by Mary Hooper
‘If only the moon were blue, Dee,’ returned the other man.
‘But other philosophers have had some success. In Prague, they say, a length of wire has been transmuted to pure gold. And in France they speak of an elixir which turned an old man’s white hair dark, and gave him the stamina of a twenty year old.’
‘Then, sadly, our angels cannot care enough for us,’ said Mr Kelly, ‘or they would give us the formula in a language we understand and thus make us rich.’
‘Ah,’ sighed Dr Dee.
There was a pause in their conversation and I carried on busily moving stems of holly around the vases, although it seemed that they had forgotten about me.
‘Of course . . . there is a way whereby two problems may be solved at once,’ Mr Kelly said.
Dr Dee turned away, raising his hand as if to block out Mr Kelly’s next words. ‘Talk no more of devious deeds.’
‘No, no, hear me out! The first problem is the queen’s New Year present, and the second is knowing what amusement or experiment we should put before her and her Court when we attend the palace. Do I speak true?’
‘You do,’ said Dr Dee.
‘Then what if these problems were combined – and solved – together?’
‘How so?’
‘What if part of the entertainment we present was the mystical turning of a metal ring into a gold one, which could then be presented to the queen as a New Year gift?’
‘But we are not able to perform such a task! ‘Tis impossible.’
I think a look passed between them, for there was a long pause. ‘Are you suggesting that we carry out a deception?’ Dr Dee asked.
‘Of course,’ said Mr Kelly easily. ‘It can be simply done. We will set up the alembic in the presence of the Court and cause a little smoke and a little steam. We will utilise the dark mirror, and the onlookers will be so fascinated by this wonder of magick and science combined that a sleight of hand will go unnoticed.’
‘You intend to substitute one ring for another?’
‘Exactly.’ Mr Kelly suddenly gestured towards me and I hastily lowered my head. ‘We have to take the girl to the palace, do we not?’
‘So Her Grace has requested.’
‘Well then, Dee. She can be the bearer of the gold ring and the disposer of the metal one, thus leaving our hands clean. The matter couldn’t be easier.’
‘But . . . but what if we are found out?’
‘If we are found out, Dee, then it hardly matters. We are there as an entertainment, nothing more. Besides, most of the court will be drunk on a combination of Rhenish and their own self-importance. They are so intent on making an impression on everyone else that they won’t care about us.’
Dr Dee shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know . . .’
Silence ensued, and both, staring idly down the room, looked straight at me. I had finished my arranging by then and I had no legitimate reason for staying there, so put the filled vases in position each side of the centre fireplace, threw some holly cuttings on the fire, curtseyed and went out.
It would all happen as Mr Kelly had suggested, of that I was sure. Dr Dee was the wiser of the two, but he was old and gullible and liked to please Mr Kelly, for he was the one who relayed the words of the angels. Or said he did.
Going back into the kitchen I found Mistress Allen giving specific directions to Mistress Midge for the making of a posset to cure Madam’s lethargy. Mistress Midge managed to contain herself until the other left, then exploded in a riot of indignation.
‘As if I don’t know what the mistress wants and needs! As if I wouldn’t know the cause and the cure of every ill she had. I, who helped birth her and breathe life into her! Three drops of this, she says, four pinches of that, six spoonfuls of the other – telling me my job! I’m the cook here and I’ll decide what goes into Madam’s posset!’
She paused for breath.
‘Of course,’ I agreed quickly.
‘And do you know what else?’
I shook my head.
‘She tried to tell me how to cook the venison!’
I made exasperated noises and soothing noises, and when she calmed down I got her to help me form the kissing bough with some vines and evergreen, bent and tied with string into a circle, with mistletoe twirled around and a candlestick fixed inside. We fastened this over the entrance to the outside passageway, so that anyone entering had to pass under it, and it looked very pretty there. It set me thinking of home, for one year my elder sister had made one, and we’d all had fun – even Ma – telling the names of those we’d like to meet underneath it, and those we’d run a mile to avoid. Sadly it had not stayed up more than a day, however, for my father, coming home drunk from the tavern that night, had hit his head on it. It could not have been a hard blow, for the bough was light and flimsy, but it was enough to enrage him, and, roaring with anger, he’d pulled down the device and kicked it into the street.
