Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (47 page)

“I know expectant mothers sequester themselves.” Nan had experience with the custom from her days in the household of the sieur de Riou. She frowned, remembering what the last weeks of Madame de Riou’s pregnancy had entailed.

“There will be a most impressive ceremony to mark the queen’s withdrawal,” Cat continued. “Lady Rutland says that first Her Grace will hear Mass. Then she will be escorted to her presence chamber by all the lords and ladies of her household and led to her chair of estate. She will sit there and be served spices and wine, after which her two highest-ranking lords will lead her to the door of her bedchamber and take formal leave of her. Only Her Grace’s ladies and gentlewomen will be permitted to
follow her inside. After that, no men will be admitted except, I suppose, for the royal physicians. Anything Her Grace needs will be brought to the chamber door, where her women will receive it and take it inside. Even the humblest male servants must stay away for the duration. I am told there is a narrow spiral staircase leading from the queen’s apartments to the ground floor where the privy kitchens and the royal wardrobe are located. It permits waiters to bring food and yeomen to deliver clothing without ever entering Her Grace’s private rooms.”

During her sister’s recitation, Nan came to an abrupt halt. In an instant, all her joy, all her triumph, fled. The sour taste of disappointment filled her mouth. “I will be no better off than a cloistered nun,” she whispered. That was not how she had hoped to spend her first weeks as a maid of honor! “How long? When will the child be born?”

“Lady Rutland thinks Her Grace’s time is three or four weeks hence, but who can say? Babies come when they will.”

Nearly a month? That was a very long time to be locked away from the world of men. Longer than Nan had ever gone without male company before. There had been a goodly assortment of personable young men in the de Riou household in France, including young Gabriel de Montmorency, the heir to the de Bours title. More recently, in Calais, all the young, personable gentlemen her stepfather kept on petty wages had vied with one another to pay her pretty compliments.

“Ah, well,” Cat said as they resumed walking. “I am certain you will be so busy that the time will fly by. I will try not to envy you as I spend my time with the courtiers who attend upon the king.”

“Much good that will do you!” As far as Nan had been able to observe, Cat had little aptitude for flirtation.

They had nearly reached the Countess of Sussex’s lodgings. With each step Cat looked more smugly pleased with herself. “I did not manage too badly with Master Corbett on the journey from Calais,” she said.

Nan gave a disdainful sniff. “He spent more time talking with me than with you. Not that it matters. Ned Corbett is naught but a country gentleman’s younger son.”

And yet, even before he’d escorted them across the Narrow Seas, Nan had taken notice of him. In appearance Ned was most appealing—a head taller than she was and well proportioned, with thick, dark hair; a fine, thick beard; and laugh lines around his eyes. Nan liked his irreverent sense of humor, too. She had noticed he was careful to repress that side of himself when he was in the presence of Nan’s mother or stepfather or their man in London, John Husee. That fact alone intrigued her.

Ned’s devil-may-care attitude had been much in evidence during the trip from Calais to London. Nan had appreciated the wicked and admiring glint in his eyes when he’d talked of teaching her to swim, she in her shift and Ned—or so she imagined—wearing nothing at all. She liked his natural smell, too. Unlike the king, who, she noticed, doused himself in heavy perfumes, Ned’s scent consisted of his own body’s musk underscored by a hint of leather and augmented by the herbs he used to wash his face and beard. The combination was most pleasing.

Nan’s thoughts abruptly returned to the present when Cat embraced her. “Enjoy your prize,” she whispered. “I know how much it meant to you to win it.”

Realizing that she would be locked away from Cat, too, Nan hugged her sister tightly in return. When she stepped back, she held Cat at arm’s length for one last, long look before they parted. Unexpected tears sprang into Nan’s eyes.

“Lady Rutland says each maid of honor is allowed a spaniel.” Cat injected laughter into her voice, striving to lighten the mood. “And a maid, so you’ll no longer have to share a servant with me.”

“I would rather have a linnet or a monkey than a dog,” Nan said, forcing a smile of her own. Their mother kept both in the household at Calais, together with several hounds and a one-eared cat.

“Lady Rutland says that although maids of honor are paid ten pounds per annum and provided with meals and livery, you must supply your own bedding. And you will likely need to amend your clothing,” she added as she moved away.

