The Stolen One (11 page)

Blanche handed me the great books and I nearly dropped them, they were so heavy. “Have a care, love.” And I realized she had the lilt of the Welsh. “These are from the queen’s own library. You will find in them wondrous things she speaks of. The things she wants you to embroider. There’s
Cosmographia
—Munster’s maps of the world with great sea monsters. And Gesner’s
Historia
Animalium
—every animal known, and a book of every known herb and plant—although I suspect you’d find excellent examples in the queen’s garden. And there’s the last—a book of emblems. The queen is very fond of her emblems. Do you think you are up to the task?” I quickly nodded.

“You know, some think Katherine Ashley has been with Elizabeth the longest,” Blanche began as I ran my finger over the beautiful raised lettering of
Cosmographia
. I looked at her when she paused. “But it’s me who was there from the beginning, and it’s me who will outlast them all. I remember seeing that sweet, redheaded babe in the arms of her mother. Her mother did love her so, she did, in the few short years they had together. It’s been a difficult life, no matter the brave, merry face the queen gives us all. And for now, my queen is happy, and I’ll not see anyone ruin her happiness. Am I being clear?”

“As though I, a mere girl from the country, could. I love the queen. I always have,” I responded as I held the books to my chest. God’s me, they were treasures, treasures I had wished my whole life for.

“It’s taken less to bring a monarch down,” Blanche responded icily. I stood staring at her, her large eyes
unreadable. “Why have you come here?” she continued. “What do you want from the queen?”

“Why, as you said,” I told her, my head held high, “I do not know my own heart.”

She blinked several times, and I saw, despite her forthrightness, that she was kind. “I believe you,” she said. “But that is why I worry for my queen. For you possess the ability to love and hate with equal passion, just as the queen does. And who knows what ill winds may turn your heart.”

She gave me one final inspection and said, “I don’t suppose a girl from the country can read, can she?”

“I can a little,” I told her, in half truth.

“Just as I thought. I’m in charge of the queen’s jewels, her papers, and most importantly, her library. You may visit me sometime if you wish.” She started to walk away. “And one last thing. Do not cross Mrs. Ashley in any way.”

I nodded and called after her, “I hold the queen in great admiration. I do not seek anything of her.” Once again, a half truth, but it did not matter, for she had already seen the full truth in my palm.

N
icholas Pigeon was outside my chamber, looking very handsome in a fawn-colored silk jerkin with embroidered guards of Belgian lace. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, smiling that dazzling smile. He held out a bundle of beautiful peach-colored silk. I set the books down and took the bundle from him. “I’ve a warrant for a new gown. You are to be paid ten shillings, and you may embroider what you wish on the fabric. The queen wants to be surprised. Walter Fyshe, the queen’s tailor, will complete the gown at the Wardrobe of Robes after you have finished. And if you are in need of fine threads or Spanish needles, you may ask and they will be sent to you.”

I stared at the beautiful fabric. My hands itched to
hold a needle, Spanish or no. I looked up at Nicholas and found that he was staring at me, really staring. I stared back. “I do not need to be paid,” I said finally, my eyes never leaving his. “If I had to I would spin cloths of gold from gillyflowers for the queen.”

Nicholas laughed heartily, and the sound carried down the long hall. “Everyone’s paid. That’s how the court works. But if you like, I can mark it in the lists as a gift. For the queen is very fond of her gifts. Indeed she is.”

“Yes,” I said. “A gift.” We stood still staring at each other. “The queen spoke of the Wardrobe of Robes. She said I would cause great havoc if I was housed there. Why would she say such a thing? I would be lost in heaven if I could work there. What is it like?”

“What?” He laughed. “I’m sorry; I was lost in your beautiful green eyes.”

“The Wardrobe of Robes,” I repeated, my ears aflame.

“Full of randy men. The queen is correct in her assessment. You would cause great distraction. I myself wouldn’t get any work done.”

