~o~
With a loud chirp, a robust brown sparrow landed triumphantly on the windowsill. Briefly, it ruffled its feathers, eager to enjoy the rising of the sun and warmth that accompanied it. Then, it proceeded to poke around busily, managing to scavenge a few dozy bugs from between the bricks. Making a quick meal of its catch, the sparrow let out one of its best trills, clearly wishing to make it known to all that it was quite pleased with its life at the moment…
Inside the room behind that very window, Lady Victoria slowly opened her eyes. She had been balancing precariously on the brink between slumber and wakefulness for the past quarter of an hour and the sparrow's enthusiastic twittering had roused her completely.
Rubbing her eyes, she turned her head to the side where her paramour still slept. Only in these rare moments this humble seamstress allowed herself to study, at length, the face of Sir Francis Walsingham. Victoria would never dare do it while he was awake. Even though she possessed a clear conscience, she felt his eyes scorch her every time she chanced to meet their gaze. Now, as it was well shielded behind his eyelids, she was able to openly admire the man next to her. In these moments, she could let her mind wonder unimpeded, wondering in the bravest of moments of what it would be like if she were a wife, to do what she did and have a right to it. Yet, Victoria dared not dwell on such thoughts for long, fearing that should she overindulge in them, she would be discovered at once.
It had been near to four months since Sir Francis had allowed Victoria into the smallest corner of his life by permitting her to share his bed. It was, to date, one of the biggest expressions of trust Walsingham had ever bestowed upon another. Still, from time to time, he let a fleeting, sharp look rake over his young mistress. This look felt as though a gust of wind in mid-winter, a wind that could in a second chill its way to the very bone, despite the warm clothing. Even though he never acted openly distrustful, this look was proof enough that he never lost his vigilance. Therefore, every time her unruly mind's eye broke free, Lady York reeled it in firmly, restricting herself to merely admiring the man's features.
While could not be considered absolutely handsome by the conventional standards of these times, Walsingham's face possessed the sort of enigmatic attraction. For the umpteenth time, Victoria's eyes slid over the arches of his eyebrows, the steep, striking curve of his nose, the cheeks, lined with more burdens than she could conceive of, and finally delicately outlined lips, framed by the slightly tousled moustache and beard. Knowing that she had mere minutes before the spymaster's eyes opened, Victoria used these minutes to steal all the glances she wished…
Slight movement by her side summoned Victoria back to the world at hand. A light sigh indicated that the man who lay next to her had just awakened from a restful sleep. Walsingham's hand, draped around the waist of his female companion, contracted, pulling Victoria even closer towards him.
"Victoria, dear," Sir Francs murmured in her ear as he stroked her stomach, "I must confess that you are getting ever better, my child. Clearly, my time had not been lost in vain."
"Oh, my Lord," Victoria spoke, stroking his hand that now lay atop her hip, "you are too kind."
"Not at all, dear girl," Walsingham contradicted. "What, pray tell, am I to gain by lying to you?"
This was a question only in part. Indeed, it was more of a statement, plain and simple. Sir Francis had no need to seek refuge in flattery, which was nearly always required to keep the lady content and willing. In this case, Victoria was the one dependent upon his graces, which left him free to be utterly truthful. Having been by his side for some time, it took Victoria but a minute to grasp the spymaster's true meaning.
"Nothing, truly," Lady York sighed, her smile waning somewhat. Statements of this sort were generally as close as he ever came to telling her off.
"Come now, dear," Walsingham laughed, "take it not this way. Is it not a common grievance among the fairer sex that men deal in lies? Does it not please you that I am nothing but direct with you?"
For a moment, but only just, Victoria remained motionless, her stare fixed on the embellished surface of the pillow. She was but a toy for a nobleman, and as such, she led an uncertain life. Investing her heart in this matter was most imprudent, yet it was something she could not help. Indeed, Victoria had no one but herself to blame for the sudden heartache his words have induced. Walsingham had never done anything to nurture a false hope within her. In one second's time, Victoria had rallied her spirits to do exactly the thing she had grown accustomed to doing each and every time such need arose. She told herself that she had, volitionally, accepted Walsingham's arrangement and had no right to contest it. Every moment in his company was to be accepted with gratitude. Moodiness would only cut her time shorter… Having decided that, Victoria willed herself from her trance. Rolling to her side, she faced the spymaster.
"It does, my Lord," she replied quietly, her fingers running through his beard as she stroked his face gently, "it pleases me greatly."
Walsingham gave her a small smile before pulling her in for a kiss. He fancied the way her body would turn soft and pliable each time she sensed his desire. It was early still; they lay intertwined between the sheets, with not a stitch on them. Sir Francis could not see a single reason why he could not give into temptation just once more…
There was no reason indeed, not until a knock came on the door. The knock was urgent, yet quiet, as though begging forgiveness for having to intrude upon the ones in the bedchamber. So quiet, in fact, it made Victoria look up worriedly as Walsingham broke the kiss with an unusual abruptness.
