“Of course,” the lady said. We each took an arm and helped her up a narrow stair, Maisy and another maid scurrying behind us. “Here.” Mrs. Salinas motioned to the doorway of a room and we carried her in. We put her in a small, neatly turned bed, and Anna curled up immediately like a newborn piglet.
“Shall we fetch a doctor?” Mrs. Salinas asked.
“No,” I snapped. Then, quieter, “No, I’m sorry. No doctors. Grace gave her a draught. Sometimes she sent me into the woods for some of the plants.” I desperately searched my mind for the ingredients. “Willow weed, cider, and pears; we used pears,” I said. Those pears, magical they are, Grace used to say of them. Sprinkled with the centurion’s gold. Anna moaned.
“Did you hear?” the lady calmly said to the maids. “Run to the market, apurete.” The girls ran from the room and the lady turned to me. “And Grace is?”
“Our mother.” I corrected myself: “Her mother.” I sat down on the bed next to Anna.
“The one who recently passed to the Lord?” she said as she crossed herself. She sat down on the other side of the bed next to Anna.
She must be one of those Catholics, a heretic. They were the brave ones, those that kept to their faith. And it was indeed not a good time to be brave. Most practiced their faith in private, hiding like rats, but those that were visible and vocal were prosecuted and burned at the stake. I peered at her, this odd woman, and wondered why she had invited us, complete strangers, thieves we could be, into her home. I immediately thought of our bags downstairs, unwatched.
“We must leave her,” I explained. “The best medicine is utter quiet. A cool room. Darkness. Time.”
“But she’s deaf, is she not? A mute deaf?”
I glanced swiftly at her. “No, she hears us in her own way. Vibrations. And other things she cannot speak of. Sometimes terrible things.”
I followed Mrs. Salinas down the stairs. To my relief, I saw our two bags were still near the door. Several pears had spilled out. I set them on the table. They would be much needed in Anna’s potion. I couldn’t help but draw one to my nose as we sat and inhale the aroma. It was sweet, so sweet. The maids had left bread and mulled wine and cold chicken. But I suddenly was not hungry.
I watched her as she ate. “You should never waste God’s bounty,” she said as she gnawed indelicately on a chicken leg. She pushed a plate toward me. It did smell heavenly, aye, it did. I picked up a piece of warm bread and took a bite. It melted in my mouth, delicious and so unlike the crusty bread we had at home.
“So tell me, dear girl,” Mrs. Salinas said. “What are you fleeing from and why are you depriving that poor girl of the peace and comfort of her home? You do know that’s why she’s curled up like a sickly babe upstairs? London is not for the likes of her.” She took a long swallow of the wine.
I laughed. “She wanted to come,” I insisted. “We’ve never been apart.” Not even a day. Grace had never let me go to market, and of course Anna had never wanted to go anyway. “I’m not fleeing,” I added.
“Sometimes there are no answers for what you are seeking,” Mrs. Salinas said, taking another generous sip of wine. “Only more questions. It’s the wise one who accepts this, child. Perhaps you should take your sister home.”
I could not look her in the eyes. I lifted my glass of wine and took a gulp, although I’d never liked the sour-tasting liquid back home. Grace always said it loosed the lips and everything else and to stay away from it if I knew what was good for me. “And why would you say such a thing?”
“Anyone with one good eye would know you are not what you appear to be. Dressed as grandees.” She snorted. “Did you steal your wares, dear one?”
“So you think we are thieves,” I said, taking another generous gulp of the wine. Funny how it tasted better and better, like sour berries sprinkled with sugar. “This,” I said, holding up my arm, “is my work. No other’s.”
She leaned over and looked at my bodice, studying my stitching. “You are very talented,” she said. “Perhaps worthy of nobles.”
“Those of the court?” I asked.
“Yes, the ladies are always looking for something new, particular. Your work stands out.”
“That’s why we’ve come to London. To sell our wares. Make a pretty shilling or two.” I turned my eyes and took another sip.
“I see.” She smiled a little. “Will you tell me your name, dear child?”