Thinking of home, I couldn’t decide if I was happy to be away from it because of my father, or sad because I missed my ma. And then I forgot all this in the excitement of recalling that the following day was Christmas Eve and I was going to be at Richmond Palace.
Chapter Eleven
I’m afraid that my little charges went to bed rather early the next evening, for I had much to do to make myself ready. Isabelle came to the house to help me with this and, after I’d washed my hair and dried it before the fire, endeavoured to braid it for me. Being clean meant it was limp, however, and it kept slipping out from its braids, so – fancy hair being unattainable – all I could do was pull it straight back from my face, twist the length of it around my hand and tie it in a knot. Isabelle then gave me two black-tipped hairpins from her own hair and I put these through the knot to secure it.
‘Will it do?’ I asked her, turning this way and that. ‘Is it grand enough?’
‘It suits you mightily,’ she assured me. ‘And I’ve brought something for you to use on your face.’
‘Some ceruse?’ I asked, for this was how the queen and her ladies whitened their faces.
She shook her head. ‘Something I was given at market: a muslin cloth dipped in rosemary and lavender oil. The seller assured me it would lighten the complexion and make it fair and beautiful.’
‘What do I have to do to make it work?’
‘Merely wipe it across your cheeks and forehead.’
I carefully did so then turned to face her. ‘Now. Do I look different?’
She started backwards, pretending shock, and we fell to laughing.
I’d decided to wear the pale blue gown, as it had brushed cotton petticoats, and was probably the warmer, for if everyone had to stay outside for some time while greeting the queen, then it might get very cold.
My dressing took some time. Although the vast skirts did not require me to wear a farthingale with whale-bone cage underneath, they did have to be elevated and widened by a bum roll. Isabelle tied this around me, saw that the padding was even back and front, then laced the stiffened underbodice into place, wound me into the underskirt and finally pinned me into the kirtle. After securing the top of the gown to the bottom she began fastening the scores of tiny buttons which went all down the back of it and, this done, pinned on the sleeves, crawled under the skirts to make them stand proud and finally stood back and admired me.
‘How do I look?’ I asked anxiously. ‘Will I pass for a lady?’
She nodded keenly. ‘You look very fine! You’ll be kissed under the mistle-bough for sure.’
‘I’m not going there to be kissed!’ I said, pretending severity. ‘I’m going to follow someone who may seek to harm our lady queen.’ I shivered and added, ‘And I hope I run into no harm.’
‘I’m sure you will not. After all, you have something to guide you.’
I looked at her, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
She shrugged. ‘Well, you say ‘tis not the Sight, but I believe it is something very like, something which will warn you of a
ny danger – as it did before when Her Grace was in peril.’
I nodded slowly. ‘But let’s talk about other things,’ I said, for it made me uneasy to think I might have mystical powers like those of witches. ‘Did you hear that Robert Dudley is said to be giving the queen a little jewelled clock for her wrist?’
She nodded. ‘Which will surely drive her French suitor to give her an even more precious gift.’ She looked at me excitedly. ‘You may see all her men tonight.’
I nodded. ‘And I will certainly see Tomas.’
She paused over the task she was at, which was picking dropped pins from the floor. ‘It’s very strange, is it not, that you’ve never seen him out of disguise?’
‘It is. But in public he most often appears so.’
‘Why’s that?’
I turned a little, trying to see my reflection in the window. ‘So that, unseen and unknown, he may carry out certain duties for Her Grace. If people knew that the queen’s fool was amongst them then they wouldn’t speak freely.’
‘Are his features good, do you think? Is he handsome?’
