Lady in Waiting: A Novel

by Susan Meissner

  When the duchess announced that the family was returning to court, Jane’s spirits brightened. If the lords and ladies were returning to London, it would follow that Edward Seymour and his family would be also. I packed Jane’s wardrobe with care, as commanded by the duchess, and we set out for London on a chilly autumn morn.

  In my letters to Nicholas, I admitted I had learned to care deeply for young Jane but that she would likely be married within a year’s time, and I did not know if I wished to stay in the duke’s employ without Jane to sew for. I enjoyed her sister Lady Katherine’s company, but we shared no bond. It was quite likely that when Jane married, I would be dismissed. The duchess had plenty of dressmakers and tailors on her staff. I believe she had kept me on her staff because Jane had begged her to.

  There was no reason to assume that Jane would have the freedom to employ me when she became a young earl’s wife. Seymour, no doubt, had his own household staff.

  Though Nicholas had compassion for the loss I would feel at leaving the Grey household, I could tell he was relieved that I could envision a future that didn’t include working for the Duke of Suffolk. Knowing that the road ahead of me was to be far different than the one I had traveled thus far, I began to bit by bit ease myself away mentally from Jane. She would be leaving for Seymour’s home, I would be leaving for my own, back in Haversfield, and then upon Nicholas’s future graduation, to Nicholas’s home, God be willing. I needed to help her prepare for her new life as Edward Seymour’s wife. And I needed to think about my own preparations.

  In a year’s time, it seemed, everything would be different.

  We had been in London for near a month, and still there had been no visit from young Edward Seymour. Jane still received letters from him, but he spoke only of the distant future and never of the worrisome present. His father continued to wage a political battle with John Dudley, now the new Duke of Northumberland, and Dudley’s many supporters. The elder Seymour’s problems were far from over; he had been arrested a second time and deposited in the Tower. It was difficult for Jane to maintain a pleasant countenance at the many parties and events her parents pulled her to, as John Dudley was often at such events.

  One evening I was summoned to Jane’s chambers to help her dress for a dinner engagement. The duchess had chosen the gown for that evening, and it was particularly elegant—nasturtium red velvet with turned-back sleeves of peacock blue, worked with a cornflower design of gold. Spanish embellishments decorated the inside of the open collar and the wrist-frills. A second collar of white gauze had been embroidered with red silk. Jane took one look at the dress and announced she wished to wear black.

  “Please, my lady,” I urged. “The duchess—”

  “Princess Elizabeth would never wear such a brazen garment. I should be wearing black.” She stared at the dress in my hands as if it were a loathsome snake.

  “But you will look beautiful in this dress,” I said.

  She turned from me. “I don’t want to be beautiful.”

  “But why ever not?” I asked.

  She choked back a sob. “I don’t want to be beautiful.”

  “What troubles you tonight, my lady?” I asked her.

  For a moment she said nothing. “I am afraid,” she finally whispered. Her gaze rested unblinking on the dress and its shouting colors.

  “Afraid of what, my lady?”

  But she would not answer me.

  I said nothing and waited for wisdom. I did not know what to say to her. To my gratitude, a moment later, she turned back around and stretched out her arms for the bodice. I saw that Edward’s ring was on her finger, but the stones were turned inward toward her palm.

  Half an hour later, the dress was on her. I walked with her, bearing her train, to the barge that would take her on the Thames to a party I was sure Edward would not be attending.

  When she returned at midnight, I helped her disengage from the dress she had not wanted to wear. Mrs. Ellen was there too, fussing over her and asking who was the handsome young lord who had been after Jane’s attention all evening?

  Jane shrugged. “It does not matter.”

  “Handsome young lord?” I asked, directing the question to Mrs. Ellen.

  “Och. Yes, ’tis all Lady Katherine spoke of on the barge coming home. That a handsome gentleman had eyes only for Jane.”

  Jane moved away from us to her bed, her white chemise falling about her body like the cloak of an angel.

  “But … but my lady is betrothed,” I whispered.

  “Perhaps this will speed things along,” Mrs. Ellen whispered back. “’Tis not official, the agreement with Somerset. Perhaps this will speed things along.”

  I learned the next morning the handsome young lord was John Dudley’s son, Guildford.

  As Christmas neared, I was most anxious to be dismissed for the holidays to be with my family. Nicholas was coming to meet my parents, and I could scarce think of anything else. I knew our time of betrothal would be lengthy. Nicholas had yet another year at Oxford. But still I was oft imagining myself the lady of my own house, wife to Nicholas Staverton, sewing infant smocks instead of ball gowns.

  In late November a package arrived for Jane from the Princess Mary, who was living in virtual exile in Hertfordshire. There were plans in place for Jane and her mother to spend Christmas with the Princess Mary, and the package was an early present so that Jane would have something lovely to wear when Mary of Guise came to visit London the following week. Inside the box was an exquisite gown of French design. The cone-shaped bodice included a partlet of embroidered gauze with an upstanding collar finished in tiny, bright pleats. The sleeves, with puffs at the shoulders, were embellished with ribbons of gold, tiny pearls, and jeweled buttons. The skirt was a creamy satin and the mantle was of blue velvet embroidered with lilies. Jewels glittered everywhere, at every seam and gather. It seemed to shout, as a champion might, “At last. We are victorious!”

