The Fallen Queen Part 4

An hour later, wrapped in cloaks over their new embroidered lawn shifts, with their hair still up in curling rags hidden beneath their hoods, my yawning, sleepy-eyed sisters and an exhausted Mrs. Ellen, who had pa.s.sed the entire night sitting beside Jane's bed to keep her from removing the hated curl rags, boarded a barge amidst a flurry of maids, including Kate's Henny and my Hetty, several seamstresses, supervised by Mrs. Leslie, and trunks filled with their wedding finery.

At Durham House, while the maids and sewing women flocked around my sisters, layering on the petticoats, lacing them breathlessly tight into their stays, and strapping on the padded b.u.m rolls to lend an added fullness to their hips and a bell-like sway to their skirts, their hands fluttering with busy haste over their bodies from head to toe, making sure each lace was tied and each layer fell smooth, nipping and tucking, pinning and primping, snipping away stray threads, and making a quick new st.i.tch where necessary, I sat alone by the window, my head resting against the cool, smooth gla.s.s, gazing down at the river. With my short stature I knew I would only be in the way if I tried to help, trampled underfoot and the scapegoat for nervous and frayed tempers. Thus, I alone saw Lord Herbert arriving with his handsome father, the Earl of Pembroke. But I kept silent. I didn't tell Kate. I knew that if I did she would shake off the maids and come rushing to the window, and I would always remember the look on her face as all her heavenly dreams came crashing down to earth.

The slight, sickly, whey-faced boy down below who stumbled and almost fell into the Thames while disembarking from the barge was no romantic hero. Indeed, his dashing, dark-haired father, so tall and slender in his black and silver brocade and velvet, with striking sleek silver wings at his ebony temples, was more likely to make a maiden's heart flutter. Poor Lord Herbert, even his hair seemed colourless! His clothes hung loose upon him, and even his hat seemed too large for his head, and the ostrich feather pinned to the sapphire blue velvet just seemed silly, not the graceful curling pure white plume on Lancelot's sparkling silver helm. No, this was not a strong, virile hero who had stepped out of a story to overwhelm his bride with bold embraces and kisses that burned like fire. This was another ailing animal to be added to Kate's menagerie, to be petted and pitied and nursed back to health. I could more readily picture Kate holding a cup of warm milk to his lips, stroking his hair, tucking him into bed, and telling him a story, more like a mother than a wife. I vowed then and there that I would close my eyes when the fatal moment came, when Kate approached her bridegroom at the altar; I just could not bear to see the disappointment upon her face.

"Look at me!" At Jane's despairing wail, I turned to see her shoving her way out from amidst the crush of maids and sewing women. "Look at me!" She flapped her hands futilely against the luxuriant richness of her gown as she stood, frowning, before the big silver looking gla.s.s even as Mrs. Leslie stepped forward to adjust the fall of green and yellow silk ribbons that floated down Jane's back from her crown of gilded rosemary and yellow gillyflowers. "I look as brazen as a bawd!" Jane cried, miserable and on the threshold of tears, as her hands twitched against the rich stuff of her skirts, itching to rip them away. She reached up and began to tug at the ruby necklace encircling her throat, insisting it was too tight. But our lady-mother slapped her hands away, hissing at her to stop lest she break it. How Jane hated that necklace! It was the one she called "Cousin Mary's b.l.o.o.d.y necklace" because the thin gold chain fit so snugly that the dark red rubies, shaped like tiny teardrops, created the illusion that her throat had been cut and blood was seeping from it, and the looser second and third chains, lined with the same rubies, made it appear as though drops of blood were dripping down to stain her breast. Since our Tudor cousins had, most strangely I thought, not been invited to the wedding, something which no one would explain to me, our lady-mother had sat Jane at her desk last night and made her pen a letter saying that though her dear cousin could not be with her on this most joyous day she would be wearing the necklace she had given her and thus would feel her dear presence hovering around her-"like a pair of loving arms," our lady-mother dictated-and Jane wrote obediently.

Seeing Jane's distress, I tried to suggest that the gold and jewelled gillyflower necklace that had been specially made would be far better on its own, that the bloodred seemed so jarring, like blood splashed upon the shimmering golden pallor of Jane's gown, but I was overruled. Our lady-mother insisted that Jane must wear the rubies so as not to offend our royal cousin, though I personally thought she would be far more offended by not having been invited. And besides, our lady-mother continued, with Kate standing beside her, glowing with the green fire of emeralds, Jane must have gems of a contrasting colour but similar richness to adorn her.

"Stop it, Jane!" Kate, radiant as the sun itself in her cloth-of-gold and cream gown with her unbound hair blazing and bouncing down her back like ringlets of red gold fire, stuck out her lips in a pout and stamped her foot down hard in its dainty golden slipper, rattling her gra.s.s green emeralds, diamonds, and pearls. "Why must you try to spoil it? You're not the only one who matters! This isn't just your day. In case you've forgotten, there are two other brides, and I happen to be one of them, and while I cannot speak for Catherine Dudley, I want today to be happy, a grand and glorious day that will live forever in my memory so that when I'm an old lady I can tell my grandchildren about it, and I would like to spare them a description of my sister's glum and sour countenance sulking and brooding throughout the ceremony and feast. You look beautiful, as every maid has a right to on her wedding day, and I am sure the learned Protestants of Europe will understand and forgive you for forsaking those glum, dowdy weeds you favour for just one day, since it is your wedding day, and I'm sure G.o.d will as well; He is said to be most forgiving."

