by Alexa Schnee
I kept my eyes down so as not to offend her or cause any disrespect. Only when she came to the baron’s shoulder did we dare to stop and look to her—for she was addressing us directly.
“A charming couple.” Her voice was loud enough to be heard throughout the Great Hall. She gave a nod to her cousin, sharp, concise, and final, before she crossed to the next dancers.
My heart raced. She had accepted me. But it dropped as I realized what this meant. I knew there was no way I could refuse the baron’s advances now.
A FEW DAYS LATER, after Twelfth Night was over, we heard a knock on the chamber door. This was not uncommon. Many courtiers had come to see Frances after the ball. The ladies-in-waiting had been catching up on the court gossip. We sat around the great room, our dresses gathered into wide chairs and bright silver needles in our hands. Laughter punctuated the conversation as each lady shared details others had missed. I played my harp to pass the time and amuse the others. My fingers halted in midair at the knock, waiting to finish the song I had begun.
I was surprised when a timid maid approached and announced the caller to be Henry Carey, asking to speak to me.
I hesitated then told the maid to let him in. He strode into the room and glanced around it, looking for me. I met his eyes, and he continued toward me until he reached my side and sat on the bench beside me. I leaned aside, inching away from him. I grasped my harp in my hands, as an abandoned song still waited to be conducted.
“Play something for me, Lady Bassano,” he said, motioning toward my handheld harp with a spotted hand.
I nodded curtly and began plucking at the strings, a familiar melody soon playing out. I played him a simple song I’d learned when I was younger, a lullaby my father had sung to me. It was the only thing I remembered about him. For a few moments, the song took me away from the discomfort of entertaining the baron. I forgot I was sitting next to an old man who had taken a liking to me because I looked like his aunt, a witch. The notes brought me back to the old days when I would sit reading books in a corner of the lavish chambers where my father entertained dukes and earls.
My fingers brushed the strings with a surprising grace. I may not have been an excellent dancer, but I was a fair musician. The song was clear and strong and I felt proud of my choice.
“That was beautiful.” The baron smiled. “Like the harpist it came from.”
My face flushed a deep scarlet and burned like fire. Who did this old man think he was? He was not young and handsome like the men who came for Frances. Why couldn’t I have been noticed by one of them?
All the ladies-in-waiting watched us. We were the entertainment for the moment. I slid away from Henry Carey and placed my harp on the ground next to the bench. I hoped they would look away.
He turned to me. “I shall come see you tomorrow afternoon?” He phrased it as a question, but I heard it as a certainty. Did I have no choice in the matter? I knew I had to please the queen. Margaret had once said that our duty was first and foremost to our country. If the queen was pleased, it was one less thing for Her Majesty to fret over. I had to at least pretend I accepted his affections.
I glanced over at Frances and Margaret. They were the only ones who seemed to be preoccupied with something besides my love affair. Margaret was staring into the courtyard; her eyes were focused on something out the window. Frances was occupied with some sewing that she hadn’t the patience for a moment ago. I would receive no guidance from them.
I nodded hesitantly. “Yes.”
He stood up from the bench and bowed low. Then Henry Carey strode out of the chambers as brazenly as he had come. The whole room sighed.
My heart felt as though it had been pierced with one of Frances’s sewing needles. I had just told Henry Carey he could come and visit me again.
When Henry was safely out of earshot, my friends joined me on the bench. They sat on either side of me, a comfort in my time of need, and I forgave their lack of support for when Henry Carey had been at my side. Margaret sat on my left; she was my voice of reason. I valued her wisdom and her understanding of the inner workings of the court. Frances reflected my rebellious side, my desperate desire to escape the relationship that was being forced upon me.
“What should I do?” I cried as I buried my head in my hands. “I do not want his attention.”
“Emilia,” Margaret said softly, “you said it yourself—you have no money to marry. This might be the way for you to accomplish that.”
“I was not expecting to be a mistress to a man thrice my age,” I responded sharply. I recognized my error. It wasn’t her fault I’d had the misfortune thrust upon me. I took a deep breath to steady my voice. “How can I make him lose interest in me?”
Frances shrugged her petite shoulders.
I looked back and forth between them, but neither seemed sure. Frances’s face expressed the doubt she could not put into words. I took another breath. Could I do this? Could I really serve my queen in this way? It seemed wrong, and yet if the queen wanted it, it was right. Obeying her was like obeying God. My thoughts swirled through my head faster than the dancers on the floor at the ball.
True to his word, Henry Carey came the next day. I was the only lady who had stayed in the chambers. The rest opted to go for a walk around the nearby pond. Not even Margaret had stayed. I remained in the great room, pacing back and forth.
I bit my nails until they bled, hoping he had forgotten about me, about his promise. I silently pleaded with the clock in our chamber to never strike the hour when Henry was to come. I prayed that the strong, wooden doors would remain safely closed. I was almost sure my prayer was answered when afternoon passed and he still had not arrived. I was just starting to believe I was safe, however, when we heard a sharp knock. The handmaiden answered, and he entered. I grabbed my sewing and hid in a corner, hoping he would miss me. I wasn’t so lucky.
