Sisters of Treason (17 page)

“And straighten your hood.”

“Have you seen what a beautiful day it is, my lady?” I say, by way of ameliorating the atmosphere.

“Juno insists on your continued presence, but let’s not pretend we are friends, Katherine. The sooner you are back at court, the better.” She purses her lips and glides off like a ship into the Thames, before I have time to form a sufficiently clever response. Since the night of Juno’s crisis, when I observed the other side of her, she has treated me with increasing contempt. I suppose she regrets the fact that she allowed me a glimpse of her weakness and would
rather not be reminded of it by my continued presence. I may be slight and small, but I have thick skin, and if she thinks she can penetrate it with her sharp tongue, she has another think coming.

As I am crossing the moat, I notice a pair of riders in the distance and stand for a moment watching them as they come up the drive, still too far off for me to make out their features. I can see, though, that their horses are good ones, not like the winded hack that the Duchess has set aside for me to go out on, so I deduce these horsemen must be noble. One of the mounts seems to be a handful, skipping about and tossing its head, but its rider is well seated. Something is keeping me on the steps watching them. Perhaps it is the idea of male company to break up the boredom that has ignited a little thrill in me.

I run back to Juno, calling, “There are visitors.”

“What sort?” she asks.

“Male, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, not Uncle Richard, I hope. Mother said he’s been threatening to come. I’m warning you, he’s a terrible bore, and don’t get caught alone with him. He has wayward hands.” She slides her own hand around my throat and down towards my breast, with a giggle.

I laugh too, but I feel a dip of disappointment. I had allowed my imagination to run away with me for a moment, conjuring up the possibility of some harmless flirtation in this barren place. Juno snatches her hand back as a page approaches holding the toddy, handing it over with a bow.

“That’s better,” she says, taking a sip.

Stan spots a squirrel, chasing it across the grass and yelping in excitement. It scales the nearest tree and Stan waits at the bottom in a frenzy of high-pitched barking with Stim now joining in the din. I try to call them back to no avail.

“Lets walk a little and they will follow us,” suggests Juno, draining her cup.

“You are sure you’re not too—”

“Look,” she interrupts, standing and opening her arms up. “The
sun is out and at last I feel almost human. I am well enough. Don’t worry.” She holds out a hand to me and as I stand she places a kiss on my cheek. “You have been such a good friend. I am ever in your debt, Kitty, for the way you have cared for me these last weeks. You are the sweetest, kindest friend in the whole world—and the most entertaining,” she adds, with a smile.

“No, you are,” I say, slipping my arm through hers and moving off in the direction of the lake, both dogs at last falling obediently into line.

“No,
you
are.”

“No,
you
are.”

“There is only one thing for it, then. We are both the
most
entertaining, the
most
sweet, the
most
kind girls in the—”

“World,” we say in unison.

“In the universe, I’d say,” comes a voice from behind. We turn together.

“You!” cries Juno, freeing herself from my grip and running into the arms of a mud-spattered young man.

“You will dirty your dress,” he says, laughing, spinning her around. “I thought you were at death’s door, Juno. I came to sit vigil.”

“I was, I was,” she laughs. “But I am better now. Much better, and all the more so for seeing you.”

“So I see.” He holds her shoulders and stands back, appraising her. “Though it is hard to see you properly inside all those furs. You look like a fat old countess.”

They are both laughing now, and I find I am piqued that it is Juno in the arms of this man and not me. But mostly I am cross that she hasn’t ever told me about him. I thought we confided everything to each other. I think of all the secrets I told her about Harry Herbert, allowing a little pool of resentment to form, and pretend to amuse myself throwing sticks for the dogs as I watch the two of them cavorting from the side of my eye.

“Juno, you are forgetting your manners,” the man says then, waving
his arm in my direction. “Are you not going to introduce me to your exquisite companion?”

My mind is awhirr—exquisite, indeed. He is looking at me intently from beneath a straw-colored cowlick of hair with a pair of bright eyes. I meet his gaze and then allow myself to brazenly look him up and down. He is filthy dirty; his hose, once white, are quite black with saddle grease and his habit is covered in mud, there are even spots of it on his face. His fingernails too are grubby as a blacksmith’s, but I can’t help the idea slipping into my head of those filthy hands getting under my skirts.

