Perfect Shadows

chapter 28

Rózsa waited impatiently in the little parlor for the Countess of Southampton’s arrival. Kit had asked her to act as his emissary, bringing his regrets to Libby, as he did not wish to leave the dying Richard’s side. She turned her attention to the portrait over the mantel, a fine likeness of the earl. She studied the fine-boned face with its frame of long hair, lightened in the portrait to a more fashionable shade. The eyes followed one, and the artist had caught the hint of wistfulness under the supercilious stare. A slight sound behind her told that the lady had finally arrived. She was unprepared for the beauty that greeted her, and for the wave of attraction and desire that followed.

Libby extended her hand, and looked up through her dark lashes at her visitor. With some surprise she saw that what she had taken for a slight and pretty boy was in fact a woman dressed in men’s clothing. The shock rendered her nearly speechless, and she spluttered, searching for a term of address. Her guest turned a dazzling smile on her, and she felt more confused than ever. The woman introduced herself as Prince Kryštof ’s cousin, Rózsa Miklos, the Baroness Ramnicul, and Libby vaguely remembered seeing her at court once or twice before her own banishment, though of course the baroness had not been dressed as a boy then. Somehow she responded to the formalities, and the expressions of regret that the prince could not attend upon her that evening, then shocked herself, blurting out, “Why are you dressed like that?” Rózsa’s eyes widened for a moment, then she laughed, the comradely laughter that draws two strangers into friendship.

“It is much more fun, my lady, to swagger through the streets of London as a man. Have you never tried it? Oh, but you must!” Libby stared open mouthed at the idea, her mind whirling. Could she? She had spent all her life in a cage, making her little rounds, beating her wings against the bars, first in her father’s house, and then at Elizabeth’s court. The only time she had broken free was when she had followed her heart with Hal, and that had led her into pregnancy and the Fleet prison. He had rescued her, and then led her back to the cage, his cage, this time, but from the inside, she thought bitterly, the view was the same.

The sudden urge to break free overwhelmed her. Hal had been so busy these last weeks, and except for the visits from the Prince Kryštof, Libby had been lonely indeed; even Penelope, her best friend, had been too preoccupied with her own fears and affairs to offer comfort or distraction. “Yes, if you will help me, I will! Tonight!” she cried out impetuously and fled from the room, beckoning Rózsa to follow. Hal was still closeted with Robin and the others at Essex House, dithering over what to do about a summons that had come that morning for Robin to appear before the council. He had declared illness, and sent for Hal. And Hal had gone without a backward look.

Libby faltered for a moment, fearing that the time had come when the company would launch whatever witless and dangerous scheme they had been concocting, but she wrenched her mind back to the present and the proposed escapade. Anything to stop thinking, to stop the visions of Hal’s beautiful head topping a pole on London Bridge, that long thick hair stiff and lifeless on the breeze— she bit hard on a knuckle, then turned with a bright brittle smile to her companion. They were in Hal’s dressing room, and Libby began pulling things from the chests and cupboards, flinging them to the floor like a naughty child. Rózsa started to pick things up out of the muddle, and soon had an outfit assembled. These were things that Hal had worn and discarded as he had grown, hopelessly out of fashion and too small for him now, though still a little large for Libby. Rózsa played lady’s maid, stripping the giggling girl down to her shift, which was short enough to leave on under the shirt and doublet, and her corset did an admirable job of flattening her firm breasts. Rózsa helped her into the hose and trunk-hose, laced the doublet and tied the points, then reached for the soft cuffs and the falling band of cobweb lawn. The trunk-hose and doublet were midnight blue velvet, trimmed in narrow gold braid, setting off the girl’s red-golden coloring to perfection, though it must have been somewhat somber against the darker coloring of the earl. With a sudden chill, Libby recalled Hal wearing the outfit at a court funeral, but she shook off the ill-omened thought and concentrated on stamping her feet into the riding boots she had fetched from her own rooms. Rózsa smiled approvingly and helped to comb and curl the long hair into a dandy’s lovelocks. She stood back to study her handiwork, clucking as she noticed what was missing. A quick question caused Libby to gasp, but she answered, and then had to stifle the giggles as Rózsa buckled the sword on her, adjusting the baldric with a practiced hand.

“Where shall we go?” she asked, and Libby faced her in surprise.

“You don’t mean—I only meant to—” she broke off at Rózsa’s soft laugh.

“All that work, and you don’t want to show it off? Come, I know just the place, and it is not far. The ground has frozen, so we may easily walk,” she added, then settled the cloak around the trembling girl’s shoulders, pinning it firmly. She donned her own cape and the two set off, hiring a link to light their way.

