The Stolen One (7 page)

W
hat did she see in me? I stood there frozen, completely mystified, while everyone around me stepped back into motion.

Lady Ludmore, our bag in tow, grabbed my elbow and pulled me along the street, Anna following quickly behind. The early morning sun had hidden itself behind gray clouds, and it was cold. My whole body tingled. We swept by a hog-faced young lady selling cherries, while other maids, carrying large baskets of linen to be laid out upon the fields, chattered about the queen. Two ruff-necked men, standing before a great barrel of rotting fish, argued the price of pike. Horses grunted and a dog barked. I had not realized until now how quiet the country was, and pretty smelling, too. God’s me,
but terrible odors seemed to emanate from everywhere: malted liquor, sweet cakes, and quince pies mixed with the dung of work beasts. And every now and then a breeze brought us the foul stink of the Thames. Lady Ludmore was silent, but when I looked back, hoping for one last glimpse of the litter, she asked calmly, “What is the connection between you and the queen?”

“I have no idea.” At least that was the truth. There was no connection between me and the queen, only Grace’s cryptic demand that I stay away from her.

“You are lying to me, Katherine, and I don’t like liars in my house.”

I had just come from a house of lies, aye, I had. I glanced at Anna, and she cocked her head. Then I said to Lady Ludmore, “There is no connection, none that I know of.”

“Was selling your wares a ruse to get to London?”

“No. We are penniless,” I said. I felt the heavy necklace brush against my ankle. It was only a half lie, and Grace always said a half lie was halfway to the truth.

“And your name. Have you given me your true name?”

I sighed. “It is indeed Katherine, although I was known as Kat back home,” I said, thinking of how Grace first started to call me Kat because I was sly as a barnyard cat,
always creeping about with my nose where it shouldn’t be. “But I did keep our last name from you. It’s Bab, and I was embarrassed by it.” And that was the truth.

“Never be embarrassed by your beginnings, my dear,” she said, softening somewhat. “It’s where you end before the eyes of God that’s most important.” Just then an older gentleman in a chestnut-colored silk suit caught my eye, and I blushed as we walked on.

“You must learn, my dear, to lower those dangerous eyes. You are not in the country anymore.” She didn’t elaborate on this, but continued, “There is more you are not telling me.”

I took a deep breath. “I was not born of the woman who raised me.”

“Why, you could be anyone,” she snorted. “You could be the daughter of the butcher’s wife born in Tilde’s barn. Or born of a barmaid in Moore’s field. A babe was found there, not a fortnight ago, left for dead in the cold of night. The poor soul who left her will hang if she is caught. Or did you think perhaps you are the long-lost daughter of good Bess?” She laughed. “Because of that wild hair?” She laughed again. “Red hair is said to come from the Vikings, and they left many a fool scattered about, I have to tell you.”

“No, of course not,” I responded heatedly. “It’s just that I have indeed always admired her. Since I was a girl, for her dress and her style and her jewels.” I added quickly, “How old is she, the queen?”

“Thirty or so, I believe, child,” she responded. “And you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Hmm. The queen would have been fifteen when you were born. Not too young, after all. My own grandmother birthed my mother at that age. But it’s extremely outlandish to even think such a thing, Katherine. Stay away from her. Stay away from the court, I warn you. What little time I have spent there showed me it’s an evil, evil world unto itself, even if they are dressed finely. Only the very strong and the very lucky survive. Stick to your sewing, my dear.”

“So you’ve been to Elizabeth’s court?” I asked as we continued to walk along. The hustle and bustle of the crowd had begun to grate on my nerves. I turned and saw that Anna felt the same. She held her hands over her ears.

“Only but a few times. I had my fill long ago, and of course I have had other matters to occupy my time. I knew her mother, I did, and there never was a more
determined and cunning woman, and Elizabeth inherited the worst of her. And she got the worst of her father, too—his temper. God has a sense of humor, he does.” She laughed.

A long, cold shiver went down my back. It was as though Grace was walking next to me, her words echoing in my mind—
You’ve inherited the worst of your parents, God save you.

We walked in silence, Anna humming to herself like a little bee. All sorts of people—young and old, wide and thin—bustled about: a lady carrying a tiny dog that yapped at us as we passed, little children dressed in finery, a dirty maid sobbing into her apron, a red-faced gentleman with a hawk upon his arm, singing to himself. I started playing a game—searching the crowds, looking for a glimpse of the dozens, if not hundreds of pieces of clothing I’d stitched through the years. They’d been taken from me, sold, and sent off into the world. And now, perhaps I’d see them again, touch them again, and know they were loved.

