Beauvallet Page 7

  My lord came sedately out from the house in a gown of camlet trimmed with vair, with a close cap set upon his head, and a gold chain about his neck. My lord wore a cathedral beard like a churchman. He was fair where Nicholas was dark; his eyes were blue, but lacked the sparkle that was in his brother's eyes. He was a tall man of imposing mien, had a grave countenance and a stately gait. ‘Well, Nick!’ he said, with a glimmer of a smile. ‘My lady heard a shouting and commotion, and straightaway saith Nick must be home. How is it with you, lad?’

  The brothers embraced. ‘As you see me, Gerard. And you?’

  ‘Well enough. A tertian fever troubled me in February, but it is happily passed.’

  ‘He must needs go into Cambridgeshire to that damp, unhealthy castle,’ sighed a mournful voice. ‘I knew what would come of it. I foretold an ague from the start. Dear Nicholas, give you good den.’

  Nicholas turned to greet my Lady Beauvallet, kissed her hand right dutifully, and so came to her lips. ‘Do I see you well, sister?’

  ‘Nick!’ She blushed faintly and shook her finger at him. ‘Ever the same swift way! Nay, the hard winter – harder than any I remember, was it not, my lord? – tried me sorely. At the New Year I had the sweating-sickness. Then, at Candlemas, an ague seized me, and was like to have carried me off, methought.’

  ‘But the spring comes, and you grow strong with it,’ suggested Nicholas.

  She looked doubtful. ‘Indeed, Nicholas, I trust it may be found so, but I have the frailest health, as you know.’

  Gerard broke in upon this lamentation. ‘I see you bring home that ruffler,’ he said, and nodded to where Joshua stood in parley with the lackeys. ‘Have ye schooled him yet?’

  ‘Devil a bit, brother. Joshua! Here, rogue, come pay your duty to my lord!’ He put an arm round my lady's waist and swept her into the house. ‘Have in with you, Kate. The nip of the wind is like to lay you low of a second ague.’

  My lady went with him protesting. ‘Nick, Nick, so hardy still? Not a second ague, I assure you, but more like the seventh, for, indeed, no sooner am I raised from one than another strikes me down. Come into the hall, brother. There should be a fire there, and they will bring wine for you. Or there is some March beer of two years tunning. Dawson! Dawson, bring – oh, he is gone! Well, come in, Nicholas; you will be chilled from your ride.’

  They went through the screens to the Great Hall. This was a noble apartment with the roof high over their heads crossed and re-crossed with oaken timbers. Tall windows were set all round the walls at a height above a man's head. Between them the walls were covered with panels of linen-fold. A dais was set at one end, in the bay of the front windows, with a long table upon it and benches around. A great fireplace stood in one wall, with logs burning in it. Above the lofty mantelpiece, supported by pilasters, my lord's quarterings hung. Rushes, with rosemary strewed amongst them, covered the floor; there was a settle on either side of the fireplace, and some carved and panel-backed chairs ranged neatly along the wall.

  My lady sat down on one side of the fire, and since her monstrous farthingale seemed to occupy most of the settle, Sir Nicholas went to the other. ‘Yes, sit down, dear Nicholas,’ she said. ‘Dawson will be here anon, and my lord too, I dare swear.’

  Sir Nicholas loosed the cloak from about his shoulders and tossed it aside. It fell over one of the chairs against the wall, and Margery, peeping round a corner of the screens, frowned to see the fine thing so rudely used. My lady caught sight of that puckered face and smiled kindly. ‘Come you in, Margery. You will say it is a good day that sees Sir Nicholas come riding home.’

  ‘Good indeed, my lady.’ Margery dropped a curtsey. ‘But a feckless, heedless boy! Ah, is there never one to school him?’ She picked up the cloak and folded it carefully. ‘Tut, the brave hat upon the floor! Two feathers in it, i’faith!’ She looked a fond reproof at such extravagance. ‘Heed old Margery, my cosset, and get ye a wife!’

  ‘What need?’ Sir Nicholas asked, and disposed his graceful limbs at ease along the settle. ‘What need while I still have Margery to scold, and a fair sister to shake her head at me?’

  ‘Oh, Nicholas, for shame!’ my lady said. ‘I shake my head? Though, indeed, ye often deserve that I should. Ah, my lord, in good time! Here is your brother says we scold, poor Margery and I.’

  My lord came to sit beside Nicholas on the settle. ‘Dawson is gone to fetch the March beer for you, Nick. He is sure it is what you need.’ He smiled. ‘It is a rare thing, faith, to see the house turned upside down for a graceless rogue that heeds naught that concerns it.’

