The Innocent (31 page)

Jehanne bustled over to him. “The queen is dressing, Doctor Moss. I’ll take your message.”

The doctor bowed low but he was implacable: “You are most gracious. However, I fear that I must speak to Her Majesty. I have been asked to, personally.”

“By the king?” Jehanne was sharp. She was sometimes difficult about granting access to the queen, especially to Moss whom she did not trust. Too smooth by half, she thought him.

The doctor tried not to frown in annoyance at her tone, but felt it prudent to confess the truth. The old witch would be bound to check.

“The Lord Hastings. But still…the king especially asked him.” And he smiled his most charming smile.

To which Jehanne was impervious. “Wait here,” she said as she closed the door of the dressing chamber with something of a snap.

He smiled faintly: a tilt to him he rather thought.

Anne and Jane hardly dared breathe as they lowered the queen’s headdress on to her head; it had a daringly wide, delicately starched butterfly veil that they were both desperate not to disturb. Rose watched them with an eagle eye. She was the queen’s gofferer, and this was some of her best work, so woe descend on both if they creased or broke those perfect gauzy folds. But there, it was done, and as Evelyn fixed the cap that supported the veil with long gold pins topped by pearls, all the girls sighed in relief.

Carefully, the queen moved her head back and forth, testing the weight of the starched veiling above, and then, unexpectedly, she smiled. “Excellent, Rose. You have done well.”

Smiles broke out around the chamber—it was a good day, after all. Emboldened by the change of mood, Jehanne approached the queen and bent down to whisper something that Jane, as close as she was, could not catch.

Elizabeth smiled radiantly and stood up. “Come now, I am eager to join my Lord the King at Mass.”

Sweeping forward confidently, she crossed swiftly through the carved doors of her robing room and out into her receiving chamber.

Doctor Moss looked up to see an enchanting sight. The early sunlight flooding the eastern walls of the palace glowed through the veiling on the queen’s headdress and caught and magnified the brilliance of her jewels. Not for nothing had she snared Edward, thought Moss, for sometimes her beauty was otherworldly. He crossed himself discreetly as he bowed to one knee. Perhaps what they said was true and she was a servant of the devil: such lustrous flesh could not be honestly begotten surely?

The queen saw the effect she had on the handsome doctor and was pleased; it warmed her tone when she spoke to him. “Doctor Moss. I believe you have a message from my lord the King?”

The doctor finished his bow gracefully and just as gracefully moved forward, bowed again, and offered the exquisite little enameled box, without comment. Eagerly, the queen took it from his hands, prised the lid open—and gasped. There, resting among black velvet, lay a great emerald ring, the immense, glowing stone like something out of legend. Triumphantly, the queen pushed it onto her forefinger and held it up for her people to see as Doctor Moss spoke.

“There is a message, Lady Queen. From your husband the king. Green is the color of true love and I am commanded to tell you that the beauty of this small token”—the great ring flashed and burned as the queen held it up to the light—“dims in the blaze cast by the the fairest jewel in his kingdom. And besides, he thought it might match Your Majesty’s eyes.”

The queen laughed delightedly. “Bravely said, Doctor Moss. Bravely said. But now we must hurry.”

She swept out, surrounded by her women, all vying to admire this present with its testament of the king’s love for his queen. But Doctor Moss stayed back, allowing the ladies to flow past him, and his not unsympathetic gaze strayed to Jane Fuller, as she, Anne, and the other body servants tidied up the robing room with Dame Jehanne.

After a moment, he strolled over to Dame Jehanne and spoke quietly. He nodded toward Jane as she stamped to and fro, angrily dropping clothes into hoppers and getting in everyone’s way.

“Sir, perhaps it can wait until after we have finished our tasks here.”

“No, I think it cannot.”

There was something in his tone that gave Jehanne pause. She looked at him uneasily, then folded her lips when he raised his eyebrows. “Jane. Come here,” she called. Sulkily the girl did what she was told.

“With your leave, Dame.” Doctor Moss took Jane firmly by the arm and led her out into the corridor beyond the queen’s rooms.

“Well now, don’t stand there gawping, girls. Get on with your work,” Jehanne snapped.

