“Like Ruth,” said Sir Nicholas flippantly.
In a little while he was descending the stairs again, very brave in his doublet of the French cut, with the high wings to the shoulders, and the embroidered sleeves. He had a fine leg, set off to advantage in stockings of carnation silk, with rosettes to the garters below his knees. The little neat ruff made no more than a stiff cup for his face; my Lord Beauvallet, favouring a wider fashion, called it Italianate, and looked severely.
My lord and his lady were found in the winter-parlour, where supper was spread upon a draw-table. Sir Nicholas came in upon them, splendid in his rich trappings, and set a small casket before my lady. “Spain pays toll to beauty, Kate,” he said, and looked wickedly under his lashes at Gerard’s disapproving countenance.
My lady knew very well what she might expect to find in the casket, but chose to dissemble. “Why, Nicholas, what do you bring me?” she wondered, raising her watchett-blue eyes to his face.
“A poor gewgaw, no more. There is a length of China silk in my baggage you might make into a gown, or some such thing.”
My lady had opened the casket, and clasped her hands in breathless ecstasy. “Oh, Nick! Rubies!” she gasped, and almost reverently drew forth a long chain set with the precious stones. She held it in her hands, and looked doubtfully at Gerard. “See, my lord! Nicholas makes me a noble present.”
“Ay,” said my lord glumly. “Jewels filched from some Spanish hold.”
My lady sighed, and put the chain down. “Should I not wear it, dear sir?”
“Tush!” Nicholas said bracingly, and caught up the chain from the table, and cast it about my lady’s thin neck. “I’ve other such toys for the Queen. I warrant you she will wear them. Heed him not.”
“I am sure,” said my lady, plucking up courage, “that what the Queen’s Grace does not disdain to wear I need not.”
Gerard sat down in the high-backed chair at the head of the table. “You will do as you please, madam,” he said deeply.
Supper was eaten in silence, as was customary, but when the green goose had been taken away, and sweetmeats were on the table, and Hippocras set before my lord, conversation began again. My lord dipped his fingers in a gilt basin handed to him by a lackey liveried in blue, and spoke more genially. “Well, Nick, ye say naught of your designs. Have you come home to stay?”
“Confess, brother, you are more at ease when I am abroad!” Nicholas rallied him, and poured Hippocras into the delicate glass of Venetian ware before him.
Gerard permitted a smile to break his gravity. “Nay, acquit me, I do not gainsay, though, ye are a mad, roystering lad.”
“Swashbuckler, ye were wont to call me.”
“Well.” My lord smiled more broadly.
“Oh no, I am sure he is sober enough now!” my lady said in a flutter. “No hard words, I beg! Why he numbers some thirty-four—thirty-five summers, surely?”
“God ’a mercy, do I so?” Sir Nicholas said, startled. He lifted his glass, and held it up to see the light through the wine in it. He seemed to be pondering some quaint thought; my lord saw the corners of his mouth lift a little.
“Time to be done with all this ruffling on the high seas,” my lord said.
Beauvallet shot him a quick look; there was a hidden jest in his eyes. He returned to the contemplation of his wine.
My lady rose. “You will have much to say to one another,” she said. “Ye will find me in the gallery anon.”
Beauvallet went to hold the door for her. As she passed him she put out a hand, and smiled vaguely. “Indeed, I hope you will listen to my lord, Nick. We should be glad to have you at home.”
He carried her fingers to his lips, but would give her neither yea nor nay. She went out, and he closed the door behind her.
My lord pushed back his chair a little way from the table, sat more at his ease, and poured another glass of wine. “Sit ye down, Nick, sit ye down! Let me know your mind.” He observed the secret jest still in his brother’s face, and knew a feeling of some slight alarm. There was no knowing what folly Nick might be planning.
Sir Nicholas pulled his chair round a little, sank into it, with one leg thrown over the arm. His fingers closed round the stem of his glass, twisting it this way and that. His other hand played gently with his pomander.
My lord nodded and smiled. “I see you still have that trick of swinging your pomander. As I remember it never boded good. My memory serves, eh?” He drank his wine, and set down the glass. “Thirty-five summers! Ay, my lady is in the right of it. Thirty-five summers and still roaming the world. Now to what purpose, Nick?”
Beauvallet shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, to bring rubies home for Kate,” he parried.
“It’s what I don’t like. I’ll not conceal it from you. It’s very well for such men as Hawkins or Drake, but I would remind you, Nick, that you stand next to me in the succession. To make the Grand Tour is well enough—though what good ye came by from it, God knoweth!”
“Nay, brother,” Sir Nicholas protested. “I learned to foin with the point from the great Carranza himself in Toledo! Grant me that.”
My lord was roused to an expression of strenuous disapproval. “A pretty ambition, God wot! All this pricking and poking with a barbarous rapier is an invention of the devil himself. An honest sword-and-buckler was good enough for our fathers.”
“But not good enough for us,” said Beauvallet. “Yet I will engage to worst you in an encounter with your sword-and-buckler, Gerard. I believe I have not altogether lost the trick of it. But for delicacy, for finesse, let me have the rapier!” He made an imaginary pass in the air. “What, you say I learned
