Page 30 of Retribution

“And no eavesdropping at the door.”

Filly frowned, but then she giggled because she did like to listen in on her mistress’s conversations and Cleodora knew it. She never told anyone else, as she was strangely good at keeping secrets, but she did like to listen and then discuss the conversations with Cleodora, who sometimes simply didn’t want to remember them.

So much of what Cambridge said to her was forgettable.

Quickly, Filly chased the other maids out and went about tidying up the chamber while they awaited the arrival of the archbishop. He didn’t normally come to Cleodora’s chambers, so Filly quickly picked up any remaining sewing, including the remnants of the Guard of Six tunics that the archbishop knew nothing about. It was probably best if he didn’t. The maids wouldn’t talk and the messenger who had been sent to Westminster was well paid for his silence. Even if he did speak about it, Cleodora didn’t think the archbishop would be too angry about it since it was in gratitude for a service the man performed.

Still, one could never be sure when his jealousy would strike.

Sometimes, it was better simply to keep quiet.

Cleodora sat on the stool for quite some time, reflecting on how many times she’d remained silent since she’d come to live with the archbishop. Since he wouldn’t really let her do anything, or go anywhere, she had a good deal of time to sit and contemplate her life. Truthfully, sometimes she would just sit and think on the times before she came to live with him and the series of events that led her to his door. It had been such a fluke, such a bad stroke of fate, because she had been in London with her father as he was trying to find the juice of the opium to feed his habit and he could only do that in the larger cities. She had come because she was taking care of the man because he was such a wreck. He wouldn’t eat on his own, or bathe, or do anything that normal people did, so she had been forced to tend to him so he could at least function. When he wanted to come to London, she simply went along so the man wouldn’t kill himself.

She wished every single day of her life that she hadn’t come to London with him on that fateful trip.

That had been the trip when an advisor of King Henry, who had been alive at the time, had seen her in the marketplace with her father. With her striking platinum hair and ethereal looks, she stood out in a crowd. She was so beautiful that the man told Henry and somehow they were able to locate Everald as he wallowed in alcohol at a tavern near the marketplace.

That was where the trouble started.

It was all such a whirlwind of an experience, but Henry’s advisor had told Everald that the king would be very interested in bringing his daughter to court. That was a huge honor for any noblewoman, so Everald was inclined to agree. Even in his drunken, diminished state, he understood the prestige that would bring his family. The problem was that the advisor wasn’t completely honest as to why and what she would be doing at court, and Everald believed that his daughter would somehow be serving the queen.

That was not the case.

The Seven Jewels of London were the elite group of courtesans that were used by the king as political pawns with other high-ranking noblemen. The moment Henry laid eyes on Cleodora, he saw his Pearl, and after much training with a woman named Margit Barkwith, who owned a brothel on Farnham Street in Southwark, the newly trained Pearl was sent to a very powerful prince of the church in the hopes that she would be enough of a gift to make the man more of an ally than the enemy he was trying to be. It had worked, for a short while, but with Henry’s death and Edward’s absence from England, Cambridge had ideas of his own and Cleodora had ceased to become a peace offering from the crown.

She simply became a possession.

Her father, however, had been another matter. When Everald realized his daughter was to become a courtesan to high-powered men and not a lady-in-waiting to the queen, he began to protest. It was enough agitation that Cambridge offered him money and narcotics to buy his agreement. Everald, being a weak and addicted man, accepted the terms.

And that was how Cleodora found herself in the position she was in today, clad in silver and pearls, waiting to be escorted to a royal feast. Her life hadn’t turned out as she’d hoped, but she comforted herself with the fact that most women could say the same thing. No one ever got what they wanted out of life.

At least, that was what she kept telling herself.

A knock on the door jolted her from her thoughts and Filly, who had been in a smaller adjoining chamber, rushed to the panel to open it. Cambridge, in all of his silks and robes and fine glory, was standing in the doorway. Ignoring Filly, his gaze immediately found Cleodora, sitting in what looked like a puddle of silver in the middle of the chamber.

He put his hand over his heart.

“My dear,” he said with great sincerity. “Stand up and let me look at you. Let me see how beautiful you are.”

Cleodora stood up, lifting her arms so he could see the wings on her sleeves. Cambridge appeared genuinely smitten, and quite pleased, as he observed her.

“Glorious,” he said. “Walk to the hearth. Let me see how it moves.”

Cleodora did. She walked all the way to the hearth across the long chamber, giving him a full view of the train of the dress and the embroidery on the back. It truly was a spectacular piece and he’d paid handsomely for it, clearly pleased with what his money had purchased. She paraded around a little more until he finally bade her sit and she did, back on the stool. The archbishop even helped smooth out the train so that it wouldn’t wrinkle. As she sat there and he admired the gown, Cleodora had the distinct impression that she was being inspected like a prize mare. There was nothing personal about his observations.

She was simply property.

“Now,” he said, grabbing the nearest chair and pulling it in her direction, “I have something to discuss with you.”

“My lord?”

He sat facing her. “Do not be troubled,” he said. “You’ve not done anything wrong. This is not a rebuke. But there is something troubling me and I must ask you a question.”

Cleodora nodded. “Anything, my lord.”

He pretended to be pained over the mere thought of what he must ask her, but he forced himself to continue. “My dear, how loyal are you to me?” he asked. “What I mean to say is… is there any gratitude in your heart for me for what I have done for you over the years? For the home I’ve given you, for the clothing I have paid for? Do you appreciate me for it?”

She seemed surprised by the question. “Of course,” she assured him. “You have been most kind and generous, not only with me, but with my father. It has been an honor serving you, my lord.”