“But what is it truly like?” I asked, ignoring his comment. “Is it like a great treasure chest?”

He laughed. “Indeed. A treasure chest. Historical
robes, the most beautiful gowns in the world. The best craftsmen, too. Tailors, embroiderers, glovers, hat-makers—anything you can imagine is made there.”

“Oh, but I would give anything to see it. Where is it?”

He laughed. “Near the wharf. But it’s truly not a place for the likes of you. It’s quite a hardscrabble workplace.”

“I’m used to hardscrabble. I promise, I would find a quiet corner and you would not hear aye or nay from me.”

“There are hardly any women, just the silk women, and they are ugly hags. But perhaps your maid could brighten our work. Did you not say she helps with the spools?”

“Perhaps,” I said, my heart sinking, wondering how Anna fared the day.

“And the queen’s best embroiderers, David Smith and William Middleton, I tell you, are crying over their needles with the news of this warrant. Not very pleased, I say. But what I would give to see their faces if I did smuggle you in. Exactly what would you do for me?” He grinned. “Perhaps a sweet kiss?” God’s me, he was charming.

I glanced down at his lips and involuntarily licked mine. I looked away, blushing. Why had Christian, lying
at the base of the pear tree that awful night, suddenly appeared before my eyes?

“I’m sorry,” he said with all sincerity. “I was too forward.” He cleared his throat.

I turned away and bit my tongue.

“You will be helping with the queen’s gowns at the store here. She always maintains a couple score nearby. Several of her ladies are in charge of keeping them aired. Dorothy Broadbelt, I believe, is one. When she’s not secretly visiting John Abington under the stairs. He’s a mere clerk of the kitchen, you know.”

“And why would such news be of interest to you, Nicholas Pigeon?”

“I think it’s quite funny, a girl of her stature with a boy like that. But it’s mere gossip, and I shan’t repeat it,” he muttered, embarrassed. “There is a garden just below. Would you care to take a turn with me? One shouldn’t linger in this hall, you know.”

“Why not?” I asked. I held the precious bundle of cloth up to my chest.

“The ghosts of the dead queens.” He smiled, raising his eyebrows.

“Ghosts?”

“Oh, it’s all a bunch of tittle-tattle,” he said, laughing.
Just more gossip. Come on, come with me.”

How I wanted to. I did. There was so much I wanted to ask him of court, the treasures of the Wardrobe, and most importantly, the queen. And he, indeed, seemed the sort more than willing to talk. I sighed. “I’m sorry,” I said. “My maid is not feeling well today. I must see to her.”

“Of course,” he said, bowing, obviously disappointed. “Perhaps we shall see each other soon.”

“Yes.” I watched him walk down the long hall. I smiled as he held out his hand to stroke the tapestries that lined the wall. He turned the corner, and a cold chill crept up my arms. And then a tickle on my neck, as though someone from behind blew into my ear.

“Grace?” I called involuntarily.

I opened the door and threw myself in. Anna was nowhere to be seen. I set the bundle of fabric on the floor and turned back to retrieve the books. A servant was standing there.

“God’s me, you scared me,” I said.

“I’m Anne Twiste, the laundress, come for your dirties. Lawn and linen.” I noticed that most of her teeth were gone. “What is it, miss?” she asked as I tried to catch my breath.

I poked my head past her and looked up and down the hall. It was empty. “Did you see someone, just now?” I asked.

“No, ma’am. Everyone’s getting their hair done for the banquet tonight. Where is your maid? I came earlier for your things and she was here reading on the bed. Said I must not touch your bag; there was nothing that needed laundering. I didn’t quite believe her, for I heard myself you two have just come from the country.”

“I don’t know where she is,” I answered her, looking back over my shoulder. A note lay on the bed. “But are you sure you talked to my Anna? She doesn’t read.” I picked up the note and read her barely legible scribble. She’d been invited to Lady Ludmore’s for the evening.

