Veronica smiled and offered the handkerchief, still rumpled but folded. “May I offer Your Grace a token? I have done the petals with my own hands.” She glanced at her mother, and Catherine rewarded her with a shallow nod.
Elizabeth opened it and saw the daisy, then she put the handkerchief to her face and cried, “They will not force me! I will never marry, never!” She hugged Veronica and wept on her shoulder. “They will not chop my head off. Never! Do not let them.”
Now Veronica, struggling to free herself, began to wail, and Catherine took the treated cup from Ann Smith, who made a brief gesture at a curtsey and fled. “Here, Your Grace. Lady Elizabeth. Take this. Drink.”
Veronica began to hiccup, and at that Elizabeth began to giggle. This started a skittery laugh in Veronica, and soon the two girls were on the floor, laughing in each other’s arms.
“I have tart,” Veronica managed to say, and Elizabeth took her by the hand and hauled them both to their feet.
“Where? Is it a doll tart?”
“No! It is pear!”
Elizabeth screeched, and Catherine steered the drink to her mouth. “Here, Lady Elizabeth.”
The king’s daughter drank the cup down and belched. She wiped her face and stood before the Lady Anne of Cleves. “When my brother is king, I will be his Beloved Sister, as you are to my father. I will do as he says and he will love me. Is that the way I must go to keep my head from being taken from my neck?”
“Ah, my little Elizabeth—” Lady Anne began, but Elizabeth held up a narrow hand.
“I will suffer his kindness and his direction and perhaps he will repay me with my life. I see how things stand. But if he seeks to marry me to some low-born idiot, I will cut my own throat before I submit. Do you hear? I will slash it myself! I will not have my head hacked off by a drunkard with an axe!”
The Lady Anne, nodded. “Catherine, you will stay nearby?”
“Yes, Lady,” sighed Catherine.
Lady Anne guided Elizabeth toward the great dining hall, and Catherine followed with the sweet and the ale, but Jane Dudley snagged her arm. “I would keep my daughter far from that one,” she whispered. “Even those who love her say she’s lost her wits. To have a masque, at a time like this. For God’s sake, give that girl something to put her to sleep before the guests arrive or she will undo us all.”
3
“One can hardly be surprised that the girl’s overwrought,” said Catherine. Ann was folding big washing clouts in the clean still room to get away from the other laundry women, and Catherine watched her friend work while she waited for the maids who had gone out to the dairy to fetch yet more eggs for the custards. “She’s seen two queens die on the scaffold, one her own mother.” Catherine shook out one of the rags that had fallen to the bottom of the pile and handed it over. “Can you not get the laundress’s girls to do this?”
“It eases my mind to put my hands to a task,” said Ann. “Elizabeth didn’t see her mother die. She wasn’t at the Tower yesterday, either. Are you become the champion of the Boleyns and their kin now?”
Catherine’s cheeks pulsed with heat. She’d spoken cursedly of them, it was true. “No. But she’s seen it all well enough in her mind’s eye. That can be worse.”
“Yes. Imagination is a dangerous gift.” Ann folded the last of her work and tossed the stack into a basket on the pavers. “If this Lady of Cleves wishes to keep her head, she will keep the mouth in it shut. She will lose this battle to be a wife.” She hefted the basket, but Catherine snapped her fingers and a chambermaid came to take the burden from Ann, who wiped her hands on her apron and added, “If she angers him, Henry will take back his palaces. He will take the very clothes from her back. The king giveth and the king taketh away.”
“As he could take Overton House from me,” said Catherine quietly. “Surely Robbie’s claim will be honored, even if his mother is called a whore? It is in the will. And he does well under the prince.”
“Let’s pray so,” said Ann. “You must keep your head low.”
Catherine added, “The prince favors him.”
“Well,” snorted Ann. She looked around and found a cupboard to rearrange. “His father favored the Howard girl until she got caught with her legs up. You must get yourself to Yorkshire, I tell you, whatever trick you must play to finish your service here. It’s the safest way. Get yourself married.”
