Spark

by Catherine Friend

Harriet just glared at me. “You’re a horrible person. Why did you lie to me?”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re not Nicole, you’re Lady Blanche Nottingham. And I swam and talked with you as if we were equals. Not only could I lose my job for such familiarity, but I feel like an idiot.”

  I reached for Harriet’s hand and when she tried to tug herself free, held on. “I’m sorry for lying to you, but who cares if I’m Lady Blanche? We’re just two women who need to wash our hair more often than others. I really had a good time the other night, and I want to do it again. It won’t be as frightening walking through the park if we’re together.” I squeezed her hand. “I really need a friend.”

  Harriet’s white skin stood out in the shadows under the desk. She pursed her lips, such a cute look I wanted to reach over and caress her cheek, but she was still too angry for that. Even though we were crammed together under the desk, she held herself apart. “Apology accepted, but you understand that you and I cannot be friends.”

  I smiled as wickedly as I could. “Just try and stop me.”

  She laughed in spite of herself. “I should leave now.”

  I stayed her with a touch. “I’m not ready yet. In fact, hiding here with you like a couple of naughty children has been the most normal I’ve felt in too many weeks.”

  Harriet nodded, eyes dark in the shadows beneath the desk. “But the others told me that you have been with the Queen since she took the throne, that you are her favorite.”

  My throat tightened. How I wished I could confess everything to Harriet and not have her think me insane. “Yes, well, I am telling the truth when I say that my life is as foreign to me as if I’d found myself living on the moon.”

  Harriet’s appreciative laughter fed my relief at finding a palace resident who didn’t hate Blanche or fear her or expect her to conspire against the Queen. “No more lies,” she said. Then she rolled onto her knees and crawled out from under the desk.

  Grunting with the effort and hampered by my blasted stomacher, I did the same, wondering if not mentioning that I was from the future constituted a lie. By the time I stood, smoothed down my skirts, and adjusted my breasts so they weren’t in danger of popping out like two rosy Jack-in-the-boxes, Harriet was gone.

  Vincent and I stayed out of Elizabeth’s way for a few more hours, then we decided it was time to face the music. I inhaled for courage, then strolled into her chamber, where the room was aglow with a fire and the women were gathered around sewing. Elizabeth was eating a slice of some sort of fruit.

  Everyone looked up, faces alarmed at my arrival. Elizabeth raised her eyes from her book. “Ah, here is our Spark, come to entertain us. Sit beside us and play. We are tired of councilors and courtiers and battles over our matrimonial state. Why will these bloody fools not leave us alone?” She tossed Vincent a treat from the small table beside her. Whatever had gotten her royal knickers in a bunch earlier had obviously been forgotten.

  I perched on the nearest stool and picked up the stringed instrument with a shaking hand. The only music I knew how to play was an old Beatles song on the piano. Blanche Nottingham needed to take over again because the more time I spent with people less easily fooled, like Elizabeth, the greater the risk that I would lose my position.

  But when I placed one hand on the neck and the other against the strings, intending only to strum tunelessly, my fingers took over and played something soft and light. I couldn’t take my eyes off my hands. I was playing the lute! Clearly, Blanche’s body remembered.

  I cleared my throat as I played. “Someone mentioned that you sought me earlier.”

  “Yes, and when we could not find you, it put us in a terrible temper.”

  “You weren’t angry with me over something else?”

  “No. Do not repeat this, but we do recognize that sometimes our royal person can get too easily piqued when events do not go precisely as we wish them to. We could not find you so we grew angry.”

  “I’m sorry to be the source of such emotions,” I said. “But if I’d heard you I certainly would have responded. It’s not as if I were hiding from you under a desk or something.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Ho, that is an image to make us smile, that someone dare hide from her sovereign under a desk.”

