Exile (2 page)

“So beware, dear Lady Sarah,” murmured Lady Jane. “We would not wish to have evil befall you because you wore a bewitched jewel.”

Lady Sarah scowled at her but Lady Jane merely smiled innocently.

“Listen!” I broke in.

All the Maids looked puzzled.

“To what?” asked Mary.

I put my ear to my elbow. “Can you not hear?” I said. “It is His Excellency, the Flea of Sharakand! He says he has never heard such nonsense in his life!”

Everybody—except Lady Jane—burst out laughing. And this time Carmina did fall off her cushion. But she could not have chosen a worse moment, for we heard the harbingers calling, “The Queen! The Queen!” and almost immediately the doors to the Privy Chamber burst open and Her Majesty swept
in, followed by Secretary Cecil. We stopped laughing and jumped up to curtsy. Poor Carmina was sprawled on the floor and had to scrabble to her feet in a most ungainly fashion.

Her Majesty always makes a grand entrance. Today she is wearing a gown of vermilion, with sleeves decorated by the finest black and gold roses. She has strings of pearls around her neck and matching jewels adorning her fiery red hair. But it is not just the clothes that make her so imposing. She could wear a sack and we would all be on our knees in awe.

“Forgive these foolish wenches, Mr. Cecil,” said the Queen grimly. “We are sure that they will now sit quietly as befits their station and give us peace so we may attend to our matters of state.”

Mary Shelton quickly opened the “Godly Meditation” and began to read again. I have no wish to repeat the words, for I can say here in the privacy of my own daybooke that they are passing tedious. I will pick up my embroidery. I am attempting a robin redbreast and hoped to have him ready for the yule- tide festivities but I forgot him and he was not finished in time. I shall see if I can finish him before next Christmas instead.

Mary Shelton, Lady Sarah, and I are in our bed- chamber making ready for the arrival of the Banoo. Just moments ago, several gentlemen of the Court left through the archway on the waterfront and galloped off east along the river. The Banoo must be almost here, for they are her welcome party! As usual, Mary and I are ready and waiting. Lady Sarah cannot decide what stomacher to wear. As if anybody will notice if it is adorned with flowers or birds! The young gentlemen of the Court are usually far too busy gazing upon her bosom to look at her stomacher! But perhaps my fine lady is anxious that they will only have eyes for the Banoo.

Mary is making patient suggestions and is being snapped at for her trouble. I am sitting on my trunk keeping out of the way as Lady Sarah flaps by like an agitated goose.

I did not get far with my embroidery this morning. In fact my poor little robin had a nasty shock, for I dropped my bottle of ink on him! When I tried to wipe the ink off, my daybooke fell to the floor of the Presence Chamber with a terrible clatter.

“Lady Grace Cavendish!” exclaimed the Queen, glaring at me. “Come to my side at once.”

I quickly gathered up my daybooke and embroidery and hastened to Her Majesty. I dropped a deep curtsy and waited to be chided.

“I have a fancy for apple tart at dinner,” she said, to my astonishment—this did not sound like a rebuke! “I pray you go to the Privy Kitchen and make my wishes known, for I would eat within the hour.”

I could have jumped up and down in delight that Her Majesty was thus enabling me to escape the boring matters of state—she could easily have sent a page to the kitchen. But I did not. Instead, “At once!” I exclaimed, and curtsied my way out as quickly as I could. I am sure that the Queen was trying hard not to smile at my enthusiasm. She raised a handkerchief to hide her mouth but her eyes were dancing. When I got to the Privy Kitchen, Mistress Berry, the head cook's wife, stared at me in surprise as I told her the Queen's order.

“But my lady,” she said, “Jenny has had the apple tarts ready this past hour or more. Her Majesty gave the instruction last night!”

So my suspicions were correct. The Queen must
have seen my boredom and sent me off deliberately. She can be very thoughtful that way. Or mayhap she couldn't stand the disruptions I was causing.

“Still,” Mistress Berry went on, “there are some trout pasties ready and cooling, and you have a hungry look about you.”

I needed no persuasion. The pasties smelt delicious. She wrapped some in a linen cloth and handed them to me.

My errand was done. I skipped out of the kitchen and ran straight into my dear friend Ellie, who had her arms full of linen shirts. As usual I had to pretend to give her some order or other so that we could talk, for I am not supposed to be friends with a lowly laundrymaid. It makes me very cross, for a truer friend I could not have. The Queen knows of our friendship and should not condone it, but she can become remarkably blind or deaf when it suits her.

I had not seen Ellie since we moved from Whitehall, and we had much to catch up on. “Can you come with me?” I asked. “We could find Masou. I have trout pasties and more than enough for three.”

Ellie's eyes lit up. She is small and thin and always hungry. It worries me that she doesn't get enough to
eat. “Let me put these shirts in the starching room first,” she said. “And then I can slip out for a moment.”

We had quite a search for Masou. He was not in the tumblers' quarters—where he is often to be found practising with the rest of the troupe—or in the Great Hall, or in any of the pantries or work- rooms.

To our great surprise we finally found him outside in the orchard, walking on his hands on the frozen ground and juggling balls with his feet. Masou's father brought him to England from Africa when he was very young, but although he has been here a long time he still complains that our climate is too cold for him. He does not venture out of doors in the winter if he can help it, so something must have been amiss.

“How now, Masou!” called Ellie as she spotted him. “What are you doing all topsy-turvy in the cold?”

Masou did a handspring and landed at our feet. “My ladies,” he said, sweeping an elegant bow. “I am merely perfecting my art. Do you not know that the beauteous Banoo Yasmine will be arriving today from Sharakand, and the tumblers must be at their most splendid?”

