The Light in the Labyrinth_BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction

by Wendy J. Dunn

  Stirring the fire back into life, she held out her hands to the heat. The fire licked at the remains of the log as she struggled to understand the rest of what Madge had told her.

  Now that Aunt Nan was with child, the King pursued and bedded other women, using as justification the physicians’ advice that he no longer bed her for the sake of the child. Kate remembered her mother’s two recent pregnancies. All through the long months leading to childbed, her mother and stepfather did not sleep apart, or change their loving ways towards one another during the day. If anything, they were more loving than ever. Not so the King. The King took mistresses.

  Why had her cousin fidgeted in discomfort when she said this? Averting her face into the darkness, Madge mumbled that they should talk of other matters—ones more suitable for a maid of Kate’s years.

  When Madge cut off her conversation about the King, it hurt. She wasn’t a child, even if Madge thought her one. Yes, she was a maid, but that did not mean she lacked the ability to understand.

  Flickering flames reflected on Kate’s pale hands. She stared at them. No wonder everyone thought her a child; her body resembled a child’s—she even had small hands with short, nondescript, stubby fingers, broken nails. They looked like they belonged to a ten-year-old. An image of Aunt Nan flashed into her mind. Kate would have given anything for a morsel of her grace and charm, to possess fingers such as hers, long and tapering, fingers that needed no jewellery to draw eyes their way.

  She picked up her comb, grabbed tresses of her hair and began combing. Soon Kate would need to call in Alice, who slept in the antechamber, to plait her hair for the day. She stilled, hair in her free hand, studying its colour. The strands sparkled with red lights in the fire’s glow. Thank God she was blonde like her mother. The enemies of her aunt ridiculed her dark hair. Night Crow, they called her.

  Close to Kate, a silver goblet mirrored back her distorted reflection. She stuck out her tongue, hating how she looked. Did her lady mother lie? She said she was pretty, blessed with a prettiness that did not threaten, but beckoned to friends. She said her mouth was meant to smile. Uncertain, an outsider, Kate did not feel like smiling. Perhaps Mother was right. Perhaps I should not have come to court. Kate sighed before hurrying to the clothes chest to start dressing.

  4

  AFTER BREAKFAST, Madge accompanied Kate to the Queen’s chambers. Yesterday, the unfamiliar journey from one side of the palace to the royal apartments seemed to take forever. Now Kate arrived at Aunt Nan’s closed door in no time at all. Closed door? Getting accustomed to her new surroundings, she discovered another reason for confusion. Opened one day and closed on another? Why?

  Coming nearer, there was the unmistakable, albeit muted, sound of Aunt Nan’s laughter; an accomplished singer sang to the accompaniment of a lute. Gently, Madge elbowed Kate in her side and grinned. “The Queen’s merry today. Be of good cheer, coz, and be merry, too.”

  Kate gazed at her, surprised. Did she look glum? Straightening her shoulders, she forced herself to smile. Side-by-side with her cousin, Kate entered the Queen’s apartments. They curtseyed together just inside the door. Aunt Nan danced in the centre of the room, threading in and out amongst a small group of dancers. Catching sight of Kate, she waved in greeting, gesturing to her to come deeper into the room. Kate watched the dancers closely, her feet soon tapping in time to the beat. As if sewing threads to an unseen tapestry, they wove their way until couples regrouped again into two lines.

  A young man sat to the side, strumming his lute and singing in a pure, golden voice. Kate stood for a moment, listening, a shiver going up and down her backbone, her body responding to his voice like the lute in his hands responded to his touch.

  “That’s Smeaton,” Madge whispered. “Isn’t he the pretty one?” She giggled. “While he is the King’s lute player, he often makes music for the Queen.”

  Gazing back his way, Kate found herself transfixed. Her cheeks warming, she finger-counted all that made him comely: blonde hair; unblemished, youthful skin; deep cleft in his beardless chin; and eyes any maid would envy. There was nothing maid-like about the way he gazed at Aunt Nan.

  “Mark Smeaton’s a son of a carpenter,” Madge continued. “In spite of his low birth, he has served the King since before the Queen’s coronation and often plays for her. Smeaton plays like an angel—wait until you hear him on the virginal.” She sighed. “Doesn’t he sing like an angel, too?”