"Well said, Katherine." Our lady-mother nodded as she moved to straighten the crown of gilded rosemary and jewelled flowers that Kate's impetuous tirade had knocked awry and gently turned her around to untangle and smooth the vibrant rainbow of silken ribbons trailing down her back. "A tad peppery perhaps, but you show promising signs of practicality and reason. If Lord Herbert is ever given a diplomatic post, I trust you shall prove yourself a great credit to him, and not merely as an ornament he will be proud to display."

I wormed my way between my two sisters, standing glaring at each other, and reached out to take their hands.

"Please, don't quarrel," I pleaded, my voice trembling with the tears I was trying so hard not to shed. "This is the last day we shall all be together for what may be a very long time. We are sisters, despite our differences, and even if we cannot agree about things like dresses, we can at least agree to love each other and not let our differences divide us. Please, Jane, forget the dress, it doesn't really matter. It's just material to cover your body, and, for your own sake, as well as ours-we who love you and like not to see you sad and sulking-please smile and try to make the best of it. Like Father always says, 'If Life gives you lemons, slice them and sprinkle them with sugar; if the hand of Fate hurls almonds down on you, mash them and make marzipan.' And I know you can, Jane; you're so clever! And you are so beautiful. I wish you could see that, and that it is truly not a bad or sinful thing. How could it be when it was G.o.d Himself that gave you your beauty? And you do not have to choose. You can be beautiful and brilliant too! Verily I should think most men would account it even more of a marvel to see a beautiful woman display such a sharp intellect when most care only for primping and pretty clothes. And I'm sure, if you are kind and make friends with him, once Guildford sees how much your studies mean to you, he will not make you forsake them. They say he studies singing; so you could be at your books while he is at his lessons, you could both set aside time for your private studies, I'm sure of it!"

With a great rustling of stiffened petticoats and embroidered and shimmering skirts and sleeves, my sisters knelt down and put their arms around me and leaned their cheeks against mine, and I tasted their tears as well as my own.

"I'm sorry, Kate," Jane said softly, reaching around me to squeeze her hand. "I shall endeavour not to spoil your day. You are right, as is Mary. I have been selfish, and I am sorry."

"Thank you, Jane," Kate said in a tremulous, tearful little voice. "I'm sorry too. I should not have lost my temper. I know you are unhappy, and I am sorry for it, so very sorry; I wish there were some way, some magic words or a wand I could wave, that would make you as happy about your marriage as I am about mine."

"The heart in those words is magic to me," Jane answered, and I was nigh crushed between them as they embraced, but I was so happy they had made their peace that I didn't mind at all. "And I shall try," Jane promised, "as Mary with Father's deliciously sage words advises, to make sugared lemons and marzipan out of what Life has given me."

"With Guildford you already have the lemons and gilt for the marzipan, so all you really need is sugar and almonds." Kate giggled, and I opened my eyes and saw both my sisters smiling through their tears and laughing. And it felt good; I felt warmed by love, sunshine, and hope.

"Everything will be all right now," I whispered, but it was more a prayer rather than an a.s.sertion.

I took each of my sisters by the hand and led them to stand before the mirror. We smiled at each other. We knew what to do; the ritual was dear and familiar.

"The brilliant one!" Jane stepped forward and declared herself to the looking gla.s.s.

"The beautiful one!" Kate followed with a saucy smile and sashaying hips.

And then came I. "The beastly little one!" I piped.

And then our lady-mother announced that it was time for the brides to go downstairs. As we clung together, I felt my sisters' bodies, and the hearts within them, jolt and start at those world-changing words. Silently, they each pressed their lips against my cheeks, then stood and let the maids straighten the ribbons and cascading hair flowing down their backs and smooth down their skirts and sleeves one last time. Then, their hands still holding mine, trembling beneath the great, gracefully flowing fur-cuffed bells of their over-sleeves, we three sisters walked out to the top of the stairs. I stood and watched them descend, and then I turned and made my way higher upstairs to the musicians' gallery where I would stand and watch, "like a little angel from her cloud," Kate said. "Our angel," Jane added. And then they left me and went downstairs to meet their destiny, to become wives and leave maidenhood behind, just as they had to leave me.

Standing on my tiptoes, despite the protesting pains it caused to cry out in my back, hips, and knees, I folded my arms atop the rail and gazed down upon the scene transpiring in the Great Hall below. The musicians, costumed in silver, to make yet another of Kate's dreams come true, were playing a short distance from where I stood, and they smiled and nodded kindly to me. Being players, who had spent their lives roving, entertaining others to fill their purses, playing at both fairs and the private parties of the n.o.bility, I was not the first dwarf they had seen, and they did not regard me with the same repulsion and superst.i.tious dread as most did, and between songs one of them laid down his lute and brought me a small stool to stand upon, to take the strain off my toes and ease my aching joints.

