‘I hope there isn’t a ghost,’ another girl says with a frightened look and we all look at her in alarm. ‘My mother told me that one of Henry’s queens, the youngest one, Catherine, who was beheaded for consorting with other gentlemen, haunts the palace and you can hear her screams at night as she tries to escape her guards over and over again in the long gallery in the King’s apartments.’
I shudder. ‘How horrible.’ That poor girl. I peer at the dark portraits of simpering dark haired ladies that hang on the panelled walls and wonder if any of them was she then give a tiny shrug and sit down in front of the small dressing table, which is already littered with my things.
The ladies immediately begin to flutter around me, fussing with my ringlets, straightening my pearl necklace and helping me decide which dress to wear to dinner, not that it matters for we are all still in mourning so my choice is limited to black, blacker and blackest silk. They chatter and gossip and giggle but I hear none of it for not one of them has the voice that I most long to hear. I stare at my reflection, so pale with blue shadows beneath my eyes, and remember how Mary used to come and talk to me while I was getting ready for the evening and how she used to sing and tell stories and pull faces behind me until I was almost helpless with laughter.
She would probably find the story of poor little Queen Catherine utterly hilarious and would no doubt have insisted that we go out ghost hunting in the dead of night, giggling like schoolgirls and clutching our candlesticks in trembling fingers. I sigh sadly. Will I ever stop missing her? Or Harry either?
‘Isn’t it strange,’ I say aloud to no one in particular as they start to unlace my black satin bodice. ‘Isn’t it strange how one minute someone is there and the next they are nothing at all? I pity the man whom once he is dead, does not have the memories of others to live out his existence.’
The ladies fall silent and I sense their nervous looks at each other, philosophical discussions not precisely being in the remit for a lady in waiting these days. Perhaps I would have fared better under the aegis of my distant cousin Queen Elizabeth, who by all accounts liked to surround herself with ladies as learned as herself.
I sigh and return to my contemplation of my own face in the mirror, a pursuit that offers me no satisfaction but at least offends no one here present unless they are secret Puritans, I think looking at my silly frivolous ladies with suspicion.
We hear no unearthly screams in the night, in fact I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a better night’s sleep and I awake in my huge curtained bed feeling utterly refreshed. I’m also ravenous and fall like one starved upon my breakfast of hot chocolate, bread and jam which is brought to me by a blushing, freckled little maidservant. ‘It’s been snowing again,’ she says to me nervously as I polish off my hot chocolate. ‘The palace looks properly lovely when the snow is on it.’
I immediately swing my legs out of the bed and pause only to wrap my thick embroidered crimson silk counterpane around my shoulders before dashing to the paned window which overlooks the gardens. ‘What a delight,’ I whisper, my breath misting up the ancient glass window panes as I enjoy the perfect and unblemished blanket of crisp white that covers everything even the statues that decorate the old fashioned knot gardens with their barren and sadly denuded rose bushes.
A movement catches my eye and I rub at the misty glass to see Rupert walking just beneath my window. As I watch, he glances up and for a moment we look at each other before I remember that I am dressed in nothing but my plain linen nightshift and an old counterpane and that my hair hangs in untidy curls about my shoulders. I blush and glance quickly away and when I look again a moment later, he is gone.
I spend most of the morning with Mam, sitting beside a cosy fire in her bedchamber and listening to her reminisce about her honeymoon which was spent at Hampton Court. ‘I was just fifteen years old,’ she says, her dark eyes misty as she revisits the past in her mind, ‘and I thought myself the most fortunate princess in all the world that I should be chosen by such a man as your father.’ Despite myself I listen with rapt attention, drinking in every detail from the romantic walks they took together in the grounds, to childish games of hide and seek in the musty old galleries to an abortive attempt to sail a little boat together on the river. ‘Your father was always very nervous of water after his elder brother drowned while swimming in the Thames,’ Mam says softly.
‘He was not meant to be king then,’ I say with some surprise for no one has ever told me of this before.
Mam shakes her head sadly. ‘No, and ought never to have been so.’
