Holding Court (8 page)

“I wish. How am I going to know who’s absent or what they look like? Are there any pictures of Tudor Times employees somewhere that I could look at?”

Angelique thinks for a minute. “Yes! Geoffrey has photos of everyone who wears a costume. He calls it his ‘bible.’ It’s his record of who wears what and how their costume is supposed to look when it’s put together properly.”

“He didn’t take
my
picture.”

“He already has one of me. You should also try talking to Floyd. He’s even nosier than I am, so he knows everything about everyone else’s business. He lives in the gatehouse at the front of the castle and has been the caretaker here forever. He’s also supposed to play King Henry’s bodyguard, but mostly he creeps around spying on people. And he’s a sucker for pretty young things, so don’t be afraid to use your feminine wiles.”

“Ew.”

“Do you want do find the dead girl or not?”

“Well, yeah, and I’m flattered that you think I have wiles, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m currently dressed as a nun.”

“Oh, Lordy, here comes another one.” Angelique puts her hands on the small of her back and bites her lip. After a minute or so she relaxes. “Okay, that ought to be enough ideas to get you started. Let’s get out of here before I start crowning.”

Instead of going back down the narrow hallway toward the Rose Tower, Angelique makes for a set of spiral stairs just outside the dungeon. “These will take us to the ground floor, down the hall from the Great Wardrobe. I need to get my clothes from my cubby. I’m so not going to the hospital dressed like a nun.”

We make it to the ground floor landing and Angelique pushes open the door at the top of the stairs, then gives a yelp of surprise. I follow her through the door and find myself face to face with King Henry.

“Sister Elizabeth, is everything all right?” King Henry asks, and I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or Angelique.

“Sort of,” Angelique says. “I was just giving the new sister here a tour of the castle and I’m afraid my water broke.”

“Your water? Oh. Indeed. How may I be of assistance?” Somehow King Henry manages to look both flustered and disapproving.

“I need to get my clothes and my purse from the Great Wardrobe, and call my sister. She can take me to the— Oh, wow! Here comes another one!” Angelique grimaces and grabs my arm. “Your Majesty,” she pants, “would you mind getting my stuff out of my cubby? I need my cell phone so I can call my sister. And I think we’d better hurry.” She gives a low moan and King Henry takes off at a run for the Great Wardrobe, his royal robes flapping behind him. Angelique straightens up and lets go of my arm. “Okay, listen. This means you’re on your own today, not just with the dead body thing, but as the Mad Maid of Kent,” she tells me.

“Oh. Crap.”

“Think you can handle it?”

“Sure. No problem,” I say, but my nunly armpits are starting to feel uncomfortably clammy. At least black linen is good at disguising sweat circles.

“Be careful, Jules.”

“I will. You faked that last contraction, didn’t you?”

“Yup. I’ve got my phone right here.” She pats the pocket at the front of her habit.

“Are you worried that King Henry’s involved in all this?”

“No, I was trying to avoid Geoffrey. He’s going to go nuts when he finds out I soiled my costume.”

Chapter Thirteen

Keep Rocking That Fanny Pack

King Henry returns with Angelique’s stuff, and she and I duck into one of the bathrooms where I help her back into her street clothes in between contractions.

“I shall escort you to the rear entrance,” King Henry says when we come back out. He takes Angelique’s arm and gives me a skeptical look. “Mistress Verity, are you prepared to take over as the Maid of Kent? We shall have guests arriving momentarily.”

“She’ll do great,” Angelique says and puts a hand to her temple. “In fact, I’m having a vision of resounding success.
Pearls
of wisdom shall fall from her lips.” She winks at me, and I remember the pearl in my nun pocket.

I reach my hand in to make sure it’s still there and feel it nestled up against my lipstick stun gun. “Absolutely,” I say.

“Tell Geoffrey I’m sorry about the costume.” Angelique nods at the bundle of soiled nun stuff under my arm.

