Sewing Can Be Dangerous and Other Small Threads

by S. R. Mallery

  Furious at his wife’s insurgency, he stormed out of the bedchamber so hastily Emma literally had to leap out of sight. But within seconds, she had scurried back to her mistress, planted on the floor, her hair falling in large wisps around her face, her hands trembling.

  “I—I—tr-ried—to t-t-tell him, but I—I fear I couldst not. He—he is f-a-far too powerful for my heart a-a-nd my head.”

  Dropping down beside her and ignoring all boundaries, Emma wrapped her arms around the shaken woman, holding her new friend until the stammering had ceased.

  Several days later, she noticed Lady Buckingham was looking remarkably better. The color was back in her cheeks, the dark circles had completely disappeared, and although some of the nervousness was still there, her physical strength seemed restored. What had happened? she wondered.

  One afternoon, as the two of them were discussing a tablecloth to be made for the ceremonies, she could no longer keep quiet. “Tis so good to see thee looking well after appearing so weak and sick.”

  Lady Buckingham looked stunned. Then, as if thinking out loud, “Oh, my God…” She turned to Emma. “Thou art correct. ‘Tis due to the celebration.”

  Emma gaped at her.

  “He doth need me alive for the celebration only.” She frowned then proceeded to mutter something else, stopping only when one of her maids entered.

  That night, as Emma slippered her way through the unlit corridors, she didn’t dare use her walnut oil lamp; these were not safe times for anyone connected to her ladyship. In the blackness, she could feel her fingertips lightly scraping the jagged edges of the stone walls and was thinking of returning to the comfort of her own room, when she heard two distinct voices.

  “I told thee, ‘tis important to wait until the High Minister has paid us his visit. After that, we shall be able to have our meeting with the French, of that I can assure thee. If all goes as planned, England shall finally be in the hands of the rightful ruler, not this crusading imbecile we have for a king!”

  The speaker was unmistakable. But to whom was Lord Buckingham talking? She took a deep breath and silently moved closer.

  “Attendez-vous! Attendez-vous!” the stranger cautioned.

  “Didst thou hear something outside?” Lord Buckingham’s voice became guarded.

  Suddenly, she was on fire, flying back through the passageways, past the kitchen, and into the safety of her room, where she crawled into bed, pulled up the covers, and tried to soothe her racing thoughts.

  “What is it, Emma? Thou looks a sight for sore eyes,” Lady Buckingham smiled, looking at the sleep-deprived girl the next morning.

  A few seconds ticked before Emma could muster up enough courage. “M’Lady, I have something very serious to tell thee. Please believe me, I wouldst not lie to thee, ever! ‘Tis very important that thou believeth me.”

  “I do believe thee.”

  As she hastily recounted the conversation she had overheard the previous night, she watched the color slowly drain from her ladyship’s face.

  “’Tis worse than I had suspected. I must do something about this, I must.” The noblewoman looked up at the seamstress, trembling. “Can I indeed trust thee, Emma? Can I?”

  Emma nodded vehemently.

  “Yay, I do believe so, but if indeed my husband hath gotten involved in a plot I cannot abide, he knows I shalt not support him in this, and for that, he wants me killed. Emma, I fear poison is his choice of death. Remember, thou noticed it thyself. I was feeling so weak; alas, my stomach did ache from what he hath me take. An herbal potion, he named it!” She started wringing her hands. “Oh, Emma, if I die, then there shall be no one to stop him. He…he couldst kill our king!”

  Both women studied the floor a good five seconds before Lady Buckingham spoke. “Ah, well on the morrow ‘tis the street faire. Perhaps we couldst buy a gift for his Eminence there?” Offering short simultaneous nods, they bid each other adieu.

  The faire, held on the local Saint’s Day, was glutted with men, women, and children, all dressed in brightly-colored clothing and displaying toothless gums, reminding Emma of the life she was so grateful to have forgotten. Merchants peddled their baked goods, trinkets, and scented water under tented booths, while livestock lazed in the warm sun. Archery attracted a decent crowd, as did wrestling and the long staves.