A moment later, as Anne and Evelyn struggled to carry away the cans of cold milk drained from the bath, they heard Jane cry. “No!” Great, heartbroken sobs followed and nearly drowned the doctor’s low voice as he spoke to her. And when the queen’s women had finished their allotted work in the robing room and hurried away, chattering, to break their fast, Anne and her companions saw that Jane and the doctor had disappeared.

The rest of that day was crammed with work. Between them, the five girls—for Jane never came back

—supervised by Dame Jehanne, packed all the queen’s clothes, her shoes and headdresses and cloaks, her cosmetics, her bed linen, her favorite furniture, and even her plate, ready to be taken up the river to Windsor in the afternoon. They received word during the morning that the queen had decided Anne was to travel with her and attend to her needs on the journey, and if the others were envious, they didn’t let it show, apart from Rose, of course.

Evelyn was full of practical advice for her friend. “Take some sugared almonds with you, Anne, and the candied violets—she loves them and they might sweeten her temper, especially if she is breeding again.” The two girls worked swiftly as they packed the last of the jewels away, wrapped in silk and deposited into a specially made plain iron strongbox for which Dame Jehanne held the key. “Oh, and carry a choice of muffs. She likes the miniver one best at the moment but you never know.”

Finally, when Dame Jehanne was out of earshot, Anne plucked up the courage to ask the question that had been burning in her mouth all day. “Evelyn, where do you think Jane has gone?”

The other girl turned to her friend and looked at her seriously for a moment. “Away. She won’t be back.”

“Why?”

Evelyn was uneasy. There was so much she took for granted, and so much Anne didn’t yet know. “The king. He…” She stopped because Jehanne was within earshot again.

“Come along, you two, you’ve had more than enough time with the jewels. Here, out of my way.”

Jehanne riffled through the bunch of keys hanging at her waist, checking that she still had the little one needed to unlock the jewel coffer when they reached Windsor. Finally, she found it and, reassured, she dropped the hasp over the hoop of the holder before padlocking it. “There. Now, Evelyn, I want all these other coffers taken down to the oxcarts. Would you fetch the men, please. I shall take this personally.”

And in the rush and hurry to be away, Anne never did get an answer about Jane.

Now in the second hour after noon on this bleak November day, Anne stood waiting beside the palace water gate along with a press of courtiers and servants. The royal barge, bravely tricked out with scarlet and gold, leopard pennons flying, was tied fore and aft to creaking elm posts, and its crew of twenty strong watermen was impatient and cold. Behind the king’s barge another was moored, painted with the royal arms but more workmanlike in appearance. This was where the baggage and some of the body servants would travel.

“Anne? There you are.” The girl turned to find Doctor Moss at her shoulder. “Excited?”

“Oh, yes, sir. I’ve never been to Windsor. They say it has very beautiful country. I shall look forward to walking in the park, if I am permitted.”

“We must see what can be done to fulfill your wish.” The doctor spoke more warmly than he’d intended but he couldn’t help himself. The little girl was growing up. Court life was adding a polish to her and some conversation also; she seemed more at ease with him now and that would be useful to them both. He found he approved of her looks: the dark red of her livery contrasted happily with the gray of her cloak; plainly she was one of those girls who could wear almost any color and look well in it. Making an effort to appear avuncular, he patted her on the shoulder, though a quick flash of lust pushed his thoughts in another direction. She really was very appealing.

Anne smiled shyly, though she was a little surprised. Doctor Moss was most often distant when they met by chance, and so the warmth of his tone today, his genuine interest in her, was unusual.

“Doctor Moss, do you know Anne? One of the queen’s body servants?” A young squire, wearing the badge and livery of Lord Hastings, had appeared at the doctor’s side.

“You see her here, young man.”

The boy turned self-importantly to Anne and then blushed—and his words came out in stumbles. “Er, my master, that is, Lord Hastings, commands on behalf of the queen that you…that you…” He stopped because he was abashed; no one had said to look for a beautiful girl.

“Well, boy, spit it out.” The doctor was amused.

“The queen approaches, girl.” Inadvertently the boy bowed and then cursed himself for a fool. His name was Roger de Lascelles and he was wellborn. This girl was just a servant; good for a tumble but hardly meriting courtesies he’d extend to a knight’s child or a lady. Reborn pride and a sense of his own superiority made his next words curt. “Find your place on the king’s barge.”