  It felt good to make Elizabeth laugh. When she finally stopped chortling, she laid a hand on my shoulder. “Ah, our beloved Spark, we cannot recall the reason we sought you, but we are sure it was to lighten our heart.” She sat back in her chair. “Kat tells us you sent comfort to one of the Tower prisoners. That was unusually thoughtful of you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I have another friend I would help as well. Harriet Blankenship works in the laundry, but her skills are wasted there. She can read and has an excellent speaking voice. With your majesty’s leave, I thought she might join us of a night and read to you when you grow weary.”

  The queen narrowed her eyes, then nodded. “We would enjoy that. But, Blanche, all your caring for these people marks you a changed woman from the Blanche we knew but a month ago. Perhaps it is time for you to direct such love toward a husband. You are well past the age.”

  I blinked, and Elizabeth laughed. “Fear not, dear Spark. We have no plans to marry you off just yet, but I think it is time to begin considering a husband for you.”

  The ladies murmured in agreement. I cleared my throat. “Ma’am, while I appreciate your concern, I do not think I am yet ready to marry. I would prefer to continue serving you.”

  “You can do that as a married woman.” The queen motioned me forward, then clasped my chin and pulled me so close our noses touched. Her breath smelled of venison and ale. “Dearest Blanche, when the time comes that we want you to marry, you shall do so as a devoted citizen of this realm. Do you understand us?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She released me and I retreated to my stool. Crap. I was getting pulled deeper and deeper into Blanche’s life.

  Chapter Twelve

  The days blurred into weeks as the line of notches on my table leg lengthened. We were always required to be close at hand should Elizabeth want to do something. We all crowded into coaches when she wanted to go out and be seen by her people. We went with her when she watched a tilting or tennis match. Tennis in 1560. Who knew? And most of the time, Dudley was there with us. The center of attention most of the time, the tall, straight-backed man had an easy laugh. He sported a trim black beard and gray eyes that sparkled. Three times now, when the Queen was busy talking with someone else, he’d caught my eye and winked.

  Robert Dudley, the man Elizabeth yearned to marry. I struggled to dredge up details from the books I’d read. He was not nobility, but he’d pissed off many nobles with his arrogant habit of inserting himself into decisions without being asked. He wasn’t on the Queen’s council, yet he acted as if he led it, as if being the Queen’s favorite placed his opinions above all others. He also acted as Elizabeth’s lovelorn suitor and she lapped it up like a kitten lapped cream.

  Elizabeth’s eyes almost always followed him, no matter where the activity, and her face softened whenever he looked at her. Note to self: Do not encourage Robert Dudley. It would be an excellent way to get kicked out of the palace. Life was bearable only because I had food and a place to live. But if I displeased Elizabeth and she “fired” me, I’d have nowhere to go. Maybe I’d have to knock on Ray’s cell door and ask to bunk with him.

  The more I encountered Dudley, the more I agreed with Cecil and Winston. The country didn’t need an ego-driven Master of the Horse swathed in ermine to be its king.

  At least our activities involved movement and being outdoors. My least favorite time was sitting in the presence chamber, mingling as Lady Blanche Nottingham was expected to do. Being a courtier was like playing a card game without knowing any of the rules. Certain men smiled politely, others gave me such cold looks I even shivered once. Blanche had obviously alienated many people at court, and I was stuck with whatever she’d done. While the room hummed w
ith voices and laughter, it also vibrated with tension. People were fearful of making a misstep, while at the same time hoping to witness the mistakes of others.

  It felt a bit like the scene my roommate Mary and I used to take in Friday and Saturday nights at our favorite campus bar. Mary called it visiting the zoo, maintaining that if you spent enough time perched on the corner bar stools you could witness the full range of human interaction—falling in love, falling out of love, awkward conversations, money fights, jubilation, depression. Mary was a great student of human behavior, and I wish I’d paid more attention to her pearls of wisdom so I could better “read” this crowd of courtiers.

  I’d been here long enough to know that the man in the ermine cape in his late thirties, who often bent his head in consultation with Elizabeth, was William Cecil. Elizabeth’s trusted secretary was also her spymaster until he died an old man. He might be someone I should befriend, so when he passed me early one afternoon, I stood and smoothed out my skirts. “Lord Cecil,” I said, my mouth dry. “You’re looking good this day…I mean, you’re looking well.”

