Lady Shrewsbury smiled for the first time. “Excellent. Summon your lady mother, and we shall work out what needs to be done to prepare you. I wish to leave early next week.”
Isabel opened the door and found her mother loitering just outside. For the next hour, the two older women discussed Isabel’s wardrobe, shoes, jewelry, and other accoutrements. Did she have a lady’s maid she wished to bring? She could not wear mourning; that would not do for one of Mary’s companions. That was fine with Isabel, since she was in no way mourning the loss of a loved one.
Lady Shrewsbury circled around Isabel, eyeing her from stem to stern. “You will need to have your hair cut and arranged differently. I’ve never seen such dark hair—it’s nearly black. But those unruly curls need taming.” Isabel’s cheeks flamed, but she merely nodded.
At last, the interview was over. Lady Shrewsbury would arrive in her coach on Monday next, promptly at nine of the clock, and she and Isabel would travel to Tutbury together.
Isabel did not know whether to laugh or cry.
Chapter Two
True to her word, Lady Shrewsbury arrived on schedule. Isabel’s trunk, containing her meager stock of personal belongings, was loaded, and, after an indifferent parting from her mother, Isabel set off for Tutbury Castle. The day was gray, with a lowering sky, and she hoped the rain would hold off until they reached their destination. A vision of the coach mired in a quagmire was all too vivid in her mind.
The vehicle was comfortable. Luxurious, even. The earl’s coat of arms was painted on the side, and it was decorated with crimson silk hangings and boasted padded seats. Never having traveled in a coach, Isabel wondered if all of them were so well appointed. Should she speak to Lady Shrewsbury, who was bent over a piece of needlework? Isabel determined to wait and see if the lady spoke to her. She should have brought a book to read. Instead, she watched the landscape pass by and tried to imagine what her new life would be like.
Finally, Lady Shrewsbury broke the silence. “Did you bring your work, mistress? Mary is quite fond of her embroidery.”
Isabel gulped. She had never learned to embroider because all her time had been spent with her studies. “No. I never acquired the skill, madam.”
Lady Shrewsbury’s eyebrows shot up. “Your mother never taught you to sew? But that is shocking! We must remedy that posthaste. Mary and I spend hours every day sewing—it is her chief pleasure.”
Isabel’s heart sank. What could be more tedious? “My stepfather thought my education should take precedence over everything else,” she said by way of explanation.
“Hmph. That man had some strange notions, if you ask me. All of Mary’s ladies sew, and you will simply have to learn. There are ample supplies you may avail yourself of.”
“Yes, madam.”
Lady Shrewsbury returned to her work, and Isabel resumed gazing out the window. After a time, the motion made her stomach roil. Perhaps watching the landscape speed by was not wise. She stared down at her hands, because the only other choice was to look directly at her companion, and that would not do. When the coach slowed and the coachman’s voice boomed out a command to the horses, Isabel clenched her jaw and held her breath.
“We’re crossing a stream, Isabel. No need to worry,” Lady Shrewsbury said, not unkindly. “You have never traveled in a conveyance of this sort?”
“No, ma’am.”
I’ve never traveled in a conveyance of any sort.
“Do you ride?”
Isabel shook her head, prompting a long sigh from her companion. “You have much to learn.”
“Aye.”
“I wish to caution you on one matter, Isabel. If you should overhear, or unwittingly become a party to, any conversations or acts that seem…questionable…you must inform me or the earl immediately.”
“I am not sure of your meaning, madam.”
“I mean improper. Odd. Suspicious.” She was eyeing Isabel down her long nose. “After you’ve been in residence for a time, you will understand.”
“Very well, my lady. I shall do my best.” Isabel doubted she could make such judgments, but she held her tongue. Was she not simply a companion to Mary, as she’d been told? This sounded very much like spying. And did the lady refer only to the queen, or to all the members of her circle?
After a time, it began to rain. Lady Shrewsbury looked up and said, “It won’t be long now. I am glad the rain held off until the end. Here is the River Dove.”
