The Queen's Rivals Part 5

How sad, I thought, that her own husband, and the rest of his family, thought that she was too far beneath him to be welcome in their proud and ill.u.s.trious company, when I, a mere child, could see that she was worth more than the lot of them put together. I wanted to tell her, "You deserve better," but I didn't dare risk such a presumption, though years later, when Amy lay dead, with a broken neck to match her broken heart, and her name was on everyone's lips, providing a banquet for the gossips and scandalmongers, I would always remember that moment and regret that I had not taken her hand and spoken up boldly. She truly did deserve better. Not only did her own husband fail her, but her own body did too-when she died under those most mysterious circ.u.mstances she had been suffering from cancer of the breast.

The rebec player gave the Lady Amy a randy leer. "Aye, mistress, our bellies are fine, but I'd take a dose from you any time." He smiled invitingly and made so bold as to ask, "May I trouble you for a quince from your basket, mistress?" which she gladly gave though it was clear he was not troubled by the bellyache.

Blus.h.i.+ng a little, she started to turn away, but at the top of the stairs, she hesitated and added shyly that we were all most welcome to come down to the kitchen. "Now that all those taken sick have been settled, we've mincemeat tarts and gingerbread with hot cider to drink, and apples sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar roastin' in the fire, and 'tis a right lively company, sittin' 'round the hearth, singin' and spinnin' tales. And if you'd care to play for us, some country dances per'aps, if you know any, 'twould give us all much pleasure. And you can have all you wish of what's left of the feast, to eat now or to take away with you-'tis only the salad that's tainted. There's not a one ill who didn't eat of it, and it would be a right shame to see all the rest go to waste when there's so much of it an' not a thing wrong with it."

"Shall we, lads?" the sackbut player asked. "What say you, little mistress?" He smiled down at me. We were all in agreement that we should go, and the lute player gallantly gave me a ride on his shoulders-"I shall be your litter, my little queen," he teased-and soon we were down in the kitchen, where we were welcomed warmly as old friends and plied with all the gingerbread, cider, mincemeat tarts, and roasted apples we could eat. The Lady Amy took it in turns to partner each of the men with great gusto and grace in the vigorous and lively country dances, holding her skirts up high to show off her green stockings and her fast-moving feet flas.h.i.+ng swiftly in their silver slippers. She never missed a step or stumbled at a high kick, and laughed as her partners spun her around dizzily and swung her high in the air, her hip-length hair flying out behind her like a banner of gold. For a time she seemed to forget her cares and I loved seeing her so high-spirited and light-hearted; many who never even knew her would say in years to come that she was a wan, wretched, and miserable woman, and though illness and heartbreak may have made her so, I can say with complete certainty that she wasn't naturally, nor always, that way. Whatever happened to her happened because of the deadly combination of Robert Dudley and cancer.

When she was not dancing, Lady Amy took me to sit on her lap, saying, if I would allow her the liberty and be so kind as to indulge her, she wanted to "pretend for a spell that you're my own little girl." I readily a.s.sented and together we listened intently to the storytellers, relis.h.i.+ng each word, laughing, gasping, shuddering, and wiping away tears by turns, though as darkness fell, they turned more to tales of terror, ghosts, and beasties that made us s.h.i.+ver despite our nearness to the fire.

My parents and nurse, preoccupied with their own ails, had forgotten all about me, and I stayed up later than I ever had in my life. The first b.u.t.ter gold glow of dawn was already lighting the sky when the musicians took their leave, and the Lady Amy, marveling that she had been so remiss and not sent me to bed hours ago, scooped me up in her arms, balancing me against her broad hip, and carried me up to one of the guest rooms.

"But I don't want to go to sleep!" I protested as she stripped me down to my s.h.i.+ft. And as the tears began to trickle down my face, she sat and stroked my hair and asked me why.

"Surely you are tired, poppet, I know I'm all done in. Look"-she lifted her foot-"I've danced a hole clean through my slipper!"

"Because when I lie quiet and still waiting for sleep I will not be able to help but think how much I shall miss my sisters," I said. "I've lost them both in the same day, and now they're both going away, to new homes, and I shall be all alone at Bradgate; Father and my lady-mother are so often away at court, and when they are home they are always hunting or hosting parties and have time for no one but their guests."

"Aye, I see"-the Lady Amy nodded-"and I know just what you mean about the thoughts that come to trouble one in the quiet stillness before sleep. What beastly little imps those thoughts are!" Then she brightened. "But I'm certain your sisters will be havin' you to visit soon. I'm sure they'll be vyin' for the pleasure of your company, and you'll find yourself feelin' you've no fixed home at all, you'll spend so much time on the road goin' from one to the other. While the young brides are settlin' into married life, if you get too lonely, you're welcome to come and bide a while with me at Stanfield Hall or Syderstone Manor; I still live with my parents as my husband has yet to settle on a proper establishment for us. He's so particular about these things, Robert is, and everything must be just so or not at all." She heaved a little sigh and shook her head, and I sensed sadness and frustration hovering in the air about her, but she quickly shook it off and smiled at me. "But you would be most welcome to visit anytime you like. I could take you out to see the sheep, we've three thousand of them, and the orchards; Syderstone has the best apples in England, I always say you've never tasted an apple if you've never sunk your teeth into a Syderstone apple. If you'd care to come durin' the harvest, we have the grandest party, with dancin' and music and a big bonfire and bobbin' for apples, and every one of the dishes laid on the table has apples in it in some form or fas.h.i.+on-from the meats to the sweets. Our cider is the best in the whole of England, and I challenge anyone to prove me wrong!"

