Holding Court (9 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Don’t Play Coy

I now know about trunk hose and doublets and have verified that everyone at Tudor Times has a way less embarrassing costume than I do, including the King’s Fool and the guys who wear codpieces, but I’m no closer to proving I didn’t hallucinate a dead girl.

I decide to head to the Rose Tower since I’m not sure what else to do. When I get to the Oratory I find a schedule for the day’s readings already on the wooden table. I only have one private reading, but it’s listed as a group reading, which is not something Angelique mentioned as a possibility. I feel a trickle of sweat slide out from beneath my wimple. I use the tent flap on my habit to wipe it away. All I have to do is act like a crazy nun. Should be easy peasy, right?

I prop open the Oratory door and prepare for the first tour group. According to Angelique, when I’m not doing private readings, and am just hanging out acting nunly while waiting for the next group of castle guests to come trooping through, I have a couple of options: I can kneel on the floor pillow and pretend to pray, or sit at the wooden table and pretend to write letters to supplicants, or I can study my Bible. Angelique suggested I bring a magazine to hide inside the Bible, which would allow me to look properly pious while secretly catching up on my celebrity gossip.

I decide to sit at the wooden table and write down what I know about the dead girl while pretending to write a prophetic letter to a sixteenth-century petitioner of the Holy Maid of Kent. I pick up a quill, dip it in the inkwell, and quickly discover that writing with a feather is easier said than done.

I’ve managed to scrawl,
Dead girl not pictured in Geoffrey’s bible. What does this mean? And if she was murdered, who killed her and why???
when Floyd, aka the Keeper, knocks on the open door.

“There you are, Mistress Verity. I understand you’re on your own today?”

“Yeah, Angelique’s a bit busy having a baby.”

“How convenient.”

“Um, I’m pretty sure that’s not how she’d describe it.”

“I was referring to the fact that she’s not available to answer any questions about all the excitement going on in the castle.”

“Excitement?”

“Oh, come now, Mistress Verity. Or I suppose I should call you Sister Elizabeth? Either way, don’t play coy with the Keeper.” He gives me a wink and I suppress a shiver remembering Angelique’s suggestion to flirt with him. He must be at least seventy-five years old.

“You’ve been snooping around where you don’t belong.”

“You mean the spirit world? I’m pretty sure that’s my job.”

Floyd gives a sinister-sounding chuckle. “I know everything that goes on around here, Mistress Verity. Everything. And I know you were in the secret passageway last night.” He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “How, may I ask, did you come to discover the entrance behind the suit of armor?”

“Oh, um, it was kind of an accident.” Instead of feminine wiles, I’m now thinking about busting out my stun gun.

“I see. And who else was involved in this ‘accident’?”

“You mean besides the sacrificial goat and the vestal virgins?”

Floyd is standing directly in front of the door, effectively blocking my only escape route. Unless I want to jump out a stained glass window.

“I
mean
, I would like to know who is sharing my secrets.”

“Are you here for a reading? Because I don’t have you on the schedule.” I hold up the handwritten sheet of paper with the day’s readings. With my other hand I grasp the stun gun in my pocket and flip the lid off. “And I need to leave the door open if I’m not doing a private reading.” I stand up and make a move toward the door, stun gun at the ready.

“Then tell the Keeper what you know, Sister Elizabeth.” Floyd takes a step toward me and I jump back. He smiles, then pulls out a chair and takes a seat at the wooden table. “Do you truly have the gift of visions? Or are you a snooping charlatan like your predecessor?”

“Is there a third choice?”

“Come, Sister Elizabeth. I would hate to have to report you to His Majesty. He has far more important things to worry about than finding another Maid of Kent. In fact, I
insist
on a private reading. And since there is no one else here I don’t see what’s preventing you from fulfilling the Keeper’s wishes.”

“Perhaps if the Keeper weren’t so creepy I’d feel more inclined to oblige,” I say under my breath.

