Fool's Paradise

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“My prentice is wearing the only clothes he owns which are not fit—”

“Not even for rags, I should say!” Peg sniffed.

“And he cannot appear in the hall in them.”

“To be sure, he will not!” Peg pronounced with authority.

Does she mean to put me in the barn? Ha! I’d like to see her try it! Elizabeth tried to curb her annoyance.

Tarleton squeezed Peg’s shoulder. “Take pity on my poor lad, for he is lately orphaned. Could you find him a suit of clothes, for sweet charity’s sake, and for this?” He dropped a shilling down her ample bodice.

Pegshivered with pleasure. “Sweet Saint Ann, you are a merry rogue and no mistaking it, Dickon! Young Ned is about your boy’s size. Tess!” She called over her shoulder to one of the gawking maids. “Fetch some of Ned’s things quickly afore this lad catches his death of cold. Aye, and bring a towel!”

The maid, all giggles and black tresses, disappeared inside.

Elizabeth perked up at the mention of a towel. A bath! A hot, steaming bath with buckets of water, scented with oil of roses. And fine milled soap! Closing her eyes, she sighed pleasurably at the thought.

“And the rest of ye? What are ye staring at?” Peg bellowed at the kitchen staff. “Back to your work.” The servants scattered like autumn leaves in a wind.

“Leave the lad to Tess, my sweet,” Peg crooned to Tarleton, not even glancing at the filthy, fuming Elizabeth. “The minx will make him look like a Christian again, and perhaps teach him a few things in the bargain!”

Underneath her layers of dirt and mud, Elizabeth blanched. She flashed a beseeching look at Tarleton.

The jester chuckled. “Nay, Peg. Though Tess is a good girl, I think she’ll frighten the boy.” Tarleton wiggled his dark brows at Peg and smiled his best imp’s grin. “Give him time though, and there will be no lass in England safe from him. Am I not his teacher—in all manner of skills?” Tarleton kissed Peg deeply again to stop any further conversation.

Elizabeth winced with envy. She could almost taste that kiss herself.

Tess, looking flushed and breathless, returned at that moment with a pair of gray breeches, black stockings, a clean white shirt and a brown woolen waistcoat. A piece of coarse toweling hung over her arm. Tarleton disengaged himself from Peg with a fond caress to her wide bottom. Laughing at the cook’s crude rejoinder, he led Elizabeth toward the stable.

“You are passing quiet, Robin Redbreast,” he remarked cheerfully.

“I am amazed, and know not what to say!” Elizabeth stuttered. “Is Peg your mother or aunt?” she asked hopefully.

Tarleton exploded in laughter. “Nay, chuck! Peg is an old friend of mine. She took me in when I had nothing to my name except a ready wit. She was kind to me when I needed some kindness.”

“And in return? You are… kind to her?” Elizabeth had not meant to sound so direct.

Tarleton raised his brow thoughtfully. “Aye, I am kind to her betimes,” he answered coolly. He pointed at the horse trough. “Jump in!”

Elizabeth stared with horror at the cold, scummy water. Green slime coated the wooden sides.

“Surely you are jesting, Tarleton!”

He laughed at her confusion. “‘Tis no jest. This is where we servants bathe. Did you think I was going to ask Peg to draw you a warm hip bath by the fire?”

Elizabeth bit her lower lip. She would never admit she had hoped for something exactly like that. She glared at him.

“I simply won’t get into that dirty thing! You can’t make me—!”

Before she could utter another word of protest, Tarleton picked her up around the waist. Snatching off her shoes, he threw her into the trough.

“How dare you!” Elizabeth sputtered when she rose to the surface, her green eyes blazing.

Tarleton only grinned as he held her down. “Hold your nose, or you’ll regret it.” He grabbed the top of her head firmly.

“No, knave! You are the one who will regre—” The rest of her threat was drowned as Tarleton ducked her under the water again. He rubbed her hair vigorously. She surfaced coughing.

“Vile!” She spat out some of the water she had inhaled.

Tarleton stood back, regarding his sopping apprentice. Elizabeth’s bright golden hair gleamed once more, and the chill water had brought a becoming pink to her cheeks. Her eyes, however, looked murderous, which only heightened the green color he found so enticing.

“Well, churl?” She glowered at him, shaking the water out of her eyes and hair. “Are you satisfied now? Have I given you enough entertainment for one afternoon?” She would not add anything more to his pleasure by letting him see how badly he had humiliated her.

