Cecil sighed, exasperated, and Robbie hid a smile. Skye was doing a fine job of confusing the chancellor. It relieved him to see her fast thinking. Now he need not fear leaving her when he went back to sea.
“Really, my lord,” Skye allowed a slightly annoyed tone to creep into her voice, “what it is that bothers you I cannot imagine. I ask for nothing other than Her Majesty’s sponsorship. In return I offer her a quarter share of the profits, the latest mapping of the area, and my ships will be bringing to the peoples of the East word of our Queen’s greatness. This hardly seems to me a suspicious undertak- ing.”
“Dammit, madam, you deliberately twist my words!” roared Cecil.
“Do I indeed, sir? Pray then, enlighten me as to exactly what it is you do mean.”
A burst of tinkling laughter interrupted them, and from a shadowy recess in the room the Queen quickly appeared.
“Do not mind Cecil, Mistress Goya del Fuentes. He is overcau- tious of our welfare, and we are appreciative of his efforts. Although we might do without any other of our servants, we could not do without him. Come, my friend, you need not know the lady’s pedi- gree in order to do business with her. Our treasury is not so full that we cannot use the profits from this voyage, and it costs us nothing more than our goodwill. Captain Small’s record speaks for itself.”
“Very well, my lady Queen. I will see the charter is granted if you so desire.”
“I do, my lord Cecil. Work out the pertinent details with Captain Small. Mistress Goya del Fuentes will come and have a glass of wine with us.” The Queen strode from the room and Skye, after curtseying to Cecil, followed her.
As the door closed upon the women the chancellor remarked, ”She’s a beautiful woman, Sir Robert, and she has a brain. Her Majesty approves of intelligent women.”
“She is the daughter I never had,” replied Robbie.
“Indeed,” murmured Cecil. “Then are you aware that she spent several days and nights in mid-January with Lord Southwood at the Thameside inn called the Ducks and Drake?”
“I am,” said Robbie, his anger beginning to rise. “You seem to be keeping a rather close watch on an unimportant and harmless young woman, my lord.”
“A woman of Irish descent who was wed to a Spaniard… both traditional enemies of England,” Cecil observed drily.
“And is Lord Southwood also under suspicion?” snapped the captain.
“Only to the extent that a valuable servant of the Queen might be subverted.”
Robert Small was on his feet. “By God, sir! I’ll hear no further slander against Skye! She has suffered greatly, and yet remains a sweet and good lady. There is not a devious or disloyal tendency in her, I assure you.”
“Sit down, sit down, Captain Small. Our own investigations have borne out your words. I would, however, like your personal thoughts about her relationship with Lord Southwood. You need divulge no confidence, of course, but the Earl is a valuable man to the Queen.”
“He claims to be in love with her,” answered Robbie, “and God help her, for she’s in love with him.”
“Curious,” said Cecil. “It is not the Earl’s custom to take women seriously. Then perhaps he really is in love with her?”
Far away, at that very moment, the gentleman in question was raging violently at his pale and cowering wife. Geoffrey Southwood had rarely felt such overpowering fury. “Bitch! Bitch!” he shouted at her. “You’ve killed my only legitimate son! Christ’s body, how could you be so stupid? You knew there was smallpox about, and yet you wrote to the Countess of Shrewsbury and asked to have Henry sent home for Twelfth Night. Without my permission. As God is my witness, Mary, I could kill you!”
“Then why don’t you, Geoffrey?” she baited him. “You hate me, and our daughters! Why not kill us all?”
Her hysterical outburst calmed him somewhat. He eyed her coldly. “I am going to divorce you, Mary. I should have done so years ago.”
“You have no grounds to do such a thing.”
“I have all the grounds I need, Mary. You produce nothing but daughters. The one son you bore me you wantonly killed. You refused to hostess my friends, yet you hoard the household monies I send you to dower your daughters despite the fact I have forbidden them to wed. I have grounds, Mary, but if needs be I’ll produce half a dozen men who’ll claim intimate knowledge of you.”
She went white with shock. “You truly are a bastard, Geoffrey,” she whispered, horrified.
He hit her a blow that sent her to her knees.
“A bastard!” she repeated. He turned and left. They were the last words she ever spoke to her husband. By nightfall Mary Southwood lay ill of smallpox herself, as did every one of her daughters. She died several days later. Mary, Elizabeth, Catherine, and Phillipa joined her. Only the three youngest girls, Susan and twins Gwyneth and Joan, survived. The Earl was saved because he had had a light case of smallpox as a child.
The Countess and her daughters were buried with a bare minimum of ceremony, the bell in Lynmouth Church dutifully tolling their passing as the carts carried their coffins to the family cemetery. Geoffrey told his three daughters of their mother’s and sisters’ deaths. They were so young, only four and five, that he was not sure they really understood him. Looking at them closely for the first time, he decided that they were really somewhat comely. Leaving detailed instructions as to their convalescence, he departed Devon for Court.
He had been in Devon for over two months, and spring had come to England. The Court had left Greenwich and was now at Nonesuch. The Earl of Lynmouth was welcomed back warmly, particularly by the ladies, for news of his loss had preceded him. Anxious to see Skye, he fretted until he could get to London. He could not go until the Queen gave her permission. He waited for the right moment to beg that permission.
In London Robbie prepared to take his leave of Skye. The Mer- maid and her fellow ships waited now, fully provisioned, in the Pool. He had put off his departure until the last possible moment, for Skye was quite easily upset of late, the least little thing sending her into tears. He had sent to Devon for his sister, Marie, and the two children. The sight of Willow, now almost two, had cheered her somewhat.
He knew what distressed her. It was Southwood’s apparent de- sertion. Since the Earl had returned with her from their tryst in January there had been no word from him other than the cryptic message that he was needed in Devon. Robert Small told himself once more that the man was a bastard, plain and simple. Seeing Skye grow so pale and listless, he silently cursed the Earl and be- moaned the fact that there was nothing he could do to cheer her.
Finally Robert Small could delay no longer. On the night before he sailed Skye arranged a small dinner party for him at her house. De Grenville was their guest, dining with Skye, Robbie, Dame Cecily, Jean, and Marie. De Grenville intended to sail with Robbie as far as the Channel. The meal was delicious, but Skye only picked at the food. Her merriment was forced. At least, she thought sourly, Southwood had done her one good turn by arranging an introduction to the Queen, thereby helping them obtain a royal charter. As to love… it was all either passion or pain.
De Grenville was soon in his cups, and he leered at Skye in a friendly fashion. “For a learned and modest woman you cost me dearly, Mistress Skye. Now that the Earl of Lynmouth is back at Court I suppose he’ll be taking my barge.”
He was back! And he’d never even sent her word! “Why should he take your barge, Dickon?” she asked absently.
Robert Small suddenly came to life. “That’s no story for Skye’s ears, Dickon!” he protested, kicking his friend beneath the table.