Authors: Kate Emerson
When we slowed to cross a small bridge, I addressed him. “We would both be more comfortable if I had my own horse.” I could already feel bruises coming up on my bottom. “Perhaps I can persuade Sir Lionel to stop at Hartlake Manor.” We would pass quite near the home farm on the main road from Glastonbury to Wells.
He hesitated before he spoke, then kept his voice low. “Best not to anger him, mistress.”
“Why? What would he do?” I whispered, too, keeping a watchful eye on Sir Lionel, who rode some distance ahead.
“Beat you, mayhap.”
“He would not dare!”
“Do not be so certain of that.” He shrugged. “And he could punish you in other ways—by selling that pretty little palfrey he made you leave behind, mayhap. He could sell all the other horses, too, if he had a mind to. He has that right.”
The thought of losing Amfilicia and Bella and Star of Hartlake weakened me. I fell into a brooding silence that lasted all the way to Wells, five miles from Glastonbury, where we stopped to dine. When we continued on our way afterward, we skirted the Mendip Hills. I knew the route we followed well, at least as far as Bristol, having been there many times. Thornbury, I’d been told, lay ten miles farther along the River Severn.
From my pillion, I did not have much of a view of the passing
countryside, although I did occasionally catch a glimpse of a puddingstone cottage or a bank of white ramsons. Once I caught a whiff of wild garlic growing nearby. The journey was long and wearying and inescapably dull. From time to time, I dozed, in spite of the uneven gait of our mount and the roughness of the road, my head resting against the leather jerkin. The steady clop of hooves, the murmur of the many streams we had to cross, and the whisper of the wind stirring the leaves overhead lulled me into a sort of trance.
We spent the night in Axbridge. Edyth and I shared a bed.
She had been a mere girl when she first came to work at Hartlake Manor and was still no more than five and twenty. She sniffled far into the night, but I could not tell if she was weeping. Edyth sniffled a great deal of the time, especially when she was anywhere near a field of grain or a patch of wildflowers.
In the morning, as she helped me dress, she ventured to ask a question that made me wonder if she was as distraught as I’d believed her to be about leaving home. “Bean’t the princess a snicker?”
“A pretty girl? I suppose so. We will know soon enough, when we meet Her Grace.”
I glanced at Edyth over my shoulder—she was tightening my laces—and saw that her moon-shaped face was pink with excitement. Edyth was no beauty. In addition to her other physical flaws—the pale, watery eyes, the squadron of freckles that marred her nose and cheeks, and the large teeth—she had oversized ears, although those and her straw-colored hair were mostly hidden by her coif. I wondered if she thought she’d find a husband in the princess’s household.
“Aught to do with she be passing vine,” Edyth said. “Be we going to the king’s court do ’ee think?”
Her excitement at the “passing fine” prospect of meeting a princess, mayhap even a king, made me examine my own feelings more
closely. I resented that I’d not been given a choice about my future but, now that we were on our way, I could not help but remember how much I had enjoyed my lessons with the nuns, and previous journeys from manor to manor, and my father’s tales of the traveling he’d done in his younger days. He had been to London more than once and had even crossed the Narrow Seas to France. He’d gone to fight the French, and been knighted after the Battle of the Spurs.
I continued to think about these things on that second long day of riding apillion and by the time we neared the end of our three-day journey and were riding through the final flat, tree-filled stretch of land, I was resigned to my fate.
No—I must be honest.
I was young—not yet fourteen years old—and adaptable. I had begun to imagine the pleasures inherent in my new life. As Edyth had said, it would be exciting to meet Princess Mary. I envisioned her household as a place filled with gaiety and laughter. There would be masques and tournaments, feasts and festivals. And as a maid of honor, I would be at the center of them all.
W
e reached Thornbury Castle on the twenty-fifth of August, just one day after the princess’s entourage arrived there. As we rode across the last stretch of countryside, I gaped at the magnificent stone gatehouse rising ahead of us. It had some kind of inscription over the gateway, but I did not have time to make out what it said before we passed beneath to enter the huge outer courtyard.