The wedding pa.s.sed in a gold and silver blur, through the shimmering wet veil of my tears and the blare of the music filling my ears, and then the feasting and dancing began and the musicians changed to a livelier tune. Though I could not see his face from my perch so high above, Father was, I could tell, as proud as a goose who had laid a golden egg as he presided over the long tables groaning beneath the weight of gilt platters heaped high with all kinds of dainties and delicacies he had chosen. There were towering pyramids of fruit and nuts, cheeses and sweetmeats, even little roast birds, and crayfish boiled to an angry red. There were so many, piled so high, that I feared they would collapse in an avalanche upon some unsuspecting guest who dared pluck a sugarplum from below. And in the centre of it all an immense and awesome wonderland of a salad with every kind of salad greens, vegetables, roots, and sugared flowers that human imagination could possibly think of tossed and mixed into a great gilded basin shaped like a scallop sh.e.l.l, presided over by a large marzipan sculpture rising out of its midst, depicting a trio of mermaids made in the brides' likenesses, with carrots and turnips and all the vegetables that could be carved like fishes, sharks, whales, dolphins, and turtles swimming upon the leafy sea of salad greens. I could just imagine Father boasting that one way or another he was determined to have a mermaid for his daughters, and that though he had lost one he had gained three more and these even better as they were made of marzipan.

And of course there was the cake. At one point Father even swung a squealing, happy Kate up onto the table to stand beside it in her golden gown to show that, true to his word, it towered above her. Kate was so happy! She picked up her skirts to show her pretty ankles and dainty, twinkling golden slippers and pranced joyously around the cake as though it were her dancing partner, until she stopped, laughingly crying out that she was dizzy, and several gentlemen pressed close to catch her as, with a joyous whoop, she leapt into their outstretched arms. And, as though she were a little girl, they threw her high into the air and caught her several times before setting her on her feet again and relinquishing her to the timidly smiling boy who was now her husband. Kate plucked a sunny yellow dandelion from the salad and smilingly tucked it behind his ear and gave his cheek a hearty, smacking kiss before she grasped his hand and laughingly led him off to dance, while Father, groaning and salivating in an ecstasy of gluttonous delight, dug both his hands into the cake, tearing out two great handfuls, and brought them to his mouth. The expression upon his face as he chewed conveyed such bliss I was certain he was imagining that he had died and gone to heaven.

Seeing her with him, I gave a great sigh of relief, feeling the fear fall from my heart and sink away into nothing; what had been big as a boulder was now the tiniest, most minuscule piece of gravel. She didn't seem disappointed at all; she must have been looking at him through the eyes of love. I pressed my hand to my lips, and though she could not see me, blew a kiss to my lovely, loving Kate, wishing her all the happiness in the world.

I glanced over at Jane and Guildford, sitting at the banquet table, and wished I could see love lighting up their faces. There seemed to be an invisible wall about them setting them apart from the other guests; though they were surrounded by smiling, happy revellers, these two alone took no pleasure in the day, looking as though they wished they were any place than at this grand party meant to celebrate their nuptials.

Fastidiously nibbling on a slice of sugared lemon and occasionally sipping from a gilded goblet, Guildford Dudley looked bored and beautiful. But Jane just looked sad and very pale, her eyes, indeed her entire expression, dull and dead. From time to time Guildford would reach out and touch her hand, as though to a.s.sure himself that she was still alive. Each time Jane would flash him an annoyed grimace and pull her hand away.

"Jane, you promised!" I wanted to shout down at her.

Watching them sitting there together, so strikingly and discordantly apart from all the gaiety, I sighed and shook my head as my fingers fiddled with the cameo pinned to my plum damask bodice. It was a wedding favour, given to all the most prominent and influential guests. Specially carved by an Italian craftsman, it depicted Guildford Dudley's handsome profile, and was wreathed by golden gillyflowers creating a cunning little frame that could be worn as either a pendant or a brooch. I was so surprised that I had been given one, I thought myself of so little consequence, but Guildford himself had presented it to me when I arrived at Durham House. Still in his gold brocade dressing gown and slippers with his golden hair bound up tight in curling rags, he had waved aside the servants who rushed to help him and knelt down before me and pinned it to my bodice with his own lily-white hands, explaining that I more than anyone deserved to have some beauty in my life. The words were pompous and condescending, but I could tell by his smile and the look in his pale green eyes, and the very fact that he made the gesture when there were so many much more important people he could have given it to, that this was a genuine act of kindness. Guildford was really not as bad as Jane made him seem. As I spent more time with him, I began to think that there was more to Guildford Dudley than most people realized, that his flamboyant ostentation was part of a role he was playing, and the joke was truly on those who never bothered to look beneath the surface.

