The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(41)
She reached out a hand to comfort him, but pulled it back. She knew he wouldn’t thank her for fussing over him as if he were Kit with a scraped knee.
“The house can be rebuilt,” she said softly. “We still have the land and all its income.”
“I can’t do it anymore.” His voice was so low, she had to lean closer to make out his words.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t keep up this fight against the guisers. Not if…” He looked down at her. Coby swallowed. She had never seen him so wretched, not even after he had been tortured by the Venetians. “I can’t lose you.”
“We can’t give up, not now–”
“Yes we can. We can go back to France, or even further. Venice wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Coby shuddered at the memory of the devourers coursing through the narrow city streets, tearing people apart. London was dangerous enough, but no power on Earth would get her back to Venice. She reached out a hand and laid it on his.
“And what about all the other lives they will steal in our absence? If we stand by and let them do this blasphemous thing, how will we ever live with ourselves? What reason will we give, come Judgement Day, for abandoning our countrymen to their fates?”
“Perhaps you are right,” he said after a moment. “But we cannot fight them alone. We need allies.”
“Much good our alliances have done us so far.”
“I was perhaps unwise to trust the Huntsmen,” he said. “They are too easily swayed by their hatred of the skraylings, too easily manipulated into turning against anyone connected with them.”
“Then who? Is there anyone we can trust? Anyone we can be sure is not a guiser, or one of their allies?”
“I don’t know.” He lay back down. “Let us sleep on it. Perhaps inspiration will strike when I am less weary.”
Coby laid her head on his shoulder.
“Promise me one thing?”
“Hmm?”
“Promise you won’t send me away again.”
“I–”
“We have to stay together from now on,” she said, levering herself up on one elbow and fixing him with her gaze. “If they come for us, I would rather die by your side than hundreds of miles away.”
He hesitated, and she narrowed her eyes at him, preparing to argue further.
“Very well,” he said at last. “I promise.”
“Good. And I think Lady Catlyn will rise from the ashes after all. I can make more gowns easily enough, especially if I sell some of my jewellery.”
“So anxious to be back in skirts?” he asked with a smile.
“No, but I will not give those villains the satisfaction of thinking they have us beaten. And in any case, you will need a pair of eyes – and ears – amongst the ladies of the court. This Lady Derby could just as easily be a guiser as any of the men.”
“Very well. I’ll ask Lady Frances, and perhaps she can exert her influence to get you a place in the Princess of Wales’s household. But promise me you’ll be careful.”
She lay back down and snuggled close to him. “I’m always careful.”
She refrained from adding, It is you who needs to be careful, my love.
CHAPTER XI
Soon after her arrival in London Coby went to Goody Watson’s and bought the best second-hand clothing her budget would stretch to: a plain woollen bodice and skirts for Susanna, and a couple of silk gowns for herself. The latter were somewhat out of fashion and the embroidery needed mending but they were good enough for court, especially for the wife of a country knight. It would not do to dress above her station.
Thus transformed once more into Lady Catlyn, it was time to face her next challenge. Lady Frances Grey had agreed to consider recommending Coby to the Princess of Wales as a lady-in-waiting, but wanted to meet her first. On the following Thursday, therefore, Coby’s mare was groomed and saddled, and she and Mal rode to Suffolk House to dine with the Greys.
The dinner itself passed in a blur of fine tableware and elaborate dishes flavoured with sugar and spices. Thankfully the duke did not share the current craze for the skraylings’ hot pepper, but there were plenty of other delicacies on offer. Coby had been forced to learn to eat in a more ladylike fashion since giving up her boy’s guise, but she still filled her plate with a gusto that raised a few eyebrows. She flushed and tried to eat as daintily as Lady Frances, cutting her food into tiny morsels that hardly needed any chewing.
At last the dishes were cleared away and the gentlemen retired to the library to discuss business.
“Won’t you join me in taking a turn about the garden, Lady Catlyn?” Lady Frances said, getting to her feet. “It’s such a fine afternoon.”
“Is that wise, my dear, in your condition?” the dowager duchess asked. “We wouldn’t want you to catch a chill.”
“I’ll send for a warm cloak,” Lady Frances replied. “And Lady Catlyn will make sure I don’t stay outside too long, won’t you, my dear?”
“Assuredly, my lady.” She glanced sidelong at Lady Frances, but if the duchess truly were with child, her condition had not advanced far enough to show.
The gardens of Suffolk House stretched down to the Thames. Coby had seen only glimpses of them, last time she was here with Sandy, and though they were barer at this time of year they had a stark elegance that fitted their mistress better. Low box hedges traced elaborate knot patterns around beds just starting to break into fresh leaf, with violets and daffodils adding a splash of colour to the gloom. At the corners of each bed, red-and-blue painted poles topped with the unicorn of Suffolk gleamed in the spring sunlight. A gilded pleasure-barge, almost as fine as the Queen’s, rocked at its mooring place, ready to take the duke and duchess to their estate upriver or to one of the many royal palaces.