the gloom. ‘I can’t see them so well. What are they like?’

‘Scarlet, Gran. With a heel.’

The old lady nodded. ‘Aye, I wager your Kit got you those. He’s a fine man. Don’t you let him slip away, you hear?’

There was no chance that Kit could go anywhere just at the moment. ‘I won’t. Thank you for calling on me, but had you not better go home? It is very late.’

‘I’m staying here – with you. I’m going to see your young man with you tomorrow; you can’t be going to those bad places on your own.’ Grandmother huddled in the chair, giving every sign that only bodily force would part her from the Dobbs’s kitchen while Mercy still lived there.

Mercy looked to Faith and Edwin for aid, but her sister raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘I really think she means it, Mercy.’

‘Goodman Dobbs?’ Edwin asked plaintively.

Dobbs threw up his hands, thinking only of what would get them all the best night’s sleep. ‘She can stay in the chair if
she wishes. Mercy can bring her home tomorrow, if she’s willing then.’

Her brother heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you. Mercy, will you do that?’

Mercy nodded. ‘I’ll sleep by her. See she lacks for nothing. And bring her as far as your door.’

Faith grimaced at the reminder that Mercy was not welcome within. She pulled her to one side. ‘How fare you, sister?’

Mercy noted and appreciated that Faith had not renounced the blood-tie as their father had demanded. ‘I am well, thank you.’

Faith hugged her. ‘And your young man?’

‘Not so good. He is ill, I believe.’ Her voice was not as strong as she would have liked.

‘I will pray for him. And you.’ Faith wiped Mercy’s ash-smudged face with her handkerchief, much as she had done when they had been children and Faith had acted the part of mother. ‘Be careful – I worry for your safety in that vile place.’

Mercy sniffed, trying not to cry in front of the Dobbses. ‘How is Father?’

Faith gave a helpless shrug. ‘As you would imagine, he’s heartbroken.’

‘I really wish it could be otherwise.’

Faith pressed her face to Mercy’s. ‘I know, my dear. We all do. Conscience is a terrible thing.’

Edwin kissed Mercy and drew Faith away. ‘Come, sister, we’ve disturbed these good people enough for one night. Be well, Mercy.’

‘And you, Edwin.’

Ann embraced her. ‘My mother is going to demand that
you come and stay with us, you know. You’ll have Belknaps bothering you until you fold.’

Mercy squeezed her back. ‘Please don’t. I can’t explain – it’s too dangerous. Kit is innocent, but I’ve discovered that sometimes innocence isn’t enough. You can best help us both by staying away just a little longer.’

Ann was far from convinced – and why should she be when she did not understand what was really at stake? ‘I refuse to see Mercy Hart thrown out like yesterday’s peelings. Your father has a lot to answer for.’

‘He thinks – perhaps with reason when you consider the outward signs – that Kit is bad for me.’

‘Humph! I think your father thinks too much sometimes.’

Mercy gave a gurgling laugh. ‘Maybe you’re right. I’ve thought for a while now that we could benefit in our family from less worrying about godliness and more loving as God would have us do.’

‘Wise words, my friend.’ Ann hugged her in farewell. ‘Be well.’

‘I hear and obey, O mistress.’ With a watery smile, Mercy let her go.

The two Harts and Ann departed, leaving Mercy feeling the full bitter-sweetness of what it meant to love her family almost as much as she loved Kit.

17

Grandmother’s appearance at the Dobbs’s home gave Mercy an unexpected weapon in her battle of wits with Warder Stanton. When she woke up the next day, her mind had cleared and she knew exactly how she was going to defeat the guard: unleash Grandmother on him. After giving the old lady breakfast, she explained the situation to her in terms she could appreciate.

‘Gran, there’s this horrible man at the prison. He tries to prevent me seeing Kit.’

Grandmother nodded, her eyes as bright as a redbreast’s this morning. ‘I’ll deal with him, dear, never you mind.’

Mercy wasn’t sure she could leave it to Grandmother’s devising. ‘You mustn’t threaten to paddle him, understand?’

Grandmother gave an impatient wave. ‘Of course not. I’m not daft, Mercy, just old. And forgetful.’ She blinked. ‘Where are we going?’

Perhaps this wasn’t such a brilliant idea. ‘To see my Kit.’

‘Ah yes. He’s a very handsome boy, that one.’

‘That’s right. But he’s in prison.’

‘Whatever for?’ Grandmother protested, as if this was the first time she’d heard the news.

‘It’s not important. I just need you to help me to get in to see him.’

‘Yes, yes, I understand.’

Mercy gathered up Grandmother and her trailing cloak, thinking it best to make her move while some fragment of the truth lodged in the old lady’s remembrance. She placed in her basket the offering of almond tarts she’d thrown together rather hastily the afternoon before, hoping they would appeal to the warder’s appetite. She could but try.

