Marbeck and the King-in-Waiting Read Free

longer; he was in no hurry to get back. Not only was he bored with Sir Thomas: he had begun to dread the attentions of his wife, Lady Margery. Two more nights at most, he thought, and he would seek somewhere else to stay. By then he would have decided what to do about his present predicament: whether to try sending one more message to Sir Robert, or to take himself away from the south-east. The Queen’s demise, it appeared, would come soon enough … though it also seemed clear that whatever followed, Marbeck would be unable to play any real part in it. That was what hurt most: ingratitude, hostility, even contempt, he had endured before and could again. But to be shut out by his spymaster without a word – not merely as if he were no longer trusted, but as if he no longer mattered … it was hard to bear.
    Suppressing the thought, he set his face to the driving rain and began to walk downriver, along the path towards the hamlet of Barnes. But when he entered the broad hallway of Croft House, he found himself confronted by someone who, more than anyone he knew, made him feel quite defenceless.
    â€˜Richard Strang! I waited all morning, yet you didn’t come!’
    Lady Alice Croft, ten years old but with the will of someone twice her age, stood by the stairwell scowling at him. Her flame-coloured hair was elaborately dressed, she wore her best kirtle, and in one hand was the lute which Marbeck was attempting to teach her to play. Her puny chest heaving with indignation, she brandished the instrument like a weapon.
    â€˜My lesson was for ten of the clock!’ Alice fumed. ‘And I was eager to show you the scale of G, which I have practised in my chamber ever since breakfast!’
    Dripping with rainwater, Marbeck put on a contrite look and made his bow. ‘I beg your pardon, my lady,’ he said. ‘I was detained on some trivial business … but we’ll work now, if you will. I’m keen to see the fruits of your labours—’
    â€˜That sounds like mere soft soap, sir!’ The child wore a prim expression, exactly like the one seen often on the face of her mother. But while Marbeck had realized some time ago that Lady Margery Croft’s pious ways were but a mask for her true nature, her daughter had not yet learned such duplicity. Marbeck liked her for it; and now, he was ashamed.
    â€˜I swear it is not soft soap,’ he said. ‘And I’ll make up for my failure in any way I can. Shall we to your lesson, or—’
    â€˜Well … if you’re truly sorry, perhaps we might.’ Lady Alice’s anger never lasted long. Under his new alias, Richard Strang, Marbeck had been engaged to tutor the girl a fortnight ago, on the strength of a forged recommendation. It enabled him to be close to Richmond Palace during the crisis, yet far enough away to escape notice. Though he was fast becoming something of a fixture at Croft House, he knew, which made him uncomfortable. He smiled at his pupil, and gestured to the stairway.
    â€˜Then let’s to the music room, my lady,’ he said brightly. ‘You may prepare yourself, while I fetch my own lute from my chamber.’
    â€˜Oh … but you’re soaked to the skin!’ Alice broke in, having only just noticed.
    â€˜I will change my attire, too,’ Marbeck told her. ‘Then I will be ready, and eager to see how you’ve mastered the difficult scale of G.’
    At that the child nodded and turned to go upstairs, whereupon Marbeck’s smile faded. Leaving Lady Alice’s company, he knew, would be his one regret.
    At supper he was subdued, his mind busy, though he made an effort to converse. The Croft household was large, and bluff Sir Thomas made a point of advertising his goodwill to all, regardless of their station. Thus the more important servants ate in the hall with the family, Marbeck among them. He sat at the end of the top table with the murmur of voices about him,