Three Maids for a Crown: A Novel of the Grey Sisters (4 page)

“What do you think Father and the bad duke are going to do?” Mary asked at last.

I touched my throat, thinking of Edward’s father. “I am too afraid to guess.”

Mary considered. “Father had his dice out, and they were wagering. It is some kind of game. He is even going to play with me. Nobody ever plays with me except you. I do not mind so very much about Kat going away. But I will be lonely when you are gone.”

I stroked Mary’s hair. “I will miss you, too.”

“Kat says you will be glad to be rid of me. I ask too many questions that make people itchy.”

“Itchy?”

“She says I am like getting rubbed with nettles. I bother and bother, and I won’t let people alone. Maybe you want to be alone now, since you will not run away with me.”

I looked about the room, saw the jewel-encrusted bodices, the silver-tissue skirts, the ermine-trimmed capes, and the elegant headdresses still to be wrapped in Holland cloth and tucked in my chests. How jealously Kat had pored over the treasures, richer than her own bridal clothes.

Why can I not have the green damask ribbon?
she had pleaded.
Jane only wants to wear gray or black
.

Such colors are fitting for a sober evangelical maid!
I had protested.
Even the Lady Elizabeth dresses thus
.

What Jane wants is not important
, our mother had insisted.
She must be dressed according to her station
.

Our stations are the same
, Kat had argued.
Jane is only older by three years
.

We might as well have been separated by half the world. Kat loved pretty things and winsome animals and looked forward to her wedding night with delight. Perhaps Kat would be happy with the Earl of Pembroke’s charming son Harry. I hoped so.

“Do you want me to leave now, Jane?” Mary’s question shook me from my thoughts. “You sent everyone else away.”

I gave Mary a wan smile. “I thought I wanted to be by myself, but I am glad you are here. Will you stay with me?”

“No one will ask me to stay when you are gone. This will be my very last chance.”

“Your last chance for what, Mary?”

“Not to be alone.”

I knew what Kat would say to such a wistful claim.
Suffolk House is bursting with people. Besides, soon you will be leaving London and going back to Bradgate Hall. Think how many people you will find there
. But few of them would be pleased to see the elfin child who saw sins they wished to hide.

In that instant, I decided. “Mary, I made something for you. I planned to give her to you tomorrow.”

“I do not have anything for you.”

“Never mind. It is present enough that you would help me escape this marriage if you could.” I swept aside bits of the rushes on the floor with the toe of my slipper. “I stowed your gift beneath the stool to hide it. But I do not see it anywhere.”

“There!” Mary dove to her knees to scoop up the little rag lady. “Look at her kirtle. You made her gown from the green cloth Kat loved.” She smoothed the shimmering fabric back to expose the doll’s face. Loops of russet yarn hair had been mussed in the doll’s fall. The beads I had used to make eyes were stitched askew, I had been so distracted.

“Her eyes are like mine,” Mary said softly. I was not certain if that pleased or disappointed the child.

“I could snip the threads and straighten the beads if you wish,” I offered. “It would take but a moment. And, oh! I forgot to stitch her mouth.”

“I like her this way,” Mary said, as I boosted her onto the big bed where I had lain sleepless so many nights. “I shall call her Jennet. My lady will be like you, Jane.”

I managed a faint smile. “I have a mouth, Mary. Unless it has gone missing.”

“It is the words that are missing. The hard ones that hurt. You never say them aloud, so the sadness just stays in your eyes.”

“If you asked our lady mother, she would tell you I say disagreeable things far too often.”

“You argue about Martin Luther and the pope and whether Aristotle or Socrates was greater. Those things cannot make you hurt inside. But our lady mother is full of sharp edges. When she cuts you on purpose, you never say a thing.”

“It is my duty to obey her. God’s commandment says it is so.”

“I hate duty.” Mary cuddled her poppet close. “I would rather run away.”

Would Mary ever know how much I wished I could do just that? But I strengthened my resolve as dawn spun dark night’s shroud. At last a distant, faint rattle warned me that the servants were awake. Soon they would reach my bedchamber door and I would make the journey to Durham House, Northumberland’s London residence. Once there I would be sacrificed to whatever ambition had put that frightening gleam in my parents’ eyes. Afterward? I gazed down at the poppet squeezed tight in the crook of Mary’s arm. Afterward I must find the strength to do my duty. Stay quiet through this wedding and the marriage to come—even though I would be screaming inside.

Chapter Three

K
ATHERINE
12
YEARS OLD
D
URHAM
H
OUSE
, L
ONDON
M
AY
25, 1553

urham House glittered like the turrets of Joyous Garde, the walls iced with tapestries so new, the colors shone jewel-bright, every length of linenfold paneling and leaf of gilding polished to the sheen of a sun-struck lake. Most exciting of all, everything, from the banks of flowers bedecking the great hall, to the feast being prepared in the kitchens, to the jousts to be contested in the newly refurbished tiltyard, were in honor of
me
. Lady Katherine Grey, favorite daughter of the Duke of Suffolk, soon to be bride of the most handsome Lancelot in all England: Henry, Lord Herbert, the son of the Earl of Pembroke.

True, I had known him but a few weeks, and he was as young as I. But a lustiness about him promised a wedding night filled with the pleasure I had heard serving maids giggle about.

I remembered how Henry had lingered when he kissed my hand.
I am forever in my lord father’s debt for finding me such a bride
, he had said.
You are the fairest maid I have ever seen. Are you half so eager to be wedded and bedded as I am?

I looked at the floor, as befitted a proper maid, but my vision snagged on Henry’s codpiece, a virile bulge of velvet in the breeches he wore.