"I would like that very much," I said, and thanked her for her kindness, secretly praying that my parents would allow me to go, and she sat beside me, softly singing a charming little song about a shepherd and his flock, until I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of fleecy white sheep, rosy red apples, and clanking cups br.i.m.m.i.n.g with golden cider.

Early the next morning, blinking and yawning in the watery yellow sun, my sisters and their husbands descended the stairs to board the barges that would take them away to begin married life. They were no longer little girls, but wives now, with their hair pinned up in nets of gold beneath their round velvet caps. It was such a sudden and startling transformation, as though they had crossed a threshold as little girls with free-flowing tresses and entered a new room as elegant young matrons with their hair primly pinned up. Now they must go away from me, from childhood and all that was dear and familiar, and learn how to please their husbands, order their households, command their servants like queens overseeing their own little realms, and endeavor to always be on pleasant terms with their in-laws.

Strangely, neither marriage had yet been consummated, the Duke of Northumberland and our parents having agreed on it for reasons I did not understand. Both couples were under strict orders and would be watched to make sure they obeyed, not to commit the ultimate intimacy until they received permission directly from Northumberland. Kate was twelve, almost thirteen, and she had been bleeding every month for almost a year, and thus was considered a woman, so her age was surely not the reason for this prohibition. Why it must be so with Jane and Guildford, at fifteen and sixteen, I could not fathom; many women were wedded and bedded and carrying their first child by the time they turned sixteen.

Kate looked radiantly happy, her face and eyes glowing, as she danced down the stairs in her gold-embroidered apricot velvet with peach and white plumes swaying gracefully atop her round velvet hat, and the magnificent set of fire opals she had chosen when Father brought the jeweler to her and said she might choose anything she wished from amongst his wares. When I saw her I almost wept-how I missed the sight of her coppery curls bouncing and bobbing as though with a life of their own. It seemed unnatural to see them pinned tight with diamond-tipped pins and confined inside the glittering prison of a golden net beneath her hat. As soon as she caught sight of her husband, waiting for her downstairs, she gave a cry of delight and ran to throw her arms around him.

But Jane moved as though her shoes were soled in lead, her gold-fringed and embroidered moss green velvet skirts dragging behind her like a dead weight. She looked as angry as the fierce and ornate fire-belching, ruby-eyed, emerald, sapphire, amethyst, and jade scaled golden dragon brooch her new mother-in-law had given her just before she came downstairs, kissing her once on each cheek before pinning it to Jane's hat, just below the puff of white ostrich plumes that made that hideous bejeweled dragon look as though clouds of steam were billowing from its pointed ears. Beneath her hat's round brim, Jane's face was pale as chalk, her freckles standing out stark as smallpox, and there were dark circles around her eyes, as though she hadn't slept at all.

Though his stomach had settled, and he had pa.s.sed a peaceful night, Guildford, his face startlingly pale against the ornate gold-embroidered claret velvet of his traveling clothes, was still feeling weak and wobbly, and Father insisted on carrying him down the stairs and laying him gently in the barge and pressing into his hand a gilded pomander ball, scented with oranges and cloves, to mask the river's vile reek. He tarried quite a time, causing our lady-mother to tap her booted toe impatiently, as he tucked a fur rug around Guildford, caressed his golden hair, plumped his pillows, petted Fluff, nestled in the crook of Guildford's arm, and presented his "beautiful new son-in-law" with two comfit boxes-a silver one with icy green enamel filled with sugared aniseeds, mint lozenges, candied quinces, and crystallized ginger in case his stomach should trouble him again, and a gold one with sunny yellow enamel emblazoned with golden suns containing sugared lemon slices, "just because you like them, and because I like you, and these remind me of you, so I hope they will remind you of me and how much I . . . like you." Father blushed and rambled as our lady-mother sighed and rolled her eyes, saying aside to Guildford's mother that having such a husband was like having a little boy who never grew up.

"I'm so happy!" Guildford, suddenly all aglow, exclaimed, sitting up and hugging his knees and smiling. "I feel like singing!" He threw his arms wide, as if to embrace the sun above, and opened his mouth in readiness to let the first notes out.

"Oh no, Guildford, you mustn't do that!" his older brother John exclaimed, quickly throwing himself forward to clap a hand over Guildford's mouth. "All that puking last night will have left your throat frightfully raw."

"If you force it, you will only make it worse," his brother Ambrose cautioned severely.

"Quite right," his father, the all powerful John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, agreed, so suave and smiling, gracious and benign that any who didn't know him and his reputation would never have guessed that here was the most ruthless and ambitious man in England, a man who would stop at nothing to get what he desired. "You might damage your voice," he continued. "Don't you agree, Maestro Cocozza, that Guildford should not sing?" He turned to Guildford's Italian music master, waiting to board another, rather crowded barge with Guildford's valet, hairdresser, the secretary who wrote all his letters and also read aloud to him, the French and Italian tutors Guildford considered vital to his singing aspirations, laundress, page boys, musicians, sewing women, the man who looked after his pets, the French pastry cook Father had given the young couple as a wedding present, and, just for Jane, the prim, black-clad Mrs. Ellen, who had with Jane's marriage risen from nurse to lady's maid.

With much flouris.h.i.+ng of his hands and a spew of rapid Italian, the music master agreed, in the most emphatic terms, that Guildford should most definitely not sing.

I tugged Lady Amy's skirt to get her attention, and when she bent down I asked, "Does he not sing well?"