“Well, you can give your hands a rest and come and wrap them round a pasty,” said Ellie, nudging me. “Dish them up, Grace. I'm starving!”

I gave them a pasty each and we ran off to the herb garden and found our usual hiding place—inside the old yew hedge. It was warm and cosy and we knew no one would find us. We huddled together as we ate. Ellie sat in the middle as she never has enough clothes to keep warm.

“Where is this Sharakand?” she asked. “It sounds a goodly way off.”

“Tis in the south, where the sun shines all year,” said Masou wistfully. “It lies between Persia and the Caspian Sea. I was there once with my father. He was performing with a troupe at the time and we journeyed to Sharakand to try our luck. The people were most kind and we stayed longer than we had intended. It was an exciting place. My father learnt a lot from their acrobats, who gave most daring displays. And the snake men were truly wondrous!” He shook his head in awe.

“Snake men?” I gasped. “What? Do they slither along the ground with scales and forked tongues?”

“They sound like monsters!” breathed Ellie, eyes wide.

Masou laughed. “They are nothing of the kind!”
he told us. “They are but tumblers with special skills, for they can twist and fold their bodies into incredible shapes. I knew one snake man who could make himself as small as a mouse, or as thin as a veil.”

Ellie's mouth dropped open.

“You exaggerate, as usual, Masou,” I scoffed.

“A little, maybe,” he agreed, “but their feats would astound you. I saw a snake man fold himself into a box you would have thought only a cat could fit in.”

“And did you see the Bandy Yasmine when you were there?” asked Ellie.

“It is Banoo Yasmine, O Silly One!” said Masou.

“Yes, I did see her.” He looked dreamily into the distance. “One day a great shout went up in the village where we were feasting with our hosts. She and her family were coming! Everyone ran to line the path and call greetings and throw petals. And through the village came a slow, stately parade of camels, bearing the noble family and their servants. First in the procession was the king's Chief Minister, the Banoo's father, a very noble-looking man, flanked by guards. His wife and his son rode behind. And then came the Banoo. She smiled kindly on us all as she went by and I believe that the cheer was the loudest for her. She cannot have been more than
sixteen, but she was the most beautiful lady I have ever seen.”

“Prettier than us?” said Ellie, giving me a wink.

But Masou did not appear to have heard her. He was gazing up to the heavens with a daft look on his face.

“Everyone in the laundry is talking about Bandy Yasmine,” said Ellie, licking her fingers to get the last traces of pasty off them. “Mrs. Fadget is in a terrible stew. You should hear her.” Ellie sucked in her cheeks and wrinkled her nose till it was just as if the miserable old laundress were there before us.

“Lord preserve us!” Ellie cackled, sounding just like Mrs. Fadget. “What am I to do with all her fancy foreign gowns, which are probably enchanted and will fly away as soon as I try and touch them!”

“That would be a sight,” I giggled, “to see her running round the laundry chasing a flock of flying frocks.”

“I'd love to set my eyes on that,” Ellie went on. “But she'd blame me in the end, as she usually does. She's already told me that the Bandy has a magical ruby and she'll turn me into a black beetle if I do anything wrong!”

“The Banoo would never cast a spell on you,
Ellie,” said Masou earnestly, suddenly coming back down to earth. “She is good as well as beautiful.”

“I reckon the Bandy has already cast a spell on him!” Ellie whispered to me. “He sounds lovesick.”

I tried not to laugh. Now I knew why Masou had made no complaint about tumbling on the cold ground. He was so besotted with Banoo Yasmine that there was no room in his head for anything else.

“Well, ladies,” Masou announced, “I cannot stay gossiping with you. I must attend to my practise.” He poked his head out of the hedge to make sure there was no one in the herb garden. Then he leaped out, brushed leaves and twigs from his doublet, and carefully straightened his garb. I had to stifle another laugh. I have never known Masou to be so concerned about his appearance. Then he set off with a series of cartwheels.

“I had best be off, too,” said Ellie mournfully. “There's a heap of starching to do. Everyone wants their ruff to look the best in front of the new visitors.”

She hurried away and I waited a few moments, for it would not look good if we were seen together.

But now I must stop. Lady Sarah is ready at last, and Carmina has just entered our bedchamber, shrieking that the Banoo has arrived!

I am back in my bedchamber again, now getting ready for supper.

When Carmina shrieked, we all rushed from our chamber to join the other Maids at the long windows in the passage, pushing each other to get the first glimpse of our exotic guest. And, after hearing Masou's story, I was eager to see the camels she was sure to bring.

There below us on the waterside rode the four gentlemen of the Court who made up the welcome party. Behind them came a procession of mysterious cloaked and hooded figures. Their cloaks were long and flowing and embroidered with brightly coloured threads. The visitors were riding on Arabian horses and followed by heavily laden carts. But I was sorely disappointed—there wasn't a camel in sight!

“Which one is the Banoo?” asked Penelope.

“I thought the people of Sharakand would be more exotic than this!” declared Lady Jane, looking pleased.

We could see no more, for the procession passed
through the great archway on the waterfront and out of our sight.

“Make haste!” cried Carmina. “To the Glass Gallery. We'll get a good view of the Conduit Court there.”

It was lucky that Mrs. Champernowne was not there to see us as we slipped and slid in our stockinged feet along the wooden floors of the Glass Gallery, like eager puppies running for their food. Even Lady Sarah and Lady Jane, who pride themselves on their dignity, were hurrying along—once they had made sure there were no young and handsome courtiers present, of course.