Chantress Alchemy

by Amy Butler Greenfield

  I nodded. The outlines of the plot had already been made clear to me, even if I didn’t yet know all the details. “It seems we’ve all had a narrow escape.”

  “The worst of it is, Wrexham wasn’t working alone,” the King said. “He was the leader, but others are complicit: Roxburgh, Ffoulkes, and half a dozen others. They will all have a proper trial, of course, but the evidence is damning. Wrexham will go to the block, and probably others, too.” He bent his head. “It seems I had far less to fear from Boudicca and her rebels than I did from some of my own sworn noblemen. Even my Chief Alchemist turned out to be a traitor.”

  The betrayals had clearly shaken him, and no wonder: After this, who could he bring himself to trust?

  The answer ought to have been obvious, but I didn’t see it until the King raised his head and turned to me.

  “I need your help, Chantress.” He tapped the documents before him, listing royal houses and treasures to be sold. “These plans we’ve made will be popular with the people, but not with the mighty. Nor will they be pleased with the other ideas I have to give ordinary people more say in affairs. At worst, there may be more plots against me. At best, it will be hard to make headway. But it would be easier if you were here, Chantress.”

  “Because a rebellious lord would think twice before crossing me?”

  “Yes,” he said. “That is one reason. But there is this, too: I sorely need advisers I can trust. I am certain you long to be back in Norfolk, and you may go there immediately if you desire. But I must ask you this: Will you instead stay at Court a while longer? Will you help me steer the kingdom through these difficult times?”

  I did long to go back to Norfolk. The King was right about that. And I had less faith than he did in my power, being all too aware of my weaknesses. But I understood now that there was a price to be paid for isolating myself—a price paid by me, a price paid by others. For I did have power, however imperfect it might be, and that power was needed now, not at some distant, more perfect point in the future. Like anyone else, I would have to do my best with what I had.

  “I will stay,” I said.

  The King gave me his first real smile of the evening.

  “That is,” I added quickly, “if we can settle one more matter between us.”

  The King eyed me cautiously. “And that is?”

  “My marriage.”

  The King grabbed another set of documents. “As to that, I should tell you that several Council members have already approached me to suggest themselves or their heirs. . . .”

  “Your Majesty, I decline.” I braced myself for a storm.

  To my surprise, the King set the documents aside and said, “I rather thought you would. I take it you wish to decide for yourself who you will marry?”

  “Yes.”

  He raised his chin; the bruises on his throat were still livid. “And the good of the kingdom?”

  I met his eyes squarely. “The good of the kingdom isn’t served by having the Council fight over me like a bone. We’ll all be better off if I make the choice myself.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Possibly you are right. Of course, it is customary for these matters to be decided by the Council—”

  “For kings, perhaps, but not for Chantresses,” I interrupted. “For Chantresses, there is no clear precedent.”

  He conceded the point. “I suppose not. Well, then, let us create a new precedent: you shall choose your own husband, Chantress—on one condition.”

  I tensed. “Which is?”

  The King smiled. “That you tell me in advance who he is to be. Do you have someone in mind?”

  “Oh.” I felt myself turn pink. “No, Your Majesty.”

  “No?” He looked surprised. “Judging from the way Walbrook looked when he came flying down the steps to rescue you, I thought you and he might have an understanding.”

  An understanding? Of each other, perhaps. But of our future? Never, really, as far as I could tell. And we certainly had none at this point.

  Yet now that I was free to make my own choice, I could hope that an understanding would come.

  “Well,” said the King when I remained silent, “I don’t mean to pry. If you do make plans to marry, tell me.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  The King turned away from me, looking preoccupied, as if other matters were already crowding in on him. I rose to go.

  My hand was on the door when he said quietly and with great sadness, “Truth to tell, I rather envy you your freedom.”

  I wasn’t sure he expected a reply, but what was the use of being an adviser if you couldn’t give advice? “Then perhaps it’s time you created a new precedent for kings,” I said.

  Without waiting for an answer, I slipped out the door.

  † † †

  After I left the King, I went looking for Nat. It was nearly midnight, but I thought it likely he was still up and busy somewhere. To my dismay, I discovered that he had already left for London to handle urgent matters relating to the settlement with Boudicca. He was expected to be away from Court for the better part of a week.

  Disappointment hit me hard. Since the meeting with Boudicca, I had only seen Nat across the table from me in meetings, or deep in discussion with other Council members. We hadn’t had a moment to ourselves today, not even a chance to say good-bye.

  It doesn’t matter, I told myself. Now that no one’s trying to force a marriage on me, we have all the time in the world. And he’ll only be away for a few days. I’ll be so busy I’ll hardly notice he’s gone.

  I was halfway right, for the following days were indeed frantically busy. From early in the morning until late at night, I met with the King and what remained of his Council, and I had little time to think of anything but the difficult business of governing a kingdom. But when the meetings were done, I wondered what Nat was doing and whether he was thinking of me, and at night I dreamed of him: Nat turning away from me in the secret room, Nat running from the guards, Nat locked in a palace where I couldn’t reach him . . .

  Only dreams, I told myself. But they felt very real. I lay in the dark for a long time before falling back asleep.