"Well . . ." Her smile faltered. "His talent doesn't quite match his enthusiasm. Which is a right shame since he loves singin' so, but, to put it as kindly as I can," she whispered, lowering her voice even more to make sure Guildford wouldn't hear, "when he hits the high notes he sounds just like a cat yowlin' in heat, he does, poor lad!"

"When he was fifteen, Guildford ran away from home and tried to join a theatrical company," the d.u.c.h.ess of Northumberland with a fond and indulgent smile, confided to our lady-mother, who was standing beside her, tapping her leather-booted toe and looking impatient and bored, "but the manager brought him straight home, and right back into my loving arms. He said that Guildford was not made for the stage. Even he could see how delicate and sensitive my darling is, just like a hothouse rose that would wilt and perish without his mother's love."

"I don't think that's quite what the man meant, Mother," Ambrose Dudley opined.

"Nonsense!" the d.u.c.h.ess cried. "What else could he mean?"

"Well, I took it to mean that Guildford can't sing to save his life much less to earn his bread and board," Amy's husband, Robert, the fifth surviving Dudley son, whispered back to her, and Ambrose and John nodded their heads in emphatic agreement.

"For shame!" the d.u.c.h.ess scolded her brood of black-haired boys. "I'm ashamed of you all! You should be proud of your brother's talent and accomplishments, not jealous!"

"Come now, Mother, you know we all love Gillyflower!" Robert retorted, using the family's pet name for their gilt-haired darling. " 'Twas just a jest! You wouldn't want Guildford to think too highly of himself and get a reputation for being conceited, would you?"

"My Gilded Lily conceited? Never!" the d.u.c.h.ess scoffed.

I found it rather touching that though they all, with the possible exception of the deluded d.u.c.h.ess, deplored Guildford's singing and strove vigilantly to keep him from embarra.s.sing himself, none of them wanted to hurt his feelings by letting him know.

Guildford frowned uncertainly and reached up to stroke his throat. "Well, if you really think it unwise . . ." And since everyone was so quick to a.s.sure him that they did indeed think it "most unwise," he lay back against his pillows again. "Perhaps I should rest my throat for a few days. It does feel a trifle red . . ."

"I think that's a wonderful idea, dear!" his mother exclaimed, and all his brothers and sisters were quick to agree and praise him for his self-discipline and good sense.

"I shall have the apothecary prepare a soothing syrup and send it on to you," his sister, the recently married Lady Mary Sidney, promised.

"One that tastes good," Guildford stipulated. "If it doesn't taste good, I won't drink it!"

"I shall insist upon it," she promised.

"Threaten him with hanging," Guildford advised, "if it tastes the least bit vile or bitter, then he will be sure to make it very sweet."

"When he knows who it is for, I am sure he will make it just as sweet as you are!" Father breathed like a love-bedazzled maid.

"Of course he will." Guildford smiled and nodded confidently as he sank back against the velvet cus.h.i.+ons, drawing the purring Fluff close against his chest and stroking his silky white fur. "If my beauty doesn't inspire him, fear of hanging certainly will."

"Oh what a wit you are!" Father breathed rapturously. "You have such a way with words!"

"They just spring up in my head like roses in full bloom, and I say them so that the world can enjoy them too." Guildford beamed. "It would be selfish to keep my thoughts entirely to myself."

"Beautiful and generous too!" Father sighed, and I could see that he was perilously close to swooning into the Thames. "I'm sure you sing as beautifully as a nightingale," Father said gallantly, "and I hope to hear you soon."

Then our lady-mother, who had had quite enough of this absurd spectacle, took command. "Hal, come stand over here beside me before you fall into the river! Now into the barge, Jane," she directed, pointing the way with her riding crop.

With a mutinous scowl and a marked ill-grace, Jane climbed into the barge and dropped down heavily beside Guildford and sat there with her back straight and her eyes staring forward. Even when Guildford reached out and playfully ran his fingers up and down her spine, she didn't relax or relent, only stiffened her spine even more.

As the oarsmen dipped their oars and began to row away, and we all waved and called out cheerful good-byes, G.o.dspeeds, and good wishes, it gladdened my heart to see my stubborn sister relent and lean back against the cus.h.i.+ons. Her hand went up to fuss with her hat. I suspected a pin was poking her and thought nothing more about it until she slowly, making a grand gesture of it, extended her arm straight out over the side of the barge and, following a lengthy pause, dropped the spray of white feathers, with the hideous dragon brooch her mother-in-law had just given her acting as an anchor, right into the dirty, reeking waters of the Thames.

"Oh, Jane!" I sighed, shaking my head as the d.u.c.h.ess of Northumberland gave an anguished cry of, "My brooch! My beautiful brooch! Look what that girl has done to my beautiful brooch!"

Then Kate, nestled up against Lord Herbert, with her head pillowed on his chest, and his arm close about her, beamed and waved at me as their barge glided past. At least one of my sisters was happy, I thought as behind me our newly extended family fell to brawling over the loss of the ugliest brooch I had ever seen. While I couldn't condone or applaud my sister's conduct, it truly was an unforgivable snub and most ungracious and ill-mannered, the brooch itself really was better off stuck in the muddy bottom of the Thames where it could offend no one's eyes except the fishes, as our lady-mother quite candidly informed the d.u.c.h.ess, who had begun to stagger and sway and clasp her head and call for her smelling salts. "I know I shall faint!" she cried several times while failing to actually do so. In the end, she had to be helped back into the house, supported between two of her sons, while her daughter ran ahead, calling for smelling salts and cold compresses, and her husband sent Robert riding fast to fetch the family physician and an apothecary.