"My Lord?" she inquired timidly, seeing his eyes harden momentarily.
"Cover up," Walsingham ordered her shortly. Promptly the woman drew the covers about her, concealing the body that was only for her master to see.
"Enter," Sir Francis ordered, raising his voice. As in control of his emotions as he was, the spymaster could not help a slight edge in his voice. All his servants were strictly instructed against disturbing their master while in a company of a lady. Going against this order could only mean that there was a profound enough reason to do so.
Walsingham's suspicions were further confirmed by Jerome, as the boy entered the room cautiously. The lad looked supremely uncomfortable, yet resolute; the look on his face spoke plainly that he would rather be facing a pit-full of ravenous lions than his master, interrupted as he lay with his mistress.
"Qu'est-ce que c'est?"* Walsingham asked, raising himself on the elbow. Knowing that Victoria knew little to no French, he addressed the boy in his native tongue.
"Sir Robert désire vous voir, milord," Jerome replied. "Il affirme que l'affaire est de toute urgence."**
"Elle doit l'être, en effet," Walsingham said. "Dites-lui que je le verrai incessamment."***
"Oui, Sir Francis,"**** Jerome bowed.
Once the boy was gone, Walsingham returned his attention to Victoria, who lay silently by his side, her eyes filled with worry. Despite the fact that she knew no French, she nonetheless caught the urgent tone of the conversation. If the matter was truly serious, Walsingham desired to draw no attention to it. Therefore, his expression softened instantaneously as he looked upon Victoria.
"Alas, my dear," Sir Francis said softly. His hand slid under the covers, cupping Victoria's breast, "affairs of state wait for no man. Regretfully, I have to bid you farewell."
Before Walsingham bent down to lavish several slow kisses upon her full bosom, which he had promptly uncovered, he distinctly saw a shadow of disappointment darken Victoria's face. Nevertheless, he was pleased with his protégée, for she had managed to conceal it well. Walsingham felt her fingers, ever gentle and unchangingly affectionate, run through his hair.
"Worry not," Walsingham spoke once he pulled back, "come what may, I promise I shall find a spot of time for you." He said it intentionally, knowing it to be the only thing which never failed to raise her spirits. In an elated state, induced by a prospect of another meeting, Victoria would be unlikely to give another thought to being so hastily dismissed…
As they helped each other dress, which had long since become their usual pastime, Sir Francis took care to comment on her garment to further improve her mood.
"A truly splendid gown, my dear," Walsingham said, his gaze washing over Victoria's bust, framed by low-cut corsage. "It pleases me a great deal that you have complied fully with my demands."
It was the first time he laid his eyes on this particular dress. No doubt, it was one of the ten he bid her to order. Remaining true to her taste, Victoria had envisioned it to be nearly as modest as her old dresses, relying wholly on the elegance of the fabric. After a long look, Walsingham had to admit that she had made an excellent choice. A thin strip of gold embroidery ran along the hem of the skirt, as well as at the top and bottom of the bodice, further amplified the sheer beauty of emerald silk.
"How could I do otherwise, my Lord?" Victoria said, picking up the final part of her outfit, a diaphanous white scarf, off the floor. While wearing the dress as intended in Walsingham's presence, she took care to cover the low cut of her dress while in public. "My compliance is ever the only thing I have to offer in exchange for your kindness."
"Which is quite enough, I assure you, child," Sir Francis said. "Come, let us waste no more time."
Ushering Victoria into his sitting room, Walsingham saw Sir Robert Beale, who paced to and fro before the fireplace. As always, Beale took little notice of Victoria. Only for the benefit of his patron, Sir Robert offered Victoria a small nod as she curtsied in greeting.
"Run along now, child," Walsingham said, dismissing her. Beale followed Victoria with his eyes as she bowed once more and left.
"You have been forewarned, Francis," Sir Robert said, "that these women are leeches for money. Where, I ask you, would she find enough gold to pay for a new dress, let along a fair few, if she had not received it from you?"
Walsingham noted that even though Beale's words contained the usual measure of sarcasm, his tone remained grave.
"It was nothing to me," the spymaster replied shortly, "as she hardly spent anything. I am sure that two of Lady Kensington's outfits are worth more than a whole ten for this girl. Still, you have come before me, seeking to discuss matters much more weighty than the state of my finances, I am sure."
Beale's jaw twitched grimly.
"Right you are, Francis," he said, extracting a parchment from his pocket.
Even though the letter was written in a coded script, it took Walsingham but a minute to fly through it. After he had finished, the look on his face resembled Beale's.
"Damnation," the spymaster spat softly. "When was it sent?"
