Three Maids for a Crown: A Novel of the Grey Sisters (9 page)

Last Christmas at Cousin Mary’s house at Hunsdon, Kat had shuddered at the princess’s fate.
How terrible it must be to be a thirty-seven-year-old woman with little chance at ever winning a husband at all, let alone his love. They say King Edward will not give her in marriage because she clings to the old faith. He does not want to breed up enemies to the new religion
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Mother’s voice broke through my thoughts as she addressed the Lady Mary. “I must attend to my lord, but Bess and the other ladies could take you for a walk on the grounds. I know that you often have pain with your monthly courses that walking eases.”

“Indeed it does, but much as I admire your very capable Bess, I am not in the mood for ladies’ chatter. I prefer to take my walk with only little Mary to accompany me.”

My mother’s eyes rounded in surprise and a hint of unease. “You wish Mary to go?”

The princess turned to me. She squinted, and I knew she was trying to see me better. “Would that please you, Mary?”

I started to nod but knew my mother would be vexed if I did not answer aloud. “I would like it very much. I could show you the oak trees that are twelve soldiers.”

My cousin rewarded me with a smile. “Then it is settled.”

“Bess? Hettie?” My lady mother called, and the two rose from the cluster of ladies and hastened toward us. “You will accompany Lady Mary and my daughter as far as the stone bench and remain there in case they have need of a cloak or a draught of wine. Keep a watchful eye on them, and make certain the child does not try my cousin’s patience. At the first sign of vexation in our guest, I expect you to send my daughter off to the nursery.”

“That is hardly necessary,” Lady Mary said. “Mary could never vex me.”

“I trust not. Even so, Hettie will be watching just in case.”

Hettie curtsied, and I could see some sort of silent understanding pass between her and my mother. I knew something of what it meant. Mother wanted Hettie to make certain I did not tell Cousin Mary how unhappy my parents were to learn that she had come to Bradgate. I had overheard Hettie tattle to Mother about other matters from time to time. She was almost as keen-eared as me.

Afraid my lady mother might forbid my outing with the princess altogether, I started to slip toward the door, but Mother pinched me under the guise of straightening my sleeve. I knew better than to betray the pain by even a blink of an eyelash. “You will remember what I told you and behave as befits a daughter of the house of Suffolk, will you not, Mary? You know what happens to wicked little girls.”

She wanted me to think of the headsman’s ax. I imagined it, all curved and sharp and shining. “I will be good like Jane,” I said, thinking of the best person I knew.

But Mother did not look pleased as she left to see Father, and the Lady Mary could not hide her distaste for my sister. It made me sad that the princess did not like Jane as she once did. Kat said she did not understand why people could not believe what they liked about religion and stay quiet about it, but Jane always had to speak up about Martin Luther and the evils of the pope.

My discomfort must have shown, for Lady Mary wiped away the sour expression and said, “You love your sister very much, do you not?” I nodded. “That is a gift you should thank God for. Not all sisters are so fortunate. My own sister and I were close once.”

“Why did you stop liking the Lady Elizabeth?”

Hettie nudged me in an effort to get me to be quiet about matters that could only upset our guest, but the Lady Mary explained.

“You have heard of the great wrongs Anne Boleyn did my mother and me? The older Elizabeth grew, the more she became like her mother in manner and appearance.” I prayed Cousin Mary would never look on me with such a chill. “The Lady Elizabeth is a crafty young woman with an ambassador’s gift for telling people what they wish to hear while truly committing to nothing. It is a sly manner of dishonesty, and I cannot bear dissembling of any kind.”

My thoughts turned from the wicked Elizabeth. I felt guilty on my own account. No doubt Lady Mary would stop liking me if she knew how often I sidestepped the truth. She took my hand, and I curled my stiff-jointed fingers to hold on.

Yet even once we reached the gardens, I could feel Hettie watching us, sensed she was ready to leap up and interrupt us should she see anything suspicious.

As the princess and I walked, Lady Mary shortened her steps so I did not have to struggle to keep up and my breath did not catch in gasps when I spoke.

I led her along the road where the great oaks towered above us and told her how Kat and Jane and I had once made up tales about them, that the trees were the Greek hero Achilles’ army the Myrmidons, who would come to life to defend us if ever we were in peril. “When you were a girl, who would defend you, my lady?” I asked.

