Maid of the King's Court

by Lucy Worsley

  I must have given an involuntary gasp, for my father gave a little snort of amusement. I quickly snapped my mouth closed. But he could tell that I wanted to know what the tents were for, and he was in a mood to humour me. “They’re erecting extra accommodation,” he explained, “for all the people who have come with His Majesty and Queen Jane. The house, big though it is, isn’t big enough.”

  I knew that the king had recently exchanged the old queen, Queen Anne Boleyn, for a new queen whose name was Jane. This was important News From Court, and I prided myself on being up-to-date. But I couldn’t seem to speak and only just managed silently to nod my head. I was still busy looking at everything.

  My father’s hand closed on my shoulder, firmly but also sternly. “One day,” he said softly, “this will be your home. But you must never forget Stoneton. You will have to do whatever it may take to keep Stoneton standing proud. It’s your duty.”

  I nodded my head vigorously, swallowing hard. My future home was bigger than I’d expected, and consequently I felt that I myself was a little smaller than usual. Would the king even notice me among all those people?

  So it was almost reluctantly that I climbed back on board the wagon, and we clattered down the rolling hillside, through the gardens and into the courtyard.

  Although I thought it would have been exciting to sleep in a tent, Aunt Margaret explained that the Camperdowne family was too important not to have a room in the house. We were allocated a chamber up a staircase off a courtyard. This turned out to be a little smaller and darker than my bedroom at Stoneton, although it was very richly furnished with silver candlesticks instead of pewter, and beer was brought up to us in a jug without our even having asked for it.

  Everyone was pleased to have arrived. Even Aunt Margaret failed to check under the bed for dust and instead told Betsy and Henny to open our trunks as quickly as possible so as to dress for the feast. As Betsy fastened the clasp of Aunt Margaret’s amethyst necklace over her purple dress, I thought that my grey old aunt seemed transformed.

  “You look like the fairy queen!” I said in wonder, and tried to stroke the amethysts. The chill that had fallen upon me earlier was quite blown away by the bustle of getting ready for the party. But she batted my hand away. “What about me — shall I wear my gold dress?” I asked as I tugged her skirt.

  “Child!” Aunt Margaret said. “Of course you won’t be going to the feast tonight. As soon as Henny has brought your bread-and-milk, you’ll be tucked up into this snug bed, and I’ll join you later to keep you company. And sleep deep!” she said, as she must have seen my face fall. “Rest well! Tomorrow you’ll meet your husband, Elizabeth!”

  Half an hour later, Henny had coaxed me to swallow some soggy and oversweet bread-and-milk, and then even told me my favourite story about Sir Lancelot in the hope of sending me off to sleep. But I rebelliously kept my eyes open extra wide.

  “Now then, Eliza!” she said, as I fidgeted about and kicked against the sheet. “Don’t you want to hear how he defeats the monster?”

  “It’s Mistress Elizabeth,” I said, rolling to turn away from her. In the end she gave up and simply left me alone, not unwillingly, I sensed, for I knew that she too wanted to explore the wonders of Westmorland.

  And so did I. Tentatively, as if someone might have been listening, I sat up in bed, and then slipped my feet down to the floor. They met a soft sheepskin, something we didn’t have at home. I wiggled my toes in it and revelled in the luxurious feeling it gave me. It was still summer twilight, and I could examine it quite easily without the need for a candle.

  I pressed my ear to the door, trying to hear the sounds below. There was a low murmur of movement, voices, possibly distant music.

  “Fiddlesticks! It’s just not fair.”

  I spoke right out loud, as if to that imaginary listener. It seemed truly intolerable that I should have been left up here to moulder away by myself.

  In a moment or two, I had lifted the cold iron latch (we had wooden ones at Stoneton) without making too much noise and was looking out at the narrow staircase that had brought us to our rooms.

  I crept down, soundless in my bare feet, regretting that I was wearing my linen shift and not my gold satin dress. The shift itself was rather old and had shrunk in the laundry. I could almost hear Aunt Margaret’s voice in my head, exclaiming at the foolishness and loss of dignity in going about improperly dressed.