“Lady Bassano,” he exclaimed as he stepped through the door. His frame was larger than I had remembered.
“My lord.” I smiled. I had to greet him with the utmost of civility.
He sat next to me, and I asked about his involvement in court and whether he was planning to visit his estates.
“I have no plans for travel,” he said. “Winter has stayed far too long for my liking. I do not prefer riding in this type of weather.”
“And Parliament?” I asked, because I couldn’t think of what else to say. To me, Parliament was simply old men debating useless things.
“Tiring. Simply tiring. You, my dear, remain a sight for these exhausted eyes.”
There was an uncomfortable silence as I tried to think of a response that would not offend him. Insults were all that came to me. “Will you play me another song, Lady Bassano?” He pointed to my prized harp.
I agreed, though beneath the pleasant mask I wore, I grimaced. This time I sang a harvesting song. It was a tune I’d learned from the countess when I was first learning to play. My fingers danced along the strings. They knew the melody so well. It was simple; I didn’t want him to think I was overly accomplished and admire me.
Once again his visit drew to a close, and once again he asked me if he was allowed to visit. I replied yes as before, but once again with regret in my heart. He gave me a smile and kissed my hand. His lips felt wet against my hand.
How nice it must be to be a man. They could go wherever they wished and do as they pleased, while we ladies had to suffer for it.
“A SIGHT FOR EXHAUSTED eyes. Can you imagine?” I said. The circle of ladies erupted in laughter. Distress was always laughable when it happened to someone else.
That night, as all the ladies sat together in the chambers, our nightgowns draping over our bare legs, Henry Carey and I suddenly became the prime subject of discussion. Up until this point I had not provided enough drama to be of any interest to the group. Before, the talk had always been about Lady Frances and her many admirers.
The darkness of the main room of our chambers did little to hide the giddiness o
n the faces of the ladies. The light from the single candle we had placed in the center of our circle cast a pale light on each girl’s face. Our forms were cast as shadows on the wall.
“I pity you, Lady Bassano.” Frances laughed, her voice a slight bit louder than it should have been. “He has always reminded me of an old toad.”
“Lady Frances…” Margaret resumed the role of our guiding mother, her voice quieter than Frances’s echoing tones. When she was away from the eyes and ears of the other ladies-in-waiting, Margaret could be as bad as Lady Frances, but when the ladies were gathered, she never engaged in gossip.
“What am I to do?” I asked the others. I wanted them to give me the answer I could not find easily in my heart. “I want to be loyal to the queen, and I do need the money he would provide, but…”
“He’s a toad!” Frances exclaimed.
Margaret shook her head, but I agreed with Frances this time. He was far too old…and far from what I’d hoped. I could barely stand the thought of sitting next to him. How could I be his mistress?
But if I refused…what would the queen do? I could be banished from court, and I would have nowhere to go. I had no money or acquaintances to help me.
“There is only one thing you can do,” a young woman named Bess answered. “You must accept him.”
The whole circle stared at her, eyes wide. Lady Bess Throckmorton was a rather plain girl, but she made a pleasant enough impression. Her brown hair color was not remarkable, nor was the color of her eyes—her overall appearance was monotone. She was not married and had no prospects from what I’d heard, but she had been at court for some time and she was valuable to the queen…though not as valuable as Margaret.
“Why should she subject herself, Lady Throckmorton?” Frances demanded. “She is pretty enough. She just needs more time at court to establish herself among the younger courtiers.”
“Yes, but none would be as wealthy as he,” Bess answered. I hated how calculating her voice sounded. “It is likely he would set her up with a well-positioned husband if she were to become with child. She can have the young, foolish poets all she wants, but none of them have the money to support her. We don’t all have funds like you, Lady Sidney.”
Frances looked away. It was a sharp movement, her face harsh and unfeeling. It was the first time I had seen Frances display anything but assurance of herself. I knew that Frances had been married very young to the older poet, Lord Sidney. He had died only a few months after the marriage, leaving his massive fortune to his adolescent widow.
“I cannot possibly,” I said gently. I didn’t want to offend anyone at court after I had been there such a short time. One of the first things the countess had advised me on was not to cause bad blood between members of court. She did not fail to remind me that the Boleyns and the Seymours had been enemies for centuries, all because of some argument at court. No one seemed to remember what it had been about, but their rivalry agitated for years until Jane Seymour bore Henry the Eighth a son and lost her life in the process.
“Then I’m afraid you will not find a good husband. You know that others make sacrifices,” Lady Bess said. “Margaret never sees her husband for the sake of the queen and her many whims. Whenever Her Majesty needs her, she is expected to drop all things and run to the queen’s side. You have little choice but to do the same.”
With that, she stood up and walked over to her mattress in the next room and turned in for the night. The group was silent except for Margaret, who was humming softly under her breath. We remained this way until we heard Lady Bess’s soft snoring a few minutes later.
“How would she know?” Frances scoffed, crossing her delicate arms over her chest. “She’s not married.”
