by Jane Feather
Rosamund settled down, and as always her surroundings disappeared as she began to sketch from memory the scene on the royal dais when the queen had dined in state with the French ambassador. The man had had an interesting face, and maybe Sir Francis would find the reproduction of interest.
A few minutes before eleven, the countess called her and Rosamund reluctantly put down her pen. She stood up, smoothed down her skirt, and adjusted the ribbon that held her hair away from her face.
The countess examined her with narrowed eyes, then nodded. “Come.”
The door to the queen’s privy chamber was opened at their approach and Rosamund once more found herself in the presence of her sovereign. She knelt and waited.
“Rise, Rosamund.” The queen nodded amiably as the girl rose from her obeisance, and Rosamund’s nervousness lessened somewhat. Her majesty was dressed as richly as ever, gems studding her headdress and gown, a circlet of huge emeralds around her throat. A rather scrawny throat, Rosamund couldn’t help noticing. The emeralds merely drew attention to the wrinkles. But such flaws were lost amidst the dazzle of the royal gems.
“I have work for you to do, child.” The queen gestured to the table where Rosamund had worked the previous afternoon. “You will find letters there. They are poorly written and I would have you transcribe them in a fair hand for my councilors.”
She smiled as she continued, “Some of them, poor souls, have such sadly diminished eyesight that they have difficulty reading anything but the clearest of script. The price of age, I fear.”
There was a touch of complacency, Rosamund thought. Her majesty was gloating a little over her elderly councilors’ physical frailties. She curtsied in acknowledgment, deciding that any speech would be too risky, and hurried to her allotted station.
Chapter Twelve
“LET’S GO ONTO the terrace, Rosamund. Charles Singlebury is playing the lute.” Joan tugged on Rosamund’s sleeve as the two girls crossed the great hall that afternoon towards the open doors and the sundrenched terrace that ran the width of the palace facing the river.
Rosamund could see knots of courtiers on the terrace, but not the one who had attracted Joan’s attention. “As you wish,” she agreed. “Who is Charles Singlebury?”
“Oh, he’s a new courtier.” Joan blushed and her freckles stood out. Swiftly she unfurled her fan, waving it jerkily in front of her face as if she could thus cause them to fly away on the breeze. “The younger son of the Earl of Redmond.”
Rosamund regarded her with a quizzical smile. “And you find him of interest?”
Joan bridled. “No, why should I?”
“No reason that I can see,” Rosamund responded, still smiling. “But then I haven’t met the gentleman as yet.” She followed Joan across the terrace to join a small group of people gathered around a young man, who looked barely bearded, playing his lute with an air of the utmost gravity, quite unlike Will Creighton’s easy nonchalance, she reflected.
“Mistress Walsingham, well met.” The soft, vaguely familiar voice arrested her. She turned and saw Lady Leinster smiling at her, sitting gracefully on the low wall of the terrace a few paces away. Her dark hair was caught up in a snood of silver thread, and she wore a collar of matchless pearls around her throat, one large pearl hanging pendant to the deep cleft of her breasts swelling softly above the pearl-embroidered neckline of her dark blue gown, almost exactly the color of her enormous eyes.
Rosamund curtsied politely. “Yes, well met indeed, my lady.” Lady Leinster patted the wall beside her and Rosamund accepted the invitation, a little flattered by the attention. Joan, oblivious of her defection, had joined the group around the lute player.
Lady Leinster observed as she plied her fan indolently, “It’s a beautiful afternoon.”
“Beautiful,” Rosamund agreed.
Behind her fan Agathe hid her sharp scrutiny of this girl she was to bring to Arnaud’s bed. Why? There was nothing out of the ordinary about her. She was certainly pretty and her coppery hair was beautiful, quite her best feature, together with the large, oval green eyes. But Arnaud wasn’t attracted by simple beauty; if he had been, she would not herself have been his playmate. Apart from her own striking eye color, she was more of a jolie-laide, as the French would say. Unusual, neither pretty nor ugly, but attractive in her own unique fashion.