I watched with great interest as Father approached this dour couple. Smiling broadly, with a flourish, he presented each of them with a golden bowl heaped high with salad. I saw Guildford smile, his hand reaching out to touch Father's as he set the bowl before him. Jane sullenly shoved her salad away, and Father smilingly drew the shunned bowl to himself as he sat down between them. He waggled his golden fork at Jane, his scolding marred by the great smile that graced his face, before he stuffed his mouth full of salad and gave his full attention to her bridegroom, chewing and nodding a.s.siduously at whatever Guildford was saying as a dandelion waggled up and down his chin, its stem caught in his beard. Jane folded her arms across her chest and glared hard at them, and harder still when Father, in a distinctly, and disturbingly, coquettish manner, leaned forward to feed Guildford some salad from his own fork, but neither of them appeared to feel the scorch of her censorious stare; they seemed lost in their own little world. Jane would later, most disparagingly, repeat some of their conversation to me.

His eyes on Guildford all the while, Father sipped from a golden goblet of "the splendid Rhenish" he had chosen and, laying a hand over Guildford's, asked how he found the wine.

Guildford smiled brightly and said, "Oh I just look to my right, and there it is every time! The servants keep filling my cup, so I keep drinking it. It must be very good wine; after all, why would anyone give me anything but the best?"

Beaming, Father leaned forward and looked past Guildford to address Jane. "Smile and be merry, Jane, you're the luckiest girl in the world! See what a clever, witty husband I have chosen for you?"

Jane just glowered. "I thought my lady-mother chose him for me."

"Well ..." The smile on Father's face faltered, but only for a moment, and then he brightened. "But as her husband all her property is mine, and that includes her ideas, so, when you think about it that way, I did choose him."

To which Jane just rolled her eyes and snorted and wished she could disappear.

I was still watching them, marvelling at Father's perplexing behaviour, the way he kept feeding and reaching out to touch and caress Guildford so familiarly; such affection for a son-in-law seemed unwarranted and disturbing, indeed for even a naturally born son, or even a daughter, it would have been peculiar, there was a sensuality about it that made it appear so ... intimate. I was thus preoccupied when Kate came bounding up the stairs, her gold and cream skirts. .h.i.tched high so she wouldn't tear or trip over them. A footman followed her, carrying a big golden platter heaped high with a thoughtfully chosen selection of roasted meats, cheese, and sweets just for me. Kate, in the midst of the glorious whirl of her own wedding, had not forgotten me and had actually taken time to prepare a plate with all my favourites.

"Mary, I am so happy!" she cried, throwing her arms about me and hugging me tight. "May you be just as happy on your own wedding day! I wouldn't worry too much about Lord Wilton," she added, seeing my woeful, doubtful expression. "You've years to wait before you come of age, and someone better, whom our parents deem just as advantageous a match, may come along. Now that I am a married lady and shall be going to court, you may rest a.s.sured, I shall look out for someone better for you. I want my little sister to be happy! I shall pray every day that love will find you, Mary, so you can know this marvellous and immeasurable joy! You deserve it! And G.o.d and Life cannot be so cruel as to deny you this bliss because of a caprice of Mother Nature!"

The musicians could not take their eyes off my Kate. She was as radiant as the sun, so jubilant and vivacious, she made everyone smile. Kate laughed and thanked them heartily for their good wishes and the wonderful music, and when she spied one of them, the youngest, a tabor player, hungrily ogling my plate, she inquired if they had yet eaten. Ashamed at his lapse in manners and too shy to answer, the boy reddened and hung his head, so the sackbut player spoke for him, explaining that it was customary for them to take their share of the leavings after the banquet was finished and the guests had left the hall.

"But all the best will be gone by then!" Kate protested. "No, you simply must have something now, I insist!" Before any could stop her, she was flying down the stairs again, skirts. .h.i.tched high with her long train bouncing behind her, and the footman rushing after, only to return a few minutes later with four more footmen, all of them bearing flagons of wine and high-piled, golden platters, to provide us with a little feast all our own.

"I wish I could stay and dance and enjoy it with you," she said regretfully, tarrying at the top of the stairs with a sad little smile, like one torn between two worlds, "but I must go back; they're waiting for me ..."

"I know," I said, and squeezed her hand. "It's all right, Kate. We understand. Go and be happy."

"Mary ..." She hesitated again. "I wish you would come downstairs. I don't like to think of you apart and lonely like this. Please come down ..."

"I am not lonely. I am with my sisters on their wedding day; every time you think of me, I will be right there with you. And when you dance, through you, I am dancing. And this really is better," I a.s.sured her with a wave at the gallery. "I can see everything from up here; down there I would be lost in a swirl of skirts and see nothing but legs and b.u.t.tocks. I would be bruised black and blue before the day is through from being jostled and b.u.mped and trod on. Go on now"-I shooed her away-"your guests, and your husband, are waiting for you!"

With another hug and a kiss she was gone. I watched the sparkling train of her golden skirt skipping down the stairs after her, like a puppy's happily wagging tail.