“We could be arrested if there are no papers.”Catherine began to wring her hands, but again reminded herself of her dead mother and spread her fingers on her thighs. “They might have men waiting for us at the very church if the rumor gets abroad.”
A voice rang out a summons from the top of the steps, and Ann said, “That’s my cue from above, Sister. I feel a sudden call to solitary prayer.” She slipped down the hall that led back to the laundry.
“Don’t forget to dress,” called Catherine after her, but Ann didn’t return. Catherine sighed and pushed herself to her feet.
“Elizabeth has laid her head upon the table,” said Jane as Catherine came upstairs. “She snores like a fishwife and no one can move her.” Jane’s elbows shook, sending her long sleeves swaying as she marched off toward the big dining hall. “The girl does as she likes and no one corrects her. She will make a mockery of her position. She will amount to nothing. The tables must be decorated and she drools upon them.”
“Are you yourself well?” asked Catherine. “Is your headache upon you?”
Jane turned. “My headache is sleeping on the table,” she said, but she rubbed at the wrinkle between her eyebrows.
Anne of Cleves sat at the head. “Ladies,” she said. “I have put my young visitor into a slumber. What do I do?”
Catherine and Jane bounced their curtseys. Elizabeth Tudor had indeed fallen into a stupor. Veronica had been allowed to sit next to her, and she had laid her own head down, facing Elizabeth’s. She was mimicking the soft snoring. “Veronica!” said Catherine, pulling her daughter to her feet. “You do not ape the king’s daughter. She has been long upon the road and her spirits are overcrowded.”
Veronica pushed her face into Catherine’s skirt.
“I wanted to go to the place where the king’s daughter went.”
Catherine stroked the fine, bright hair. “I see.”
“The little one meant no harm,” said Lady Anne. “She sound like a small honeybee.”
Catherine held her daughter against her legs. “Thank you, my Lady.” She bent and whispered into Veronica’s ear. “But remember that even the appearance of ridicule is to be avoided.” She straightened. “What has happened here?”
Anne of Cleves pushed her plate away with a thumb. It held nothing but crumbs. Jane Dudley’s portion had not been touched. The Lady Anne said, “She eat a bite. She say she feels sleepy. She sleep now like the angel. But table is no bed.”
“Have her carried upstairs,” said Catherine.
Jane beckoned two waiting women. “Do not let the men touch her.” She turned back to Catherine.“What have you given her?”
“Tart and ale,” said Catherine.
Jane’s eyes slitted. “Is it enough?”
Catherine raised her hand toward the table. “You see how peaceful she is.”
“She is the king’s daughter,” Jane said. “You must take care.”
“I have taken all the care that I know. She drank the same ale that you and Lady Anne had.”
“But she will sleep?”
“She will.”
“Good. She is accustomed to the court physicians.”
“Of course. And they take seem to have taken such very good care of her.”
Jane smiled, a painful-looking exertion.
Catherine seized her daughter’s hand and returned to the still room. The wind murmured at the windows and the frames rattled. The gulls screamed from the river.
Ann brought an
other load of her laundry to the table under Catherine’s herb jars. “How does she?”
“Sleeping,” said Catherine. “I would like to take the draught and go to oblivion myself.” The panes rattled again, and she threw a clout at the wall. “That damned, pestiferous wind. What grudge does it have against us? I want quiet. I’m going to be sick.” She stood suddenly and studied her stores. “Every one of my herbs smells like death to me.” Catherine tossed the basket onto a shelf and flopped onto the stool again.
“That’s normal enough.” Ann stopped her folding and put her hand on Catherine’s nape. “You wear yourself out with fear of the great ones. They’re not your God. Let them fight their own battles. Go back to Yorkshire and see to your properties. If you fear a secret marriage, there are women who want children and cannot bear them.” She tightened the latches on the windows. “It’s only a few months.”
“Yes,” said Catherine, rubbing her eyes. “But I would know. I would see. And what reason would I give to be away for so long? Ah, God, an hour of dreamless sleep is much to be desired in this world.”