“Aye, I told myself it was indeed quite queer, a maid reading a journal,” the laundress continued, “and so uppity I thought she were, not answering me at first, so enthralled she was in her reading. Then it came to me that she’s deaf, deaf as a dead rat, is she not?”

I started to shut the door. “One more thing, if I may, miss,” she said, stopping the door with her foot. “Tell her to stay away from my sweet Oliver. He’s very much the tenderhearted sort, and his eyes are easily turned by a pretty girl.”

“You will have no trouble from her, I assure you,” I said.

“Yes, yes, I told myself the same thing I did,” Anne Twiste said, and I realized I could count her teeth. She had but five. “For she’s not long for this world, is she? I know of a potion, I do, for you see while I stir my great pots of cleaning, I have other pots going, you see. All kinds of cures. Anything for a coin.”

“Are there ghosts in our hall?” I asked Dorothy Broadbelt as I sipped my wine at the banquet that evening. The banquet was in honor of a visiting courtier from Scotland, Sir James Melville. He’d been sent by Mary, Queen of Scots, to look over Robert Dudley, Queen Elizabeth’s suggested bridegroom for her cousin. Strolling musicians moved between the long tables set up in the magnificent hall. The queen’s table was raised on a small platform, and she called up her favorites one by one to sit with her. Currently she sat between Robert Dudley and Sir Melville, alternately turning her head and batting her eyes with great measure at each of them.

“Ghosts?” Dorothy laughed, her hearty, horsey laugh and I noticed a mark at the base of her neck. A love mark, Grace called them, when a man, like a dog, has nipped at
a woman. “Not that I’ve ever heard of,” she continued. “Who’s been jesting with you? One of the maids said she saw you talking with a yeoman. I must warn you, alluring as you are, it’s very dangerous at court. You don’t want to be taken advantage of.”

“It was only Nicholas Pigeon,” I said as I watched the queen. Tonight she wore a French gown of tawny-colored satin. It was embroidered all over with tiny knots, clouds of gold, and furred along the cuffs with sable. Her hair was styled high in a heart shape around her head and I wondered if there were “rats” in there as Maisy had described. The queen touched Robert Dudley’s cheek with her fan. James Melville frowned.

“Nicholas Pigeon?” Dorothy snorted. “Don’t believe a word he says. He’s the worst of the flirts and not the smartest sort, either. And lord’s me, he’s ambitious. And ambition and naïvety are an unlucky pair for a man at court, my papa says. But not for a woman. I shall do as I please, as long as I find a suitable husband. If Anne Russell can aim high, so shall I.”

“I see,” I said. “Nicholas has an equal opinion of you. He seems to think you have been visiting the kitchen.” And who could blame her? The most wondrous dishes I’d ever seen lined our table. Roast beef, partridge,
pheasants, salmon poached in rosemary, venison, artichokes, turnips, even a salad with beautiful violets that one could eat. I picked one up and twirled it around.

Dorothy blushed as red as the wine. “Why, he’s lying, the fool. Flat lying. He used to pay me his addresses, you see. Jealous, he must be. I don’t know any young men in any of the kitchens,” she said, her hand rising to her neck. “Sometimes I’m sent there when the queen requests a sweet. But I don’t even deign to look at any of them. Not one,” she insisted as she bit into a strawberry that was heavily sugared and fashioned into a little goose.

“Well, I do have to say Nicholas Pigeon was right on one account. I did feel something. Something was there.”

“Could have been Lady Mary Sidney, Dudley’s sister,” Dorothy said, lifting her goblet up high to be filled by a passing server. “She creeps about in the night.”

“Why?”

“She used to be a senior lady of the bedchamber. But two years ago the queen came down with the pox and Lady Sidney nursed her, never leaving her side. She came down with the pox herself, of course. Disfigured, poor thing. Her own husband rejected her, as most
men would. Lady Sidney spends most of the time in the country but occasionally she comes to court, at the queen’s request. No one ever sees her, except the queen, who’s quite loyal to those who have been good to her.”