The musicians took it in turns to play while others of their number ate. To my delight, several danced with me, and so gallant and kind were they that I felt sure they truly enjoyed it. I kicked my heels high with gay abandon and whooped with joy when they swung me high. All of them praised Kate, and I saw that my sister had captured a dozen more hearts that day. The young tabor player in particular would never forget her, or her kindness, and many years later when I chanced to meet him at a court celebration, I would discover, though he was much too shy to ever publicly declare it, that he had written the popular song "Mistress Sunshine" as a tribute to her, the beautiful young bride in her golden gown who had come like a dancing sunbeam up the stairs to the gallery bearing treats for the troupe of musicians who played for her on her wedding day.

Then, like a sudden rainstorm come to ruin a perfect day, everything seemed to go wrong. I rushed to the rail to look down as sudden screams and the noise of retching filled the air. Down below me in the Great Hall people were running and staggering every which way in a blind panic, falling to their knees, grasping their bellies, and being violently sick. There was the thunderous rumble of footsteps upon the stairs as they ran for whatever private rooms and privies they could find, or fled the Great Hall to relieve themselves in the pleasure gardens behind the house, and yet more rushed out into the streets or to the river and stumbled into their waiting barges, presumably to make their way home or to the nearest apothecary, though it seemed more than likely to me that the swaying current of the river would make them sicker before they reached their destination.

I saw Father, looking none too well himself, wading through the panicked crowd, carrying a green-tinged Guildford Dudley, who had apparently fainted, and lay back limp as a rag doll in Father's arms as he carried him tenderly upstairs. Guildford's mother, clucking like a frantic mother hen over her favorite golden chick, followed anxiously behind, then darted ahead to open the door to Guildford's bedchamber, herself green-faced and sweating profusely in her rust red satin gown, wringing her hands and crying for someone to fetch a doctor quickly.

High above in the musicians' gallery, we were safe and at no risk of being jostled, trampled, and crushed by the herd of frightened, confused, and puking humanity.

"The fish?" the flutist guessed, lowering his instrument.

"Something was off." The sackbut player shrugged, and all as one turned and looked warily at the table where the remains of our own little feast lay.

"It was the salad!" I piped up. "Everyone who is sick, I saw partake of the salad! Someone must have plucked some bad leaves, mistaking them for good and wholesome salad greens."

"Aye"-the hautboy player nodded-"I've seen this before. 'Tis what you'd expect from a city wedding; 'twould never happen in the country. People there know which greens won't gripe the belly and turn the bowels to stink water."

"Praise be!" they all chorused as we all heaved a great, grateful sigh that the sickness had pa.s.sed us by, and the musicians struck up a lively air hoping to calm the ailing ma.s.ses below us. Kate had not brought us any of the salad; the crowd around it had been so dense, and she was in such a hurry to bring us our treats. I had seen her tarry a moment uncertainly beside it, judging how long the wait would be, then, with a wave beckoning the footmen to follow her, rush on up the stairs to us.

Where was Kate now? Had she or Lord Herbert been stricken? Vainly my eyes sought to pick her out, but somehow I missed her in the crush of the crowd. I was tempted to risk being trampled and go in search of her, but the rebec player reached out his hands and gently stayed me, and, with a twinkle in his eyes, informed me that he had seen her and her bridegroom taking full advantage of the confusion to slip away, "and neither of them seemed even a wee bit sick to me, little mistress," he added with a wink. All the musicians laughed and nodded knowingly, many of them adding that the young Lord Herbert was a "most fortunate" and "a very lucky" man. The cittern player even went so far as to say he wished he could trade places with him for a night, but the lute player elbowed him sharply in the ribs and said he shouldn't speak so in the presence of the lady's sister, adding, "'Tis not meet for such young ears."

Soon the Great Hall was all but empty. Only a few servants and Jane remained. My eldest sister sat calmly at the deserted banquet table. I saw her nonchalantly pluck up a peac.o.c.k tongue, pop it in her mouth, and wash it down with a sip of malmsey wine before she meandered off in the direction of the Duke of Northumberland's library, showing not the least concern that her husband had been amongst those taken ill.

Since there was no longer anyone to play for, the musicians laid down their instruments, loosened the laces that held their silver-frilled collars tight, and gave their full attention to what was left of our feast. And I, knowing that both my sisters were well, was pleased to join them.

Some time later, a lady with her sleeves pinned and rolled up and an ap.r.o.n tied over her green and silver gown came softly up the stairs with a straw basket slung over her arm. She shyly inquired if we were well or, gesturing to her basket, if we had need of dosing. "I've celery tonic, mint and wormwood syrup, conserve of roses, quinces, ginger suckets, and sugared aniseeds, if you do; all good for calmin' a tempest ragin' in the belly." She was a pet.i.te, round-hipped, buxom little woman, who spoke with a broad country accent, but she was very pretty, with a wealth of golden hair that she had unloosed from its pins, blue green eyes like the finest emerald mated in true love with a turquoise, and a timid, tentative smile I longed to see cast aside its shyness and show its full glory.