“I’m sure it’s nothing a little soap and water can’t fix,” King Henry says at the same time I yell, “Fie, ignore the damned spot, I say!”

They both stare at me.

“Was that…?” Angelique asks.

“PTS? Yeah, sorry. Just call me Blurty McBlurterson.” I hold up Angelique’s crumpled nun costume. “I’ll take this to Geoffrey. Good luck, Angelique.”

“Thanks. Take care of yourself, Blurty,” she says and gives me a hug.

“Let’s get you to the hospital, Mistress Boden,” King Henry says.

“Don’t forget the bible,” Angelique whispers, and then she and King Henry are off.

I’m hesitating outside the door of the Great Wardrobe when I hear a voice call my name. I turn to see Bree Blair coming toward me in all her queenly glory. “Oh my God, Jules.” She pulls me into a tight hug. “Grayson told me what happened last night,” she whispers. “You must have been so freaked out.”

“You mean having to dress like a nun? Yeah, it’s a bad habit.” I’m really hoping this conversation isn’t going where I think it’s going, because the only thing that can possibly be worse than having to talk to Bree about Grayson is having to talk to Bree about looking for a disappearing dead body with Grayson.

“What? No. I’m talking about
the body
.”

Yup, she went there. “Oh, that. Yeah, it pretty much sucked.” So much for King Henry’s orders not to tell anyone about the body.

She lets me go but continues the whispered conversation. “Are you sure it was real? It wasn’t part of some sort of act King Henry was putting together?”

“In a secret passageway protected by a suit of armor? I kind of doubt it.”

“How in the world did you end up in there anyway?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Miss Blair, if you’re ready?”

Bree gives a startled hop, and we turn to see Geoffrey standing in the doorway to the Great Wardrobe.

“Oh, Geoffrey! You scared me, you silly!” She skips over to greet Geoffrey and they do this
très
French-looking thing where they kiss each other’s cheeks multiple times.

“And how are you today, Miss Blair?” Geoffrey says as he puts a hand at the small of her back and steers her into the Great Wardrobe.

I follow in the wake of Bree’s pristine crimson silk with my armload of soiled linen.

“I’m great,” Bree says. “Where’s Sarah? Did she finish fixing my pearl earrings?”

“Not yet. I have another pair you can wear for today.”

Bree nods, then turns to me. “Geoffrey, you know Jules, right? Of course you do, she’s the new Maid of Kent. Jules and I are classmates at Lunevale High.”

“How nice,” Geoffrey says. “Let’s get your coif on, Miss Blair.”

“I’m getting beheaded today,” Bree tells me as Geoffrey busies himself with a complicated-looking headpiece.

“What?”

“It’s part of a new Six Wives performance. We’ve been rehearsing it all week.”

“Oh. Yikes. I thought you got to just stand there and look queenly,” I say.

“I do. And then I get my head chopped off for sleeping around behind King Henry’s back.”

“Bummer.”

“Truly.”

I feel a little better knowing that at least I don’t have to get beheaded. And then I make a mental note to check the Maid of Kent dossier to see how I die.

Bree fingers a luscious brocade fabric that’s spread out on a long table in the middle of the room. “This is gorgeous, Geoffrey. What’s it for?”

“A new doublet for King Henry. Wait until you see the trim.”

“Oh, I bet it’s yummy. He’s so lucky to have you, Geoffrey. You’re an absolute magician with fabric. Jules, did you know King Henry stole Geoffrey away from Hollywood? He’s even won an Oscar! Haven’t you, Geoffrey?”

Geoffrey nods. “Yes, for
Little Minks
. It was my fourth nomination,” he says demurely.

“Really? That’s amazing,” I say, looking at Geoffrey with new appreciation. “I love the dress Tibby Faye wore in the ballroom scene.”

