It was small wonder that he found the task too much for him and sighed for the old days of comparative peace before he had been singled out to guard the Queen of Scots.
He went to his bedchamber and there, risking discovery by Bess, he lay on his bed; but when he did so the room seemed to rock as though he were on board ship.
He lay for some time and gradually the giddiness left him.
I never felt thus before, he thought. Is this an illness brought on by worry?
There was a knock on the door, so quiet that he was not sure whether he had imagined it. He ignored it, and then he saw that the door was slowly opening, and the serving girl, Eleanor Britton, was standing in the doorway watching him.
“What is it?” asked the Earl.
“I come to ask if there is aught you want,” she answered.
“Why? I did not send for you.”
“But I saw how sick your lordship looked and, begging your pardon, I came to see if there was aught you needed.”
“Come in and shut the door.
She came slowly to his bedside and the light from the Gothic window shone on her round young face. She was comely; he noticed her neat yet plump figure beneath her serving maid’s gown; but it was the expression on her face which held his attention. She looked enraptured, almost angelic, he thought. What a strange girl she was! No wonder he had singled her out for his attention.
“My lord is well?” she asked; and that mobile face was suddenly filled with sorrow.
“I am well enough,” he answered.
“Is there aught I could do, my lord?”
“Nay.”
They looked at each other in silence for a few seconds, then he held out his hand.
“You are a comely girl,” he told her. “It pleases me to see you in my house.”
She lowered her eyes and dropped a curtsy—he was not sure why.
He wondered what would happen if Bess came in and saw the serving girl standing by his bed. The girl would be dismissed—and he . . . he would never hear the end of the matter. She could taunt him with what she called his bewitchment by the Queen of Scots. She did it half jokingly, although there was a certain malice in her words. She was displeased but not outraged that he should find Mary attractive; but what would she say if she knew that he, one of the noblest Earls in England, was a little fascinated by one of her humblest serving girls?
He was feeling a little light-headed, and in this unusual state he did not care.
“Come nearer,” he said.
She came, her lips lightly parted showing good teeth; he knew then that he had only to order and she would obey.
He took her hand and drawing her to him kissed it, not with passion, but with gentleness while a soft flush spread from her neck to the roots of her hair.
She knelt beside the bed and pressed her lips against the hand which held hers.
He was aware of a rising passion such as he had never known before; he wanted to seize her roughly, to embrace her, but he knew that if he gave way to such feeling he would be too giddy to stand.
He thought then: She is so young and I shall not always be sick.
There was a sudden clatter of horses’ hoofs below. They were both startled, and the girl rose to her feet.
“You must go and see who has arrived,” he told her. “Come back and tell me.”
She left him and he lay still listening to the clamor below.
IT WAS NOT ELEANOR who came back to his apartment but Bess.
She came in without knocking and was startled to see him lying on the bed. He thought: She might have come thus when I was talking to Eleanor. And the thought made his heart beat fast.
“So you are lying down!”
“I felt unwell.”
“You look a little pale. You do not take enough fresh air. I came to tell you that Leonard Dacre is here.”
The Earl raised himself on his elbow. “Dacre!”
Bess nodded. “I think we should go down to greet him. In view of his connection with Norfolk we cannot know what he may be up to.”
The Earl passed a weary hand across his brow. “Not more trouble, I hope.”
Bess gave her short laugh. “Trouble! There will always be trouble while we have your romantic Queen under our roof. Did you not know that?”
“I am learning it.”
She gave him a sharp look. “And I’ll warrant you think such a beauty is worth the trouble.”
“I’d gladly give the task back to Scrope and Knollys,” he retorted, “for all her beauty.”
She appeared almost arch, but her gaze was searching. “I shall not tell her what you say,” she replied. “It would appear ungallant.”
He thought then that she would be a jealous woman if she discovered infidelity in her husband; and he wondered what form her jealousy would take.
Rising from his bed he tried to fight off his giddiness, and as he followed his countess down to the hall he felt it receding. By the time he was ready to greet Dacre it had left him.
Leonard Dacre would have been a handsome man but for the fact that one of his shoulders was higher than the other. He was very conscious of this as he was that he was the second son of Lord Dacre of Gilsland, and therefore not his heir. His elder brother had died leaving a son George, and George’s mother, Lady Dacre, had become the wife of Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. On her death Norfolk had, in Leonard Dacre’s opinion, concerned himself overmuch with the affairs of the Dacre family and, as there was a great deal of money involved, had arranged marriages between his three stepdaughters and his sons. As these girls were co-heiresses with their young brother George, Norfolk thus made sure that a large part of the Dacre wealth did not pass out of the Howard family.
This was a source of great annoyance to Leonard Dacre and he did not feel too kindly toward Norfolk in consequence.
Now he bowed low over Bess’s hand and expressed his hope that he found her in good health.
“My health is excellent,” answered Bess.
“And my lord Earl?”
“Oh, he does not take enough exercise. It is my continual complaint.”
“I have, it is true, been less well of late,” explained the Earl.
“He did not like Tutbury. He will be happier now that we are here at Wingfield Manor.”
“And you look less happy than when we last met,” said the Earl.
“I have had bad news,” Dacre replied. “My young nephew has died. I received the news this day.”
“Young George!” cried Bess. “But he can’t be more than seven! We are truly sorry. My poor Leonard! You must come to my private chamber and I will have wine brought. This is indeed sad news.”
The Earl slipped his arm through that of Dacre, and the Countess summoned a servant and gave orders.
“How did it happen?”
“While he was practicing vaulting at Thetford. A bad fall on his head. He died soon afterward.”
“What tragedy! First the father . . . then the son . . . . So you are now the heir.”
“It is of this matter that I come to talk to you and the Countess.”
When they were all seated in the Countess’s private chamber, Dacre explained why he was angry.
“The barony is one which descends to the female members of the family,” he said. “So that not only do his young sisters inherit the Dacre fortune, but the title also.”
“Norfolk was wise,” commented the Countess, “in betrothing his sons to the three Dacre girls.”
“Very wise, very sly,” added Leonard. “I intend to contest the case.”