When they had all gone back inside, and only Lady Amy and I remained, she smiled down at me and held out her hand and suggested we take a turn in the garden until all the ruffled feathers had been smoothed back down again. I nodded eagerly and gave her my hand. When my lady-mother called for me, I was sorry to leave Lady Amy behind with her husband and in-laws. After I turned back to wave at her, I saw the sadness on her face and impulsively ran back and gave her a hug as though a part of me knew that I would never see her again.

3.

I was back at Suffolk House on what was to be my last night in London, helping Hetty pack my traveling chest, preparing to return to Bradgate on the morrow and dreading the long, lonely hours that lay ahead of me without my sisters. Regretfully, I folded away the lovely new gown I had worn to the wedding with sachets of crushed lavender nestled amidst its luxuriant folds and wondered when I would get to wear it again. I was heaving a doleful sigh and trying to resign myself to my fate when a letter came from Kate, bidding me come to Baynard's Castle. I was so surprised I had to read the letter through three times to make sure wishful thinking hadn't caused me to misread the words, and even then I couldn't quite believe it and handed it to Hetty for confirmation. Kate had scarcely been gone a week, and I had thought not to receive an invitation to visit either of my sisters for months and months. But, as Kate explained, since she and Lord Herbert were still forbidden to consummate their marriage, and she found it "wearisome, vexing, and dreary" being always chaperoned "like a pair of guilty prisoners" she craved my comforting presence, as both a sister and a friend, someone she could be free and easy with. "I cannot even touch my husband's hand," she lamented, "without people eyeing me like a hawk about to swoop down and pounce on a poor little mouse. They're afraid if they leave us alone for an instant I will ravish him."

I was so excited I could barely sleep and was bouncing on my toes, impatient as could be, to set off right after breakfast the next morning. I drove my poor nurse to such distraction that I set off for Baynard's Castle wearing a pair of mismatched gloves with my bodice only haphazardly laced in back because I could not stand still and dear old Hetty's eyes were not what they used to be. "Don't be cross with me," I said to her, "my cloak will hide it. I know you're excited too, to see Henny again." For her own dear sister was Kate's nurse, now, like Jane's Mrs. Ellen, raised up to serve as lady's maid. Everyone loved Henny; she was a plump, good-natured mother hen of a woman who doted on Kate and clucked over her constantly, and she was much sweeter than my sour, always complaining Hetty, who had misery in her bones, aching back, stiff fingers, tired old eyes, and just about everywhere else. Father had offered to provide Kate with a real French lady's maid, one skilled with perfumes, paints, and fas.h.i.+ons, and nimble fingers for the styling and curling of hair, but Kate had wept and clung to her "dear old Henny" and refused to be parted from her, and Henny had wept too and wrapped her arms like a pair of protective wings about Kate and said, "I'll not have my chick painted like a French wh.o.r.e!" Then Father had offered around his comfit box filled with pink sugared almonds and nothing more was ever said about Henny leaving or a French maid.

At Baynard's Castle, I followed a footman up the grand stone staircase and walked in on a scene of utter chaos. Like two naughty children playing at house, Kate and Lord Herbert, whom Kate had christened "Berry" because "he blushes red as one and is just as sweet," received me in the large, s.p.a.cious parlor that divided their bedchambers.

Dogs and cats, barking and meowing, hissing and growling, chased each other all around the room, clawed the furniture, or curled up in their baskets or napped or groomed themselves on the bearskin rug by the fire, and gilded cages crowded the windows in which a profusion of rainbow-plumed songbirds sang or chirped and flapped their wings against the bars, and a big blue and yellow parrot danced on his perch or hung upside down from a large ring suspended from the ceiling, while constantly demanding a cherry over and over again until I wished I had a whole basket of cherries to throw at him just to shut him up.

There were bowls of fruit, candies, and nuts, cups and flagons of wine, and platters of meat, cheese, and cake strewn over every possible surface, even balanced precariously upon the mantelpiece, and several garments and items of jewelry, vials of scent, combs, hairbrushes, and pins, bits of sewing, and the accoutrements of needlework, and several spoons and knives, all apparently laid down in scattered distraction and then forgotten.

In the midst of it all stood Kate, in a s.h.i.+mmering emerald satin gown that was more appropriate for a court ball than a quiet rainy day spent at home, her coppery curls, unleashed from their pins and held but loosely back from her face by a jade b.u.t.terfly comb, cascading down her back as though she was bored with pretending to be a proper married lady and wanted to be a little girl again. She didn't see me enter nor hear the footman announce me, which was hardly surprising given the din created by her menagerie. She was preoccupied, plumping the pillows behind her husband's back as he reclined on a couch, looking pale and smiling weakly, in his quilted mulberry satin dressing gown and slippers. She perched on the edge of the couch beside him and a brown and white spaniel hopped up onto her lap as she sweetly coaxed the invalid to take a sip of milk punch. Two implacable, blank-faced servants in the Pembroke livery stood stationed at either end, eyeing the young couple vigilantly, ready to put a stop to any affectionate displays that threatened to grow too familiar, and Henny, a much more familiar and friendlier face, smiled at me from over her sewing. I was astonished to see that she was making a tiny yellow dress trimmed with sky blue silk ribbons-a baby garment! My jaw dropped, and I flashed a startled glance down at Kate's stomach as with a cry of delight she sprang up, dislodging the spaniel from her lap, and rushed to embrace me.

