by Mary Wine
Helena had learned to live amidst it as well. She followed her queen into the royal chambers. Everything was lavish but not overly so. The former queen had enjoyed good craftsmanship, too, and many of the carvings in the woodwork were from the days when Elizabeth had hungered for art and commissioned some of the most talented men in the world to bring their craft to England. Theater, painting, and even glass blowing had become English arts under her rein, promoting the growth of the middle class.
Musicians began to play, hidden somewhere behind a tapestry. The walls were inset with carvings that were gilded and painted beautiful colors. Water flowed in one of the outside foundations, the open windows allowing the soothing sound inside.
“Do you enjoy music, Lady Helena?”
Raelin McKorey asked the question, while holding the young princess happily playing atop a wooden rocking horse. It was fashioned with a sidesaddle and a silken mane.
“Yes.”
The maid of honor came closer. “Do you play any instruments?”
“Yes, my father had me tutored in mandolin and the virginals.” Her father had considered music a necessary skill in a lady of the court.
Raelin smiled. “My father did as well, but I am atrocious.” A slight Gaelic accent clung to her words, making the girl sound unique.
“I doubt that.”
“Do not, I swear it is true.” Raelin laughed. “But dinna ye mind, no one is skilled at everything.”
The girl’s Scottish brogue was charming. Helena found herself enjoying it. Court had more Scots now that James Stuart was king, but to date she had only heard male voices speaking in the brogue. One of the other maids was listening in. She was a golden blonde with blue eyes that shimmered. She leaned in so that her words would not carry.
“Just make sure you dinnae play cards with Raelin unless you enjoy losing. Her brother taught her how to play like a privateer. She pillages everyone at the table.”
Raelin shrugged, a very odd gesture coupled with her formal, gold, maid of honor gown. “This is Catriona McAlister and she thinks that my brother Alarik taught me to play cards. I would hate to correct her; it might destroy her confidence.”
Catriona snorted softly. She cast a look about to make sure their conversation was not being listened to. “He did and didna tell me he didna. Yer brother is more privateer than not.”
“My maids seem to have taken a liking to you, Lady Helena.”
The queen’s voice silenced Raelin and Catriona instantly. She turned to look at them with a knowing eye. “Perhaps you would entertain us with your knowledge of the virginals.”
Queen Anne pointed toward a lavishly painted instrument. A maid instantly folded back the wood cover to expose the white and black keys.
“I would be honored, Your Majesty.”
A somewhat surprised look crossed the queen’s face but it was replaced by a pleased expression. Helena swept her skirts forward and the maid pushed the small bench seat beneath her. It was all done in a graceful motion that would have made her mother proud. The hours of practicing court manners she’d dictated for her daughter were paying off.
Helena took a moment to remove her gloves. Every ear was poised and waiting on her first few notes. It was a test of her honesty more than a true desire to hear her play. The hidden musicians had stopped to allow her to become the center of attention. But it was a challenge Helena was prepared for. Setting her gloves aside, she placed her fingertips lightly on top of the mother-of-pearl-covered keys. She began the first passages of “Greensleeves” and felt the tension in the room dissipate. Her confidence grew as the song progressed. Her music was not something her brother might use; it was a thing that lived inside her heart. She was never so happy as she was when bringing a sprightly song to life in the air. Her mood only turned somber when she struck the last notes and the virginals quieted.
Soft applause came from the queen and her maids. Even the princess Elizabeth clapped but stopped quickly to grab onto the top of her horse, which was rocking back and forth.
“Delightful, Helena. I am pleasantly impressed.”
Helena rose and curtsied low.
“None of that here in my private rooms. Sit and play. Something happy.” The queen herself sat in a wide, brocade-covered chair. Two of her maids brought her sewing basket to her. Raelin carried over a length of cream linen that was half sewn into a man’s shirt. Helena was slightly stunned.
The queen smiled at her. “Yes, I make my husband’s shirts just like any other wife.”
Helena cast her eyes away, her cheeks coloring for having been caught gaping like an unpolished girl. To make a man’s shirts was considered a sign of affection.
Deep affection.
“How long have you been at court, Helena?”
The queen’s question startled her. Helena raised her attention back to her monarch. “A year, Your Majesty.”
“And yet you still blush. I find that promising.”
Helena turned and sat back on the bench. Her hands began moving on the keys before she really considered what she was going to play. Her memory offered up a soft melody.
Oh, she understood what the queen was hinting at….
But at the same time she was annoyed. There was so much dishonesty around her. Arriving at court had been the completion of years of practice and preparation. As far back as she might recall, all of her energy had been directed toward the moment when she would begin her days among the nobles and ambassadors of England’s court.
Disillusionment hurt. It was the cruelest sort of pain—one that dug into her like a dull knife. Each day she found it harder to scrape together enough hope to face the ritual of dressing. It took over an hour and that was considered quite modest. But sitting for her face paint and hair styling nearly drove her insane. What was wrong with the color of her skin? She didn’t understand why it needed so many powders and colors applied. Her own mother wouldn’t recognize her. Such makeup hadn’t been a part of her training.