Mindful of her instructions, she said, “Shall we walk a little on the riverbank? There’s a pleasant breeze down there.”
“I would love to.” Rosamund jumped energetically to her feet, her skirt swinging around her. “I feel so confined after a morning inside, I would be so happy to walk a little.”
Agathe could not herself see the appeal in walking, a languid stroll was as much as she was prepared to contemplate, but she agreed with a smile and rose from the wall, fastidiously smoothing down her skirts.
“If you enjoy outside pursuits, you will enjoy the hunting parties,” she observed. “Not every day is spent in idleness, the court is confined only when the queen has much business to occupy her. She is frequently unwell, with overwork they say, and every now and again she’ll decide to shake the megrims and we will all be on the move . . . a hunting party at Richmond, a day on the river . . .” She waved an expressive hand. “It is always enjoyable.”
“I can hardly wait,” Rosamund said with feeling.
Agathe laughed a soft trill of amusement. “When you have been at court a little longer, my dear, you will discover there are many ways to relieve the daily tedium, even for the queen’s attendants.”
“It must be pleasant to be a courtier but not in attendance on the queen. You may come and go as you please.” Rosamund glanced at her companion curiously. “I understand you’re a widow, Lady Leinster.”
“Yes, and a merry one at that.” Agathe’s light laughter ran up and down the musical scale. “If you’ll take my advice, you will find yourself a rich and careless husband, one who attends to his own business and not his wife’s.”
“Easier said than done, I imagine.” Rosamund was fascinated. “Is that what you did?”
“Leinster was certainly rich and left me very well cared for. He was not however as careless of my business as I could have wished. However, he was careless of himself and a reckless huntsman. A fall from his horse during a boar hunt put a period to his days, I’m afraid.” It didn’t sound to Rosamund as if Agathe’s husband’s loss had caused her much grief.
“And you intend to remain a widow?” It seemed quite possible to ask such questions of Lady Leinster. Something about the woman invited confidential exchanges, and there was no denying that Rosamund could use a little worldly instruction in courtly life outside Lady Walsingham’s carefully instilled precepts.
“Certainly. It’s a most pleasant existence, Rosamund . . . I may call you Rosamund? Such a pretty name.”
“I should be honored.”
“And you must call me Agathe,” Lady Leinster declared, slipping her arm into Rosamund’s. “We shall be the best of friends, I’m sure of it.”
“I hope so.” Rosamund returned the smile.
“Independence, my dear, is the secret to happiness,” her newfound friend informed her as they walked along a busy avenue of plane trees leading to the river. “You choose your own friends, your own pursuits, and . . .” She paused, casting Rosamund a look of pure devilry. “And your own lovers.” She laughed again. “Have I shocked you?”
Rosamund shook her head. “Not really.” She was remembering what Joan had said about Lady Leinster’s romantic escapades.
“Well, you’ll see what I mean soon enough.”
And Rosamund did. Her companion seemed to know everyone they encountered. They passed other couples, and sometimes quite large knots of people deep in laughing conversation. Agathe nodded, smiled, and once or twice paused to chat, introducing Rosamund with a warm, inclusive smile that immediately produced an answering warmth. Rosamund began to feel almost at home for the first time since her arrival at Whitehall. The coldnes
s of her reception among the queen’s attendants ceased to seem important with the realization that outside that tight circle people seemed to behave with normal friendliness and courtesy.
She noticed that Agathe’s manner with the gentlemen they encountered seemed to slip into a light flirtatious mode. She used her eyes and that attractive trill of laughter to best advantage, and Rosamund found that in Agathe’s company she too attracted an easy flirtatiousness from gentlemen courtiers. She didn’t find a similar response natural as yet, but she watched her companion, and listened, noting the gestures, a mock reproving tap of her fan on the arm of one who had made a slightly risqué comment, a toss of the head, accompanied by a flutter of long eyelashes in response to a flowery compliment. It was certainly a very different kind of education from Ursula’s instruction, but it was enlightening and definitely more entertaining.
They strolled on down the avenue until they reached the broad, green sweep of the riverbank. Barges and skiffs plied the wide brown-water thoroughfare, and the singsong cries of the bargemen filled the air.
