“Lord Northumberland!”
“We’re here to see the countess.” Henry swung his cloak in the direction of the guard. “See if you can get that dry. And find Master Roydon’s man something hot to drink, if you would.” The earl cracked his fingers inside his leather gloves and grimaced.
“Of course, my lord,” the gatekeeper said, eyeing Pierre with suspicion.
The castle was arranged around two enormous hollow squares, the central spaces filled with leafless trees and the vestiges of summer flowers. We climbed a wide set of stairs and met up with more liveried servants, one of whom led us to the countess’s solar: an inviting room with large, southfacing windows overlooking the river. They provided a view of the same stretch of the Thames that was visible from the Blackfriars.
Despite the similarity of the view, there was no mistaking this lofty, bright space for our house. Though our rooms were large and comfortably furnished, Baynard’s Castle was the home of aristocracy, and it showed. Wide, cushioned settles flanked the fireplace, along with chairs so deep that a woman could curl up in one with all her skirts tucked around her. Tapestries enlivened the stone walls with splashes of bright color and scenes from classical mythology. There were signs, too, of a scholar’s mind at work. Books, bits of ancient statuary, natural objects, pictures, maps, and other curiosities covered the tables.
“Master Roydon?” A man with a pointed beard and dark hair peppered with gray stood. He held a small board in one hand and a tiny brush in the other.
“Hilliard!” Matthew said, his delight evident. “What brings you here?”
“A commission for Lady Pembroke,” the man said, waving his palette. “I must put the finishing touches on this miniature. She wishes to have it for a gift at the New Year.” His bright brown eyes studied me.
“I forget, you have not met my wife. Diana, this is Nicholas Hilliard, the limner.”
“I am honored,” I said, dipping into a curtsy. London had well over a hundred thousand residents. Why did Matthew have to know everyone that historians would one day find significant? “I know and admire your work.”
“She has seen the portrait of Sir Walter that you painted for me last year,” Matthew said smoothly, covering up my too-effusive greeting.
“One of his best pieces, I agree,” Henry said, looking over the artist’s shoulder. “This seems destined to rival it, though. What an excellent likeness of Mary, Hilliard. You’ve captured the intensity of her gaze.” Hilliard looked pleased.
A servant appeared with wine, and Henry, Matthew, and Hilliard conversed in low voices while I examined an ostrich egg set in gold and a nautilus shell in a silver stand, both of which sat on a table along with several priceless mathematical instruments that I didn’t dare touch.
“Matt!” The Countess of Pembroke stood in the doorway wiping inkstained fingers on a handkerchief hastily supplied by her maid. I wondered why anyone would bother, since her mistress’s dove gray gown was already splotched and even singed in places. The countess peeled the simple garment from her body, revealing a far more splendid velvet and taffeta outfit in a rich shade of plum. As she passed the early-modern equivalent of a lab coat to her servant, I smelled a distinct whiff of gunpowder. The countess tucked up a tight curl of blond hair that had drifted down by her right ear. She was tall and willowy, with creamy skin and deep-set brown eyes.
She stretched out her hands in welcome. “My dear friend. I have not seen you for years, not since my brother Philip’s funeral.”
“Mary,” Matthew said, bowing over her hand. “You are looking well.”
“London does not agree with me, as you know, but it has become a tradition that we travel here for the queen’s anniversary celebrations, and I stayed on. I am working on Philip’s psalms and a few other fancies and do not mind it so much. And there are consolations, like seeing old friends.” Mary’s voice was airy, but it still conveyed her sharp intelligence.
“You are indeed flourishing,” Henry said, adding his welcome to Matthew’s and looking at the countess approvingly.
Mary’s brown eyes fixed on me. “And who is this?”
“My happiness at seeing you has pushed my manners aside. Lady Pembroke, this is my wife, Diana. We are recently wed.”
“My lady.” I dropped the countess a deep curtsy. Mary’s shoes were encrusted with fantastic gold and silver embroidery that suggested Eden, covered as they were with snakes, apples, and insects. They must have cost a fortune.