The Dark Lady's Mask (8 page)

A
EMILIA HAD EXPECTED TO
dine in a stuffy room, seated at a long linen-draped table, but instead, owing to the weather, the Willoughby clan supped in the rose garden, their feast illumined by lanterns, torches, and the rising moon.

Servants, as silent and swift as the bats darting overhead, delivered trays of the delicacies Catherine Willoughby deemed appropriate for a late supper. Roasted pheasant and salads; a pie made of larks; crayfish and carp; breast of veal; custard tarts; strawberries and green figs; apricots and almonds. They sipped Rhenish wine as pale as the moonlight.

Mindful of Mistress Locke's admonition to act like a young lady, Aemilia struggled to ignore her ravenous hunger and follow the example of her table companions who only sampled each dish, leaving most of the food on their plates. The leftovers, she learned, would be eaten by the servants while any remaining food would be given to the poor.

Lanterns bathed the Willoughbys' faces in gold, making her hosts seem like magical beings, their laughter mingling with the night sounds of barking foxes and the wind in the oaks.

Catherine Willoughby practiced her French with Anne Locke, telling stories in that language that sent them both into spasms of laughter. While Thomas Vaughan and Henry Locke conversed with Lady Susan, Perry insisted on speaking Italian with Aemilia. Her heart exploded in joy, for she never thought to hear Papa's tongue in her new home.

She pointed to the porcelain dish of love apples set as decoration on the table. “Papa grew
pomodori
in his garden. He even ate them. I ate one once. It was delicious!”

“Don't do that here, or you'll shock my mother,” said Perry, though he did not seem shocked at all. “I was your age when I first set foot on English soil. That makes me a foreigner. I feel as much at home in Europe as I do here.”

“My brother speaks fluent French, Dutch, German, and Italian,” Susan said, drawing the conversation back into English. “He's bound for a career in diplomacy.”

“That is if I don't marry a rich heiress and live off her money while frittering away my days hunting and hawking,” Perry said.

His words made Aemilia think of Francis Holland. It was as though a dead, rotting pigeon had been hurled in the middle of the lovely feast table, spoiling everything with its stench. What if Perry was no better than the brother-in-law she had fled?

“Don't look so miserable, Amy,” he said, touching her wrist. “I was only joking. Do you think the great Catherine Willoughby would suffer an idle son?”

“Perry's betrothed to Mary de Vere,” Susan said, “who has a tongue sharp enough to break your arm. I doubt she'll suffer any nonsense from him either.”

Perry turned to Aemilia, stretching out his palms in entreaty. “Pity me, gentle Amy, for I am held captive by a tribe of Amazons!”

Ignoring her brother's jibe, Susan reached for Aemilia's hand. “Child, you mustn't take my brother too seriously.”

Perry nodded. “Indeed, Susan is the serious one. Not me. The sternest and most serious school mistress you'll ever meet. You'll go blind from all the Latin and Greek she'll make you read.”

Aemilia could not keep herself from gazing at Susan as though she were a goddess. She would worship her forever! Brother and sister smiled at her, their kindness warming her as tangibly as the heat from the torches that ringed the table.

Papa, this is my new life!
Here she was, surrounded by learned people who had traveled the world. Here she sat with such noble company at a table strewn with rose petals while the stars blazed overhead.

 

HREE MONTHS ON
, A
EMILIA
rose in the misty light of a September dawn and splashed water on her face. Mornings began early at Grimsthorpe with prayers in the family chapel at six, followed by her lessons at six thirty.

She gazed into the steel mirror Mistress Locke had given her before returning to London. The gift had surprised her, considering how Mistress Locke despised every form of vanity. She could still hear Mistress Locke's voice.
Let this be a mirror of your virtue.

Tugging the comb through her hair, she smoothed her unruly curls as best she could, before tying them back with the pale violet ribbon Lady Susan had given her. How her fingertips thrilled just to touch the slippery satin. Over her new linen shift, she laced her new bodice and skirt, both gray to befit her station as a young scholar, yet Lady Susan had chosen the most delightful tone of gray that was nearly rose. A joy it was to feel the linen and lawn rustling around her as she walked. When she beheld her reflection, she could barely contain her delight.

A
EMILIA PURPORTED HERSELF WITH
as much dignity as she could as she descended the grand staircase to the family chapel with its stark whitewashed walls, its windows devoid of colored glass, and its single unadorned cross. Catherine Willoughby suffered no popish ornamentation. While the servants assembled on the main floor of the chapel, Aemilia took her place with the family in the balcony above. Lady Susan, Catherine Willoughby and her husband, and John Wingfield, the schoolmaster, all listened to the service with rapt attention, their eyes closed to better concentrate on the scriptures. Perry, meanwhile, looked as though he could barely stay awake. When Aemilia caught him yawning, he winked at her. His betrothed, Mary de Vere, had come to visit. As pale as alabaster with her ice-blond hair, she looked at him through her eyelashes. Lady Mary's family was rich and ancient, her brother Edward one of Her Majesty's favorites, but Aemilia thought she was nowhere near as lovely as Lady Susan.

With Mistress Locke gone, Aemilia set all her hope and affection on Susan. She had already written a poem for her but was too embarrassed to show it to her lest she deem it doggerel.

Noble Mistress, your rare perfections shone in the Glass

Wherein I saw my every fault.

You the Sun's virtue, I that green grass

That flourishes fresh by your clear virtue taught.

W
HEN THE SERVICE HAD
ended, Aemilia shyly took her idol's hand and walked with her to the schoolroom. Aemilia wanted to be nowhere else but here, taking her place at her desk with the tomes in Latin and Greek, with the foolscap cut into quarto size, and the quill and ink. The human skull on her schoolmaster's desk served as a reminder that life was short and all earthly existence must end. Aemilia must seize every moment to grow in wisdom and grace until she could become Susan's equal in learning if not in wealth or birth. Susan was even more learned than Anne Locke. She read Aristotle in Greek and could debate with the schoolmaster in Latin.