“Ah, yes. The blue gown. There were ten thousand Swarovski crystals on that dress. All hand-sewn,” Geoffrey says and his eyes go all misty. “And the sequins! I was shedding them for weeks afterward. Even found them in my underwear. Not sure how they got in
there
.”

Bree laughs. “Were you shedding feathers, too? That peacock dress in
Little Minks 2
was amazing. It must have taken forever to create,” she says.

“I wouldn’t know,” Geoffrey responds. “I didn’t design the sequel. The director decided to hire my assistant instead.”

“Oh, were you working on another project?” Bree asks.

“No, I wasn’t sleeping with the director,” Geoffrey says.

There’s an awkward silence and then Bree bursts out, “Ooh, how scandalous! And
unfair
! Is that why you let King Henry woo you away?”

“King Henry is a man with seemingly unlimited funds who understands the importance of craftsmanship and historical accuracy. How could I possibly pass up such an opportunity? The garments I make for Tudor Times are not just costumes, they’re re-creations, pieces of history you can hold in your hands, wear on your body. No one else can re-create history through fabric like I do. Did you know the British Museum has asked to borrow the costume I made for King Henry based on the Whitehall Mural? The British Museum!”

“I’m not surprised, Geoffrey. I’ve never seen costumes as beautiful as the ones here at Tudor Times,” Bree says. “We’re so lucky to get to wear them. Don’t you think so too, Jules?”

“Uh, yeah,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to be a flawlessly garbed nun.”

Bree laughs. “Oh, come on, Jules. You somehow manage to look fantastic no matter what you’re wearing. Me”—she gestures at her queenly ensemble—“I need the genius of someone like Geoffrey to make me look decent.”

This is so not true it’s ridiculous. I’m still trying to think of a comeback when Geoffrey finishes fiddling with her headpiece and says, “You’re all set, Miss Blair. Your head will look quite lovely when they lop it off.”

“I’m a little nervous. I’ve never been beheaded before.”

“You’ll be fine,” Geoffrey says. “But don’t get any fake blood on the costume or I’ll have your head for real.”

I look down at Angelique’s sodden costume and cringe.

“I’ll be careful, don’t worry. Thanks, Geoffrey.” They do the cheek-kiss thing again. “Bye, Jules! Have fun today.” And she’s gone.

“Is something wrong with your costume, Mistress Verity?” Geoffrey asks me, eyeing my veil-less head and the wad of black linen in my hands.

“Sort of. Um, Angelique’s water broke and I’m afraid some of it got on her dress and I tried to use my veil to dry her shoes off and, well”—I hold out the bundle of clothes—“they’re kind of a mess.”

Geoffrey looks at them, and I swear he gives an involuntary shiver of horror. “Put them in the laundry bin over there. I hope you didn’t use Angelique’s veil to mop the floor or something, because I don’t have another one for you to wear.”

“Oh, yeah. It should be okay.” I sort through the bundle and pull out Angelique’s veil. “It’s a little rumpled but otherwise I think it’s fine.”

Geoffrey takes the veil from me like he’s picking up a dirty Kleenex and doesn’t want to get snot on his hand. “It will have to do. How in the world did you manage to get the rest of your costume so filthy?” He leans down and examines the hem of my dress.

“Oh, jeez, I’m really sorry. It must have gotten dirty when I was trying to help Angelique.” In the dungeon. Or the secret passageway. Where clearly no one has dusted for decades.

“I can probably brush off most of the dirt, but you’ll have to wait while I press the veil.”

“Okay, thanks. I’m really sorry about the…water thing.”

“At least it’s not silk or it’d be ruined. And thank goodness she had the decency to take her costume off before giving birth.”

I’m trying to figure out if he’s kidding or not when he wrinkles his nose at me and smiles.

“Did she get to the hospital okay?”

“She should be on her way there now. I wasn’t really expecting to have to take over as the Maid of Kent so soon.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine. I hear you’ve got the psychic part down at any rate.”

