B009RYSCAU EBOK

by Gillian Bagwell

  Third of November, 1539—London

  THE ZOUCHE HOUSEHOLD ARRIVED IN LONDON AFTER A weeklong journey from Derbyshire. Lady Zouche and her children and attendants rode in horse litters, surrounded by Sir George and his riding household of fifty men and followed by five wagons of household furnishings, clothes, and personal belongings.

  They had stopped to stay the night at great houses along their way, and Bess had been particularly enthralled by Nottingham Castle, but as the sprawl of houses and churches along the river came clearly into sight, punctuated by the towering spire of what Lady Zouche said was St. Paul’s Cathedral, she craned her neck in excitement. Finally—London! She was eager to see as much of it as she could. She thought, too, about her stepfather, imprisoned in the Fleet, and wondered where it was.

  “The house we have taken is somewhat small, but near the palace,” Lady Zouche told her, reaching to take her fretting baby from the nurse’s arms.

  But when the convoy at last clattered to a halt in a street near the river, Bess thought that the house that rose before her was very grand. Everyone was too exhausted to do much but eat supper and fall into bed on that first night, but the next day Lady Zouche and the girls set to work on the important task of preparing themselves for the king’s presence. All of their gowns were pulled from the great chests in which they had traveled and hung to let out wrinkles, and shoes, stockings, hoods, caps, fans, gloves, and the myriad other accessories were tallied and arrayed.

  “I had thought to wear my green,” Lady Zouche fretted, shaking out the skirts of a gown of a color that made Bess think of new spring grass. “But perhaps the blue is better. What do you think, Bess?”

  Bess was pleased to be asked for her opinion and considered the gowns. “They are both wonderful, my lady, but the blue”—she gently touched the velvet of the gown with one finger—“reminds me of the feathers of the peacocks at Codnor. So very beautiful.”

  “Yes,” Lady Zouche said, smiling. “I think you’re right. The blue it shall be. You can wear your tawny velvet, Audrey her scarlet, Lizzie her green, and Doll her violet, and we shall look like a collection of jewels. Very fit for catching the eye of the king.”

  “What is he like, your ladyship?” Bess asked. “King Henry?”

  Lizzie and the other girls gathered close to hear, as none of them had been to London or seen the king.

  “Well!” Lady Zouche dropped into a low chair and smiled conspiratorially at the eager faces around her. “I’ve not seen him since the christening of little Prince Edward, and I’ve heard that he’s become stout and tetchy since he injured his leg in a fall from a horse near four years ago. But in the early days when I was at court, he was as fine a man as I’ve ever seen.”

  Bess pulled a hassock close to her mistress’s side, and the other girls drew up stools and hassocks, all thoughts of work gone.

  “He is very tall,” Lady Zouche said, “and his frame most excellent. Powerful and yet graceful—he dances wonderfully. He delighted in jousting and tilting, and beat all comers. He never tired of hunting and hawking—it seemed he could live in the saddle.”

  “Is he handsome, my lady?” Doll asked, her blue eyes alight and pink cheeks glowing.

  “Oh, faith, he had the face of an angel! Oh, but no.” Lady Zouche laughed and shook her head. “That makes it sound as though he were soft, like a lass. But he was none of that. There was deviltry in those eyes of his. I remember—” She broke off, and blushed.

  “What, my lady?” Lizzie clamored.

  “Oh, I suppose there’s no harm to say it,” Lady Zouche said. “I was just recalling a time when I watched him play at tennis. It was when I served Queen Anne, in the days before she was yet queen.” A shadow of sadness crossed her face. “It was a warm day, and His Majesty had stripped off his doublet and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His shirt was of the finest linen, and damp with his sweat, it clung to his form.”

  Her eyes were distant, reliving the scene long past, and Bess thought she could almost see the glorious young king, too.

  “He won his game, and came to the side of the court to have a drink of water and bandy some pleasantries with Mistress Anne. The neckband of his shirt was untied, so that it fell open, baring his throat and chest, and as he drank, I could scarce take my eyes from him, imagining—well, imagining what it was not proper for me to imagine.”