  † † †

  On the fifth day, my work finished early, in midafternoon. The King had noticed how tired I looked, and he urged me to get some rest.

  When I returned to my rooms, Margery leaped up to greet me, bubbling with excitement. She was a new person these days, not so much because of the reward she’d received for discovering Wrexham’s plot, but because she knew her family was safe. Wrexham’s son was now the King’s ward, and Wrexham’s lands and property—like that of all traitors from time immemorial—now belonged to the Crown. Although the King intended to sell some of the estate in order to raise funds to relieve the famine, he had promised Margery that her family would remain under royal protection.

  All in all, it was becoming hard to remember the dour Margery I’d known at first. And today her smile was wider than ever.

  “They’re here, my lady!”

  “Here?” I looked around the room, confused.

  “Your new clothes. The seamstresses have finished the first set.”

  “Not the red silk,” I said in dismay, remembering Wrexham’s gift.

  “No, no. I started them on something else, something that I think will suit you very well. Come and see.” She walked over to the bed, where pale primrose skirts glimmered in the late-afternoon sunlight. “They’ve finished it off in time for the dancing tonight.”

  “The dancing?”

  “For the King’s birthday.” Her eyes widened. “You haven’t forgotten, my lady?”

  “N-no. Not exactly.” After all, I had been there when the King had scaled the whole affair down. Instead of an extravagant banquet, there was to be only a simple reception and dancing. But the details of the affair had slipped my mind. “I’ve paid my respects to him, of course, and wished him well. But I hadn’t thought I’d go to the dance.”

  Margery
looked distressed. “Why ever not, my lady?”

  “Oh, I haven’t been in a dancing mood.”

  I tried to speak lightly, as if it hardly mattered, but I couldn’t quite carry it off, for my voice was as flat as I felt. That morning Penebrygg had mentioned that he’d had two letters from Nat. He’d assumed that Nat had been writing to me, too, but I’d received nothing from him at all.

  This time, of course, there could be no question of the Council not allowing Nat to write to me, for the King had settled the matter: my attachments, friendships, and correspondence were now my own affair. If I’d had no letters from Nat, it was because he hadn’t written any.

  Was he still upset that I’d refused to run away with him? Had he cooled for other reasons? Or was he simply very busy, and determined to wait to speak until he could see me in person?

  Margery looked crushed. “You mean you won’t even try the dress on, my lady?”

  In truth, I couldn’t bring myself to care much about clothes. But Margery had done a great deal for me—and really, it wasn’t much for her to ask. With her assistance, I slipped into the silk skirts and bodice, then stood still as she concentrated fiercely on arranging the sleeves just so.

  “The length is quite good. And so is the fit.” Margery sounded pleased. “We’ll just need to make a few slight alterations to the sleeves.”

  “I’ll take it off, then.” I reached for the buttons.

  Margery stopped me. “Not yet, my lady. Come see how you look in it.”

  She pulled me over to the looking glass, and my breath caught.

  Every time Margery had brought up the subject of clothes, I’d told her that I didn’t want anything extravagant: no cloth-of-gold, no jeweled bodices. There were other ways I could spend that money, on people who needed it more. Margery had always nodded, but with a glint in her eye that worried me. I feared she harbored designs to turn me into an ostentatious court lady, a figure of fashion to outdo all others.

  It was a shock, instead, to see a dress that was made in every way for me. It was simply cut, yet fitted every curve precisely, and silvery threads shone like scattered stars on the pale yellow silk. When I turned, the skirts shimmered like moonlight.

  “Lucy?” Sybil pushed open the door. “Thank goodness you’re finally in! I’ve brought you a visitor.”

  She barreled into the room, towing a companion behind her: a stocky, wrinkled woman who meant the world to me.

  “Norrie!” I cried. Forgetting the dress entirely, I flung myself at her.

  Norrie did not seem to notice the dress either. “Oh, my lamb.” Stroking my hair, she hugged me close. “What dangers you’ve faced! And me not here to help you.”

  “I’m just glad you’re here now.” Her embrace didn’t take the pain of Nat’s silence away, but it did make it easier to bear.

  “For a few days there, I thought I’d never get on my feet,” Norrie went on, as if she hadn’t heard me. “And when I did finally start after you, I had every kind of delay imaginable—”

  “As long as you’re all right, nothing else matters,” I said, trying to soothe her.

  “But you were here all alone—”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Really and truly fine. You were right: I was stronger than I knew.”

  My words seemed to reach her then. She stepped back to survey me, and I saw a look in her eyes that reminded me, oddly, of the look I’d seen in Nat’s: half regret, half pride. “So you are, child. So you are. My goodness, I’ve only been away from you for a fortnight, and you’ve gone and grown up on me. How splendid you look.” She nodded at Sybil. “And this one too. To think I can remember the pair of you making mud pies in the garden. And now you’re such fine young ladies.”

  “I can’t have changed all that much,” Sybil protested. “You still knew me the instant you saw me.”

  “Of course,” Norrie said comfortably. “The image of your mother, you are. And those dimples—who could forget them?”

