Read The Wanton Angel for Free Online

intimate friends were at Court and persons of consequence seemed strangely uninterested in conversing with him. When her Grace made her accustomed flamboyant entrance and swept across to the throne, seizing attention with sovereign assurance, Lord Westfield felt oddly out of place, a foreigner making his first bemused appearance in London, an outsider, a newcomer, an exile. It was a paradox. In theplace where he was most at home, he was now an unwanted intruder. It made him furtive.
    There was no opportunity to get within five yards of the Queen. Ringed by her favourites, she flirted gaily and indulged in badinage until the Portuguese ambassador was admitted to the Chamber with his train and a less sportive note was introduced. Pleasantries passed between the two countries but Lord Westfield did not even try to listen to them. His gaze was fixed on the hated Earl of Banbury, an unrepentant old sybarite with a goatee beard and such costly apparel that it stood out even in such a glorious wardrobe as the English Court. What was his rival up to this time? It was a question which tormented Lord Westfield for hours.
    Only when the Queen departed could he begin to seek an answer to his question. As they streamed out of the Presence Chamber in chattering groups, Lord Westfield tried first to engage the Master of the Revels in conversation but the latter excused himself rather brusquely and strode off. Even more disturbed than before, Lord Westfield now fell in beside Sir Patrick Skelton, a short, stocky man in his forties with the distinctive strut of a seasoned courtier. Skelton had such an affable manner that no rebuff could be feared from him and, though he was a deeply political animal, he also had a rare capacity for honesty in a world where dissembling was the more common currency. When the moment served, Lord Westfield took him by the elbow and guided him into a quiet corner.
    ‘A word, Sir Patrick,’ he said.
    ‘As many as you like, my lord,’ came the obliging reply.
    ‘Her Majesty was in fine fettle today.’
    ‘When is she not? Even the sprightliest of us is put to shame by her vivacity.’ He gave a benign smile. ‘But that is not what you drew me aside to talk about, my lord, is it?’
    ‘No, Sir Patrick.’
    There was a long pause as Lord Westfield searched for the right words to broach an awkward topic. Skelton tried to help him out of his difficulty.
    ‘You wish to ask me about affairs of state,’ he prompted.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Then do not be diffident. It does not become you and it sits ill with your reputation for plain speaking.’
    Lord Westfield cleared his throat. ‘You are trusted and respected,’ he began, ‘as a man of complete integrity. Though you hear every whisper that flies around inside these ancient walls, you are careful to separate idle speculation from hard fact. You never spread wild rumours or pass on any of the scurrilous tales which daily reach your ears.’
    ‘Spare me this flattery, my lord. It is not needed.’
    ‘I merely wished to show you the high esteem in which I hold you, Sir Patrick.’
    ‘Your praise is gratefully accepted. Now speak out.’
    ‘What is going on?’
    ‘Going on, my lord?’
    ‘Something is in the wind concerning my theatre company and I have a strong feeling that Westfield’s Men will suffer as a result. I would like some warning of what exact form the threat takes.’
    ‘How do you know that there
is
a threat?’
    ‘Because of the way the Earl of Banbury looked at me.’
    ‘That is all the evidence you have?’
    ‘It is enough in itself.’
    ‘Hardly.’
    ‘Then add to it the fact that his friends were clearly in on the conspiracy and enjoying themselves at my expense.’
    ‘Conspiracy? Too strong a word, surely?’
    ‘I think not. The Master of the Revels is involved in it.’
    ‘Why,’ said the other softly, ‘what is Sir Edmund Tilney’s crime against you? Has he, too, been guilty of looking at you in a certain way?’
    ‘He ignored