Lady in Waiting

‘I hope I do not intrude,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I ought to have waited until we were summoned, but I looked out and was tempted. It is always my habit to rise early at home.’

Sir Nicholas looked at her, his eyes narrowing as they moved over her with slow deliberation. His study brought a flush to her cheeks, making Catherine catch her breath. There was something so essentially masculine about him then that she was aware of a feeling that disturbed her, though she did not understand it. Why did he look at her so? It was almost as if he were undressing her with his eyes! No man had ever looked at her that way before.

‘Do you ride, Mistress Moor?’

‘Yes, every day at home.’

‘You will miss that at court,’ Nick told her. ‘When in the country Her Majesty sometimes hunts and those ladies skilful enough to keep up with her may be invited to join in, but in London you will find scant opportunity for a good gallop.’

‘I believe I shall miss it a great deal,’ Catherine replied. She raised her head, a challenge she was unaware of in her lovely eyes. He should not look at her so! ‘You also keep early hours, sir—though I think you went late to bed last night.’

‘Did we disturb you?’

‘No, no, of course not. I was not asleep,’ Catherine said quickly, a flush in her cheeks. She could not meet his eyes. He would think she was criticising him again, and indeed she had not meant to. ‘I dare say it was all the excitement of the day.’

‘Yes, I dare say.’ His brow wrinkled as he looked at her. ‘Perhaps…’ Whatever he was about to say was lost as Matthew Middleton appeared. ‘Ah, my good Matthew comes. I must bid you adieu, Mistress Moor, for I have promised to ride with him. I wish you a safe journey onwards.’

Catherine inclined her head but made no comment. She envied them their early morning ride, and the thought of yet another long day in the uncomfortable carriage did nothing to raise her spirits. She found herself wishing that her aunt would be forced to delay their journey for a few more hours, and watched wistfully as the men rode out of the courtyard together.

There was, however, to be no such delay. Their smiling hostess greeted them with a hearty breakfast of coddled eggs and fresh muffins to eat with her own honey—and the news that the carriage was repaired and awaited their pleasure.

‘We must thank you for your kindness,’ Lady Stamford said. ‘Should you ever wish to be presented at court you must call on me to help you.’

‘Lord bless us, ma’am, what should I find to do at court?’ Sarah went into a peal of good-natured laughter. ‘Our Nicholas can play the fine gentleman when the occasion calls for it, though I have always thought him a countryman at heart, but I am mightily content with my life here.’

‘And a very good life it is too, Mistress Middleton.’ Lady Stamford bit into a third muffin oozing with creamy butter. ‘You are fortunate in your cook, ma’am.’

‘Oh, I made those myself,’ Sarah said, and turned to Catherine. ‘So beautiful as you are, you’ll be certain to find a handsome husband at court, mistress—but make sure you choose a kind man, for in the end a peaceful, loving home is what makes a woman happy.’

‘I thank you for your good wishes, ma’am.’

Catherine wondered if Sir Nicholas would return before they left, but in the next breath Sarah told them that the men would not come home before the evening. Catherine was conscious of a feeling of disappointment; though she did not know why she should feel anything for a man she had met but briefly and would probably never meet again. He had been pleasant enough when they met in the kitchen garden, but the image of him amongst those drunken idlers remained with her.

‘Well, Catherine,’ Lady Stamford said when they were settled in their carriage having said farewell to their hostess, ‘I do hope that we shall have no more adventures on the road, fortunate as this one turned out.’

‘We were indeed fortunate, Aunt. Sarah and Mr Middleton were generous hosts.’

‘And Sir Nicholas.’ Lady Stamford looked at her hard. ‘I hope you will be more disposed to greet him kindly should he decide to call upon us in London.’

‘I was not aware he was intending to visit London.’

Catherine’s heart had begun to throb rather oddly as she waited for her aunt’s reply. It was most unaccountable! Why should she be so affected by the rogue?

‘Indeed yes. Mistress Middleton told me that the Queen’s most trusted adviser had summoned him there. Sir Nicholas was named for his father, who was a friend to Cecil. Unfortunately, the father died some three years back, having never quite recovered from a lingering illness he contracted while a prisoner in the Tower for some months during Mary’s reign, and then the untimely death of his eldest son, Harry. It was because of that friendship between Cecil and Sir Nicholas’s father that he may have a brilliant future open to him at court.’

Catherine wrinkled her brow in thought. ‘Do you think Sir Nicholas an ambitious man, Aunt?’

‘All men of sense are ambitious.’

Lady Stamford had settled into her corner, cushions at her back and a rug over her lap. She closed her eyes, leaving Catherine to stare out of the window at the countryside. Some of the land to either side of the high road was commons and grazed by animals belonging to village folk, but more often now enclosure was encroaching on land that had once been open to all. The walls of large estates had altered ancient boundaries, often causing hardship to the poor.

‘It is so unfair,’ Catherine had complained to her father when one of their neighbours took away a stretch of land that had previously been common land. ‘He has so much, and they have so little.’

‘It is the fault of rising prices,’ Sir William explained. ‘Land owners can get no more rent for the land they have let to tenants for years past, but they must find more coin for everything they buy. Therefore, they must take more land into enclosure, and if they have title to it…the right is theirs.’

Put like that, Catherine could understand why some landowners felt justified in enclosing land, but she knew that their actions caused much suffering for others.

Were the Middletons like other farming gentry and forced to take land that had once been free for all? They had seemed prosperous to Catherine—and judging by the supper talk the previous evening, Sir Nicholas was a man of some substance.