“Kat,” I started. “Katherine.” I did not want to add the Bab, so countryish and common it sounded now. I left it at that.
“And I am Lady Fernanda Ludmore.”
“Lady?” I asked. “Not Mrs. Salinas?”
“My husband is dead,” she said flatly.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. “Did he die in the country?” I wondered why a lady had taken a mule wagon to London and had kept her identity a secret.
“Dear God, no,” she coughed, spraying a little of her wine on her stomacher. “The jackass died five years ago. Luddy, he was called amongst his peers, other libertines and whoremongers. But I had better names.”
I was astonished. She was indeed an odd duck, so unlike what I pictured a lady of rank to be. “Then why the mourning clothes?” I asked. “If you did not love him and he died so long ago.”
“I reason it’s safer to affect a disguise while traveling. I think we were of like minds in that category.”
I looked away, staring at the little boy who had remained silent while we talked. Lady Ludmore every now and then handed him a grape which he grabbed like a little turtle. “Then why were you in Gloucester?”
“My, you do have a tongue, don’t you? A little like me, I suppose. I’ll answer you, dear one.” She paused. “If you answer me one question.”
I nodded my head, telling myself I had no intention of telling her any sort of truth. Not now. It was as though she could see me down to my heart, so piercing her dark little eyes were.
“My son has long been lost to me,” she said. “I’d hear of him here, there, all over England. And then not a word for many years. Not long ago he resurfaced, hiding amongst a tatty band of minstrels in Gloucester country. That’s why I’ve invited you into my home.”
Minstrels. The Spaniard. I had seen her son. I knew it with a certainty. “Your son. Is he dark, tall, handsome, with a merry twinkle in his eye?” I asked.
“Dear God.” Her hand flew up to her cheek. “Did my Rafael seduce you? Is that why you have flown the country?”
“Why no, of course not; he merely looked at me,” I shot back, a little too forcefully, remembering his particular stare. I blushed down to my toes again, thinking of his eyes.
“That’s more than enough, believe me, child,” she responded, taking another long swig of wine. “But you are a strong girl, I can see that,” she said. “Full of spirit you are.” Spirit. I thought I’d never hear that description of me again, as it only came from Grace’s lips. Then Lady Ludmore’s eyes grew large. “God’s faith, he didn’t molest your sister, did he? Is that the true reason she’s fallen ill?”
“No, no,” I assured her. “I only saw him a moment at our revel in Winchcombe and I looked away. Anna never saw him.”
“Well, I’m sure he caused some sort of mischief that night, the ruffian that he is. The apple never falls far from the tree, now does it,” she said, looking directly at me. I thought of Grace and her fear that I’d take more after my father than my mother. “Bastards,” she continued. “My son’s sired plenty of them, that I am sure of—no telling how many are strewn across the countryside.” She motioned with her head to the little boy. “I found that one in Kent begging for food, his hair full of lice and smelling worse than the Thames. Apparently my son was acting the role of a Hessian five years before, and some blue-eyed beauty couldn’t resist.”
Christian. What if I had stayed? I would not have been able to resist him and tonight would have been our wedding night.
“And why are you blushing?” Lady Ludmore asked. “Red as a
knobby-kneed maiden you are.”
“I do not know of what you speak,” I lied, but a small smile escaped my lips.
“And now, it’s time for my question,” Lady Ludmore said just as the maid came running in the door laden with full baskets, red-faced and puffing. “Who is your precious pear farmer?”
I did not answer. But I turned my eyes to the tapestry, once again looking for him.
The Good and Rightful Remembrance of Grace Bab in the Year of Our Lord 1547.
It was with heavy heart that I left my home in the country, for I truly did love the land, and if it weren’t for my sad circumstances I’d never have gone. But my own father had sought me after my mother, a gentle-born lady, died, and I could no longer abide it, even if it meant leaving my good brother Godfrey. I stole the few coins Papa had hidden, as I figured they were rightly owed me, bought a proper gown at Stow-on-the-Wold from Charlie Bab, the handsome merchant, who told me I was a comely lass, and headed for London to seek a better life for myself. I was quickly hired as a nurse at a house in Chelsea, to work for a proper lord and lady, the lady being a former queen no less, who were newly married and greatly in love. But I soon came to know there are secrets in houses grand as well as humble, and all was not as it seemed.
