The Queen's Dwarf A Novel (8 page)

She sank into a curtsy before the queen. “I was only musing that I shall be eager to see what happens when you place Jeffrey in the cage with your other pets, Your Majesty.” The woman’s French was flawless, just as Ware had claimed an English courtier’s should be.

My parents had displayed me in the Fairy Cage, but only for show. Surely the queen did not keep her curiosities imprisoned all the time.

“Dogs will attack the runt in a litter,” the courtier said in English as she fingered the silk of my pennon. “A cage might be the safest place for Jeffrey.”

I bit my lip, only half aware of Sir Tobie’s murmured translation. What other curiosities might the queen have in her collection? Dangerous ones? She would have to keep her “specimens” somewhere.

“I do not find your jest amusing, Your Ladyship.” The queen’s eyes sparked with temper.

“Forgive me. The jest is between Jeffrey and me. He was raised alongside his father’s dogs, and when we first met, he smelled of the kennel.” A dimple appeared at the corner of her knowing smile.

“Well, he will never be so lowly again! Jeffrey will have the finest of everything.” The queen clasped her hands. “What fun it will be to order things up—tiny chairs and miniature tables!”

The duke laughed. “Even his chamber pot must be small, lest he fall in.”

The royal party returned to their seats, taking me with them. While the duchess dealt with her sour-faced mother-in-law and guests picked bits off of spun-sugar castles, Buckingham and the queen discussed roles to cast me in: devil’s imps and cherubs and pygmy kings. It was as if they were playing with a rag poppet.

I forced myself to swallow the bits Her Majesty fed me from her marrowbone pie. When she saw my amazement, she struggled in halting English to explain its mysterious tastes. With the help of her more fluent ladies and the stout man behind her, she described layers of artichokes and dates, sweet potatoes and sea holly roots, and marrow sweetened with sugar. More courses followed—swans roasted, then dressed in their feathers; sea creatures the queen told me were called “porpoise” but which sailors once believed were mermaids; sturgeon, flaking off thin bones.

Horror at the waste filled me as the guests sent full platters back to the kitchen. If I’d been closer to home, I could have made a pouch of my pennon and smuggled delicacies to the shambles so my family could share my feast.

My eyelids grew heavy as the hours passed. My face ached from hardening it into a smile.

It was nearly three in the morning when the duke signaled another fanfare. Sincerity dripped from his face as he addressed the queen. “Majesty, I have one more tribute offer: a tableau in your honor.”

Music poured forth, so exquisite, I was sure nothing human could make such sounds. Layered beneath, I heard the grinding of gears, the creak of ropes. How dare the fools interrupt the magic sound? Against the painted sky, the clouds shivered into motion, but this time I watched with the guests.

The clouds reached the floor and parted to reveal what looked to be statues frozen in different poses. Ermine swathed royal forms, crowns glinting on brows. Leopards and French lilies embroidered every scrap of cloth.

I could not guess who the figures were meant to be, but the queen gave a tiny cry. Her eyes grew bright with tears. “My father! My mother! So like life, they might speak.”

As if by magic, the statues began to move—and I realized they were dancers made up to look the part. The other guests exclaimed over the spectacle in a mixture of French and English, Buckingham’s words lost to them in the rising tide of music and voices.

“You were a babe when your father died, so you have never experienced the love between father and child. A bond I cherish, being a father myself.” The duke smiled. “I look forward to the time when I share that role with my dearest friend and his kingdom.”

Henrietta Maria blushed. “It is my fondest hope to provide an heir.”

Buckingham’s voice dropped lower still. “It is difficult to conceive when a husband is forbidden his wife’s bed by priests who guard the door.”

I saw the king’s gaze darken, but he was looking at the queen, not the man who had spoken so bluntly.

Henrietta Maria evaded the king’s glare, something in her expression reminding me of Ann when she was trying to avoid a bitter tonic. “Even a queen has no power to circumvent holy days. I do not forget that my greatest duty is to become mother of a prince.”

“A very Protestant prince when he is born.” Buckingham pressed his fingertips together. “A soul girded to wage war against Rome.”

And France? The question hung in the air, unspoken.