My hand flew up to my cheek, thinking of the poor poxed woman. Dorothy continued, “Your hair is awful tonight. I suggest you replace your maid.” She sipped from her goblet as one of the musicians, playing his lute, passed behind her.

“No, I can’t do that. She’s very special to me,” I said as I watched the queen, who was now presenting her hand to Melville.

“Do you know of Anne Twiste?” I took a slow sip of the hot wine. It tasted faintly of almonds, ginger, and something else—perhaps honey. It reminded me of a delicious drink Frances Pea made at revels for us when we were children. I closed my eyes. But why think of our vale when I was surrounded thus? Then I noticed Katherine Knevit and Mary Shelton across the table, skewering me with their eyes. They whispered to each other and I looked away.

“The laundress?” Dorothy continued. “Of course. Seek her for any female problem. Not that I have, I tell you. And Oliver Twiste, adorable! I’d go for him
myself if I’d dare to sink so low.” She burped.

“So tell me, Melville,” the queen said now, projecting her voice. “Who has the lovelier hands? Me or your queen?”

Melville coughed. “Why, you, Your Majesty. You, of course.”

The queen laughed merrily. “And who is taller?” She turned and stroked Dudley’s chin.

Melville appeared to bite his lip. “Queen Mary, Your Majesty, is quite tall.”

The queen frowned petulantly and rapped Melville on the head playfully.

“But you are lovelier,” he stuttered.

The queen laughed. “Aye, so they do have wise men in Scotland, if not wise women.”

“What is she about?” I whispered to Dorothy. “Does she really mean to marry Robert to her cousin?”

“Who knows,” Dorothy said, watching, I now noticed, one of the servers intently. He was quite handsome, although short. His eyes never veered her way, and this seemed to vex her greatly. “One ambassador said the queen has a thousand little devils in her. For you see, she has all the ambassadors swinging on cords, she does. She’s the craftiest woman you’ll ever meet, and smart
girls like us have much to learn from her.” Still her eyes did not move from the server.

“Do you think she really loves him? Dudley?”

“Oh yes. We’ve all seen the two kissing, and more, although we do believe she intends to remain chaste. Although she recently gave him apartments next to hers. He’s constantly entering, I hear, when she’s not quite dressed. But I don’t believe she’ll ever marry him. He is just her horseman. And there is the stain of his wife’s blood on his hands, you see, too. His poor wife, Amy, was found at the bottom of three steps with her neck broken. He was at court at the time, but the world believes his hand was in it.”

“And what is so interesting, Dorothy Broadbelt, chattermouth? Hmm?” the queen called across from her table.

All eyes turned on us, and the handsome server dropped his tray. It clanged across the wooden floor.

Dorothy closed her eyes a moment and took a deep breath. “I was just telling Katherine how you have a thousand little angels inside you, Your Majesty.”

“See what a petticoat buys me, Melville? Pretty words. Ah, I do like pretty words. Katherine, my pet,” she called to me. “Come sit near me and tell me a story. You,
Melville, go sit with our Dorothy, who will fill your ear with much empty talk.” Dorothy turned red. All eyes seemed to be on me as I rose slowly from my place.

When I sat down again she said, “And where is your handsome Spaniard?”

“I assure you he is not mine, Your Majesty,” I said lowly as others strained to hear.

“Oh yes. You shall never have children, I believe were your words. And if that be so, I should advise you to never take a husband, for the two go hand in hand.” She pushed the food around on her plate, seeming to eat very little. “But we are in like mind, are we not?” she continued. “I think I shall not marry either.” Dudley dropped his gilt spoon. “Even so, tell your Spaniard to come to court. It’s insulting for a lord to be in London and not pay his respects to me.” She clapped her hands to the musicians to come to her. “Now, tell me, Spirit,” and a strange cold shiver ran down to my toes, “for that’s what I have decided to call you. Tell me a good tale.”