Deception (2 page)

“He runs as if Cerberus himself were snapping at his heels with all three heads at once,” I whispered to Mary. I like that expression. I heard Her Majesty say it once and I have been determined to use it ever since.

Mary was looking puzzled. “Who is Cerberus?” she hissed.

“The mythological dog who guarded the gate of Hades,” I told her, feeling very learned, though I confess I had to ask who he was when first I heard his name!

The Queen hurled the letter down and tried to
grind it to a pulp under her heel. Then she stomped to the window and stared out.

“I fancy we shan't be going to the Frost Fair,” muttered Carmina Willoughby.

“I think you're right,” Mary Shelton agreed, jabbing her needle into the bonnet and pricking her finger. She sucked at it miserably.

I was feeling miserable too—and I still am. I've been looking forward to the Frost Fair, of course, but most of all I've been longing to go on the ice again. Just last week, a young Dutch nobleman introduced us all to a new sport. It's called skating. We were tutored on the frozen lake in the park of St. James's and now it has become very fashionable at Court. It seems the Hollanders do it every winter on their frozen waterways.

When I first saw the strange flat undershoes with a sharp length of bone beneath them, I wondered how I'd ever stay upright. I feared I would be as good on the ice as I am on a horse—which is to say, very bad! But when the skates were tied firmly to my boots with leather straps I found to my amazement that I had a talent for it. The funniest thing was that Lady Jane, who was desperate to impress the young—and unmarried—Dutch nobleman, couldn't skate at all.

At other times, my haughty lady is very inclined to look down her nose at me—but on the ice she found herself mostly looking up!

“I really don't think you should upset yourselves about a mere Frost Fair,” Lady Jane said in her superior way.

“But it would have been such fun!” exclaimed Penelope.

“It wouldn't have been much fun for me,” sniffed Lady Sarah.

I was surprised at this. I could understand Lady Jane's not wanting to make a fool of herself on the ice again, but I had thought Lady Sarah would be happy to go. Her skating wasn't bad and she impressed enough of the young courtiers last time to satisfy her vanity. That pleased her on two accounts. She loves to impress young men and she loves to look better than Lady Jane. So what could be the problem?

“How can I possibly go when I have not received the new gown I was promised?” Lady Sarah wailed—very quietly so that the Queen wouldn't hear her.

By my soul! I thought. How could I have forgotten about the new gown? She has been going on about
it for days and we all know the story by heart. But that did not deter Lady Sarah from boring us again.

“It is so vexing. My Uncle Richard has gone back on his word!” she moaned. “When he made so much money from that investment, he said”—and here she looked round to make sure we were all paying attention—“‘What better way to use my riches than to adorn a beautiful niece in fine raiment?'” The beautiful niece smiled sweetly at us. “His words, not mine.”

I caught Mary Shelton's eye and pretended I was going to be sick, which made her laugh. Sarah's complaints hold no sway with Mary and me. She has so many clothes I'm surprised that any of us can move in our bedchamber for trunks and presses.

“'Tis such a pity that there was a robbery at his London house, and he says he cannot now afford it,” said Carmina solemnly, although her eyes were dancing with mirth.

“But indeed he can!” chanted Mary Shelton, imitating Lady Sarah. “He still has great riches remaining and thus can easily pay for one new gown.”

We all tittered at that—except for Lady Sarah, who had already launched into a long complaint about
how her uncle certainly had enough money but was just sulking about the robbery.

Will she ever stop mewling on about it? Perhaps I shall write to her Uncle Richard myself, and plead with him to buy her the wretched gown before we all go deaf.

I am trying to write amid the excited shrieking of Lady Sarah and Mary Shelton. We are to go to the Frost Fair after all! And it is thanks to Lady Sarah's moans, which had become louder and louder as she told her tale. With a furious look, Her Majesty suddenly reached for a painted glass bowl and turned towards us. Lady Sarah couldn't see this, as she was facing the fire, or she would certainly have held her peace. With a roar, the Queen threw the bowl and it smashed on the floor, just behind Lady Sarah. I would have laughed at the expression on Sarah's face if I hadn't been so scared myself!

“Out of my sight, my whingeing lady!” yelled Her Majesty, sailing towards her like a great white galleon. “I am sick of the sound of your voice!”

Blushing crimson, Lady Sarah bundled up her embroidery and crept out. The rest of us sat, not daring to move a muscle, and hoping not to be the next target.

But Her Majesty was under full sail, with all guns blazing. “And the rest of you!” she bellowed.

We jumped to our feet and curtsied hurriedly.

“I will not be surrounded by prating fools! I care not where you go, but begone before I—”

We didn't wait to find out what Her Majesty had in mind. As Mary pulled the chamber door shut behind us, we heard the sound of a royal shoe clattering against the wood.

“That was a narrow escape!” I panted as we paused for breath in the Privy Gallery. We couldn't hear the sounds of the Queen's tirade any more and decided we were probably safe.

