might discover the surprise a little earlier than Thomas had intended."
"Clever," murmured Nick, mindful of the discussion when Killigrew had been afraid that a Moorfields audience would find Polly too rare a flower for their taste. If the theatre was filled with intrigued courtiers, who would most certainly respond with approval, those in the pit would either follow the courtiers' lead, or their disapproval would be drowned. "And is there a move to discover this secret?"
"It appears so." Richard smiled over his glass. "Even Dav-enant is anxious to see what is making his rival so smug. Buckingham has sworn to attend, and where the duke goes-"
"The world follows," Nick concluded, swallowing his unease before it could raise more than a prickle on his spine. "The king also?"
"He cannot. The French ambassador has requested an audience, and Clarendon is being most persuasive that it should be granted. There is still hope for an alliance in the question of this damned Dutch war."
"Fool's paradise!" scoffed Nick. "There'll be no help from the Spanish or the French. France has no need for gratuitous enemies, and Spain is too weak."
The conversation seemed to have veered off course as far as Polly was concerned. She sat up urgently. "I do not understand how anyone could know about me… Oh." A thought seemed to strike her. "That is, if I am the surprise of which you speak?" Receiving a reassuring nod, she went on. ''If Thomas did not intend that anyone at court should know about tomorrow's performance, how is it that they do?"
"I expect he told them," said Nick easily, stretching his legs beneath her. "In a roundabout fashion. He is a devious man, our Master Killigrew."
"But why would he?" Polly resisted the arm that made to draw her back against his shoulder.
Nick was not about to add to her anxieties by telling her Killigrew's reason, so he shrugged, saying lightly, "I expect you have made more improvement than he expected in such
a short time, and he considers you ready to face the world informally."
"Think you that the Duke of Buckingham will recognize me?" She stood up, drawing her gown tightly around her as if a finger of cold had penetrated the coziness of candlelight and fire-glow.
"Why should it be a matter of concern if he does?" asked Richard, deceptively casual. "You cannot expect to win the king's favor if you do not also win Villiers's."
"I had as lief not meet him again," she said simply, staring into the fire, where wraiths of blue and green spun in the red glow, and that cold, dissolute countenance seemed to take form, then dissolve. She turned back to the room. "I am being fanciful. I expect it is because I am wearied."
Nick stood up. "Get you to bed, sweetheart. I will ask Goodwife Benson to prepare you a sack-posset. It will help you sleep." Cupping her face, he stroked the high cheekbones with his thumbs.
"You will stay tonight?" The question was whispered, not out of deference to Richard, who was gazing into his wine as if nothing else could interest him, but because speaking out loud seemed to require more energy than she possessed.
"Aye, flower, I'll stay. Bid Richard good night now. I will bring you the posset in a little while." He kissed the tip of her nose, then turned her with a little pat in the direction of the bedchamber.
"Rest easy," Richard said, taking her hand as she came over to him, raising it to his lips. "You will be the cynosure of the play, I can safely promise you. You are about to storm the theatre, carrying all before you." Polly shook her head, blushing in sudden embarrassment, more at the caressing tone and the elegant salute from one who habitually used her with a brisk, almost avuncular friendliness than at his words. "Well, perhaps you will not, if you do not sleep away the rings under your eyes," he said, reverting to the norm with instant comprehension. "Do as you are bid and get you gone. You look positively hagged."
The door closed behind her. Nick pulled the bell rope,
throwing a mocking smile at Richard. "Such softness, friend! Have a care lest you lose sight of the goal."
"That is a piece of advice I would give you," Richard replied soberly. "Having reached this point, it were foolish to throw away the prize for scruple."
The arrival of the goodwife in answer to the bell put an end to this conversation, but once she had left, Nick strode over to the hearth, kicking a fallen log, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. " 'Tis a damnable dilemma."
"I do understand that the situation has changed somewhat," Richard observed, shrugging. "It would take a blind man to miss what has happened between you. But it need not make too much difference, I think. I understand that you would not now be comfortable using Polly as a spy without her knowledge-even supposing that, feeling as she does about you, she would be open to offers from Buckingham. So why do you not draw her in with the truth, involve her openly in our conspiracy? Ask for her help. She will not deny you." This last was said with complete confidence, and a considering silence fell between them.
Goodwife Benson reappeared with a steaming pewter tankard of spiced hot milk liberally laced with sack. "The posset, sir. 'Twill put the young lady to sleep in no time."
"In which case it will have served its purpose. I thank you." Nick took the tankard and smiled the goodwife from the room. "I will take this to Polly. If you are not anxious to be gone, I would have further speech with you." Richard bowing his assent, Nick took the drink next door.
Polly was propped upon the pillows, looking wan and fragile and much in need of nursery comfortings. Nick sat beside her on the bed as she sipped the fragrant, steaming milk. "If I am going to feel so frightened every time I must perform, I do not think I will make at all a satisfactory actor," she confided eventually into the undemanding silence.
"Why do you not wait and see how you feel the next time before you judge yourself?" Nick advised calmly. "This first performance is, after all, an unknown experience. Familiarity with it may well bring you ease."
"It is to be hoped so," she said fervently, "else I will die of the anxiety. Can one die of anxiety?"
"I doubt it." He took her empty tankard and bent to kiss her. "Sleep now, moppet."
"I wish you will tell Richard to go to his own bed," she grumbled, reaching her arms around his neck. "I would be held in your arms until I sleep, love, not put to bed like an overtired babe." She buried her nose in his neck, inhaling the warm, earthy scent of his skin, the rosewater freshness of his linen, running her fingers through the luxuriant auburn curls.
He caught her hands at the wrists behind his neck. "Sweet love, I must have speech with Richard. I will come to you as soon as may be. In the meantime, you will sleep like the overtired babe that you say you are not." He laughed as a monstrous yawn swallowed her attempt at indignant protest, and her eyelids drooped.
Polly felt the brush of his lips against her mouth, thought: What is so important that you must discuss it with Richard at this hour? Thought but could not articulate, as she dipped into the sleep of emotional exhaustion.
Nick picked up the bedside candle, shielding its flame with a cupped hand, carrying it over to the hearth, where its light would not fall upon the sleeper. Then he went back to the parlor to examine Richard's proposition.