By now the rain was pounding down, creating a cacophony inside the coach. As they rattled their way over the bridge, Isabel could feel her gorge rising and hoped she would not vomit inside the coach. The contents of her stomach pushed up higher and higher with every jolt, every bump. Folding her arms, she held them tightly against her middle and tried to think of something else. But everything she thought of made her stomach even queasier. Meeting a queen. Dancing. Socializing. Embroidering. These activities were customary for most young ladies, but not for her. She closed her eyes tightly and prayed for strength.
The coach turned and she dared to glance out the window, glimpsing nothing but mist, fog, and more rain. Finally, the vehicle jolted to a stop, and Lady Shrewsbury said tersely, “Follow me.” At some point, the woman had laced pattens onto her shoes, and she popped out of the carriage and walked briskly to… Isabel did not know where. Fresh air blew in, and she drew in long breaths. Grasping the sides of the door, she pulled herself up. She looked down into a sea of mud, dung, and very wet dogs.
She couldn’t hold it any longer. Feeling as though she were disgorging her entire stomach along with its contents, she retched in hard, wrenching gasps, until there was nothing left inside her.
And then she looked up into the face of the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
…
God’s wounds. Who was this woman who’d just puked all over Gavin’s boots? Not that it made any difference, since they were already covered in mud. Whoever she was, she needed his help. She swayed, and he reached out a hand to steady her.
“I am Gavin Cade. Allow me to assist you, mistress.” Her face was as pale as alabaster, and he feared she might collapse. Gavin had thought to lift her down and set her on the ground, but she wore no pattens. Her flimsy slippers would fill up with water and mud in no time, ruining both shoes and stockings. It would not do. He lifted her into his arms and followed Lady Shrewsbury toward the building that housed Mary Stewart and her ladies. So slight was the young lady, it was like carrying one of Mary’s tiny, yipping dogs. She burrowed into his shoulder, and for a moment, he wanted to rest his cheek against that small head. It felt comforting to hold a woman, one making no demands, against him.
They entered the queen’s lodging. Before setting her down, Gavin asked, “Do you think you can stand up?”
“Of course I can stand. I’m not a weakling.”
Gavin chuckled. Feisty, she was. “I thought since you had just puked your guts up, you might be feeling a bit faint.” Gently, he set her onto the flagged floor.
“Where is Lady Shrewsbury?” she asked, now sounding timid.
“She’s probably gone up to Queen Mary’s rooms.” He extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Wipe your face. And there, on your bodice, there is some—”
A rosiness suffused her cheeks. “Aye. Thank you.” She brushed at the evidence of her illness. “Is there any water about?”
“There is.” He stepped to one side where a ewer and cup rested on a table and poured her a small measure. After she drank, he said, “Come, I’ll show you the way. It’s up these stairs.” He motioned for her to go ahead of him. He wanted to make sure he could catch her if she fell. On the way up, he enjoyed the drape of her petticoats over swaying hips.
At the top, Gavin heard an undercurrent of chatter from Mary’s ladies. But Lady Shrewsbury held sway. From the tone of her voice, he could tell that she was lecturing them about making the new addition feel welcome. They would pay it no mind, because most of them were p
ampered, selfish creatures who cared for nobody save themselves. Instinctively, Gavin grasped the young lady’s elbow as they entered the presence chamber.
“There you are,” Lady Shrewsbury said. “Ladies, may I introduce you to Isabel Tait? She is to take the place of Mary Fleming. She will need your help in learning how things are done here.”
Dead silence prevailed. Isabel Tait bobbed a hesitant curtsy, and Lady Shrewsbury immediately corrected her while the ladies snickered behind their hands. “No need to curtsy, except to Queen Mary. She is currently abed with a stomach ailment, but you will meet her later.”
“Yes, madam.”
“Frances, will you show Isabel to her chamber?”
“Of course. Come, Isabel. You are to share with me.”
Before she left the room, Isabel glanced quickly in Gavin’s direction. She looked lost. Lost and frightened. He touched her shoulder and said, “You’ll be fine.” And then she was gone, following Frances Barber. As the kindest of Mary’s circle, she was a good choice to bunk with Isabel. Lady Shrewsbury disappeared into the queen’s privy chamber.