"Not for me, silly! How could it be when we're not allowed to . . ." She giggled. "For the monkeys! Look!" She pointed across the room to where the two little creatures were rudely s.n.a.t.c.hing cakes off the table and gobbling them greedily as Berry on his couch eyed them nervously and shrank back against his pillows. "That's Rosamund." Kate pointed to the one dressed up like a little lady in a rose damask gown and hood. "And that's Percival." She indicated the other, clad in a handsome forest green velvet doublet replete with gold b.u.t.tons and fringe and a round velvet cap with a jaunty plume just like a courtier in miniature. "Aren't they adorable? My new father, the Earl of Pembroke, gave them to me. He simply adores me! As does Berry"-she ran to hug and plant a smacking kiss on her husband's cheek-"they both spoil me so. I even have an ermine coverlet for my bed! Look what they gave me this morning at breakfast!"

She thrust out her hand to display an enormous emerald in an ornate gold setting. It was so ostentatiously large it made me wonder how Kate could even lift her hand. Lord Herbert favored me with a shy smile, wincing as Rosamund s.n.a.t.c.hed the silver-ta.s.seled nightcap from his head and Percival hopped up to "groom" his pale, lifeless hair until it stood up on end like stalks of wheat, then clambered down over Berry's body and took off his slippers and began slapping their leather soles together, gibbering with delight at the noise they made. Then the parrot flew from his perch and landed on top of Berry's head and resumed his imperiously squawked demands for a cherry.

Laughing, with puppies nipping at her trailing skirts, Kate ran to s.n.a.t.c.h up a blue gla.s.s bowl filled with cherries that was sitting alarmingly near the edge of the mantel, and began tossing them, one by one, to her parrot. "Isn't life marvelous? Truly, my dear Mary, it is delightful to be married! I never dreamed it would be this much fun!" Kate's aim went awry and one of the cherries. .h.i.t Berry's nose.

With a cry of alarm, she thrust the bowl at me, never noticing that I fumbled and almost dropped it, and ran to him and began smothering him with kisses until one of their chaperones cleared his throat loudly then, finding himself ignored, stepped forward and took Kate's arm and gently pulled her away.

"Milady mustn't be so exuberant," he said, wagging a reproving finger at her. "She must show some restraint and not be so free with her affections; there are some who might misunderstand and think her a wanton."

But Kate just laughed and threw her arms around him. "Don't scold me, Master Perkins, I can't help it; I'm just so happy! So wonderfully, gloriously, blissfully happy!" She began to spin around the room, and I marveled that with all the clutter and the bevy of boisterous animals crowding around her that she didn't trip and fall. "I wish all the world could be as happy as me! Oh, Mary!" She suddenly grabbed my hand and began tugging me across the room. "Come, I must show you Fussy's new trick! My little boy is so clever!"

She bent and caught up the little brown and white spaniel chewing on the trailing train of her skirt and rushed over to the table by the window where a handsome gilt and ivory set of virginals sat. She set the little dog down upon the table beside the instrument and lifted a big, sprawling, fat orange cat from the chair and sat down and began to play, her fingers gliding effortlessly over the keys as the little dog began to yowl in time to the music. "Who's a clever boy? Isn't he wonderful? So talented, so clever!" Kate enthused, then turned smiling to me. "Now if I can only teach the others . . .we'll have a whole choir! Just think, Mary, we might even be invited to court to entertain the King!"

I glanced over at Lord Herbert and saw that though this failed to fill him with delight, he nonetheless still forced himself to nod and smile out of indulgent affection for his bride.

Seeing the stunned expression frozen on my face, Henny took pity on me and offered to show me to my room, chidingly reminding Kate that I had only just arrived and as lady of the house she had neglected her first duty-to see to the comfort of her guests. But when Kate started to rise Henny stayed her with a motion of her hand. "Nay, love, Miss Mary and I are old friends. We'll manage just fine. You stay 'ere and care for your poor ailing 'usband." And, before Kate had a chance to protest, took me by the arm and hurried me toward the door just as Rosamund sat down before the virginals and, to Kate's delight, began banging out a series of loud, discordant notes upon the ivory keys that set Fussy yowling and made Kate beam like a proud mother and praise them both for being "so brilliantly clever!"

Just before I reached the door, I tripped and would have fallen had Henny not caught me. I glanced down to see what I had stumbled over. I blinked my eyes and shook my head and wondered if the din had driven away my wits. There appeared to be a large tortoise staring up at me. His sh.e.l.l, unless I was very much mistaken, was set with a fortune in precious gems.

"Aye, my lady, doubt not your eyes," Henny said as she took my hand again, explaining as we went, " 'is name is Trippy. Miss Kate chose it on account of everybody always trippin' over 'im. 'Tis another gift from the Earl of Pembroke; 'e dotes on so." She shook her head and sighed, and I had the feeling that this troubled her more than she dared say, as though she feared putting it into words might somehow make it worse.

When the door closed behind us, I took the opportunity to warily ask, though I dreaded the answer and prayed it would not be the one I expected, "Is it always like this?"

"Aye, Lord save us, Miss Mary, it is, from morn till night Miss Katey-for that she still is to me and always will be-is chattering away, singing, and bouncing off the walls; I 'ave to give 'er a strong dose o' valerian, lavender, and chamomile every night just to calm 'er down enough to sleep. Last thing I do every night before I lay me 'ead down, and first thing on rising, I pray that the Good Lord will see fit to move the Duke of Northumberland to send word that they may consummate their marriage, for if mother'ood doesn't settle our Kate down, Lord only knows what will, for I certainly don't!"