The warder was surprised to see Mercy back so soon, and forced out of his usual bullying course when he saw the old lady hanging on her arm.

‘My grandmother is weary, sir. Might she rest in your office while we discuss Master Turner’s health?’ Mercy asked with rather more forthrightness than she had used with him before.

The man could see the old lady was weaving about, soon to tumble in a heap on his very doorstep if he did not act quickly. ‘Aye, come in.’ He opened the door with alacrity. ‘Here, mother, take your ease in my chair.’ He surrendered his command post to her, letting her sit at the table.

‘Thank you, young man,’ quavered Gran. ‘You’re a fine one, aren’t you? You remind me of my cousin Aldus.’

Mercy couldn’t remember such a relative, but it was never a good idea to interrupt Grandmother when she was reeling in an idea from her past.

The warder preened, shifting his wide belt on his generous stomach. ‘I try to keep myself in good health for my duties, mother.’

‘I’m sure you do. Not many men these days make the effort, you know. They overindulge in pies and so forth and let
themselves swell up like tubs of lard – and modern fashions can be so cruel.’ She patted the stool beside her. ‘Let me tell you about Aldus – I’m sure you would’ve got on famously had you met. Mercy, where are those lovely tarts of yours? A little bite of something sweet keeps us all smiling, wouldn’t you say, Sir Warder?’

‘Aye, mother.’ His eyes flicked to the cloth that Mercy was unwrapping on the table.

‘Run along, child, go see Master Turner. The warder and I are busy.’

Mercy left as she heard Grandmother begin on one of her convoluted tales for which she was well known in the family. She had got worse since her infirmity and to plunge into a story with her was like unravelling the wool after a kitten had got in the yarn bag.

‘Yes, Aldus, there was a fine man, till he got taken up for sheep-stealing, of course, and that was in, when was it now, the day when that man ruled us, now what’s his name?’

‘King Henry?’ the warder prompted helpfully.

‘Nay, the other one – in the young king’s stead. Ah, marry, Somerset, that was the man – or was it Lord Dudley? We seemed to get through our rulers very quickly then, faster than a pair of shoes lasts a tinker.’

Leaving the warder caught in the coils of Grandmother’s memory, Mercy slipped along the corridor to Kit’s door. She didn’t have the key, but at least she could peer in at the grate when she stood on an upturned bucket.

‘Kit, my love, are you there?’

She heard rustling from the corner. It was horribly dark in the cell, only a little grey light coming in from a barred
window high in the wall. Kit came to the door. His face was swollen and he had a blackened eye.

‘Oh stars! I thought you had a fever!’ She pushed her slim hand through the grate to touch his cheek.

Kit rubbed a palm over his face self-consciously. ‘Nay. I just had a little disagreement with my kind host.’

‘The devil! He told me you were too ill to see me.’

Kit kissed her fingers. ‘I’m never too ill to see you, Mercy. But I imagine I must look very bad to you – nothing that won’t heal, I promise.’ It then occurred to him that she was on her own, but not coming in. ‘But, Mercy, should you even be here? Where’s the gaoler?’

Mercy blinked back tears, determined not to spoil Kit’s brief time with her by crying. ‘Grandmother is entertaining him for me. He won’t get away for several minutes.’

Kit gave a dry chuckle, holding his ribs. ‘I’m glad to be revenged on him. Punishment by Grandmother will make me smile when I next have to encounter him.’

‘But that can’t happen again – I can’t let him hurt you.’ She clenched her fists round the bars. ‘Do you want me to tell your brothers?’ she whispered.

‘Nay, this was to be expected.’ Kit shrugged it off as of no matter. ‘They can guess what is happening – I’m just thankful it isn’t worse.’

‘Worse!’

‘Mercy, what do you think happens in the Tower? I have only blows to battle – a little tenderizing for their questions they think it. Give that to me any day over the rack.’

Mercy really didn’t want to know, preferring the false comfort of her previous state of ignorance about the workings
of justice in the kingdom, but she forced herself to think of what was happening here. He was right: rough treatment in the Marshalsea was far better than the attention of the trained torturers kept by Walsingham in the Queen’s name in the Tower.

‘Is this what you meant about it getting worse before it gets better?’

‘Aye. Never fear, he’s done no permanent damage. I’ll be as handsome as ever before you know it.’ He gave a self-mocking snort.

‘I think I’ll put poison in his next pie,’ she said fiercely.

He laughed. ‘Nay, don’t do that. He might feed it to me. The chicken was excellent. I dined off those like a king.’

‘I haven’t got anything for you today, I’m afraid.’

‘You are a banquet. I will feed off the memories of seeing you all day and all night. I love you, Mercy Hart.’