  Madge didn’t need her answer for the obvious. Kate grinned at her while joining the loud applause at the end of Smeaton’s song. The dancers bowed and curtseyed to one another before clapping, too.

  “You did well, Mark,” Aunt Nan said, a little out of breath, hand held protectively over her belly. As yet, there was no sign of a baby. She headed towards the high-back, intricately carved chair not too far from the huge fireplace. By the chair, a tall man bowed with a flourish of his cap, then rubbed his well-shaped beard as Aunt Nan neared. Reaching his side, she laughed, tapping his arm. “What say you to Smeaton’s arrangement, Tom?”

  He frowned, running a knuckle back and forth across his forehead. “I did not think my poem one to make a song and dance of, but he surprised me.” With a grin, he bowed again. “But then again, the sight of grace dancing, personified in the form of my Queen, left me unable to listen too closely to the music, even if written to my words.”

  Her eyes sparkling, Aunt Nan pealed with laughter and then gestured to Kate. Madge grinned in reassurance before joining the knot of chattering females by the window.

  Kate turned to her aunt’s proud smile meant just for her. Now standing alone, she stepped closer and made her deep reverence. Aunt Nan brought her closer. “I believe you two have yet to meet. Tom, this is Mary’s daughter Kate.” She beamed at him, a genuine smile that spoke of her affection, before taking Kate’s arm again. “Sir Thomas Wyatt is kin to us, as is his sister and my other good friend Meg Lee.

  “We are fortunate to have Tom home for a time. The King’s need for his skilled diplomacy often keeps him on the continent. We were children together at Hever with your uncle George.”

  Curious, Kate looked up to his bright blue eyes. “Mother, too?”

  He hooted a barrel-chested laugh, glancing aside at Aunt Nan. “Verily, aye, your mother, too.”

  Kate tried to imagine her lady mother and this ageing man as children. “Mother never speaks of her childhood,” she said slowly.

  No longer merry, he glanced again at her aunt. “Your lady mother was often unhappy at Hever.”

  Aunt Nan tended to a loose thread on her bodice. Thoughtfully, she twirled the thread around her fingertip. “You’re right. Now I think of it, she was much alone then, as she is now.”

  Taken aback, Kate blustered, “Mother’s not alone, or unhappy.”

  Aunt Nan’s thin brows came together and deep lines furrowed her high brow. “I am glad to hear it.” She lowered her head, and spoke in an undertone. “Then 'tis I who is alone and unhappy.”

  Looking furtively around at the people in the room, Sir Thomas touched her arm with concern. “Why say that? While you have me and George, you will never be alone, Anna.”

  Anna? As if in answer, Aunt Nan smiled tenderly at him. Kate stared at them, astonished at their familiarity, before remembering they had been children together. Those kinds of bonds, her lady mother had said, could last forever. Kate squirmed. She had grown up with no true childhood friends, thanks to her mother’s desire to keep her at Rochford Hall. She then remembered where she had seen him before: at Aunt Nan’s coronation. He had acted as the Queen’s chief ewer, pouring scented water over her hands whenever needed. How long ago that now seemed.

  Threading her arm underneath Kate’s, her aunt walked her to the window. “Time for more introductions. Come, niece, come and meet more of my good friends.”

  First, Aunt Nan introduced her to Sir Thomas’s sister, Lady Meg Lee, round of face and plump of body. Giving a quick smile to Kate in greeting, Lady Lee then wh
ispered something to her aunt, gesturing towards Smeaton. Red faced with embarrassment, he was surrounded by a group of chattering girls. One teasingly took his lute out of his hands while another closed in on him like quarry. A little distance from them, Kate recognised the woman who had entertained the children by juggling apples in the gallery yesterday. The back of her hand held against her forehead, she pointed to Smeaton and pretended to swoon. Lady Meg laughed a deep belly laugh. When Aunt Nan joined in, Kate forced out a laugh, too. Out of step with the other women, her laughter rang loud in her ears. She raised her hands to her hot face.

  “See you my good fool, Kate?” Without waiting for an answer, Aunt Nan took her hand and led her deeper into the room.