In the afternoon, I don a heavy fur lined cloak and my sturdiest boots and take a walk in the gardens, enjoying the brisk winter air and the occasional shower of snow from the trees that criss cross over the avenue. When I have gone far enough, I turn and look back at the palace, enjoying the way that the sun strikes its multitudes of mullioned window panes, making them sparkle in the light.’
It is the loveliest spot is it not?’ a familiar voice says close to me and I turn to see Rupert regarding me gravely.
I smile and put my hand on his offered arm. ‘It is indeed,’ I say. ‘And so romantic too,’ I add with a slight warmth in my cheeks.
He laughs then. ‘Your mother has been telling you tales about her honeymoon?’ he asks. ‘Your father liked to talk about it too. I think it must have been a singularly happy time for them.’
‘I wish that it could always have been so,’ I murmur.
We walk along the avenue back to the palace, our black clothes a bleak contrast to the snow covered grounds. At first we walk in silence but then, tired of the thoughts that roll and rumble through my mind, I ask him to tell me some stories about his adventures.
He quirks a quizzical eyebrow at me. ‘I expect that you have heard that I turned to piracy?’ he asks and for the first time in days I genuinely laugh as I first try to pretend that this was not the case and then have to concede the truth.
‘It’s Harry’s fault,’ I say with a grin. ‘You were his hero, you see.’
Rupert gives a sad smile. ‘Ah, Harry.’ He gives a little nod. ‘What a fine man he would have been.’
I give him a look. ‘I’ve heard it said that he was the best of my brothers,’ I say quickly. ‘That they should have made him king instead of Charles when they had the chance.’
Rupert pulls a face. ‘Now who told you that, I wonder?’ he muses, pausing for a moment to look back down the avenue to where we started out.
I blush. ‘The Duke of Buckingham,’ I say softly.
‘I might have known.’ He sighs and starts to walk again, taking long strides and letting my hand slip from his arm so that I have to run a little to catch him up. ‘You’d think that by now your family would have learned not to listen to anything one of the Villiers clan have to say,’ he says grumpily.
I feel thoroughly reproved. ‘It’s true though, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘Mam thought for a long time that Cromwell planned to make Harry king after our father was executed.’
Rupert hesitates then takes my hand. ‘Yes and so he did,’ he says grimly. ‘Harry would never have agreed to such a plan though,’ he adds as my face falls. ‘Your father’s fate served as warning enough to him of what would likely lie in his future should he ally himself with Parliament.’
‘I would have thought that the prospect of Mam’s rage would have been even more off putting,’ I say wryly. ‘Poor Harry. I wish that I could have seen him again, just once, before he died.’ To my horror I start to cry. ‘I wish that I could have been there with him,’ I gasp between sobs as my cousin stares at me in horrified sympathy.
‘Minette,’ he says in a thickened voice before awkwardly pulling me into his arms and for a brief second I feel his lips brush against my forehead, his touch so light that I wonder if I had imagined it.
‘Rupert…’ I stop, not knowing what I was going to say. I barely come up to his shoulder and nuzzle a little into his chest, breathing in the rich scent of oranges and
spice that clings to his coat. ‘I wish that I could stay here forever,’ I say at last, not knowing if by ‘here’ I mean Hampton Court or within the warm and complete circle of my cousin’s embrace, feeling far safer than I have ever felt before in my entire life.
‘I wish you could too,’ he murmurs against my hair and we stand close together for a moment as the snow swirls gently around us, dusting his shoulders and chestnut wig and tickling my nose. ‘Come, we should go back,’ he says at last and with a regretful sigh I move away and brush the snow from my hair before putting my hand on his arm again and letting him lead me back to the palace.
Charles comes to see me while I am dressing for dinner, half a dozen long eared spaniels carousing in his wake, their sharp claws skittering on the polished wood floor as they scamper off to investigate the corners of the room while my ladies giggle and flap at them with their skirts.
‘Is it always this noisy?’ my brother says with an ironic smile above the sound of barking and laughter.
I give a little shrug. ‘Only when you are here,’ I retort. ‘It was all perfectly peaceful before you turned up with your dogs.’