She had such a kind face and a gentle way about her, with no hauteur at all; I liked her instantly. She didn't shy away from me in fear, avert her eyes, or look at me with pity or contempt or treat me any differently than she would any other little girl. In her eyes, I was normal, and I loved her for it, as strange as that may seem when I didn't even know her.

Of course, I knew who she was. I had overheard some of the other women laughing and making cruel sport of her while they were helping Jane and Kate to dress. The Dudley girls had spoken of her with blistering disdain and a scorching contempt, and had piled pity upon their brother, sighing again and again, "Poor Robert!" Her name was Amy Robsart, and she was Lord Robert Dudley's wife, the one he had married in hot l.u.s.t at seventeen, but now, not quite three years later, no longer wanted, and loathed his youthful folly more than he had ever loved this sweet lady.

How sad, I thought, that her own husband, and the rest of his family, thought that she was too far beneath him to be welcome in their proud and ill.u.s.trious company, when I, a mere child, could see that she was worth more than the lot of them put together. I wanted to tell her, "You deserve better," but I didn't dare risk such a presumption, though years later, when Amy lay dead, with a broken neck to match her broken heart, and her name was on everyone's lips, providing a banquet for the gossips and scandalmongers, I would always remember that moment and regret that I had not taken her hand and spoken up boldly. She truly did deserve better. Not only did her own husband fail her, but her own body did too-when she died under those most mysterious circ.u.mstances she had been suffering from cancer of the breast.

The rebec player gave the Lady Amy a randy leer. "Aye, mistress, our bellies are fine, but I'd take a dose from you any time." He smiled invitingly and made so bold as to ask, "May I trouble you for a quince from your basket, mistress?" which she gladly gave though it was clear he was not troubled by the bellyache.

Blushing a little, she started to turn away, but at the top of the stairs, she hesitated and added shyly that we were all most welcome to come down to the kitchen. "Now that all those taken sick have been settled, we've mincemeat tarts and gingerbread with hot cider to drink, and apples sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar roastin' in the fire, and 'tis a right lively company, sittin' 'round the hearth, singin' and spinnin' tales. And if you'd care to play for us, some country dances per'aps, if you know any, 'twould give us all much pleasure. And you can have all you wish of what's left of the feast, to eat now or to take away with you-'tis only the salad that's tainted. There's not a one ill who didn't eat of it, and it would be a right shame to see all the rest go to waste when there's so much of it an' not a thing wrong with it."

"Shall we, lads?" the sackbut player asked. "What say you, little mistress?" He smiled down at me. We were all in agreement that we should go, and the lute player gallantly gave me a ride on his shoulders-"I shall be your litter, my little queen," he teased-and soon we were down in the kitchen, where we were welcomed warmly as old friends and plied with all the gingerbread, cider, mincemeat tarts, and roasted apples we could eat. The Lady Amy took it in turns to partner each of the men with great gusto and grace in the vigorous and lively country dances, holding her skirts up high to show off her green stockings and her fast-moving feet flashing swiftly in their silver slippers. She never missed a step or stumbled at a high kick, and laughed as her partners spun her around dizzily and swung her high in the air, her hip-length hair flying out behind her like a banner of gold. For a time she seemed to forget her cares and I loved seeing her so high-spirited and lighthearted; many who never even knew her would say in years to come that she was a wan, wretched, and miserable woman, and though illness and heartbreak may have made her so, I can say with complete certainty that she wasn't naturally, nor always, that way. Whatever happened to her happened because of the deadly combination of Robert Dudley and cancer.

When she was not dancing, Lady Amy took me to sit on her lap, saying, if I would allow her the liberty and be so kind as to indulge her, she wanted to "pretend for a spell that you're my own little girl." I readily a.s.sented and together we listened intently to the storytellers, relishing each word, laughing, gasping, shuddering, and wiping away tears by turns, though as darkness fell, they turned more to tales of terror, ghosts, and beasties that made us shiver despite our nearness to the fire.

My parents and nurse, preoccupied with their own ails, had forgotten all about me, and I stayed up later than I ever had in my life. The first b.u.t.ter gold glow of dawn was already lighting the sky when the musicians took their leave, and the Lady Amy, marvelling that she had been so remiss and not sent me to bed hours ago, scooped me up in her arms, balancing me against her broad hip, and carried me up to one of the guest rooms.

"But I don't want to go to sleep!" I protested as she stripped me down to my shift. And as the tears began to trickle down my face, she sat and stroked my hair and asked me why.

"Surely you are tired, poppet, I know I'm all done in. Look"-she lifted her foot-"I've danced a hole clean through my slipper!"

"Because when I lie quiet and still waiting for sleep I will not be able to help but think how much I shall miss my sisters," I said. "I've lost them both in the same day, and now they're both going away, to new homes, and I shall be all alone at Bradgate; Father and my lady-mother are so often away at court, and when they are home they are always hunting or hosting parties and have time for no one but their guests."