"It took the courier a four days' journey," Beale replied at once. "He had neither eaten nor slept, stopping only trice to get a fresh horse."
Even though they were left alone in the room, both men spoke in hushed, urgent voices.
"It means the news was received four days prior," Walsingham counted. "I am assuming so, hoping dearly that this dimwit, Harris, had dispatched a courier immediately."
"He had better," Beale replied, "unless he has grown weary of the weight of his own head."
"All the fires of hell I could possibly unleash on this fellow," Walsingham spoke, "would be of no consequence, shall we be late… Other worries me," he continued, beginning to pace. "Harris is but a proxy, a rushed one at that. I would never have chosen him for the job, had I myself been there. If he, the stuffed goose that he is, had gotten a wind of something or other, it means –"
"– It means," Beale continued, "they now undertake preparations too grand to miss, which would indicate –"
" – That they shall soon act upon their intentions," Walsingham concluded, "supported by many co-conspirators."
Beale nodded.
"When do I leave?" he asked phlegmatically.
"On the morrow," Walsingham replied, "but I shall be the one leaving. I am ever so tired of dealing through another. The situation has become urgent enough to demand my personal involvement."
"What am I to do in your absence?" Beale asked.
"You are to convince everyone that I have merely gone to Hampshire for my health, nothing more," Sir Francis instructed. "Keep a sharp eye about, report of anything worth attention. As for the rest, deal with it as you will, I trust your judgment on that."
"What of the Queen?" Beale asked.
"I am to see her at once," Walsingham said, already half-way to the door, "I doubt Her Majesty will deny me, since my leaving is largely to her benefit. I shall make haste, Robert, yet I doubt it would be prudent to depart tonight. I shall leave in the morning in order to dissipate all possible suspicions. The news in this letter will not remain a mystery for long, but if secrecy is maintained, perhaps it would buy us some time. Yes," Walsingham said thoughtfully, as though remembering something or other, "it would indeed be the best course."
As the door flew open at his approach, Walsingham stopped once more.
"One more thing, my friend," he spoke. "Do keep an eye on Victoria. Women are weak, my friend, even the best of them. Shall she show her weakness in any way, I must know of it."
Beale nodded curtly in reply.
Having delivered his last instructions, Sir Francis turned on his heels and left the room, his dark robes billowing in his wake.
~o~O~o~
Having rushed through the palace corridors, Lady Victoria entered her room, swiftly shutting the door behind her. Resting her back against it, the woman attempted to catch her breath.
Even though being dismissed ahead of time did not appeal to her initially, now she was grateful for a chance to be alone. While Victoria understood perfectly that she was in no position to like or dislike, she certainly did not care for Sir Robert Beale. Every time he came to call, she felt his eyes upon her. He did not stare, surely he would not dare in the presence of his master, yet those quick looks he threw her way discomforted her. They were calculating glances, full of lust and superiority, as well as of something else Victoria could not yet make out. Therefore, Lady York was usually quite happy to depart as soon as Sir Robert entered the scene.
After a rather brusque walk, the air in her small room seemed stifling. Closing the latch, Victoria forced herself away from the door. Approaching the window, she threw it open. Lifting her face towards the heavens, Victoria allowed herself to bathe in the sunlight. The last week of April was at an end and these were the very first truly sunny days of the year. The air felt sweet and fragrant. Clouds of bees milled about the flowering fruit trees and shrubs in the palace garden. Pairs of swallows, their sharp little figures silhouetting against the blue sky, pirouetted in midair, racing the breeze.
Breathing in deeply, Victoria closed her eyes. Without a doubt, it was the best remedy for her unsettled stomach. As of late, this unpleasant condition was her constant companion. Alas, this discomfort was the price she had to pay for being at Walsingham's side. Heeding Margaret's advice, Victoria drank a big gulp of the vile green brew every morning after she awoke in the spymaster's bed. To say that the symptoms were unpleasant was to say nothing. Daily, it set her innards on fire, causing her to be violently sick at times. Undesired conception no longer worried her, yet now she feared that Walsingham would smell sick on her lips as he kissed her, even though she took great care to clean her mouth thoroughly with copious amounts of mint water each and every time…
Heaving a sigh, Victoria left the windowsill and approached her bedside. Getting to her knees, she reached under her bed to procure a flask. Oh, how she hated it! Yet, for all her hatred, she was solely dependent upon it. Her lips wrinkled in disgust, she surveyed the contents of the bottle. It was half-empty. She would need to get more soon… Even though Victoria wished nothing more than to run to the window once more and hurl the flask as far as her strength allowed, she uncorked it and took a long draught. The brew burned all the way down her throat. Tears welled up in her eyes as Victoria coughed and gasped for air. This preparation made her suffer, yet she prayed so it would, for once, stay down. Several anxious minutes later, she understood her hope to be futile. Leaping to her feet, she hurried towards the basin that stood at the opposite corner of the room…
~o~O~o~
Even though the spymaster's demeanor differed nothing from the usual, no one dared to cross Walsingham's path as he walked towards the Queens's chambers. The courtiers rushed out of the way, glad to let him pass swiftly by and away from their gatherings.
