“A year at the most? You swear it?” The thought of leaving Margaret behind for a year was unbearable.
“At most,” he promised her, and sensing her concern, continued, “Lady Margaret will be cared for with kindliness, I assure you. If it will set your heart at ease, I will confide in the queen that you are not the heartless creature you appear, but in truth a gallant and brave Englishwoman who has gone to France to valiantly serve her country in thanks for our generosity toward her. I will explain that the child had been left behind for her own safety, and indeed, that is the truth.”
“Your majesty is most thoughtful,” Arabella said with wry understatement. “How will I contact Lord Varden? Will it not seem odd if I seek him out?”
“Tony will seek you out. One exile aiding a beautiful countrywoman will appear most natural to the French, who brazenly claim to appreciate womankind far more than other races,” the king told her.
“And how will we begin this charade, Sire?” There was little left to discuss, Arabella realized.
“You will run weeping from my closet, madame, cursing my name as you flee through my crowded antechamber which, at this moment, is filled to overflowing with every petitioner, gossip, and sycophant at court. Sir Jasper Keane is undoubtedly there himself right now. I have sent for him to tell him that he may not have Greyfaire, but that the crown has decided to confiscate it. I will then give your Greyfaire men the choice of staying with Sir Jasper or returning home under royal protection. It will take little time for word to travel, madame, as to the cause of your distress. Though disappointed himself, Sir Jasper, I suspect, will ease his own great dissatisfaction by spreading his version of these events and blackening your good name.”
“My daughter? How will Margaret find her way into the royal nursery?” Arabella was still concerned.
“I shall have the queen send one of her women to St. Mary’s-in-the-Fields late this afternoon to fetch the child and smuggle her into Sheen.”
“So soon?”
“You leave for France tomorrow, madame. I want you gone quickly before one of the more gallant members of my court, moved by your beautiful face, pities your plight and attempts to petition me on your behalf. I will give Sir Jasper several days to gloat, even while he is publicly complaining that I would not give him Greyfaire. The French have spies in my court, and the story will be in France perhaps even before you are, legitimizing your arrival at King Charles’ court. Sir Jasper tells me that you are called the ‘Spitfire’ because of your quick temper. Your behavior will, therefore, seem quite in character.”
There was no escape, Arabella realized, from King Henry’s will. If she wanted Greyfaire back, then she must go to France. The king had said it plainly. Without Greyfaire she was homeless. How could she care for Margaret under such circumstances? “I have not lied to your grace when I said I am virtually penniless,” she told him. “I have but two silver pieces and half a dozen copper coins left to my name. If I am to depart on the morrow, I will need monies now. You have spoken bluntly to me. Now I would be plain with you. I do not mean to give offense, my lord, but it is said that you are close with a coin. You tell me you cannot be lavish with your support, and yet you expect me to travel to France, join the French court, and attract important men that I may gain information useful to England. How am I to attract them, Sire, without funds? I have no monies and no clothing. Frenchwomen are known for their elegance of garment. I will be a drab English sparrow, lost in a court of radiant peacocks. If I am to be a fine jewel to tempt your enemies, your grace, then you must fit me into a proper setting,” Arabella concluded, looking directly at the king.
“Hmmmmm,” Henry Tudor considered, “I had not thought of that, madame, but do you tell me you have no garments but those you wear?”
“I brought but one dress suitable for your court, Sire, when I journeyed from the north. My other gowns are barely suitable for traveling.”
“Why is that, madame? Was your husband not generous with you?” The king looked thoughtful. “Scotsmenarerumored to be penurious.”
“Tavis Stewart was most generous, your grace, but as I divorced him, I did not think it right I take anything but the barest essentials. I left the bulk of my wardrobe and jewels at Dunmor, bringing only this one good gown and the oldest of my garments.”
Henry Tudor was astounded. Women, his wife and mother excepted, were a greedy and rapacious lot, he knew, and yet here was this radiant beauty claiming otherwise. Once again he felt a small twinge of guilt in his treatment of Lady Grey, but he thrust it away, for a man could not be a strong king if he allowed a nagging conscience to overrule his good sense. “You must not appear wealthy, madame, for then the question will arise from whence your wealth comes,” the king considered. “Still, you must have decent clothing, I will admit. As I must confide in the queen regarding your child, I shall have to seek her aid in this matter as well.”
“I shall need clothing for my maid as well, your grace,” Arabella said, feeling braver now. “Lona must come with me, for no lady of quality, even a poor one, would travel without her servant. I will take several of my own men-at-arms too. I cannot travel unprotected in a foreign land. My own people will never betray me. I need, however, to confide in them the true purpose of my trip to France if I am to retain their loyalty. They are simple men, and they have borne much for my sake. I cannot strain that trust further and keep their unswerving support. Their lips will stay sealed if I ask it.”
The king nodded his agreement. “An allowance, clothing, and your own people about you,” he said. “That should suffice you, should it not?”
“I must have money to transport my horses as well, your grace,” Arabella told him. “Do not forget that my people and I will have to travel from the French coast to Paris. I could, of course, send my beasts home, but would it not seem strange that in my mad flight I took the time to act in a logical manner? Besides, I imagine transporting my own horses is probably less expensive than buying new ones in France.” Arabella was more than well aware of the king’s penchant for economy.
“Indeed, yes,” Henry Tudor agreed. “You will have an allowance for the horses as well, madame.Is there anything else?”
“There remains but the matter of my funds, Sire,” Arabella said sweetly.
“They will be delivered to you by my wife’s waiting woman when she comes to fetch your daughter,” the king said.
Arabella shook her head. “Nay, your grace, I would have the monies now. If you do not give me enough, I am unable to argue with you, for I have no further excuse for an audience.” She did not trust the king’s generosity.
“What, madame?Would you haggle with me as with a fish monger?” he demanded, outraged.
“I must be certain that what you give me is sufficient, your grace,” Arabella said stubbornly. “I am not only responsible for myself in this matter, but for Lona and my men as well. I cannot ask them to come with me into another country unless I know that I have the means by which I may at least feed and shelter them. Remember that once I get to Paris I must find a place for us all to live. It may be some time before I can attract thepropersuitor. If his nature is not a munificent one, I may still be forced to pay for my own shelter.” She smiled mischievously at the king. “Wealthy and powerful men are not always of an extravagant and philanthropic nature. The Scots do not have a monopoly on that sort of behavior, do they now, your grace?”
Henry Tudor looked sharply at the beautiful young woman standing before him. Was she mocking him? Until this moment he had not believed her capable of such real cleverness, but as it was beneath him to argue with her, he walked across the room to an oak cabinet, and pulling open a drawer, pulled out a velvet pouch of coins. Thoughtfully he weighed the bag in his palm for a moment, and then he handed it to her.
Arabella hefted the pouch and then handed it back to the king. “‘Tis not enough,” she said bluntly.
Henry Tudor glowered at her. “Madame, your extravagance will beggar me,” he snapped.
“Would you have me starve to death before I am able to be of service to you, Sire? A bony woman will offer no attractions to a lusty man, and Frenchmen, I am told, like their women pleasing to the eye,” she told him boldly.
He reached again into the open drawer of the oak chest, this time drawing out a larger bag, which jingled appreciably with its weight of coins.
