“Be you passing through?” he queried.

Skye sent him a blinding smile that quite stunned him. “No,” she
said, “I own a house here, Master Innkeeper, and I’ve come to live
in it.”

“Which ‘ouse is that, madam? I thought I knew all the great lords
and their families. I grew up here, you see. Ever since there’s been
an inn in Chiswick, there ‘ave been Monypennys in Chiswick. In
fact,” and here he chuckled, his fat belly heaving with mirth, “no
one ‘as ever been quite sure which came first, the Swan or the
Monypennys! Aha! Ha! Ha!”

Jean and Captain Small looked askance but Skye giggled, thus
increasing the innkeeper’s approval of her. “I am Senora Goya del
Fuentes, Master Monypenny. The house I own is ‘Greenwood,’ the
last one on the Strand. It belonged to my late husband.”

“You’re Spanish?” his voice was now edged in disapproval.

“My husband was. I am Irish.”

“Almost as bad,” came the reply.

“Mon Dieuf Quel cochon!” muttered Jean.

“Master Monypenny! I will thank you to keep a civil tongue in
your head. Senora Goya del Fuentes is a good and gentle lady, and
not to be abused while under my protection.” Robert Small’s hand
was on his sword.

The big innkeeper looked down at the little sea captain. “Lord
bless me!” he began to chuckle. “She must be a fine lady that the
ant would challenge the sparrow! My apologies, ma’am. It’s just
that the memory of Bloody Mary and her Spanish husband dies
hard.”

“Bloody Mary?”

“The late Queen. Her that was married to Philip of Spain. Young
Queen Bess’s half-sister.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Master Monypenny. Now I understand,”
said Skye. She had heard the story of the sad daughter of Catherine
of Aragon from Dame Cecily. “Well, I promise you I am nothing
like Bloody Mary. My daughter and I have no family left anywhere
that we know of, and so we have come to England to make a new
life. English hospitality is famous worldwide.”

The innkeeper ruffled with pride. “And so it should be, ma’am.
So it should be. You’ll be quite happy here upon the Strand. Now,
if I may involve myself in your business for a moment… You say
your house is the last one in the row. Tsk! The last tenants left it
in shameful condition, and if you’ll allow me, ma’am, I’ll have rooms for you and your party set aside. The plain fact is that your
house is not habitable.”

“Robbie! Was the agent not notified to prepare the house for me?”

“He was, Skye.”

The innkeeper shook his head dolefully. “That would be Mr.
Taylor, wouldn’t it? He’s a bad ‘un, but how were you to know
that?”

“Bad? In what way, Master Monypenny?” asked Robert Small.

“He’s been renting the house out to youngbloods for their-oh,
dalliances, you might say. Charges ‘em twice what you asks for the
house, pockets the overage, and then collects his commission too.”

“And how do you know that?”

“He’s in the habit of taking a drink here now and then. But he
can’t hold his liquor. More than two pints and he begins to talk.
One night during the late Queen’s reign he bragged about how he
was cheating the Spaniard who owned the house.”

“We had best go and check the house, Robbie.” The sea captain
nodded. “I should be grateful, Master Monypenny, if you would set
aside rooms for us, as well as a private dining room. I shall require
a bath upon our return.”

“At once, ma’am!”

Remounting their horses, they rode across the green and down
Riversedge Street. Skye was impressed by the great houses that lined
the waterside. As they neared the end of the street the buildings
became less grand, however, the last three being an elegant mansion,
a small palace, and finally a charming house of mellowed pink brick.
It was set within a private green park. The gates showed rust, and
hung loosely open. Robert Small pursed his lips. Pushing open the
gates, he led the way into the grounds.

The park was overgrown and unkempt, the woodland filled with
brambles, the lawns waist-high in weeds. When they reached the
house they found several windows broken and the front door hanging
open on broken hinges.

“Master Taylor is going to have a lot to answer for,” growled
Robbie. “Where the hell is the gatekeeper? He should be guarding
the premises. Jean, didn’t you pay wages last year for a year’s
gatekeeping service?”

