Three Maids for a Crown: A Novel of the Grey Sisters (7 page)

The storm crowding the sky over Bradgate should have been over three weeks ago, but the duchess struck out with fists and sharp words at anyone unlucky enough to cross her path. Even Bess of Hardwick, my mother’s favorite person in the world, shook her head in confusion, saying she did not know what could be amiss.

Upon our return from London, things here in Leicestershire should have gone back to the merry, pleasure-rich life my parents love. Hunting all day, lounging at the table until no one could eat another bite, the whole Suffolk household gambling late into the night.

So why did the air grow thicker as the days dragged by? Why did my mother grow more on edge? And why did mud-spattered, exhausted messengers from London still come and go at all hours of the night and day? My parents’ eyes grew hard and greedy when they hid themselves away with whatever missives those messengers brought. They looked as if the letters were gold coins they were about to sweep into their purses.

Mistrusting the patch of blue sky beyond the window of my chamber, I tucked myself into my corner and cuddled my poppet close, but Jennet’s black bead eyes could give me no answers to the questions that troubled me. No one noticed. Since the wedding it was as if I had disappeared, like Jane, like Kat. I was a ghost.

“I am beginning to fear one of the servants packed Lady Mary’s tongue along with her sisters’ bridal clothes.” Hettie’s voice poked into the shadows of my favorite corner in my chamber. She turned toward me, hands on hips. “Not a smidgen of gossip have you told me for weeks. Lonely, I wager. Best get used to it. From now on you will not have your sisters to cling to like a cocklebur. They are wives now. They have husbands and soon, God willing, children to occupy them. They will have no time for the likes of you.”

“Hettie!” Bess chided. “There is no reason to be so hard.”

“I am just telling the child the truth.” Hettie tossed her head. “The world is hard, and it will be even harder for Lady Mary than most unless she learns to make herself more agreeable to those around her.” She did not sound as if she held much hope of my doing so.

Bess reached out to touch me. I stared hard at her motherly hand, wondering what her fingers would feel like on my cheek. But my gaze built a fence around me. She let her arm fall back to her side. I tried not to mind. Kind as she was, Bess never warmed to me as she had my sisters, especially Jane. Still, her voice was gentler than most when she addressed me. “Mary, never mind what Hettie has told you about the bond between sisters. It can never be broken, no matter how far away fate sends them. I am sure Lady Jane and Lady Katherine are missing you as well.”

Hettie made a dismissive sound. “Lady Katherine’s head was awhirl with her lusty young husband even before she left London, while if all accounts are true the Lady Jane—”

Bess looked at her in a way Kat would have called formidable, hints of a steely will that made my pretty sister bow to Bess’s every command. Hettie retreated from the field of battle with a “harrumph” of protest, and Bess swept out of the chamber, off, no doubt, to serve my lady mother. Hours passed while I played with Jennet and wondered if Hettie was right. What good would I be once my sisters had pretty babies? Sweet-faced babes with straight spines for Kat and Jane to love?

I jumped a little, startled, as a serving girl rushed through the paneled door, her palm pressed to her cheek. A handprint reddened the maid’s skin.

“You would think Her Grace would be puffed like a peacock now, proud of those exorbitant weddings,” the woman complained to Hettie Appleyard. “The whole court is still buzzing about it. Half a dozen of the messengers who have ridden through told how the king ordered treasures from the royal wardrobe be sent to adorn the brides. They recounted how many exalted guests graced the ceremony and mentioned that King Edward himself was disappointed because he was too unwell to attend. But instead of reveling in the triumph, Her Grace is more stinging than a beehive struck with a stick.”

“Hush now!” Hettie nodded in my direction. “Mind the Lady Mary.”

The servant blew her cherry-round nose on a fold of petticoat. “Little crouchback knows better than any of us. The duchess nigh knocked her across the room the other day.”

Since then I had done my best to stay out of my lady mother’s way.

“I am here to tell you matters just got worse, God save us. Her Grace is in her solar, shattering enough Italian glass to feed the village for a twelvemonth. Half-wild she is. The latest messenger brought tidings that sent her into a fury at Lady Jane.”

Despite my mother’s temper, excitement bubbled beneath the popinjay-blue sarcenet of my bodice. After all, Jane was far away where the duchess could not strike her. I came out of my corner. “Did my sister send a message to me?” I demanded. Twice Jane had included a note for me with the formal missives that duty compelled her to write to our parents. I kept the letters in my Thief’s Coffer and read them until my eyes ached.