“I fear not even the Myrmidons would have dared,” she said, looking so sad I wished I had not asked her. But suddenly the cloud of unhappiness lifted and Lady Mary’s face brightened as a splash of yellow, blue, and bright red sailed across the sky. “Look, child. Is it not beautiful?”

The creature swept past us on wings that shone. When it circled back to land on a low-growing holly bush nearby, we stood still. I held my breath, admiring its red underside, snowy cheeks ringed with thin black lines and jaunty cap of blue feathers.

“I wonder what it must be like to be so beautiful,” Lady Mary murmured. I could hear the awe in her voice, sensed what she was feeling as the bird fluttered its iridescent wings and gazed at us with black-pearl eyes. Did it wonder how it felt for us to be so ugly? I expected it to fly away. Instead it hopped toward us and cocked its head, absorbed in examining us as Jane did her texts.

At that instant a smear of red pelt and bushy tail dived through the undergrowth toward the unsuspecting bird. Jaws studded with pointed teeth flashed wide. I sprang toward the creature, shouting a warning, but my slipper caught on a twist of root, and I hurtled, face-first, toward the ground. Pain scoured my left cheek as I skidded across the path, but through the stinging haze I saw the fox miss its quarry, catching only a tail feather as the bird took flight. I grabbed the small plume from the fox’s mouth, unwilling to surrender even that much of the bird’s loveliness to its enemy.

The stunned fox vanished into the wood, leaving me in possession of the feather. I clutched it tight as a wave of purple petticoats washed over me, hands catching me about my waist. The whalebone that shaped my stays bit into my hips and chest as Lady Mary lifted me into her arms, heedless of the warm blood trickling down my chin.

“Child, are you hurt? Your poor face is all scraped up.”

My scrape stung even more. “Hettie would say it cannot make me look any worse than I usually do.”

The princess frowned. “Hettie is very wrong to say such a thing. The wounds look raw. We must make certain they are washed out so they do not grow putrid.” Her voice softened. “That was a brave thing you did, Mary, but perhaps not a very wise one.”

“The bird liked us, even though it was beautiful and we are not. I could not let that awful fox eat it.”

“Even though it might have bitten you?”

“Even then.”

Mary regarded me a long moment. “The bird is lucky to have a loyal friend to warn it of danger. Do you know what I wish, little Mary?” The princess’s eyes gleamed with tears.

“What, my lady?” As a drop fell free, I touched the end of the feather to her cheek, soaking up the moisture.

“In the days to come I would think myself the most fortunate of women if I could count just one friend as brave and loyal as you.”

“You may count me, my lady,” I vowed with all my heart.

I heard footsteps running closer, saw Bess and Hettie drawing near us. “Child, take care!” Hettie scolded me. “You will get blood all over the Lady Mary’s gown.”

“I would not mind the stains after what little Mary just accomplished,” the princess said. “She saved a life.”

Something curious flickered on Hettie’s face. “A life, Your Grace?”

The princess balanced me atop the rim of her farthingale. “Little Mary saved a bird from a fox, and this was her reward.” She held my wrist, displaying the bright blue plume I still clutched. “Perhaps Hettie might stitch it onto one of your caps,” she suggested.

“No. I wish to put my feather someplace else,” I said, determined to tuck it into my Thief’s Coffer so I could remember this day. Perhaps if I could draw Cousin Mary away from my lady mother tomorrow, I would even dare to show her my other treasures.

W
hen morning came, I woke to a commotion in the courtyard. I donned my clothes so hastily, Hettie had barely finished tying my laces before I hastened down to see what was happening. Lady Mary’s retinue bustled about hitching horses to carts, loading them with trunks filled with her gowns and linens and jewels. Was she leaving before I even had a chance to tell her farewell?

“What’s happened?” I asked the nearest servant as I pressed through the throng.

“The Lady Mary must leave at once,” Owen the stable boy told me, his eyes big with fear. “Sweating sickness has broken out in the servants’ quarters.” I went cold all over. The sweat was a terrible thing. One could be eating heartily and two hours later lie dead.