The remaining ladies surrounded Gavin, greeting him effusively with seductive words. It had been thus since he’d accepted Nicholas Ryder’s commission. Ryder had been correct—most of them were interested in bed sport with him, and they were not shy in letting him know. In the month he’d been here, he had not succumbed, although he flirted like a man for whom pleasures of the flesh were paramount.
“You were carrying her,” Dorothy Vere said. “You’ve never held one of us in your arms.”
Oh, hell, they must have been watching out the windows. “Mistress Tait was”—he almost said ill, but thought better of it—“not wearing pattens. Her feet would have gotten wet and her shoes ruined.”
“How very chivalric of you,” Alice Alymer said. “She’s an odd-looking creature, is she not?” The others laughed.
“How so?” Gavin asked.
Cecily Blake joined the chat. “Her clothing—not in the first stare of fashion, is it? And her hair is…unfortunate. Perhaps Frances can help her with it.”
“Her manner,” Dorothy said, “was so timid. Like a little mouse. I’m shocked that Bess chose her, given her many flaws.”
They were sharpening their claws, and Gavin feared Isabel would be no match for them. He thought it prudent to make no response to their snide comments, even though his instinct was to defend her. “I must return to my duties, ladies. Farewell for now.”
Gavin’s official title was Equerry to the Earl of Shrewsbury. He liked the work and spent part of each day performing his duties. In addition to him, the earl employed an experienced Master of the Horse. When Gavin had arrived and first met with Shrewsbury, he had suggested, given his background, that he act as a quartermaster. The man in charge of supplies—principally food and wine, but including candles, tools, wood, coal, and the like. However, his chief purpose was something else again.
Gavin had a suite in the South Tower, which suited him. His office was adjacent to his personal chamber and was a suitable distance from the private suite belonging to the earl and his wife. Holding his woolen cloak closed, he made his way to his office, walking as swiftly as possible through the rain, dodging puddles and the worst of the mud. Since the castle sat on a promontory, the water would drain quickly, provided it ever stopped raining. He sat down at the table that served as his desk and glanced at the correspondence of Queen Mary he’d been studying for the past week.
Lately, she had been writing to Thomas Howard, the Duke of Norfolk, who had been released from the Tower in August of this year. The missives had been decoded—almost too easily, in Gavin’s opinion—and seemed innocuous, but Gavin suspected there was more to them than met the eye. Mary expressed her continuing devotion and affection for the man. She seemed resigned to the fact that her French and Spanish allies had little interest in her, and stated that she still wished for a match with Norfolk. The duke had never replied, unless a missive had been smuggled in to Mary unbeknownst to himself and Shrewsbury. She made no mention of any grand scheme to usurp the English throne and restore Catholicism. Her main concern seemed to be her freedom.
Was there some hidden meaning they were missing? A union with Norfolk could be a real danger to Elizabeth. The only duke in all of England matched with the Scots queen, who had a legitimate claim to the throne. Elizabeth would never permit it. A secret plan between Mary and Norfolk to wed was what had landed him in the Tower to begin with. From the little they’d gotten from the current letters, and the lack of response from Norfolk, there was nothing to worry about at present. Expressing a desire for something was a far cry from taking steps to make it happen.
Ryder had asked Gavin to find out whatever he could about an Italian banker named Roberto Ridolfi. William Cecil, Queen Elizabeth’s chief councilor, suspected him of masterminding an elaborate plot to overthrow Elizabeth, with Mary at its heart.
But thus far, he’d found nothing to support that.
…
Lady Shrewsbury had ordered a bath for Isabel. When she and Frances entered the chamber, it was in the wake of servants carrying in hot water. A lady’s maid, who Frances introduced as Ann, began helping her disrobe. “I’ll leave you to your bath, Isabel. May I call you that?” Frances asked.
Isabel, who wanted only to be left alone, nodded.
“Come back to the presence chamber when you’re ready. Do you mind if I look at your apparel?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but began sorting through Isabel’s clothes. “Hmm. Wear the gown tonight. There’s to be dancing after our meal.”
“Very well.”
At the door, Frances paused and turned her head. “And Isabel, do not let the others frighten you. They will test you, and may seem cruel. ’Tis best to laugh along with them or ignore them.” Then, without another word, she left.