"Aye, I see"-the Lady Amy nodded-"and I know just what you mean about the thoughts that come to trouble one in the quiet stillness before sleep. What beastly little imps those thoughts are!" Then she brightened. "But I'm certain your sisters will be havin' you to visit soon. I'm sure they'll be vyin' for the pleasure of your company, and you'll find yourself feelin' you've no fixed home at all, you'll spend so much time on the road goin' from one to the other. While the young brides are settlin' into married life, if you get too lonely, you're welcome to come and bide a while with me at Stanfield Hall or Syderstone Manor; I still live with my parents as my husband has yet to settle on a proper establishment for us. He's so particular about these things, Robert is, and everything must be just so or not at all." She heaved a little sigh and shook her head, and I sensed sadness and frustration hovering in the air about her, but she quickly shook it off and smiled at me. "But you would be most welcome to visit anytime you like. I could take you out to see the sheep, we've got three thousand of them, and the orchards; Syderstone has the best apples in England, I always say you've never tasted an apple if you've never sunk your teeth into a Syderstone apple. If you'd care to come durin' the harvest, we have the grandest party, with dancin' and music and a big bonfire and bobbin' for apples, and every one of the dishes laid on the table has apples in it in some form or fashion-from the meats to the sweets. Our cider is the best in the whole of England, and I challenge anyone to prove me wrong!"

"I would like that very much," I said, and thanked her for her kindness, secretly praying that my parents would allow me to go, and she sat beside me, softly singing a charming little song about a shepherd and his flock, until I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of fleecy white sheep, rosy red apples, and clanking cups br.i.m.m.i.n.g with golden cider.

Early the next morning, blinking and yawning in the watery yellow sun, my sisters and their husbands descended the stairs to board the barges that would take them away to begin married life. They were no longer little girls, but wives now, with their hair pinned up in nets of gold beneath their round velvet caps. It was such a sudden and startling transformation, as though they had crossed a threshold as little girls with free-flowing tresses and entered a new room as elegant young matrons with their hair primly pinned up. Now they must go away from me, from childhood and all that was dear and familiar, and learn how to please their husbands, order their households, command their servants like queens overseeing their own little realms, and endeavour to always be on pleasant terms with their in-laws.

Strangely, neither marriage had yet been consummated, the Duke of Northumberland and our parents having agreed on it for reasons I did not understand. Both couples were under strict orders and would be watched to make sure they obeyed, not to commit the ultimate intimacy until they received permission directly from Northumberland. Kate was twelve, almost thirteen, and she had been bleeding every month for almost a year, and thus was considered a woman, so her age was surely not the reason for this prohibition. Why it must be so with Jane and Guildford, at fifteen and sixteen, I could not fathom; many women were wedded and bedded and carrying their first child by the time they turned sixteen.

Kate looked radiantly happy, her face and eyes glowing, as she danced down the stairs in her gold-embroidered apricot velvet with peach and white plumes swaying gracefully atop her round velvet hat, and the magnificent set of fire opals she had chosen when Father brought the jeweller to her and said she might choose anything she wished from amongst his wares. When I saw her I almost wept-how I missed the sight of her coppery curls bouncing and bobbing as though with a life of their own. It seemed unnatural to see them pinned tight with diamond-tipped pins and confined inside the glittering prison of a golden net beneath her hat. As soon as she caught sight of her husband, waiting for her downstairs, she gave a cry of delight and ran to throw her arms around him.

But Jane moved as though her shoes were soled in lead, her gold-fringed and embroidered moss green velvet skirts dragging behind her like a dead weight. She looked as angry as the fierce and ornate fire-belching, ruby-eyed, emerald, sapphire, amethyst, and jade scaled golden dragon brooch her new mother-in-law had given her just before she came downstairs, kissing her once on each cheek before pinning it to Jane's hat, just below the puff of white ostrich plumes that made that hideous bejewelled dragon look as though clouds of steam were billowing from its pointed ears. Beneath her hat's round brim, Jane's face was pale as chalk, her freckles standing out stark as smallpox, and there were dark circles around her eyes, as though she hadn't slept at all.

Though his stomach had settled, and he had pa.s.sed a peaceful night, Guildford, his face startlingly pale against the ornate gold-embroidered claret velvet of his travelling clothes, was still feeling weak and wobbly, and Father insisted on carrying him down the stairs and laying him gently in the barge and pressing into his hand a gilded pomander ball, scented with oranges and cloves, to mask the river's vile reek. He tarried quite a time, causing our lady-mother to tap her booted toe impatiently, as he tucked a fur rug around Guildford, caressed his golden hair, plumped his pillows, petted Fluff, nestled in the crook of Guildford's arm, and presented his "beautiful new son-in-law" with two comfit boxes-a silver one with icy green enamel filled with sugared aniseeds, mint lozenges, candied quinces, and crystallized ginger in case his stomach should trouble him again, and a gold one with sunny yellow enamel emblazoned with golden suns containing sugared lemon slices, "just because you like them, and because I like you, and these remind me of you, so I hope they will remind you of me and how much I ... like you." Father blushed and rambled as our lady-mother sighed and rolled her eyes, saying aside to Guildford's mother that having such a husband was like having a little boy who never grew up.