As Walsingham drew near Her Majesty's quarters, he began to hear eager, high-pitched yapping, which grew louder as her drew near. As the two guards uncrossed their halberds to grant him passage, a burst of silvery women's laughter reached his ears. A servant bowed Walsingham in, yet was dismissed promptly by the wave of the spymaster's hand. A frequent guest in the royal quarters, Walsingham certainly did not require an escort or an introduction…
High windows of the main chamber were open, filling the whole room in balmy sunshine. The Queen sat in a in a tall, carved chair, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, who lounged on poufs and pillows around her seat. Elizabeth smiled mercifully, her attention on a tiny white bichon in front of her. The dog's fur was groomed meticulously and it wore a scarlet ribbon about its neck. Lady Janet Gaston, the youngest among the Queen's entourage, played a merry village tune upon a small flute, making the dog dance in circles on its hind legs. When the tune ceased, the dog would continue to spin, yapping to in order to substitute for lack of music.
"Ah, Sir Francis," the Queen spoke when Walsingham entered the room. Even though the spymaster was in the habit of stepping lightly, Elizabeth had long since learned to detect his approach. "Have you come to look at my little Henri? Quite the little artiste, would you not say?"
"Certainly, Madam," Walsingham replied evenly.
"My brother, Charles IX of France, sent me Henri," Elizabeth continued, "to delight me in a moment of peace. My word, what a darling creature!"
Walsingham bowed in agreement, without saying a word. He knew that his somber manner would convey the urgency of his task and therefore would prompt the Queen to grant him an audience in private. Today, however, Her Majesty, either accidentally or on purpose, failed to acknowledge his mute request, seeming to be fully engaged in observing Henri, who had resumed his waltzing.
Truly her father's daughter, Elizabeth tested the spymaster's patience time and time again. The Queen could see plainly that Walsingham wished to speak with her in confidence, and while she surely did not intend on denying him, she made certain that the conversation happened in her own time. Knowing this, Walsingham had enough patience to bide his time, pretending to be mildly interested by the Queen's new plaything. This moment came soon enough, when, at last, the melody ceased and Henri finished his performance with a bow, which caused a storm of applause.
"Bravo!" the Queen laughed, evidently addressing the dog "Bravo, my little jester! You have proved yourself worthy and are now a rightful member of my court. Now, leave us," she continued, addressing the ladies. "Take our guest along and make sure he is welcome."
Lady Gaston tucked the flute away and promptly took Henri up in her arms, as the bichon began sniffing about rather suspiciously. Bowing in unison, the ladies-in-waiting departed at once.
"My compliments on your new pet, Madam," Walsingham said once the Queen and he were left alone. "I daresay, it must be the best visitor we have had from France for quite some time."
Elizabeth smiled crookedly.
"Why do you insist on spurning my dear brother Charles, Walsingham?" she said wryly. "After all, he spared nothing, even his own family, to aid me in search of a husband. He sent his very own brother to a foreign land, only to be so cruelly disappointed."
"Not at all, Madam," Walsingham replied coolly, "for it is not your brother I meant to slight. I daresay that attentiveness to interests of the fairer sex has never been among his virtues. King Charles IX is known as an avid hunter, a poet and even a blacksmith, but never a charmer. Young Elizabeth of Austria, his wife, lives in neglect, so there is little chance the idea was his. The Queen Dowager, on the other hand, whose influence over her second son's rule is only too well known, would be the rightful author of this gift. Be it any other thing, I would have never allowed it before you."
The Queen's smile faltered.
"No matter how merry the sun may shine, you still speak of murder," Elizabeth scoffed, shaking her head.
"Not murder, Madam, but facts," Sir Francis contradicted. "Even the meanest beggar of the streets of Paris is aware of Catherine de' Medici's affinity for apothecary art, particularly one of its areas concerning poisons. Had she sent you a thing inanimate, I would be concerned indeed, for concealing poison in perfumes, crèmes or fine clothing was, is and always shall be the very ace she so aptly pulls out of her sleeve. However, until the time she invents a concoction that would slay one living being and not the other, I shall remain contented. This dog had made a lengthy journey and now is before you, perfectly unharmed; therefore, I conclude that it holds no more than a few tricks. Once you see them all, the gift will grow dull, just as Catherine's constant attempts to amuse you. Under her saccharine veneer, the old Medici must be incensed, for her son's failed suit had ruined her hopes for extending one of her long hands across the Dower Strait."
