by Mez Blume
“Are you well, Katie?” Sophia asked as we climbed back into the carriage.
“Oh, yeah,” I smiled. “I was just thinking of my family. This church reminds me of the one my grandparents go to, not far from here.”
She patted my hand with her gloved one and smiled sympathetically. “I was thinking, you know. Tonight Master Van Hoebeek will be occupied among the courtiers. It may be the perfect time to speak with Tom Tippery. I’ll help you find him as soon as I can escape without being missed.”
“Thank you,” I said. And I meant it. I was enjoying every minute of my adventure, but I would enjoy it so much more if I knew when and how I’d be getting back home again.
13
A Royal Welcome
I first laid eyes on the Earl and Countess just before the arrival of the Royal Court. I had a good view of them where they stood in the gatehouse carriageway. All the household servants that could be spared, along with the Earl and his family, lined up in front of the house to greet the King and his procession. The Earl looked like a very solemn man with his black scholarly gown and long, white beard. The Countess was much younger, but she too looked no-nonsense in a heavy, brown gown and boxy hat. She was boxy all over, actually, and as stout as a pony.
When at last the King’s Court arrived, it was like watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York City, only with horses, carriages and canopies in place of floats, balloons and convertibles. Up they came through the leafy park, carriage after carriage pulled by some of the most handsome horses I have ever seen. When the footmen opened the carriage doors, we all strained our necks to see what manner of plumes, frills and laces would emerge next. The courtiers made a fascinating fashion show as they passed under the gatehouse arches, bowing and curtseying to the Earl and Countess.
After so many bows and curtseys that I thought the poor Earl’s knees would give out (he did look about a hundred), a carriage unlike any before it appeared on the hill, and everyone gasped. It was covered in gold, from its hanging tassels to its wheel spokes. The figures of a golden lion and unicorn stood on the top like a decoration on top of a cake. By the time I caught the whispers of “The King and Queen!”, I’d already figured it out. This was the royal carriage itself.
When the groom opened the carriage door, I half expected Cinderella to step out. I wouldn’t have known if she had; the crowd pressed in for a closer look and blocked my view. The other servants were standing on tiptoes to see the King and Queen, so I only just caught a glimpse of a plumed hat and fur cloak followed by a tall tower of strawberry red ringlets. These disappeared through the archway, along with the Earl, the Countess, Sophia and the most important servants. I got stuck in the crowd following slowly behind. When I finally made it through the doorway and into the courtyard, I happened to glance to my left. In the arched passage that leads to the Horse Court and stables stood Jack Hornsby watching the crowd go by, and behind him, two shadowy figures. I recognised Frederick and Digby right away, and looked around to make sure no one was watching before I crept over to join them.
“Mistress Katie.” Jack took off his cap, but at the same time took a step in front of the doorway so as to block my view of the two boys. “Aren’t you er … joining the others?” I quickly solved the obvious: Jack was standing guard for Digby and Frederick.
“Are the boys swapping places now?” I asked, wanting Jack to know I was in on the secret.
“Swapping? Boys?” He was still keeping up the act.
Frederick’s hushed voice came from behind. “Is that Katherine? It’s alright. She knows, and she can help.”
Frederick, now in plain linen breeches and a jerkin, was just looking over what appeared to be another him. “You look every bit the courtier, Digby,” he said, patting the other him on the shoulder. “Here, don’t forget your hat.”
“Good grief, you two really could be twins!” I whispered.
“Come closer, Katie.” Frederick beckoned. I felt rather pleased to be confided in. At least it was reassuring he didn’t still suspect me of devilry anymore.
“Do you think it’s believable enough?” he asked.
I cocked my head and took a good, long look at Digby. With his hair and whiskers trimmed neatly and his silk suit, high-heeled shoes and lacy collar, he was transformed. I might have taken him for Frederick without a second glance if I hadn’t known any better. “Would fool me,” I assured them.