CHAPTER 11
Anna always had been more comely than me. Elf-skinned she was—her gorgeous, pale white skin clear and soft as an eggshell. But not me. I’d gotten the pimples a few years back and I’d much fretted over them, worrying I’d be as poxed as Old Man Dar. And what man would want a pitted-face girl? Grace insisted it was my emerald eyes and kissable lips that would lure a man, spots or no. And that’s why she’d kept me at home most of the time, rarely letting me accompany her to market, so fearful she was of me attracting any man, for they were all no good.
But I knew it was much more than that now—the reasons why she hid me. Indeed I did. I could feel the necklace, the weight of it, brushing against my ankle as I studied Anna sleeping peacefully in her bed. I held a candle over her, watching her slow, even breathing. She was beautiful, so ethereal in the dark. I wondered if perhaps I was the cause of her spell. But Grace had always said there was no rhyme or reason to them, her black spells; they could come at any moment, as every unwanted thing in life does. And this one had lasted two days, longer than most. I’d spent the entire time with her, my meals brought up to me by the maids.
I kissed Anna softly. “Sleep well, my little Wren,” I whispered. Then I went to my small chamber next door. We had never slept apart, but Lady Ludmore had insisted, saying it was unseemly for grown girls to share the same bed. It was obvious that she’d never spent much time in the country. Beds were always of a shortage there. Why, the Widower Beachum’s daughters were four to a bed, while their papa slept with the cows in the barn.
I put the candlestick on the table next to my bed. I carefully undressed, now realizing why gently born ladies had maids. It was extremely hard to extricate myself from the gown with its separate sleeves, but I somehow managed. I laid everything carefully across a small chair. I found my night shift, then placed our traveling bags under my bed. I’d seen Lady Ludmore’s eyes linger on them the day we arrived.
I climbed under the covers and opened up Grace’s letter. And at all costs, stay away from…Elizabeth the queen. Bah, I sighed. Just then, the door opened slightly.
“Who is there?” I whispered. The door opened a little more, and I saw it was the boy. He peeked at me, blinking his large blue eyes, and I wondered if he ever smiled. He started to shut the door.
“Wait a minute,” I called to him quietly. “What is your name, little one?”
“Bartolome, miss.” And then he was gone.
The next morning Anna had recovered, the spell subsiding like a great wave, leaving a calm pool glowing with sadness in its wake.
We sat at the trestle table, which was laden with wonderful dishes—a round loaf of bread, called a manchet, fetched fresh from the market that morning; a dish of butter; thick pancakes; and scrambled eggs sprinkled with salted bread crumbs. Indeed, we never ate so finely at Blackchurch Cottage; watered-down porridge was the best we ever got.
Lady Ludmore was nowhere to be seen. I took a bite of the delicious eggs and drank a sip of warm wine, this one spiced with ginger and honey, from a heavily carved silver goblet. There were other signs of wealth in the room—porcelain jars, and heavy plate lining the hearth mantle. My eye caught the tapestry again. One of the maids, carrying a large basket of soiled linen, walked past. I could see her through the doorway.
“Why, where is she going?” I asked Maisy, who continued to bring us dishes. A wonderful aroma of baking bread followed her.
“To the laundress, ma’am,” she answered, placing a little plate in front of Anna. We both stared at it. It was one of our pears, carved prettily and sugared. Anna and I exchanged a look before she picked up her spoon and began to eat.
“And where is Mrs. Ludmore this morning?” I asked.
“Lady, miss,” she corrected me. “Lady Ludmore, although she doesn’t insist on the ‘lady,’ being the pious soul that she is. And of course feeling the way she do about him, Lord Ludmore, and I must tell you she be at her morning prayer, up hours before dawn, and when she joins you at breakfast, you are not to speak to her.” She leaned over and picked up my empty plate. “She believes the morning is for God and the evening for the devil.” Another maid, pinch-faced, peeked around the doorway, frowned, and shook her head before disappearing.