“You look your proper self,” he said approvingly. “Take my hand.”

Elizabeth briefly considered pulling him into the water with her, and letting him have a taste of his own medicine. Then she sensibly realized that he had no other clothing save what was now clinging wetly around her. Instead, she grasped his hand and hauled herself carefully out of the trough.

Tarleton drew in his breath when he saw the wet shirt plastered transparently to Elizabeth. Her nipples, hardened by the cold water, jutted proudly against the fabric. Tarleton swallowed the knot in his throat as he felt a hot stirring within him. Under her boyish disguise, Lady Elizabeth was lush, ripe and ready for plucking. He itched to peel away her wet wrappings and savor her obvious charms. It would be so easy, here in the darkened barn, with an inviting bed of fresh hay just behind them.

Fool! the voice of sanity screamed inside him. She’s no wench to tumble in a barn, but the Queen’s own goddaughter! Averting his eyes with an unaccustomed burst of selfcontrol, Tarleton roughly draped the towel around her.

“Cross your arms in front of you, or else you’ll reveal your identity to all the world,” he growled, his voice low and husky.

Elizabeth looked down at herself. Her ears burned with embarrassment.

“Where shall I change?” she asked in a muffled voice, not daring to raise her eyes to him.

Tarleton scooped up her shoes. “Follow me,” he commanded gruffly as he led her to a small storage shed. “In here. Dress quickly, I’ll keep a lookout for any prying eyes.”

“Be sure you do, Master Tarleton!” Snatching Ned’s clothes out of his hand, Elizabeth swept regally into the shadowy hut. “Watch especially your own!”

Tarleton laughed ruefully. Half-seriously, he considered throwing himself into the trough to douse the fire in his loins. How many more days of this sweet temptation could he stand?

“Do you still have my comb?” Elizabeth asked when she emerged from the shed.

Glancing over her, Tarleton grinned his approval. He could deal with her far better when she looked like a boy, than when she was revealed as a woman. “Aye, prentice.” He cleared his throat. “Now let us rehearse for tonight’s performance. Sir William and Lady Margaret Fairfax are good patrons of mine. If we please them, they will pay us right well.” He spread out the wet breeches and shirt across a pile of hay to dry in the late afternoon’s sun. Then, for the next hour, Tarleton schooled his apprentice in a bit of juggling, the verses of a new, witty song, and the punch lines for a few mildly bawdy jokes. Afterward they reappeared at the kitchen door.

“‘Tis a transformation sure!” exclaimed Peg, beaming with pleasure at Elizabeth. “Who would have guessed what was hiding under all that mud!”

“Oh, he’s a pretty lad!” Tess giggled and continued cutting up turnips and plopping them into a simmering pot. Several of the other maids joined her, simpering and casting appreciative looks at Elizabeth.

“Leave off teasing the child and be about your business!” snapped Peg, her maternal instincts obviously aroused. “Here, my pet, sit down by the fire and have a cup of sweet cider. ‘Tis fresh from the press.”

“What’s the news you’ve heard, Tarleton?” asked one of the lounging serving men.

Tarleton pulled up a stool to the trestle table. “Not much to tell, except that the Italians dress too loudly, the French eat too much, the Dutch belch rudely, and the Spanish are all whoresons!” he answered merrily.

Peg placed a bowl of hot water and a sliver of soap in front of Tarleton. He grinned with pleasure as he lathered his face generously.

Elizabeth stared enviously at the soap. She certainly could have used some of that, even in a horse trough.

“Shake a leg, Robin! Fetch my mirror from the pack.” Tarleton spoke through the soapsuds. “Now, boy, hold it steady for me while I shave.” Tarleton drew out his dagger with a flourish, and proceeded to scrape at his short, bristly whiskers.

Watching him carefully, Elizabeth winced when the dagger passed closely across his throat. The rasp of the blade against his tanned skin set her teeth on edge. The knife was so sharp that one little slip could spell disaster.

Noting her concern, Tarleton winked reassuringly at her. A bevy of maids cooed at his fresh, handsome appearance.

The merriment was cut short by the arrival of Master Brownlow, the steward, who solemnly greeted Tarleton as an equal, then announced that dinner was to be served up immediately in the hall.

“Come!” He beckoned to Tarleton. “His lordship wants you presently.”

Tarleton nodded to Elizabeth. “Get my cap and motley, boy!” Snapping his fingers, he pointed to the pack.