“Good. Then off you go, Digby. My aunt the Queen will want an audience with you. Don’t worry. She’s not seen me since I grew hair on my chin. She won’t notice a thing. The Earl on the other hand … well, best you stand with your back to him when possible.” He braced Digby’s stiff shoulders, said “Good luck,” then looked to me. “Might I employ you to show Digby to the Portrait Gallery? The Royal Apartments are just off the end of it, to the left.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“Me? I’m off to the hayloft for a peaceful evening with the barn swallows and a good book.” He tipped his hat (which was actually Digby’s) and stepped into the light of the Horse Court, whistling merrily to himself just as Digby might have done.
Poor Digby didn’t say a word on our walk to the Portrait Gallery. I could hear him breathing fast, shallow breaths and felt sorry for him. I knew how he felt. After all, I was an imposter at Otterly Manor as well without the slightest idea of how to behave like a courtier. I recalled Sophia’s words to me just as Digby and I stepped onto the staircase landing with the wooden leopard. “If you believe you belong here, everyone else will,” I said.
He gulped and gave an uncertain nod. But with each step up the next flight of stairs, he seemed to rally. His shoulders relaxed a little, and he held his head higher. We parted ways at the end of the gallery; he went left to the King and Queen’s special apartments. I turned into the right wing towards the family’s rooms to wait for Sophia in the red bedchamber. I looked back once over my shoulder just to be sure Digby hadn’t fainted. Satisfied, I turned back around and nearly rammed right into the velvety chest of Master Van Hoebeek.
I bit my tongue to keep from screaming. He loomed over me, peering down over his woolly beard.
“You were going somewhere?” he asked.
“To Sophia’s room,” I breathed. “To dress for the banquet.” I noticed his hand rested on the doorknob that led into Frederick’s dressing room.
“Ah. Well, I was … just on my way to the Royal Apartments, but I seem to have taken a wrong turn.”
“They’re just that way.” I pointed, hoping he couldn’t hear my heart drumming away.
Master Van Hoebeek bowed his head and passed me by with a whoosh of his cape.
Well, that was weird, I thought. But the strange encounter did not cross my mind again … at least not until after the disastrous events of the banquet.
14
A Royal Disaster
Sophia and I stood on the Turkish rug, twirling in turns and admiring one another’s gowns. It had taken ages to get dressed, but at last we were ready, she in her dark green silk with her golden hair tumbling down the back, and I in my yellow velvet with my hair slicked back by the pearly headband.
“I do wish we could sit together, dear Katie,” she said, taking my hands and squeezing them. The King’s reception banquet was to be in the Great Hall; Sophia would sit at High Table with the nobility, and I would slip in hopefully unnoticed among the courtiers at the long tables.
“But at least we will be able to see each other on the dance floor!” I consoled her just before a servant summoned her to join the other High Table folk who would enter the banquet in procession.
A whispered “Wow!” escaped me when I stepped into the Great Hall. It was just like a fairy land. Candles burned on every table and in every window, and a fire blazed in royal reds and golds in the hearth. The light sparkled off the silver serving ware on the tables and the gems and sequins on the courtiers’ clothes. The platters themselves were piled high with the most bizarre dishes, from bo
ars’ heads to whole peacocks, feathers and all. Swags of greenery were draped along the yellow walls. A deep breath filled my nostrils with the warming smells of pies and roasts and tingling spices.
But better than the smells was the sound that seemed to be floating down from the ceiling. It took me several minutes of turning on the spot to figure out where the beautiful music came from. Then at last I spotted the musicians seated in a sort of balcony above the Great Hall entrance, hidden by a wooden screen carved with the noble Buckville leopards.