“Oh?” I say, wondering what he’s heard but afraid to ask. “I’m not really sure about that. It’s more like I have this weird habit of blurting out random stuff that sometimes comes true.”

“I see. How interesting,” he says, but doesn’t look the least bit interested.

I walk over to the rack of costumes, eager to change the subject. “These clothes are so amazing. How long does it take you to make one of these gowns?” I ask, realizing this could be the perfect opportunity to see if I can get Geoffrey to let me look at the costume bible Angelique mentioned.

“It varies. King Henry is a stickler for historical accuracy, which means no theater shortcuts with these costumes, so some of the more complicated pieces can take quite some time.”

“How many have you made?”

“Oh, I’ve lost count by now. I’ve done at least three different ensembles for King Henry and one or two for each of his wives. And then there are all the knights and servants and other assorted characters.”

“How do you keep track of it all?”

“Ah,” he says, and smiles. “I’ve got my costume bible. It has photographs of all the ensembles and who wears what. Thank goodness for digital cameras these days. Makes it so much easier. Not like the days of the Polaroid.”

“Wow, your bible thingy sounds awesome. Could I see it?”

“Certainly,” he says, but he gives me kind of a funny look.

“That’s a fantastic fanny pack, by the way. The black leather is very posh. And I love your costume. Did you make it, too? I’m just so fascinated with all the costumes you’ve created.” I’m babbling but I can’t seem to stop myself. What if I see a picture of the dead girl in the bible? What if I don’t?

Geoffrey goes to one of the shelves and pulls out a large black binder.

“Be soft and attend thy soiled slops!” I blurt while his back is to me.

He turns and hands me the binder. “Here’s the bible,” he says, “and I assure you, my slops are quite clean, although I prefer the term ‘trunk hose.’”

I have no idea how to respond to this so I say, “Of course. Thank you. Is it okay if I just…” I wave toward the stools tucked under one end of the table.

He nods, so I pull a stool out and open up the bible. I start flipping through the pictures, keenly aware that he’s watching me out of the corner of his eye while he irons Angelique’s veil.

“These costumes are so elaborate, “ I say. “I can’t imagine how much it must cost to make one of these dresses.”

“Money is no object for King Henry. And he insists that everything be exactly as it would have been in the sixteenth century.”

“Does that mean the jewels are real, too?” I’m looking at a picture of a dress that looks absolutely encrusted with pearls, and thinking Hank Bacon must be a bazillionaire if they’re real.

“Only for King Henry’s personal garments and all except the diamonds. We use Swarovski crystals for those. Aside from the jewels, some of the fabrics cost over $200 a yard. A museum could never afford to commission that kind of reproduction, which is one of the reasons the British Museum has asked to borrow King Henry’s Whitehall ensemble.”

“That’s amazing. I had no idea King Henry, uh, Mr. Bacon was that…dedicated.” Translation: loaded.

On each page of the bible there’s a picture of a Tudor Times staff member in costume followed by a detailed list of the costume pieces.

“Oh, hey! Trunk hose are pants!”

“Of course they are,” Geoffrey responds.

“And a doublet is a jacket?”

“You’re a quick study, Mistress Verity. Your veil is ready for you. I’ll help you put it on if you promise not to need my services again until the end of your shift.”

“Deal.” I’ve reached the end of the book, and there’s no sign of the disappearing dead girl. “And thanks so much for letting me look through your bible. You must be really proud of your work here.”

“You could say it’s the fulfillment of one of my greatest dreams.” Geoffrey beams as he takes the book and puts it back on the shelf.

I hop down from the stool and stand still while he pins my veil into place, then brushes the dust off the hem of my habit.

“There you are, Sister Elizabeth. You’re ready to channel the spirits, or whatever it is you do.”

“Thanks, Geoffrey. You, uh, keep rocking that fanny pack.” Ugh. Did I really just say that? I sound like a Bree wannabe. I cringe inwardly and flee the Great Wardrobe.