Elizabeth blinked for a moment at his sudden command, then remembering her role, she returned his nod. She shook out Tarleton’s multicolored jacket—its many brass bells jingled merrily as if they were glad to be released from their dark prison. Standing on a low stool, she held the coat open as Tarleton drew it over his wide shoulders. He winked mischievously at her as she tied the strings of his threepointed coxcomb cap under his chin. His face was so close to hers she could have kissed his lips without moving. She was seized by a sudden desire to do so. Peg’s round laughter brought Elizabeth to her senses.

“That’s my Tarleton!” Peg beamed like a proud mother. “Her Majesty is fortunate that I let her borrow you now and then, my pretty duck!”

“Aye!” Tarleton bowed to the cook with a flourish. “Shall I tell the Queen you said so when I am next at court?”

“Get on with ye! And make the master laugh. He is much in need of good cheer these days!” She waved them out with a soup ladle.

Following the steward, the jester and his apprentice passed through a number of narrow, dark corridors and up a flight of stone stairs. After traversing several more passageways, they came to a thick, paneled door.

“Wait here until I call for you, Dickon,” The steward vanished through the portal.

“How does Addison Hall look to you, prentice? Is it as grand as Esmond Manor?” Tarleton whispered to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth touched the nearby wall with her finger thoughtfully. “I am not sure. All these hallways look very mean, indeed. There are no tapestries, nor carved panels, nor pictures, nor any decoration on the walls. Perhaps Sir William has come upon hard times.”

Tarleton chuckled quietly. “Nay, you have seen but the backstairs. Have you never been backstairs at Esmond?”

Embarrassed by the truth, Elizabeth bit her lower lip. “In sooth, I don’t think I could locate the kitchens in my own house.” She reddened a bit at the admission.

Tarleton looked down at her and stroked her smooth cheek with his knuckle. “Then, perhaps, you may want to find them when you return there,” he said softly.

Elizabeth shivered. Tarleton’s touch was so gentle, the merest whisper, yet the place on her cheek felt as if he had branded her.

Before she could sort out her distracted feelings, the door suddenly opened, and Brownlow poked his head through. “Ready?”

Casting a quick smile at Elizabeth, Tarleton nodded to the steward. “Bluff and bluster!” he whispered to her.

Brownlow threw open the door wider, and announced them in a majestic voice, “My lord and ladies, Tarleton, the Queen’s own jester!”

Tarleton skipped into the great hall with a merry jingling of his bells. Elizabeth scampered behind him. In the center of the hall, Tarleton executed a deep court bow to the head table.

“Good my lord and you, most gracious lady, give me your leave to rhyme, for I’ve come to show activity upon this merry time—”

As Tarleton launched into his opening speech, Elizabeth quietly slipped into a shadowed recess, where she could observe the great hall of Addison. It was a fine room, richly paneled in polished wood with a high, vaulted ceiling of huge blackened beams. Large friendly fires roared in the monstrous stone fireplaces at each end, taking away the chill of the late summer evening. The upper servants, as well as members of Sir William’s extended family, which seemed to include a number of elderly ladies, sat at two tables below the head table. Above them was Sir William Fairfax, an old, white-haired gentleman. His wife, Lady Margaret, looked twenty years his junior. Beside them were another elderly lady and a thin, reedy-looking cleric, who watched Tarleton’s antics with his lips pursed in disapproval.

Elizabeth could see that Sir William did not look well, but he managed to smile weakly and thump his knife upon the table in appreciation of Tarleton’s merry capers. Lady Margaret, though she smiled with her lips, was clearly bored even though Tarleton was being witty and highly amusing—a far cry from last night’s performance at the disreputable Blue Boar.

“May I have your leave to present to your lordship my new apprentice?” Thrning, Tarleton beckoned to Elizabeth.

Taking a deep breath to steady a sudden flash of nerves, she skipped lightly to the center of the room. Feeling the slight pressure of Tarleton’s hand on her back, Elizabeth bowed in her best imitation of his court bow.

“This is young Robin Redbreast, for he sings like a bird. As I perceive you have been dining upon roast swan, perhaps you would care to hear the bird’s side of the story?” Tarleton stepped back, leaving Elizabeth to sing the “Lament of the Roast Swan.”

Elizabeth accompanied her verses with a great deal of comic mime, which Tarleton had taught her in the barn that afternoon. At the end, she again bowed to the warm applause of the company. Sir William seemed especially pleased. Even Lady Margaret looked interested. Tarleton bounded to her side.