“I am here, Constanzita.”
“Take me home, Niall.”
“When you are strong enough to travel, my dear, we will go home to Ireland.”
Constanza shuddered. Ireland. That wet, gray land. The MacWilliam’s stronghold would be cold and gray too. She longed for warmth, for the sun, for Mallorca. “If you take me to Ireland I shall die. I want to go home to Mallorca.”
“We will see what the doctor says, Constanzita,” he said. “Go to sleep now.”
Her eyes closed wearily, and he was struck by how frail she was. It amazed him that she had managed to withstand the rigors of the London underworld where he’d found her. She had fled with hishead stableman. Knowing her nature quite well, Harry had set her up in two rooms and pimped for her. He sold her jewelry, then began to live riotously on the proceeds, setting himself up in quarters in a nearby tavern. Lavish spending soon emptied Harry’s pockets, but his taste for high life abated not one whit. He beat his mistress cruelly, accusing her of not working hard enough. She could earn twice as much if she’d cut down on the amount of time she spent with her customers and if she took only four hours to sleep a night.
Polly the kitchen maid, hearing of Harry’s whereabouts from her married sister who lived in the same slum, crept above stairs to find her master. Niall had taken Polly up on his horse ahead of him and, breathless with excitement, she had directed him to where Constanza lived.
Niall was hard put not to become sick when he found his wife, half-delirious with fever, on the floor in a tiny room. She lay on a filthy pallet, the stink of the unemptied chamber pot permeating the room. Even little Polly, raised in the same degree of poverty, gasped with shock.
“ ’Er ’ull be no good to ye,” cackled the old crone who owned the house, “unless o’ course ye likes to swive ’em when they ’alf dead.”
“Close your trap, old hag,” snapped Polly. “We’re taking the lady out of here.”
“Lady, is it? Lady?” screeched the old woman. “She owes me for rent, that one.”
“Where is the man who was with her?” asked Niall.
“ ’Andsome ’Arry? ’E ain’t been around since she got ill. Got ’imself a newer, younger doxy.”
“How much rent is owed?”
The old woman eyed Lord Burke craftily. “A shilling,” she said.
The Irishman reached for his purse, but Polly intervened. “You wouldn’t get a shilling for this room in two years’ time, old hag,” she declared, outraged. “Give her no more than two silver pennies, my lord.”
Instead Niall Burke pulled a half-crown from his purse and handed it to the woman, whose eyes bugged with greed and shock. “This woman was never here, and neither were we,” he said quietly.
The landlady snatched the coin, bit it, and stuffed it into her apron pocket. “I ain’t never seen any o’ yese,” she declared, quickly disappearing from the room.
Niall and Polly got Constanza to her feet. “You’ll ride with her,lass, and I’ll lead the horse,” he said, thankful for the rainy dark night that would cover their return to the Strand. Niall Burke had long ago tired of feeding the gossip mills of Court. When they finally reached the Burke house the servants had all retired excepting one sleepy stable boy who took the horse off to its stall. Lord Burke carried his unconscious wife up to her rooms, where he and Polly stripped the filthy garments off her thin body. Niall then filled the small oak tub with warm water he and Polly lugged up from the kitchens themselves. They washed her, including her matted, lice-ridden hair. Constanza, half conscious, protested weakly. They hauled her from the tub, toweled her off, put a clean gown on her, and plaited her dried hair into two braids. She was finally tucked into bed.
Back down in the kitchens of the house, Lord Burke emptied the little tub and sat down at the table. Polly rummaged about in the larder and found half a roasted capon. She put it on a wooden trencher with some bread and placed it before her master. She then poured him a goblet of brown October ale, and stood back. But Niall motioned her into the bench opposite him. Tearing off part of the capon breast, he shoved the meat toward her. “Eat up, lass! You’ve worked hard this night. And pour yourself some ale too.”
Shyly, Polly obeyed him, somewhat astounded. “Thank you, my lord.”
“That was a kind thing you did, lass. I might never have found my wife without your help. She’s a very sick woman, Polly. Sick in spirit and body.”
“I never thought a lady would act that way, begging your pardon, my lord.”
He smiled. A curiously innocent little sparrow was Polly. He could have shocked her with tales of great Court ladies all over Europe who whored for one reason or another. “Polly, you seem a bright lass. I’m going to offer you a chance to better yourself, but it will not be easy. I need someone to look after my lady. She can never again be left alone. If I am not with her then someone else must be. She is ill now, but when she gets well she’ll try and cozen you, but you mustn’t let her. Do you think you can do it?”
“Aye, my lord. But there’s one thing you should know. Harry was sometimes my lover too and once when my lady caught us, she … she …” Polly’s face was beet red. “She joined us,” the servant finished with a rush. “I know I can care for her, but I wanted you to know that.”
Niall choked on his ale. Constanza had certainly been inventive.“Part of caring for Lady Burke will be telling those who ask that she is not strong in mind, Polly.”
“I understand, sir.”
So he had hired Mrs. Tubbs to keep watch by night, and young Polly cared for Constanza during the day. The first doctor engaged was told only that Lady Burke had been abducted and the experience had unhinged her mind. He cupped and bled her, which only weakened her further. Niall sent the physician on his way and brought in a second doctor, this one recommended by Lord Southwood.
The man turned out to be a knowledgeable Moor. He examined Constanza thoroughly, stopping to make notes, clucking sympathetically. At last he went with Lord Burke to a private room. “My lord, your wife is a very sick woman, emotionally and physically. She will need a special diet, rest, sunshine, and medication.” He paused a moment as if weighing something. Then he asked, “Do you have the pox, my lord?”
“God, no!”