Rosamund breathed deeply of the fishy, weedy smell of the river. It seemed infinitely refreshing after the stale, muggy atmosphere within the palace.
“Let us sit on that bench. It looks so cool and green.” Agathe gestured with her fan to a wooden bench set beneath a spreading willow a little way along the bank, and Rosamund acceded willingly enough, although she would have preferred to continue walking.
They sat down, Agathe arranging her skirts carefully and making a minute adjustment to her décolletage. Automatic little movements that Rosamund noticed and tried to emulate. “So, Rosamund, my dear, are you finding life as a maid of honor most dreadfully tedious?” Agathe looked at her with a knowing smile.
“On occasion,” Rosamund replied frankly. “But I begin to see there are ways to relieve the tedium.”
“Yes, many of them. Although dalliance is the preferred entertainment among courtiers.” Agathe laughed. “Discreet, of course.”
“I gather the queen does not look kindly on such entertainment.”
Agathe tapped her knee with her closed fan. “She enjoys it herself, my dear, but frowns on any entanglements among her courtiers unless she’s promoted them. But we all become accomplished in the ways of discretion.”
Rosamund wondered if she would ever master that accomplishment. She remembered Will’s outrageous suggestion that she leave the court in a page’s disguise and visit the theatre. Could that be achieved with discretion? It was a novel thought. She glanced sideways at her companion, wondering whether to broach the subject, and noticed that Agathe seemed suddenly preoccupied.
A voice spoke suddenly from behind them. “Ah, what a delightful picture, two young maidens, head-to-head in the shade of a willow tree on a lush riverbank. As always, ma chère Agathe, you have an infallible instinct for the perfect composition.”
Agathe looked up at him with a cool, composed smile. “Chevalier, as always you flatter.”
“Not so.” He stepped around the bench, his hands raised in protestation. He swept off his jeweled black velvet hat as he bowed low. “Mistress Walsingham, such an unexpected pleasure.”
His eyes were fixed on her face and she held his gaze, determined that he would not discompose her. His eyes were such a strange and fascinating color, neither green nor brown, almost golden. They were almond-shaped in his olive-tinted complexion and gave him an almost exotic appearance.
Agathe said quickly, “Shall we continue our walk, Rosamund? Perhaps you would escort us, Arnaud.”
“I would be honored.” He offered an arm to each lady. “Shall we proceed along the river, or turn up that inviting-looking path over there?”
“Oh, the path, I think,” Agathe said, guessing at what was expected of her. “It does look so inviting, don’t you think, Rosamund?”
It looked rather secluded and deeply shaded to Rosamund, but she could see no justification for arguing with her newfound friend and acceded with a smile. Her arm was tucked securely into the crook of the chevalier’s elbow, and after a moment she noticed that Agathe had slipped her own arm free. She felt she ought to do the same but wasn’t sure how to without its seeming discourteous.
They turned into the cool, green shade of a narrow path that wound its way through the trees leading up from the riverbank and back towards the palace. “I heard a delightful nugget of gossip this morning, Agathe,” the chevalier said with a wicked smile, his white teeth gleaming in the dappled light.
“Arnaud always knows the latest intrigue, Rosamund,” Agathe said. “If you wish to know who is having a liaison with whom, or who is about to find themselves banished or sent to the Tower for some indiscretion, Arnaud will tell you.” She laughed, but Rosamund thought it lacked her customary infectious trill.
“It is as well to be informed about these things,” the chevalier said, turning to Rosamund. “The only way to avoid saying something indiscreet oneself is to know absolutely everything about other people’s business. Is that not so, Agathe?”
“If you say so, Arnaud.” Her tone was a little listless and he looked at her with a frown that Rosamund could not see.
“Is the heat affecting you, ma chère?”
“Not really.” She managed a smile. “But if you’ll both excuse me, I think I will return to the palace. I would rest a little this afternoon.”
“Let us go back immediately,” Rosamund said, taking the excuse to slip her hand free of the chevalier’s arm.