In truth, there was an air of loneliness in Lady Susan, though she appeared to try her best to hide it and not allow her melancholy to be a burden to others. A childless widow at twenty-three! Aemilia swore she would be a solace to her, her faithful handmaiden who would make her proud. Susan certainly seemed to love these hours in the schoolroom as much as Aemilia did, loved steeping herself in the ancient writings of Greece and Rome.

Master Wingfield was a tall and spindly young man of gentle birth but little fortune, as a third son, which explained why he had come to earn his bread as a schoolmaster. Under Lady Susan's direction, he was giving Aemilia the identical grammar-school education that a boy would receive between the ages of seven and fourteen before he was sent off to university. Of course, no girl or woman could attend university, but some, such as Lady Susan and the Queen, continued their scholarly studies throughout their lives.

John Wingfield taught Aemilia rhetoric, mathematics, French, cosmography, drawing, dancing, and continued her musical education even though he was not a virtuoso. But the heart of her studies were the classics of ancient Rome. He drilled her with English translations from the text and she replied from memory, quoting the Latin.

“We are not born, we do not live for ourselves alone,” Master Wingfield prompted. “Our country, our friends, have a share in us.”

Aemilia trembled in both effort and quiet pride as she uttered Cicero's original words from
De Officiis
, “
Non nobis solum nati sumus ortusque nostri partem patria vindicat, partem amici.
”
Amici,
friends, sounded so like her name, the English name Perry had given her. Amy.

“Is anyone unaware that Fortune plays a major role in both success and failure?”

“
Magnam vim esse in fortuna in utramque partem, vel secundas ad res vel adversas, quis ignorat?
” She nearly sang, for she delighted so much in the words. Latin was the grandfather of the Italian language. Every syllable brought back Papa.

“The pagan Romans believed in Fortuna,” Lady Susan interjected. “But we Christians believe in Providence.”

Aemilia nodded and folded her hands as Master Wingfield continued.

“Of evils choose the least.”

“
Primum, minima de malis.” Malis,
malice.

L
ESSONS IN THE SCHOOLROOM
ended at three, at which time Susan deemed it appropriate that she and Aemilia ride out on horseback, equitation being one of the most wholesome forms of exercise.

“Every lady must learn to ride well,” Susan told her, as they walked arm in arm toward the stables. “Think of what my mother and Mistress Locke endured. One never knows when one must flee.”

“May Providence protect us,” Master Wingfield murmured, trailing just behind them.

Perry and Mary de Vere were already mounted on fine Spanish coursers that gleamed in the sunlight, not a fleck of dirt on their white legs and oiled hooves. Lady Mary made a great show of riding aside on her saddle to show off her skirt trimmed in silver braid. She wore a hat with pheasant plumes set at a jaunty angle. But her perfect alabaster face soured at the sight of Aemilia and Master Wingfield.

“You said we would ride with your sister,” she told Perry. “Not play nursemaid to a child with a schoolmaster in tow.”

Aemilia burned to hear Lady Mary speak as if she and Master Wingfield were deaf and had no feelings.

“But Amy
is
my sister!” said Perry. “My little adopted sister. And Master Wingfield her celebrated mentor. Have you gone blind yet from all that Latin, little sister?”

Aemilia's heart burst with affection for Perry, for his gentle humor that set everything right.

“
Exitus acta probat,
” she told him, quoting Ovid.

Master Wingfield laughed aloud, her beloved schoolmaster whose smile made her float above the ground. Best of all, Lady Susan squeezed her hand and gave her a complicit smile. Aemilia knew that Susan had no great liking for Lady Mary either.

“The ends justify the means,” Lady Susan translated. “But I think you'll find our Amy hasn't gone blind just yet.”

“Amy is our Hypatia,” Perry told his betrothed. “Our protégée, our laurel-crowned scholar.”

“The child's head will grow enormous.” Lady Mary's eyes drifted toward the horizon as though she were bored.

She and Perry rode off together, leaving the others to mount up and follow.

“I
DO WISH HE
would marry someone kinder,” Susan said as Master Wingfield helped her into her saddle. “Perhaps once she has a child or two, she'll grow a bit softer.”

Both Susan's and Master Wingfield's horses were magnificent, for Richard Bertie only bred from the best Spanish bloodlines. The groom then led out Aemilia's mount, smaller than the coursers, with an enormous grass belly and a sunburnt pink nose. Bathsheba nickered and nuzzled Aemilia's hands to see if she carried any sweetmeats. Mistress Locke had intended to take Bathsheba back to London with her, but on the day of her departure, the little mare had gone lame and thus at Grimsthorpe she remained. Now she was sound again and needed the exercise lest she grow even more rotund. Aemilia could have begged to ride one of the Spanish purebreds, but she was stubbornly attached to the chestnut mare, who possessed in character what she lacked in breeding.

“Careful when you ride out,” the groom said. “Marry, I think she's in season.”

“What's that?” Aemilia asked. Bathsheba was behaving no differently than usual.

“I'm sure she'll be fine,” Lady Susan said. “If the little mare can even manage to keep up with the coursers.”

The three of them set out at a steady trot and soon caught up with Perry and Lady Mary. Then Perry rode alongside Master Wingfield, giving him his full attention, as though to make him feel welcome. Aemilia observed the way her schoolmaster dipped his head to Perry. What he said next took her breath away.

“As I am born to little fortune, my lord, I hope to advance myself by seeking a career in the military where a loyal man might distinguish himself.”