She danced over to the tub, bending to kiss him. "I will find a way to recompense you, I promise."
Nick shook his head in familiar defeat. "Send the message to Richard. But for the love of God, do not write it! A verbal invitation will do."
Polly stuck her tongue out. "How do you expect me to improve when I receive so little encouragement?"
Master Killigrew greeted Nicholas with heartfelt relief. "God's bones, but 'tis good to see you safe, man. I have been in more than half a mind to cancel tomorrow's performance."
"Why so?" Nick took snuff, hiding his amusement that Killigrew's relief at seeing him appeared to have more to do with his theatre than congratulation on Nick's happy release from imprisonment.
"Why, 'tis Polly! Such an edge of desperation as she has been walking. I have been afeard that she would slip at any moment, and with the first performance of a new play-"
He shrugged expressively, confident that his interlocutor would fully comprehend the gravity.
"She has been greatly anxious," Nick said, watching the stage.
"Aye, but 'tis more than that," Thomas declared. "There has been something else amiss, but she'd not confide in me." He watched the action critically, then nodded. "But all's well now, it would seem." He strode forward. "Polly, we all know what Master Dryden wrote the part of Florimell for you, but you must not let it go to your head! It is still necessary to perform, unless you wish to be bombarded from the pit."
"You are unjust!" Polly declared, swinging 'round on her mentor. "What would you have me do?"
Nicholas smiled, listening to the lively exchange. It was as if the last week had never happened. Except that it had.
"Well met, my friend." Richard De Winter spoke softly from the gloom of the pit, and Nick turned, hand outstretched in welcome.
"Ah, Richard, it does me good to see you again." They clasped hands in a moment that said more than words could. "Did you receive Polly's message?"
"Aye." Richard laughed. "Much garbled with joy, but the meaning was clear." He turned his attention to the stage, then nodded, much as Killigrew had done. "I see that she is herself again."
"Did you notice aught else but uncommon anxiety about her these last days, Richard?" asked Nick.
Tread softly, Richard reminded himself. "Uncommon anxiety is all-pervasive, Nick. D'ye have a reason for asking?"
Nick shrugged. "Not really. I daresay Killigrew in his own uncommon anxiety saw more than there was to be seen." Linking arms with his friend, he drew him into the shadows of the pit, where their whispers would not disturb the rehearsal. "Have you any light to shed, Richard?"
De Winter shook his head. "Nay, but I am charged with a message-a most kindly message." He paused, and Nick
raised an eyebrow in silent question. "His Majesty bids you attend the levee on the morrow. A small matter of misunderstanding to be resolved."
"Lord of hell!" Nick raised his eyes to the cupola. "A misunderstanding had me arrested at dawn with great sound and fury! A misunderstanding kept me lodged in the Tower for a sennight!"
"Softly, now," Richard advised, laying a hand on his arm. "Let be, Nick. Let the hound snore, and do you smile at the king. No great harm's done, when all's computed."
Nick seemed irresolute, but slowly he relaxed, accepting the sense of his friend's words. He looked toward the stage. Polly had suffered no lasting, hurt, and neither had he. Better to leave the hound snoring, as Richard said.
Chapter 21
Why such a long face, moppet?" Nick bent to kiss his favorite spot on her neck as Polly sat before her mirror the next morning. "You have been staring into the glass as if 'twas a green-haired fright that you saw. You are quite in looks, I assure you." He laughed, moving his mouth to her ear, trying to coax her out ot the dismal mood that had accompanied her waking.
"Why must we go to court?" Polly demanded, reaching her hands up to close over those on her shoulders, her gaze imploring him in the mirror. "I would have further time alone with you, instead of listening to the chatter and the nonsense and-"
"You know that I am bidden by the king's majesty," Nick said, mastering his irritation at this unreasonable request. "I must reestablish my position at court, Polly, and I'll not do that by skulking behind doors as if I had aught to hide."
"I do not see why you should want a position at court, anyway," she said with more than a hint of petulance. "It is all such a sham."
"A sham in which I have a part to play," Nick told her brusquely. "Now, make haste. We must leave within the half hour."
Polly bit her lip. She could refuse to go with him, of
course, and he would not really be able to object. She had not been bidden by the king's majesty. But it would be insufferable to cower at home, imagining the malicious whisper dropped into his ear, dreading his return lest he should come with the knowledge of her dealings with Buckingham. At least if she was there, she would not live on the razor's edge needlessly.
They walked to the palace, the day being crisp and clean, the streets dry, and Nick in much need of exercise in his regained freedom. He left Polly in the Long Gallery, with the chattering throng, and went to the king's private apartments, as he had been bidden, to wait upon His Majesty during the levee-the elaborate ceremony of his morning toilet.
King Charles, submitting to the attentions of his barber, greeted Nicholas warmly, calling him through the press of favored courtiers. "Kincaid, dear fellow." The royal hand was extended for the subject's kiss. "Devil's in it, but ye know what rumors can do. Particularly these days. Can't trust anyone. Can't think where they came from now, can ye, George?"
"A word here, a word there, sir," drawled the Duke of Buckingham, his heavy-lidded eyes resting with seeming ca-sualness on Lord Kincaid's face. "Sorry as I can be, Kincaid. 'Tis to be hoped you passed not too uncomfortable a sennight."
"I have been more comfortable," returned Nick with a dry, tight smile.
"And the incomparable Polly?" Buckingham smiled benignly. "I trust she made you welcome."
The king chuckled. "Aye, incomparable, indeed. Y'are a lucky dog, Kincaid, if you can keep her."
"I shall do my best, sir." Nick bowed, waited for a few moments until it became clear that His Majesty had said all he deemed necessary about the unfortunate misunderstanding, then faded into the background. He was angry, and he was puzzled. A word here, a word there. It was no convinc-
ing explanation; and what the devil had Buckingham to do with it?
He found out soon enough.
Polly stood amid the laughter and the chatter, a smile fixed upon her face, her eyes glazed. Lady Castlemaine knew. Nausea rose, urgent in her belly; she swallowed desperately, hearing again that spiteful little trill, feeling the malevolent eyes, stripping her bare.
"I trust you found ducal attentions as pleasing and as rewarding as those of a baron, my dear Mistress Wyat?" had been the question, uttered with blatant crudity and in no undertone. It had brought titters from those around; Polly had managed to produce a stare of total incomprehension before turning away. But there was no refuge anywhere, and she dared not leave before Nick reappeared.
"God's grace, but you have the mien of a sick cat!" Richard's fierce whisper came from behind her. "If you ignore it, there will be no sport, and they will let the matter drop. It will be put down as Barbara's malice. Everyone knows she holds you in enmity. But if you appear guilty as accused, the story will take hold."