It was beautifully fashioned in the latest style, with a heavy damask overskirt of white embroidered with gold and sewn with tiny seed pearls. The petticoat was of a pale rose, the hue of which matched a tiny ruff of lace about her neck, and the sleeves had little pink silk rosebuds pinned to them where the shoulders puffed out in the exaggerated style now so popular with the courtiers. From beneath the skirts of her gown, the toes of her tiny satin slippers were just visible; fashioned of white, they had rosettes of pink silk that complemented her toilette.
Around her neck she had twisted a long string of freshwater pearls, which had been coiled twice and then allowed to fall to her waist just above the V of her stomacher. Her hair was dressed in curls across her forehead, but the heavy mass of it tumbled down her back in soft waves that had taken much brushing and pomade to straighten them from their usual unruly state. She wore only a thin net of gold wire encrusted with pearls over her hair, the colour of which rivalled burnished copper that night.
‘You flatter me, dearest Father,’ Catherine said and kissed his cheek. ‘I thank you for it, though I dare say there will be other more beautiful ladies present at court.’
‘Not in my eyes,’ he assured her. Then, seeing the footman at the parlour door. ‘Are the chairs here, Simon?’
‘Yes, sir. I summoned them as you ordered…’ He hesitated uncertainly. ‘Thomas wondered if you wished him to accompany you, Sir William?’
‘No, no, I think not,’ he replied. ‘I accompany the ladies, that should be sufficient, I believe.’ He touched the sword at his side confidently.
‘Why not let Thomas come with us?’ Lady Stamford asked with a little frown as the footman bowed and went out. ‘I vow the streets have grown worse these past few years, brother. You have not been to London in an age and the number of beggars and rogues has vastly increased of late.’
‘I dare say I can manage a beggar or two,’ Sir William replied, stubbornly refusing to listen to his sister’s advice. ‘Are you ready, Catherine?’
‘Yes, Father.’ Catherine looked at her aunt’s dubious face and wondered if she ought to endorse Lady Stamford’s warning. There were many beggars on the street, their limbs encrusted with sores, dressed in rags and often quite wretched creatures. She and Lady Stamford had witnessed more than one attempt at robbery in broad daylight since coming to town, and been glad of Thomas’s stout arm, never leaving the house without at least two footmen to accompany them. However, her father was wearing a sword and the presence of a gentleman with such a weapon must surely be protection enough. She smiled at him. ‘Yes, quite ready.’
Catherine took her father’s arm, Lady Stamford following behind them. Catherine noticed that her aunt stopped to speak with her footman before leaving the house, but no one followed them outside so she imagined that Lady Stamford had decided to be content with her brother’s escort.
Catherine was feeling excited by the prospect of her first visit to the court of which she had heard so much. She was also a little nervous, because despite her father’s compliments she was certain that there would be more beautiful ladies, who were far more worldly and clever than she could ever hope to be, and she prayed they would not laugh at her for her country ways. However, she knew that her education at her father’s hands was second to none, for he had encouraged her to read widely and helped her with her studies himself.
Her aunt had schooled her in the manners expected of her at court, and she knew how to curtsey to the Queen, should that great lady deign to look at her. Lady Stamford was hoping that Her Majesty would do much more than merely speak to her in passing, but Catherine was sure she would not be noticed amongst so many.
Wherever the court chanced to be, in one of the London palaces, at various great houses about the country or at Windsor Castle, where Queen Elizabeth had taken her stand when the uprising was expected, men and women flocked to the royal presence in the hope of being noticed. Why should Catherine Moor be favoured above so many others?
Catherine’s thoughts fluttered nervously from one thing to the other as she wondered if Sir Nicholas Grantly might be at the masque that evening. Lady Stamford had told her he was bidden to London but she had seen no sign of…her thoughts were abruptly suspended as she heard a cry from her father. As the chair came to a shuddering halt, she glanced out from behind the curtains that sheltered her from the elements to see that several rough-looking individuals, who appeared to be demanding money, surrounded them.
Sir William had drawn his sword and was facing them fearlessly, clearly intending to fight rather than surrender his family’s jewels to these ruffians. The chairmen had put down their burdens, but had made no move to aid Sir William, and it looked to Catherine as if they might take flight at any moment.
‘Cowardly dogs!’ Sir William lunged at the ruffian nearest to him. ‘I’ll teach you to attack my family.’
‘Give over yer gold and we’ll let the women pass…’ One of the men, who appeared to be the rogues’ leader, seemed undecided whether to rush at Sir William and glanced about uneasily, as though wondering if the chairmen would fight. ‘If yer gives us any trouble we’ll crack yer ’ead open!’
‘Be damned to you, sir. I’ll see you in hell first!’
Sir William lunged at him again, nicking his arm with his sword blade and causing him to back off. The man swore fiercely as he caught at the wound, which was bleeding profusely.
‘Get ’im!’ He yelled his orders and three more of the ruffians advanced on Sir William, who stood his ground, striking out to left and right boldly. But there were more of them than he could manage alone and one of them struck him a blow to his sword arm with a heavy cudgel that made him cry out with pain and drop his weapon.
‘Help him,’ Catherine cried to one of the chairmen, but from the look on the man’s face she could see that it was hopeless to apply for assistance. The two men who had been carrying her aunt’s chair had already retreated to a safe distance. Angered at their cowardice, Catherine scrambled from the chair and threw herself into the fray, beating at the back of one of the ruffians with her fists and then hanging on his arm in an attempt to even the odds for her beleaguered father. ‘Help us! Someone please come to our aid! Will you not help us?’ she screamed desperately. ‘In God’s name help us or they will kill my father…’
The ruffian she had attacked whirled on her, knocking her backwards with such force that she staggered and fell. It was at that moment, when she lay gasping for breath in the gutter, that she heard shouting from just behind them. Even as she began to recover her breath and look about her, several men came charging up, laying about the ruffians with cudgels and sending them scattering into the night. Catherine glanced up as a helping hand was extended to her and her heart caught as she recognised the gentleman who had come to her rescue. This was the second time he had done so within a month!
‘Mistress Moor?’ Nick’s look of surprise was echoed by his tone. ‘Forgive me. I believe we were tardy in coming to your aid and you have suffered some harm.’
‘You came in time for me, sir,’ she said as he helped her to rise. ‘But my father…’
‘I am well, Catherine.’ Sir William came to them, rubbing at his arm where he had been struck a heavy blow. ‘It is mightily sore but not broken, I thank God. We were fortunate that this gentleman brought his fellows to our aid.’
‘They are my mother’s servants,’ Sir Nicholas said. ‘She never travels abroad in the evening with less than three footmen, even though I was her escort on this occasion. I think it wise in these dangerous times to employ a stout arm to aid you, sir.’
‘As my sister warned me,’ Sir William frowned as he saw Lady Stamford’s man Thomas standing close by his sister’s chair as if to protect it, and realised she must have given orders for the fellow to follow them. ‘I thought myself sufficient but now I see the folly of my ways.’