Read Online The Lost Duchess by Jenny Barden - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jenny Barden
Ads: Link
dark forces at work that would see everything destroyed, bring down the Queen and the new Church of England, unleash the terror of persecution afresh, and see free England made a vassal to Spain. But at least the danger had receded for a while. A fresh roar of jubilation rang out and the Queen patted Sir Christopher’s hand.
‘Babington’s wealth will be forfeit. Some good will come of that.’
Then she smiled as the barge slowed, and raised her eyes to a white turret beyond a high crenelated wall and Emme knew they had reached their destination; they had arrived at Durham Place.
Cloaked and hooded, the Queen was ushered up steps, through private apartments and across a rising court to an entrance by a carriageway leading uphill to the Strand. Beyond marble pillars, Emme saw the traffic of London passing by: horses, carts and carriages, and streams of people, some of them bunching together, singing and shouting. The hubbub was overwhelming after the peace of Richmond and the river. The clatter of hooves and iron-rimmed cartwheels echoed over cobbles and around paved courtyards; thehammer of construction, the baying of livestock and the cries of hawkers all added to the din. A sewer stench drifted down from the street, and she saw an effigy tied to a hurdle that bystanders were pelting with rubbish and stones. When Emme followed the Queen up a creaking staircase to an airy gallery a floor above, she was glad to pause by an open window and take a deep breath.
The steward knocked at a double door but the Queen waved him aside.
‘No announcement. We shall enter.’
She strode in as the door opened to reveal a group of men around a long table, silhouetted against high windows overlooking the Strand. One of the men stood immediately and approached to greet her: Sir Walter Raleigh, tall and proud, with his dark hair curling around his strong, sensitive face and the hair of his chest just visible beyond the neck-strings of his shirt. He should never have received the Queen in such a state, but she had surprised him, the day was hot and neither of them seemed much to care. With alacrity and grace he knelt before the Queen, kissed her hand and, keeping his almond eyes upon her, gave her a dazzling smile.
‘Your Majesty. Your servant is honoured. We were discussing the land named for you in the New World. How fortunate that you are here!’
He is in thrall to her, Emme thought; in his gaze was pure devotion. She glanced at Sir Christopher and saw him flinch and raise his chin. He was jealous, Emme realised. Loyal, charming Sir Christopher, who had kept by the Queen’s side, aged with her and never wed, was as envious of Sir Walter as a rival for a maid. They both loved her. Though the Queen had lost the flame of youthful beauty, she had the hearts of these men racing at the slightestsign of favour. Emme watched and felt as insignificant as a speck upon the wall. She saw Mariner Kit amongst those assembled, and his look acknowledged her, yet his expression remained impassive. Why should he pay her any attention? He had obviously forgotten her since their talk at the palace. She clearly meant nothing to him. He bowed to the Queen, and she noticed that his long fair hair was tied back behind his neck, and that his leather jerkin accentuated the width of his shoulders and upper arms. His features were so strikingly well-formed it was hard for her to look away, but she swallowed and concentrated on Master Manteo beside him, because she could feel a hot blush rising over her throat.
The Indian wore a loose russet smock that revealed a chevron of tattoos and the fang of a large animal on a thong over his chest. Raw physicality oozed from him, just as it did from Kit and Sir Walter; the faint smell of male sweat hung like musk in the air. The windows were shut against the noise outside, and Emme had a sense that she had stumbled upon something forbidden, yet the Queen seemed to relax. She took off her cloak, and spoke warmly to
‘Babington’s wealth will be forfeit. Some good will come of that.’
Then she smiled as the barge slowed, and raised her eyes to a white turret beyond a high crenelated wall and Emme knew they had reached their destination; they had arrived at Durham Place.
Cloaked and hooded, the Queen was ushered up steps, through private apartments and across a rising court to an entrance by a carriageway leading uphill to the Strand. Beyond marble pillars, Emme saw the traffic of London passing by: horses, carts and carriages, and streams of people, some of them bunching together, singing and shouting. The hubbub was overwhelming after the peace of Richmond and the river. The clatter of hooves and iron-rimmed cartwheels echoed over cobbles and around paved courtyards; thehammer of construction, the baying of livestock and the cries of hawkers all added to the din. A sewer stench drifted down from the street, and she saw an effigy tied to a hurdle that bystanders were pelting with rubbish and stones. When Emme followed the Queen up a creaking staircase to an airy gallery a floor above, she was glad to pause by an open window and take a deep breath.
The steward knocked at a double door but the Queen waved him aside.
‘No announcement. We shall enter.’
She strode in as the door opened to reveal a group of men around a long table, silhouetted against high windows overlooking the Strand. One of the men stood immediately and approached to greet her: Sir Walter Raleigh, tall and proud, with his dark hair curling around his strong, sensitive face and the hair of his chest just visible beyond the neck-strings of his shirt. He should never have received the Queen in such a state, but she had surprised him, the day was hot and neither of them seemed much to care. With alacrity and grace he knelt before the Queen, kissed her hand and, keeping his almond eyes upon her, gave her a dazzling smile.
‘Your Majesty. Your servant is honoured. We were discussing the land named for you in the New World. How fortunate that you are here!’
He is in thrall to her, Emme thought; in his gaze was pure devotion. She glanced at Sir Christopher and saw him flinch and raise his chin. He was jealous, Emme realised. Loyal, charming Sir Christopher, who had kept by the Queen’s side, aged with her and never wed, was as envious of Sir Walter as a rival for a maid. They both loved her. Though the Queen had lost the flame of youthful beauty, she had the hearts of these men racing at the slightestsign of favour. Emme watched and felt as insignificant as a speck upon the wall. She saw Mariner Kit amongst those assembled, and his look acknowledged her, yet his expression remained impassive. Why should he pay her any attention? He had obviously forgotten her since their talk at the palace. She clearly meant nothing to him. He bowed to the Queen, and she noticed that his long fair hair was tied back behind his neck, and that his leather jerkin accentuated the width of his shoulders and upper arms. His features were so strikingly well-formed it was hard for her to look away, but she swallowed and concentrated on Master Manteo beside him, because she could feel a hot blush rising over her throat.
The Indian wore a loose russet smock that revealed a chevron of tattoos and the fang of a large animal on a thong over his chest. Raw physicality oozed from him, just as it did from Kit and Sir Walter; the faint smell of male sweat hung like musk in the air. The windows were shut against the noise outside, and Emme had a sense that she had stumbled upon something forbidden, yet the Queen seemed to relax. She took off her cloak, and spoke warmly to
Similar Books