  Sir Nicholas threw back his head, and laughed. ‘The old tale! I irk you sorely, Gerard, alack!’

  ‘Nay, nay.’ My lord looked on him with some kindness. ‘So ye be come home now to stay…’

  ‘Patience, Gerard, patience!’ Nicholas said mischievously.

  Dawson came in preceding a lackey, bearing the famous beer upon a salver. ‘Sir, at your pleasure!’

  ‘In good sooth!’ Sir Nicholas stretched out a hand for the tankard. ‘Give you my word I have yearned often for this. My lady, I drink to your better health.’

  ‘Ah!’ sighed my lady, and shook her head.

  My lord took the second tankard. ‘You will wish to hear news of my Lady Stanbury,’ he said, ‘I had a letter from her lord last Friday se’n night, telling me she had been brought to bed of a fair son.’

  ‘What, a son at last?’ quoth Sir Nicholas, tossing off the rest of his beer. ‘Marry, I lost count of poor Adela's daughters long since! Dawson, another tankard, man, to drink my nephew's health!’ He looked at Gerard. ‘How doth my sister? Who stands sponsor?’

  ‘Well, very well. I am asked to stand, with my lady, and another. Ye should journey into Worcester to visit them; Adela would be glad of it. You will not have heard that our cousin Arnold is wedded to Groshawk's second daughter? A fair match, no more than fair. The elder girl favoured her mother too much for Arnold, so I heard.’

  Talk ran awhile on family matters; my lady went away presently to see to the preparation of the heir's chamber, and Nicholas must needs be off to the stables to greet old servants, and inspect new horses. My lord went with him, willingly enough.

  ‘There's a Barbary horse might suit you,’ said he. ‘Ye shall try his paces. I bought him last Michaelmas, but he is scarce up to my weight, I believe. He should please you: a fiery, impatient brute.’ He linked arms with Nicholas, and made his brother curb his hasty steps to match his own. ‘Gently, lad! What's your hurry?’

  ‘None. What hawks do you keep now? What sport?’

  ‘Fair, fair. I was out with my neighbour Selby last Thursday. I let fly my tassel-gentle at a pheasant, discovered in a brake. A rare bird that! I had her from Stanbury when he was here over Twelfth Night; ye shall see her anon. Selby found a mallard, whistled off his falcon. Down she came, twice missed, but recovered it at a long flight…’

  They talked of hawking, and of venery, and of the management of the estate. When they came slowly back to the house the sun was sinking behind it in a red glow. Master Dawson met them with a warning of supper. Sir Nicholas’ bag gage had arrived, and was safely bestowed in his chamber. Sir Nicholas went up the wide stairs two at a time, and found Joshua laying out a doublet and hose of slashed mochado, with nether stocks of carnation silk, and a clean stiff ruff.

  A great bed with a canopy of carved wood supported at all four corners by pillars in the form of caryatides, stood out into the room. It had hangings of worked damask, and a Venice-valance. A bow-fronted chest of walnut inlaid with cherry-wood stood at the foot of it; there was an armoire in one corner, a second chest bearing upon it a basin and ewer of pewter ware, painted cloths upon the wall, and a thrown-chair by the window. Sir Nicholas flung himself down in this, and stretched his legs out before him. ‘Off with my boots, Joshua. Where's the casket I bade ye cherish?’

  ‘Safe, master; I will bring it on the instant.’ Joshua knelt, and tugged at the muddied boots. ‘All goet
h merrily at home, sir, as we see. “What now,” quoth Master Dawson – he grows somewhat fat on good living, mark you – “What now, do ye stay in England, Master Dimmock?” This is to pry into our affairs, master. I made him a short answer, never fear me. “It's not for me,” quoth I, “to divulge what plans Sir Nicholas hath in mind.” He stood abashed.’

  ‘I warrant me!’ Sir Nicholas said mockingly. ‘A rare, politic answer, my Joshua. Pray, what are my plans?’

  Joshua arose with the second boot in his hand. ‘Nay, sir, ye have not favoured me with them yet,’ he said with unabated cheerfulness. ‘But it was not fit that I should say as much to that fat steward. A swag-bellied, pompous ass, I make bold to say. Yet, master, and I do not speak without reflection, it might suit us well to remain snug at home now.’

  Sir Nicholas stood up, his fingers busy with the untying of his points. ‘Further, rogue, it might suit us better to be gone again just so soon as the Venture is ready to put to sea.’