“Since the age of Solomon, wars have come,” Buckingham said. “Fate demands men choose sides. We must crush the enemy or be crushed ourselves.”

I peered up at the trio around me—king and queen and duke. Where my breastplate had been so hot, I was suddenly chilled.

F
OUR

“Four in the morning…” I heard the king say. But even after the dancing stopped, rainbow doublets and gowned figures whirled before my eyes, chasing one another in my memory. From my seat upon the arm of the queen’s chair, I watched as the duke and his duchess bade farewell to the king and queen.

I raised my gaze heavenward in thanks. My buttocks hurt, as if the griffin carved into the wood was gnawing its way to my bone. The breastplate had come askew, digging under my arm. I wondered how I would reach the buckles and leather strips that fastened it. Would I have to sleep in the thing? I remembered the king’s suggestion for my bed and wondered if the armor would fit inside a giant’s shoe.

“The lateness of the hour is testament to your skills as a host, Buckingham. It is time Her Majesty and I depart.” The king stifled a yawn behind his delicate hand. I sensed he was a man not accustomed to reveling until dawn.

I watched as the duchess of Buckingham approached the queen, certain she did not please Henrietta Maria yet not certain why. “It is a long journey to reach your own beds, Your Majesties. Would you do us the honor of spending the night here?”

“No, we must not.”

The duchess went still, and I saw the queen realize that her hasty refusal edged toward rudeness. Henrietta Maria glanced at the king.

Buckingham’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Would our accommodations not be to your liking, Your Majesty? We have done all in our power to please you.”

“You have pleased me too greatly, Your Grace.” The queen attempted to salve the insult without surrendering her pride. “I cannot wait to fit Jeffrey alongside the rest of my menagerie, and speak to Master Jones about using Jeffrey in my new masque.”

“That is an event all of court will look forward to,” Buckingham said. “Perhaps Master Jones could find a role for my wife.”

“I admire Your Majesty,” the duchess said. “There is much you might teach me.”

“The masque is cast already with my own ladies.”

“
French
ladies,” Buckingham said.

As if summoned, one of the French women swept up to the queen and curtsyed. “Your Majesty, you are looking pale. Are you getting one of your headaches?”

“I am, Mamie. You take such good care of me.” The queen signaled for Sir Tobie to translate, then turned to me. “Jeffrey, Madame Saint-Georges is the daughter of Madame Montglat, my childhood governess. We were raised together as little girls at the Palace of Saint-Germain-en-Lae.”

“I understand there were many children there.” Buckingham switched effortlessly into French. “Some whose birth might be frowned on by the Church.”

The queen’s chin rose. “My father adored his children,” she said. “We were lucky to be together—
all
of my brothers and sisters.” The queen addressed her husband. “Your Majesty, I beg your leave to retire to Denmark House.”

I could see the king hesitate, looking first at Buckingham, then the queen. But it was the duchess who smoothed the waters.

“Majesty, women are not like men, who are happiest galloping off to explore new places. We crave our own nests.”

The king’s expression changed to gratitude, her intervention sparing him from having to choose between Buckingham’s will and the queen’s. “You are a pearl without price, my lady. You must join the queen’s household and give her the benefit of your wifely wisdom.”

The French ladies’ scowls turned thunderous, the queen appearing a heartbeat away from stamping her royal foot. The duchess pretended not to notice. “I would be honored to serve the queen when the time is amenable for us both.”

Buckingham glared, but she continued. “I must remain in my own nest at present, and tend my children. Moll has her father’s charm, and I fear her nurse allows her more freedom than is good for her.”

“Why should she not have it?” Affection warmed the king’s eyes. “I have never encountered a more winning little sprite.”

“She is all too aware that Your Majesty is fond of her. She told poor Madam Linley that you would chain the woman in the Tower dungeon before tonight was done.”

“For what infraction?”

“Not allowing Moll to wear the gown you gave her.”

“A reasonable-enough request.”

“The child wanted to wear it to bed.”

The king chuckled.

“Will you indulge an old friend, Your Majesty, and allow me to stay with my children until a more favorable time?”

“It shall be as you wish.” The king kissed the duchess’s hand.

