Lady in Waiting: A Novel (10 page)

“You can leave us,” Jane said to Beatrice, not looking up from the child’s cherubic face.

“My lady?” Beatrice’s eyes were wide.

“My parents are coming. I fear I shall be leaving here soon and I won’t see Mary again.” Jane raised her head, and I could that her eyes had turned glossy. “I would like to be alone with her.”

Beatrice looked to me, her eyes questioning.

“Lucy will stay with me and fetch you if I need assistance.” Jane’s attention turned again to the babe.

Beatrice hesitated and then curtsied. “As you wish, my lady.”

I felt Beatrice’s eyes on me as she left, but I did not look at her. When she was gone, Jane cooed to the child and laughed as the child cooed back. Jane walked over to the fireplace where a pleasant flame kept the vast room warm. I followed her.

“Here. Take the child while I settle.” Jane handed me the babe and then knelt down on the thick carpet in front of the hearth, arranging her skirts around her. Then she reached for the child, and I handed the little Lady Mary to her.

“Sit with me?” she said as she took the child.

I knelt down across from Jane. “She is beautiful.” The child raised a tiny hand from within the folds of the lacy coverings and nearly waved at us.

Jane nodded and smiled.

I had not heard the marquess and marchioness were coming, so I chanced a question.

“Did a message arrive today from your parents?” I asked.

“Yes. They wrote that they are coming to fetch me home. They … they think my interests are better served at home now that the Queen is gone. They are not convinced the admiral’s plans to ensure a royal betrothal for me will proceed without … without the Queen’s influence.”

She looked up at me, and I sensed she was inviting me to conversation, the kind of conversation two friends might have when they are our age and imagining what it might be like to be held and kissed and loved by a man. In that moment, I felt the distance between us begin to fade.

“Would you be happy with a betrothal to His Majesty?” I whispered, a bit cowardly, I admit.

But she visibly relaxed as soon as the words left my mouth, as though she’d been longing to talk openly about this for many days.

“Ellen has told me if I am ever asked such a question, the answer is always yes.” Jane bent and kissed the child’s fist. “I am His Majesty’s
humble servant, and I am ready to fulfill my duty to God, the King, and England.” She turned her head to look at me, welcoming me to question her.

“Is that what Mrs. Ellen thinks?”

Jane smiled. “Ellen does not want me to say anything that would anger my parents. This is the answer they would have me give. And Ellen counsels me to answer thus so that they will have no reason to be unhappy with me.”

“I see.”

“I enjoy the King’s company,” she went on. “He is … different than his father was. Quieter. Thoughtful. I imagine I could learn to be fond of him.”

We were both quiet as we contemplated the notion that love between two of noble birth often follows long after the vows are spoken and the marriage consummated. Neither one of us voiced the obvious, that fondness might not bloom at all.

Again, she leaned down and kissed the babe’s tiny fingers. “Are you betrothed?”

I shook my head. “No, my lady.”

“Is there someone you wish to be betrothed to?”

Again, I shook my head. Marriage still seemed a long distance off for me, and that thought did not trouble me. There had been a young man in my village, during my growing-up years, who made my heart flutter whenever he was near. He married someone else the summer I turned thirteen. There had been no one since then who made my heart flutter. I did not wish to marry anyone who did not.

“Will your parents choose for you?” she asked.

I stumbled over my response. “I … Of course any young man who wishes to marry me will have to ask my father for permission.” This was not the same, and we both knew it.

But she simply nodded. Her eyes communicated a glimmer of envy, and it occurred to me there was a reason behind her asking.

“If I could choose for myself, do you know who I would pick?” Her cheeks grew crimson, and she smiled as she looked away from me.

My own cheeks warmed a bit as I considered the awkwardness of our conversation. “I am sure I do not, my lady.”

She peeked up at me and laughed lightly. “Guess.”

I fumbled for an answer. “Someone at court?”

Her grin widened, and I saw such hope and expectation there.

“Edward Seymour,” she whispered. “The Lord Protector’s son. The one who sent the letter.”

For a moment, neither one of us spoke. I could see she felt a kinship for me for other reasons besides my holding her the day before while she cried and the closeness in our age. I had seen Edward Seymour’s letter. I hadn’t read it, but I had seen it. I had seen the flowing script, the shape of his letters, the flourish of his pen as he wrote her a note of condolence.

The restlessness I had witnessed the night previous wasn’t because she feared the note’s contents but because the young man whose attention made her blush had sent her a note, and she had been denied the pleasure of reading it. And reading it again. And again.

“I did not think he even remembered me,” she said softly. “I’ve only met him once. But I remember him. I remember how he made me feel. You probably think I am too young to know that feeling.”

I shook my head. “No, my lady. I don’t think that.”

“Did you see him when he was at Bradgate?”

“Aye, my lady.”

“What do you think of him, Lucy?” Her voice was hopeful.

“He … he seems a kind soul. He was polite to your parents and kind to your sisters. He has a winsome smile.”

She grinned and her eyes spoke elation, and then, just as quickly, she
turned apprehensive. “You mustn’t speak of this to the admiral, Lucy. It would vex him if he knew I had affection for his brother’s son. He and his brother, the Protector, they do not … they …” But she could say no more, for the door opened behind us, and Mrs. Ellen swept into the room.