They had almost a half a day’s peace to finish preparing the food while Elizabeth Tudor rested. The Lady Anne and Jane Dudley were probably choosing their gowns and their masks. The palace was alive with preparation, the chambermaids about their business with the sweeping and the shaking of carpets before the evening gathering, the girls in the second kitchen beating eggs and folding sugar and cream while the pastry cook huffed and scolded. Catherine herself could grate the cinnamon and nutmegs while Veronica worked at her letters on a corner table down in the laundry. Agnes came in with an armful of old apples. “These will do well with that custard,” she said.
The hours passed quietly, and the hens and pheasants were roasting to a golden crispness when doors opened upstairs. Men’s voices deepened the palace’s resonance, and soon enough Jane called from above. Catherine laid the spices aside. She did not hear Henry’s big laughter. She said. “Will you finish this? Put plenty of honey in the sweets so that Elizabeth will eat if she wakes up.” A grubby girl crouched in the corner. “Tell me your name.”
“It’s Marjory, Madam.” The girl stood, scratching her leg through her thin skirt.
Catherine nodded. “Marjory, wash your hands and see to the salads. Ann!”
Ann Smith came up from the laundry again, already in her dressiest gown. It was brown silk with slashed sleeves and gold braiding at the bodice. “I look like a shaved rat,” she said, yanking at the waistband. “I have no shape at all.”
Veronica danced in behind her.“Auntie Ann! You are a princess! Where is your mask?”
“Child, you must need spectacles. I look no more like a princess than the man in the moon,” said Ann. She held up a woolen cat’s face. It had long whiskers of silk thread. “Here’s my mask. I wish it were larger. I am monstrous.”
“Rowr,” said Catherine. She clawed at Ann. “Come, help me get dressed. Veronica, you want to do up Auntie’s back?”
Ann turned and let the child tighten the bodice. “Ah,” she said, patting her belly and adjusting her breasts upward. “Now at least they will know I’m a puss and not a tom.”
The pastry chef blustered, “Madam, if you please.” Veronica giggled, and they ran up the back stairs to their chambers, where Catherine’s dress was laid out on the big featherbed. It was cream silk, with gold trim that matched Ann’s, and Catherine peeled off her workaday clothing. The chambermaid had brought a ewer of rosewater, and Catherine washed quickly. Ann shook out the dress and helped her into it while Veronica twisted a ribbon around her own small coif.
“May I go to the masque, Mother?”
“You are too young,” said Catherine, rolling on fresh hose.
“You will stay above. Agnes will come and sit with you.” Her mask, a tiger’s face, lay on the sideboard.
Veronica’s lower lip came out. “I will miss the dancing.”
Ann took hold of the lip. “A rooster will poop on that,” she said, and Veronica sucked it in again. “You don’t want to dance with those old men anyway. Their feet stink.”
Agnes knocked and peeked around the door. She had a platter of the vegetables and brown bread. “Look at you two,” she said. “You will outshine the royal ones.”
Catherine and Ann sat, but Ann just picked at the carrots. “These are old.”
“They will keep you clean inside.” Catherine pulled the bread apart and shoved a chunk into Ann’s hand.
Ann ate one bite and stirred the turnips with the crust. “I have no appetite.”
Catherine ate a plateful. “Vere, will you have Auntie Ann’s portion?”
The child lifted a piece of turnip and put her tongue to it. “I will have the carrots.”
Catherine handed her Ann’s plate, and Agnes said, “Come, Veronica. Let’s sit by the window and see who trips as they step onto the dock.” She put the girl on her lap and waved the other women off.
The tables downstairs had already been laid with the jugs of wine and bowls of bread and marzipan fruit—plums and strawberries, grapes and tiny oranges. The scent of the platters of roasted flesh and fowl reigned over the sweetness, though, and Catherine grabbed the banister. “I will vomit right here.”
“Have a glass of the claret,” whispered Ann.
“I cannot stay long,” said Catherine. She surveyed the guests as they invaded the house. Eight so far. Not many more than the number of musicians. And no Henry. The women all held their masks before their faces or had fixed them to their headdresses.