“No . . . no, indeed, I won’t have it,” Agathe declared. “You and the chevalier continue your walk.” Before Rosamund could protest, Agathe had flitted away back towards the riverbank.
“I should go with her,” Rosamund said awkwardly.
“No . . . that would only disrupt her plans,” the chevalier said. “Knowing Agathe as I do, she has suddenly remembered an assignation that had slipped her mind, and believe me, Mistress Walsingham, you would only be in the way.” He tucked her hand firmly back into his arm.
Rosamund was at a loss. She had to believe him; indeed, from what she had learned from Agathe in the last hour or so, it seemed highly likely. She had little choice it seemed but to continue her walk under the trees alone with the chevalier.
Arnaud began to talk about court, entertaining her with a series of humorous anecdotes, all told in a droll tone that soon had her laughing. He was doing a wonderful imitation of a particular courtier who, in the belief that it was an attractive affectation, had carefully cultivated a lisp, when the path suddenly opened up into a green, sun-dappled glade.
“What a delightful spot,” she exclaimed. “Quite hidden away.” The only sounds were birdsong and the rustle of leaves as squirrels leaped from branch to branch.
“The world is full of surprises,” Arnaud said. He turned to look down at Rosamund’s upturned countenance and his expression changed.
She felt the change in the atmosphere as clearly as she saw the change in his eyes. They were no longer filled with smiling good humor but instead held a strange intensity that sent a shiver across her scalp. “We should go back,” she said hastily.
“All in good time.” His voice had changed too. His expression was grave and intent as he lightly traced the curve of her mouth with a fingertip.
It was the strangest sensation, part thrilling, part terrifying. She stood mesmerized, waiting for something, wanting to see what would happen even as instinct told her to turn and run as fast as she could back to the thronged riverbank, away from this dangerous seclusion under the trees.
He kept his finger on her lips as he held her gaze with his. “I think I could teach you a few things, Rosamund, that would give us both a great deal of pleasure,” he murmured. “What do you think? Shall I be your tutor?” He bent his head, and his lips brushed hers, making barely an impression yet leaving a trail of tingling warmth.
Rosamund’s throat seemed to have closed. She stood stock-still, staring at him, and suddenly he chuckled. “Oh, dear, I have
frightened you. I forgot how unused you are to our ways. But there’s nothing to be afraid of in these little games we all play, sweet innocent. You will see.” He dropped an avuncular kiss on her brow. “I’ll escort you home now.”
Rosamund felt the ridiculous urge to stamp her foot and announce that she had no wish to go back to the palace. One minute she had been hovering on the brink of an unknown that was both alarming and exciting, and the next he was treating her like an innocent whose naïveté had amused the grown-ups. He was hurrying her back along the path to the sound of voices and the cries of the bargemen.
“You didn’t frighten me,” she stated as the familiar inhabited world grew closer and her confidence returned.
He glanced down at her with that amused glimmer still in his eye. “Didn’t I? I’m glad. Our next lesson can be a little more advanced in that case.”
The promise brought her a frisson of excitement. Why shouldn’t she learn to do what everyone else was doing with impunity? If she kept her head, this worldly-wise courtier could set her on the path to achieving the future that was her goal. If she was to find a husband and a life of her own, independent of her family and away from the admittedly nominal supervision of her brothers, then the court was the place. She would learn much from Agathe, but the exotic chevalier had much to teach her too if he was willing to teach and she to learn.
“Is that a promise?” she asked with a tilt of her head and a lift of her eyebrow that she had observed Agathe employing to good effect.
He laughed delightedly. “I perceive I have a most apt pupil.” He tipped up her chin with a forefinger and kissed her again, but this time when he raised his head, she felt the imprint of his lips upon hers, warm and tingling.
Several afternoons later Rosamund was sketching in the Long Gallery. The weather had broken, and outside, the rain pounded the windows and the vista was an unrelieved gray. The gallery itself was buzzing with richly clad courtiers gossiping or wagering at the gaming tables, against the background accompaniment of musicians playing at the far end of the gallery.