“There you are!” Mrs. Ellen said cheerfully as she made her way to us.

And as she did, Jane and I returned to our normal places—she, the second cousin to the King of England, and I, the humble daughter of a gentleman tailor.

T
he Lord Admiral returned to Sudeley not long after Queen Katherine was laid to rest. He did not announce where he had been while away, but there were whispers among the house staff that he had spent time with Princess Elizabeth, and such whispers were always followed by tittering and smirking. He promptly pronounced to the household the evening of his return that we would be relocating to Hanworth. The reason was not given, but Mrs. Ellen told me the admiral was intent on convincing Jane’s parents to allow her to remain his ward and that his prospects to secure a marriage between my lady and His Majesty were still favorable. Hanworth was easier to reach by carriage. It would be that much easier to fetch Jane back from Bradgate.

Jane was melancholy as we prepared to leave and spoke little as I worked to gather her gowns, hoods, and capes. Later, when I asked Mrs. Ellen if my lady was ill, she said, “Lady Jane was happy here at Sudeley. ’Tis difficult to leave, even with the Queen in her grave. And the babe will not be joining us.”

This surprised me. “Why not?”

She shrugged. “The admiral has no need of the child.”

“Need?”

Mrs. Ellen tipped her head and leaned in toward me. “If you are to be staying with us, the sooner you know this, the better, though if you repeat this to anyone, especially to the Lady Jane, I shall deny I said it.”

She waited for me to acknowledge her and I nodded. But the nod was not enough.

“You are to say nothing of this to Jane,” Mrs. Ellen went on. “She dotes on the admiral. And I’ll not have you spoiling that for her. Do I have your word?”

“Yes, madam.”

She leaned closer. “The admiral only troubles himself with that which will advance his own prospects. Do you hear what I am saying, lass? He is kind to her for a reason. She does not need to know what it is. She deserves such kindness.”

I nodded. Jane’s being here in the admiral’s household was a scheme to secure himself an admirable future, not just her. “What will happen to the babe?” I asked.

Mrs. Ellen pulled back from me. “I hear she’s being sent away to family in the north.”

“Whose family?”

She huffed and crooked her hands on her hips. “You ask the same questions as the Lady Jane. I do not know. And it is of no concern to us.”

She stepped away. The conversation was over. I finished packing the Lady Jane’s wardrobe and saw to its loading on one of the many carriages we were taking to Hanworth. I was not called for again that day.

The next morning we were on our way.

As soon as we were situated at Hanworth, the admiral dispatched a messenger with a letter to Jane’s parents, advising them of our new location and appealing to them to allow Jane to stay on as his ward. He invited the marquess and the marchioness to join him at Hanworth, instead of Sudeley, to secure Jane’s situation.

To Jane’s relief, they agreed to come and discuss the matter.

A fortnight later, on the morning they arrived, Jane paced the rugs
in her rooms, reciting Latin verses to keep herself calm. She waited to dress until she was summoned, so as not to wrinkle her skirt. I thought perhaps she would choose the tawny gown she had worn the afternoon of the Queen’s funeral, but she told me to bring the crimson one with the black trim. I found the gown quickly in the wardrobe room. The gown was deep red velvet with false sleeves of gold damask, turned back with miniver. The skirt boasted a long oval train and a pomander for the waist of gold filigree with a dense perfumed ball inside. The matching gabled headdress looked too big for Jane’s head.

When I brought her the gown and headdress, Jane stood, saying not a word. She did not appear to be fond of the dress I had brought her.

“This is the right dress, my lady?” I asked, suddenly unsure.

Mrs. Ellen had followed me in with a necklace of rubies in her hand. “’Tis the right dress,” she mumbled.

I looked to Jane and smiled. “I thought perhaps you might wear the dress with the gold butterflies.”

“My mother prefers this dress,” Jane said simply, and she held out her arms for the bodice.

I was not called for until late in the afternoon, but I was certain Jane had been allowed to stay with the Lord Admiral. No one summoned me to pack Lady Jane’s wardrobe. From my garret window in the wardrobe room, I saw the marquess and marchioness step into their carriage as the sun began to dip. Jane was not with them. The marchioness was speaking to the marquess as they climbed inside, and her face was pinched with anger. I could not hear what she was saying, but she did not appear to be content. I was surprised they were not at least staying the night.

They sped away, and I listened for voices on the stairs—any kind of
voices—that would let me know what had been decided. Finally, I was called for. I found Jane in her sitting room looking happy but weary. Mrs. Ellen was helping her remove the headdress.

“I should like to get out of this dress, Lucy,” she said to me as I entered the room and curtsied.

“Certainly, my lady.” I went to her. “It went well with your parents?” I ventured.

“They have decided I shall stay.”

From behind her, Mrs. Ellen undid the clasp on her heavy necklace. She was frowning.

I began to detach the sleeves. “You are happy, then?”

“Yes. I miss Bradgate, but I … I should like to be near the Lord Admiral just now. He still grieves for the Queen. And Mama and Papa would have me near London. To be at court.”

Mrs. Ellen caught my eye and gave her head a tiny shake, as one does when one is exasperated.

I removed the second sleeve and began to unhook the bodice. “And shall I be staying with you, my lady?”

Jane turned slightly to look at me. “Mama wanted to send you back, but I asked her if you could stay. Since I will be at court.” She smiled slightly at me.