"It is not a fault of mine," the Queen remarked with a smile, "that her dear son was not interested in a match of my gender."
"Oh, I believe he was interested, Madam," Walsingham replied, "interested in anything that wore a skirt, whether it did so rightfully or for a mere fancy's sake."
The Queen laughed shortly. The spymaster's crisp wit never failed to delight her.
"What was it that you wanted, Walsingham?" she asked, smiling still.
"No more than your permission for a leave of absence, Madam," Sir Francis said with a slight bow. "My frail health bids me to do so."
As Walsingham spoke, he handed the Queen a note, sealed with his crest. Elizabeth shot the spymaster a quizzical look before breaking it open. As she read the three sentences written in Walsingham's swift, elegant script, the color, brought forth by the recent merriment, drained from her cheeks.
"Truly?" she whispered, her thoughts immediately drawn to the content of the note.
"Indeed so," Walsingham replied calmly. "My physician has assured me of the seriousnessofthesituation, warning me to take special care before the hour grows late. Do I have your permission?"
While the spymaster spoke about maters obvious at superfluous examination, the Queen had promptly detected the double meaning of his words.
"Yes," the Queen breathed out as she re-read the contents the note, "go at once. Do whatever needs be done. But what, might I ask, is the need for putting your request in writing?" the Queen raised her gaze to meet Walsingham's.
"Spoken words, Majesty," Walsingham replied, taking the paper from the Queen's hands, "are most hard to control once they escape, for they often reach the wrong ears along with the ones they were intended for. If they are written, however, their freedom is limited by paper and thus they are safely confined."
As he spoke, Sir Francis made his way to the hearth. There, he stood still for a brief moment, one of his slender white hands resting upon the marble mantelpiece. Two sparks of orange danced in the spymaster's blue eyes as he observed the fire.
"A written word can be just as perfidious as the one that is spoken," Elisabeth said.
"Not if it is checked in time," Walsingham said, throwing the note into the heart of the blaze. The parchment became engulfed in flames and was nothing but ash a second later.
"Everywhere you look, you see deception," Elizabeth spoke, standing up abruptly.
"That is why I am yet to fail you, Majesty," followed the spymaster's terse reply.
~o~O~o~
When time is overlooked due to many cares, it tends to hasten its pace. Thus, the day was soon gone and the evening had dawned rapidly. Crickets, persuaded out of hiding by an unusually warm day, now took the gardens by storm. His window ajar against the evening warmth, Walsingham stood by his desk, packing his traveling attaché case. The modestly gilded leather and a triple silk lining of the case protected the documents from moisture and dust. Having made sure that everything of need was safely inside, Sir Francis lowered into his chair, allowing himself a brief respite.
As of this moment, he was ready. Care has been taken so none but four people, himself included, knew of the true destination of his voyage. Jerome, his faithful shadow, was to come along with him. The other two, the Queen and Sir Robert, were sure to adhere to secrecy. In the midday, he had sent a note to his wife, informing her of his leave. Now, Lady Ursula was just as convinced as the rest of the court of her husband's desire to retreat to Hampshire. It was quite a safe excuse, since Sir Francis knew that even though Lady Walsingham greatly preferred their Hampshire estate, she would never want to journey there if her visit coincided with his. There was, however, one more person who needed convincing…
After a minute's deliberation, the spymaster decided to extend Victoria his nightly invitation. Quite understandably, he had forgotten all about her earlier today. When, at last, Sir Francis remembered the promise he had given her, he concluded that Victoria's company might be of use to him. This woman's presence would act as a perfect cover. No man, who needs to depart suddenly and whose mind is occupied by weighty matters, would consider spending a leisurely evening in with his mistress. Let those who care to watch, see that the spymaster had absolutely no urgent business to attend to.
Victoria herself also needed to be considered. She was but a simple girl, yet she long since proved to have a right sharp mind. She must have, no doubt, noticed the urgency of the situation. Before he was to depart, Walsingham wished to put the girl's mind at ease, as well use her company to persuade others…
Finally, while His Grace was a man second to none, he remained but a man. As he departed, Walsingham had to leave behind the comforts of home. In the end, Victoria was just that, one out of many luxuries his wealth and position could provide. Realizing that he would most likely have to spend a month without, Sir Francis decided to indulge one last time before the road. Smiling lightly to himself, Walsingham summoned Jerome, ordering the boy to go and fetch Lady Victoria at once.
~o~O~o~
"My Lady York," Walsingham greeted Victoria, as she stepped through his sitting room door.
"Your Grace," Victoria bowed. Even in the darkened room, it was obvious that she was pleased. Being called upon often never failed to delight her. It was plain that Victoria had dressed for the occasion, since she now wore what was obviously one of her best new gowns, made of maroon silk and adorned with a fair amount of silver trim.