Floyd does his villainous chuckle thing again. “It’s part of the Keeper’s charm, is it not? The one-eyed bodyguard of a bloodthirsty king? The Keeper has to keep up appearances.”

“The Keeper needs to make an appointment for a reading and Sister Elizabeth will be happy to oblige.” I make a dash for the door and throw it open. And am ridiculously pleased to see a tour group coming my way. “Greetings, lords and ladies,” I say loudly. “I have just finished a private consultation. Make way for the Keeper, if you please.”

Floyd stands and pushes past me. “The Keeper hopes you find your time with the prophetess more illuminating than I,” he tells the crowd, and disappears down the stairs.

The costumed guide leading the group, a young woman who plays another of Henry VIII’s many wives, introduces me as the Holy Maid of Kent and explains my gift of prophesy.

“If we’re lucky,” she stage-whispers to the group, “she may have a premonition for one of us.”

The group waits in hushed silence, and I take my time studying them. I hope they can’t see the sweat that’s starting to soak through my wimple. I spot a little girl in a pink T-shirt with a horse on it edging her way to the front of the crowd.

“Am I going to get a pet for my birthday?” she calls out. “I know I’m probably not going to get a pony, right?” She raises her eyebrows and looks at me with eyes full of hope. The crowd laughs.

I kneel down in front of the girl. “Greetings, fair maiden. What be thy name?”

“Hi. Uh, I be Maddy.”

“Well met, Mistress Maddy. I am not at liberty to say whether or not you will get a pony of your own but I can tell you I see lots of pony rides in your future.” This seems like a safe enough prediction.

“Awesome!” Maddy says and turns to the woman now standing behind her. “Hey, Mom! Can we do the stable tour next?”

“Sure, honey,” the woman says, and smiles at me.

I give them a solemn nod, and the guide is gesturing for the group to move on when I feel a blurt coming on. “Pink toes make perfect pets!” I yell at Maddy, and then heave a sigh of relief that I’ve blurted something seemingly inoffensive.

Maddy cocks her head at me. “Pinktoes? Do you like tarantulas, too? Did you hear that, Mom? She said I should get a pinktoe tarantula!”

Her mom gives me an alarmed look, and I take back my sigh of relief.

“That’s what you said, right?” Maddy asks me.

“Um.” I pause, trying to figure out how to phrase my response. “The messages from the spirits can be very mysterious,” I say. “My job is just to pass them on.”

Maddy leans close and whispers, “Where are the spirits? Are they invisible? Do they like tarantulas, too? Pinktoes are the cutest. Terri Hoffer says I’m a weirdo because I like spiders, but Mom says everyone has their quirks. Do you have quirks?”

Ha! “Absolutely. Do you know what my Gran says?”

“Is she a spirit?”

I stifle a laugh. “Not yet. She says that you not only have the right to be an individual, you have an obligation to be one.”

“Does your Gran like tarantulas?” Maddy asks, and her mom gives her hand a tug.

“I think our time’s up, kiddo. Thank you, uh, Sister Elizabeth.”

“Good day, milady. Thank you for visiting, Mistress Maddy. I hope you enjoy the rest of your time at the castle.”

“Bye,” Maddy says. “Tell the spirits I said good-bye to them, too. I’m so excited for my tarantula! But I still wouldn’t mind a pony.”

“Duly noted,” I say. “For now I think your stable tour will have to do.”

Chapter Fifteen

You Are so Dead

I settle back down at my table, grateful to have survived both my encounter with the creepy Keeper and my first solo tour performance. A couple more tours go through and not only do I manage to avoid blurting out anything that might get me fired, no one looks at me like I’m some sort of freak when I bark out a completely random statement to a total stranger. They actually seem to like it. I’m starting to think this whole Tudor Times nun gig might be okay.

I just have to get through my private group reading and the dinner performance, and I’m home free. Oh, and somehow prove I didn’t hallucinate a dead body. Without risking becoming the next disappearing dead girl. My group reading is due any moment, and I’m wondering if I’m going to bomb it, and then I think how handy it would be if I were legitimately psychic, because I would already know.