  Not even glancing towards Lady Meg, let alone the carefree young women near her, a heart-faced girl with large, dark eyes, thin, arched eyebrows and full lips chattered animatedly to an elderly, solemn man robed as a man of God. Her dark eyebrows suggested she would be dark headed under the confining headgear that proclaimed her a matron. Still, she seemed not much older than Kate and a strange partner for the old man beside her. Kate had never seen a man with a swan-white beard as long as his; the sight of it almost made her giggle.

  “Another Catherine, Kate,” said Aunt Nan. “The Duchess of Suffolk.”

  Hearing her title, the girl looked towards the Queen. Kate dropped a deeper curtsey than she had just given Lady Lee, and then rose to the Duchess’s smile. The girl opened her eyes wide and blinked, sweeping shadows of long, thick lashes upon her rosy cheeks. “What to do?” she laughed. “I’ve lost count of the Catherines at court.” Her eyes travelled to Aunt Nan and then back to Kate. “No matter; the Annes outscore us all, and the Queen reigns over them, as she does us all. Do you mind if I call you Kat while I keep the Kate, or Catherine?”

  Liking her, Kate smiled in return. “I care not. A name is but a name; it’s for us to make it our own.”

  Aunt Nan beamed with approval, took her arm again, and turned her to a woman who looked about the same age as Aunt Nan, and, despite a pregnant belly, just as slender. Dressed in black and silver like the Queen, she seemed competing with her in elegance. “And this is another of my friends, Elizabeth, Lady Worcester.”

  Kate smiled, bobbed another curtsey as the silent Lady Worcester bent her head. Her stern eyes glimmered, assessing Kate before looking away in dismissal. Taken aback, Kate stared at the woman, and then down at her feet. She judges me? She dismisses me? What right has she? I am the niece of the Queen!

  Aunt Nan brought her to one of the few men in the chamber. “And I cannot forget my good Latimer, Bishop of Worcester. You’ll find he watches vigilantly after the souls that come under his care. Catherine here”—her aunt smiled at the Duchess of Suffolk—“has elected herself his devoted follower.”

  The old man bowed to the Duchess, his bright eyes crinkling. “And honours me by it.”

  Flushing, the Duchess dropped her gaze before meeting his again. “You’re the one who honours me, good Father, granting your valuable time for my comfort and betterment. I remember your sermons by heart.” She closed her eyes and recited, “The saints are not saints by praying to them, but by believing in Him who makes them saints, and as they are saints, so may we be.”

  Latimer grinned and stroked his beard as if in thought. “We’re all followers of the One who first led twelve men to speak and spread the gospel. For myself, I am Our Lord Jesus’ humble servant, who prays daily to God to be a good shepherd to his flock.”

  “That you are, good sir,” Aunt Nan said with a brisk nod. “Catherine knows, as I do, what a good shepherd we have in you. I thank God every day for the guidance of you and Cranmer. More now than ever before.”

  Latimer smiled again. “I am only a spokesman of the good, merciful God, my Queen. Only He knows our hearts and hears our prayers, as He did when I prayed for release from imprisonment and found He had not forsaken me. He spoke to your good heart, and I am here now, doing again His work in my poor way.”

  Aunt Nan met his eyes. “Never a poor way, my good Father. Never that.”

  Kate listened to the conversation, feeling prouder and prouder. This was the aunt she well remembered from the days celebrating her coronation—confident and self assured, her sharp intelligence alight in her eyes. All around, people listened to her, their respect clearly apparent. This was what Kate had come to court to see—her very own aunt, ruling her court as queen.

  Turning, she took Kate’s arm again. “Come, child, there’s someone else I wish you to greet.”

  They walked to the other side of the fireplace. Speaking in a low undertone to Madge and another young woman, more richly dressed and jewelled than either of them, a tall, slender woman leaned against the wall, her hazel eyes watching the approach of Aunt Nan. Not as young as the Duchess of Suffolk, yet she seemed no more than twenty. Not in question was her beauty—she was even more beautiful than the younger Madge. Yet, like Madge, under a French hood that shimmered with pearls, she wore her hair long and decoratively plaited, declaring her maiden status. Nearing her, Kate could not help but stare. Her heavy-lidded eyes looked familiar. I know her. I don’t know from where, but I know her.

  “The King’s niece, the Lady Margaret Douglas, and your cousin Mary, Duchess of Richmond, wife to the King’s son,” Aunt Nan whispered.

