The Lady Series

by Domning, Denise

  “There is, indeed,” Mary replied with a laugh as she surveyed the feast. Lord Montmercy had done better than just a bit of bread and meat. There were boiled eggs, cold fish, pickled eels among other delicacies to tempt the tongue.

  “Could we, cousin?” Anne asked of Mary in keeping with their planned mummery. “Would such a thing be appropriate?”

  “I’m not certain,” Mary replied, her brow creased.

  “But of course it would,” Master Fayrfax said in encouragement. “After all, we’re all in the open here.”

  “Master John is right. There’s no harm in it,” said blond Sir Edward as he once again offered them his boyish grin. Every one of his bows had been retied.

  Mary and Anne glanced at each other then smiled. “We are convinced,” Mary said, speaking for both of them as they curtsied to the young nobleman. “My lord, we’d be honored to sit with you.”

  “You must sit here, mistresses,” Master Fayrfax said, rising to offer his corner of the blanket. A hungry look took possession of his broad face as he watched Anne, as if he meant to devour her instead of his cold meat pie.

  “I expect that means I’ll need to move,” Sir Edward sighed in pretended inconvenience. He rose with Master John to leave the corner for the women. “Ease over, Kit, and make room for us,” he said to Master Christopher.

  Kit. As Anne again heard him called by his pet name, she rolled it against her tongue. Kit. She liked its feel in her mouth.

  Together, she and Mary drifted down to sit in a pretty pile of petticoats. Once settled, Anne glanced at Master Christopher. He half-smiled then turned his attention into his cup. Anne’s eyes narrowed. So he thought to pretend disinterest, did he? She looked at her host.

  “I must confess, I hoped you might invite us to sit with you, my lord.”

  “Glad I am to hear it,” Lord Andrew replied, his tone suggesting he believed any woman would be glad of his invitation.

  “Indeed,” Anne went on, ignoring his pompous pride as she manufactured the jab she meant to send Master Christopher’s way. “I only now realize my selfishness in claiming so much time of my kinswoman. I wholly forgot how devoted Master Hollier is to my cousin.”

  “Nan!” Mary cried, blushing. “He’s not devoted to me.”

  “Did I say aught amiss?” Anne cried, playing her prank for all it was worth. “But, Mary, at the Maying he fair swooned over you, calling you beloved. Was I wrong to take his words to heart?” She glanced from her cousin to her victim.

  Master Christopher’s eyes narrowed in the promise of retribution, his mouth quivered in laughter. He looked from Anne to her cousin. “Speak for yourself, Mistress Mary. I am devoted to you, just as I told Mistress Anne.”

  From his new seat behind Master Christopher, Master Fayrfax’s face darkened as he caught a hint of the private undercurrents in this jest. Anne took the gentleman’s jealous reaction as good advice. To show too much preference for Master Christopher in public would set tongues to wagging, and that wouldn’t do at all, not when the queen counted on winning her wager.

  “Have you heard the latest?” Master John asked, seeking to bring himself to Anne’s attention. “I think me Sir William Cecil tries to curry Norfolk’s support by aiding the duke with his suit in the Court of the Wards.” His voice lowered. “With our royal mistress’s secretary at his side in the Wards, you can be certain Norfolk will strip Leonard Dacre of both title and inheritance.”

  “The duke can do this?” Anne asked astounded.

  “Lord Thomas is rich and powerful enough to do anything he wants save marry the Scots queen,” Sir Edward retorted.

  “He could do that, too, if he could get Cecil to champion the idea to our queen,” Master John retorted, his face reflecting the certainty that his tidbit made him seem important to Anne.

  “Nay, Sir William’s too canny to put his head in such a noose,” Sir Edward replied with a scornful snort. “He knows Elizabeth is dead set against the marriage, even though it solves the problem of what to do with an exiled queen.”

  Anne looked from man to man, then glanced at Master Christopher and shrugged in both disinterest and confusion. This court’s constant banter over who did what left her bored and tired.

  He smiled at her. “Enough of politics,” he said. “Let’s ask instead how our Mistress Anne enjoyed her first court hunt.”

  “Oh, but it was wondrous,” Anne replied with a sigh.