  Lady Jane gasped when she saw it. “Whatever would I do with such a dress!” she exclaimed.

  “Why, wear it, my wee lass!” Mrs. Ellen answered. “’Tis a dress finer than any queen’s!”

  “I … I couldn’t.” The color in Jane’s face had drained, and she looked at the dress with something akin to fear. “No upstanding Reformed girl would wear it! Elizabeth wouldn’t. I won’t.”

  “Elizabeth is not going to Princess Mary’s home for Christmas either. You are!”

  “Why would she send this to me? Is she mocking me?” Jane turned to me. “Is the Princess Mary mocking me?”

  Mrs. Ellen spoke before I could answer that I’d no idea why Princess Mary would send such an expensive gown. “She is fond of you, my lady!” Mrs. Ellen put her hands on her ample hips. “Does she need more reason than that?”

  But Jane turned away from the gown.

  “You will be writing the Princess Mary this very afternoon to thank her or the duchess will hear of it, and you don’t want that, my lady,” Mrs. Ellen said, lifting the dress from within the box.

  “When do you leave, Lucy?” Jane said absently. Mrs. Ellen clucked her tongue and whispered something under her breath. She swept out of the room, carrying the glistening dress in her arms.

  “Not for several weeks, my lady.”

  “I wish you were coming with us to the Princess Mary’s.”

  “I shall only be gone for a few days.”

  “Is Mr. Staverton coming to see you?” She fingered the ring Edward had given her.

  “God be willing,” I answered.

  “God be willing,” she said, though not to me.

  A week later, as I assisted Jane down the stairs to supper, a messenger burst into the hall with dreadful news. The Duke of Somerset, Edward Seymour’s father, had just been tried at Westminster Hall on an exaggerated charge of treason, convicted, and condemned to death.

  Jane flew to her chambers, begging Mrs. Ellen over and over to tell her what this meant for her and Edward. Jane’s parents had not summoned her, nor
were they even at home when the news came.

  But Mrs. Ellen didn’t know.

  None of us knew.

  All Jane could do was sit at the window, spinning Edward’s ring on her finger as she waited for her parents to return home.

  Twenty-One

  Molly sat across from me, stroking the stem of her coffee mug. Jeff and their girls were in Central Park enjoying the April brilliance of a Sunday afternoon. I had been back in Manhattan for less than an hour, having left my parents’ house that morning a little after noon, much to their dismay. Leslie had come over early to have breakfast with us and then stayed until I left. My parents never had the long talk alone with me they’d wanted to have. I had come to Molly’s straight from the train station.

  I took a sip from my water glass.

  “We’re still friends, right?” Molly said.

  I smiled at her. “I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I felt really bad about what I said about you letting everybody make your decisions. And I didn’t like it that you were gone and I couldn’t tell you in person that I felt bad about it.”

  “It’s all right, Molly. I suppose I’ve known all along what you said was true.” A breeze blew up onto her patio and fluttered the flowered tablecloth on the table between us. The flattened rose petals seemed to applaud. “I let my parents choose my college major; I let them decide Kyle wasn’t the right guy for me. I let Brad choose where we’d live. I let my mother choose the job I have now. I even let my parents choose Brad. And now I am letting Brad choose whether we’ve a marriage worth saving or not.”

  Silence stretched across the table for a few moments. The breeze wafted away. Then Molly spoke.

  “Did you and Brad talk at all this weekend?”

  I’d kept my phone close to me all during Leslie’s party, ready to excuse myself if Brad called. When he didn’t, I reasoned that he got my voice mail too late to call back and would call me in the morning.

  When he didn’t do that, I thought perhaps he wanted to wait until I was back in Manhattan, or at least on the train, away from my mother’s listening ears before he returned my call.

  “I called him last night, before Leslie’s party started. Left a ridiculous message.”

  “A ridiculous message?”

  “I stammered and stuttered, and I told him I missed him. He didn’t call me back.”

  Molly looked down at her lap, as if struggling to know what to say next. Something niggled at me.

  “Why did you ask me if Brad and I had talked this weekend?” I asked.

  And then suddenly I knew.

  She had seen him. He had been here. In Manhattan.

  Not the day before. The day before, he was at UMass with Connor. If he came, he came that day. And it’s a four-hour drive from Manchester to Manhattan.

  “Is Brad still here?” I whispered. “Is he with Jeff and the girls?”

  Molly blinked slowly. “Probably not.” She looked up at me.

  I willed my voice to stay calm. “Probably not still here, or probably not with Jeff and the girls?”

  “Jane—,” she began, but I cut her off.

  “Just tell me.”

  “He was going to leave to drive back around two today. That’s when you were getting off the subway to come here.”

  “Two? He left at two? He drove four hours to spend an hour here, and then he turned around and left?”

  “He drove down last night. He said he got to your apartment around eleven.”

  “My apartment?”

  “Geez, yours collectively, Jane!”