I had heard that the late duke had meant to raise an army and make himself king. It was easy to imagine hundreds of men and horses gathering in this space. There was a fair amount of bustle and noise as it was. Princess Mary’s many baggage carts were still being unloaded. Servants in blue and green livery and carrying parcels and chests hurried to and fro, delivering their burdens to the royal wardrobe, the chapel, even the kitchens—everything from prayer stools to brass pots.
We had no sooner appeared in the courtyard when one of the servants dropped a chest. It struck the cobblestones and cracked open. To my amazement, books spilled out—more books than I’d
ever seen in one place before. A spindle-shanked gentleman in a clerical gown paled and let out a screech, acting as if his firstborn son had just tumbled to the ground instead of a collection of leather-bound tomes. With loud exhortations to be more careful, he supervised the repacking of the chest and accompanied it when it was carried through to the inner courtyard.
“Dr. Richard Fetherston,” Sir Lionel murmured. “He is the princess’s new tutor. Make yourself pleasant to him, Thomasine. He will likely have considerable influence in the days to come.”
On the journey from Glastonbury to Thornbury Castle, my guardian had repeated this lesson in various ways until I was heartily sick of the subject. I must make myself pleasant. It was my duty to assure that everyone liked me. I should ingratiate myself with those who mattered. Further, I was to keep my eyes and ears open, seeking opportunities to advance myself—and through me, Sir Lionel—at the Princess of Wales’s court.
I nodded to let my guardian know I had heard him, but my mind was elsewhere. There was so much to see. My head swung back and forth as I tried to take in everything at once. Once again I wished I had ridden my own horse. The bulk of the henchman in front of me—he’d unbent enough on the second day of travel to tell me that his name was Oliver—obscured much of my view.
Although I had never seen an outer courtyard quite so opulent as this one, the arrangement of domestic offices was familiar to me. I felt certain that those who worked here were housed in the rooms on the upper level. Where there were stables below, there would be living quarters for grooms in the rooms above. If I craned my neck, I could see flights of wooden stairs climbing the exterior of the building at regular intervals.
That was all I had time to observe before we passed beneath a second gatehouse and entered the inner courtyard. The shield of the
Stafford family adorned the top of the archway above the portcullis. I knew enough of heraldry even then to recognize the four badges the dukes of Buckingham had used for generations—the golden knot, the silver swan, the blue-ermined mantle, and the spotted antelope.
The porter came out of his lodge to greet us. Sir Lionel demanded to know where the princess might be found. His imperious attitude made me wonder if the lodge had a dungeon beneath. I imagined my guardian confined for his effrontery, but it was not to be. The porter did no more than tell him to wait in the second courtyard while he relayed word of our arrival.
This courtyard was much smaller than the first, no more than half an acre in size. Oriel windows opened out onto the open space from the first floor apartments on every side. These would be chambers for the steward and for guests, I surmised, and rooms for upper servants. I had no idea where a maid of honor fell in the hierarchy.
When I dismounted, I was able to see my surroundings in more detail. My nose twitched as I caught the scent of cooking meat and I had no difficulty picking out the entrance to the kitchen. There would be wet and dry larders and a bake house nearby, all on the ground floor. I wondered if Mary Tudor dined, even now, in the great hall. At the thought, my stomach growled. It had been a long time since we’d broken our fast.
The liveried servant who came to fetch us led us away from the succulent smells and into the royal lodgings to the right side of the inner court. I gawked at the luxury surrounding me at every hand. I had heard that large sections of the castle had been left unfinished at the Duke of Buckingham’s death, but it was obvious that he had completed the construction of his own living quarters before his execution. They were very grand and occupied both the ground and upper floors of one entire wing of the castle.
When I’d thought of Princess Mary during our journey, I had imagined a larger-than-life little girl ensconced on a bejeweled throne. It seemed to me that a king’s daughter must always sit in state, anticipating visits from her father’s subjects, even if she was only nine years old.
The first floor presence chamber did indeed contain a chair impressive enough to be a throne, but it stood empty. The princess sat with her women. They were gathered around a large embroidery frame, hard at work stitching religious symbols onto an altar cloth.