  Walking alongside her ladyship, Emma was given free rein to her spending. No wizened mother, hunched over from years of backbreaking work, clucking warnings, no father ordering her to not even pick at the vegetables because their metal money pot had long been emptied.

  The carriage itself felt as if it were one story up from the ground, and when she stepped down onto its black painted steps to enter the faire grounds, she knew this was the true life she was destined to have. Once on the hard-packed earth, however, came a more familiar reality—the constant bombardment of unbathed villagers jostling by her and coaxing her to buy something from their bins.

  “Emma, can thee not see something we couldst use for His Eminence? Some painted box, a basket perhaps, or fabric for a new suit for him? What dost thee think?” Away from her husband and in the midst of so many people, Lady Buckingham almost appeared cheerful.

  “Be of good cheer! Be of good cheer!” a familiar voice rang out. Immediately, Lady Buckingham’s face shut down as her husband rode up to them, his right hand waving patronizingly to the crowd.

  “Emma,” Lady Buckingham asked, “wouldst thou go to that booth over there and retrieve a painted box for his Eminence, so I couldst put an object from my collection into it?”

  Emma edged through the crowd until she arrived at the booth where the painted and metal boxes lay. Much to the annoyance of the vendor, she fingered them all before choosing a large, hand-painted one with a replica of a castle resembling the Buckingham Manor.

  “May he someday be punished for his sins!” one woman commented to another at the booth.

  “Hush! His lordship is about to pass. Hush!” replied the second woman.

  Emma turned her head just in time to see Lord Buckingham steering his horse by their section of the crowd. This is worse than Lady Buckingham had feared, Emma thought. If people on the street were commenting on his Lordship not being trustworthy, then her ladyship’s problems were far greater than they had originally thought.

  That night, in the privacy of her ladyship’s room, Emma noticed Lady Buckingham looking more excited than she had been for quite some time.

  “Emma, the box you bought for his Eminence was beautiful to be sure; but I hath decided to use thy own gifts in its stead.” Her cheeks were flushed, her hands fluttering.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, I should like thee to make a beautiful embroidered pillow for his Eminence and the planning of it may commence on the morrow. Thou willst have to work very hard; the banquet will be in a matter of four days from now. Dost thee understand?”

  “Of course. On the morrow I shall begin it. As for tonight, is thee all right? May I retire to my own room?” Unsettled from the afternoon’s realization, all Emma wanted to do was to retreat to her own chambers.

  “Of course, of course. Go, my dear.” All Lady Buckingham’s attention was focused on the making of her gift pillow.

  Ambling back towards the kitchen, Emma became aware of some kind of activity in one of the smaller halls. She slowed, took off her shoes, and cupped her right ear just in time to hear a foreign voice. “Monsieur, c’est trés important that we begin our plan, n’est-ce pas?” It was the same man who had spoken before, only this time, he sounded more agitated.

  Lord Buckingham was curt. “His Eminence shall be here in four days hence. There shall be a banquet and I have asked my wife to produce a special gift for him, to convince him all is well between us. But two days after he leaves the manor, ‘tis the time we shall meet with thy group along the shore, by night, when the moon is young and the darkness sure to protect us. Wait for my message, and the attack shall begin. The reign of Richard I willst end, I swear i
t!” His voice suddenly crescendoed, echoing throughout the hallway.

  Lying in bed that night, it was all Emma could do to refrain from crying. Not only was her ladyship in grave danger, it appeared their country was as well. Tossing back and forth, she wracked her brain, trying to devise a plan, yet it wasn’t until she leaned over to pick up a fallen pillow that her mind flickered.

  It took only one look at Emma’s face the next morning for Lady Buckingham to blurt out, “Emma, dear child, what is wrong?”

  “M’Lady, I am but a common girl, a humble girl from a family with no education.” Emma was feeling her way.

  Lady Buckingham nodded, waiting.

  “I hope thee doesn’t think ‘tis too forward, but there is something else I must tell thee about Lord Buckingham.”

  “What?” Her mistress asked, instantly unnerved.

  “Last night I heard a conversation in the West Hall which hath frightened me on thy behalf, and indeed, on behalf of our entire country.” She then launched into what she had ascertained.