I stayed close to the hearth while the cooks darted between all the elegant lords and ladies milling around with goblets in their hands. My idea had been to scope out the room for Tom Tippery, but I knew it was unlikely he’d be at the banquet; he certainly didn’t have the courtly airs of his boss. I spied the tall, black-caped figure of Master Van Hoebeek. He had strayed from the crowds and wandered alone around the dais with his goblet in hand, inspecting the portraits on the wall as if he were at an art gallery. My mind flashed back to the blank canvas. In all the excitement of the Court’s visit, I had forgotten to tell Sophia about it! We had been so caught up with Frederick’s schemes, I hadn’t even thought of it since. I would have to tell her after the banquet and see what she made of it.
But I soon lost interest in Master Van Hoebeek and his strange ways because there was simply too much else to take in. I enjoy people-watching any and everywhere, but this was more like watching a theatrical performance. Everyone moved and laughed and batted their eyelashes as if it had all been rehearsed. I thought of all the balls in princess movies I’d seen as a kid; the real thing was far more grand, and far more strange.
I spotted Jack leaning against the opposite wall from me, and walked, as elegantly as I could, over to meet him. “I didn’t know you were attending the banquet,” I said over the roar of voices. “I thought servants had to eat in the tents.”
“Well, I’m not exactly attending.” He spoke in a lowered voice, his eyes darting around. “More like observing. Master Frederick thought I had best keep an eye on … you know.” His head gave a twitch towards the High Table, indicating where Digby would be sitting in just a few minutes. “I’m to report back if anything goes amiss.”
Before I could respond, a trumpet sounded and a man in purple velvet who looked more pig than human stepped up on the dais. His deep voice rang out like a belch. “Good Lords and Ladies of the Realm, Their Royal Highnesses, the King and Queen of England.”
In unison, the entire room became shorter, the men bowing so low they swept the floor with their hats, the ladies melting into their skirts in low curtseys. I tried as best I could to imitate them, but how they folded their legs under their skirts and petticoats, I will never guess. I hoped nobody would notice when I lifted my head just a little so that I could watch the High Table procession. I recognised King James from the many portraits I’d seen. He entered first in his great fur cloak and sat on a throne in the middle of the table. Queen Anne with her white, powdered face followed and sat beside him. Then the Earl and the Countess took their places, and several other important-looking people including one in bishop’s robes, and finally Sophia followed by Digby. Jack let out a breath of relief behind me. So far, the stable boy’s disguise had fooled them.
Once the High Table guests were seated, the bishop-looking man stood to ask God’s blessings on the King and Queen, the Earl and Countess and on the meal. As soon as that was done, the courtiers took their seats at the long tables. I hesitated, not sure where I should go, but Jack nudged me to the closest open seat, and I slid in as quickly as I could. I felt I’d happily exchange my seat for Jack’s place glued against the wall. But thankfully the people sitting around me seemed very merry — I do believe they’d been at the wine long before the banquet began — and the ladies smiled sweetly at me without trying to make much conversation.
I picked at the strange savoury dishes, trying not to think too much about what might be in them. Then sweets were served, and at last the moment Sophia and I had been waiting for arrived: the dance!
The King and Queen danced the first dance, opening the floor for everyone else to join in. I caught Sophia’s eye just before she leaned over to whisper to Digby who nodded and made a bee-line for me.
“Might I claim your hand, Mistress Katherine?” He sounded so confident, I thought he’d convinced himself he really was a courtier.
“Yes, thank you … Frederick.” I bit my lip to keep from smiling.
After ten seconds on the floor, all my nerves flew away and I was having the time of my life. After horseback riding, I was sure that dancing must be the best thing in the world, especially when Digby lifted me up and twirled me around like I was floating on air. Sophia danced with a very pompous-looking boy, but we managed to catch eyes throughout the dance without his noticing.
We were well and truly out of breath when the Herald, as I had learned was the piggish man’s title, returned to the dais and announced, “For the pleasure of their Majesties and this Court, The King’s Men, directed by Master William Shakespeare and under the auspices of our noble King, will now present excerpts from Master Shakespeare’s newest play, Macbeth.” A gleeful murmur moved through the crowds as the actors took the floor, and some shouted out, “Master Shakespeare! … Oh, how delightful! … I hear this one is ghastly frightful. His greatest work yet!”