I smiled. ‘As far as I can tell.’
‘Today I served a woman in the market who wore a full veil,’ Isabelle said thoughtfully. ‘I thought she was dressed this way because she was in mourning, but when the wind blew her veil across I saw that she’d been badly ravaged by smallpox and her face was covered with pitting and scars.’
‘Poor woman,’ I gasped.
‘Not that I’m saying Tomas is marked so!’ she added hastily. ‘For I saw a goodly part of his features when we were at the palace and I saw nothing untoward.’ She stood up and took my hand. ‘Come. I’ll walk with you through Barnes and see you on the road to the palace.’
I smiled at her gratefully. ‘And if you see Mistress Midge on our way out, remember that we are supposed to be going a-mumming.’
Isabelle looked at me and raised her eyebrows. ‘A finer-dressed mummer she will never have seen in all her life!’
* * *
It was obvious to me that Tomas, Sir Francis Walsingham and whoever else had decided I should visit the palace to spy on Mistress Pryor had not given a thought as to how I might get from Mortlake to Richmond. Such a thing wouldn’t have occurred, for they, being of some import, would either ride to places on horseback or be driven there in carriages. It fell to me, however, to make my way on foot, which meant wearing pattens over my shoes and holding my skirts as high as possible to keep them out of the mud.
After leaving Isabelle, I paid a penny to a link-boy to light my way on, but after crossing the deer park, I found myself at Richmond Hill and here dismissed him because light was now provided by both the newly-risen moon and the torches which flamed outside the grand houses (and he was demanding another penny). Reaching the brow of the hill, I paused, gazing at the sublime view of the moon reflected in the twisting Thames far below. On the right, Richmond Palace was lit up with so many torches and candles that it glittered like a faery castle, and on seeing this I forgot the cold and mud and fair flew down the hill, arriving at the gates of the palace to find a procession of carriages, coaches and litters all waiting to enter. Indeed, there were so many conveyances waiting in line that lots of their passengers had disembarked and were going through the palace gates on foot, which this was fortunate for me, as I was able to join them and have it appear that I, too, had just stepped out of a carriage.
Once through the gates I tucked back my cloak so that my gown could be seen the better and entered the vast courtyard, breathless with excitement. My first feeling was of relief that I’d been given something to wear by my new friend, for even the best of my everyday gowns would have seemed very dowdy compared to what was being worn there. Men and women alike glowed with colour, their garments heavily embroidered or bejewelled, each ruff the more extravagant, each fall of lace more frothy, each outfit seemingly more fabulous than the one it stood beside. There were people everywhere, grouped atop of the wide stone walls, on terraces, balconies and in the courtyards, gossiping, laughing, talking, and all the time surveying the far landscape for signs that the queen’s party were on their way.
I stood for several moments almost overwhelmed by the crowds, then my hand was taken and I looked round to see someone dressed as Harlequin, his doublet and hose patterned all over in coloured diamonds, his face painted the same. He carried a stick with bells on the end, and waved and jingled this as he bowed and wished me good evening.
I returned this politeness with a curtsey, but was not about to be taken in so easily again. ‘Who are you, Sir?’ I asked.
‘He whom you seek.’ He put his lips to my ear and his breath, warm upon my cheek, made me quiver all over. ‘Never fear. I am Tomas.’
I looked at his painted face carefully and checked the grey-silver shade of his eyes. ‘Yes, I believe you are,’ I said.
‘There was doubt in your mind?’
‘I had trouble with a duplicate of you.’
He raised blacked-in eyebrows. ‘Another queen’s fool?’
‘Another Jack Frost.’
‘And what did he want with you?’
I dropped my voice. ‘He asked me about the woman I have to watch. He didn’t mention her by name, but seemed to wish me to say who she was.’
‘And did you . . . ?’
I shook my head vehemently. ‘Of course not! I didn’t say a word.’
‘And was he of my height and appearance?’