“I fear the Lady Jane is not well enough to hold a pen. Mrs. Ellen writes the poor thing is sick in mind and body. Your sister fears she is being poisoned.”

My heart felt like a rock in my chest, but Hettie discounted her claim. “Who would want to poison the Lady Jane? A more quiet and devout girl never lived!”

“She has a stubborn side. She will scratch like a cat on questions of faith.” The servant’s voice dropped low. “Perhaps Northumberland seeks to rid his son of an unhappy bride. Gossip says the lady’s hair is falling out and her fingernails and skin are peeling.”

A picture flashed into my head—Jane’s skin flayed away like the image of Saint Sebastian in the gallery while the devil duke looked on, his eyes glowing like a blacksmith’s iron. I did not care how angry my mother was or how cruelly she might punish me. I scooped up my petticoats and went to find her.

My legs shook as I made my way down the gallery, still thronging with my parents’ friends and acquaintances. Even they were gathered in nervous groups, whispering. I listened for the sounds of confusion, looked for my parents’ gentlemen and ladies-in-waiting. I found them clustered together outside the solar door looking nervous. I knew my parents were in the room beyond the closed oak panel.

“… dead any day …” I heard Bess whisper. Terror made my stomach coil.

Something heavy crashed against the door. I charged toward the gentleman usher guarding it. “I will see my lord and lady now.”

“My Lady Mary.” He tugged at the collar of his doublet. “I cannot think it wise.”

I gave him the look that made Owen, the stable boy, think I could make his fingers drop right off.

“I will ask if their graces will see you.” The usher opened the door and began to announce, “The Lady Mary—”

I did not wait for their response. I went in. The chamber was awash in wreckage. Gold plate and bric-a-brac littered the stone floor. Father paced near the window, his cut-leather doublet half unlaced. His velvet cap had been torn from his balding pate, the white feathers trampled on the floor. A glass shard cut through the sole of my slipper, but I did not slow down, not even when my mother turned on me, her eyes filled with rage.

Her face was as red as the Tudor roses painted on the sideboard. “Get back to the nursery! I will have Hettie Appleyard whipped for letting you run amok!”

I clutched the edge of my mother’s ivory inlaid gaming table, resolved that no one would drag me from the room before I had an answer. “Is Jane going to die?”

“Die?” Father echoed. “Of all the stupid questions.”

“People outside—I could hear them whispering …”

“Your sister is not going to die,” Father said, “though she makes me want to wring her neck of late. If she does anything to ruin the honor we have worked so hard to bring about, I will make her pay for it!”

“But the duke is poisoning her,” I insisted. “I heard Jane’s skin is peeling off—”

My mother grabbed my arms so tight, I thought the bones would snap. “Quiet, you idiot child! Your sister imagines things. Jane was always given to flights of sick fancy. Why would Northumberland poison the girl? He needs to keep her alive.”

“Someone is dying. Lady Bess said so. If it is Jane, you must tell me.” I fought to keep tears at bay. Tears were a weakness my mother could never forgive.

“They were speaking of the king.” Relief that I would not lose Jane filled me as my father waved his hand. “Be it in a day, a week, a month. Let His Majesty die now. All is in readiness.” His eyes glittered in a strange manner. But not even that could frighten me, as long as Jane was safe. Still, my curiosity stirred. “What is in readiness, my lord father?”

“You fool, Henry!” my mother said. “You know how tenacious the child is when her curiosity is roused.” She shook me. Hard. “It is a sin to be eavesdropping around corners, and God will punish you for it. Say nothing of this to anyone, Mary. It is treason to foretell the death of a king. Do you want your father to have his head chopped off with an ax?”

“No.” I put my hands up to cover my own stubby throat.

“I would take you to Tower Hill and make you watch the headsman do his work if your father died because of you. What do you think of that?”

“I would not like it.” The insides of my stomach bubbled up, bitter on my tongue.

“Surely a girl who is responsible for such a terrible thing should have to watch the fruit of her wickedness.”

Knocking sounded at the chamber door. The gentleman usher appeared strained as he shoved the panel open. “Your Graces, a thousand pardons—”

“Again you interrupt us!” my father exclaimed. “Did we not tell you we should not be disturbed?”

The usher appeared ready to duck should my mother fling a plate at his head. “But Your Grace, I was certain with such an exalted visitor, you would wish to be notified.”

“Northumberland!” My father wheeled toward my mother.

She looked like a wolf about to feast. “No. His Grace would have to stay in London to secure matters there. Perhaps it is Pembroke.”