Finally Lady Ludmore entered a timber-framed shop. I glanced at the shop sign: M
INIVER
’s. And underneath a small royal crest that read, “By honor of the Good
Queen Elizabeth.” Anna and I followed Lady Ludmore.

The shop was dark and low-ceilinged. There was a wooden counter in the middle of the room. In one corner a maid sat on a stool stitching, and in another corner I could see a dress form fitted with a lovely gosling yellow frock. Two other gowns, not very well made—why, I could see missed stitches even from where I stood—were displayed near the entrance.

“Where is your mistress today, Lily?” Lady Ludmore asked the maid.

“In the back, ma’am, wrapping a package. We’ve another order from the queen! Nicholas…” She blushed. “I mean, Mr. Pigeon, Clerk of the Wardrobe of Robes, is expected to come for it!”

“Go along and fetch her anyway!” said Lady Ludmore. “Tell her whatever she’s packing pales to what we have for her here.” Lily looked us over curiously, frowning at Anna, who was examining the yellow gown in the corner, and went to fetch her mistress.

Lady Ludmore removed her gloves and placed them on the counter. Anna, hand on the gown, turned to me, her eyes big. I went to her. It was of yellow sarcenet, a day dress. My heart began to beat. Yes. Strawberries, snails, and leaves in elaborate couch stitching, double backed
across the stomacher. One of my signature stitches. I’d finished it several months ago. I’d accidentally spilled cider on the back hem. Grace was always chiding me, so careless I was. I’d scrubbed the stain out best I could and never showed it to her, of course. I carefully lifted the bottom hem. It was there—the pale faded area where I’d scrubbed the cider out.

A woman came through a curtained doorway. She was beautifully dressed, but she was snout-faced and poxed like old Mr. Dar. I stepped away from the yellow gown.

“Well, well. I can give you a good price for that, I can. Stained, it is. Only time I’ve ever been cheated from that old goat of a man and now he’s disappeared and I can’t get my good money back. Used to bring me gorgeous things, he did, from orders I had from Edmund Pigeon, of the queen’s wardrobe, who bought them from me, paid a pretty piece of gold for them, he did. We go back years, we do, and now what do I have to show for it? He’s sending me his son in his place.”

“I have to say I have things much more beautiful than this.” I pointed to the gown, my fingers shaking slightly. Lady Ludmore’s mouth dropped open. I could feel her eyes silencing me.

“This is my ward, Katherine Ludmore,” she said. “Her
mother, my husband’s youngest sister, has recently died of the ague. She’s been gently raised as best as one can in the country, but she has a few manners to learn.” Why, it was a bold-faced lie, it was! Her ward. And how she’d said she’d stand no lies! “And her maid,” Lady Ludmore added, nodding toward Anna. Anna nodded back. “Her mother taught her the most beautiful, gorgeous stitching, I assure you.” She motioned for Anna to bring our things to the counter.

Lady Ludmore pulled out the fanciest piece, a luscious seawater green velvet, a damask pattern of cowslips and fall leaves gently sewn on the surface, pale gold bugles shaped like flowers set within. I’d had the good sense not to spill anything on that one; the velvet alone was worth a tiny fortune.

Mrs. Miniver’s eyes got large. “Aaaah,” she sighed. She grasped my work in her hands, examining it. Would she know the embroiderer was one and the same? She looked up at me a moment and then at Anna, but she didn’t say anything. She only smiled like a cat whose long-lost kittens have come home. “Yes, yes. What else do you have?”

Lady Ludmore displayed the other pieces and Mrs. Miniver examined them, glancing back at me again.

“Well, I’m sure,” she said. “Perhaps. Not the quality that I was hoping.” My face fell.

Lady Ludmore laughed. “Now Minerva,” she said. “How many years have we known each other? And you think I’m an imbecile half-wit, do you?”

Mrs. Miniver frowned, stroking the green velvet.

Just then the door opened and a young man entered the shop, dressed finely, in a golden doublet with a matching cloak.

“Why, Mr. Pigeon!” Mrs. Miniver called to him. She quickly folded my garments and put them back in the bag, with a wide, stiff smile.

He approached us, his eyes on my face. No matter what Lady Ludmore had said about lowering my eyes, I could not do it. I couldn’t pull mine away from his. He was smiling. He was young, perhaps five or six years older than me. And devastatingly handsome.

He turned to Mrs. Miniver and bowed to Lady Ludmore. “Lady Ludmore,” he murmured.