"I trust your day went well?" Walsingham asked, handing her a goblet of vine. Sir Francis, who had possessed a fondness for fine vines, had aptly passed this vice of his unto his young protégée. Not so long ago, Victoria would have refused it, yet now she demurely accepted the vine.
"Every day is a blessing, my Lord," she said quietly after taking a sip from her cup. "One merely needs to learn to see it as such."
"Are you among the learned few?" Sir Francis chuckled.
"Your every call makes me more and more one of their number," Victoria replied, meeting his gaze. Her blue eyes sparked ephemerally in the candlelight.
"I do hope dearly that what I intend on telling you does not strike you from their midst," Walsingham spoke. Victoria gave him yet another look, filled with easily detectible concern. "I am to leave London for a while."
Sir Francis knew exactly what she so desperately wished to know, yet would never dare ask.
"As you know, dear," Sir Francis continued, "I am not a young man. My health is brittle and is made worse still by the burdens of state. My physician insisted I take leave, which is exactly my intention. I shall depart on the morn."
Victoria's eyebrows trembled pitifully as her eyes searched his face.
"H-how long will you be gone, my Lord?" she asked quietly.
"I shall return as soon as my physician declares me well," Walsingham replied.
While Walsingham could clearly see disappointment on her features, it was mixed with a great deal of worry.
"I hope that your retreat shall be of most benefit to your cause," she spoke at last. "Health is a precious asset, my Lord. Yours, I daresay, does not belong to you alone."
As Victoria spoke, her small hand touched his cheek gently. Looking down on her, Walsingham thought that perhaps in the entire city of London, this young seamstress was the only one who would truly lament his absence… But, after all, why would he care?
"I have summoned you, Lady Victoria," Sir Francis said, setting his own glass on the table, "to say my farewells. While I regret to see you leave empty-handed tonight, I have very little time. Regretfully, I must ask you to relieve me of my promise."
At this declaration, Victoria heaved a small sigh. It would have gone unnoticed, were it not for the cut of her dress. Even the smallest breath made by a woman, immediately rippled the two tender mounds of flesh, laced into the tight bodice.
"Can you not spare a minute?" she asked quietly, her eyes lowered.
Walsingham raised his eyebrows, impressed. This was new. Never had she dared to make requests on his time before. Every time, she accepted his arrangement without a word of protest. Yet, for the past four months, Sir Francis watched her slowly grow braver in his company. He was pleased, since her bold request fell perfectly in line with his plans. He had her right where he wanted her.
"As I said, I do not have much time," Walsingham shook his head, confidently carrying on with his game, "there are great many things that need be done before I depart... But then again," Walsingham interrupted himself, making the best show of having remembered something, "there is one thing you could do for me. I doubt it would interest you, child, yet I still feel obliged to mention it…"
"Anything, my Lord!" Victoria exclaimed, so obviously delighted, it drew a smile from the spymaster.
"Anything, dear?" Sir Francis asked slyly, raising an eyebrow.
~o~O~o~
The bath chamber was dimly lit. It was a fairly small room with a high domed ceiling and a single narrow window, which encouraged a remarkable likeness to an inside of a tower. Indeed, it was located in one of the many corners of the Whitehall Palace. The stone on the walls adopted a reddish tinge in the flickering candlelight. A grate in one of the corners held a roaring fire which was the sole source of warmth within the stone bowels of the old palace…
Walsingham sat reclined in big round basin of carved wood, which stood in the middle of the room. It was large enough for him to stretch comfortably, while his hands rested leisurely on its edges.
The spymaster turned his head lightly at the familiar rustling of the skirts. Not a second later, Victoria entered the chamber, carrying a clay pitcher of hot water. She smiled coyly at him before emptying the pitcher into his basin.
A task of drawing a man's bath was both an honor and an insult. While it might have been unbecoming for lady of breeding to assist a man while he bathed, it was an honor for a mistress, who was repeatedly required to commit acts of ultimate servitude.
"Stay awhile, my Lady," Walsingham ordered softly, catching her hand as she turned to leave.
Victoria obeyed, kneeling beside the basin. Putting the pitcher aside, she folded her arms on the basin's edge and laid her head upon them. Walsingham immediately noted her deliberate attempts to stop her eyes from straying any lower than his shoulders. Truly, her innocence delighted him! However, what delighted him even more was robbing her of it, bit by bit.
"You blush, child," he spoke, stroking her hair lightly. "What is it that makes you so uncomfortable? Have you not seen a man undressed?"
"I was always taught that, should such situation arise, a fine woman should avert her eyes," Victoria replied. "Staring would be a thing most indecorous in such circumstances."
"And a fine woman you are. Yet, it seems that your mind finds it hard to struggle with the demands of your eyes," Sir Francis chuckled, seeing Victoria blush even harder.