  “I cannot help but say that everything here at court is so much more active and interesting than anything I’ve ever known. I fear I’ll find it difficult to leave when the time comes.”

  Lord Montmercy looked shocked at this. “Why would you go?” he asked.

  “Spoken like a man who’s lived every day for the past eleven years in his queen’s court,” Sir Edward teased. “Because Mistress Anne is her grandsire’s sole heiress, she cannot long stay a maid. She must wed.”

  Stung, Lord Montmercy reclaimed his arrogance and frowned at Sir Edward. “Does marriage mean she can no longer come to court? When I wed, I’ll keep my wife close at hand.”

  “I doubt it’ll be you who chooses to keep close,” Master Christopher laughed. “I think me your wife will want to keep you near to hand so you’ll be less inclined to stray.”

  The youth had the grace to blush. Mary giggled as his companions laughed. Anne turned her smile into her lap, not wanting to insult her noble host.

  “As for your husband, do you know who your grandsire has chosen?” Sir Edward asked.

  Startled by the way he framed his question, Anne’s head snapped up as she eyed him in surprise. “No one, as far as I know. Why do you ask?”

  It was the young knight’s turn to look startled. “I beg your pardon, but I thought—,” he paused, then frowned. “Well now, this is strange, indeed. Sir George Fulmerson said he approached your grandfather with an offer. Sir Amyas turned him away, saying another had been there before him.” Sir Edward shrugged. “Perhaps he only said so to reject Sir George.”

  “Perhaps,” Anne lied, working to hide her emotions. She well knew who that other was. Slow anger grew at Sir George. How dare he approach her grandfather without even asking her preference.

  “It must be,” Mary said. “Surely your grandsire would have spoken to you before arranging anything. It would hardly do to leave you uninformed when you might unwittingly encourage other offers.”

  “Sir Amyas doesn’t strike me as one to keep such a thing secret,” Master Christopher said, now watching Anne with an odd sort of concern in his eyes. “Indeed, I’d guess him more likely to trumpet the man’s name to all the world, then yank our Mistress Anne from court to make the arrangements for the wedding.”

  As the rest of his companions laughed at this Mary clapped her hands to get their attention. “Pay heed now,” she demanded, “for I’m changing the subject.

  “Anne and I have set ourselves the task of trying to understand her grandfather since she knows so little of him. My lord, we think you may be able to help us in our quest,” she told Lord Andrew. “It’s been said that your father and her grandfather had much discord between them.”

  Surprise crept across Lord Montmercy’s face at this. “I couldn’t tell you if it was truth or no. I never knew my father as he died before my birth. Do you know aught of this, Ned?” He glanced at Sir Edward.

  The young knight had just taken a bite of a cold meat pasty; he could but shake his head to the negative.

  Master Christopher paused, his cup lifted to his lips. “Old Lord Montmercy hated everyone, or so my father was fond of saying,” he said. “There were rumors that Montmercy believed he could displace the Seymours and rule England throughout the boy-king’s childhood.”

  “What of your mother, my lord?” Anne asked, following the pattern of questions she and Mary had planned between them. “Does she ever speak of my grandsire?”

  Master Christopher shifted suddenly, drawing his long legs in as he lifted himself into a sitting position. Anne glan
ced at him, a little startled by his abrupt movement. He brushed at his doublet, having dribbled wine upon it. “Damn me,” he muttered.

  Lord Montmercy’s expression darkened. “If you want any information about that coldhearted bitch you must ask her yourselves.” Although he sought to make his words harsh and uncaring, his pain was so deep that tears started to his eyes.

  Stunned that a simple question wrought so intense a reaction Anne set aside decorum and reached over to lay her hand on his. “Pardon, my lord, I meant no harm by asking.”

  “You couldn’t know,” he muttered, striving to regain control. When he failed, he came abruptly to his feet and started away from the other picnickers without a word.

  Master Christopher rose. “I’ll go after him,” he said, turning to follow the youth.

  “My pardon, Sir Edward,” Anne cried to the knight. “We truly intended no harm.”

  “Aye,” Mary agreed, her voice echoing the same distress Anne felt.