I searched for the green rooftop of the princess’s coach above the crowd, then made my way toward it. As I drew near, I heard Lady Mary plead. “Frances, I beg you, let me take Mary with me to Hunsdon House. I will get her away from the contagion.” My heart leaped at the prospect of going with my cousin, escaping both the frightening illness and my parents.

But my mother waved her hand in dismissal. “There is no time to gather Mary’s things. I am far more worried about you. You are heir to the throne. You must hasten to safety before you catch the sweat.”

The princess’s face showed very real pain as she looked about her. I knew she was searching for me. I tried to push my way toward her, hoping for rescue, but I was too small to be seen in the crowd, and the servants rushing about their business were too frightened to make way for me. Not that my lady mother would have let me go with the princess in any case. Her jaw was set unyielding as stone.

I climbed up onto one of the wooden barrels stacked beside a pillar and watched until the last cart rumbled down the road flanked with oaks. I wondered if Lady Mary was looking at the Myrmidons. But even they could not protect someone from the sweat.

Much later I was able to get close enough to my mother to speak to her. Not a line marked her face with worry. “Who is sick?” I asked.

“Sick?” she echoed.

“With the sweat. Owen said we were all in danger. That was what made Lady Mary go away.”

“There is no danger anymore, not with Lady Mary gone. I will stake my life and your lord father’s on it. Your sister Jane’s as well.” Something frightening lurked under her smile. I puzzled over what my mother had said, though I had no chance to ask her. She was far too busy to be bothered with me.

I spent two long days with Hettie in the nursery, then another messenger rode in, the Duke of Northumberland’s livery crusted with mud. The man stumbled to his knees when he dismounted from his horse.

I tucked Jennet under my arm and slipped off to find my parents, certain that something momentous was happening. They were near the fireplace that spanned the great hall, their ladies and gentlemen at a distance, restless as hounds about to give chase.

My father thrust a piece of parchment into the flames. I watched a gobbet of sealing wax melt like blood. “We must away to London,” he said, his eyes bright as if he had drunk too much wine.

My mother clutched his sleeve. “Our plans bear fruit?”

“God willing, our daughters will bear fruit as well. Northumberland ordered his son to bed Jane to seal the union between our families. She and Guilford are to join us when the time is ripe at Syon House.”

My mother’s face grew as hard as the princess’s table diamond. “Then when next we see Jane …” Her words trailed off. I could not guess what she meant, but Father knew.

“Not yet, wife, but soon. Northumberland sends word that there is a last task that only I can be trusted to discharge for him.”

“You are not Northumberland’s manservant!” My mother puffed up with pride. “You are the father of the new—”

“After we get Jane securely in place, there will be time enough to make Northumberland and all of England feel our importance. Now hasten. We must join our daughter.”

I did not question the contents of the message. I only felt relief and hope that my logical sister could put my intangible fears to rest. “Am I going to see Jane?” I asked as I drew near my parents.

My father started in surprise. “By God’s blood, you slide about the room, silent as a cat! Your sister will have more important matters to attend to in the future than listening to your prattle, Mary.”

“But I want to show her my feather.”

“Show her what you wish once all is accomplished,” Mother answered.

“What needs to be accomplished?” I squeezed Jennet tight.

“It is none of your concern. Your only task is to stay out of everyone’s way. I would leave you here were it not for the chance …” She looked at Father. “The Lady Mary seems more attached to the child than ever. If things go awry, little Mary might prove useful.”

“For what?” I asked. Neither of my parents even looked at me.

“It will not come to that,” Father insisted.

“Best to be prepared in any case.” She turned to me. “Well, Mary. Do you wish to see Jane, or shall we leave without you?”

I went to my chamber and flung Jennet into my Thief’s Coffer. Clutching the wooden chest in my arms, I staggered down the gallery, into the great hall, then to the courtyard where the Suffolk retinue was gathering—not in the confusion I expected but rather as if they had been poised and waiting to spring into action.

Everything was so strange, I thought as the train of coaches and carts rumbled down the road, the Myrmidons standing guard. But perhaps that strangeness did not matter. Nothing mattered except that I was going to see my sister. Soon I would be with Jane, and she would make sense of all that confused me. I would curl up at her feet, lean my head against her knee, and drink in the peace that always surrounded her.