“Oui, Captain, I did, but the monies were forwarded to Master
Taylor, the agent.”

“It’s neither here nor there now,” said Skye. “The damage is
done. Let us see if the inside has fared as badly.”

The three entered the house and gasped with shock as they moved
from room to room on the main floor. Then Robert Small ran quickly upstairs inspecting the second and third floors. His face was a thun-
dercloud when he descended again.

“Stripped!” he roared. “There isn’t a stick of furniture in the
entire house! Nor draperies, rugs, linens, or plate! You’ve been
robbed! The dirty bastard has taken everything!”

“Master Monypenny knew whereof he spoke,” observed Skye
drily. “I won’t be played for a fool, Robbie. Master Taylor must be
caught and prosecuted. I imagine, however, that the furnishings are
long gone. You were in the house several times, Robbie. Do you
recall seeing anything of great value?”

“Just the usual household furnishings.”

‘Then they’re easily replaced. Thank heavens, Marie and the
children remained in Devon. Come, Jean, Robbie. Back to the Swan.
I am tired and want a bath, and nothing can be done here until
tomorrow.”

On the following morning Skye rode into the city of London. She
visited the cabinetmaker, the draper, the silversmith, the brass and
iron mongers. At each stop she said the same thing. “Deliver my
order within the week, and I’ll pay you a handsome bonus.” Then
she paid in full for the work contracted or items chosen.

At the Swan she interviewed applicants for her household staff
and with Master Monypenny’s aid, employed a Mistress Burnside
as her housekeeper, half a dozen housemaids and footmen, a Master
Walters for her majordomo, and his wife for her cook. There were
four kitchen girls hired, as well as a pot boy. Mistress Burnside had
a widowed sister who, with her two plain daughters, would be the
household laundresses. The out-of-house staff consisted of a head
gardener and head groom, each who had two assistants, and a gate-
keeper. Skye would soon need a nursery staff to look after Willow,
and this would consist of a laundress, a nursemaid, and one assistant.
Compared to the great houses on the Strand, hers would be a very
modest household.

Skye had inspected her house thoroughly by her second day in
London. Below the main level of the house was a large kitchen that
opened out into a small vegetable patch and herb garden. There were
two fireplaces in the kitchen, both with brick ovens. One would take
a whole side of beef. The other, smaller one, was well suited to pots
and bread-baking. Off to one side of the kitchen was a cool, stone
buttery, and off to the other was a scullery. There was a long servants’
hall with a fireplace and quarters for some of the servants.

The housekeeper had a private bedchamber, as did the majordomo
and his wife, the cook. The four kitchen maids shared a room, and
the laundress and her two daughters shared one. A small alcove set
into the chimney wall was padded with a plump pallet and assigned to the little pot boy who was considered too young to be housed
with the other male servants. The six housemaids would sleep in
attic rooms set aside for them. The six footmen, three grooms, and
two undergardeners were housed in the stable loft. The head garden-
er and his wife would live in a tiny cottage hidden in the little garden
and the gatekeeper and his wife in the little gatehouse. Jean and
Marie were given an apartment of their own in one wing of the
house. Marie would continue in her duties as Skye’s chief tiring
woman while the nursery staff watched over both Willow and Henri.
The nursery staff would, of course, sleep in the nursery.

On the main floor of the house there was a large formal dining
hall, a small family dining room, a reception room, and the apartment
set aside for Jean and his wife. The second floor consisted of a
library, a smaller room for Jean’s work, and two big reception rooms
that could be opened into one large room for dancing. The third
floor of the house held Skye’s bedchamber, dayroom, and dressing
room, besides two guest chambers and the nursery apartments.

The house was built near the river’s edge, but set back enough
to allow for a rear garden, the walls of which rose up from the water.
Skye had her own private quai. This was a distinct advantage, for
it allowed Skye her own barge. She immediately commissioned one
built, and, shortly thereafter, a bargeman was added to the staff.
Everyone in the house was delighted by this, for river travel was
often preferable to land, especially so in times of unrest.