  Sir Edward offered a rueful grin. “He’s right when he says you couldn’t have known as it isn’t common knowledge. His mother won’t have even the smallest of words with him. When Lord Andrew came to my brother as his ward it was all my sister-in-law could do to staunch his tears, so deeply did our Andrew mourn for his lady mother. Months, then years passed, and she not once would heed a message from him or reply to a letter.” Anger flared in his fine-boned face. “She discarded him as if he were no more to her than some ruined gown.”

  Anne stared in disbelief at Sir Edward. Having only known her mother’s love, despite all the childish and not so childish errors Anne made, she couldn’t comprehend such cruelty. What had happened those eleven years ago that caused Lady Montmercy to so hate her son?

  Neither Lord Montmercy nor Master Christopher returned to their meals, nor did they appear as the hunting party gave way to the rain and retreated. Anne’s guilt nipped at her all the way back to Greenwich. Once within the palace walls, most of the higher nobles and their parties retired to their own accommodations, be that chambers in one of the compound’s royal residences or one of the jumble of houses that filled the palace grounds, each with their crow-stepped roofs. For most of them, this day’s activities were done.

  Not so Anne’s. As a maid of the Presence Chamber it was her duty to attend her royal mistress for the remainder of the day as Elizabeth addressed what business there was. Thus, Anne rushed to her own chamber in the riverfront building to shed her stained hunting attire. Nay, she couldn’t call her room a chamber, for it truly was too small for that.

  Tradition said that all the queen’s maids should sleep together all in one large room with their servants beside them. But with Anne and Mary so much older, Mistress Eglionby had done what she could to give them a bit of privacy. In Anne’s case this amounted to a tiny closet coming off the maids’ hall. There was barely enough space within her room’s four walls for Anne’s bed and the clothing chest she and Patience shared. Indeed, there wasn’t even space for a cot for Patience, thus Anne’s governess slept across the foot of her charge’s mattress.

  When Anne was once more dressed in her brown garments of the morn, she entered the Presence Chamber. Here at Greenwich the queen’s public chamber was a long one, with a low beamed ceiling and plastered walls hung with tapestries depicting hunting scenes. Tall windows cut into the river wall, allowing a view of the Thames as it made its sharpest bend.

  A day spent out-of-doors and the absence of the highest nobles left those who remained in attendance in the Presence Chamber, even the queen, far more relaxed than usual. Some folk gossiped while still more gamed with cards and dice, taking their seats upon cushions or the floor’s plaited matting despite that they were once again dressed in their courtly best. The hours passed until Elizabeth’s business was done, yet still the queen delayed retiring into her Privy Chamber. Instead, she called to her gentlemen to entertain her.

  The men brought forth instruments and, to a bouncing tune, set to singing a song about the drinking of ale and the taking of a maid, much to the queen’s amusement. As Elizabeth listened, she plied her needle, expecting her maids to occupy themselves with the same task. Anne found a spot near a window where the light was good. Her assigned project was to embroider a floral design onto fabric which would be used for a chair cushion.

  Anne did her best to concentrate on her stitchery, but her mind kept slipping to Lord Montmercy and his mother. Every moment or so, she glanced toward the door, hoping Master Christopher might appear. He didn’t, but Lady Montmercy did. Like Anne, she had her own duty to complete, that of a lady of the Presence Chamber.

  This day, the noblewoman wore blue and yellow with a large, sapphire-studded brooch pinned to her doublet’s breast. With her fair hair caught up in a snood, Lady Montmercy wore an attifet atop it, the cap’s heart-shaped frame displaying her clear-cut features to an advantage. Anne chewed her lip as she studied the woman. Strange, that Lady Montmercy’s face could be so beautiful and so lifeless in the same moment. But then, what should anyone expect from a woman who had so casually destroyed her child’s happiness?

  As if drawn to it by Anne’s attention, Lady Montmercy looked in her direction. Startled at being caught staring, Anne let her gaze fall back to her needlework, only to have her gaze lift once more and, like iron to lodestone, drift in the noblewoman’s direction.

  This time, Lady Montmercy watched her in return. As their gazes met the lady lifted her chin and started across the room toward Anne. Well, that settled it.