“I’m sorry, you are right. How rude I am.” Juno is quite breathless with the excitement of it all. “Ned, this is my dear, dear friend, Lady Katherine Grey.”

“Lady Katherine.” He bows. “I feel I should get down on my knee.” From the tone of his voice it is abundantly clear that he has no intention of doing such a thing.

“Don’t be silly, Ned,” says Juno.

“I believe we have met before, Lady Katherine.” I rack my brains to think where, for I surely would have remembered meeting such a fine specimen. “But you were only seven at the time,” he continues, “and I was all of eight. You were as pretty then as you are now.”

“Is that so?” I say, glancing towards Juno, who I am surprised to find smiling rather than scowling at her beau—her
secret
beau—paying compliments to me.

“Kitty,” she says, “this is my brother, Edward, who should be Duke of Somerset or at the very least Earl of Hertford—everyone refers to you as Hertford rather than Seymour anyway, don’t they, Ned? Were it not for that monster Northumberland . . .”

Everything falls into place.

“He ousted our father,” seethes Juno, for my benefit, I suppose, though I know the story well. “Had him sent to the Tower; Mother too. Took his place as Protector.” She is counting off each point on her fingers.

“Never mind all that,” he interrupts his sister, who continues listing the injustices Northumberland visited on the Seymours.

“Had Father executed as a traitor; confiscated our lands . . .”

Hertford has fastened his gaze onto me. I now see the likeness; he has Juno’s perfect bow-shaped mouth, her oval face, her fair coloring—they are peas in a pod.

“You didn’t come with Uncle Richard, did you?” Juno exclaims with an exaggerated scowl.

“Not likely!” he replies, finally looking away. “I came with John Thynne.”

“John Thynne! The father or the son?”

“The son.”

“I shall be glad to see him.”

It is I now who can hardly tear my eyes away from the pair of them as they talk.

“Shall we seek him out?”

“Where is he, then?” asks Juno, linking arms with her brother and indicating with a nod that he should take my arm too, which he does, and firmly, pulling me close so I can smell the sweat and the horse on him.

“He is in the stables seeing to his mare that is lame.”

“Juno,” I say, “are you sure it is prudent to be out for so long? Shouldn’t we perhaps go inside and your brother can bring this John Thynne to see us in our chambers later?” I do have Juno’s health on my mind, but really what I want is an excuse to get out of the plain everyday gown that is beneath my cloak, and put on something more becoming.

•  •  •

Our bedchamber is in the old part of the house above the medieval hall and must have been the solar once, for it is roomy enough for a vast tester bed, which is curtained off, separating out a spacious area that serves as a privy chamber. As soon as we are there I fling off my gown and hood and rummage through my things for
my pale blue satin, deciding to leave my head bare to better show off my hair.

“Can I borrow your cochineal?” I ask Juno, picking up the little pot of crimson-stained goose grease. I balance the looking glass on the windowsill for the best of the light, and rub some onto my cheeks. “What do you think?” I face Juno for her approval.

“You look like you have a fever. Wipe some off.”

I take a handkerchief and do as she suggests. “Better?”

“Much.” She smiles at me as if she knows something I don’t. “Is this for my brother?”

“Maybe,” I say, unable to conceal my smirk.

She claps her hands together. “This is perfect, Kitty. I hadn’t dared hope.”

“You mean you had thought such a thing and never mentioned it?”

“Perhaps.”

“You won’t say anything, will you? Promise me,” I say, helping her off with her hood and wrapping her fine wool shawl about her throat, placing a firm kiss on her lips. She takes hold of me behind the neck and holds me tight, slipping her tongue into my mouth.

“Is this a sin, Kitty?” she whispers, letting go of me.

“Nothing that nice could not be a sin,” I reply.

“You’re not to run off with my brother and forget me altogether, Kitty Grey.” Though she says this lightly, there is a discordant note in her tone.

“That wouldn’t be possible. I am too fond of you.” I stroke her cheek. “I mean it.”

“I hope Mother will not make a match for me miles away. She
was
talking to the Percys in Yorkshire, but the boy died or it fell through for some reason. Imagine me there. It is so far.”