  No one had yet commented on my English, which would have sounded like a foreign language, but there must have been enough of Blanche still in this body for communication to work. I probed my mind gently but could not feel any mind but my own.

  The man’s gaze chilled me to the bone. “Do not expect your wiles to work on me, Mistress Nottingham. Your father, the earl, was no friend of mine, nor the Queen’s. That your head still rests on that pretty neck is a surprise to me. Our Queen is generous to a fault.”

  I forced a laugh. “Come now. Let’s forget the past. No hard feelings, whatever happened. Friends?”

  Cecil leaned closer, so I did the same, imagining he could see down my gown all the way to my navel. “Step lightly, girl. You may find yourself up to the neck in quicksand and none in this room will lift a finger to save you.” In a swirl of brown velvet cloak, the man stalked away. Damn it. Besides the Queen, was there anyone who liked Blanche?

  After he left I spent some time fuming about my gowns. They made women so dependent on everyone around them. Were I to fall in this gown, I would be like a turtle stuck on its back, unable to right itself. The stays and boards were too stiff to allow any natural movement. It struck me that the gowns were the sixteenth century equivalent of S&M chains and tight black leather. Apparently, restraint was erotic in any century, at least to some people.

  Late afternoon of an endless day filled with stupid courtly activity, someone pinched the back of my arm. I whirled to face Lord Winston wearing an unpleasant smile. “We meet again.”

  I scowled. “Another perfectly fine day ruined.”

  Now his smile was real. “The more I disgust you, the deeper runs my desire. It has been six weeks since I took you in the park. I wish to do so again.”

  Hell’s gates. I growled low in my throat when it hit me that he’d said “take you in the park,” not “take you to the park.” I didn’t know who to be more disgusted with, Winston or Blanche.

  Winston dismissed my anger with a wave and leaned closer. “Why have you not sent me word? We are tired of waiting.”

  I twisted free. “Dudley comes and goes from the palace without warning.”

  “We must create the moment we want.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve decided to bow out, since—”

  Winston moved in so close others might have thought he was about to kiss me, but I could see the flint burning in his eyes so knew differently. “You are not going to bow out, my sweet little cunt. What would the Queen do if she were to learn that her virginal Blanche could no longer be sold off to a bridegroom as pure? When I reveal what you and I have done, you will lose all prospects of an advantageous marriage. Your father’s debts have left you existing solely on the Queen’s good graces.”

  “God’s teeth, you are such a prick.” One eyebrow shot up, but he looked amused rather than threatened. God, I hated this man. “I’m not going to help you murder Dudley.”

  “Perhaps we will proceed without you, but you will be implicated nonetheless.” Winston bowed, a movement dripping with sarcasm, and moved to another cluster of courtiers.

  I closed my eyes for just a second, willing the tableau to change when I opened them. It did not. I retreated to the nearest window bench and leaned back against the wall, welcoming the cool against my steaming back. When Vincent hopped onto my lap, I spread his ears out across my skirt and began picking out bits of leaves he’d picked up outside. I wished he could come with me when I returned to my own body, but that was impossible. When Vincent sighed with contentment, I sighed with boredom and a smidgen of worry. I had friends in Ray, Harriet, and, I think, Jacob, but none were as powerful as Lord Winston or William Cecil.

  I flexed my hands and straightened my back. Hope. Don’t lose hope, Jamie Maddox.

  I imagined that hope was a balloon floating by that I could reach up, grab, and hold tightly to my chest.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day, the sky darkened wonderfully, and I spent a great deal of time out on a west balcony watching the storm approach. Would this one contain lightning? Could my ordeal soon be over?

  I’d always loved storms. My friend Ashley and I would stand inside my open garage and perform song and dance routines with umbrellas to Queen, George Michael, and Uncle Cracker. We’d leap out into the rain and sing as loudly as we could, punch drunk with the knowledge that no one could hear us.

