19

Word spread quickly through Southwark of the imprisonment of the youngest Hart child, bringing Rose hurrying to the bridge house to offer Faith and her mother comfort while they anxiously awaited news of Mercy. Silas went in the opposite direction, heading for the gaol to see what aid he could offer there. Ann arrived soon after, telling them that her father had gone to support John Hart in his demand for Mercy’s release.

‘I doubt they’ll keep her, not with the man most likely to be the next Lord Mayor breathing down their necks,’ Ann said confidently, revealing what Rose had long suspected: Master Belknap was destined for high office.

The women’s quiet time together was interrupted by the arrival of no less a person than the Earl of Dorset, accompanied by James and Tobias.

‘That’s all we need,’ huffed Rose as Faith stirred herself to get out the best glasses.

‘Hush, Aunt, they come to help Mercy,’ chided her niece.

For once, Rose did not resent Faith’s correction for she could see that she was right. The three noblemen looked ready to saw through the bars of the prison themselves if John’s mission proved fruitless. And they were keeping her mother happy: she looked in heaven to have three such fine gentlemen in her presence. Any moment now, Rose predicted, they were going to be importuned for kisses.

Conversation travelled a rocky road over the next half hour; so wide a gulf separated the two families that Ann struggled to bridge the divide, and found that few congenial topics could be mustered. Everyone’s mind in any case was on what was happening at the Marshalsea. It was a relief to all when voices were heard outside. Rose could distinguish Silas’s deep bass among the lighter tones.

‘It’s them.’ She rushed to the door and flung it wide. ‘Silas, John, what news?’

She had her reply when she saw Mercy supporting a battered Kit. The pair came into the room to the cheers of the Lacey brothers.

‘Here she is – the heroine of the hour!’ Then the earl astonished the company by kneeling before Mercy’s feet and kissing her hand. ‘You have our deepest thanks, lady.’

James elbowed his elder out of the way to offer the same gesture of respect. ‘Our brother is a lucky man.’

Tobias, who now knew Mercy somewhat better after their conspiring on his brother’s behalf, risked Kit’s wrath by kissing her soundly on the cheek. ‘Ask me anything in my power to give and it is yours.’

‘Tell him to go jump in the river,’ growled Kit.

‘I understand your feelings entirely,’ said Tobias, standing shamefaced in front of the brother that had suffered for him. ‘But I want to thank you first for your steadfastness, Kit, under what looks like rough handling.’

Kit waved it away despite the very clear evidence of his mistreatment. ‘’Twas nothing, sprout.’

‘Now for my dip in the Thames.’ Tobias made as if to run to the window.

Laughing, Mercy pulled him back. ‘Nay, that won’t be necessary. This was a mad business; I’ve no doubt you have paid for your part in it with sleepless nights.’

Tobias winked at Kit. ‘She’s much kinder than you, brother.’

Kit smiled down affectionately at his love’s head. ‘Aye, much more merciful than I. There must be something in the name.’

John Hart moved to restore some sort of control over his own house. ‘My lords, as you can see, we have no need of your intervention, but I had not realized quite how closely the matter concerned you.’

The earl offered his hand to his brother and shook it warmly. ‘Welcome back, Kit. Aye, this one here is of our blood, Master Hart – a most worthy sprig of the stock from the evidence of his bearing in the last months. You must understand, sir, that he was always blameless in the business. My younger brother fell in with a bad lot for a few weeks before being rescued by Kit. Sadly, that kind act exploded in his hands like a faulty musket, suspicion falling where it was least warranted.’

James folded his arms, surveying the young couple. ‘I’ve never seen such a pair of turtle doves cooing and billing over each other, and this the brother who always swore there was no such thing as love.’

Mercy turned shocked eyes to Kit. ‘Did you in sooth?’

He tapped her nose. ‘I just hadn’t met the right maiden. I will burn all my cynical sonnets and from henceforth write only love songs.’

‘So when are you going to see them wed, sir?’ asked the earl as if the matter was clearly settled.

‘From the looks of it, the sooner, the better,’ Ann said as she hugged her father in thanks for his part in the release.

Rose stepped forward. ‘Yes, John, when are you going to allow Mercy her heart’s desire? Or need we change the family name to Hard-Hearted?’