John Dudley came in alone. He wore a close suit of black and carried a mask of raven feathers. He glared around and held his arms close to his sides. Then Jane, in midnight blue and a bright russet mask with blue feathers, came running from the dining gallery, and he raised a hand to her. His smile seemed to cramp his face, but he opened his arms for his wife, and she fitted herself to his stiff form.
Catherine said, “If any male and female were halves of a whole, Jane and John are. It’s a marvel that they can be perfect together and so flighty apart. Two perfect night birds.”
“They look like Satan’s shadow to me,” said Ann. “I cannot warm to them.”
“When did Satan grow a second head?”
“Those two are his horns,” said Ann, clapping her mask to her face.
Catherine put her mask up, too, to hide her laughter, but even through the narrow tiger-eyes, she saw him come in. Benjamin Davies was dressed as a green man, covered in silk leaves. His man, Reginald Goodall,was beside him in a huntsman’s brown. Catherine nudged Ann. “Look there.” Reg had been an Overton man before the death of Catherine’s husband. Ann had said not a word when he went away to the Davies household.
Now Ann turned her cat’s face in the men’s direction. The color rose in her cheeks, but she said, “They look like a couple of jesters. Go claim your half of them. Where is the wine?”
“This way.” Catherine went on down, but not before Benjamin raised his eyes. She put her arm through Ann’s and slipped into the gallery.
The long table had been set across the far wall, and Anne of Cleves presided, dressed as the Queen of Hearts. She wore a garland of pink flowers, and her hair, falling over her breast, was gilded by the candlelight. She smiled and waved. She was almost pretty, though sweat shone on her downy upper lip. Cups were handed around, and the serving men chased a couple of big floppy-eared dogs that someone had brought along. A quartet sat in a corner, tuning instruments. Beside Lady Anne hovered Karl Harst, her German steward, dressed as a satyr. He whispered into the Lady Anne’s ear now and then and she nodded.
But the guests were too few for a party, and no one was laughing.
Catherine and Ann walked a circuit around the periphery. A lone lute player began to pluck a melody, but no one took up positions to dance. Anne of Cleves, bent over the table, was talking to one of her women, in pale b
lue. She might have been a storm cloud or Venus. Master Harst inched along behind the table on his plaster goat-feet to find a seat. A couple of strangers, a fat one and a tall lanky one, lurked in the corner, wearing dog masks. They spoke only to each other and the women made a wide margin around them.
Benjamin Davies was approaching. Everyone would see. He bowed, and one of his leaves dropped to the floor. “Lady Catherine,” he said.
“Here in the dead of winter, you seem to have brought the fall with you,” said Catherine.
Ann snorted behind her mask, and Benjamin picked up the leaf. Stuffing it away, he said, “Ann Smith, if my ears do not deceive me. I have brought a partner for you.” He sidestepped, and Reg bowed to Ann.
“Oh, stand up, old man,” said Ann. “You will get stuck down there.”
“Your truth is ever my salvation,” said Reg, bracing his back with one hand as he straightened. “When will we leave off this custom of torturing our spines to say hallo?”
Ann pulled at her waistband. “When women begin to breathe more easily in the world. Which is, to say it plainly, never.”
“Perhaps you breathe better out of the open air,” said Reginald. He lifted his mask and grinned. “We could retire to a closer spot.”
“Not if you mean to close me in,” Ann said. She gave him a slap on the arm, and he winced. “What sort of hunter are you, if you cannot withstand the touch of your prey?”
“You have always been a shrew to courting traditions, Ann Smith,” said Benjamin. “And Reg is no warrior in the service of love.”
Reg grinned. “Has he hit you, Ann?”
Ann looked down at her dress. “I seem to be unwounded yet.”
Benjamin claimed Catherine’s arm. “You and Reg will have to spar in private for a time, Ann.” They fell to walking around the edge of the room. “The air at court is dirty with rumor,” he murmured. “Keep moving.” They passed the Dudleys and Benjamin nodded. Catherine glanced over her shoulder. Ann and Reginald were drifting toward the musicians. Their heads almost touched. Benjamin said, “Not many will come out to dance this night. No one is in a mood for St. Valentine. There is some wonder that quiet is not kept in Richmond Palace.”
The King's Sisters Page 3