"I see no harm if you were to stare just a little," he said, looking straight into her eyes. Walsingham knew so well how to bend a woman to his will by the power of a single glance alone. He also perceived that any minute now, her curiosity was due to overflow the boundaries of her reason. Yes, she might have looked away dutifully every time he bared himself before her, but she will not today.
"A lady would not dare step over the limits of propriety," Victoria whispered.
"How true," Sir Francis said. "However, to my knowledge, the act of staring, which propriety cautions you against, could very easily be transformed into an act of looking, provided that permission has been obtained."
Having spoken, Walsingham watched amusedly as the doe of her reason struggled against the web he had woven of his clever words.
"You have my permission," he said, skillfully tipping the scales.
Blushing even more, Victoria hesitantly obeyed him. Sir Francis watched her eyes roam over his chest and stomach, making slow but sure progress towards the object that surely drew her utmost curiosity. Her eyes widened inadvertently as they had finally reached the scepter of his manhood, set amidst the dark curls.
Drawing a sharp breath, Victoria looked up.
"F-forgive me," she stammered, her chest heaving. "I should not have…"
Taking her by the hand, Walsingham slowly planted a few small, scalding kisses upon her trembling fingertips.
"Come take a bath with me," he whispered, in a voice that undoubtedly Lucifer himself once used to beguile the poor Eve.
"N-no, I could not possibly," Victoria resisted weakly.
With a small smile, the spymaster shifted closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"I shall not take kindly to refusal, my dear," Walsingham whispered, his arm firmly about her. "Give me your word that you shall join me this instant and I shall allow you to disrobe. If you decline, I shall have to drag you in, dress and all and it would be a shame indeed to ruin something as fine."
For a moment, Victoria looked as though she wished nothing better than to plead with him to reconsider. But the spark of lust he had planted within her at their first meeting would not be ignored, and its loud demands were quick to drown out those of her weakening good sense. Poor thing, Walsingham thought, does she not know that he had already won?
"You have my word," Victoria spoke finally. With a scoff, Sir Francis he released her.
"Oh no," Walsingham said as she turned to leave. "Here and here only, my Lady."
Her cheeks glowing with bright scarlet and her eyes lowered, Victoria began to unlace her bodice. As one after the other, the items of her clothing fell to the floor, Walsingham let out a slow exhalation of delight. Even though she was little more than one of many assets in his estate, there was no denying her youth and beauty. Having found this angel, dazed and lost in the pits of hell, this old demon clamed her for his own, taking pleasure in his sole possession of her pure body.
"This as well," Sir Francis said when he saw her approach the basin, wearing nothing but her shift. "As long as you claim to deal in a realm of propriety, it would be most improper for the guest to upstage the host by coming overdressed."
Victoria raised her eyebrows beseechingly, but understood promptly that Walsingham had no interest in negotiating. Untying a thread, Victoria pulled at the neck hole. As it grew wide enough, the garment slid down her body to the floor.
"There, much better," Walsingham said, offering her a hand as she stepped into the basin. "Come, my child," he invited, pulling her to sit by him.
Tipping Victoria's head up by the chin, the spymaster pierced her with one of his magnetic, mind-addling looks.
"Is this to your liking?" he asked quietly.
"Quite," Victoria replied, her eyes rapt on his.
The spymaster smiled, before placing a gentle kiss on her lips.
"Let this be a lesson to you, my Lady," Walsingham said, "so in the future, you would always heed my advice."
At last, Victoria smiled. Water dripping from her fingers, she raised her hand to touch his face. So very sweet and tender, she leaned in closer to kiss him, her full breasts pressing onto his chest. In her innocence, how could she know of all the things Sir Francis was capable of doing to a woman? How could she know that, at this very moment, he would like nothing better than to take her all at once, hard enough to draw out a scream? Yet Victoria knew nothing, since Walsingham had never attempted to treat her in a way he would a common whore. Deep inside him still lived a respect a man of high birth is taught to show every good woman. Because of that respect, Walsingham had largely spared her purity, even though he indulged in picking away at it from time to time. No matter, gentle as he may, he shall have her tonight and nothing could stop that.
As she kissed him, Walsingham took Victoria's hand and steered it lower and lower, placing it on the very object Victoria had earlier found to be so intriguing. She faltered, looking up at him.
"You have confessed your curiosity to me," Sir Francis reminded her, "for which there is but one remedy: one must employ all their senses to satisfy it. We have covered the sight just before, so let us now proceed to the touch," he murmured, closing her palm around his manhood and than guiding it up and down to show her what was to be done.
Again, he marveled at how quick she was to learn. Once more, Walsingham reclined in the basin, his hands draped over its edges, soaking up the warmth of the water and the pleasure Victoria elicited by stroking his length.