"I'm so happy!" Guildford, suddenly all aglow, exclaimed, sitting up and hugging his knees and smiling. "I feel like singing!" He threw his arms wide, as if to embrace the sun above, and opened his mouth in readiness to let the first notes out.

"Oh no, Guildford, you mustn't do that!" his older brother John exclaimed, quickly throwing himself forward to clap a hand over Guildford's mouth. "All that puking last night will have left your throat frightfully raw."

"If you force it, you will only make it worse," his brother Ambrose cautioned severely.

"Quite right," his father, the all powerful John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, agreed, so suave and smiling, gracious and benign that any who didn't know him and his reputation would never have guessed that here was the most ruthless and ambitious man in England, a man who would stop at nothing to get what he desired. "You might damage your voice," he continued. "Don't you agree, Maestro Cocozza, that Guildford should not sing?" He turned to Guildford's Italian music master, waiting to board another, rather crowded barge with Guildford's valet, hairdresser, the secretary who wrote all his letters and also read aloud to him, the French and Italian tutors Guildford considered vital to his singing aspirations, laundress, page boys, musicians, sewing women, the man who looked after his pets, the French pastry cook Father had given the young couple as a wedding present, and, just for Jane, the prim, black-clad Mrs. Ellen, who had with Jane's marriage risen from nurse to lady's maid.

With much flourishing of his hands and a spew of rapid Italian, the music master agreed, in the most emphatic terms, that Guildford should most definitely not sing.

I tugged Lady Amy's skirt to get her attention, and when she bent down I asked, "Does he not sing well?"

"Well ..." Her smile faltered. "His talent doesn't quite match his enthusiasm. Which is a right shame since he loves singin' so, but, to put it as kindly as I can," she whispered, lowering her voice even more to make sure Guildford wouldn't hear, "when he hits the high notes he sounds just like a cat yowlin' in heat, he does, poor lad!"

"When he was fifteen, Guildford ran away from home and tried to join a theatrical company," the d.u.c.h.ess of Northumberland with a fond and indulgent smile, confided to our lady-mother, who was standing beside her, tapping her leather-booted toe and looking impatient and bored, "but the manager brought him straight home, and right back into my loving arms. He said that Guildford was not made for the stage. Even he could see how delicate and sensitive my darling is, just like a hothouse rose that would wilt and perish without his mother's love."

"I don't think that's quite what the man meant, Mother," Ambrose Dudley opined.

"Nonsense!" the d.u.c.h.ess cried. "What else could he mean?"

"Well, I took it to mean that Guildford can't sing to save his life much less to earn his bread and board," Amy's husband, Robert, the fifth surviving Dudley son, whispered back to her, and Ambrose and John nodded their heads in emphatic agreement.

"For shame!" the d.u.c.h.ess scolded her brood of black-haired boys. "I'm ashamed of you all! You should be proud of your brother's talent and accomplishments, not jealous!"

"Come now, Mother, you know we all love Gillyflower!" Robert retorted, using the family's pet name for their gilt-haired darling. "'Twas just a jest! You wouldn't want Guildford to think too highly of himself and get a reputation for being conceited, would you?"

"My Gilded Lily conceited? Never!" the d.u.c.h.ess scoffed.

I found it rather touching that though they all, with the possible exception of the deluded d.u.c.h.ess, deplored Guildford's singing and strove vigilantly to keep him from embarra.s.sing himself, none of them wanted to hurt his feelings by letting him know.

Guildford frowned uncertainly and reached up to stroke his throat. "Well, if you really think it unwise ..." And since everyone was so quick to a.s.sure him that they did indeed think it "most unwise," he lay back against his pillows again. "Perhaps I should rest my throat for a few days. It does feel a trifle red ..."

"I think that's a wonderful idea, dear!" his mother exclaimed, and all his brothers and sisters were quick to agree and praise him for his self-discipline and good sense.

"I shall have the apothecary prepare a soothing syrup and send it on to you," his sister, the recently married Lady Mary Sidney, promised.

"One that tastes good," Guildford stipulated. "If it doesn't taste good, I won't drink it!"

"I shall insist upon it," she promised.

"Threaten him with hanging," Guildford advised, "if it tastes the least bit vile or bitter, then he will be sure to make it very sweet."

"When he knows who it is for, I am sure he will make it just as sweet as you are!" Father breathed like a love-bedazzled maid.

"Of course he will." Guildford smiled and nodded confidently as he sank back against the velvet cushions, drawing the purring Fluff close against his chest and stroking his silky white fur. "If my beauty doesn't inspire him, fear of hanging certainly will."

"Oh what a wit you are!" Father breathed rapturously. "You have such a way with words!"

"They just spring up in my head like roses in full bloom, and I say them so that the world can enjoy them too." Guildford beamed. "It would be selfish to keep my thoughts entirely to myself."