Charles laughs and sits on the bed, where he proceeds to run an appreciative eye over some of my ladies. ‘I should visit more often,’ he remarks, winking at pretty Lettice who goes scarlet with embarrassment and sketches an awkward curtsey.
I glare at my brother. ‘You are a disgrace,’ I hiss.
He grins. ‘I know.’
‘At least James knows how to behave,’ I continue.
Charles scoffs at this. ‘Then you really don’t know our brother,’ he says with an amused look. ‘He’s just as bad as me. Worse in fact although his mistresses are usually so ugly that I’ve often wondered if he’s been ordered to take them on as a penance for some hitherto undisclosed but terrible wrongdoing.’
‘Whereas yours are visions of beauty,’ I reply, thinking of Jemmy’s mother, Mrs Barlow, standing at the gate to Colombes, her skirts soiled with mud and her face pale and drawn.
My brother looks at me. ‘Every single one has been a perfect peach,’ he says before reaching out to take my hand and draw me to him. ‘I know that you are thinking of my Jemmy’s mother,’ he whispers. ‘I know that you must think very ill of me for treating her so shabbily.’
I shake my head. ‘I did at the time,’ I concede after a moment’s hesitation, ‘but I am older now and I know how complicated these things can be.’
He sighs and reaches up to stroke a stray ringlet away from my face. ‘I never meant to do Lucy any harm. I thought only of the boy and how best to serve him. If I had truly thought that he would be better off left with his mother then believe me when I say that I would have left him there in a heartbeat. She was wrong for him though, in every way and I could not in all conscience leave my son to be brought up by her.’
‘So you stole him away,’ I say in a low voice. ‘You sent someone to distract her and then when her attention was elsewhere, someone else snatched him from her.’
He looks a little ashamed. ‘I did not know what else to do, Minette,’ he says. ‘I was desperate. You don’t know how they were living.’
I turn to my ladies then and ask them to leave and take the dogs with them, waiting until the last one has filed out and carefully closed the door behind her before I take my brother’s hands in both of mine. ‘I thought you did wrong at the time, Charles, but I have since seen your boy bloom and blossom into a fine young man and one that is quite different to the frightened child that Lord Croft brought to us over two years ago.’
My brother smiles and kisses my hands. ‘I knew that you would understand one day,’ he murmurs against my fingers. ‘I would like to think that you will always understand me better than anyone else, Minette.’
‘I would like that too,’ I say with deep satisfaction.
We share a smile and then he releases my hands and changes the subject. ‘I saw you walking with Rupert earlier on,’ he says carefully, watching for my reaction. ‘There’s no need to colour up, little Miss.’
‘There was no harm in it,’ I say, chagrined to feel my cheeks burning ever brighter. ‘I regard Rupert as another brother.’
Charles looks thoughtful. ‘Do you indeed?’ he says before jumping off the bed and strolling restlessly to the window to peer down at the gardens. ‘I think that he regards you as something more than a sister.’
I feel dizzy and sit down heavily on the dark wood chest that stands at the end of my bed. ‘Oh.’ I stare down at my hands and am surprised to see that they are trembling. ‘Oh,’ I say again.
Charles laughs. ‘He wants to marry you,’ he says baldly as he turns away from the window. ‘He doesn’t think that Philippe is good enough for you and that you would be wasted on the French court. Instead he suggested that we keep you here.’
‘As his wife,’ I add, a whisper of something that might well be hope taking seed within my heart.
Charles nods in assent. ‘As his wife,’ he agrees.
I clear my throat and look up at my brother, willing my gaze to remain clear and direct, to conceal the turmoil that has taken hold of my mind. ‘And what did you say?’ I ask.
Charles shrugs and turns back to the window. ‘I said that you are promised to Philippe, the dowry has been arranged, the dress has been ordered, papers have been signed and ambassadors have been appeased. To break the betrothal now would be tantamount to a declaration of war on France.’ He looks at me curiously and his voice becomes more gentle. ‘In short, it cannot be done, Minette.’
I nod and give a brittle little smile. ‘I see,’ I say. ‘Of course.’