“Hey, Sister. Are you ready for us?” a voice calls from the doorway.

I look up and groan.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

“I’m here to find out what my future holds,” Cami says.

“And I’m here to make sure you’re staying out of trouble,” Gran says. “Do you have your Hot Lips on you?”

“My
what
?”

“Your stun gun. I hope you have it on you. I was going to sneak up on you and test your response time but Miss Stick-in-the-Mud over there wouldn’t let me.”

“Miss Stick-in-the-Mud doesn’t like having to do CPR on little old ladies who sneak up on their stun gun–toting granddaughters,” Cami retorts.

“Who you calling old, missy?”

“Don’t worry, it’s right here in my Bible pocket.” I pat the front of my nun habit.

Cami snorts. “I can see why you hid from Grayson. You look like an extra from
The Sound of Music
.” She starts singing, “How do you solve a problem like being a nu-un? How do you catch a knight and pin him down?”

“Shut. Up. What are you guys really doing here?”

“Can’t your grandmother visit you at your place of employment without being suspect?”

“No. Especially not if you’re plotting to jump me.”

“Fine. I told your mother I’d check up on you. And I’ve been wanting to get a good look at the inside of Lunewood Castle for years. This place is the bomb-diggity.”

“Oh, jeez. Please don’t ever use that word again.”

“I thought I’d see if they need a trumpeter or a Lady of the Bedchamber,” Cami says.

“You’re going to be way too busy rehearsing
My Fair Lady
,” I say.

“Yeah, but that’s not until August. Maybe there’s another pregnant employee I could fill in for in the meantime?”

“Would you both please go away?”

“Not on your life, missy. I paid for a private reading,” Gran says, “and I intend to get my money’s worth.”

“How’s it going, anyway? Any more dead bodies?” Cami asks.

“No, but I think I found proof that the girl I saw was real.”

“Really? What’d you find?”

I tell them about snooping around with Angelique and finding the pearl and then Angelique going into labor.

“Thank God you didn’t have to deliver a baby in the dungeon,” Cami says.

“Let’s see that pearl,” Gran says, and holds out her hand.

I give her the pearl, and she puts it in her mouth.

“Hey! What are you doing?” I demand. “That could be valuable evidence.”

“It may be evidence, but it’s definitely not valuable,” Gran says, and hands it back to me. “It’s fake.”

“Seriously?” I wipe the pearl off on my habit.

“It’s too smooth.”

“Do you think that’s important?”

Gran shrugs. “She could have been strangled with a necklace containing fake pearls just as easily as real ones.”

“Angelique suggested I look through Geoffrey’s costume bible—it’s this book that has pictures of all the costumed staff—to see if I recognized the dead girl, but I didn’t see anyone who looked like her.”

“You’re sure she was wearing a costume?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Can you find out if anyone’s missing from work?”

“I can check the staff sign-in sheet. I guess I’ll do that when I sign out tonight. But I don’t know how to tell who’s supposed to be here and who isn’t. And since Angelique’s gone, I’m stuck up here for the time being.”

“Are you sure you’re okay being up here all by yourself?” Cami says, looking around the Oratory.

“Yeah. I was a little freaked out when the Keeper cornered me in here but—”

“What? Who cornered you?” Gran demands.

“The Keeper. His name’s Floyd Bean but he likes to refer to himself in the third person as the Keeper. He’s a total creeper. He’s King Henry’s bodyguard-slash-castle-caretaker. Angelique told me to flirt with him to see if I can get him to give me some inside information because apparently he’s all up in everyone’s business, but”—I shudder—“that’s so
not
going to happen. Besides the creep factor, he’s like, seventy-something years old.”

Gran clears her throat.

“No offense to seventy-something-year-olds in general. Hey, maybe you could have a go at Floyd?”

“He sounds like a real keeper,” Gran says.

“Ha ha. Anyway, there are tour groups coming through all the time and I’ve also got the private readings, so I’m not really by myself much.”