  At the bottom of the staircase was a cloister, open to the shadowy courtyard. The cloister was empty, but in the space beyond were torches and figures and sound: such a coming and going, with welldressed ladies scurrying about, kissing each other, and emitting shrieks of laughter, and menservants carrying flaming torches.

  Suddenly, from my left, came a group of men all dressed alike in green, half running, and each of them carrying what I guessed was a different type of musical instrument. I recognised a lute and a recorder, but the rest I had never seen before.

  Once the musicians had scurried out of sight, though, a sudden hush fell over the whole courtyard. It was almost like the blowing out of a candle.

  Everyone remaining stopped walking and sank to his or her knees. Every hat left its owner’s head. A bulky, richly dressed figure was parading slowly through the throng. He was leading by the hand a tiny lady no less lavish in dress, both of them stepping with immense dignity. I could only see their silhouettes, in profile, except for where the torchlight gleamed on the satin and gold of their clothes. Surely this was the king and Queen Jane! I knew for certain, by the response of everybody about them, that these people were powerful, mysterious, and glamorous. They looked like angels from heaven or creatures from another world.

  I almost cried with vexation. I wanted nothing more than to see the king and queen properly. But that would never happen while I was in my underwear.

  Only once they had gone in the direction of the Great Hall did normal life start again.

  “Watch out there, skulking in the dark!” called a voice. I looked along the cloister to my right to see a servant maid, bearing down upon me with an enormous bowl. It might have contained water or someone’s ordure; I wasn’t sure which. I also thought I had better not wait to find out. I whisked about and retreated to my staircase, hoping that the maid was too busy to investigate. With my heart still thudding from the shock of being shouted at, I crept back up.

  Once at our own door, though, I simply couldn’t face the bed to which I had been banished while everyone else was meeting the earl and having a magnificent time. Instead, I climbed up past our door and round several more twists and further doorways. The wall, which had been finely plastered, turned into plain brick, and the floor, which lower down had been swept clean, was scattered with dust and bird droppings. At the very top, I popped out through a little door onto the roof.

  From this vantage point, I could see the whole house spread before me and many of its inhabitants rushing about their business. All the earl’s friends and neighbours must have been in attendance for the king’s visit. I had never seen so many people. Standing on my toes to peer over the brick battlements, I could see lights pricking out in the gardens and a glow inside the red fabric of the tents. I could hear a raucous buzz rising from the hall, where the guests must have been eating, and saw swarms of serving men, like ants, running with dishes across the courtyard. I believe I may have emitted a sigh of pleasure.

  “Seen something, or someone, tasty?”

  I whipped around. A languid young man was uncoiling himself from a kind of step in the roof, where he’d been sitting. He raised the goblet he held in his hand and said, “I drink to you, my lady!”

  I was pleased that he had recognised a future countess, even in her nightgown. I stood a little straighter and raised my chin as Aunt Margaret would have advised. At the same time, though, I had a sneaking suspicion that he was not taking me as seriously as I would have liked.

  The gentleman — for surely he was a gentleman, not a servant — wasn’t old, like my
father or Sir Dudley, but he wasn’t as young as me either. (Later I was to discover that he was eighteen.) He had a dashing curve of dark hair across his forehead, a shirt that was undone all down the middle, and — curiously — no shoes. He’d been sitting on his doublet, and I knew that Henny would have castigated me for crushing such a fine satin garment.

  He didn’t speak like a servant, yet he wasn’t properly dressed. He was up here all alone, yet he had his goblet and more wine beside him as if for a party. Although I tried to hide it by looking prim, I could also tell that he was more interesting than anyone I’d ever met.

  “Thank you, sir,” I replied. Then, after a pause and some inward debate, I dropped the curtsey I felt sure my aunt would have advised.

  This seemed to please him enormously. “Ah, Skinny Ribs has all the courtly arts!” He laughed. “Come and have a swig of wine.” Now I was sure that he was joking. Cross at being called Skinny Ribs, I backed up against the parapet and bristled like a cat.