I realised with a start that my mouth was hanging open like a codfish’s. Was I actually going to see the real William Shakespeare? This night really did feel like a Midsummer Night’s Dream!
A man with a broad forehead and a fashionably pointed beard walked out across the floor to the applause of all. I recognised him without a doubt. After all, Nan and Pop had taken Charlie and me to visit his house in Stratford-upon-Avon many times over the years.
Master Shakespeare thanked the King and Queen for their royal patronage, then introduced the play in rhyme. All the courtiers applauded once again, and the play began.
I had seen Shakespeare’s plays at the Globe Theatre in London, but they were nothing to compare with this production. I was so bewitched, I nearly forgot to spare a glance at Sophia to see what she thought of it. She too watched in wonder. Digby gaped as if he were gazing into heaven. The Queen smiled, and even King James whose deep sunken eyes looked a little vacant or bored before, appeared spellbound.
My skin prickled with goose bumps as the three Weird Sisters — played by men in hideous makeup — started their wicked revelry. They whooped and danced wildly around a cauldron, chanting double, double, toil and trouble louder and louder and louder. And then …
An agonised scream echoed off the yellow walls and shook the panes of glass. Every single body in the hall gasped, even the actors. The scream hadn’t come from them but from behind, from the dais.
There was a loud scuffle as chairs scooted back. All at High Table but the King were out of their seats, gathering around something on the floor. The Bishop pushed through them and knelt down in the middle of their huddle. After a minute of deathly silence, he stood again, looked to the King and solemnly proclaimed out across the crowd, “The Earl of Dorset is dead.”
15
Midsummer Night’s Mayhem
Shock rippled through the Great Hall. Some prayed, others wept. I tried to get a view of Sophia. There she was, standing behind the Countess who looked like she was in complete shock. Sophia was holding her hand and stroking it. The King was whispering orders, and men in black gowns rushed in to carry off the body. But before they could even drape a sheet over the Earl, another shout added to the confusion.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” Master Van Hoebeek pushed through the crowds to stand in the middle of the floor, right where we had danced and the Weird Sisters had revelled moments before. Was this still all part of the night’s theatrical production? Master Van Hoebeek dragged a young woman in plain, dirty clothes behind him by the arm. Her face was smudged with dirt, but her enormous, terrified eyes shone like harvest moons.
For the first time, the King actually stood up. He held up a hand to silence the hall, then turned his sunken eyes towards Master Van Hoebeek and the woman. “Speak, sir. What matter is this that brings you before us with such exigency?”
Master Van Hoebeek bowed, still gripping the wild-eyed woman’s wrist. “Forgive me, Sire. Nothing but the direst concern for your person’s own safety compels me to come before you. The Earl’s death was not of natural cause, but of murder.”
Another gasp rose from the room. The King’s face might have been a portrait. It did not change. He merely turned his dead eyes to the Bishop who had examined the Earl’s body.
The Bishop shrugged. “Your Majesty, the foamy white substance erupting from his lordship’s mouth does suggest some dark power at work.”
Several women swooned and fainted at the mention of either the foam or the dark power.
The painter pressed on. “And not only murder, but murder of the darkest, most devilish manner. Witchcraft!”
At that word, I’m sure I saw the King’s eyes grow larger, and his mouth opened and closed. It was with a much croakier voice that he demanded, “What reason have you to presume this is the work of witches?”
“This woman,” — Van Hoebeek swung her around by her wrist so that she let out a little cry of pain — “was caught lurking in the family’s quarters. She admits to being practised in the devilish arts.”
“Is this true, wench?” the King croaked.
She looked so distraught, and when she didn’t answer, Master Van Hoebeek gritted his teeth and shook her by the wrist. She looked at him with terror in her eyes and answered through sobs, “Ay, Your Majesty.”