  Lady Buckingham sat on her high-backed chair, her hand at her throat. “Oh, what shall we do?” She swallowed. “He must be stopped, but by what method? ‘Tis urgent I get a message to the High Minister when he is here, but there are spies everywhere. I daren’t say anything in front of my Lord. The danger is too great. He wouldst have me killed as it is.”

  “If thou wilst permit me, I have an idea that perhaps wouldst work.” She paused, then, “Doth his Lordship understand Latin?”

  Lady Buckingham was taken aback. “Why, no. He is rich in name and title, but poor in education.” She grimaced contemptuously.

  “’Tis reasonable,” Emma ventured forth, “his Eminence wouldst understand Latin; ‘tis a necessary part of his position. If I embroider a warning on our pillow, then present it to him at the Banquet, with hope he shall read the message, and thus try to stop his Lordship before any real harm ‘tis done.”

  Her ladyship leaned forward, her eyes intense, then suddenly drew back. “Ah, but I, too, am not versed in Latin. I fear my education ‘tis sadly lacking, for indeed, I was raised only to marry well.”

  Her head held high, Emma announced, “Indeed, I know Latin, Milady. I hath studied it at the abbey for several years, and wouldst be able to translate anything we wish to write.”

  The expression on Lady Buckingham’s face was well worth any imminent danger that might happen; she was finally the object of respect from a nobleperson, and sitting together head to head for another half hour, they carefully devised a simple Latin phrase that could not only be read easily by His Eminence, but would also add a decorative element so as not to cast suspicion.

  Watch carefully our shores by night,

  When the French invade

  “Twill break England’s might.

  The other seamstresses were not a problem; if his Lordship lacked an education in Latin, they surely did as well. But what Emma did lack was time. After choosing the proper embroidery thread, all her meticulous hand sewing consumed her days and nights, up until the very last square knot was tied, and seconds before the Royal carriage carrying the High Minister arrived at the manor. It wasn’t until after she peered down through a narrow wardrobe window, watching each embedded jewel glitter on his purpose robe as he stepped on the red rug leading to the front entrance that she could breathe a sigh of relief.

  To her young, inexperienced eye, the feast preparations proved fascinating; from the Master Cook supervising his staff while sitting on a stool in the huge kitchen, to the Chief Carver kissing the carving knife, then kissing his Lordship’s napkin before it was presented to Lord Buckingham, she witnessed how the hierarchy was implemented at the long table. Each time the procession of dishes was led in by the Grand Master of the Manor, the cupbearers and breadmasters tossed napkins over their shoulders while serving his High Minister, yet when serving lesser nobility, they made sure their arms and napkins were at their sides, as befitting a lesser rank.

  Then came the actual presentation and with it, a fine mist of perspiration and sweaty palms. What if her shaky hands dropped the pillow? As she stood up to retrieve her handiwork from a nearby manservant, she spied Lady Buckingham turning towards their guest. “Your Lordship,” her mistress announced, “I hath commissioned a gift for King Richard, to thus demonstrate our loyalty. ‘Tis indeed a timely present, and one which shouldst sit well with thee, if thou wouldst take the time to look upon it carefully.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Emma noticed Lord Buckingham scrutinizing his wife carefully, his arms crossed over his chest and suddenly she wondered just how far they should go in this endeavor.

  The High Minister looked kindly enough, and Emma, taking courage from his open face, took her carefully worded piece over to him. He thanked her graciously, and turning to his host and hostess, declared, “I shalt accept this gift in the name of Richard I, and by so doing, acknowledge thy allegiance.”

  ‘“Tis a rare gift, indeed Sir, and one that required thy utmost attention.” Lady Buckingham dared not say more; even as she spoke she could feel her husband’s dark eyes stationed on her.

  The High Minister remained at the manor for another two days, enjoying falconry, hunting, and rich food, and each night, if she happened to pass him in the great hall, Emma prayed for some sign of acknowledgement, but there was none. All she noticed was Lady Buckingham looking more and more desperate, and her heart went out to her brave cohort.

