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had a good blaze to welcome them, and there was a Gothic oak settle that looked as if it might have come from a monastery at the time of their dissolution. Stuffed cushions, embroidered possibly by the lady of the house, had been placed against the carved back. Clearly the mistress of this home was accustomed to being indulged, for there were several precious items that showed that her husband had used his wealth to bring pleasure and comfort to his wife.

      ‘Ah, Sister Sarah Middleton,’ Sir Nicholas said, and held out his hands as a young and comely woman came flying towards him. ‘I find you well, I hope?’

      ‘Nick, my darling! At last you come,’ Sarah Middleton cried. ‘I have been expecting you two days and more.’ She turned sparkling dark eyes on Lady Stamford and Catherine. ‘But who have you brought to see me? You said nothing of guests, you wicked one.’

      Her scolding tone was belied by an affectionate smile as she hung on to his arm. She was a pretty, plump woman of perhaps twenty, with soft dark hair that streamed from beneath a cap of fetching lace.

      ‘You must not scold your brother,’ Lady Stamford said, going forward to greet her. ‘For he found us stranded on the road after our carriage unfortunately broke down and took pity on us, which was exceedingly kind of him. I hope we do not trespass on your hospitality too much, ma’am?’

      Sarah’s face glowed as she replied, ‘No, indeed, ma’am, for it is just what I should do myself and Nick knows it. He was perfectly right to bring you here and only just in time.’ The rattle of rain against the small panes of grey glass at the windows was quite fierce. ‘You must not think of leaving this night. Jessie can easily put a hot brick in the best guest room and Nick can spend the night in the nursery.’

      ‘Where my nephew will ensure that I sleep not at all,’ her brother replied. ‘I thank you for your attention to my comfort, Sister, but you are perfectly right to offer shelter to these ladies, and I shall be happy to give up my room for their sakes.’

      His grey eyes seemed to dance with wicked laughter for a moment as they rested on Catherine. Unwilling to be charmed so easily by a man she suspected of being a rogue, she gave him a cold look and saw the sparkle die from his eyes, which became rather serious and thoughtful.

      Catherine’s attention was drawn away by Sarah Middleton, who was insisting that Lady Stamford take the place of honour in the chair to the right of the fire. Rather than take the lady’s own chair, Catherine went to the settle and sat on its hard seat. She was grateful for the cushions at her back after hours of wearisome travel and longed for the familiarity and comfort of her own bedchamber.

      Lady Stamford and Mistress Middleton were talking easily to one another. The introductions made and refreshments brought by the smiling Jessie, they passed on to the topics of the day.

      ‘You may depend that Her blessed Majesty will never be properly secure while the Catholic impostor lives,’ Sarah declared. ‘They do say that wicked plotter Norfolk would marry Mary of Scots if he could, and there is even talk that he planned to have our Queen murdered…’ She looked at her brother appealingly. ‘Have you heard aught of this, Nick?’

      ‘There is much talk,’ Sir Nicholas said. ‘And everything is not yet clear, but fear not, Sarah, while Her Majesty has men like William Cecil about her such plots will always fail. Besides, the Queen likes not to hear criticism of Norfolk and for the moment he escapes the punishment he deserves. I should not let the gossip disturb you, Sister, for I dare say it will all come to nothing in the end.’

      ‘You always make me feel so much better,’ Sarah said and gave a little shiver. ‘I should not want to see another Catholic Queen on the throne of England.’

      ‘Forgive my impetuous sister if she offends.’ Sir Nicholas shot her a warning look. ‘Our family has reason to distrust such a regime, for my father suffered many setbacks and fines while Mary reigned, and was lucky to escape being burned as a heretic—but there are Catholic men I claim as friends.’

      ‘Oh, you need not fear to offend,’ Lady Stamford assured him. ‘Queen Mary of England burned my first husband’s elder brother as a heretic. To see our glorious Elizabeth replaced by a woman brought up amongst the Catholic French would go against all I have been taught to believe. I have heard she is a vain, flighty creature and would cause nothing but harm if she ever came to power. Besides, when I was young I was lady in waiting to Anne Boleyn— God rest her soul! In my eyes her daughter Elizabeth is our true queen and shall always be so; though others may deny her I shall remain loyal.’

      ‘Amen to that,’ Sir Nicholas said. ‘For myself I would see no other than Gloriana on the throne.’ His eyes flicked towards Catherine, sitting silently on the settle. ‘What say you, Mistress Moor?’

      ‘I can only echo your sentiments, sir. I am persuaded you are wiser about such matters than I…’ She sent him a haughty look that would have disconcerted many a man, though he gave no sign of having noticed except for a faint gleam in his eyes.

      However, the coolness of her tone brought a frown to Lady Stamford’s forehead. ‘Come, Catherine, you can give Sir Nicholas a fairer answer than that. Your father is staunch in his support for Her Majesty and you must have heard his opinion often enough.’

      ‘Indeed I have, Aunt, and my father is most loyal to Her Majesty. I meant no offence to anyone. I must blame my lack of courtesy on the long hours of travelling. Forgive me…’ She avoided looking at Sir Nicholas, making her apology to the room at large.

      For a time there was silence, and then their hostess stepped in to the awkward moment with a little tutting cry of dismay.

      ‘You look exhausted, Mistress Moor,’ Sarah Middleton cried. ‘I am thoughtless to keep you talking when you must be longing to rest. Jessie shall take you to your chamber. We dine when my husband returns at seven. I pray you will forgive the lateness of the hour, but Matthew has been to inspect a distant field with his neighbour and was not expecting company.’

      ‘You are very kind, ma’am. My father often keeps late hours himself.’

      Catherine blushed the more because she knew she had been rude to Sir Nicholas. She had come close to insulting her generous hostess’s brother and it was very bad of her.

      She was taken to task for it when she was alone in the bedchamber with her aunt.

      ‘I do not like to see such manners in you, Catherine,’ Lady Stamford said, looking at her with disapproval. ‘Sir Nicholas has been all that is good. You might at least be polite if you cannot do better. If you behave like this in London you will never catch a husband.’

      Catherine accepted the rebuke in silence, acknowledging it to be fair. Indeed, she was not sure why she had taken against Sir Nicholas, for he had done no more than laugh and call out to the actors. Perhaps she had been a little too harsh in her judgement.

      If Sir Nicholas asked her opinion again on some point she would answer him with the consideration he deserved. She need not go out of her way to be friendly but there was no occasion to be impolite.

       Chapter Two

       C atherine would have liked to spend some time alone in the garden before joining the others that evening, but since it was raining it was barred to her and she did not want to go down too soon for fear of any inconvenience to her hostess. Lady Stamford took a long time over her toilette, and in consequence they did not go down until summoned by a maid. If she had hoped for a quiet moment alone it was not granted her.

      Over supper she was given no opportunity to reveal her mellowed mood, because Matthew Middleton was a big, bluff man who talked and laughed a great deal. He had much to say for himself, and wanted to hear what his brother-in-law had to contribute on many topics, his loud voice dominating the conversation. However, Catherine found it interesting to listen, for in this way it was revealed that Sir Nicholas had but recently returned to England after some eighteen months of travelling on the Continent.

      ‘You wrote of your visit to Italy,’ Matthew Middleton said, attacking the good roast goose set in front of him with gusto. He

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