It was thrilling to imagine becoming a woman grown. True, I would miss my sisters, and Father, who pinched my chin and called me the comeliest wench in England. But I had things to look forward to as well. I would suffer no more tedious lessons in classrooms where Jane would always exceed me as scholar. I would not be plagued by Mary’s penchant for making everyone uncomfortable. I would have no mother on hand to wound my feelings, though Mary insisted that “the duchess” was least inclined to unleash her temper on me.

Unfortunately, this was to be a double wedding, shared with Guilford and Jane, but once the festivities were over, I would be a wife in my husband’s household. I could choose any dress I liked, even if it glittered with as much cloth of gold as the pope’s own vestments, my garb finer than what Jane thought proper for a lady of the reformed faith. Even more exciting, I would be privy to all the secrets of a man’s body—wise in ways no virgin could imagine. I pictured myself triumphant after my deflowering, feeling smug as I told my maids they could not possibly understand what I knew intimately. I would never admit that I found the prospect of the marriage bed a trifle nerve-racking as well, not knowing what to expect or what to do to please my husband, but hoping that he would find me appealing. Father would have laughed at my doubts.

Ah, my pretty Kat
, he had teased when our mother embarrassed me by announcing I had started my courses.
No husband in the common way will do for you. I must find a man worthy of you lest you imitate Helen of Troy and run off with a handsome Paris
.

How serious Jane had looked at his allusion.
I would not wish to be likened to Helen
, she had insisted. Mother scolded her for being jealous of the compliment, and Jane said,
It is because Helen fled her rightful husband that all of Troy fell
. Later that night, when Jane caught me dreaming over my copy of the
Roman de la Rose
instead of the Cicero I was supposed to read, she leaned over to tuck the warming rug more snugly around my feet. I noticed the worried frown line between her brows as she spoke.
Kat, I know it sounds most appealing—tales like Helen of Troy and Guinevere and this
. She touched my beloved volume.
But in truth it would be quite dreadful to give way to such passion and hurt yourself and everyone around you
.

I kicked the rug free, feeling cross.
Can I not have a little pleasure? It is just a story!

True, but there is danger in filling your head with too many tales such as these. Like when you eat too much marchpane and make yourself sick
.

I am not like you, Jane. I like things to look pretty and taste sweet, and I cannot think God made marchpane and roses and—yes—love so beautiful if he did not wish us to take pleasure in them
.

Jane had started to speak, but I pleaded,
Let me dream of Sir Lancelot even if I never win him
. I feigned a pout.
Now my feet are cold
.

With a sigh Jane retrieved the rug, placing it back over me.
Kat, sometimes I fear for you
.

I fear for you as well
, I said, suddenly feeling sorry for my sister.
I fear that you will never see a single miracle, even if it is right beneath your nose
.

How long ago that conversation seemed. The night Father introduced me to Henry, I hugged Jane and told her she could put her fears to rest. I was in no danger of creating havoc in the name of love like Helen of Troy. I did not wish to run in any direction save into Henry Herbert’s arms.

In truth, this bridal day would have been perfect, were it not for the somber figure being decked in wedding finery herself across the room. Jane’s unhappiness burdened my every joy with a layer of frost. But I had no time to cajole her out of her mood and have a better day on the morrow. If she continued, the festivities would be spoiled, for me at least. “Jane, can you not be amiable for just one day? You are wedding the son of the most powerful nobleman in England!”

Jane only lifted her arms for Mrs. Ellen to tie the points of her silver tissue sleeves. “Perhaps I should ask him what his father is plotting. I wonder if he knows.”

“There is no plot! You are fretting yourself sick for no reason. How many times has strain turned your stomach to acid and given you terrible headaches? And most times your fears came to nothing.” I shifted to a wheedling tone. “Your marriage is a great honor. The most powerful nobles in the kingdom are come, and the king himself opened the royal wardrobe for our use—sent ermines and velvets and more jewels for us to choose from than I ever dreamed were in England. Never in our whole lives will we have a day like this, when we are the most important ladies in the land.”

Mary chimed in, “Our cousin, Lady Mary, is more important than you are. She is to be queen if the king does not have a son. Besides, you like your husband, Kat. Jane does not.”

“Jane is not thinking clearly! She should be grateful our father did not match her with some ancient widower with rotted teeth like Catherine Parr’s first three husbands.”

Jane’s eyes sparked with indignation. “Her Majesty’s fourth husband—the handsome man—is the one who broke her heart. Her majesty died of it.”

Jane’s anger stung. “Father says people do not die of love,” I said.

“I was there, Kat.” Jane’s eyes grew haunted. “If Her Majesty’s great love match came to that, what chance do I have with Guilford Dudley?”

My worry over Jane’s misery deepened. What would I not give to see her happy just once, without the ghost of sadness shadowing her eyes? “You’ll have no chance at all if you continue the marriage the way you have begun. No man likes to be rejected by his bride, even if that bride is a princess of the blood.” I saw Jane’s shoulders stiffen, and empathy slipped to impatience. “Why are you always determined to make things difficult?”

“Things are what they are.”

“Father says that life is what you make it. If you would make an effort to be agreeable, matters would go so much better for you.”

“I do not have your gift for smiling no matter what occurs.”

“You make it sound deceitful.”

“It is.”

Hurt burned beneath my satin stomacher. I scooped up the puppy who was tugging on my hem with its teeth. Pressing the warm bundle against me, I wished it were as easy to pluck my sisters out of harm’s way. But sisters could not be bundled into a closed stall to keep them out of mischief—even when you knew it would be for their own good. It was hard to watch them make mistakes I knew they would pay for. “I do not wish to argue, Jane,” I said, setting the puppy down. “This is the last day we will be together, probably for a very long time. Tomorrow we will not just be sisters anymore. We will be wives, with lives far apart from each other. Who knows when we will see each other again?”