Her fingers finished the song but she paused for a moment. Her gaze settled on Raelin McKorey and the fact that the girl wasn’t wearing the heavy face paint that the rest of the court clung to. The Scottish girl noticed her stare, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. The queen was working her needle but chatting with two of her older ladies-in-waiting.
“Forgive me for staring.”
Fingering the keys, Helena tried to force her mind back to the music. Raelin moved closer, her skirts rustling.
“Were ye staring at my scar? If so, simply ask.” There was a hint of unhappiness in the girl’s tone. “I deplore the way everyone stares at it and then pretends it isna there.”
“Oh…no. Not at all. I was noticing how little face powder you use.” Helena’s fingers went still on the keys. She looked at the scar now. “Honestly, it’s not that big of a scar. Which was why I was noticing how little paint you wear. This makeup would cover it up completely if you wished to conceal it.”
Raelin studied her for a long moment. The musicians began playing now that Helena had paused.
“Why do you wear it?” Raelin studied her face. “It sounds like you dinnae care for it.”
Helena sighed. It was a tiny sound that slipped past the years of training. Raelin’s face looked like freedom. She simply couldn’t help looking at it.
“My family expects me to conduct myself according to court dictates.”
Raelin winkled her nose. “It doesna suit ye to paint yer face like the old queen did.” She suddenly smiled. “I know, we shall redo it. Catriona is very good with face powders.”
Raelin reached for Helena’s hand and tugged her up. The maid scurried in and pulled the little bench out from beneath her skirts.
“What are you two about?” The queen looked over her sewing at them.
Raelin curtsied. “Helena wants to try wearing less face paint. I thought I might help her.”
The rest of the ladies and maids of honor waited to see what the queen would say. Her face was smooth
for a long moment before she smiled approvingly.
“I think that’s an excellent idea. I don’t understand these English families painting up their daughters to look like an old queen. You are a girl and should look more like one.”
The other maids of honor all smiled. They skipped to the edges of the chamber, returning with several items. Helena didn’t know where to look first. Raelin sat her down on a wide padded bench. Another girl shook out a wide piece of sheeting and draped it over Helena’s shoulders to protect her expensive court dress.
“Let’s clean this off first.” Raelin sounded so enthusiastic, as if she were about to begin some work of art, her fellow maids of honor all joining in the moment. Helena suppressed a tiny lament. This was what friends felt like. She felt their hands on her, wiping her face clean. Her skin tingled, enjoying the freedom.
Catriona opened a wooden box that had little trays that lifted out. Carefully sorted in the trays were powders and expensive horse-hair brushes. Two other maids of honor surveyed what was on hand. Their eyes sparkled with enjoyment but they pushed their lips into thin lines while they concentrated.
“You have such lovely eyes.” Raelin finished removing the last of the white powder from her face. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a dark-haired girl with green eyes.”
“My grandmother was half French.”
The girls all leaned in to listen, one of them pulling on her hair to release the high rolls it was formed into. As big as her fist, padded rolls were pinned beneath her hair. The girls removed them and replaced them with much smaller ones.
Raelin selected a brush and fluttered it against a cake of powder. She smiled and applied the first stroke to Helena’s cheek. The afternoon seemed to fly by because Helena was enjoying it so much. When Raelin was at last satisfied with her makeup, she carefully replaced all of the brushes and powders before allowing Helena to see her reflection.
“I hope ye approve.”
The girl’s brogue intensified when she was nervous. Helena didn’t wait to really absorb what she looked like; she smiled brightly at Raelin the moment she got a glimpse of her face. It didn’t matter if she liked the new style or not. Edmund would make her wear it to endear herself to the maids of honor among whom he hoped to place her.
At Raelin McKorey’s expense.
Helena swallowed her distaste. There was little point in regretting one of Edmund’s schemes. Her brother had scores of them. Far better to hope that he might lose interest or be satisfied that she had found some favor with the queen without his assistance.
“Dinnae placate me, Helena.” Raelin placed one delicate hand on her hip. Helena stared at the informal pose, amusement tickling her nose.
Raelin pointed at the mirror. “Ye havena even taken a good look yet.”
“But I already like the way my face feels so much better.”
Raelin’s eyes shimmered with emotion. “I didna think of that. But I suppose it was uncomfortable wearing all that thick powder.”
She sat down and angled the mirror up so that it showed Helena a clear reflection of herself. Having the use of a mirror was quite unexpected because they were such costly things. She held it carefully, making sure to maintain a good grip on it, but just to be sure, she allowed it to rest in her lap. The polished surface showed her a very pleasing sight. You could see the color of her skin once more, only a little powder used to smooth her complexion. Her lips were painted, but with a lighter coral shade instead of the blood red favored by the late queen Elizabeth. Raelin had outlined her eyes in a thin brown that made them look a little larger, and there was a touch of rose on her cheeks. Her hair no longer rose so high above her forehead. Neat rolls parted in the center but they were no more than an inch thick.
A little sigh crossed her lips in relief.
“Now that’s much better.” Raelin clapped her hands together, her face shining with her accomplishment. “You and I shall be friends. I will help style you and you will play the music. Her Majesty adores the virginals.”