  “No, thank you,” I said. “I shall shortly be going to dine with the earl.”

  “Oh, so you know the Earl of Westmorland, do you?” he asked nonchalantly, as if he knew all the earls in the world and didn’t think much of them.

  “Indeed I do,” I said, drawing myself up tall, “and one day I shall be the Countess of Westmorland myself. I am already my father’s heiress, though, and our family of Camperdowne is even older than that of the Westmorlands.” I expected another toast, at least a bow of the head, but instead the young man doubled up with a loud guffaw.

  “Well,” he said, “what a little tomcat! Indeed, my lady, you should aim higher in marriage than the f-family of Westmorland.” Curiously, he seemed to have trouble with the word “family” and combined it with a hiccup. “Why not aim as high as the lady Anne Boleyn did, for example? Why not aim for the hand of the king himself?”

  “Well, he is married to Queen Jane now,” I said tartly, ducking backwards. “But of course,” I went on boldly, “I hope shortly to make the king’s acquaintance. Once I am a countess, that is. I’m sure he will be pleased to meet me.”

  At this the young man doubled over as if in pain, but then let out what was surely a hoot of laughter. This enraged me, and for a second I was close to flying at him. I even stamped my foot and slightly stubbed my bare toe upon the brick battlement. But then a thought must have occurred to him that seemed to check his hilarity, for he looked all around, as if to confirm that there was no one else on the roof with us.

  “Of course we mustn’t mention,” he said in a stage whisper, “the possibility of anyone taking Queen Jane’s place. His Majesty is very much in love.”

  Heaving himself up, he came over and stood close to me, still smiling and smelling quite sharply of stale sweat. I could now see spots of wine and other stains on his linen, tainting my first impression of careless glamour.

  At once I felt that the young man, initially so intriguing, contained a hint of menace. “Good night, my master, and God bless your sleep,” I gabbled, as I had been taught, curtseyed again, and backed down the staircase.

  “Good night, my lady tomcat!” were his mocking words.

  And that, as I would later learn, was my first conversation with the man who was to be my husband.

  The row was terrible the next day when it all came out and Aunt Margaret discovered where I had been and what I had done.

  The morning had started well enough. We had all progressed to the earl’s chamber, dressed in our best. At my father’s nudge in my back, I stepped forward, knelt low, and kissed the grand old earl’s hand. My father did not really look like a baron, but this old earl certainly looked like my idea of an earl. His commanding figure, with craggy nose and chin, was on the right scale for the room. It was twice the size of ours at Stoneton, and the earl sat on a red velvet chair beneath a red velvet canopy. But I was hardly able to enjoy a good stare at him, for after my curtsey, I dared not look up at the formidable face. Even then I felt a sneaking feeling of shame at having claimed his acquaintance to the stranger on the roof last night.

  Next there was a long pause, and my father cocked his head in a way that I knew indicated the beginnings of impatience.

  The earl cleared his throat. No one seemed to have the audacity to make conversation. I very much wanted, but did not dare, to ask which of the crowd of men present was my husband. Aunt Margaret beside me was very softly clicking her tongue. This sound forced me to swallow a grin. For once, my aunt wasn’t able to boss her way out of the situation.

  Finally, a servant stepped forward into the room, and I sensed Aunt Margaret shift her weight with relief. Clearly, the hitch in the proceedings, whatever it was, would now be untangled, and we could go on with the meeting.

  But the young man paused, with a show of reluctance. The earl had to gesture sharply at him to speak.

  “As the viscount spent last night with the Mistress Elizabeth, he feels she will accept his apologies for being too unwell to see her in person this morning.”

  There was an extremely long silence, during which I felt rather than saw the disdainful gaze of the earl turn towards me, and then penetrate right through me. I felt Aunt Margaret stiffen by my side, and my father too turned his foxy stare upon me. No one seemed to know what to do. Eventually, my father and aunt took me by each arm and hurried me from the room.

