QUEEN'S CHRISTMAS SUMMONS, THE

by MCCABE, AMANDA

  ‘Alys, please,’ he said, his voice deep and rough, as if he, too, held back his emotions. ‘Truly, I never meant to hurt you in any way. I—I have missed you.’

  He had missed her? For an instant, Alys felt glad of it, a raising of her heart, but then it all crashed down again. Had she not just vowed not to trust? ‘Surely there has been too much to occupy you here at court for such sentiment. Ladies to woo, dances, cards, tournaments. You must be much in demand with the Queen and her ladies.’

  ‘Alys, that is not like you,’ he said. ‘In Ireland, your sweetness saved me. Your kindness...’

  ‘Like an angel?’ she said, thinking of the little carving in her trunk. ‘But so many things are different now. I am different and so are you.’

  His free hand gently touched the edging of her bodice, where the thin gold chain was looped around her neck. Before she could know what he was doing, he drew his hidden ring free. ‘Not so very different, though.’

  Alys jerked away from his touch and the chain fell free. ‘You are a stranger to me.’

  ‘I am not different, Alys. When I was with you, I was more myself than I have been in a very long time. You gave me that.’

  He raised her hand, the hand he still held, and pressed his mouth to the hollow of her palm. His kiss was warm, soft, and it made her legs tremble. How traitorous her body was, longing for his kiss again!

  She snatched her hand back and buried it in her skirts. ‘I must go now. And so should you. Surely we both have much work to do.’

  ‘Alys, please, meet with me again. Let me tell you...’

  Tell her—what? More lies? She could not let her heart be vulnerable again. She shook her head frantically and tore herself away from his too-alluring touch. She pulled the door to their hiding place open and dashed out. She wasn’t sure which direction she should go, she only knew she had to get away.

  She had thought a new life at court could not become any more complicated. But she had been terribly wrong. Only once she was alone in the maids’ empty chamber did she realise the ring she had worn against her heart for so many weeks was gone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Alys climbed up on her trunk to peer out the narrow window at the end of the long, narrow maids’ chamber. The dormitory looked on to one of Greenwich’s three large courtyard gardens, slumbering in the winter chill. The flowerbeds, carefully laid out diamond shapes between the gravel walkways, were brown and brittle now, the towering trees skeletal bare, all the marble fountains quiet. But she could see that in summer it would be spectacular, bursting with colour amid a riot of roses, lilies, violets, scented herbs and skeins of glossy green ivy twining over the trellises. Perfect for her stillroom.

  Right now, the only colour was from the courtiers strolling the pathways, their velvet cloaks and the ladies’ trains as bright as any birds. She found herself searching for a hint of purple doublet among them, but there was none to be seen.

  Alys sighed as she watched the gardens. Her storm of tears had tired her, but it had also released something in her, some tight knot of uncertainty and fear she had carried ever since John left her in Ireland. That was unravelled and gone now, leaving her feeling lighter, but hollow as well. Drained of all emotion. She had no idea of what would happen next, but she did know she had to get ready for the Queen’s banquet.

  Alys turned away from the window to study the chamber more closely. The space shared by the Maids of Honour was a long, narrow rectangle of a room, lined with narrow beds on each side. They were small but pretty, with carved posts, spread with green-and-white woollen quilts and hung with thick curtain to keep out the draughts. A clothes chest and washstand stood by each bed and at the far end was even a precious looking glass. It was peaceful when empty, but was surely all chaos and clamour when all the maids were dressing there. Very different from her own chamber at Dunboyton.

  Alys knew Molly was meant to be her maid here, but since she had no idea where the girl was she knew she had to find her banquet gown herself. She opened the travelling chest and took out the layers of new satin and silk clothes, smoothing them carefully as she tried to decide what to wear. After seeing all the court finery, she feared even these fresh, unworn bodices, sleeves, and stockings would be sadly out of fashion.

  What would John think when he saw her in them? Would he think her a different lady altogether from the simple girl in Ireland, as she feared he was so different now?