“Good. Maybe you should tell Hank Bacon about the pearl and let him do whatever he needs to do. No snooping around the castle by yourself, you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you. But he’ll probably fire me if he finds out I was in the passageway again. I’d rather wait and see if I can figure out who the dead girl is first.”

“You do what you think is right. But keep that stun gun at the ready. Now where’s this young man you’ve got the hots for? I want to get a look at him.”

“Number one, I am so not discussing my love life with you, and number two, don’t you dare check out Grayson’s aura.”

“Well, how am I supposed to look at his aura if you won’t show me who he is?”

“Exactly,” I say.

“Have you seen him yet today? Did he say anything about the dead girl?” Cami asks.

“I haven’t seen him, but he apparently told Bree about the whole dead body thing even though Hank told us not to.”

“Can you blame him? That’s some pretty juicy stuff.”

“She asked me if I was sure the body was real. So Grayson no doubt thinks hallucinating dead bodies is another awesome skill in my freak-show repertoire.”

“Well, then find the dead body and prove everyone wrong,” Cami suggests.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that after dinner.”

“When
is
dinner? I’m starving,” Cami says.

“What time is it? There’s a trumpeter guy who announces dinner at four. That’s when I’m supposed to go to the minstrel gallery to spy on people.”

“Ooh, I want to spy on people!” Cami says.

“You can’t, you’ll miss dinner.”

“Can’t we just spy for a little bit and then eat dinner?”

Gran looks at her watch. “It’s three fifty-five. I’d say it’s spy time.”

They insist on seeing the minstrel gallery, and we all crowd onto the balcony to watch the proceedings in the Great Hall. Right on time the trumpeter plays the dinner announcement and the guests begin to flow into the hall.

“I’m supposed to pick out a victim to make a premonition about, and as soon as I’ve figured out who I’m going to target and what I’m going to say, I go downstairs and join the crowd,” I explain.

“Okay, who should we choose?” Cami asks, peering down at the castle guests.

“I’ve already got a great victim in mind,” I say.

“Who?” Cami asks.

I wiggle my eyebrows at her.

“Me? What are you going to say?”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see. You’d better go find a seat.”

“I think I’d rather stay up here,” Gran says. “This is fascinating. It’s like aura-watching at the mall only with a much better vantage point.”

“Here comes the processional,” I say as King Henry enters the Hall, followed by his retinue of lords and ladies and assorted hangers-on.

“Where’s Grayson?” Cami asks.

“Yes, where is your young man?” Gran says, peering down at the procession.

“He’s not my young man, he’s her young man,” I say, pointing at Bree Blair, who whispers something to one of her ladies-in-waiting before taking her seat at the head table.

“Oh, my,” says Gran.

“I know,” I say.

“How interesting,” Gran continues. “I wonder if she knows?”

“Of course she doesn’t know! I don’t go around telling the girlfriends of the boys I’m in love with that I’m in love with their boyfriend. Not that she would care. She’s like the most beautiful, perfect person ever. I’m absolutely no threat to her whatsoever.”

“No, I don’t think she’d see you as a threat,” Gran says and snickers.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“No, but I am rather amused.”

“How nice for you,” I say, completely disgusted with her lack of loyalty. And then I realize she’s giving me that weird squint she does when she’s checking out someone’s aura.

“Hey, stop it. What are you doing?” I wave my hands in front of her face.

“So very interesting,” Gran says.

I cross my arms over my chest and turn my back on her. It’s hard not to feel naked when Gran’s doing her aura squint at you.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Gran says and I turn to see her hanging over the edge of the balcony, full-on pointing at Grayson, who has just entered the Great Hall with Sir Drew. He’s wearing his flowy white shirt with the green tunic that matches his eyes, and then he looks up and sees me and it’s like someone zapped me with my own stun gun. I lose the warm and tingly feeling when I realize Gran is still pointing at him.

“Gran!” I hiss. “Stop pointing!”

She puts her arm down. “He’s a hunk all right,” she says, then looks back to Bree. “I wonder if
he
knows?”