Silently Anne curtsied to the red-faced boy as he strode away. She was confused by the change in his tone, but looking forward too much to this trip on the river to pay attention to his odd manners. The doctor laughed and she turned to him. “Why do you laugh, sir?”

“Oh, at us, Anne, at us. We’re a curious breed.”

At that moment, a great mass of people surged down toward the water gate and in their midst were the king and queen. William Hastings was conducting them to their barge. In the press of bodies, Doctor Moss was separated from Anne who, being polite and relatively slight, was swept closer and closer to the edge of the water stairs by the crowd. As yet more courtiers pushed down through the gate, Anne’s feet slipped over the stone edging and she lost her balance. Below her the black water of the Thames sucked and beckoned and for one dizzy moment she felt herself falling between the quay and the royal barge—but a strong hand grabbed her wrist, then her waist, and hauled her back by main force.

Anne found herself looking up into the face of the king. He smiled down at her, pressed so close by the crowd that her body was measured against the length of his. With one strong arm he turned her round, away from the edge, neatly and swiftly, and then he let her go. “That was dangerous, girl. You could have been crushed.” And he was gone, back into the press of courtiers.

Doctor Moss pushed his way to Anne’s side, smiling grimly. “The king speaks truth. Let me escort you to the barge this time.”

Was it the water on the flags that made them so slippery or would her legs not hold her up? Anne was grateful for the doctor’s hand gripping her arm as she made her way uncertainly toward the gangplank across to the king’s barge, for she saw that tumultuous moment again and again: Edward’s mouth had been so close to hers, she was certain that…what? He would kiss her? Had she really seen that in his eyes? She closed her own for a moment as dread and delight ran deeply through her body. Thunder muttered, far in the distance. Soon there would be rain and it would be a cold journey to Windsor, yet Anne was sweating, her heart beating as if she had run all the way through the palace to reach the wharf.

The queen, who was being handed onto the barge by Hastings, wondered what the sudden noise had been behind her as the king arrived at her side. “Nothing, sweet burde. One of your servants nearly fell in the river. Silly girl.”

Doctor Moss just succeeded in guiding Anne onto the barge as the watermen, impatient to be away, cast off and dipped their painted oars into the cold river water, and the court floated away, up the Thames to Windsor.

Chapter Twenty-two

The Christmas season was always kept with great state by the court at Windsor. Every day as it grew nearer and nearer the time of the Savior’s birth, the king went out hunting seeking stag to bring home to his subjects for the Christ-Mass wassail. It felt very ancient, this ritual: the king, anointed by God, riding through the great depths of the silent forest dressed in green, surrounded by his knights, their horses’ hooves muffled by the fallen leaves, hunting the lord of the trees and the high hills. And when Edward had made his kill, he rode back on his destrier, the dead stag following him slung across the back of another warhorse, led by the king himself. An honor from one monarch to another.

As the days grew shorter and the red sun set lower behind black trees, the inside of the castle was a warm, roaring haven against the cold winds, the sleet, and the rain this season always brought.

Everyone in Windsor Castle looked forward to the Christmas time. Long winter nights, rich venison, and much wine bred license among the court and, despite what the priests might say, there was a sense of old rites and pagan memories of wilder times in the air. They had a young king and queen and most of the courtiers were of a like age. What else does youth do in winter but lay down fat and try to breed?

Each day Windsor felt more and more alive as the magnates and their people arrived from all over England, but Anne was restless and increasingly she slept badly, her nights haunted by heated dreams laced with dread. Whatever she did, sleeping or waking, she could not avoid the king. In her dreams she saw his face, writhed under the touch of his hands, woke sweating and guilty, and then, during the day, she could not help being present in one or other of the great solars where Elizabeth spent most of her time—and which the king enjoyed visiting.

Edward particularly liked to arrive as the queen was being dressed in the morning and would sit behind a screen as his wife was bathed, joking with all her attendants, the ladies and the servants. It was very relaxed and the women surrounding Elizabeth vied for Edward’s attention. But not Anne. She lowered her eyes and tried to make sure she was on the opposite side of the room from where he sat.