  On the last day of his visit, as the High Minister strolled through the main hall en route to his carriage, talking with his host and hostess, Emma took a brazen step. “Might I be so bold, Sire, as to congratulate thy Eminence on behalf of Richard l. Since ‘tis I who hath sewn this noble present in the name of Lord and Lady Buckingham, I wouldst feel honored, indeed, if thou might look upon my work closely, to understand how much time I hath spent sewing this pillow for such a courageous king. Indeed, a king who wouldst fight the enemy at any cost in order to protect England.”

  She searched the face of his Eminence for any reaction to her speech, but there was nothing unusual there, except perhaps a flicker of surprise upon hearing such an articulate, outspoken village girl. He glanced over to Lord Buckingham, and Emma felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. Perhaps the High Minister was involved with Lord Buckingham! Perhaps he, too, had plans to betray Richard the Lionhearted and bring England to its ruin! Not waiting for any further response, she retreated into the comfort of the archway shadows.

  “Wait, child. Thou hath done beautiful work, indeed. I thank thee for thy interest in thy king.” Chuckling, the High Minister moved on, with Lord Buckingham glowering over at her. He motioned to one of the guardsmen with a short, clipped nod, and the armed man rapidly headed towards the seamstress.

  She froze, as Lady Buckingham looked on helplessly. When the minister stepped into his carriage for the long journey home, she felt the vise-like grip of the guardsman’s fingers on her arm. “Cometh with me, thou wench scoundrel! M’Lord wants thee locked away, safe,” he growled.

  As a prisoner at the top of an unfamiliar winding staircase, she could hear Lord Buckingham barking at his wife somewhere nearby.

  “So, thou thought thou was more clever than I! How dare thee! Thou and thy little servant girl shall not liveth to see the morrow, I can assure thee of it! Thou shalt not get in my way! Making pronouncements in favor of King Richard indeed! England shall be governed by someone who is truly worthy! By my faith, long liveth the Dauphin of France! Down with Richard the Lionhearted! Lionhearted indeed! There is nothing lionhearted about this ruler, I can assure thee!” His words made Emma shudder.

  “Spare the child, she hath nothing to do with me, really. She only pleaseth me because of her excellent work. Let no harm cometh to her!”

  “Very touching, my dear, very touching, but ‘twill do thee no good. When thou hast gone, she shall be gone as well. Truth be told, one less villager shall not harm anyone.”

  Emma heard a short scuffl
e, then, silence. Soon, grating footsteps on the stone floor reverberated louder and louder towards her. Half-choking with fear, she looked around the room, but there were no visible paths of escape, and when the footsteps stopped just outside the door, she began to cry.

  Lord Buckingham, dressed in a long riding cloak, suddenly loomed over her. Grabbing her by her hair with one hand, twisting her arm with the other, he jerked her along with him to another room. “Stay there with thy mistress and prepare to die. In good truth, see what it doth mean to favor the King!” he snarled.

  In the darkness, Emma heard the gentle rustling of a noblewoman’s dress, lost in the shadows.

  “Emma, in good sooth, I hath brought thee into a world thee knew nothing about, and for it, thou must die. Please forgiveth me,” Lady Buckingham mewed softly.

  Numb, Emma let her eyes get accustomed to the spare light, before exploring the darkened room, filled with tablecloths and linens, ready to be embroidered. Without warning she felt a momentary pang of sadness of all that might have been.

  Five seconds later, she laughed. “By my faith, all my best thoughts do cometh to me at night!”

  She ran over to the only window, larger than the others with wooden shutters and no bars across it. Immediately under the window to the left was an iron rod, embedded in the wall and used for spinning various threads. She proceeded to drag a small stool next to Lady Buckingham over to the window, and standing up on its narrow seat, held onto the wall for balance. Then, jumping off the stool, she hurried back to the tablecloths, beckoning Lady Buckingham to join her. Her ladyship continued to look puzzled until she saw Emma fast at work, tying the linens together to form a crude rope. Soon, the two women were so engrossed in their project they didn’t hear the guardsman’s jagged voice until it was just outside their door.

  “Marry! ‘Tis too quiet in there! Wha’st thou both doing?”

  Lady Buckingham quickly answered. “We are resting. In faith, we are allowed to rest, are we not, even if we are condemned to die?”