"In that case," Carey said quietly, "shoot straight."
Upstairs, Nora Southerly watched the men ride away in the early dawn. On Marylebone Heath the two men met. Two shots were fired, but Southerly was angry and Cavendish was not. Southerly fell with a bullet in his heart. Cavendish lost only the tip of his ear; when it healed, it would hardly show.
That night he took Nora Southerly to Court. She was dressed in black. Elizabeth summoned Cavendish with fire in her eyes. But all she said was, "Take her home and never dare to bring her here again!"
Cavendish complied. He sent Nora Southerly to Paris, and the incident was ended. He went to Plymouth for a week.
When he returned, his eyes lighted on one of Elizabeth's ladies-in-waiting. She was tall and fragile and high-born and virtuous. He abandoned the wenches of Fleet Street for a week and was seen at Court every night. At the end of that time, the lady-in-waiting was accompanied everywhere by a Filipino page, the ten-year-old de Dasi, and Cavendish was in possession of a key. This palace intrigue amused him for a while, for his mistress was madly in love with him, and his hurt vanity was soothed somewhat. No other man had been successful with her, and Cavendish relaxed under her obvious devotion. October passed.
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During November, he began again to visit Fleet Street, and the taverns, and the theatres. His mistress shut herself in her room after his adventures had been recounted to her. He had taken a masked woman to the theatre with him and set her beside him on the stage. A riot had stopped the play, and it was said that the seamen in the audience had won the battle. The theatre was closed for four days for repairs.
When Cavendish came to see her the following night, he laughed when she reproached him. But she was sweet, and for two weeks he behaved himself. At the end of November, leading twenty other men, he and his followers raided London's most exclusive bawdy house. Tyler fetched him home in the morning, still drunk.
He slept all the next day. When he rose it was evening. He walked down into his study. His eyes roved around the room, and his secretary, a little apprehensive, said placatingly, "Another poem about your voyage was printed and sent to you, leather-bound, sir. And there is a new globe, a present!"
Cavendish picked up the book and glanced at it, riffling the pages. He laid it down on the table.
The globe stood near. He twirled it idly; a red line marked his voyage, and it was substantially correct. He stared down at the tip of California—stared at it, and suddenly the lack of her seized his heart again with relentless fingers. He gave the globe another twirl.
"A marvelous gift, sir," Cosmos said. "I brought your ale, sir."
"A marvelous gift, sir," the secretary repeated. "And there is something else for you. From Mynheer Hoogstraaten. He asks if you would receive him Thursday."
"He wants me to sell him some spices. He's a Dutch merchant."
"He sent a chess set. Look!" The secretary opened an inlaid box. "Ivory and gold, sir! A pity you don't play chess."
"I play chess," Cavendish said in such a tone that the secretary hastily shut the box and retreated.
Cavendish turned on his heel abruptly. "I'm going out, Cosmos," he said. "Come help me to dress."
It was the next day, in the afternoon, that Master Pretty came. He waited in the library, alone for a few minutes, and he walked about, looking. Then the door opened and Cosmos came in. Cosmos was apologetic.
"I'm sorry, sir, to intrude."
Pretty smiled. "I'm glad you did, Cosmos," he said. "I was thinking of you; this room makes me think of our voyage." He
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waved his hand. "It's all here. Even to Captain Havers' pipes." Pretty thrust his hands into his belt, and stood in front of the fire. "How have you been, Cosmos? How do you like England?"
"Very much, sir," said Cosmos politely.
"Where is the Captain?" Pretty asked.
Cosmos leaped into speech eagerly. "I don't know, sir." He spread his hands helplessly.
Pretty frowned. "You don't know?"
"No, sir! I never know. He had started forcefully, but his voice trailed off.
"Where's Tyler? Doesn't he know?"
"The Captain always takes Tyler with him," Cosmos said. "The Captain came home, then he changed his clothes. He is wearing regular seamen's clothes, with his leather coat. He's gone again, sir."
Pretty rubbed his chin. "I'll wait for a while," he said. "I've been hoping he would come to Suffolk. But he never has. If I tried to find him, where would I look?"
"Along the waterfront, in the taverns," Cosmos said. "At the theatre, in the upper balconies."
Pretty said, "A hopeless task. But is he always out and away?"
Cosmos shook his head. "Oh, no, sir." He pointed to the table, and Pretty went over to look at the chart affixed to it. He looked admiringly.
"The Straits," he said to himself. "He knows them like the back of his hand." He tapped his finger against the wood. "I'll wait for an hour, Cosmos," he said.
At that precise minute, Sir George Carey was looking for Cavendish. He came out of a tavern, and started along the street, under the shadow of the Tower. It was cold, with a wind off the river. Ahead of him he saw a familiar figure; he hurried his steps.
He did not call out. When he came close to Cavendish, he suddenly slackened his pace. Cavendish had stopped too. His arm was around the woman who walked by his side, and while Carey watched from behind, Cavendish turned her to him and kissed her, there in the street. Carey heard Cavendish's voice, and then both he and the girl entered the tavern where they had stopped before.
By the time Carey entered the tavern, Cavendish was seated at a table talking to some men. In the dim light, he looked unshaven;
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his elbows were resting on the table and he was drinking ale. The wench lounged at his side, leaning against him. Carey walked forward.
"Sir Thomas," he said, pursing his lips.
Cavendish looked up. "Sit down, George," he said. "I present Delight." He pulled at a loose curl, and Delight caught at his hand and pulled it so that his arm was around her again.
"Delight?" asked Carey, smiling.
"Captain calls me that," she said, turning her head to look at Cavendish.
"Were you looking for me, sir?" Cavendish asked, while the rest of the men at the table were quiet and listened.
"Have you forgot, Tom," Carey said, "that you're giving a party tonight?"
Cavendish laughed. "Jesu, so I did. Let me finish the ale." He raised the ale to his lips. He set down the tankard gingerly.
"Does it hurt, my honey sweet?" Delight asked.
"No," Cavendish said, grimacing a little and flexing his arm. Let's go, Carey."
Delight grasped his arm, and none of them saw a man pause in the doorway, a tall man, who looked in at the scene, saw Cavendish get up and pat Delight on the backside. The man smiled a little, and turned away with his companion.
"Did you expect him to change?" he asked.
The woman with him answered in a flurry of Spanish. They turned the corner.
Cavendish reached his own house just as Pretty was deciding to leave. Pretty had picked up his cloak and was starting for the door when he heard his Captain's voice in the hallway, he heard Cosmos' voice answering, and then Cavendish's quick stride to the library. The door was flung open.
"Pretty!" Cavendish said, his smile eager. He held out his hand.
Pretty took it. "How are you, sir?" he asked. "How are you?" He was holding his cloak in one hand and he was smiling broadly. "How has everything been with you?"
"Splendid, Pretty. Put that cloak down. You can't go now." Cavendish was taking off his leather jacket; he pulled it off his left shoulder carefully, and Pretty jumped forward to help him.