Amend her clothing? Before Nan could ask her sister what she
meant by that, Cat had scurried off in the direction of Lady Rutland’s lodgings.

Nothing needs amending,
Nan told herself. Everything she had was new and in the latest fashion. Mother had taken particular care in acquiring it. Or rather, John Husee, carrying out his employer’s orders to the letter, had done so. And he had sought advice from both countesses—Sussex
and
Rutland—before making his purchases.

Nan’s cousin Mary, the Countess of Sussex, was waiting for her. She had already heard of Nan’s appointment and enveloped her in a warm embrace and a cloud of her distinctive rose-water scent when she arrived. The top of Mary’s head came just level with Nan’s nose.

“Well deserved, coz,” Mary said. “I was certain you would be the one the queen chose.”

“Is there something wrong with my clothing?” Nan blurted out.

“Ah, well, that may present a small problem.” Cousin Mary lifted a hand to her cumbersome gable headdress, a wistful look in her coal black eyes. “The queen does not care for French hoods. No doubt her aversion has something to do with Anne Boleyn’s fondness for the style.”

“But … but I have no other bonnets.” Nan’s spirits plunged again. She felt as if she could not get her footing. Every time she took a step in confidence, some new obstacle appeared in her path.

“I will provide you with one of velvet, and a frontlet of the same, such as the other maids wear,” Cousin Mary said, “but you will need to acquire a second and it should have an edge of pearl.”

“I thank you, cousin. You are most kind.”

Looking amused by Nan’s obvious lack of enthusiasm, Cousin Mary drew her into the inner chamber and closed the curtain behind them. The Sussex servants, including two waiting gentlewomen, remained in the outer room. “What do you have against gable headdresses?” Mary asked.

“Aside from the unflattering shape and awkward construction?” Nan said.

Mary chuckled and opened the wardrobe chest that held the garments she wore at court.

“What good is it to have beautiful hair,” Nan asked, “if no one can see it?” A gable headdress had two pieces of fabric at the front to cover every strand.

“It is a great pity, I agree,” Mary offered.

Nan knew Mary meant what she said. Her cousin’s hair was long and luxuriant and as black as her eyes. Nan sighed. “What else will I have to give up to conform to royal whims?”

“The queen has sent word that she will allow you to wear out the remainder of your French apparel, but it is possible she may change her mind. Indeed, it is likely she will. Her moods of late have been as unpredictable as the weather. You are fortunate she did not take a dislike to your looks, out of fear you might capture the king’s interest while she is indisposed.”

This remark, following so closely upon Cat’s observations, sent heat rushing into Nan’s face. “I did not come to court to become anyone’s mistress, not even the king’s. I am seeking a rich, titled, future husband, such as the one you yourself found.”
Only younger and better looking,
Nan added to herself. Cousin Mary was the earl’s third wife, and he was some thirty years older than she was.

“His Majesty admires pretty things,” Mary mused as she held up a pair of sleeves heavily embroidered with flowers in a rainbow of colors.

“I am certain the king intended no more than an avuncular interest in my well-being,” Nan said stiffly. She did not like being forced to defend herself this way.

Mary laughed. “I would not be so sure of that, but the matter will not arise for the immediate future. As for your wardrobe …” She produced a kirtle of crimson damask and sleeves of the same. “You may have these, as my gift. And I have already sent for Master Husee, so that he may send word to your mother that you have been chosen. Do you wish to write to her yourself?”

“I cannot.” At her cousin’s look of surprise, Nan felt obliged to explain. “I read both French and English, but in the de Riou household I was only taught to write in French. Since Mother does not understand
that language in either its written or spoken form, it would be far better if Master Husee wrote to her in English on my behalf.”

Lips pursed, Mary shook her head in a disapproving manner. Nan was not surprised by the reaction. Cousin Mary was very clever with languages. She had learned to read and write in Greek and Latin as well as English and French. “Amend the oversight if you can, Nan,” she advised. “A knowledge of French is all very well, but you are in England now.”

“Indeed I am!” The smile Nan flashed was wide with triumph and delight. “Not only am I in England, but I am at the English court. And from this day forward, I am one of the queen of England’s maids of honor!”