  The girls giggled in delight, and Bess felt a shiver of excitement run through her. She didn’t quite know what it was she was feeling—she had never heard anyone speak of such sensations—but she was thrilled by Lady Zouche’s story.

  “He must have sensed my gaze,” Lady Zouche continued, “for he lowered the mug and looked straight into my face. And it seemed he had read my thoughts, too, for in his eyes I saw such an intensity of desire and hunger that I nearly swooned.”

  Bess swallowed, overcome by emotions she had never felt before. Were such encounters what awaited her at court?

  “And then?” Lizzie’s eyes were big.

  “Why, and then nothing.” Lady Zouche smoothed her skirts, as if trying to regain her dignity. “It was but a glance and meant nothing. He was besotted with Mistress Anne. And even later, when she lost his favor and he strayed, I would sooner have cut out my tongue than break her heart by dallying with he whom she loved so much. And besides, by then I was wed to my lord.”

  That evening when Bess got to her knees to pray before crawling into bed next to Lizzie, she could not keep her eyes from her gown of tawny velvet, which hung ready to wear, the glow of the fire in the grate warming its sheen. She could scarce believe that the next day she would be at the palace, and see the king and his court. Now she understood why her mother had so wanted her to go to serve Lady Zouche. If she had stayed at Hardwick, tomorrow would have been a day like any other. But tomorrow, she would move among the highest people in the land.

  Take care of them all at home, she prayed. And let me be worthy of the faith they have in me and help me to do honor to my family.

  * * *

  THE ZOUCHES AND THEIR ATTENDANTS TRAVELED TO WHITEHALL by boat, and Bess was enchanted by the view of London from the river. Great houses stood along the north side of the Thames, their gardens sloping down to the riverbank, and beyond them church steeples punctured the sky. She twisted to look behind her at London Bridge, crowded with buildings. Beyond the bridge the river was choked with ships, their masts piercing the brilliant blue of the sky, their pennants snapping and billowing in the breeze.

  “Isn’t it grand?” she cried.

  “It is,” Lizzie answered. “But do you see those black things?”

  Bess peered where Lizzie pointed, on the gate at the south end of the bridge. She could not quite make out what they were.

  “Heads,” Lizzie said. “Boiled in tar so they’ll last.”

  Bess’s stomach heaved.

  “Whose heads?” she gasped.

  “Traitors. And there’s legs and other pieces, too. Because they quarter them, you know, and post the bits as warnings.” She lowered her voice to an ominous whisper. “So be careful how you behave at court!”

  Lizzie burst into a peal of giggles, but Bess clapped her hand over her mouth, nauseated, and snapped her gaze to the river before her.

  Heads and quarters of men hung up like sides of beef in a marketplace? She had never heard of such a thing and wished she didn’t know of it now.

  Ahead the river swept in a curve to the south, and Audrey cried out, “There’s the palace!”

  Bess saw great arched stone gates and high-roofed halls lining the river. She didn’t see any heads, and hoped there weren’t any.

  “What is that building?” Doll asked, pointing.

  “The abbey,” Lady Zouche answered, “and Westminster Hall there, and over there is Lambeth Palace.”

  The boat scraped against the base of a broad set of stairs coming down from the palace to the river, and liveried men reached down to help the Zouches and their attendants alight. Bess took
an outstretched hand, clutching her skirts as best she could with her free hand, lest they drag on the slimy green of the stone.

  Sir George strode up the steps, supporting his wife’s hand as she swept along beside him, and Bess had to trot to keep up. It seemed she was not the only one excited by the prospect of being at court. They entered the palace and passed through a warren of chambers and halls, their progress slower now as Sir George and Lady Zouche stopped to make their bows to gentlemen and ladies clustered along the way.

  They emerged into a great hall, and Bess stood and stared, awed by the splendor of the palace. Every surface, from the ceiling soaring high above to the paneled walls, was painted with elaborate scenes and decorations in bright colors or hung with rich tapestries. A chattering throng of people was gathered, gentlemen and ladies swathed in gleaming satin, heavy velvet, and filmy silk, stiff with embroidery in gold or silver, and their movement and laughter made Bess think of a flock of songbirds in a tree, flying up and settling only to flutter off to some higher branch.