  Joshua's face fell. ‘Is it so indeed, master?’

  The glancing blue eyes looked down at him a moment. ‘Rest you snug at home. Do I constrain you? I am off on a wild adventure this time.’

  ‘The more reason to take me along,’ said Joshua severely. ‘If you are to be off again I shall certainly accompany you.’ He picked up the doublet from the bed, and frowned a stern reproof. ‘This is to jest, sir. I shall be at hand to keep a watch over our interests. I do not say that I had not as lief be at home, but I shall without doubt go where you go, for that is clearly my fate.’

  ‘Like Ruth,’ said Sir Nicholas flippantly.

  In a little while he was descending the stairs again, very brave in his doublet of the French cut, with the high wings to the shoulders, and the embroidered sleeves. He had a fine leg, set off to advantage in stockings of carnation silk, with rosettes to the garters below his knees. The neat little ruff made no more than a stiff cup for his face; my Lord Beauvallet, favouring a wider fashion, called it Italianate, and looked severely.

  My lord and his lady were found in the winter-parlour, where supper was spread upon a draw-table. Sir Nicholas came in upon them, splendid in his rich trappings, and set a small casket before my lady. ‘Spain pays toll to beauty, Kate,’ he said, and looked wickedly under his lashes at Gerard's disapproving countenance.

  My lady knew very well what she might expect to find in the casket, but chose to dissemble. ‘Why, Nicholas, what do you bring me?’ she wondered, raising her watchett-blue eyes to his face.

  ‘A poor gewgaw, no more. There is a length of China silk in my baggage you might make into a gown, or some such thing.’

  My lady had opened the casket, and clasped her hands in breathless ecstasy. ‘Oh, Nick! Rubies!’ she gasped, and almost reverently drew forth a long chain set with the precious stones. She held it in her hands, and looked doubtfully at Gerard. ‘See, my lord! Nicholas makes me a noble present.’

  ‘Ay,’ said my lord glumly. ‘Jewels filched from some Spanish hold.’

  My lady sighed, and put the chain down. ‘Should I not wear it, dear sir?’

  ‘Tush!’ Nicholas said bracingly, and caught up the chain from the table, and cast it about my lady's thin neck. ‘I’ve other such toys for the Queen. I warrant you she will wear them. Heed him not.’

  ‘I am sure,’ said my lady, plucking up courage, ‘that what the Queen's Grace does not disdain to wear I need not.’

  Gerard sat down in the high-backed chair at the head of the table: ‘You will do as you please, madam,’ he said deeply.

  Supper was eaten in silence, as was customary, but when the green goose had been taken away, and sweetmeats were on the table, and Hippocras set before my lord, conversation began again. My lord dipped his fingers in a gilt basin handed to him by a lackey liveried in blue, and spoke more genially. ‘Well, Nick, ye say naught of your designs. Have you come home to stay?’

  ‘Confess, brother, you are more at ease when I am abroad!’ Nicholas rallied him, and poured Hippocras into the delicate glass of Venetian ware before him.

  Gerard permitted a smile to break his gravity. ‘Nay, acquit me. I do not gainsay, though, ye are a mad, roystering lad.’

  ‘Swashbuckler, ye were wont to call me.’

  ‘Well.’ My lord smiled more broadly.

  ‘Oh no, I am sure he is sober enough now!’ my lady said in a flutter. ‘No hard words, I beg! Why he numbers some thirty-four, thirty-five summers, surely?’

  ‘God a’ mercy, do I so?’ Sir Nicholas said, startled. He lifted his glass, and held it up to see the light through the wine in it. He seemed to be pondering some quaint thought; my lord saw the corners of his mouth lift a little.

  ‘Time to be done with all this ruffling on the high seas,’ my lord said.

  Beauvallet shot him a quick look; there was a hidden jest in his eyes. He returned to the contemplation of his wine.

  My lady rose. ‘You will have much to say to one another,’ she said. ‘Ye will find me in the gallery anon.’

  Beauvallet went to hold the door for her. As she passed him she put out a hand, and smiled vaguely. ‘Indeed, I hope you will listen to my lord, Nick. We should be glad to have you at home.’

  He carried her fingers to his lips, but would give her neither yea nor nay. She went out, and he closed the door behind her.

  My lord pushed back his chair a little way from the table, sat more at his ease, and poured another glass of wine. ‘Sit ye down, Nick, sit ye down! Let me know your mind.’ He observed the secret jest still in his brother's face, and knew a feeling of some slight alarm. There was no knowing what folly Nick might be planning.