  “Your Grace—Lady Margaret.” Kate clutched the sides of her gown and dipped a low curtsey. With a glance at the shorter Duchess, Lady Margaret looked Kate up and down. Annoyed at the rising heat in her cheeks, Kate steeled herself to meet her eyes without flinching. Not only did the Lady Margaret study her with great interest, but also, her sandy brows puckering in concentration, the deep blue eyes of the Duchess remained fixated on her. It made her want to run away.

  Lady Margaret spoke, her deep voice a whip of command. “Raise up, cousin. The Queen desires informality in her chambers. Or, should I say the Queen commands?”

  Tapping Lady Margaret’s arm, Aunt Nan laughed. “In privacy, bowing and curtseying become tiresome after awhile, don’t you think, Meg?”

  The young woman lifted her chin and looked down her exquisite nose. “If you say so, Your Grace.”

  Amused, Aunt Nan wagged her finger at Lady Margaret. “You don’t agree with informality?”

  “I believe in showing the respect due at all times, Your Grace. If we don’t hold to that, commoners will take the opportunity to step beyond their station. Nobility is a sacred estate and protects us from anarchy.”

  “I know that well.” Aunt Nan shrugged. “Methinks the world grumbles no matter what we do. In my own chambers, I like people to be themselves and not hide behind titles and bloodlines. Let there be at least one place at court to be ourselves.”

  Aunt Nan glanced towards Madge. Now a little distance away, she spoke earnestly to a young man. About his square, strong face, a sudden ray of sunlight lit his hair to bright silver. Aunt Nan grinned at Lady Margaret. “If I’m not mistaken, you’ve enjoyed your time in these chambers.”

  Lady Margaret gazed at the man. She seemed to Kate a different woman, with all her frightening hardness gone. She just stood there, her mouth slightly open, her eyes shining and her vulnerability almost tangible.

  Kate looked from Margaret to the man. As if tugged, he gazed at Margaret and smiled. His expression called out to her like a hunting horn. Close to her side, the Duchess, her ink-stained fingers at odds with her rich robes, toyed with her girdle and seemed not to notice. But an indulgent smile played at her lips.

  Playing nervously with her hair, Lady Margaret lowered her gaze. “I suppose I have.” She looked at the Queen before speaking in a rush. “Your Grace, I am in agony. I beg you, pray speak to the King, my uncle. I don’t know how much longer I can bear this.”

  Aunt Nan frowned. “Be patient, Meg. I promised to do what I can, but I must wait for the right time.” She looked one way and then another before speaking softly. “You have my sympathy, but you know your royal blood makes what you ask
hard, if not impossible. You must realise you may yet pay for your recklessness.” Cutting off the conversation, Aunt Nan searched the room before looking at Kate. “Welladay, there’s one left to greet who needs no introduction. Come, he’s waited long enough.”

  Kate’s heart fluttered with excitement. Behind her royal aunt, she threaded through the people as they offered their reverence to the passing Queen. Aunt Nan stopped at the door of her bedchamber and smiled. “I shall stay here. Go, Kate, and see your brother.”

  Without further ado, Kate entered and shut the door behind her. Harry sat on the Queen’s great bed, swinging his long, slender legs. His hand held on to the peculiarly carved bedpost, on which Kate recognized the symbols of her aunt’s heraldry.

  The green bed hangings and gold and silver bed cover edged with crimson satin, too, had more of her aunt’s emblems, embroidered in bright colours and gold thread, with a large number of honeysuckle and acorns; Kate grinned, knowing they were the private love tokens of the Queen and King.

  Dappled by shadows of the gold tassels hanging over him, Harry tossed back his reddish-gold hair and grinned. “You took your time.”

  Kate smiled, a little uncertain. He had changed in the twelve months since she last saw him. He had been still a small boy; now he looked a youth.

  He jumped from the bed, and Kate gasped. “Good God, Harry, you’re taller than me.”

  Ruffling up his own hair, he laughed with pride. “I am taller than our aunt; that must mean Mother, too.”

  Kate stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “You’ll always be two years younger than me. I’ve missed you, brother.”

  Harry’s grin revealed white, straight teeth. “Even after Mother giving you a new one?”

  Kate screwed up her nose. “That brother cries, pukes and smells. I cannot understand why she dotes on him as she does; it turns my stomach.”