“Knows what?” I demand. “What are you talking about? Nobody knows I like Grayson except Cami. And now you. Unfortunately.”

Gran shakes her head. “It’s not for me to reveal,” she says.

“Damn right it’s not,” I say. “Jeez, Gran. I can’t take you anywhere. Would you please turn off your aura mojo and go enjoy your dinner?” And then a thought strikes me. “Wait a minute, how did you know that was Grayson? What does his aura look like? Does it match Bree’s?”

“Oh, no you don’t, Juliet. You can’t have it both ways. Either you want me to keep my aura reading to myself or you don’t.”

“I don’t, okay. I’m sorry, I just didn’t want you to embarrass me. He totally saw you pointing.”

“No need to apologize. I understand.”

“So? What does his aura look like?”

She looks at me very thoughtfully. “I’ve learned that it’s best to keep my meddling to people I’m not related to, or don’t spend large amounts of time with.”

“Oh, come on. You know you came here to look at his aura!”

“And, more importantly, to reassure myself that you’re safe here.”

“Whatever. You can tell me, Gran. I promise I won’t freak out.”

“Yes, you will.”

“No, I won’t! I promise.”

“Juliet, the subject is closed. Whatever happens won’t be because of my meddling.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You
love
meddling! You’re a matchmaker, for crying out loud. And what about your whole butterfly effect theory? You could be missing out on the perfect opportunity to flap your wings and cause a tornado!”

“I think I missed the tornado memo,” Cami says.

Gran takes Cami’s arm. “We’d better go, Mistress Cami. The dinner service is starting. Juliet, can you find out if the jester is single? He’s a perfect match for a client I signed last week.”

“Sure. As soon as you tell me if Grayson and I have matching auras.”

“I won’t tell you that. I will tell you that you should not take everything at face value. Look deeper if you want to know the truth.”

“Let me guess, Eleanor Roosevelt?”

“Nope. Vivian Gilbert.”

“You know what, Gran?
You
should take over as the Mad Maid of Kent. That’s exactly the kind of crap I’m supposed to say to people.”

“‘Understanding is a two-way street,’ Juliet. ‘Friendship with oneself is all-important because without it one cannot be friends with anybody else.’” And before I can stop her she slips through the little door and I’m left alone on the balcony. I steal a few ogles at Grayson and then head downstairs to do my prophetic nun shtick.

When King Henry sees me enter the Hall he nods, and I give him a thumbs-up. And then I have to stop myself from running back out. Because now that I’m downstairs in the Great Hall instead of looking down at everyone from above, I’m realizing just how many people are going to be watching me. And one of them is Grayson. I’m fairly certain I now understand stage fright. I look over at Cami. She gives me a big wink, and I relax a little. At least I know I can count on her to totally ham it up when I make my faux prediction.

I rehearse in my head what I’m going to say and try not to steal glances at Grayson, who’s sitting between two teenage tourists, totally oblivious to their admiring stares. He’s watching Bree, who’s talking to one of the other wives. I try squinting at Grayson, and then at Bree, to see if I can detect any trace of their auras. But all I can see is how ridiculously gorgeous they both are.

“Sister Elizabeth, have you had a vision concerning one of our guests? Sister Elizabeth?” King Henry’s voice finally breaks through my pathetic preoccupation. I tear my eyes away from Bree’s unblemished perfection. Everyone in the Hall is looking at me expectantly. Including Grayson. Oh God. Maybe I should just faint. The Maid of Kent was a big swooner, so it would be perfectly in keeping with my character. Except she usually passed out
after
she had her visions. I take a deep breath. “Your Majesty,” I croak.

“Prithee speak up, Sister. Be not a blushet, thou art amongst friends here.”

I clear my throat. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. But I have received a message from the spirits.” I can do this. It can’t be any worse than junior high theater camp, right? “I believe it concerns one of your guests.”

“Indeed?” King Henry says, right on cue. “We are at your mercy, Sister. Please, tell us what you would have us hear.”