  They made their way through the assemblage to a door guarded by stalwart liveried men with halberds.

  “The presence chamber,” Audrey whispered, and Bess felt her stomach contract with excitement. Audrey turned her attention to Lady Zouche, adjusting her jeweled hood, smoothing the shimmering blue of her skirts. Bess and the other girls tweaked curls into place, straightened caps, shook out their gowns. And then Bess heard someone announce the names of Sir George and Lady Zouche, and she hurried behind them through the doors.

  Just inside, Sir George and Lady Zouche sank into bows, and Bess and the girls followed, curtsying to the floor. Bess raised her eyes to the dais before them as she straightened and stared in shocked surprise at the man who sat on the throne. He was old. And he was fat. Little piggy eyes gleamed above flabby cheeks, and the scraggly beard could not hide the heavy jowls. It must be the king, for he alone of all those in the room had his hat upon his head, and who but a king would have fingers so stacked with massive rings?

  Bess glanced at Doll and Lizzie and was relieved that she caught in their eyes the same astonishment she felt.

  Bess’s master and mistress advanced to the foot of the dais, where they bowed again.

  “Welcome, good Sir George,” boomed the king. “How splendid to see you again. And your beauteous wife.”

  Bess tried to see in the stocky body the lithe tennis player damp with his sweat who had stirred such passion in Lady Zouche those many years ago, but all she could think was that the idea of any woman taking this man to her bed was repellent.

  “I thank Your Majesty,” Sir George said. “My lady and I wish to offer you our felicitations on your impending marriage.”

  “You’ll be here for the wedding, won’t you, George?”

  “Of course, Your Majesty. We’ll not miss such a happy occasion.”

  “Good. Good. You are most welcome to London.”

  And that was all. Bess followed in Lady Zouche’s wake as she and Sir George retreated the way they had come. They tarried in the outer chamber greeting acquaintances and exchanging news and gossip, and Bess stood in a corner with Lady Zouche’s other girls, trying to take in everything she saw.

  As at Codnor Castle, the vast majority of the people who moved around her were men. Black-robed old men with grave faces; laughing, swaggering young gentlemen in jeweled finery; red-coated guards; and burly soldiers. And everywhere liveried servants, from graybeards to young boys. No wonder country families brought their daughters to London to find them husbands. It would be hard to walk ten paces without bumping into a likely match, Bess thought. And was there one here for her? She glanced around, trying to place where all these men and boys stood in relation to her on the ladder of society.

  “Come, girls,” Lady Zouche murmured, and with final farewells, they took their leave of the palace.

  * * *

  THAT EVENING BESS SAT DOWN TO WRITE A LETTER TO HER MOTHER, and was overwhelmed by homesickness. Being in London was very exciting, but tears rose to her eyes when she thought about what her mother might be doing at that moment. Sitting near the fire, maybe, with some piece of needlework in her hand, with Alice and the little girls close by. Perhaps Jem was reading aloud. Bess sniffled and wiped her eyes. Rachel looked up from where she was nursing the baby near the hearth.

  “All right, young Bess?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Bess said, embarrassed at her emotion. She picked up the pen and wrote, My honored Mother, but got no further. She longed for the comfort of her mother’s arms.

  “Here, now,” Rachel said, coming to her. “What are these tears for, honey? Missing home, I’ll warrant.”

  Bess nodded, trying not to cry. Rachel stroked Bess’s hair with one hand, the other easily cradling the infant suckling at her ample breast.

  “Well, that’s only natural, and naught to be ashamed of. First time you’ve been away from them all, isn’t it? I remember when I left home to go to Codnor, near twenty years ago now. I wept all the first night.”

  Bess felt comforted by Rachel’s warmth, and her accent, exactly that of her own family and neighbors.

  “Really?” she asked. “Where do you come from?”

  “Wingfield,” Rachel said. Baby David had gone to sleep in her arms and she pulled her nipple from his mouth and tucked her breast away. Her apple-cheeked face was placid, her hazel eyes seeming even brighter beneath the white cap that did not quite cover her chestnut curls.

  “Wingfield is very close to where I’m from,” Bess said.