"Have I done well satisfying your curiosity, child?" Walsingham asked after a time.
"Yes, my Lord," Victoria breathed out. The blush was back on her cheeks, yet this time it was due to entirely different cause. The woman's chest rose with rapid breath as her eyes stay fixed on the spymaster's face.
"Every life begins so, dear," Walsingham joked with a crooked smile. Despite the fact that he had excelled at containing his carnal excitement, Sir Francis was forced to admit that her ministrations had rendered him slightly breathless as well, "with no poetry or music, but with a simple hard medical fact... Enough lessons, dear," he caught her hand, bringing it to the surface. "It is likely that I shall be gone a long while, long enough, in fact, to feel that I owe you a parting gift. Is there anything that you wish, child?"
Before she uttered a single word, Walsingham was able to read the answer in her eyes that spoke, nay, screamed the answer back at him.
"I wish to be yours," Victoria whispered.
"It shall be my pleasure to grant you such a wish," Walsingham replied, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her astride his lap…
~o~O~o~
As it happened many times before, both Walsingham and Victoria greeted the witching hour of the night sleepless. Yet after all the exertions of a long, hot bath, along with all its pleasurable trimmings, a sensation of delightful exhaustion had set in.
The clock struck one when Victoria had rolled to her side, resting her head on Walsingham's chest. Even though they lay together, upon the clean, fragrant linen sheets, the thoughts of the two dwelled on the entirely different matters.
Mere hours before departure, Walsingham's mind was already dwelling on the task before him. While the spymaster was well aware of the situation at hand, due to a poor choice of an informant, Sir Francis felt as though he knew very little about the finer details involved. He also knew that once he arrives, acquiring them would be of supreme importance. Mentally, he chastised human ineptness, which was capable of quashing the best of efforts. His agent's incompetence had rendered him near blind at the very moment precision was needed. However, there could be no excuses. He shall go forth and do whatever needed to be done… Regardless of what had gone on in his mind, it never reflected upon his face. Nothing could be suspected by looking at his face, calm and expressionless. Fire, flickering in the grate, reflected in his half-closed, strangely unfocused eyes…
Yet, it was no task at all to discern the thoughts of the young woman next to him. In the semidarkness, Victoria no longer bothered concealing her feelings. While she rested her head on his chest, sadness was written upon her features. Over the length of these four months, this man had become her whole life and now he was leaving… Fear, sorrow and even jealousy (for she was only a woman) ruled her heart, for she knew that he was under no obligations to be faithful to her. Surely, Walsingham would return to the capital before long, for he was always much needed there, yet for her he could be gone for eternity. Therefore, Victoria clung to him now, desperately hoping to somehow get the fill of the man's warmth, just in case this night was her last…
Another hour must have passed before one of them has stirred. Sighing lightly, Walsingham ran a hand across Victoria's back.
"Awake, are you, dear?" he spoke gently.
"Yes, my Lord," she replied.
"I shall be gone early on the morrow," Sir Francis said, "so, perhaps, the time is right for me to bid you farewell. May I hope that, upon my homecoming, you shall remain where I left you?"
Victoria rose to look into Walsingham's eyes.
"My life is here, my Lord, right by your side," she said with quiet resolution. "It is no longer mine. Unless Lord God chooses to claim it, it shall always belong to you."
Walsingham shook his head with a sad smile.
"What is it that keeps you by my side, child?" he asked, gently caressing Victoria's face.
"Do you not know?" the woman whispered.
"I do not," Sir Francis replied, "for I have never loved and most likely never will."
Victoria's eyes darkened as she looked away.
"Does it upset you, my child," Sir Francis asked, peering at her searchingly, "to know that your affections would never be answered?"
"No, my Lord, never," Victoria replied simply. "You can have my body, my mind and my soul and it still would not be enough to repay for what you have done for me."
Walsingham did not reply. What could he say in return to such an admission? A female heart thrives on nothing, but emotions and illusions of all kinds; solid, cold rationale and reality of it all would do nothing but wither it. In exchange to all the favors Victoria provided for him, he could at least allow her to dwell in her dreams undisturbed…
Gently, he smoothed Victoria's hair as she lay her head back down on his chest. Listening to his heart, Walsingham remembered, how very peculiar indeed…
The candles waned in their holders. One, and then the other, flickered and expired.
"You shall be greatly missed," he heard her say quietly.
Lost in thought yet again, Sir Francis ran his slender palm absentmindedly down her back…
~o~
This is a translation of the dialogue spoken in French, done by my excellent friend Belphegor:
* "What is it?"
** "Sir Robert wishes to see you, my Lord. He insists it to be a most urgent matter."
*** "Indeed it must be. Tell him I shall be with him shortly."
**** "Yes, Sir Francis."