John raised his hands in surrender. ‘Mercy has already made her choice. My coming to her in prison did not change that.’

Kit carefully set Mercy aside to turn to her father. ‘Sir, I may not look the sort of man you would wish for your daughter …’

Rose smiled. The poor lad was as battered as a man who had just been rolled down Hampstead Hill in a barrel: not a prepossessing sight.

‘But with me, I promise you she will want for nothing. Alderman Belknap here will vouch for me that I have begun investing, I hope wisely.’

‘I should hope so too,’ muttered Belknap. ‘It was my advice he took.’

‘I intend to continue at the Theatre, not only because it earns me an honest wage, but I also have obligations there that I will not lightly break. Mercy will be marrying a player if she marries me.’

‘If!’ protested Mercy. ‘I am marrying you, Kit Turner, and there’s an end to it!’

Tobias nudged James. ‘I told you she’d produce a landslide when she got rolling.’

Kit, however, was not yet fully aware of the character of the girl to whom he had just pledged himself. He put his finger to her lips. ‘Hush, now, this is between your father and me, Mercy. Let me deal with this.’

‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ muttered James, shaking his head. ‘Our brother has a lot to learn about the fairer sex. You never, ever do that.’

Kit was suddenly sitting in a chair, a sharp elbow having found a tender spot. Mercy stood before her father, looking defiant, if somewhat bedraggled after her night in prison.

‘Father, I know you said you would give me nothing if I married Kit, but I think you are wrong to say so.’

Reverend Field raised his eyes to heaven at this show of daughterly forthrightness, but no one else in the room was surprised by the new Mercy.

‘I do not want anything from you, but I would be proud to go to my husband as a Hart, not as an outcast, and even prouder if you would give me the dowry you have always said would be mine if I married a man you approved.’ Mercy put her hands on her hips. ‘The husband of my heart has borne his imprisonment with Christian fortitude and patience. What more proof do you need that he is worthy of my hand?’

Rose almost felt sorry for her poor brother-in-law. John had been buffeted first by earls, then by players and now by one determined daughter. But, all credit to the man, he stood up to them.

‘Mercy, you know what I said about Turner?’ John said sternly.

Mercy’s expression dimmed, turning to resignation. ‘Aye, and I’m sorry for it.’

His solemn face broke into a smile as he enjoyed the gift he was about to hand her. ‘But I’ve decided I was wrong and you are right. Reverend Field, will you wed these two young people as soon as the banns can be read?’

Mercy’s expression was radiant with joy, bringing tears to Rose’s eyes to see her so deservedly happy.

Reverend Field fumbled the brim of his hat in his long fingers. ‘Aye, John, that I can. Players, after all, may not be completely beyond redemption if they choose good God-fearing girls for their wives.’

‘Amen,’ muttered Kit, pulling Mercy down on his knee and squeezing her in retaliation for her elbow-strike.

‘Then, my lords, ladies and gentlefolk all,’ announced John, ‘there are wounds to tend and empty bellies to fill. I bid you welcome to my house. Pray, make yourself at home while I take my new son-in-law to my chamber to bathe his bruises and find him fresh clothes.’

Kit looked unwilling to be parted from Mercy, but she ushered him away.

‘Obey my father, Kit. We both could do with a change. The smell of Marshalsea is not one we want to linger about us.’

As the two left the room, pausing only to kiss in the doorway, Silas sidled up to Rose. ‘Mistress Isham, what say you to making it a brace of weddings, hey?’

Rose batted him on the chest. ‘You’ve been waiting to spring that on me, haven’t you, you rascal?’

‘Can’t stop an old soldier staging an ambush, my lovely Rosie.’ He circled her waist. ‘So, what do you say?’

Her Silas really was a one: he was never happier than when teasing her. Even a proposal could not be done without a laughing spirit. ‘Not before the Reverend Field. At St Mary’s,’ she challenged him.

‘Aye, I can agree to that. That Field fellow looks a barren pasture, not much joyful fruit to be had there for all his sterling qualities.’

‘Then, I agree.’ Really she had made her mind up weeks ago; just been waiting for the man to ask. He had the depth and constancy of character that had been sorely lacking in her previous relationship.

‘Excellent, i’faith.’ He scooped her up into a kiss. ‘Rosie Porter you will be!’