  “Aye, lass, I know. I knew your father a bit—your own father, I mean, who died when you were but a babe. Met him when he visited his cousins the Wingfields, where I was in service then. You have the blush of him, you know.”

  Bess had been told before that she resembled her father, and it always pleased her to think that some little part of him remained alive in her own appearance.

  “When did you stop feeling lonely?” she asked.

  “Oh, it took a while,” Rachel said, rocking the baby gently. His little lips pursed and worked, as though he was dreaming of suckling. “But when I met my husband—that’s when I began to feel that home was with him, and not miss my kin so much.”

  “My mother sent me to Lady Zouche so that I might meet a husband,” Bess said. She thought again of the rooms at the palace, thronged with males of every age.

  “And so you will, I make no doubt.” Rachel smiled. “A pretty lass like you won’t go long without catching someone’s eye, and his heart, too. And then soon you’ll have little ones of your own, to take back and show your mother.”

  In bed that night, with Lizzie nestled close beside her, Bess said a prayer of thanks for Rachel, a little bit of home to keep her warm in the great strange city.

  Over the next weeks, the king’s court was in a frenzy of preparation for the arrival of Anne of Cleves. Bess accompanied Lady Zouche to Whitehall every few days and the buzz of excited conversation and the courtiers flitting from place to place reminded her of a hive of bees. The Zouches entertained many guests and Bess became used to the ceremony accompanying the serving of meals. Now she saw that the pomp proclaimed the family’s importance and understood that the outward reminders of one’s importance were essential. For here in London everyone was on a ladder, everyone always reaching upward, and someone else was always below. A family’s position was proclaimed by the manner in which they dressed and ate and to whom they were connected by blood, marriage, service, patronage, or friendship.

  Bess looked forward with impatience to the dazzling day when the future queen would arrive, and could scarcely believe that she would be present for such an important event. “What is the Lady Anne like, my lady?” she asked one evening as she brushed Lady Zouche’s red-gold tresses.

  “Very comely, they say.” Lady Zouche slipped into the loose gown of scarlet velvet that Audrey held out for her. “The king sent Master Holbein to paint her picture, you know, and apparently he was bewitched
by the portrait that came back.”

  A fortnight after their arrival in London, the household was thrown into ecstasies at the news that the king had asked Sir George to become one of his newly refounded company of gentleman pensioners, the select few companions who served as the king’s nearest guards both at court and when he went on progress about the country during the summer months.

  “It is a great honor!” Lady Zouche cried, beaming. “Only fifty gentlemen have been selected. My lord shall be as close beside His Majesty as anyone and we shall certainly be at court very often.”

  My dearest Mother, Bess wrote that night. Here are news indeed! As my lord will wait upon the king, we will stay here in London, and not return to Codnor after the wedding. My lady says I shall have two more gowns in the new year, as we will be frequently at the palace. I will write to you of the occurrents here, which are sure to be many. I pray God that He will grant you so to continue in good health and estate. Your obedient daughter, Bess.

  Bess listened rapt as Lady Zouche repeated to her ladies the news Sir George learned at court each day.

  “Four hundred gentlemen are to go to meet the Lady Anne at Calais, and accompany her on her journey to London. And such thrusting of sharp elbows there is sure to be among them and to be one of the fifty ladies who will meet her! Of course my lord will remain here, with the king. But we shall go forth to meet our new queen when she approaches London.”

  The royal wedding was to be held at Christmas, with twelve days of celebrations, punctuated by the queen’s entrance into London on New Year’s Day. A deputation of gentlemen departed for Calais in the first week of December, but news came that the weather in the channel was terrible, and that Anne of Cleves’s arrival would surely be delayed.

  As Christmas approached, cartloads of ivy, holly, and mistletoe arrived at the Zouches’ house, and every room was heavy with the scent of bay, rosemary, and laurel and hot spiced wine. A Holy Bough, a hoop of hazel garlanded with evergreens and ribbons, and hung with gilded nuts, was suspended above the door to the street. A great Yule log burned in the enormous fireplace of the hall, and the kitchen issued forth a parade of delicacies for the feasting that would continue until Twelfth Night, the Feast of the Epiphany on the sixth of January. Bess was enthralled with the music and dancing, the games and caroling.