“Perhaps that’s why she encourages Emilia to be,” Margaret said quietly. “This is an opportunity you should carefully consider, Emilia. I’m not saying you have to agree, but you should think about your future. The queen would be furious if you do not consent. If you refuse her cousin, she will never again see you in a favorable light. Let’s say you agree…”
Frances almost interrupted her but was stopped when Lady Margaret put up her hand. Frances rolled her eyes, threw a knowing look at me, and let her continue.
“Let’s say you agree and you become with child after a month. Then the baron will send you to be married to some other man, and you will be free.”
“She won’t be free. She will be married to someone the old toad thinks would make a good match,” Frances insisted. She ignored Margaret’s piercing look.
“Is that worse than turning him down and enduring the possibility of never getting married at all?”
Frances’s face began to turn a light shade of red, disturbing her usually fair complexion. But somehow she looked even more beautiful. Even dressed in her nightgown and with her face the color of a ripe, red apple, she looked far more exquisite than I ever could. What a shame Henry Carey hadn’t taken a fancy to her. She could have turned him down and not had a second thought about it.
“It is her life!” Frances cried. “She is the one who has to sleep with him.” And she, too, huffed off to bed. I could hear her making sniffling noises under her covers.
Margaret gave a small chuckle. The room was quieter without Frances to object to everything. The soft light danced on the walls, and I fingered the hem of my nightgown.
“Frances was lucky to have Philip Sidney,” Margaret said. “She is just upset that she didn’t have more time to flirt with the courtiers before she was married.”
I smiled halfheartedly. I was not so easily consoled. Although I understood Margaret’s position, my mind and my heart could not agree with her advice.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Margaret said. For a moment, she reminded me of the Countess of Kent and how she had always called me her “dear.” “There is still a chance he will tire of you or find someone else,” Margaret continued. “Men are experts at that, and I have seen it many times in this court.”
I gave a small laugh despite the circumstances. How lucky I was to have Margaret.
“Shall we go to bed?” she asked, standing up and addressing the other ladies. They yawned and stretched their arms above their heads before making their way to the pallets laid out on the wooden floor in their chamber. The tingling in my legs reminded me how long I had been sitting.
I gave Margaret a hug. She smelled of perfume and the soap we used to launder our clothes. I wanted to believe she knew the right decision for me to make, but I could not make the ache in my chest go away.
We separated, and I was once again alone with my thoughts. I crawled underneath my blankets and felt the softness and warmth envelop me.
Frances, after being married so young, was now free to marry a page if she wanted. But for this freedom, she had given a man she neither wanted nor loved her childhood, her youth, and her virginity.
Could I stand being Henry’s mistress? Could I stand catering to his every whim like a dog on a leash or a falcon with clipped wings? Could I give myself to this old, married man? And what part of myself would I lose in the bargain? The thought sent shivers of dread down my spine.
Court was now my home. I had no estate to live in if I was banished. The Countess of Kent had been good to me, raising me like her own after my parents died, but I could not go back to her. She had conditioned me for life at court. The look that would be on her face if she found I’d thrown away all she’d taught me would be worse than the first night with the Baron of Hunsdon.
It was that moment that I realized I did not have a choice. I knew there was only one thing I could do. I decided if Henry Carey asked me to be his mistress, I must accept.
BESIDES TWELFTH NIGHT AND Christmas, Shrove Tuesday was the biggest celebration of the year. There was not so much dancing as there was at Twelfth Night, and that was disappointing for both me and Frances, but there was more wine, which heightened everyone’s spirits. We primped and prodded each other in the chambers, readying ourselves for an exciting
night. Skirts and clothing were thrown all about the main room as every girl tried to pick the right gown for the occasion.
Margaret refused to join us. She sat in her favorite high-backed chair and watched us warily.
“Aren’t you coming with us?” I said to her as I brushed my hair behind me.
“I do not believe the queen could tolerate a maid of honor drinking as much as will be expected tonight.”
“Oh, Margaret,” Frances scoffed, “the queen would not care on Shrove Tuesday. Everyone drinks excessively.”
“Trust me, Emilia,” Margaret warned me, “things are said on Shrove Tuesday that should not. Do not listen to Frances and say something you will regret.”
I assured her I wouldn’t, and after a hesitant nod from her, Frances and I set out for the Great Hall, where the voices of the men already echoed between the solid walls.
The wine was fine and the night was young, but I was not in the mood to drink that night anyway. I knew Henry Carey might officially ask me to become his mistress, and Margaret’s warning rang through my head like a steady bell. As we sat at the long table worn smooth through centuries of use, Frances passed me another glass, which I ignored, and poured a third for herself.
“Look at all the handsome men,” she said, her voice higher and louder than anyone else’s in the room. “You should think about having some fun before you agree to the old toad.”
It felt like many hours later by the time Henry Carey came beside me. I couldn’t help but fidget in my seat and scratch my elbow. He looked even older than I remembered, his face carved with deep wrinkles. He sat beside me, next to Frances and a couple of young men.
“You are beautiful tonight, Lady Bassano,” he said. He reached for my hand, and I had to take his. “I’ve been meaning to give you this.” He smiled. He took out a ring from his doublet and placed it in my other hand.
