Venus by Jane Feather

original. “We didn’t see too much of the court in Botolph Lane,” she said, her dimples peeping. “For some reason, the king didn’t frequent the Dog tavern.”
    There was a short silence. Nick bent to the fire, lighting a taper to kindle his pipe. He regarded her gravely through a fragrant, curling wisp of smoke. “That was a fine piece of impertinence, you rag-mannered brat. You’re going to have to learn more than your letters if you wish to take your place in the world you have chosen. And one thing you must learn is that overt rudeness is inexcusable. You will
never ever
hear anyone offering the least apparent discourtesy, however much they might feel it warranted. You will hear elaborate compliments that mean nothing. You will hear insults conveyed by soft words and smiles. You will hear gossip spread and reputations destroyed by a seeming kind word, but
never
will you hear an impolite observation. If you transgress that rule, you might as well return to the Dog tavern, because there will be no place for you in the theatre or at court.”
    Polly nibbled her lip. “It does not sound very pleasant.”
    “It isn’t,” Richard said. “But one becomes accustomed to it. Now, I accept that you could not possibly have any firsthand knowledge of court life; that was not, as it happens, the point of my question. However, I would like you to tell me what, if anything, you have heard about the way the court is managed. Do you know the names of any of the king’s counselors, for instance?”
    Polly frowned. “I beg your pardon if I was impolite. I did not mean to be, but it seemed a silly question. I see now that it wasn’t.” She looked intent and anxious at the two men with an expression of heartrending penitence.
    “There is no need for such a tragic mien,” Nick said with a slight smile. “You are pardoned, and I trust you will remember the lesson in the future. Now, why do you not answer Richard’s question?”
    Polly thought, playing with the quill pen between her fingers. “Sometimes there was talk in the tavern; occasionally there would be a traveler, or a merchant … They would complain of the taxes … The king spending a lot of money …” She looked up for confirmation.
    Richard nodded. “Anything else you remember?”
    “Some quarrel with the Dutch,” Polly said. “There is talk that there will be another war, and it will be very expensive and there’ll be more taxes. But the king wants it, although I do not know exactly why.” Her frown deepened as she concentrated on snatches of conversations that she had heard while serving in the tavern. “One of the king’s counselors is against it, though. I cannot remember his name.” Absently, she stuck the ink-stained end of the quill into her mouth, then removed it with a grimace, touching her fingertip to her tongue to see if much ink had found its way into her mouth. “The chancellor!” she declared in triumph. “He is against a war.”
    “Aye, Clarendon,” Richard said. “You know how to keep your ears open, it would seem.”
    “There was talk of the king’s mistresses, too,” Polly went on. “He seems to have a great many of them, but there are two in particular. I do not recall their names.”
    “Lady Castlemaine and Frances Stewart,” supplied Nick. “What was said of them?”
    “Oh, that the king spends too much time minding his lust and his pleasures, and the government is chargeable for his pleasures, and things were managed better under a commonwealth,” she declared fluently. “The talk was always alongthose lines. I do not think people are very happy with things as they are.”
    Richard smiled softly, exchanging another satisfied nod with Nick. Untutored she may be, but Mistress Wyat clearly had a lively mind, and a sense of the wider world. She could be schooled for their purposes.
    “I think perhaps you should return to the silver,” Nick said, glancing to the mantel, where the clock of black mahogany, its base