"Oh dear!" I sighed. I had so wanted to come to Baynard's Castle, to be with Kate, but now that I was there, I was half wis.h.i.+ng the invitation had come from Jane instead; though she was moody and sulky, and I would soon be pining for the suns.h.i.+ne of Kate's presence, it would no doubt be quieter in the country in comparison to this combination menagerie and madhouse. Kate had always been bubbly and exuberant, but under our parents' roof, where our lady-mother ruled with a riding crop she was not afraid to use on our bare b.u.t.tocks and backs if we misbehaved, there had always been an element of caution and restraint; now that had been cast off and, in the presence of two men ready and eager to spoil her and indulge her every whim, Kate had become a whirlwind of giddy wildness and nervous energy.

I heard the sound of breaking gla.s.s and winced as the dogs and birds raised their voices even louder. "Naughty Percival!" Kate cried. "Look at him, Berry! He has stolen the cherries and dropped and broken the bowl! Come here, you naughty monkey, and let me see that you have not cut yourself! Quick! Someone catch him! He's climbing the curtains! Down, Percival, down! You naughty, naughty monkey, I swear, one of these days I really will have to spank you! No, no, Rosamund, you mustn't play with the broken gla.s.s! Give that to me at once, you naughty girl! Quick! Somebody catch her!"

As the clamor behind the door grew even louder, with the parrot determined to outshout them all with his incessant demands for another cherry, I sighed and had to wonder if, when the time came for me to quit Baynard's Castle, I would leave my mind behind to join the clutter in Kate's parlor.

Over the next week, every day I bore witness to such scenes. The entire household seemed to revolve around Kate; pleasing her seemed to be the entire household's sole purpose in life. Her husband and father-in-law were like rivals to see who could spoil her most. On chilly mornings when Kate rose from her bed, her s.h.i.+ft-clad body was instantly enveloped in a robe of purest white ermine. At every meal the table was laid with her favorite foods, and there was always a dessert as pretty as it was delicious to please her. The Earl of Pembroke was always giving her pets, songbirds in gilded cages, and new puppies and kittens, and he had given her all his late wife's jewels and was constantly buying her more. If Kate admired a sunset, the very next day a bolt of s.h.i.+mmering satin evoking its color would arrive in the arms of the dressmaker, ready to fas.h.i.+on whatever gown, cloak, or petticoat that would please Kate best, or a jeweler would come and open a velvet box to reveal a magnificent fire opal, ready to be set in a ring, pendant, or brooch, whichever Kate fancied most. If perchance, whilst strolling in the garden, she happened to enthuse about the beauty of the flowers blooming there, a jeweler would soon come bearing some beautiful bauble that captured them in an eternal sparkling bouquet of costly and precious gems. The dressmaker came to Baynard's Castle so often she might as well have set up shop there and hung her s.h.i.+ngle from the upstairs parlor window.

Every day brought fresh delights for Kate. Packages arrived every day for her. And, more times than I could count, I saw the Earl of Pembroke sit Kate upon his knee and hang a fortune in jewels about her throat, stroking and caressing her neck and adjusting the necklace and smoothing it down in front to ensure that it lay just right; other times I would watch him pin a brooch to her bodice, though I wished he wouldn't do that as it quite unnerved me the way his long, elegant fingers casually grazed my sister's small, pert b.r.e.a.s.t.s and seemed to linger there inordinately long. It just didn't seem right-she was his son's wife-but when I tried to timidly broach the subject with Kate she just laughed and shrugged it off. "Better that my in-laws adore than despise me, Mary. Now come," she would wheedle and cajole. "Smile and don't spoil it for me! Don't be sour and serious like Jane!" And Henny told me that the Earl of Pembroke always came into Kate's bedchamber every night, after she was already abed, to kiss her good night, standing proxy for his son as it was feared that Berry's "youth was insufficient to overpower and restrain his l.u.s.t."

Kate took great delight in flirting outrageously with both father and son. Being older now, as I look back, I can better understand that she found the effect her feminine wiles had on these men heady and empowering, exhilarating; she was reveling in these new sensations, like a monarch drunk on power, only it was her beauty that intoxicated. But back then, when I was only eight, as I watched it all unfold before my youthful eyes, I felt only confusion and a deep, persistent fear that tightened like a noose around my throat and made it hard at times for me to breathe. But still my beautiful, vivacious sister flounced provocatively from the arms of one straight into the other. She was so free with her kisses and embraces, I prayed every night that G.o.d would grant her the will and good sense to better govern and restrain herself. She loved finding excuses to lift her skirts to show off her pretty ankles and sometimes, even more boldly, her knees, and give a glimpse of the plump and rosy flesh above her garters. Whenever Henny was helping her dress, primly tugging her bodice up high to show less bosom and cover the curves of her shoulders, Kate would stubbornly push and pull it back down. More than once, when she was down on her hands and knees playing with her pups, I noticed both father and son staring raptly at her bosom. But it did no good to voice my concerns to Kate. Every time I tried to talk to her about it, she would pout and implore me not to spoil it. "I'm just having fun!" she would insist. "Where is the harm in that?"

