Page 25 of The Favourite

“You!” Alisander said, pointing to the burliest. “Go out and help carry him in.”

The man looked as though he would like to refuse but did not quite dare. Sullenly, grumbling under his breath, he made his way outside.

“Will someone kindly go and fetch Mistress Beth,” Jane asked. “Tell her that Lady Helen’s sister is below.” A pinched-faced woman hesitated, then turned on her heel and marched off, presumably to do her bidding.

“Go and fetch Sir Phillip Cecil from his bed,” Alisander said, turning to the most senior-looking servant. “Or should I say, from our bed,” he amended thoughtfully. “For I make no doubt he has helped himself to the grandest chamber.”

Jane felt her color rise but said nothing as the servant slunk away. “Have him laid down,” she said urgently as Wat and the other man carried in the fallen driver. “His wound must be dressed, for I can see it has broken out with bleeding again.”

“Where is the Great Hall?” her husband demanded. “Through here?” No one answered, so Jane nodded, and he gestured to Wat and his helper, who bore Davis off in that direction. “You!” he said, pointing to another skulking servant. “Have our horses attended to. They need stabling.” The man mumbled something, but when Bardulf turned to face him, he quickly hurried outside.

“What a curious bunch,” he commented laconically. “Come, my dear.” He offered his arm and Jane took it and found herself escorted into the Great Hall.

Wat, having arranged Davis onto a wooden bench, was now poking out the fireplace and coaxing the remains of a blaze back into life. “The house cannot long have been abed,” he commented, glancing up. “You there, go and bid someone bring my lord and lady refreshment from the kitchen.”

The burly man who had helped carry Davis in, started mumbling something about waiting to hear “what the master would say about this.”

“I am your master,” Bardulf replied, sounding bored. “At least, until I decide to have you replaced, that is.” A hurried footfall in the doorway had them all turning their heads.

“What is this? What is all this sound and fury?” Sir Phillip Cecil demanded tetchily. He looked ill-put together, as though he had dressed in a great hurry. “Pounding at a man’s door at this hour of night! It is outrageous!”

“My dear sir, the hour is not much past ten. You are keeping country hours indeed if you imagine the hour an advanced one.”

Sir Phillip froze, staring at him in horror. “Viscount Bardulf?” he said hoarsely and gave a stiff bow. Jane noticed the servants stirring.

“Yes, it is I. My wife, I think you know already,” Alisander said, turning toward Jane and holding out his hand.

Jane took it and gave a brief dip for her curtsey. “Uncle,” she said briefly.

Her uncle stared at her accusingly. What have you done? his narrowed gaze seemed to say. “This is a house in mourning,” he said coldly. “I apologize if your welcome was lacking; however, we are ill-equipped for visitors at present—”

“You quite mistake the matter, my dear sir. We are not visiting,” Alisander replied lazily. “We are taking possession.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“By royal command, no less.”

“Taking possession?” Sir Phillip echoed, plainly horrified by this news.

“Indeed. I have papers here, proving that Lady Bardulf and I are the new possessors of this estate and legal guardians of the child, Celestia.”

Sir Phillip’s face turned a mottled color. It was dark in the Great Hall with none of the candles lit, but even in the gloom, Jane could see he had turned quite purple. “I don’t believe it!” he flung back at them, collapsing into a seat. “This is preposterous!”

The murmuring from the servants who had crept into the hall showed he was not the only one.

“Naturally, I do not expect you to take my word on the matter,” her husband responded mildly. “As I said, I bring papers with official seals.” He glanced about. “Wat?”

His servant was already unbuckling a pack to retrieve said papers. “My lord, I have them here,” he said, ignoring Sir Phillip’s outstretched hand and taking them instead to his master.

“Thank you.” Bardulf unfurled the papers and started to read the King’s edict in a monotone voice. Jane paid no attention to this, for she already knew the substance of it. Instead, she drifted over to the bench where the injured man lay outstretched. A groom was dabbing at his head with a cloth.

“Is he conscious?” she asked in a low voice.

“Aye, though someone tried to dash his brains out, alright,” the man answered, his eyes flickering nervously to Lord Bardulf and back again.

“Well, it was not my husband,” Jane corrected him shortly. “There was a wagon lying in the road. At our approach, they pretended distress and asked for assistance.” That must have been when they attacked Davis, she supposed.

The groom nodded. “A robber’s ruse,” he said glumly, “to take folk unawares.”