I nodded. ‘As much as I know of your appearance.’
He didn’t pick up on this tiny rebuke. ‘Then we must think further on this and be on our guard.’
‘I am already!’
‘Of course. And you’re doing excellently well.’
We smiled at each other. ‘And now we must concentrate on the evening ahead. Are you ready to enjoy yourself?’ he asked.
‘I am! Where shall I stand?’
He pointed above us, to the far side of the courtyard. ‘A fair number of the queen’s ladies are on that terrace, so I suggest that you go there to get the best view of Her Grace’s arrival.’
‘She will enter through these castle gates?’
He nodded. ‘So the Lord Chamberlain says. She’ll then go under the stone arch and be escorted on to the platform, where she’ll watch some entertainment before going upstairs to join her ladies for supper.’
I tried to make my enquiry sound casual, so that anyone who overheard us would not know the import of it. ‘And what of that certain lady?’
‘She is wearing emerald green velvet, with a spray of feathers on her fair hair.’
I glanced across to the terrace that he’d indicated, but there was a press of people there and I couldn’t see anyone in that shade of gown. ‘Is she truly there?’ I asked.
‘She is. Now she is. But in an hour’s time she may not be, so when you discover her, watch her closely.’ He stood back a little and took in my appearance. ‘You are looking very fine, Lucy, and will find yourself in equally elegant company. Come, I’ll escort you to the steps.’ And so saying, he took my arm and led me through the throng towards a stone staircase twisting its way up to the terrace.
Pausing at the foot of it I suddenly became afeared. ‘Supposing I am noticed and suspected?’
He shook his head. ‘There are hundreds of people here tonight: some who live and work in the palace, many more invited guests and some who’ve come along just to glimpse the queen. A lone girl will not stand out in such a pell-mell.’ He smiled. ‘Even though she might be a very pretty one.’
I felt my cheeks colour. ‘And . . . and will I see you again tonight to tell you what occurred?’
‘Undoubtedly,’ he said before he disappeared back into the crowds.
I climbed the stone staircase, which was very steep, with as much elegance as I could muster. At the top I found myself on a paved terrace alongside perhaps forty or fifty other people all excitedly awaiting Her Grace’s arrival, and I leaned on the parapet here and tried to make myself
as unobtrusive as possible.
After a moment, the lady I was standing beside touched my arm. It was certain that she was not my quarry, for this lady was above middle age and wore a deep red dress enlivened by embroidered Tudor roses. ‘’Tis most exciting, is it not?’ she said. ‘And there are fireworks later, I’ve heard.’
‘I have never seen fireworks!’
‘But have you seen Her Grace before?’ Before I could reply to this she went on, ‘I have never seen her in my life, and would not be here now but my daughter is newly made a dressmaker at the palace, and it was she who bid me come along tonight.’
‘Your daughter helps make the queen’s gowns?’
The woman nodded proudly. ‘Although there are many seamstresses in the sewing room. Eight women alone to stitch the royal buttonholes!’
We stood admiring the scene below us, pointing and exclaiming by turn. Several musicians were grouped together on a farm cart, tuning their instruments, and on another was set some scenery and furniture so that it looked like a room in a grand house. Indeed, I was so fascinated by what was going on below that for several moments I forgot what I was there for, then, suddenly remembering, turned to study the young ladies who were standing on the terrace. I saw green gowns – but not velvet. And velvet gowns aplenty – but not green. And then a little huddle of people parted and I saw a girl standing apart from anyone else, also looking down into the courtyard. She was tall, slender and dressed in a gown of bright emerald velvet with a jewelled belt at her waist and a high, flyaway ruff. Her hair, pale blonde, was set up with feathers. As if to confirm I was looking at the right girl, someone called from the group, ‘Madeleine! Look here!’ and she turned and smiled at the speaker. She had a lovely face – but was somewhat troubled in her mind, I thought, although I had no idea how the latter notion came to me.