  I didn’t want to take out my anger and frustration on Molly. But I couldn’t seem to rein in the hurt. “Sorry.”

  “For what it’s worth, he looks pathetic.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  “No, I’m not. Jeff thought so too.”

  It irked me that Molly and Jeff saw Brad, talked to Brad, observed Brad, and I hadn’t. It didn’t seem fair.

  “Did he come over here? Did he just show up on your doorstep?”

  “He came over to talk to Jeff for a little bit. He did ask about you, Jane. He asked how we thought you were getting along. And he asked if we knew when you were getting back today.”

  “Why couldn’t he just have called me himself?” I exploded. “I had my phone in my lap on the train ride home! The whole way!”

  “Well, why didn’t you just call him?”

  “I did call him! Last night! I told you that. This whole thing about space and distance was his idea. He wanted it and I’ve tried very hard to give it to him!”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I shot back.

  “I think you’re giving him more space than he deserves. Or needs. I don’t think you should try so hard.”

  “It’s what he said he wanted.”

  “Well, people don’t always know exactly what they want.”

  “Why are you telling me this? Did he say something to you?”

  “It’s what he didn’t say, Jane. I don’t know how to explain it. He seems kind of restless. I just think you should begin to reclaim the space you lent him.”

  “Easy for you to say.” I lifted my glass and swallowed the last of the mineral water. It had warmed in the sunny alcove of her balcony and tasted metallic.

  “You should call him tonight.”

  “Right.”

  “You should. He said Connor wants you to come up to Dartmouth next Saturday for his next track meet.”

  “He said that? Did he say how I was supposed to get there? He has the car.”

  “I think that’s why he came over here. He asked us if we could give you a lift to Newark next Saturday morning so you could catch a commuter flight. We said yes.”

  “A commuter flight.”

  “He said he feels bad that he has the car and you can’t get to any of Connor’s meets. I think he means to pay for your plane ticket.”

  “My plane ticket.” My voice was flat.

  “I think he wants to see you. I think maybe he has missed you.”

  I stood up. Too much information was sliding into me. The possibility of Brad missing me tingled inside my head, like the pins-and-needles sensation that brings a sleepy limb back to awareness. It was both intensely welcome and bracing.

  “I haven’t been home yet. I need to call Emma before it gets too late. It’s already after eight in England.”

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “I heard you. I just need to go.”

  “And you’re not mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you.” I leaned down to grab my purse.

  “And you’ll call Brad tonight. Right?” she asked.

  “Emma first.”

  Molly stood as well, and we headed back inside her apartment carrying our cups. “You calling her about the ring?”

  “Yes. My jeweler friend says it’s the real deal, pre-Elizabethan near as he can tell. He says it could be worth six thousand dollars.”

  “Wow. That’s amazing.”

  “I guess. I don’t know. I wish I knew where it came from. I really don’t think the previous owner had any inkling what was in that box where I found the prayer book. Someone, at some point, hid the ring inside it. I’d like to find out why, if I can.”

  “Just to satisfy your curiosity, then?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, yes, I am curious. But there’s something else about the ring that draws me.”

  “Your name is in it,” Molly said.

  Yes.

  My name.

  Jane.

  I grabbed my overnight bag at her front door, and she hugged me good-bye.

  When my hand was on her doorknob, I turned back to face her. “Did you talk to Brad about anything else? Did Jeff talk to him?”

  She hesitated only a minute. “He really didn’t say anything more to me. And I don’t know what he and Jeff talked about. Jeff didn’t want to say. They didn’t
talk long. Brad’s not a talker. But I am telling you. He looked different to me.”

  A sigh escaped me. “Okay. See you later.”

  I used the time during my seven-block trek to my apartment to call Emma and ask where in Cardiff she found the boxes. If she asked why, I’d decided to tell her I found a ring crammed inside one of the books and was wondering how old it might be. If she pressed me, I would probably end up telling her everything. She answered on the fourth ring.

  “Emma, it’s Jane. Have I called too late?”

  “Jane! Not at all. Just in from a very bad dress rehearsal of Twelfth Night. Dreadful, really. Didn’t think I’d hear from you until next month, love. What’s up?”

  “I didn’t think I would be calling either, and I’ll keep it short. I just need to talk to you about those boxes you sent—”

  “But I told you last week those boxes were in dreadful shape. Remember? I couldn’t help it this go-around.”

  “No, that’s not why I called. I just … I was wondering if you could tell me where you found the boxes. The books, especially.”

  “They all came from the same jumble sale, Jane. I told you that, love. In Cardiff. In Wales.”

  “Yes, but did you buy them from an estate dealer or a merchant who has a shop in town?”

  “Is something amiss, then?” The casual lift in her voice was replaced with concern.

  “Not amiss, really. I just … I found something shoved up inside the binding of one of the books. It was a very old book, actually.”

  “What did you find?”

  I hesitated, just for a second. “A ring.”

  “A ring? A nice one? Did you find another bloody Hope Diamond, Jane?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. I mean it’s quite pretty, but—”

  “How old?”

  I stepped into a busy crosswalk. “Old.”

  “Jane, how old?” I could tell she was smiling.