Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (11 page)

“Have you an ointment for burns?”

I shook my head. Why had I not thought to make one? Surely such an ointment would have been useful. But I hadn’t made one since arriving, only the calming teas and herbs had been my passion. My world had been too filled with other more pressing events to care much about making herbal remedies beyond how I suffered. And truly, my desire for things I once found inspiring had ebbed.

“I
’ll send for one then.”

I did not reply, only turned away from her and walked back to the hearth, my gaze searching for remnants of my mother
’s letter.

“My dear… Kat, please answer me.”
Mrs. Helen’s voice held a note of pleading, and when my eyes met her rheumy gaze, wisps of her graying hair falling around her face, it struck me suddenly how much she appeared to have aged of late.

I closed my eyes briefly and then opened the
m again. “A letter from my mother.”

Mrs. Helen
nodded knowingly. “Will she be coming this evening to celebrate your name day?”

“No, she
’s gone to the manor in Sheen. I do not know for how long, but she’s begged the queen’s assistance long enough, she says. Now she must take care of her health, recover, I suppose, so she might try again in a month’s time.”

Mrs. Helen
pursed her lips but said nothing.

“I know what you are thinking,
Mrs. Helen.”

“
I would never think anything that would displease my lady.”

At
that moment Stew, my pet monkey, shrieked and bounced through the room, evidently excited about something. But the humor of it, the sound seeming to appear from Mrs. Helen’s own mouth, had me doubled over with laughter, edging on hysteria.

Mrs. Helen
realized why I laughed and made a play at sticking her tongue out at the monkey. “Laugh all you want, my lady. I suppose you are in want of a good jest.” She picked up the monkey and chucked him under the chin. “You know your mistress well, Master Stew.”

The monkey nodded and then started to groom the maid
’s hair. When he plucked something from her mane, examined it and ate it, Mrs. Helen let out a little cry of outrage and pulled the monkey from her shoulder, shooing him away.

“Now we
’ve had our laugh, why do you not tell me what is on your mind?”

“I should like some fresh air that is not so blasted hot.” I stuck out my lip
, pouting. A walk in the gardens would have been heavenly, but judging from the stifling air inside the castle, I couldn’t imagine outside would be any more breathable.

Mrs. Helen
waved away a pesky fly. “Let us walk by the quay. The breeze along the water ought to cool you down, and the trees will give you a bit of shade. Perhaps we can find the herbs you’d need to create an ointment for burns.”

I nodded my acquiescence and walked with
Mrs. Helen outside. The sun beat down on us, searing my skin even through my gown, until we reached the shaded walk by the quay. Swans and ducks floated over the water, and boats drifted by at gentle paces. Odd to see the world passing me by as I stayed cooped up in Baynard’s, unsure of my future.

“
Tell me, my lady.” My maid’s voice was soft but firm, and I knew I could no longer hold back what had been eating away at my gut and giving me the worst of headaches.

“I
’ve had a coded letter from Jane.”

Mrs. Helen
’s stride did not falter, although her brows did rise. “A coded letter from your sister? Are you sure?”

“In
deed, I am. She used a code we made up as children one time when we were trying to avoid our studies.”

“And it held disturbing news?”

I nodded, biting my lip. I stopped along the path and tossed some bread crumbs into the water that I’d gathered from the kitchen on the way out of the castle. Several ducks swam quickly over and ducked their heads beneath the murky water to capture the crumpled bread in their beaks.

“She tells me
there are rumors of another rebellion and she is helpless to stop it. A young nobleman named Wyatt wants to proclaim her queen. Equally disturbing is that she claims Mother has forsaken her. The good duchess is having an illicit relationship with her groom. Mother lies when she says she must go to the country to rest. ’Tis so she can be alone with the lowly maggot.” Tears of frustration welled in my eyes.

“
Another rebellion? And did you say Her Grace is with a groom?” Mrs. Helen had a very canny knack of keeping her voice devoid of emotion that I found myself admiring.

“
Indeed. The fools never get enough of trying to put Jane back on the throne. They are blind to the fact they cannot win and in so doing seal her fate. As for Mother, Master of the Horse, to be exact, but nevertheless, yes, she has taken Master Stokes as her lover.”

“
Poor Jane. Why do you suppose Her Grace has…” The breathy question was exactly the same one I had.

“Jane says
Mother is most likely doing so because she is lonely and has only ever known the love of a selfish man. Perhaps she requires a gentler hand.”

“And do you agree?”

I gazed out at the swans as they glided so elegantly across the water. “No.”

“What is your opinion on the matter then?”

“Mother knows in her heart that Father and Jane will not be pardoned as the queen promises.” A swift breeze came over us, ruffling my hair and spraying river water up in a cooling mist, as if in confirmation of what I’d said.

“My lady! Do not say such things.”
Mrs. Helen looked scandalized.

I shrugged. “She is protecting herself. Mother realizes
if Father were dead, she would only be used as a princess of the blood in a marriage bargain, and who knows which side would be the victor? She is aligning herself to a lowly groom so that no one will think to put her through what my father has. She will not suffer the fate of her daughter.” Horror came over me at my own words. No woman could be that heartless…but I fear that in this, my mother truly was.

Mrs. Helen
blinked, realization lighting her eyes. “My lady,” she gulped. “You know too much for a girl of your tender age. Come, let us gather your herbs, and then we will go inside, and I shall read to you from one of your books.”

I nodded
, because lying in bed while Mrs. Helen read to me sounded lovely, but also because I could not fathom what I had just realized. Mother would protect herself and see us all to a ruinous end.