‘Oh wonderful!’ chirped Rose’s mother. ‘Everyone’s kissing. This is quite the most fun I’ve had since the coronation. I want a kiss too!’

Edwin bent to his grandmother. ‘It will be my privilege.’ He kissed her wrinkled hand as if she were the Queen herself.

Grandmother Isham pinched his cheek. ‘Aye, you’ll do, Edwin, you’ll do.’

Kit and Mercy’s wedding day was set for four Saturdays later at the end of August. London was quiet under the long days of summer, talk of rebellion subdued as the main actors in the piece had been caught and now awaited their grisly fate in separate prisons. Tom Saxon had been quietly released from the Marshalsea the day after Kit and Mercy, but chose not to return to the troupe. Rumour had him heading north to try his fortune there. Mercy guessed he was too embarrassed to return to the close-knit community of actors after the lies he had told about Kit.

The impending marriage had proved a fascinating one to organize with nobles and guildsmen vying for the honour of hosting it. The Lacey family had offered to hold the celebration at James Lacey’s fine London house on Broad Street, but John Hart had proudly refused.

‘It’s a merchant’s daughter who’s getting wed so the City will look after her,’ he told the earl.

So Mercy was going to her wedding royally dressed in the finest clothes the merchants could provide, in St Magnus’s near the northern end of the bridge at the entrance to the City, and was having her wedding feast in the Guildhall itself. The entertainment was to be provided by Burbage’s company performing a play written by Will Shakespeare – his first for the troupe. Kit had not been allowed to see it – that would spoil the surprise – but Appleyard had let slip it was a first rate comedy full of dazzling wordplay. The company was still a little in shock that something so good could come from rural Stratford.

Mercy spun on the spot, letting her skirts bell out like a flower. Her rogue’s princess indeed, and so she felt now she had put on her finery, a blue satin dress worn over a farthingale, with creamy silk stomacher embroidered with gold, matching sleeves and forepart thickly sewn with seed pearls.

Ann Belknap, who was sharing the attendant’s duties with Faith, came into her bedchamber and gasped. ‘Mercy, you look beautiful!’

Having no mirror in her room, Mercy had been trying to catch her reflection in the window. ‘You think so?’

‘I know so.’ Ann noted with approval the diamond and gold necklace – a gift from Mercy’s father – and the blue satin shoes. ‘One would never guess the little maid who first sang with Kit at our supper party was the same girl. I’m green with envy.’ She giggled, gesturing to her clothes. Ann looked very fine herself, wearing a new grass-green silk gown and pale-green stomacher in honour of her friend’s marriage.

Mercy bit her lip, wondering whether the blue silk bonnet and gold net caul on her hair was too daring. It was more suited to Elizabeth’s court than to a City church, but her new sisters-in-law, Lady Ellie and Lady Jane, had sent it to her as their gift. She raised her hand to pat it nervously.

‘Don’t touch it!’ Ann skipped across the room. ‘Faith said she had spent hours arranging it.’

Mercy dropped her hands. She had intended to go to Kit like one of the beautiful butterfly court ladies he admired in his poetry and she would not doubt that instinct. She had to show him on this of all days that she could change too and meet him in a happy place between strait-laced Puritan and dissolute player. There was no backing away now for either of them.

Guessing her thoughts, Ann held out her hand. ‘You are perfect as you are. Come, it is time. Your father waits below and the litter has come for you.’

Mercy shivered at yet another extravagance. She was going to be carried through the streets of London like visiting royalty, not plain Mercy Hart.

Seeing her friend’s panic-stricken expression, Ann tweaked her skirt. ‘You goose. You mustn’t keep Kit waiting.’

No, that was true. They had waited long enough. As a final thought, she tucked the grass ring on its silk thread into her bodice. This was what rested between them – love that had survived prison, not all the glitter of one day.

‘For Kit,’ she whispered, her fine butterfly clothes fluttering down the stairs, wing’d with hope.

In an upstairs room in Silver Street, Kit rummaged through his trunk of clothes, cursing. The picture of indolence, Tobias lounged at the window, while Will and James stood at the door, smirking.

‘Where is that damned navy-blue doublet? I’m sure I put it in there last week.’ Clothes flew into the air like earth as a dog buried a bone.