Sometimes, in the morning when she rose, Kate would summon her "darling Berry" to sit and keep her company while she made her toilette. He had given her a beautiful Venetian gla.s.s hand mirror; the handle was shaped like a mermaid, her tail and person beautifully jeweled and enameled, and her long golden hair, adorned with pearls and precious gems, flowed up, as though it were floating, spread out and billowing in the sea, to encircle and frame the costly gla.s.s. Kate had a s.h.i.+mmering seaweed green silk dressing gown, and she loved to let it slip from her shoulders as she sat at her dressing table and pool around her slender waist. There she would sit, like a mermaid sunning herself on a rock, brazenly bare breasted, leisurely brus.h.i.+ng her hair, sighing and arching her back, and admiring her reflection in the gla.s.s while Berry gazed adoringly at her, discreetly drawing the folds of his own dressing gown tighter over his lap, as the cool morning air caused Kate's little coral pink nipples to stiffen. I noticed, to my dismay, which, by her worried face I could see Henny also shared, that when the Earl casually strolled in, Kate showed no concern and made no attempt to cover herself. The Earl of Pembroke would cross the room to stand behind her, and lay a hand on her bare shoulder as he gazed down long and admiringly, before at last bending to kiss her cheek and bid her good morning. Once he even brought a rope of pearls, a magnificent l.u.s.trous strand s.h.i.+mmering with hints of gold and green, and bent to drape it around her neck, saying as he did so, "Pearls for our pearl, but we must take care that this enchanting siren does not lure us to our deaths and doom." Though they seemed spoken only in playfulness then, given what came after, my memory always wants to tint them a more ominous shade. Such are the tricks of memory, which is why any writing their recollections many years later must take care.

Another time, I was there while Kate was lounging in her bath when Berry and his father came in, without knocking, each bearing a big straw basket filled with red and white rose petals-a coincidence or a subtle reminder of Kate's Tudor heritage?-which they upended over Kate's head. She sat up in the bath, bare breasted and bold, laughing, and stretched up her arms, urging them to bend down so that she might kiss them.

Though I know, even as my pen records these memories, these things sound so lewd, and my beautiful sister appears a heedless wanton, yet I cannot bear that any who read this might think of my sister in these lascivious terms. It is so hard to explain! But there was such an aura of innocence and blind trust about her as she did these things, my heart breaks all over again to recall it. Even though Kate clearly encouraged them, and most eagerly too, it is the men I blame most; in my eyes they were the despoilers of her innocence. Though she was growing into a beautiful, shapely woman, more so every day, her nakedness was like that of a baby-natural, sweet, and pure. But no matter how hard Henny and I tried, Kate simply could not understand how some might construe her behavior, how it could tar and feather her reputation forever and make people think her something she was not, and it might even lead some men to believe they could freely dally and trifle with her and treat her body like their own toy. Each time she would stare back at us, befuddled, with a quizzical frown crinkling her brow. To Kate it was all "good fun," and she simply could not comprehend how anyone could see it any other way; if they did, they were the ones who were lewd, not her, she insisted.

I didn't know how to say it without hurting her or seeming ungrateful and unkind, but, as much as I had wanted to come there, I now wanted to leave Baynard's Castle even more. I felt always a sick and queasy dread, like one standing beside a scaffold must feel, hoping, praying for a reprieve, while waiting to watch a loved one die. I felt such a great fear for Kate it tainted everything and sucked all pleasure out of life. My appet.i.te deserted me, and many a time though I loved a certain dish and thought I wanted or even craved it, the moment it was set before me, fancy fled and queasiness took its place, and I could not bear to look at it let alone eat it. The very air seemed bad to me, and when I overheard the Earl of Pembroke telling his son that the young king was ailing, with "a cough and rheum following a mild attack of measles" and that his feet were swollen and he "ejects from his mouth matter sometimes colored a greenish yellow or sometimes the color of blood or even black," I didn't wonder at it. It seemed a very marvel to me that the whole of London wasn't ailing, infected with the same fear and malaise that beset me.

Another sleepless night when I desired a book from the library, I overheard the Earl entertaining a late night guest-the Duke of Northumberland. They were talking about Jane, and I heard Northumberland say: "She has imbibed the Reformed Religion with her milk and is married in England to a husband of wealth and probity, and the King holds her in the highest esteem for her learning and zealous piety. In time, she could be the thunderbolt and terror of the Papists." Even though they were praising my sister-Jane would have particularly liked that last bit-their words frightened me. They were plotting something, and I knew it, and I was so afraid they were going to do something that would hurt Jane more than a forced marriage to Guildford Dudley ever could.

Then, like the answer to my prayers, letters came flying like frantic doves from Surrey. Apparently its bucolic splendor had little effect on Jane. The newlyweds were scarcely settled in at Sheen before she fell ill. In a hasty hand, she dashed off frantic letters to "my sisters, the only ones I can trust," imagining herself being poisoned upon the orders of Northumberland. Though why her new father-in-law would want her dead I could not even imagine. Surely Guildford didn't find Jane so disagreeable that he must resort to murder in order to be rid of her? In a hysterical scrawl that sprawled across the tear-blurred pages, she told us how her skin was itching so abominably that she had to sit on her hands to keep herself from scratching it off, and even without the intervention of her nails, it was sloughing off on its own, peeling away in great flaky patches and strips that revealed a smooth, burning, tender redness beneath, and her hair was falling out, every time she ran her fingers through it, they emerged dripping with long chestnut strands, and she could keep no nourishment within her stomach, which ached inside and out, as though it contained a great, tight knot, both hot and tender, and whenever she tried to eat, one or the other end would soon disgorge it, leaving her even more sick and weak and sore. She said she spent hours, agonizing hours, squatting over a chamber pot with a basin balanced on her lap, never knowing from which end the sickness would erupt, and her belly and bottom ached so as a result she could hardly stand it; each expulsion brought fresh torment. "I will die if I stay at Sheen!" she insisted, underlining the words with such force that the pen bit through the page.