The tradesmen with whom Skye did business were eager for the
bonuses promised. Within the week the house was filled with all
the things she had ordered. Everything was of the best quality. Skye
had warned the tradesmen that she would not accept shoddy goods.
She was not aware that many of the goods had been made for others.


Merchants had sent her things that other customers would now have
to wait several months for.

She hurried from room to room, directing the hanging of drap-
eries, tapestries, and pictures, the placement of furniture. The rooms
began to take on life and, finally contented, Skye walked slowly
throughout her house. It was well after midnight, and the exhausted
servants had long since sought their beds. She entered each room
and looked about with satisfaction.

The oak furniture gleamed with a polish that only hand rubbing
and pure beeswax could give it. Upon the dark wide floorboards
were thick Turkey carpets. The use of carpets was unusual. Many
homes, even those of the wealthy, still used rushes mixed with herbs
upon the floors. There were colorful tapestries and paintings through-
out the house, for Captain Small was clever at ferreting out those
noble but impoverished families who were willing to discreetly sell such items. Heavy draperies in velvet and silk hung from the leaded
casement windows. Brass sconces adorned the paneled walls. Silver
twinkled on the sideboards. The scene was one of elegance and
wealth.

As Skye departed each room she snuffed out the beeswax candles
carefully. She would not allow fat or tallow in the house, even in
the servants quarters, for she disliked the smell. There were porce-
lain bowls of potpourri in all the rooms. The river was known, after
all, to stink occasionally.

She entered her apartment and found Daisy, who had arrived
several days ago, dozing by the fire. The girl jumped when she saw
her mistress.

“Daisy, you didn’t have to wait up. But since you’re here, unlace
me, and then off to bed with you.”

“I don’t mind, mistress,” said Daisy as she undid Skye’s gown
and helped her out of her petticoats. She wisked the clothing into
the dressing room and soon was back dipping water from the fireplace
kettle into an earthenware pitcher. “Are you sure you don’t need me
further, ma’am?”

“No, Daisy. Go to bed.”

The little maid was quickly gone. Skye sat down wearily and
carefully rolled off her gossamer stockings. Naked, she walked
across her room and had a leisurely wash with her favorite damask
rose soap. Sliding into an embroidered pale-blue silk caftan, she
extinguished the candles and went to sit in her bedroom window
seat, facing the river.

The moon silvered the water. She could see a barge pull into the
quai two houses down. Two figures, a man and a woman, climbed
out of the boat and went slowly up the steps to the garden. At the
top of the stairway they kissed for a long moment. Then the gentle-
man picked up the lady and they were lost to view. Sighing, she
sought her bed, and slept badly. The memory of the romantic scene
she had watched bumed into her and made her ache. Skye was
twenty years old, and for the first time since Khalid’s death over a
year ago, she deeply wanted a man to love her. She rose, weeping
softly, and took a bottle of blackberry brandy from her dayroom
sideboard. She then crawled back into the window seat and drank
herself to sleep.

Next door, the owner of the small riverside palace was also wake-
ful. The Earl of Lynmouth paced his bedroom floor excitedly,
scarcely able to believe his good fortune. Not only was his new
neighbor the beautiful Senora Goya del Fuentes, but he had found
a way to victory over de Grenville. He chuckled. He would pay his
respects to the lady, but if she had not willingly succumbed by

Twelfth Night, then he would blackmail her into submission.

The Earl of Lynmouth entertained lavishly, and his parties were
famous. He had recently come up to London to see that his house
was properly prepared for Christmas and Twelfth Night. The Queen
herself would be attending several seasonal festivities, including his
Twelfth Night masque. Geoffrey had been quite astounded to find
mat the beautiful Mistress Goya del Fuentes was the owner of the
little jewel of a house at the end of the Strand, and had watched
with interest as the house was refurbished. A connoisseur, he noted
her choices with an approving eye as the tradesmen lugged their
merchandise into her house.