  Back in our chamber, my father looked at me hard. “Leave us, Henny!” he barked out grimly. His eyes never left me while she slipped silently out of the room. “What have you got to say?” he asked, standing very still.

  My heart sank down to my slippers. Hanging my head and mumbling my words, I had to reveal that I had indeed met an unknown young man last night when I should have been in bed. “The Lord have mercy upon us!” said Aunt Margaret almost inaudibly. “She is her headstrong uncle all over again.”

  My father looked at me for a moment, before turning and marching out without speaking.

  I guessed what would happen next, and I was right. Aunt Margaret laid her cane across my buttocks in a manner put aside since I was eight or nine.

  “Bringing — shame — and — disgrace — upon our — family!” she grunted through clenched teeth, matching each word to a stroke.

  “But what have I done?” I howled in genuine misery and despair, trying unsuccessfully to writhe and twist my body away from her reach. “I only went up the stairs. I only wanted to see the party.”

  “You have embarrassed your father, you have acted like a harlot, and you have made me look like I have no control over you,” she snarled, as she raised the cane again.

  Despite my protestations, I knew that I had done wrong. My father and aunt were clearly sickened by my behaviour, but I don’t believe that they were as sickened as I was. I almost swayed with shame as I recalled my boasting and the fact that my husband had seen me in my shift and called me Tomcat. I did not dare to ask what my husband had himself been doing up on the roof, but I assumed that a viscount in his own father’s house could go wherever he liked and drink as much wine as he wanted.

  Once my beating was over, I heard my father speaking sharply in the outer room of our apartment to some emissary from the earl, saying that he would not tolerate the public insult given to his sister and his daughter in front of all those people. And so we left Westmorland House without my having met the king and Queen Jane after all. We departed for Stoneton that same evening in confusion and dismay, missing the week of feasting and hunting that had been planned.

  Our own journey home passed in stiff silence, so different to the holiday air of our arrival. I dared not mention it to my father and my aunt, as I was in such trouble, but I longed to see the bold young man of the rooftop once again. To myself I had half explained away his odd manner. Perhaps he had climbed up on the rooftop because he could read the stars, like a magician. Or perhaps he had been resting up there after a flight on his flying carpet. Maybe, in due course, he would take me with him.

  At home life returned to n
ormal, and no one said anything about my marriage. It seemed that what I had done was too bad even to talk about.

  Weeks rolled by, and with them the haymaking and the blackberry seasons. But I could not enjoy them as usual. No one mentioned Westmorland, and slowly I began to fear that I would never go to live there with my husband after all. Perhaps people were already saying behind my back that I had been rejected.

  “Oh, Sukey!” I would sigh each day, as I took her from the toy chest. “I have a bold, saucy nature. Aunt Margaret says so. You’re so quiet and as good as gold. I wish I were more like you.” And yet I longed, more than anything, to believe that I was still going to be a countess.

  At night I would often cry myself to sleep, and even in the sunny mornings there seemed very little reason to get out of bed. I moped about indoors, unable to settle to any task. I could see that Henny was worried about me, but I didn’t know how to set her mind at rest. How could I?

  I confided only in Sukey.

  “Stoneton might crumble and fall into ruin because of what I did,” I told her sternly. “Henny might have to go and ask for alms from the parish.” A terrible thought struck me. “Or she might even starve.” Blinking hard and throwing my doll down onto the floor, I cursed the silent Sukey for her lack of sympathy.

  One warm evening some weeks later, my father called me to the garden. He sat on the stone seat with a letter on his lap.

  “Eliza,” he said kindly, almost as if I weren’t in disgrace. “You must set your hopes aside of being the Countess of Westmorland. I call down God’s vengeance upon that blackguard family.”

  “Oh, Father, I am very sorry,” I said, throwing my arms around him. “I know I shouldn’t have done it.” A great racking rainstorm of tears overtook me, and I gave way to it almost gratefully. I had tried so hard for so long not to let my feelings show.

  My father seemed a little lost for words and gave me an awkward pat on the back.