Charles sighs then and comes to stand before me. ‘It wouldn’t have done at all, Minette,’ he says in a low soft voice, the one that I remember well from my childhood when he was trying to comfort some little hurt. ‘He is far too old and melancholy for you.’
‘That’s what Mary said,’ I say. ‘She also said that Stuarts should never marry each other.’
My brother laughs then. ‘She was right. Just look at how badly things turned out for our poor great grandmother Mary when she married a Stuart cousin.’ He kneels before me and takes my hands in his, almost as if he too is a suitor pleading his case. ‘Of course, if you truly want to stay then you need only say the word,’ he says lightly. ‘I don’t mind thwarting Louis a little if it’s for a good cause.’
I think longingly of Rupert’s arms around me and the butterfly light touch of his lips against my skin then quickly push the thought away from me and sadly shake my head. ‘I belong in France,’ I say firmly. ‘It’s my home now and for all his faults, I believe that Philippe loves me.’
Charles nods but I can tell that he is sad too. ‘I only wish that all of this could have happened sooner,’ he says regretfully, getting up from the floor and brushing the dust from his black silk breeches. ‘It would have been better for everyone if I could have become king in truth in time for you to have Louis instead.’
I stare at him, utterly astounded. ‘I do not mind that,’ I splutter.
He shakes his head at me and for the thousandth time I remember that there is no point trying to lie to him. ‘I do not mind that any more,’ I murmur. ‘I did once very much, but not any more.’
My brother takes hold of my chin and gently raises my face, forcing me to look at him. ‘You do not feel as if perhaps you are settling for the wrong brother?’ he asks in concern. ‘As I said, it’s not too late to put an end to this.’
He’s lying, I know and so I smile and prettily shrug. ‘I’ve known Philippe all my life,’ I say, spreading my hands wide across my black silk lap. ‘We are fond of each other and I know that he will always care for me.’
Charles looks as if he very much wants to say something but then just as quickly as the thought clearly crosses his mind, it has gone and he closes his mouth and gives a rather grim little smile. ‘Well then, let it be as you wish,’ he says. ‘I will do my best to console Rupert once you are gone.’
We arrive in Portsmouth a week later and there are sad looks on both sides as Mam and I prepare to make our way up the gangplank escorted by Charles, James and Rupert, who maintains his usual dignified silence. We are all still dressed in mourning and instead of the excitement that I should surely feel about going home to Paris, Philippe and all that I ever known, I feel utterly exhausted and emptier than ever before.
‘It’s been an eventful visit,’ Charles observes, hugging me close to him as the sea lashes against the side of the ship, spraying us with ice cold salty water. ‘I only wish that it could have been a happier one.’
I snuggle into the curve of his arm. ‘I am glad that I was here to share it with you,’ I say in a low voice. ‘You know that you can always count on me.’
My brother pulls me closer and kisses my forehead. ‘I know.’
I look back over my shoulder to see Mam being helped on deck by James. He has his head bent down towards her as she flaps out her skirts and complains about the weather. ‘Is it safe to set sail today?’ she asks. Mam has always had such rotten luck when it comes to ships - on more than one occasion she has been caught up in storms so terrible that her confessor did the rounds shriving everyone ready for their inevitable demise.
Rupert looks up at the sky, which is grey and swirls with ominously dark clouds. ‘There’s definitely a storm brewing,’ he says to Charles. ‘Perhaps it might be as well to wait for more clement weather?’
‘I won’t wait,’ Mam protests shrilly. ‘There’s always a storm brewing - if we wait for better weather, we might be stuck here for months.’
Charles hesitates then shrugs. ‘As you wish,’ he says with an apologetic look at Rupert. ‘Perhaps it will hold off until you are safely on your way.’ He looks down regretfully at me and gives me one last kiss. ‘Keep safe, Minette,’ he murmurs and I see a flash of unshed tears in his dark eyes. ‘I will be counting down the minutes until I can see your lovely face again.’
My own tears taste salty on my lips as I stand on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘As will I,’ I promise. ‘I will come back soon, I promise.’ I turn then to James and throw my arms around him, about ready to howl with despair as he awkwardly pats my back. ‘Oh Jemmy,’ I murmur. ‘Don’t forget me.’
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