The tavern was crowded that Saturday evening, the whirl of colors and smells nearly overwhelming the bewildered girl as she followed Rózsa to a small table set in an alcove. A woman was dancing on a nearby table, wearing only a flimsy shift, while the men surrounding her beat time with their fists on the tabletop, almost drowning out the pipe and drum that supplied the music. Someone shouted a word that Libby didn’t catch, and the woman began to spin wildly, the men counting the turns that she made, and placing bets. On the forty-third she missed her footing and collapsed laughing onto the lap of one of the men at the table, who kissed her before good-naturedly paying up on his lost wager. His hand dropped to fondle the woman’s breast through the thin cloth of her shift, and then he stood, tossing the wench over his shoulder like a sack of grain, working his way towards a stair at the back of the room, slapping her buttocks when she struggled. Raucous laughter and rude comments marked his progress, and Libby felt herself blush. She lifted the tankard of Rhennish that Rózsa had ordered for her, and sipped to hide her embarrassment. She picked at her plate of cold beef and cheese, too excited to eat. The wine was starting aglow in the pit of her stomach, and she recklessly downed the remainder and asked for another. She was beginning to be drunk, and she reveled in the feeling of freedom that she had, joining in on the chorus of the popular catch that was being sung, her clear treble rising above the coarse voices around them, and attracting the attention of one or two. She fell silent as a looming shape cut off the light.

“What’s two pretty gallants like you doing out all alone?” the man slurred, reeking of stale beer and tobacco, as well as other less pleasant smells. He stretched a filthy hand to catch Libby’s chin, and she shrank away from him, sobered and fearful, but he never touched her. Too swiftly for her to follow, Rózsa had the bully against the wall, a drawn dagger in her hand, point up and buried in the scraggly beard under the man’s weak chin. His eyes crossed as he tried to look at her, the whining sound he made dying in his throat as a drop of blood ran down the bright blade. Rózsa skipped back in disgust as the frightened man’s piss splashed from his clothing and into the rushes at her feet. His eyes rolled up in his head and he fainted, sliding down the wall to sit in his mess. She leant forward long enough to daintily clean her blade on his jerkin before sheathing it. Her eyes swept the room as the music started again, but no one met her gaze. She shrugged, offering Libby her hand and pulling her from the bench to her feet. Libby’s knees were shaking so that she wondered if she would be able to stand, let alone walk, but she managed, following her new friend from the tavern. Rózsa paid with a tossed coin, and scooped the two flasks she had bespoken earlier as they made their way out.

“Do you want to go home?” she asked Libby as they paused to breath the cold clean outside air. Libby shook her head, her eyes bright in the flickering light of the lantern. Rózsa nodded. “I have rooms near here, if you would—”

“Oh, yes! I would—I mean, I do not want to go back. Hal will not be home for hours yet.” Rózsa led the way to her comfortable lodgings not far from the Strand. The rooms were well proportioned, and fires of fragrant woods burned, mingling their scents with the sweet smell of the beeswax candles. Libby struggled with the fastening of her cloak, crying out as she ran the pin deep into her finger, and letting the cloak fall to the floor. Rózsa took the injured hand in hers, the welling blood glistening like a large ruby as she gently raised it to her lips, kissing the fingertip and sucking the blood from the wound. Libby shivered uncontrollably, her mind drawn back to her first days at court as the most junior of the Maids of Honor, and how Robin’s sister Penelope, now Lady Rich, had taken her in, sheltering her from the malice of the other, less beautiful, maids, even taking the frightened child into her own bed. She leaned against her new friend, turning her face up to be kissed, pulling her hand away from those seductive lips, to tangle in the woman’s hair, drawing her into the kiss.

Rózsa hesitated only a scant second before returning the embrace, her arms slipping around the smaller woman, her teeth instinctively pressing against the throbbing vein in the lovely neck before she forced herself back: Libby was Kit’s property.

“Rózsa,” Libby whispered, her face flaming, “I need to—I mean—”she floundered for a moment before Rózsa came to her rescue.

“Yes, that is the difficulty with the clothing. We, unlike the men, must unlace everything before using the necessary. Come, I will help you,” she added, leading her to the bed waiting in the next room. Libby sank into the sanctuary it offered, with its warmed sheets scented with lavender, the well-filled and soft feather bed, and a fleecy coverlet.

“It’s odd,” she said, “but I feel protected, safe, for the first time in, oh, months.” Rózsa unlaced the borrowed doublet, and pulled loose the points that fastened it to the trunk-hose, then reached under the bed for the jordan. As a vampire, she had no use for such an item, but her guests frequently had. While Libby relieved herself, Rózsa went to the door of the outer room and called out. A very handsome young man answered the call within minutes, and removed the used pot. Rózsa spoke quietly to him for a moment, then sent him on his way.