She nodded back. “Mr. Pigeon.”

“And who is this, may I ask?” he said, looking straight at me as Anna shrunk back in the shadows.

“Miss Ludmore, my niece, new from the country,” Lady Ludmore responded, frowning at me disapprov
ingly, for I still had not lowered my eyes.

He nodded to me. “Nicholas Pigeon,” he said. We stood smiling at each other until Lady Ludmore grabbed the bag and pulled my arm.

“We must hurry home. I trust we will hear from you,” she said to Mrs. Miniver as I stumbled after her, looking back over my shoulder at Nicholas Pigeon.

Grace always said thrice a surprise in one day and you might as well dig yourself a grave in hallowed ground and pop yourself in before the devil finds you. For when we walked back into Lady Ludmore’s home her son, the minstrel Spaniard, was sitting there, Maisy on his lap.

Lady Ludmore screamed. Maisy jumped up with a squeal, like she’d been bucked off a horse and ran just out of Lady Ludmore’s reach into the kitchen, wailing all the way.

We all turned our attention back to Rafael, who sat at the table with the wide grin of a wolf on his face. There was no sign of the minstrel he last was, for he was dressed now for all the world to see as the son of a lord, his clothes rich and fine, with a bit of a foreign look to them. He pushed away his elaborate breakfast and put one booted leg up on the table.

“Well, Mamá?”

“
Fa
, you bad son, you.” Lady Ludmore slapped him on the top of his head.

“Ouch,” he yelped.

And she slapped him again. “Do you know how much misery you’ve caused me?”

“Yes, yes.” He was half yelping, half laughing. She continued to slap at him. Maisy and Ava peered from the kitchen, their hands over their mouths.

“Why, I’ve almost died, I have, looking for you. Kicked by a cow in Wiltshire. Brought down sick in Oxford by a ghastly blackbird pie. And do you know what trouble you’ve sown with your wicked ways? Do you?” Ava’s face disappeared from the doorway, then Maisy’s.

“Mamá, is this the greeting I’m to get?”

She finally stopped slapping him and stood back, breathing hard. “Get your nasty feet off my table. Have you not ever learned your manners?” He moved his feet down, still smiling at her.

“You must be hungry. You are thin as a bog reed, you are.” She clapped her hands. “Maisy,” she bellowed. “More food for my boy!”

But her boy had turned his attention on Anna. Anna did not return his stare.

Lady Ludmore narrowed her eyes. “You won’t be staying here tonight. I have guests. And they are good girls, the both of them.”

He turned his eyes to me. And I held them fast. “You, I’ve seen before,” he said. He smiled and laughed. “Why, it’s the little country heartbreaker.”

Lady Ludmore narrowed her eyes at me, then looked back at her son. “As though
your
heart could be broken,” she said. “That will be the day I can rest in peace—when I know you truly possess a heart.”

“Oh Mamá,” he said, taking a swig of ale. “Always hysterics and tears. She didn’t tarry with
my
heart. She tarried with some poor, spineless pear farmer. I heard all about it in an alehouse in Gloucester. Seems she left him standing in the abbey, and when he set out to search for her, the idiot stepped in a rabbit’s hole and broke his foot.” He laughed.

Anna had moved behind me. She was gripping my arm, trying to get the best view of his lips she could. “Your mother is right,” I said loud and clear. “You have no manners or heart.”

“Oh, don’t look so stricken maids, the
both
of you. Your love will be fine. Some old hooked-nose woman set the bone.” But this knowledge did not in any way ease my worry—Old Hookey, for this is who he spoke of,
for sure—used the ancient ways in setting bones. The last one she set belonged to her own husband, and he hobbled for years afterward. “And all those old women are bringing him food. And of course he has the marked attention of the alehouse’s daughter.” God’s me. Piper. He was talking of Piper.

Maisy entered with another tray and set it in front of Rafael. He pinched her rear and then started to eat, like a big hungry bear. Lady Ludmore collapsed in the chair next to him.

“If you will excuse me.” I nodded to Lady Ludmore, curtsied, and backed up, ready to make my escape. I started for the stairs, feeling Lord Ludmore’s gaze upon me as I did so. Anna, relieved, followed. I’d immediately pack our bags. We’d go home to Christian. He needed us. Those old women would not know how to take care of him. Nor his lambs. And Piper. My face started to burn. But there at the top of the stairs was Bartolome, wide-eyed and agitated. When I reached the top of the stairs, he clung to my legs so long I thought I’d fall over. Finally he whispered, “Don’t leave.”