  Anne rose and offered her better a small curtsy as Lady Montmercy came to a halt before her. “My lady, you honor me with your presence.”

  “Mistress Blanchemain,” the lady said in greeting. “I saw you watching me from across the room. Is there something you want of me?”

  “I beg pardon if I have offended, my lady,” Anne replied, “but you are so lovely. I fear you draw my eye wherever you are.”

  “Is this flattery I hear?” the lady laughed. “What a clever girl you are.” Although this should have been a compliment it sounded more like a warning.

  At that moment the gentlemen-turned-musicians began to pluck out a new tune, bringing the queen up from her chair, ready to dance. Each man in her troop of admirers cried out that he should be the one to partner her. Their pleas rumbled against the chamber’s flat ceiling.

  Lady Montmercy shot a glance over her shoulder. “In another moment we won’t be able to hear ourselves think,” she said and caught Anne by the arm. “Come.”

  The noblewoman led her into the room’s farthest corner. As they stopped Anne hid her questions behind a smile. Where to start? She settled for something banal. “You weren’t at the hunt this day. Don’t you find the sport to your tastes?”

  The noblewoman’s smile took the tiniest twist. “I cannot say I’m fond of rattling about atop a horse, not when there are far more entertaining sports to be had within doors.” The lift of the lady’s brows owned a touch of lewdness, as if to drive home the point to Anne that she referred to bed games.

  Anne wasn’t about to give the lady the shock she expected. “How startling it is to find there are many like you, who find more pleasure in a deck of cards and a wager than the fresh air and the out-of-doors,” she replied. Let the lady decide if she’d been misunderstood through innocence or intent.

  “But not you?” the noblewoman asked, her tone now owning a hint of sneering superiority.

  Anne smiled. “I admit to enjoying a hand or two, but how can anyone sit within walls when there are so many other things to do and see?”

  “So the country mouse finds this new life of hers alluring, does she?” It might have been a gentle tease if there’d been any kindness in Lady Montmercy’s tone. Instead, it was meant as a stinging taunt.

  Anne hid irritation behind a smile. Apparently Lady Montmercy owned her dead husband’s hatred for the Blanchemains. Well then, if this was to be a battle, Anne would unsheathe her sword and have at it. She studied the woman to ga
uge what sort of question would do the most damage. No emotion warmed the depths of Lady Montmercy’s dark blue eyes. Such control suggested it wouldn’t be easy to pry secrets from her. Then again, all need not be revealed this evening.

  Anne cloaked her probe in innocence, asking a question anyone might have over family history. “My lady, I must admit, I’ve another purpose in attracting your attention. I mean you no insult, but I’ve heard you’re none too fond of the Blanchemains.”

  “Good heavens,” Lady Montmercy said without passion,

  “someone has filled your head with nonsense. What little I know of your family would fit into a thimble. That, my dear, is hardly enough to constitute acquaintanceship, much less create a foundation on which to base dislike.”

  Anne sighed as if relieved. “Glad I am to find the rumor unfounded. You see, I know my grandfather’s not a subtle man, may God bless him always. The number of those he’s insulted is legion.”

  This made the lady laugh, the sound hollow against the more full-bodied amusement of their royal mistress across the room. “After your grandsire’s performance last week at Whitehall I’d offer that pronouncing him bereft of subtlety is to pronounce that you’ve just discovered grass is green.”

  Of a sudden Lady Montmercy’s eyes widened. “Ah, but I think I know the source of your rumor. It’s not me but my lord husband who had discord with Sir Amyas.”

  Anne watched her in consideration. Lady Montmercy was a fine actress, but an actress just the same. “God’s truth, my lady?” she asked, playing her own role in their wee drama. “Then, you’ve remembered something?”

  “I have. If you like I can tell the tale,” the beauty offered.

  “Aye, pray do,” Anne begged as prettily as she knew how. “I know so little of my grandfather, and he’ll not answer my questions, saying ‘tis rude of me to pry.” Or so she believed he might say should she ever ask.

  Lady Montmercy laid her hand on Anne’s arm in what should have been a friendly gesture. “If I’m right in my remembering, it happened about a score of years ago. Nay, more. I was but ten and six when I wed my lord husband, and this event occurred in the first year of our union.”