  ‘Don’t think of such things now!’ she told herself sternly. She tossed down the white bodice she held, embroidered with silver, and spun around, as if she could leave him behind.

  Luckily, the door flew open and Ellen appeared, a timely distraction.

  ‘Oh, good!’ Ellen exclaimed as she dashed between rows. ‘My bed is next to yours. We can whisper at night.’ She perched on the edge of her bed, which was indeed the one beside Alys’s, and swung her embroidered shoes from under the hem of her skirts. ‘Tell me, Alys—did you mean it when you told the Queen you do not seek a husband?’

  Alys’s head was spinning with her new friend’s sudden appearance and this sudden change of topic. She laughed and looked down at her clothes. She feared she would never cease to be confused at court. ‘I have met no man I could stand to be married to, not thus far anyway.’

  ‘I feel just the same,’ Ellen said fervently. ‘Men are always such nuisances. There are far more important things in life, don’t you think? Oh, Alys, you should wear those silver sleeves tonight! The ribbons are ever so cunning. Did you find them in Ireland?’

  As Ellen leaned closer to examine Alys’s clothes, Alys glimpsed something tucked into the depths of her trunk—the pale wood of her carved angel. She smiled up, always so serene, so knowing. Alys had not been able to leave her behind, even as much as the creator of her angel hurt her.

  She tucked the angel deeper beneath the folded garments, where she could not be seen, and turned to Ellen with a determined smile. ‘Nay, I found them in London, as soon as I arrived...’

  * * *

  All the maids giggled and whispered as they moved in procession from their bedchamber along the long river gallery. Their voices were muffled by the tapestries that lined one wall and the glass of the windows that looked down on the Thames, giving them an otherworldly quality. Their white-and-silver skirts shimmered in the gathering night shadows and rustled and flared. Even Alys was distracted by the angelic beauty of the scene and could hardly believe she was a part of it all. She was one of the white-clad creatures and soon she would be dancing before the Queen.

  She wished her father could see her, and her mother, too. How proud they would be! And how she wished things could be as simple as that pride, as happiness at being at court. If John was not there...

  If he was not there, he would still haunt her. Alys had to admit that. She just wished she knew exactly where she would see him again. She did not want to be surprised, to act so foolish, again.

  ‘Isn’t it splendid, Alys?’ Ellen whispered. ‘The first day of Christmas! Who shall you dance with?’

  Alys smiled at her. ‘I don’t know anyone to dance with at all.’

  ‘All the gentlemen shall be falling over themselves to claim your first galliard,’ Ellen said. She gave Alys a sideways glance, a sly smile. ‘Sir John Huntley was rather eager to show you to your chamber.’

  Alys frowned. ‘That was all he did, I promise. He is a man of few words, is he not? I could get nothing interesting from him.’

  ‘Few words, maybe, but he is one of the most fascinating men at court. All the ladies are quite in love with him. Those eyes, you see...’

  Alys felt a small, insidious prick of something that felt too much like jealousy. She pushed it away. ‘Are you in love with him, Ellen?’

  Ellen laughed. ‘I? Certainly not. I need a man who adores me, you know, and Sir John treats all ladies the s
ame, with unfailing courtesy and terrible boredom. I think Lord Merton would be a better bargain.’

  ‘Despite his terrible sleeves?’

  ‘His fine estates would more than make up for that. Perhaps you might care to know him better?’

  ‘I told the Queen I did not mean to marry.’

  ‘None of us mean to marry while at court. Such a nuisance a trip to the Tower would be! But eventually...’ The doors at the end of the gallery opened and the ladies in front of them surged forward on a wave of laughter. Alys and Ellen had no choice but to be swept along.

  The gallery suddenly opened on to the vast Great Hall and for an instant Alys was sure all of England must be waiting there in glittering array.

  She thought of her father’s stories of the English court, of its dazzle and splendour. They were tales she had never quite believed when she was a child; to her the world was the grey, stony chill of Dunboyton, the never-ending crash of the cold sea. Now she saw he had not exaggerated.