  Sir Nicholas pulled his chair round a little, sank into it, with one leg thrown over the arm. His fingers closed round the stem of his glass, twisting it this way and that. His other hand played gently with his pomander.

  My lord nodded and smiled. ‘I see you still have that trick of swinging your pomander. As I remember it never boded good. My memory serves, eh?’ He drank his wine, and set down the glass. ‘Thirty-five summers! Ay, my lady is in the right of it. Thirty-five summers and still roaming the world. Now to what purpose, Nick?’

  Beauvallet shrugged his shoulders. ‘Oh, to bring rubies home for Kate,’ he parried.

  ‘It's what I don’t like. I’ll not conceal it from you. It's very well for such men as Hawkins or Drake, but I would remind you, Nick, that you stand next to me in the succession. To make the Grand Tour is well enough – though what good ye came by from it, God knoweth!’

  ‘Nay, brother,’ Sir Nicholas protested. ‘I learned to foin with the point from the great Carranza himself in Toledo! Grant me that.’

  My lord was roused to an expression of strenuous disapproval. ‘A pretty ambition, God wot! All this pricking and poking with a barbarous rapier is an invention of the devil himself. An honest sword-and-buckler was good enough for our fathers.’

  ‘But not good enough for us,’ said Beauvallet. ‘Yet I will engage to worst you in an encounter with your sword-and-buckler, Gerard. I believe I have not altogether lost the trick of it. But for delicacy, for finesse, let me have the rapier!’ He made an imaginary pass in the air. ‘What, you say I learned no good upon my travels? Did I not sit at the feet of Carranza, and after find out Marozzo himself in Venice? Ay, he was old, I grant you, but he had some tricks still to show. Alack, ye have no Italian! Ye should else read his Opera Nova, in the which book he carefully explains the uses of the falso and the dritto filo. No good, ye say? Produce me the man who can worst me with the rapier and the dagger!’

  My lord maintained an unyielding front. ‘Do you count such foreign tricks a gain? What else have you to show for these years of junketting abroad?’

  ‘A rare Toledo blade, brother,’ returned Nicholas, unabashed. ‘A blade tempered in the waters of the Tagus, and inscribed with the name of Andrea Ferrara between eight crowns. Yet another such blade, from the hand of Sahagom. What, more? Why, then, a suit of Jacobi armour you yourself did not despis
e; an acquaintance with our cousins in France; an intimate knowledge of the French, the Spanish, and the Italian tongues – which I think ye lack –’

  ‘The English of my forefathers sufficeth me,’ said my lord grimly.

  ‘You’ve no ambition, Gerard,’ mourned Beauvallet.

  ‘I’ve no vagrant spirit,’ said my lord tartly. ‘Will you never be still? I pass over the Grand Tour; I may pass over even that mad emprise ye set forth on with Drake –’

  ‘A thousand thanks!’ Beauvallet's eyes were alight.

  ‘I grant you it was worth the doing,’ said my lord grudgingly. ‘Ay, a rare feat, and all honour to you for compassing it.’

  ‘Give honour to Drake, where it is due,’ said Beauvallet, and lifted his glass. ‘We drink his health! To Drake, the master-mariner!’

  My lord drank the toast, but without enthusiasm. ‘It's very well, but why ye must needs cleave so fast to this same Sir Francis passeth my comprehension.’

  ‘Does it so?’ Beauvallet said. ‘But then, brother, you have not sailed the world round in his company, nor learned seacraft of him, nor faced sack, battle and wreck at his side.’

  ‘Ye have imbibed unfit notions from him. A voyage round the world! Very well, very well, a feat indeed, and duly we honoured it. Ye brought home a store of riches, moreover, enough for any man. Then was the time to call an end to this wandering fever. But did ye? Nay, ye built your fine ship, and must needs be off again. A madness! A most damnable folly, Nick, give me leave to say!’

  Sir Nicholas bowed his raven head in mock contrition. ‘I cry your pardon, good my lord!’

  ‘Ay, and sit there as graceless as the day ye were first breeched,’ said my lord, a hint of humour in his deep voice. ‘Nay, Nick, I speak advisedly. Ye have laid up a goodly treasure, as I know who husband it for you. Treasure come by in a way I like not, but let it go. There is the manor of Basing waiting for any time you choose to go to it. My lady brings me no heirs, nor is not like to. I look to you. What comes to our house if you be slain or drowned? Get a wife, and be done with this roystering!’