The maid departed as well. Isabel removed her smock and lowered herself into the tub. The hot water enveloped her body like a warm coverlet. If only she did not have to spend her evening in the company of the ladies she had just met, she would feel relaxed and happy. They had eyed her from head to toe, assessing her travel costume, no doubt noticing the stains left by her illness. Her hair had been askew, her face ashen. Not a good first impression.
Unbidden, Gavin Cade’s fine-looking countenance floated into her mind. A chestnut-haired man who possessed the beauty and strength of Achilles, he hadn’t seemed disturbed by her looks or behavior. Even though she’d cast up her morning meal all over his boots. He had carried her across the bailey to Mary’s lodgings without even breathing hard, and she had felt warm and safe in his arms. And something beyond that. A sensual awareness of her body where it bumped against his. After he’d set her down, he’d kept a firm grip on her elbow, steadying her and sending her a silent expression of support. Isabel had appreciated that.
As she and Frances had walked down the passage, Isabel had heard the others cooing and purring Gavin’s name, and then quizzing him about her, sounding jealous. Well, they had nothing to worry about. Someone like Gavin Cade would want nothing to do with the likes of Isabel. Compared to the other women, she was too dowdy, too shy, too…everything. And nothing. He was a gentleman, and that explained his kindness to her, even though she’d soiled his boots.
Isabel splashed water on her face, then washed with the linen cloth she’d been given. She tried not to dwell on her fears, her isolation, her inferiority. Mary’s ladies had all been wearing gowns or petticoats slashed in the front to reveal their kirtles. Tightly corseted bodices had displayed their breasts to great effect, and French hoods had adorned their heads. It looked to Isabel like court dress, or what she imagined court dress would be like. Perhaps Queen Mary insisted on it.
Frances had been friendly, and Isabel appreciated her advice. Although she was not at all sure she could behave as suggested. To a person, Mary’s ladies were all quite lovely. Alice’s flaxen hair, Frances’s fine complexion, Dorothy’s richly colored ruby pet
ticoats. Lady Shrewsbury had approved Isabel’s wardrobe, but Isabel could not compete with their clothing, looks, or decorum. She would have to do the best she could. If Lady Shrewsbury decided to send her home, perhaps she would be compiling that list of eligible men after all.
Ann entered the chamber and, after helping her out of the copper tub, handed her a drying cloth. When Isabel dressed, with the maid’s assistance, the young girl said, “Would you like me to arrange your hair, mistress?”
“Oh, aye. After the journey and the rain, it looks like a raven’s nest.”
Ann giggled and brushed Isabel’s hair until it crackled. Then she braided thick strands on each side of Isabel’s head, pinning them at the back, and letting the remainder of the hair flow down her back. “That looks very pretty, if I say so myself,” Ann said.
Isabel studied herself in the glass. “Thank you, Ann. It’s lovely.” She thought of the elaborate dress and hair arrangements of Mary and her ladies. “Do you wait upon all the women, Ann?” Surely not.
“Nay. There is also Aimee. She is the queen’s maid, but sometimes helps the others.” One final stroke of the brush and smoothing of Isabel’s hair. “You have beautiful locks, mistress. Thick and wavy. Easy to work with.”
Isabel nodded, pleased at the compliment. Maybe Ann would be someone on whom she could rely. “Where is everybody?”
“In the presence chamber, mistress. They’ll be there until the evening meal.”
“Thank you.” Isabel inhaled a deep breath and uttered a quick prayer. Then she bobbed her head, once. She was ready to face whatever would come.
They’re only a bunch of spiteful women. I’ve borne a good deal worse.
And then she walked down the hall to see what awaited her.
Chapter Three
Gavin lounged against the wall in Mary Stewart’s presence chamber. He thought it one of her stranger quirks that she insisted on the terms “privy chamber” and “presence chamber.” But the woman had little to brighten her life, so he could tolerate it. Besides himself, two other men were present. That toad, John Lesley, Mary’s envoy to Elizabeth, was there. So was Philip Blake, the brother of Cecily, one of Mary’s ladies. While he’d become a friend to Blake, he thought Cecily the haughtiest of women.
Game of Spies Page 2