  But this storm refused to land. Instead, I spent most of the day stuck inside with the other women listening to the buzz about the attempt someone had made on Robert Dudley’s life the night before. As a result, security had increased throughout the palace. I hung back at the edges of the different groups, managing to piece together that at dinner Dudley had put a piece of meat in his mouth then spit it out when he tasted something off. He tossed the chunk to the nearest dog—thank heavens Vincent had been with me—who foamed at the mouth and fell over dead one minute later. Dudley laughed it off as a mistake, but that afternoon Cecil took all the ladies-in-waiting into the Queen’s chamber and warned us not to accept any gifts on behalf of the Queen, especially none that she might wear next to her skin since gloves and scarves and elaborate lacy collars could have been soaked in poison.

  Lord Winston was not in court that day, the coward. But I spent hours worrying the inside of my cheek. If Winston managed to kill Dudley—with or without my help—it could change the path of history. With Dudley dead, Elizabeth would likely give up hope of marrying for love and yield to the pressure from her council to marry, especially to England’s advantage. If Elizabeth married, her husband would rule as king, and she would never become the ruler she was meant to be. History would be altered forever. I hated being the only one who knew that.

  After an evening meal of venison soup in a bowl of fresh bread, which was more edible than lunch, we sat around the Queen’s chamber stitching, which I hated. When my full stomach gurgled loudly enough that the Queen snickered, I prayed my earlier nausea wouldn’t return. The storm still hadn’t hit, but I would find a way to get outside once it did.

  Kat Ashley entered, leading Harriet straight to the Queen. I’d expected Harriet to be intimidated, but she held her head high as she looked around the room to take it all in. Unexpected pride warmed me as Harriet’s eyes shone with interest and excitement, not fear. Her hair was pulled back and covered with an ivory kerchief. Her brown dress was a bit worn but clean and well made.

  She curtsied deeply before the Queen.

  “Rise, my dear. Lady Blanche has informed us that you are skilled at reading.”

  “Lady Blanche is very kind. I am passable, but I do love books.”

  Elizabeth pulled a book from the stack on the table next to her. “We are ready to hear some Latin poetry this evening.”

  The women around me tittered and my jaw tightened. While a country girl might have learned to read English, it was extremely unlikely that s
he would know Latin. Then I remembered reading that Elizabeth enjoyed putting others on the spot.

  But Harriet curtsied once more, then graciously sank onto the tapestry stool nearest the Queen. She opened the small, leather-bound book, flipped through several pages, then began speaking Latin in a clear, confident voice.

  The Queen stared, a bit slack-jawed, then threw back her head and laughed. She began to clap, and we quickly joined her. “Read on. We must confess we are astounded. Our prank has come to naught thanks to your abilities.”

  We all returned to our stitching as Harriet read. I had no idea what the words meant, but her voice held me spellbound. The Queen rested her head back on the chair, now and then mouthing some of the words.

  As she turned the page, Harriet caught my eye and winked. I was so charmed I wanted to throw my arms around her but managed to keep the needle going instead. While I’d been impressed with the women I’d met—for the most part, kind and intelligent—Harriet intrigued me like no other.

  Thirty minutes later, when out of the corner of my eye I saw lightning streak across the sky, I was ready for the thunder that cracked overhead, but a few of the ladies yelped and Harriet stood up so fast she dropped the Queen’s book. Her face had gone splotchy red. “A storm,” she said, her voice no longer strong but quavering.

  “We are safe here,” I said, my mind racing for a way to leave the room without angering the Queen.

  Thunder rolled through the palace, rattling a few candlesticks. “Oh no!” Harriet gathered up her skirts and fled the room.

  We all turned toward Elizabeth, tense as patients awaiting the bad news. No one left the Queen’s presence without permission. No one.

  “Well, the poor girl seems to have lost her head.” Elizabeth’s face softened. “But our dear brother Edward had the same fear of storms, so the girl is not to be punished for her abrupt departure. Lady Blanche, make sure she isn’t cowering under a dusty desk somewhere.”