Tobias tossed his silver-handled knife. ‘Are you really wearing that tedious thing?’

Kit stood up, his hair sticking up in worried peaks. ‘I can’t shame Mercy at her church by dressing too garishly.’

‘You’re right,’ Will commented to James. ‘He’s completely sunk.’ He passed James an angel from his money pouch, outcome of a recent bet on how tamed their brother had become under Mercy’s influence.

Kit threw a shoe at them.

‘See, he’s definitely of our blood. Knows shoes make the best missiles.’ James chucked the footwear to Tobias.

Kit, meanwhile, had found the blue doublet and began pulling it on. At least it was new and of the best cloth he could afford – that would count with the merchant family he was marrying into. He stuffed a foot into one of his polished black shoes. ‘’Snails, where’s the other one?’

Tobias lobbed it to him, hitting him on the back. ‘Fifteen-love.’

Kit brandished it at him. ‘Later, sprout, I’ll get you later.’

Ruff pinned and a comb dragged through his hair, Kit was finally ready for their inspection. He held his arms out. ‘How do I look?

James shrugged. ‘You’re dressed.’

Will elbowed him. ‘You look well enough, Kit. We aren’t ashamed to be seen with you.’

Satisfied with this muted praise, Kit moved to the door. ‘We’d better hurry: I don’t want to be late.’

Tobias caught up with him and flicked his ear. ‘Where’s the earring?’

Kit’s hand went to the pouch hanging from the gold-linked belt that Will had given him that morning. ‘I thought it best to leave it off.’

Tobias bit his tongue, refraining from further comment. Even he had some mercy for the condemned man on this day of all days.

The arrival of the four brothers at the church caused more than a few female heads to turn. Mercy was peeking out of the curtains of her litter, having got there a few minutes earlier, so had a grand view of their loose striding progress through the crowds gathered to see the spectacle of the Theatre man marrying the City daughter. First, the blond earl in scarlet, at ease with command; dark-haired James in moody black, clearly capable and not a man to cross; mischievous Tobias in forest green, winking at the girls; and her Kit, in midnight blue, holding himself with the player’s confidence before an audience.

Her father went to shake hands with them and take the three Laceys inside to their seats of honour where the female part of their families already awaited them. Kit came over to the litter to help her out.

‘Are you ready, my love?’

She stepped down on to the stone path, shaking her skirts self-consciously into perfect folds. Milly Porter and her tailor friend had done her proud with this confection.

He held her at arm’s length and whistled. ‘My stars, Mercy, when the bud blooms, she does so in splendid style!’ He turned her to admire her costume, a courtesy approved of by the crowd who whistled and cheered. ‘You cast me in the shade.’

Feeling light-headed with excitement, Mercy drank in the sight of her love. It didn’t matter to her what he wore; he could have come in a jester’s motley and she still would have wed him. But something was missing.

‘You didn’t leave off your earring for me, did you, Kit?’ she asked, feeling that she must be a terrible influence to make him pluck his plumes like that. On this day of all days, he should be a dazzling peacock, not a sparrow.

‘Aye, marry, I did, mistress. Anything to please my lady.’ He kissed her hand.

‘Do you have it with you?’

He gave her a puzzled look. ‘Yes.’

‘Put it on – for me.’

Grinning, he dug into his pouch and hung a new earring in his lobe: a large pearl that no one could fail to see. He shrugged sheepishly. ‘A thank-you present from Tobias. I didn’t want to offend the sprout.’

Mercy laughed. ‘Now you are ready to make your entrance.’ She tugged him towards the church.

‘Better follow the lady,’ called a well-wisher. ‘She can’t wait to get her hands on you!’

‘I don’t blame her!’ shouted a stout woman with a child on her hip. ‘God don’t make many like that one.’

Unable to resist a friendly crowd, Kit pulled Mercy back. ‘One last kiss of sweet Mercy Hart.’ He gave their audience what they wanted, bending her back into a scandalously passionate embrace in the very porch of the church. ‘Now I’m ready.’

He swung her up to bow to the crowd. Laughing and blushing, Mercy curtsied as they acknowledged their applause. Making their final exit as a betrothed couple, they disappeared into the church hand in hand.