J
ANE
M
EWTAS CAME
to Lady Sussex’s chamber to escort Nan to her new quarters. At Hampton Court, the queen’s suite of rooms stretched along the entire south end of the east front of an inner court and extended into a long gallery that faced out upon the park. There were many interconnected chambers, including a maid’s dormitory that contained three large beds and a scattering of other furniture. Two mullioned windows let in light and air, but shutters on the outside and heavy curtains within were already in place, ready to be closed tight. During the queen’s confinement, every room in her lodgings would be kept dark and airless.

After two men in Sussex livery delivered Nan’s wardrobe trunk, Jane led Nan back to the queen’s privy chamber. The maids of honor Nan had glimpsed earlier, together with several other waiting gentlewomen, were still there, but the queen herself had gone to lie down.

Mistress Mewtas began introductions with a stern-faced, unfriendly looking woman who appeared to be at least thirty years old and regarded Nan with deep suspicion in her light gray eyes. “This is Mistress Jane Arundell,” she said. “She and Lady Sussex are half sisters.”

Nan found it difficult to conceal her surprise. The two women were nothing alike. Where Cousin Mary had been warm and welcoming, Mistress Arundell held herself stiffly and acknowledged Nan with naught but a curt nod.

“Kinswoman,” Nan said, inclining her head.

“We are only very distantly related.” With those few clipped words, Jane Arundell went back to hemming a cambric shirt.

Linking her arm through Nan’s, Jane Mewtas steered her toward three considerably younger women seated on cushions on the floor. They looked up from their embroidery with equal parts curiosity and wariness.

“This is Anne Parr, who will be your bedfellow,” Jane Mewtas said, indicating a young woman who would have been beautiful if not for an off-center nose and a profusion of freckles across her cheeks. She was older than Nan by only a few years.

“Welcome, Mistress Bassett,” said Mistress Parr. “Now we will have two Annes in our number, as well as two Janes and two Marys.”

“Until recently there were three Janes,” Jane Mewtas interjected. “At times it is very confusing.”

“My friends call me Nan,” Nan said.

“Well, Nan it shall be then.” Anne Parr looked pleased. “This is Bess Jerningham.” She indicated the young woman sitting beside her. “Our only Elizabeth. She came to us when Mary Arundell left to wed the Earl of Sussex.”

“And I am Mary Norris,” said the third young woman. Even seated, her height was apparent. So was her antipathy. She regarded Nan with an owlish gaze and did not smile.

“I am pleased to meet all of you,” Nan said.

“The other Mary,” Jane Mewtas said as she led Nan toward a flat-topped chest beneath a window, “is Mary Zouche, who has been a maid of honor longer than any of the rest. She is the daughter of Lord Zouche of Harringworth. Back when Catherine of Aragon was queen, Mary begged to be taken into royal service because she had a new stepmother who was cruel to her.”

Mistress Zouche was busily embroidering roses on a handkerchief. She appeared to be no more than twenty-five and had been blessed with a clear complexion and good features, although Nan thought her chin a trifle too square for true beauty.

She greeted Nan with a haughty sniff and looked her up and down before speaking. “You will need to alter your clothing. Your garments are cut in the French fashion. That will not suit the queen.”

“The matter is already in hand.” Although Nan hid her resentment, the criticism stung.

“And that accent!” Mary Zouche exclaimed. “You scarcely sound English.”

“I am as English as you are, Mistress Zouche.”

“Where were you raised?”

“In France, but—”

“You see!” The other woman gave an airy wave of the hand holding her needle. “French. It makes one wonder if you have foreign sympathies, as well. Or worse, papist leanings.” This speculation provoked nervous titters from the maids of honor and other gentlewomen in the queen’s privy chamber.

Nan bit back an angry response. It was scarcely her fault that she’d been sent from Calais into France at the age of twelve. At the time, her mother had thought a French upbringing would be an advantage for her. After all, Queen Anne Boleyn had been trained in France.

“Mary,” Jane Mewtas said sternly. “Enough. You have no cause to question Mistress Bassett’s loyalty.”

“And is her moral character also beyond reproach? We all saw how she flaunted herself before the king,
and
how he responded.”