After a fortnight at Sheen, our parents and Jane's newly acquired in-laws finally gave in to her complaining and transferred the young couple to the handsome redbrick Thames-side manor of Chelsea, where Jane had spent such happy times with the Dowager Queen Catherine Parr. There it was hoped that nestled amongst the pink roses, lavender, strawberries, and peach and cherry trees Jane would recover her health and blossom like a rose, "all velvety, pink, and sweet, the better to tempt Guildford to pluck." Northumberland hoped the young couple "might become one soon," and by that time he wanted that young lady "restored to the full bloom of health and beauty."

But all Jane did was sit on a bench in the garden or park, staring morosely at the pink orange sunsets, sighing and lamenting the loss of Catherine Parr, and, I am sure, in the most secret depths of her heart, that handsome rogue, Tom Seymour, though in all the years since whenever I had dared remind her of that time, Jane's temper would erupt and she would stamp her foot and angrily rail that it was cruel of me to remind her of that girlish folly she had let befoul and besmirch her soul when all she wanted to do was forget her "wretched foolishness."

"Why can you not understand?" She would round on me, angry tears falling from her eyes. "It is a stain on my soul I can never wash clean no matter how hard I try!" Then with her hands pressed to her temples as though she wished to crush her skull to kill every memory of Thomas Seymour that still lurked there, she would dramatically flee the room.

I never could understand it; we all make fools of ourselves at one time or another in our lives, and each of us harbors memories that make us cringe, humiliating instances that cause our faces to flush red with the flame of shame or embarra.s.sment, but why did my sister think it was such a crime to let a little love, however unworthy the recipient of it was, into her life? Why did my sister believe that feelings were a sign of weakness and failure? Why did she aspire to be like a pure and perfect white marble saint instead of a woman pulsing with life, love, and longings?

Even though I am her sister, I cannot say for certain, only that I sometimes think that Jane was afraid to be real and imperfect, and this inspired her futile and impossible quest for perfection; she spent her whole short life chasing a dragon she could never conquer and slay.

4.

My mind was already pondering how I might best persuade our lady-mother to let me go and stay with Jane, to help nurse her back to health, when Kate bounded into my bedchamber one morning and shook me from my sleep as she shouted for Hetty to hurry and pack a trunk for me.

"Wake up, Mary!" she urged, shaking me insistently. "We're going to see Jane!"

Before I was even fully roused, she was skipping off, calling back over her shoulder that we would breakfast on strawberries and cream in the barge on our way to Chelsea.

I was still yawning and rubbing my eyes when Kate skipped ahead of me and, lifting her skirts high, exposing her limbs to the oarsmen's admiring eyes, entered the barge with a graceful, flying leap and plopped down against the velvet cus.h.i.+ons. As the oarsmen began to row, I sat there still half asleep, trying to make sense of Kate's chattering and avoid choking on the cream-dipped strawberry she shoved suddenly into my mouth.

"I just love to breakfast on strawberries and cream!" Kate prattled as she nibbled daintily upon a cream-slathered berry. "Isn't this fun? We're going to the country, or as close as we can get to it without actually leaving London. We shall act as Cupid's sweet amba.s.sadors and see what we can do to get Jane out of her sickbed and into her marriage bed. I don't have an arrow, but I am not without arms!" she said coyly, dipping her fingers down into her bodice and drawing out a small, ruby red gla.s.s vial, shaped rather like a heart, that she wore suspended from a black braided silk cord about her neck. "Courtesy of Madame Astarte!" she said cryptically.

"Whatever is that?" I asked. "And who on earth is Madame Astarte?"

But Kate would only giggle, shake her head, and say mysteriously, "All in good time, my dear Mary, all in good time. And see, I've something more!" She reached into her bodice again and drew out a letter and a folded square of age-yellowed paper. "The Duke of Northumberland has given me leave to be the bearer of good tidings-as soon as she is recovered, Jane and Guildford can become husband and wife in deed as well as in name! To celebrate"-she brandished the other paper-"I've a recipe for a special wine made from gillyflowers-Guildford's favorite!" More than that, no matter how much I pressed her, she would not say.

The barge had scarcely docked before Kate had leapt out and was running toward the house. I followed her as best I could, clumsily tottering on my short, stubby, slightly bowed legs, proudly shrugging off Hetty's helping hands and her offer to carry me. I had not grown an inch in three years, not since I was five, and had learned to accept-What good would it do to shake my fist up at G.o.d and rage against it?-that it was my lot to spend my life trapped in a child-sized body with a back and limbs that always ached like a bad toothache. From the grinding pain in my lower back and hips, I already knew this brief exertion would require the application of hot stones wrapped in flannel when I went to bed that night. I would never have the strong, shapely, and slender limbs that carried my sisters gracefully through life, beautiful, slim white legs, as pretty as porcelain, not thick stumps like mine, and marred by ugly, ropey, pain-pulsing, and bulging veins. I would grow old, as would my sisters and all that lives; I would wrinkle and wither and gray frost would douse the dark fire of my hair, but as I aged I would also go back in time and return to a toddler's clumsiness, and a day would eventually come when I would need a cane, or even a crutch or a pair of them, or if I had the means to afford it and spare myself this indignity, a pair of handsome footmen to carry me about in a gilt and damask chair.