“That is very kind of you.”
And it was. Raelin McKorey was a maid to the queen, so she didn’t have any time of her own. Besides, her family had placed her there in the hopes that she would accomplish all of the things that Edmund wanted of her. Helena smiled at her, seeing so much of herself in the Scots girl, both of them trying to find their way in a world controlled by men and money.
Helena returned to the virginals, setting her fingers onto the keys with a happy heart. Her spirit felt lighter than it had in weeks. It was for certain that her face was lighter. The queen was nodding her head in time with the music while she worked her needle. It was so beautiful, Helena felt privileged to be a part of it.
Edmund could choke on his schemes.
Chapter Two
“Did the queen invite you back?”
Helena jumped, her mind foggy from slumber. Fear shot through her for a brief moment until she forced her eyes to focus on the yellow glow illuminating the doorframe of her tiny room. Edmund stood there, a sneer of impatience on his lips.
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
There was little point in berating him for waking her so rudely. Her brother might take that as a compliment to his ability to ruffle her feathers. His gaze wondered over her, lingering on her face for a long moment before moving down her body. Her fingers curled around the top of the blanket, clutching it closer. Disgust raked across her.
Edmund snickered at her revulsion. “Don’t flatter yourself, sister dear. I am merely trying to gauge just what manner of body you’ve managed to grow. You’re certainly not pretty enough to have the marriage offers piling up on my secretary’s desk.”
Helena pulled the blanket up anyway, his words giving her little reassurance. It bothered her to have him in her chamber during the night. Her skin itched with distaste.
“I’ve done what you asked, Edmund. Go on and let me rest.”
His face changed, his lips thinning into something quite ugly. She was accustomed to his schemes but this was deeper somehow. Greed shimmered in his eyes.
“I haven’t even begun to tell you what I want you to do. But I’m not surprised that you can’t understand what needs to be done for our family to succeed.” His eyes traveled down her length once more, his lips curling back in disgust. “You’re just a female, nothing but a bitch that can speak. It falls to me to give you direction.”
He left her doorway, the light of the candle fading down the hallway. It left her in darkness because her shutters were closed. Rolling over and reaching up, Helena found the inch-wide metal rod that secured them. She did it easily from hundreds of repetitions. Pulling it loose, she allowed it to hang by its chain, and propped herself up on one shoulder so that she might open the shutter.
Edmund would have a fit if he knew she opened the shutters at all. Her room wasn’t really a room but an attic. He’d had a set of steep stairs built when her parents sent her to join him in the London town house. Residences near the palace were costly and in great demand but she slept in the attic for another reason.
Edmund was selfish.
She smothered a giggle and pulled one shutter open. The night sky was magical. Well, only if one admitted to believing in magic. That wasn’t very wise. James didn’t seem to have the same zeal for witch hunting as some did, but there were men on his privy council who did.
She pulled the blanket up to her nose to hide any reflections of the moonlight off her plain nightshift. Keeping absolutely still, she could look out over the rooftops of London. She only did it when the moonlight wasn’t pointing toward her window. The night was beautiful. Searching the heavens, she located constellations she had first seen in books. Peace settled over her. This was the time that was solely hers. She treasured it.
The corners of her mouth twitched up just thinking about what Edmund might do if he knew how much she adored the tiny attic room.
She hoped nothing. He was her brother, after all. It was sad to think th
ey would never like each other. She still held out hope that they might find some topics that they agreed upon, possibly even enjoy conversing on.
To date it had not happened. The moment she arrived in London, Edmund had begun telling her what he planned for her to do. What use he had for her. It was disheartening, to say the least. They were blood but honestly they were little more than strangers. Edmund had left their family estate at the age of six and she had been barely out of swaddling at the time. He returned from time to time but never for long. Her memory held brief recollections of him at different ages, but it was likely that she held those memories due to the paintings her parents commissioned of their only son. They were huge oil canvases, ones that hung proudly in the dining hall of their estate. She hadn’t really known what to expect upon her arrival. What she’d found was a man who was a stranger to her.
Edmund wore lace and ribbons set with gold tips. Pearls adorned his doublet and his slops were full and round. His boots were always polished and freshly blacked. Lace edged the ruffles of his shirt. The thing that looked the most out of place on him was the sword he had strapped to his hip. The hilt was gilded and polished. Edmund had a habit of resting one hand on it, almost lovingly. He was every inch the courtier. His life revolved around the gossip. The first few days she had attended with him, she had stared in wonder while he made his rounds. He wasn’t alone in that. Hundreds of people were crowded into court. They competed for appointments with the king. Bribes were frequent and high. Seating at banquets cost you a good amount of silver if you wanted to be seated next to the person of your choice. Edmund dictated every move she made. No one danced with her without his permission. She did not go where he did not bid her to go.
Just like today with the queen…
Raelin and the other girls who served as maids of honor came to mind. Even their dresses were uniform. In spite of having known her so short a time, Helena found herself liking the Scots girl. A desire to return to the queen’s private chambers was growing stronger, but not due to any direction from her brother.