  It looked like something out of a tale of gods and goddesses, not a room of human proportions at all. The Queen’s Great Hall was a hundred feet long and thirty feet wide, the walls and floor painted to look like marble, the high, timbered ceiling held aloft with gilded beams and painted with Tudor roses and silver ER monograms. Silken banners and bright tapestries warmed the space and gave it brilliant colour, along with the shimmer of the gold-and-silver plate displayed everywhere.

  And the people were as sparkling as the room. Violet velvet, cloth of silver, rose-red satin, bumble bee–yellow silk... It all shone with pearls and gold embroidery, on the men as well as the women, and the stark white of delicate lace in the ruffs. Alys felt quite a country mouse in her gown of white silk trimmed with silver ribbons and her small ruff, but all the maids had to wear white and she could hide among them.

  ‘We sit over here, Alys,’ Ellen said, leading her to a long table at the far-left side of the room, where some of the maids were already seated. At the head of the room was the Queen’s dais, with its great velvet chair and cloth of estate, but it was still empty.

  Alys slid on to the bench next to Ellen and studied the setting around her, wondering where John would sit. The tables were all spread with spotless white-damask cloths, embroidered with roses and crowns; the benches were lined with soft gold-velvet cushions, even at the lowest seats. In the centre of the table was a dazzling silver-gilt salt cellar, etched with more roses and curling ERs, and each place held its own small loaf of fine white manchet bread, wrapped in embroidered linen, and a silver wine goblet. As more courtiers filed in and were seated, pages appeared bearing an endless procession of dishes—venison, capons, partridges in ginger sauce, eels in oranges—and pouring out rich red spiced wine. Even as they waited for the Queen, the feasting began.

  A blast of trumpets heralded the royal entrance. The doors opened and Queen Elizabeth swept in, as glorious as a phoenix in a gown of scarlet-and-gold brocade, a golden crown studded with rubies atop her high-piled red hair, sleeves of cloth-of-gold that swept almost to the floor. She held the arms of two of her handsome young courtiers and everyone leaped up to bow and curtsy as she processed past.

  She seated herself on her dais and waved a page forward with his ewer of wine. ‘Please, my good people, dance—dance! This holiday is made for enjoyment, is it not? I would see everyone dance.’

  Alys thought of her dance lesson at Dunboyton with John, the way she had felt as if she could spin free in his arms for ever, and a wave of sadness washed over her. She looked down into her goblet, staring into the dark red wine as if she could find a way there to vanish into the past again—or to banish it from her mind for ever.

  ‘Would you care to dance, my lady?’ she heard him say and for an instant she wondered if her wish had worked.

  She glanced up, startled, to find John standing before her. But she had not gone back into the past. The Juan of those magical moments, with his rough borrowed shirt and beard, that sparkle in his beautiful eyes, was gone and before her stood a gentleman of the Queen’s court, splendid in purple velvet and gold satin, an amethyst sparkling in his ear. His expression was most solemn as he watched her.

  ‘I—I am not sure I know how to dance here,’ she said.

  ‘I do remember you were a splendid dancer indeed,’ he answered. ‘And I am sure the Queen would wish to see you dance.’

  Alys glanced around the room and saw that all the other maids were joining the dance, as the Queen clapped her hands and encouraged them. The crowd had closed behind her and she had no place to run.

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I shall dance with you, if I must.’

  A small smile quirked at his lips. ‘I am favoured indeed with such enthusiasm.’

  He held out his hand and Alys slowly slid her fingers into his grasp. He did feel the same still, warm and strong, his fingers slightly callused. The ring she had once worn flashed again on his little finger. He led her into their place in the line of the dance and she held her head high, making herself smile as everyone else did.

  The music started, a lively tune, quicker than she would have imagined from their lesson. He squeezed her hand, as if to reassure her, and they stepped off with the others—right, left, right, left, jump, twirl.