Pembroke?
I thought. Why would Kat’s new father-in-law come to Bradgate?

“It is neither of those goodly lords, Your Grace,” the gentleman usher said. “It is Lady Mary, the late king’s own daughter.”

My father swore. My mother looked more thunderous than before. I could not guess why. In the past my royal cousin’s frequent visits had been greeted with excitement.

In spite of my parents’ singular reaction, pleasure drove back the sick feeling in my stomach. Jane was not dying, and my kind cousin had arrived. Perhaps my mother would forget how wicked I was.

Father waved at the usher. The man bowed and backed out the door. “This bodes ill!” Sweat beaded Father’s upper lip as the door shut behind the servant. “Do you think Lady Mary suspects something? If she discovers the truth, she might have time to rally supporters to her cause.”

“She is not canny enough to unmask us. My cousin is as blindly trusting as a child, though considering the blows life has dealt her, I cannot tell you why.” My mother’s scorn for the relation I cared so much for pinched at me.

Father looked to her like one of his hounds waiting for their master to give them direction. “What shall we do?”

It was as if God jerked my lady mother’s mouth with invisible purse strings into a smile. “We must keep her occupied until I can think.”

“You had best be kind to her,” I said. My parents started, as if they had forgotten I was there. I did not falter. “When King Edward dies, she will be queen.” Everyone knew Cousin Mary was heir to the throne until Cousin Edward wed and had babies. If he were dying any day, there was no time for that.

My mother’s voice grew as chill as ice slivers. “We must trust the succession is in God’s hands.”

“Or in the hands of His Grace of Northumberland,” Father muttered.

I rubbed my crooked back, the lightning threat I sensed in my mother growing fiercer. Something dreadful was rumbling beneath the surface of my parents’ smiles, I knew not what. Suddenly I wished my cousin were riding out of the manor’s gates instead of waiting to be received in the great hall below.

“Daughter, get to the nursery,” Father said. “We have enough to manage without a child getting in the way.”

My lady mother looked at me. I did not trust the set of her mouth. “Mary shall accompany us to greet her cousin.”

I blinked in surprise. “Will I?”

“Frances,” Father said. “I do not think—”

“Do not attempt it, husband. That is what you have me for. My cousin has always been fond of our Mary. Is that not true, daughter?”

I felt as if I were treading on rotted boards, ready to fall through. “She is very kind.”

“Yes, and you are most bereft without your sisters, are you not? I am certain Cousin Mary will give a good deal of attention to easing your loneliness. She experienced much painful solitude when she was a girl. Do you not see the solution to our dilemma, Henry? If the girl is about, Lady Mary can scarce pursue more troubling questions.”

Father kissed my mother on the cheek. “You are a wonder, Frances. Wily as Machiavelli himself. It was a fair day when I wed you.”

My mother straightened my headdress, her nails scraping my temples. The scratches burned. “Mary, you look a fright, but I know you cannot help it,” she said, trying to right the kirtle and petticoats that had come askew when she shook me. “Be a good girl now, and you will have a sweetmeat.”

After smoothing her own rumpled garments and replacing Father’s cap, she went to the door and summoned the usher. “Before a quarter hour has passed, I want this chamber to sparkle as if naught had happened here. Not a trinket out of place. Do you hear me?”

The usher bowed in assent.

My mother offered her arm, and Father linked his through it. “We shall see this through,” he said. “In six months’ time we will laugh over how raw our nerves were on the princess’s final visit.”

Her final visit? What could that mean? Would she not come to Bradgate once she was queen? That would be sad indeed. As the three of us descended to the great hall to greet our visitor and her retinue, my parents’ smiles turned as slick and sweet as sun-melted butter. Cousin Mary stood in shadow, her auburn hair caught beneath a cloth of silver headdress sparkling with amethysts, her thrice-piled velvet gown the deep, rich purple she favored. A table-diamond as big as my fist hung from a gold chain that circled her neck. Sparkling rings piled on her fingers until her hands looked too heavy to lift. She had been pretty once, I had overheard our lady mother tell Kat some time ago. It was hard to imagine because of the sadness deep-drawn on Lady Mary’s face. Kat said the sadness was because they had taken the princess away from her mother for four long years and had not even let her see Queen Katherine when that good lady lay dying. Of course, their suffering was not our uncle King Henry’s fault. It had been that witch Anne Boleyn’s doing, the royal whore trying to protect her bastard Elizabeth. Or so Kat had assured me.