  And there was my answer about Sybil, long past the point when I needed it. I started to laugh. “Oh, Norrie, what a comfort you are!”

  Sybil grinned. “And what about me?”

  “You too.”

  I reached over to hug her, but she waved me away. “No, no—you mustn’t crumple that gorgeous dress of yours any more. Margery, is this your work? You’re a genius. No one will have eyes for anyone but you tonight, Lucy.”

  “I’m not going to the dance—”

  “But you must!” Sybil said. “It will be such fun. And you haven’t had much of that lately, not with all those Council meetings on your plate.” She made a wry face. “To say nothing of what came before.”

  “I’d rather stay in with Norrie,” I said, putting my arm around her.

  Norrie shook her head, smiling. “It’s kind of you, child, but I’m all in from the journey, and I’ll be wanting an early night. So you go and enjoy yourself with Sybil. I wouldn’t dream of spoiling your evening.”

  She did look tired. Stricken that I had not noticed it before, I guided her to a chair. Norrie heaved a great sigh as she sat down.

  “You won’t be spoiling anything,” I told her. “Truly, I don’t mind staying here.”

  Norrie’s eyes twinkled. “Perhaps you don’t, but I’m sure young Nat would have something to say about it. I saw him as I was coming up—”

  “Nat’s here?” My heart shot up like a firework.

  “Why, yes. Is that so strange?”

  “He’s been away.” My voice sounded strange even to myself. “In London.”

  “Well, he’s here now,” Norrie said, chuckling. “He said he had some business to attend to, but he was hoping to see you later on. He meant this dance, I expect.”

  “Of course he did.” Sybil linked her arm with mine. “So that settles it, Lucy.”

  Excitement rippled through me. “All right, then.” I spread a hand over my silvery skirts. “I’ll go.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  AN UNEQUAL MATCH

  Before the dancing began, I stayed with Norrie, hearing more about her journey and answering her questions about what had happened at Greenwich. When I explained that the King had asked me to stay at Court, she took it well.

  “Now that I’ve finally gotten here, I wouldn’t mind staying put for a while,” she said, sipping at the chamomile tea Margery had made for her. “Your rooms are lovely and warm, aren’t they? And it’s a great pleasure to see Sybil again. She says her maid Joan’s here with her too.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “No, but I’d like to meet her. I remember her sister well: she was Sybil’s nursemaid, just as I was yours, and she was kind to me that summer at Dashwood Hall.” She set down her cup, and I saw again how tired she was.

  “Time for you to rest,” I said. “You’re to take my bed.”

  She started to protest.

  “You must,” I said. “Margery and I will make up a pallet for me later.”

  “But you won’t be comfortable—”

  “I’ll be fine. Truth to tell, I was planning to dance all night anyway.”

  At that, she chuckled. “Very well, lamb. You do that. And I’ll take your bed and be grateful for it.” She laid her gnarled hand on mine. “Give that Nat a hug from me.”

  I smiled. “I will.”

  † † †

  Later that evening, with Norrie safely tucked in bed, I went down to the birthday dance. Even on the stairs, I could hear the harmony of viol and flute and bass. My feet tapped in time to their beat; I was eager to dance.

  When I finally reached the Great Hall, I found an enormous crowd had already gathered there. I could only just wedge my way in—and for once no one looked at me, even though I was the Chantress. Instead, people were craning their necks toward the center of the room. I obligingly craned mine too, hoping to glimpse whatever it was they were gazing at.

  At first I saw nothing except the backs and heads of the people in front of me, but I caught the whisper of gossip
here and there through the music.

  “. . . might break off the negotiations . . .”

  “. . . heard him say he won’t marry a girl he’s never seen . . .”

  “. . . the third time he’s danced with her . . .”

  “The fourth, old chap, and the night’s hardly begun!”

  “. . . can’t say I blame him. A beauty like that . . .”

  The crowd shifted, and through a gap I saw what had attracted so much attention: King Henry, dancing a stately minuet with Sybil. She was laughing, and he was clearly entranced.

  Watching them, I missed Nat so much I could hardly breathe.

  As the crowd jostled forward again, I scanned the room for him.

  “Chantress?” Gabriel was at my elbow, aglow with exuberance. “What a pleasure to find you here. I’ve only just returned.”

  That caught my attention. “Returned? From where?”

  “Visiting my estate. Didn’t you hear? The King has restored it all to me.” Gabriel paused. “That is, not precisely to me, not yet—he’ll hold it in trust until I’m twenty-one. But I have his word that it will all come to me then, and he’ll make good the part that Wrexham lost.

  “And, of course, it’s you I must thank for Wrexham’s fall,” he went on, bowing to me. His eyes, as he rose, were merry and just the slightest bit teasing. “Perhaps it is you who should be called Chief Alchemist.”

  “No,” was all I said.

  Something about the way I said it, however, made him push back his tawny hair and look down at me, contrite. “I’m sorry, Chantress. I shouldn’t be making jokes about it, not to you. Believe me, I had no idea Sir Isaac meant to harm you. If I had, I swear I would have put a stop to it. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I do.” After all, Nat had made it clear that Gabriel hadn’t understood what he’d been copying.

  “Then all’s well between us?”