“And p
erhaps there might be a birthday surprise inside waiting for you.”

“What is it?” I asked, my hands coming together in a clap.
Mrs. Helen knew the right things to say and do to cheer me.

“Now, it would not be a surprise if I were to tell you.”
Mrs. Helen’s eyes twinkled, and she smiled widely.

“Come now,
Mrs. Helen, tell me! Is it a nightingale? A parrot? I have wanted a bird for so very long!”

“Come
, then, let us see!” Mrs. Helen gathered her skirts up, and in the playful way she had since I was a child, she ran ahead of me.

When we reached the great hall, there stood
Jane Seymour and her mother, the duchess, holding a pretty gilded cage from which a nightingale sang a beautiful melody.

“Her name is Cora, after the Greek goddess Persephone,” Jane said with a smile as she gazed and cooed at the bird. “That was what
she was called before her innocence was taken. I thought you and she have much in common. Your beauty is unrivaled, and you’ve been kidnapped into a world you deem hellish. Have you not?”

Jane
’s sharp eyes met mine, and I could only nod. Her likening me to that of the Greek Goddess of Innocence, who was also Queen of the Underworld, shook me to my core.

I could not think on it. Instead
, I walked to the cage and cooed to the bird myself, who turned its soft brown, feathered head toward mine and belted out a pretty answer.

“Thank you,” I whispered, knowing that Cora would indeed bring me solace.
I turned to the duchess. “I do believe I am ready for your assistance.”

January 4, 1554

Fall left as mildly as she came—not bothering to cool us until the winter solstice was upon us, and even the leaves of the trees were loath to part with their branches.

But one thing
was different—I was no longer in gloomy Baynard’s. Soon I would be housed at court with the queen, who promised me an apartment of my own—which had my nerves frayed. Why should the queen wish me so close? For the time being I remained in Sheen at Charterhouse—my mother’s home.

I
would begin this year anew. And once again a maid to be bargained with. Pembroke finally managed to gain an annulment for Henry and me. True to her word, the Duchess of Somerset had eased the passage herself, and since she was a close confidante of Queen Mary, the queen took the duchess at her word and the annulment was given.

“She agreed,” I said breathily.

Lady Anne nodded. “Indeed. I received word Pembroke would approach Queen Mary, and so I arrived at court to attend Her Majesty. I managed to be in the Presence Chamber when Lord Pembroke was granted an audience. He barely gave me a glance before laying before the queen his request for an annulment between you and Henry. He stated the marriage had not been consummated. The queen questioned him, stating she’d heard otherwise.”

My eyes widened. “
Oh, to have been a fly on the wall when his lordship heard such!”

Anne smiled at my enthusiasm. “H
e paled considerably and blubbered for a moment before shouting out that it was impossible. Queen Mary merely raised her brows as if to dare him to speak to her that way again. At that precise moment, when neither queen nor subject spoke, I cleared my throat and bade Her Majesty listen. Queen Mary turned a surprised gaze toward me but inclined her head in acquiescence. Pembroke looked flummoxed and as if he had completely lost control.”

“What did you say?”

The duchess flicked her gaze away, as if to say she was not committed to the conversation. “I informed Her Majesty that the marriage between Henry and yourself could not have been valid since you had already been pre-contracted to my son.”

My heart
skipped a beat and immediately recalled to mind Lord Beauchamp’s words when we’d danced on my wedding night.
Hope. Hope for a chance at your hand when your time does come…

A servant knocked upon the door.

“Enter.”

“
Your Grace, a messenger has arrived for you.”

Anne furrowed her brow a moment, then stood. “I shall return in a moment.”

I stared after Anne’s retreating figure, hoping all was well with her family. But soon my mind wandered back to Beauchamp. Now that the time had come, would he indeed claim me as his mother had professed we were pre-contracted?

“Why should I fear it?” I asked Arabel as I scratched
behind one of her white fluffy ears. I looked to Stew, who picked at Rex’s fur by the hearth, and even Cora cocked her head as I spoke. My precious friends, if only they could speak back to me. “Should I not be happy to be wed to such a man? His mother is most loyal to me. I would not have the same issues as I did with Pembroke.”
I have not forgotten the dance we shared, and how my interest in him piqued.

Ara
bel tilted her head in question, and Cora sang out a pretty tune.

“I know, only words have been passed over lips, but
’tis still as good as a betrothal in the queen’s eyes, and I’ve yet to really get to know the young Lord Beauchamp in person.”

Stew
scratched his behind and then grossly offered up his tiny fingers for Rex’s tasting pleasure. I quirked a brow at that and shook my head.

“
’Twas not the answer I was looking for, Stew.”

I chewed on my lip, for
Beau’s sister was dear to me, as was his mother. How could he be anything other than a decent fellow? Our first meeting had shown him to be quite a flirt, but beneath his outrageous tongue lurked a man who truly seemed to cherish my company, if only for those few fleeting moments.

Searing pain passed from one temple to the other
, and I squeezed my eyes shut. The world spun for a moment, and I shooed Arabel away so I might lay my head back without fear of dropping her to the floor. My megrims were coming more often.

“What is it, my lady? Are you not well?”
Mrs. Helen rushed into the room.

I laughed a little at her canny knack for knowing when I would need her. “
’Tis my head, Mrs. Helen.”

“You have not touched your breakfast
. Perhaps you are in need of sustenance. Your gowns are sagging. I’ve had to take them in. You must eat more.”

I ignored her, my stomach protesting the idea of food. “
It is an odd feeling, Mrs. Helen, being free from marriage and yet not free, since I will most likely be married again.”