I could feel the queen’s resentment burn hotter. “Madame Saint-Georges,” Her Majesty ordered, “tell Griggory to alert my bargemen. I need them to ferry me to Denmark House.”

I could tell neither Frenchwoman was grateful for the duchess of Buckingham’s interference. In a swirl of satin, Madame Saint-Georges crossed to a footman who was staring at me so hard, he did not hear her call. When she snapped her second command, he stumbled toward the door, glaring as if it were my fault she had caught him off guard.

The rest of the queen’s party prepared to depart. Velvet capes, plumed hats, and soft hoods appeared as if by magic. I thought of the trunk Uriel Ware had provided for my trip to London. Would anyone remember to send it with me? The queen had been eager to dress me. Would she want to shed all evidence I had once belonged to Buckingham?

I glimpsed Uriel Ware standing some distance from the throng. His hands were clasped behind his back, as if to make certain no one could guess what he was feeling. I could not wait to be free of the man. Yet, if I inquired after my trunk, I could compel him to admit I had done well in my performance.

I wound through the crowd to where he stood. “The hero of the pie,” Ware said. “From the crowd’s reaction, one would think you decimated the whole French army single-handedly.”

“The queen seems pleased.”

“She will spend a fortune on you, money the treasury can ill afford. But the king will wrench it out of his subject’s hands by any means he can.”

I wanted to charge Ware with disloyalty to the Crown, but folk in Oakham also complained that the royals squeezed poor men’s purses to fund their excess. I had not realized how true it was until I had come to serve Buckingham.

“Did you enjoy the tableau of the queen’s family?” Ware asked. “Note they did not show the part where her brother the king cast her mother, Marie de Medici, out of her post as regent and watched from the window while his guards murdered her Italian adviser. Nothing like sending one’s mother fleeing for her life to liven up a tranquil family scene.”

I thought of the queen’s impassioned response to the tableau. Her father had been murdered, her mother ousted from power in a bloody coup. Twice her world had crumbled beneath her feet. Now, if Buckingham had his way, it would crumble again.

“Did you have some purpose in seeking me out, or did you just wish to gloat over your triumph?”

“I wish you to send my trunk to the palace,” I said.

“I cannot imagine that you will need it. But delivering it will give me an excuse to visit you at Denmark House the first time.”

“I thought you were anxious to be off messing about with ships.”

Frustration sparked for a moment in Ware’s eye before he shuttered it away. “I am as eager to get away from court as you are to be rid of me. It seems we must tolerate each other a while longer. You will be gratified to learn we have become good friends, Jeffrey. The duke is so pleased with our combined efforts that I am to visit you when business brings me to London.”

My dislike must have shown on my face. Ware’s lip curled. “I am no happier about this arrangement than you are. But I suggest you learn to hide your reactions now you are at court; otherwise, you might as well bare your throat to wolves. Speaking of such, Madame Saint-Georges seems to be searching for you. Weave around a bit so she cannot trace you to me.”

I darted in a roundabout way to the queen’s party. We spilled out into the night, halberd-wielding guards before us and behind as we made our way by torchlight through Buckingham’s famous gardens to York House’s water gate. The scent of flowers gave way to the smell of fish and sewage from the river lapping against the landing. I could feel the city, menacing as the lions carved in the water gate’s stone. Streets and waterways would be deserted by honest folk. Only those bent on mischief would still be marauding under cover of darkness.

“I wish to be alone,” the queen said. “Only Madame Saint-Georges shall attend me.” I was certain Henrietta Maria meant to exclude me, as well. I watched the footman called Griggory assist her descent into the ornate royal barge, Madame Saint-Georges managing the royal skirts.

The drop to the step proved more challenging for me. With legs aching from being crammed in the pie, I clambered onto the boat’s deck, fighting to keep my balance. Cold wind skimmed off of the river. No one had thought to provide me with a cloak for this trip. I hoped Denmark House was not far, or I would be miserable by the time we reached it.

I clunked into the side of the boat. The hollow sound drew the queen’s attention.

“Why does Jeffrey have no cloak?” the queen inquired of her attendant. “Ask him.”

The woman repeated her question in stilted English.