She returned to the bedroom, stripped to her shirt, and sat on the edge of the bed, the firelight gilding her long legs. Trembling, Libby stroked the curve of Rózsa’s small breasts through the fine linen of the shirt, then giggled nervously. She tried to control herself, clamping her mouth shut, but the sound escaped through her nose. She opened her mouth to apologize, and to her horror, she hiccuped loudly. A smile quirked the corner of Rózsa’s mouth, and Libby threw up her hands, abandoning herself to a fit of the giggles, punctuated with hiccups. Rózsa patted the shaking shoulders for a moment, then fetched a small box from the mantel. Libby’s eyes widened as Rózsa took a small pipe in the shape of a dragon from the box and began loading it with a crumbly green-brown substance. Rózsa smiled.

“Did your husband never teach you to smoke? Men are such selfish brutes, sometimes. It is quite easy,” she added, and lit the pipe with a taper from the chest by the bed. She passed the pipe to Libby, teaching her to draw in the smoke without choking, and to hold it before exhaling.

“It doesn’t smell like Hal’s pipes,” Libby ventured doubtfully, and Rózsa nodded. “That’s right. It’s hashish, a habit brought to Sybria more than a century ago by the Turk. Tobacco is a stimulant, but this will help you to relax. Here, bend forward a moment: that corset must be uncomfortable.” She deftly unlaced the rigid garment and cast it to the floor, then settled herself against the head of the bed, resting Libby’s head on her shoulder. They talked for a time, slipping into their lovemaking and out as sleekly as otters dipping in and out of water, and Rózsa was unable to resist her appetite a second time. She felt the pulsing vein beneath her teeth, and before she was aware of her act the sweet blood filled her mouth as Libby’s cries of pleasure and release filled her ears. Still mindful of Kit’s title to this beauty, she took but little, though she was loth to leave when she felt the pull of the impending dawn. At length she roused herself and gently shook her sleeping companion. Libby’s eyes were heavy, and she felt languid and enervated. Rózsa leaned over and kissed her deeply, then pulled her to her feet.

“Come, I must see you safely home,” she said softly, and helped Libby dress before swiftly donning her own clothing. The false dawn colored the east as Rózsa kissed Libby at the gates of Drury House, and left with the servant that had accompanied them.

Libby was still standing in the courtyard, leaning against the gate and watching her new friend out of sight when a rider sped past her, and she recognized the livery of the Earl of Essex. A thrill of foreboding went through her, and she slipped out of the gate and followed the messenger the short distance to Essex House, pulling her hat further down her forehead and joining the throng milling about in the earl’s courtyard. Feeling light-headed, she had fallen asleep leaning against the wall, only to be awakened by gunshots. An outcry of murder was raised, but it was only Blount, Essex’s stepfather firing wildly at Ralegh where he and Gorges sat talking in skiffs on the river, trying to defuse the situation.

Shortly after, three men arrived, with only a small retinue. She recognized Egerton, who had had the keeping of Essex after his rash return from Ireland, and also the Lord Chief Justice Popham. The third was Robin’s uncle, William Knollys. They entered the house, though their servants were made to wait outside the gate, and once more there was the cry that a plot had been uncovered against Essex and the Queen. There were shouted demands that the three be killed, led by one Gilly Mericke whom Libby had always despised for a reckless rattlepate, but cooler spirits prevailed, and the three courtiers were held hostage. Robin made ready to lead his men to the City, some horsed, but the rest ignominiously on foot, as the arrival of their enemies had taken them off guard.

Libby, not believing what was happening, shouldered a large man aside as he prepared to mount, snatching the reins and swinging herself astride into the saddle. The dispossessed man, seeing by the clothing that the usurper was a noble, swallowed his protest, and went off looking for someone of lesser rank that he could treat similarly. Libby kneed the horse and followed the others, her thoughts reeling. Was Robin mad? His brain must have softened, to think that this was going to lead anywhere but to the Tower and thence to the block. Once again the horrible image of Hal’s severed head on a pole overwhelmed her but she was jerked back as her horse stumbled, and she reined up a moment to regain her balance, marveling at the security of her seat and the ease of riding in this fashion; she would certainly keep this in mind, she thought, urging the recalcitrant nag forward.

When she caught up with them Robin was proclaiming the plot against his life, exhorting the citizenry to follow him, to protect the Queen, and to save his life. A few people gathered, but stood on shifting feet, giving each other sidelong glances before drifting away, or waving and smiling as if the desperate gamble were just another Sunday outing for the gentry. In vain Robin tried to rally them, crying that the Crown had been sold to the Spaniard, but only a few sturdy beggars and other riffraff collected, with an eye to spoils. When Hal stepped up to him, speaking quietly and gesturing to the dwindling crowd, he threw up his hands in defeat and turned away.

Libby slipped away from the others there in Fenchurch Street, making her way home, as Essex sat in the Sheriff ’s house and called for meat. She dismounted not far from the house and slapped the horse’s rump, letting it go where it would. There was a great crowd gathered about Essex house, not faraway, and she wondered apathetically how Hal and Robin planned to get back. Wearily she made her way to her chamber, ignoring the horrified squeaks of her maids, stripped off her clothing and fell into the soft bed utterly exhausted.