  She had to laugh as the little leaping cadence came off just right, as if by some magic. For a moment, she even forgot where she really was, who he really was, and just enjoyed the quick, light movements. She let herself be guided by his touch and they moved in perfect unison, jumping, twirling, spinning between the intertwined lines of dancers. He laughed with her and for a moment they truly were just Alys and Juan again, in their own little world.

  But such an instant could not last. All too soon, the music ended with a flourish and she whirled to a stop. The other courtiers closed in around her again and she heard the Queen crying out, ‘Splendid indeed! Now another, I insist. Something Venetian, I beg you, musicians.’

  ‘Shall we dance again?’ John asked quietly.

  Alys looked up into his eyes, that bright green that had held her so spellbound, and she shook her head. If she danced with him again, she feared she would never free herself from the past at all. ‘I must go,’ she said, and hastily curtsied.

  She hurried out of the crowded hall, not sure where she was going. She only knew she had to be alone, had to forget. Yet she feared she never really could, not now. Not when she had danced with him again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was a cold, blustery day, but Alys soon realised that no amount of chilliness could distract Queen Elizabeth from her exercise—or from making her ladies accompany her. The Queen strode quickly along the garden paths, her ermine-lined black-velvet cloak billowing around her. Despite her age, she moved with a quick, lithe grace that left her younger ladies scrambling to catch up.

  Alys found herself at the end of the train of ladies, which gave her space to examine the gardens. They were vast, an interconnecting avenue of courtyards laid out in careful beds and pathways, with vistas leading to fountains and classical statues, all left bare in the winter, but surely lush and full of colour in the summer. The river, hidden beyond the walls, could be heard in a constant, soft rushing noise.

  Alys hadn’t realised how closed away she was feeling in the crowded palace. At Dunboyton, she walked outdoors every day, wandering the cliffs and fields whenever she chose to go. The cold breeze on her face now felt delicious.

  ‘Hurry along now, ladies!’ the Queen called out. ‘No lagging behind. It is a wonderful, brisk day for a walk.’

  Most of the ladies looked as if they would heartily disagree, their faces pale and pinched under the hoods and caps. The Queen’s secretaries, too, looked as if they would rather be anywhere else, as they dashed after her waving documents to be signed. Queen Elizabeth waved them away and kept striding forward.

  Other c
ourtiers loitered around the winding pathways, obviously waiting to catch the Queen’s attention. They leaped up eagerly as she approached. She sometimes paused to nod at them, but she didn’t stop.

  Their train turned a corner into a circular labyrinth of pathways and Alys suddenly longed to turn back when she saw who was among the group waiting there. It was John, even more handsome than ever. Unlike the others, who shivered miserably, he looked as if he did not feel the cold at all in his dark blue velvet doublet, a black short cloak lined with sable tossed carelessly over one shoulder. His face was in shadows under the gold braided edge of his black cap, hiding his expression.

  On his finger gleamed the gold ring Alys had worn for so long, now back with its true owner.

  Alys lifted her chin and studied the men who stood with him. To her unpleasant surprise, beside John was Sir Matthew Morgan, just as sombrely dressed as he had been at Dunboyton, and behind him was a cluster of young, eager courtiers. They were a strange group, a mix of solemn older men in their greys and blacks, and court peacocks in plumes and pearls.

  Alys hastily composed herself as they bowed to the ladies, but she feared that the instant of surprise at seeing Sir Matthew again had shown on her face. She was determined they would see nothing more of her confusion. She was learning to be a courtier now.

  She pasted a bright smile on her face and marched forward to greet them. ‘Sir Matthew. Such a surprise to see you here. It has been much too long.’

  He gave her a bow, a small, expressionless smile on his face. ‘Lady Alys. How lovely you look today. The fresh air certainly agrees with you.’

  ‘I do miss the exercise I am accustomed to at home,’ she answered. She was aware that John watched her closely; she could feel the warmth of his gaze, like a living touch, on her skin. But she would not look at him, not now.