“I have never been more frightened in my whole life!” declared Lady Sarah. Of course that was nonsense, but two young gentlemen had just stopped to find out what was amiss—or rather to admire Sarah's bosom, which was heaving dramatically for them.

“What are we going to do now?” Mary asked despondently. “We must avoid Her Majesty at all costs.”

Penelope sighed. “All I want to do is get on my skates and go to the Frost Fair.”

“Well, we could!” I declared.

They all looked at me, aghast.

“But the Queen …,” Mary began, glancing round anxiously as if Her Majesty were hanging from the ceiling, ready to drop onto her head.

“The Queen said she didn't care where we went,” I pointed out, “so she won't care if we go to the Frost Fair, will she?”

And now Lady Sarah, Mary Shelton, and I are in the bedchamber we share, making ready to go. Sometimes I long for a chamber of my own, but that would be unheard of. In truth Mary and I get along well, and even Lady Sarah is not too bad, I suppose—when she is not whining on about gowns, or her spots.

I have been ready for an age in my thickest and oldest green woollen kirtle—it is fast becoming too short for me and so it is easier to skate in. I have my fur-lined cloak, and skates by my side.

After much deliberation, Lady Sarah has decided on a gown to wear. She says it will “just about do,” for she has had it at least a month and considers it rather old. She is now fussing over her face mask. She cannot find it anywhere. If she does not wear it,
the cold will ruin her delicate complexion, she keeps telling us. I would have thought her face already well covered—she puts enough potions on it. But Mrs. Champernowne soon jumps on us if we don't wear our masks to protect our skin when we go out in winter time.

If it were me I'd be glad I had lost it. Masks are the silliest idea I can think of. Because they can only be held in place by a button that is grasped with the teeth, they become uncomfortable after a while. And, worst of all, you cannot easily talk while wearing one.

We will certainly be a big party. When the young gentlemen of the Court heard that Lady Jane and Lady Sarah would be going, they fell over each other in their offers to attend us Maids of Honour. And when the Ladies-in-Waiting heard that the young gentlemen would be attending, they, too, were most eager to join the party. At this rate the whole palace will be empty!

Lady Sarah is still hunting for her cursed mask. Perchance I should offer her mine and be done with it.

Heaven be praised! All is sorted. “Take my mask,” I said to Lady Sarah, holding it out. “I don't need it.”

“That's true,” Lady Sarah replied, almost snatching it from me. “You do not have such fine skin.” She held it against her cloak. “It is not a good match, but better than nothing, I suppose.”

Ungrateful girl!

But never mind. I have now escaped wearing the mask. Mrs. Champernowne can say nothing against such an act of mercy—and we will have peace at last from my lady's moans.

It is time to hide my daybooke away and go.

Having come back to my chamber, thrown my cloak down, been moaned at by Mrs. Champernowne, picked the cloak up again, and folded it, I am at last left alone to write.

I need to see the Queen urgently, but she is closeted with Sir William Cecil on matters of state and will not be disturbed at least until sunset. So I will take the opportunity to write all about the fair—and the mystery I have uncovered. There has been a—
No, I must set this out as it happened, or I may miss out something important.

We all set off, chattering, through the palace, with Mrs. Champernowne calling dire warnings after us. “Don't go skating off on your own, look you!” she told us. “There'll be no more ice frolics for those who behave in an unseemly way today.”

I'm sure she must have had her beady eyes on me as she said it.

We came out of the palace and onto Privy Bridge. Strange that it is called a bridge, as it is really just a landing stage for Whitehall. Everyone knows there is only one bridge across the Thames, and that is London Bridge. One of the Queen's boatmen told me he blames London Bridge for the Thames's being frozen. He explained that ice blocks from upriver floated down and stuck against its arches and gradually the water upstream froze over. God bless London Bridge, I say!

All along the bank were more great blocks of ice that must have been caught there as the river froze. If I half closed my eyes I could imagine they were white mountains, like the ones I've seen in paintings from foreign lands.

Someone had cut steps through the blocks onto
the flatter ice further out on the river. We made our way down, then sat on our cloaks to strap on our skates. We could see the Frost Fair in the distance and many people making their way to it.

“Look at us!” I called to Mary Shelton as I pushed off across the ice. “We're on the Thames without a boat!”

“I don't like the thought of all that freezing water beneath us,” Mary replied, looking down and wobbling a little.

“Have no fear, my lady!” said Sir Peter Howlett, one of our escorts. He circled us and raised his hat with a flourish. “The ice is a foot thick at the very least.”

“And people are walking along it as if it's just another street,” I reassured her.

“Don't tarry!” cried Penelope as she glided expertly past us. “We want to get to the fair!”

I followed. Skating is a wonderful feeling. To think that a little bit of bone strapped to a piece of wood can take you skimming across the ice as fast as a galloping horse!

Some of the gentlemen decided to have a race, weaving in and out of the crowds. Sir Peter won and scratched his name in the ice with his dagger.

Then he added the names of his “fair companions.” He was eager to point out that he had carved Lady Sarah's closest to his. Lady Sarah tried to pretend she didn't care, but I could see she was pleased.