Everyone looked up when we entered, but I had no difficulty picking out which one was the princess. She was by far the youngest person in the room. Even if her age had not given her away, her clothing would have. Her kirtle and sleeves were made of white satin and the gown she wore over them was purple damask. The sun shone through the bank of windows behind her. Where it struck the fabric, tiny golden threads glinted merrily. So did the many jewels she wore—rings on every finger, pearls, and a diamond-studded cross on a gold pendant.
When I shifted my attention from Her Grace’s clothing to her face and form, I felt a stab of disappointment. The princess was small for her age, a thin, pale child with eyebrows so fair that for a moment I did not think she had any. As was proper for one of her years, she wore neither coif nor hood. Her best feature, her long, auburn hair, was held back by a jeweled band. Her nose was rather flat, although it was turned up at the end. Her lips were thin and unsmiling.
I gleaned only the most vague impression of the other women and girls in the room. They were all much more simply dressed than their mistress, for the most part in black or russet.
The servant who had conducted us to the presence chamber
presented Sir Lionel to the princess and he, in turn, introduced me. I sank hastily into a deep curtsey. My forehead nearly touched the tiled floor.
“Welcome to my household, Mistress Lodge.” The princess had a high-pitched but musical voice.
“I am honored to be here, Your Grace.”
Daringly, I lifted my head and sent her my best smile. It was met with a hard stare. Disconcerted, I stared back until it came to me that, like Sir Jasper Atwell, Princess Mary was extremely shortsighted. My guess was confirmed when she squinted, trying to make out my features. No doubt the bemused expression on my face remained a mystery to her.
I would have liked to move closer, so that Her Grace could see me more clearly, but when she dismissed me, saying that Lady Salisbury would see me settled, court protocol demanded that I back away from her. Sir Lionel reinforced the rules by grasping my upper arm to guide me to the side of the room. The princess returned to her ladies and the embroidery frame.
We were escorted from the presence chamber to a smaller room. After a considerable wait, a formidable-looking old woman all in black joined us there. In spite of the color, her kirtle, sleeves, and gown all reflected wealth. They had been made of the finest materials and were heavily embroidered. And although it was summer, the sleeves were trimmed with fur. I thought it might be sable, which was forbidden to all but those of noble descent. Her gable headdress was the most elaborate I had ever seen and her fingers were weighed down with heavy rings. When she moved her hands, the scent of jasmine wafted my way.
“So, Sir Lionel,” she said in an acerbic tone, “I see that your suit to the king was successful.”
“His Grace was most obliging.” Sir Lionel’s voice might be rough
but his manner was smooth and well oiled. “As were you, my lady. A token of my gratitude is on its way from London. The goldsmith was putting the finishing touches on it when I left.”
She responded to this announcement with a regal nod.
“May I present my young ward, Mistress Lodge. Thomasine, this is Lady Salisbury, lady mistress of the princess’s household. You will obey her in all things.”
“I will do my best to please you, my lady,” I promised, and made my obeisance to her.
“Excellent.” The old lady looked down her long, thin nose at me. She did not even glance at my guardian when she dismissed him with a wave of one bejeweled hand: “Run along, Sir Lionel. We will manage quite well without you from now on.”
Although I was not sad to see the last of him, or to hear him put so neatly in his place, I felt a distinct twinge of trepidation at being left alone with this formidable woman. Without my having had any say in the matter, she had been given complete control of my life.
Lady Salisbury had a long, narrow face to match her nose, and an authoritarian manner. She made a visual assessment of my person first, then began an inquisition into my qualifications to be a maid of honor.
“Princess Mary speaks Latin, French, and Spanish,” she informed me, “and understands Italian. She can read Greek. What accomplishments have you in language?”
“I can read English,” I mumbled.
“Speak up,” she snapped.
For a moment, I thought her lips twitched, but I must have been mistaken. She did not strike me as a woman much given to amusement.
“The nuns at Minchin Barrow taught me to read. And I can write my own name.”
“You will learn to write more than that while you are here. Her Grace sings and plays several instruments, including the harpsichord, the virginals, and the lute. You will join in her music lessons and those with a dancing master and you will be expected to acquit yourself well.”