Catherine’s thoughts returned once more to the man who had rescued them the previous afternoon. Why could she not dismiss the incident from her mind? It mattered not if he thought her a cold, mannerless wretch. As indeed she had been the previous afternoon and evening, though she had tried to be more conciliatory in the garden—at least until he had looked at her so oddly.

He was charming, but undoubtedly an ambitious rogue and it would be better for her peace of mind if she instantly forgot him, as no doubt he had already forgotten her.

‘What think you?’ Matthew looked at his brother-in-law as they surveyed the stretch of good land by the river. ‘It has always belonged to my family, but we thought it well to keep it as it is, a pretty stretch of sweet grass that all may graze. In summer I may have a few sheep here myself, though ’tis oft flooded in winter.’

Nick’s eyes were serious as they rested on the strong, rather craggy features of Sarah’s husband. It had been a good match for his sister, one that he had approved soon after his father’s death. He knew Matthew to be a good man and understood he was troubled by his conscience. He had waited for Nick’s return before making any decision, simply because he found it a thorny problem.

‘You have the right to erect your fences,’ Nick said, knowing that Matthew would be guided by his opinion. ‘But it will cause hardship for the villagers.’

‘Aye, I know it,’ Matthew replied heavily. ‘It goes against the grain with me, but I need more land under cultivation…’

‘Why not take that piece of scrub to the north border?’ Nick suggested. ‘It will need more work to bring it round, but you may call upon the village folk to help you. Make it clear that you need more land and ask for their help in preparing the scrub in return for keeping this wash open for all.’

The frown cleared from Matthew’s brow and he smiled in gratitude. ‘Aye, I’ll do it. I’ve not asked for the accustomed days in labour for many a year, for we all pay in coin these days—but I’ll take the labour in lieu of the land, and all may be satisfied. Sarah told me to consult you, and as usual she was right.’

‘My sister flourishes,’ Nick replied with a soft chuckle, affection and warmth in his eyes. He was fond of Sarah and she of him. ‘You have spoiled her and yet she is less fiery than of yore. Tell me, what kind of magic have you used to tame her?’

‘’Tis love, nothing more,’ Matthew answered with a smile. ‘Speaking of fiery wenches…what of Mistress Moor? Think you she was an uncommon beauty? That red hair and those eyes, and the whiteness of that skin…such a woman might tempt any man to madness.’

‘Do not let Sarah hear you,’ Nick warned, his eyes full of wicked laughter. ‘She will take a broom to you, I swear! But you are right, Matthew, Catherine Moor is a beauty, though she seemed overly proud and a little cold to me.’

‘Cold?’ Matthew raised his brows incredulously. ‘No, Brother, you cannot be serious? I would swear there was fire simmering beneath the ice. She has a haughty bearing I’ll grant you, but that is but a façade I dare swear. I vow it would be entertaining to see what lies beneath that cool manner, and would be tempted to probe for it right lustily were I not a married man.’

‘I’ll admit that a wench of that ilk is tempting to any man,’ Nicholas said, a smile on his lips as he remembered the way Mistress Catherine had glared at him. Even in the garden she had still seemed reserved and cool, though she had blushed when he first caught her amongst the herbs. It was probably true that there was fire beneath the ice, and in other circumstances he might have been tempted to breach the walls of the citadel, for he was a man of lusty habits and had taken his first wench when but fourteen in the hayloft of his home. Unfortunately, he had other more important matters on his mind and could not spare the time for dalliance.

‘When do you leave for London?’ Matthew asked as they remounted their horses, setting out to inspect further pastures that Matthew had a mind to plough up and put down to grain that year. The export of wool was frowned on these days, and the call was for more grain to keep down the price of bread, which like everything else had been rising of late. ‘Sarah is hoping you will stay a while.’

‘A few days at least,’ Nicholas replied. ‘I must be in town within a fortnight, but I have someone else I would wish to see first and it will take me some days to ride to Leicester and back. I may go tomorrow, then join you at the weekend again for a couple of days before I go on to London.’

‘You know your business best,’ Matthew said. ‘Sarah wishes you would marry and settle down, but I’ve told her you’ll find your own way when you’re ready. But we’ll say no more on the subject, for I see it vexes you.’

Nick was frowning to himself as his companion fell silent. He would have liked to confide in Matthew, for he was a good man and true to his principles, but in knowledge lay danger and Nick would not involve his sister’s husband in this.

There were but few men he would trust with the problem that was taxing his mind. The court was alive with intrigue, and one could never be sure where others stood. This business of Norfolk had seemed settled after the failure of the Northern Earls in their uprising of November 1569. The Queen, reluctant to punish her cousin, had allowed him at least partial freedom—but there was treachery afoot, and if it were not for the vigilance of men like Francis Walsingham and Sir William Cecil England might even now be at war with a foreign invader.

Nicholas’s business in London was important but not urgent. There was time enough for him to speak to the man he trusted most outside his family. Oliver Woodville was his late brother’s closest friend, and the man who had brought them the news of Harry’s death. He had broken the news first through a letter and then had come in person on his return to England.

Oliver had been very distressed by Harry’s death, but though he assured the family that it had been caused by a common fever, which affected many travellers, Nicholas had always retained a faint suspicion that Oliver himself was not convinced. Or perhaps it was merely Nicholas who refused to be convinced, because his grief was too terrible to bear, his sense of loss too deep for a younger brother to accept. However, his reason for seeking Oliver out was only partially to do with his brother’s death all those years ago; he had other concerns that nibbled at his mind, troubling him with a half-forgotten memory. More pressing perhaps was his secret work for Walsingham.