“I couldn’t bear it,” I say, suddenly feeling the drag of the world upon us. We will both be married before long. I want time to stop and keep us here together. “Some of this?” I hold out the jar of cochineal.

“I think not,” she says.

“So this John Thynne isn’t likely to take your fancy, then?”

“Not for all the gold in the Vatican.”

“Really? What is wrong with him?”

“He is the son of Father’s old steward; I have known him too long. Besides . . .”

“Besides what?”

“Oh, you shall see. Pass the cards over; we can play primero while we wait for them.”

We settle into the game, snapping the cards down and picking them up with quick fingers and in silence. As we have no coins we have raided the carton of seed pearls as wagers and I am accumulating quite a stock. I may be better at spending coins than counting them, and I have never beaten her at chess, but I can give clever Juno a run for her money at primero. I do not have my usual focus, though, with one ear listening out for footsteps on the stairs. When I hear them, my heart makes a little jump. It is only the chandler with new candles, but as he is moving about the room with his taper the door is flung open and in stride Hertford and a man I can only presume is John Thynne.

The thing that is most instantly noticeable about John Thynne is that he is not at all thin; and the first thought that strikes me is that it is no wonder his mare is lame, having had to carry such a great lump about on her back. Just as I am about to nudge Juno and whisper as much to her I stop myself, feeling mean for thinking so uncharitably about a man who cannot help the way God made him. But Hertford, standing tall and lean beside his friend, is only rendered all the more comely by comparison. He is dressed quite plainly in dark wool with a black rabbit collar, as if he has not gone to much trouble to impress, and I like him the more for it.

“Lady Jane,” Thynne is saying. “And Lady Margaret, how—”

“No, Thynne,” interrupts Hertford with a little laugh and a flourish of his fingers, “this is not my sister, Margaret; may I present Lady Katherine Grey.”

“I . . . I am so very sorry, Lady Katherine, Your . . . er, Your . . .” He is clearly flustered, stuttering slightly and dithering. He drops onto his knee and, looking at his feet, sweeps his cap from his head, holding it in trembling hands.

“ ‘Lady Katherine’ is entirely adequate, Mr. Thynne. I am not named the Queen’s heir yet,” I say. “And it is likely I never shall be.”

Juno and her brother are smirking, and I try not to look at them for fear of succumbing to the giggles.

“Can you forgive me, my lady?” he pleads. “You look so much like a Seymour I was quite fooled.” His jowls wobble as he speaks, but he has such an apologetic hangdog expression I find myself quite charmed.

“You are forgiven,” I say. “I shall take it as a compliment.”

“Get on your feet, man,” says Hertford. “There’s no need to stand on ceremony here, is there, Lady Katherine?”

Poor Thynne looks utterly mortified, so I say, “I am touched,” and give him a smile before changing the subject. “We were playing primero.”

“Primero,” says Hertford. “Who is winning?”

“Kitty has the upper hand, as usual,” says Juno.

“So you have a talent for cards, do you, Lady Katherine?”

“I would not call it a talent,” I say, barely meeting his gaze. I notice that he seems to approve of my sky-blue satin and rouged cheeks, for he does not seem able to take his eyes off me, which was, after all, the aim.

“Was your journey a long one, Mr. Thynne?” I ask, offering my shoulder to Hertford as I turn to his friend.

“It was most arduous,” he says. “But what rewards at its end, to have such delightful company.”

“Do you play?” I ask, ignoring the compliment, waving the pack of cards. “It is better with more people.”

Two stools are pulled up to the table, and we play a few hands before Thynne takes his leave to check on his mare, whereupon Juno announces that she is exhausted and must lie down. I have
a suspicion that this a conspiracy to ensure that Hertford is left alone with me, or more or less alone, for Juno has retreated only as far as our curtained-off bedchamber.

Hertford scuttles his stool closer to mine, closer than is proper. I busy myself sorting the cards and scooping the seed pearls back into their carton without looking at him.

“My mother has warned me to keep away from you,” he says quietly. “She says you are trouble and that our family has had more than its fair share of trouble.”

“Did she indeed?” I shift myself away from him and try to keep my composure, but I am affronted that the Duchess should say such a thing.