“And may I ask whatever that means?”
“Oh, the lady, she does enjoy the drink, she does,” she responded. Maisy, chubby cheeked and well-rounded, had the appearance of one who spent a little too much time in the kitchen. But she had a wise gleam in her eyes.
“And can you tell me”—as I guessed she probably would—“how Lady Ludmore came to be married to the lord?”
“Why, don’t you know?” She smiled, ever ready to impart more. She plopped down in one of the chairs at the end of the table. “She came over many a year ago with the Princess Katherine of Aragon, King Henry’s first poor wife. She was a sweet soul and pretty-faced back then, the queen, before she got fat, but don’t let my lady hear me say that, for she thinks it quite the nasty turn he did her, throwing her over for the dark harlot Anne Boleyn. Fernanda Salinas, she was back then, my lady. And me mother came with her as her own maid. And then many years later, Lady Ludmore met old Luddy, but he wasn’t called that then, you see, just Lord Ludmore the Handsome, and the next thing you know she married him, so taken in with his charms she was. But handsome men are never good, are they?
“And then she had Rafael, rascal that he is,” and she giggled, a red blush rising up her neck. “And after, three little lass babes who all died in the cradle. But him, he grew up into a strapping lad, he did. Why, he got Ava”—she nodded toward the kitchen—“in trouble too, and her mum is raising that one. We didn’t tell the lady about the baby. She hid it under her apron, Ava did. She is afraid she’d be dismissed, though the lady is a hard biscuit, she is, she’d never hurt a soul, I tell you. Boys. Always boys Rafael sires, and they are all likely to grow up just as frisky as him.” She paused for a second, taking a breath and holding two fingers up to her lip.
“Where is Bartolome? Shouldn’t he be taking his breakfast with us?” I asked.
She rose and busied herself wiping down the table. “Oh no, miss,” she said. “He’s at prayer with the lady. She be determined to save his little soul if it be the last thing she does. Although I wonder at her determination, for I think he has a bit of the devil, I do, the way he looks at me with those eyes. Have you ever seen such strange eyes, I ask Ava? ’Course she don’t answer, being so sensitive she is about that one being raised here and hers in rags over in Smithfield. Tried to take her own life she did, ’fore the babe was born, but the lady told us many a time the sin it is. I found her and we nursed her, without the lady even knowing, which was quite a trick, you see, for the lady seems to know all t
hat is about, but she was gone most of this time anyway, in the country searching for her son or another bastard all the while one was being born in her own home. Ha, we did pull one over on her, and I did a hundred Hail Marys, I did, for my deceitfulness. But I am a good girl, I am, never tarry with the grooms. Why, I’ve only let Harry kiss me twice, without the tongue, of course.”
Anna had been intently reading Maisy’s lips, her eyes getting wider at the moment. Maisy glanced over at her curiously. “And may I ask, miss, does your maid always accompany you at your meals?” It was simply a question, but one that would be soon followed by more.
“Why yes, she does,” I answered, surprised that there existed someone with a bigger mouth than I. “And she always will. I will have more eggs, please. That will be enough.” Maisy bowed and left the room. I began to think I could enjoy this way of life very much.
Lady Ludmore finally joined us and, just as Maisy had said, she was silent, grasping her rosary beads. When I asked when she could take us to market, I was roundly hushed. She no longer wore her mourning clothes, but had donned a beautiful azure silk gown with golden embroidery. Although simply stitched, it was very elegant. She wore no jewelry.
I was now on my third plate of food. Anna had finished most of her pear.
Shortly thereafter the boy came and joined us too. Maisy returned with a small plate of the freshly baked bread. He stared at it, and then over at my eggs. “Here,” I started. “Take mine, Bartolome.” I started to push my plate forward.
Lady Ludmore lifted her hand, and I knew by her stern countenance that I must stop. Bartolome quietly ate his bread.
A long time later, Lady Ludmore stood and walked to the door. “It’s time. Fetch the pieces you’d like to sell.”
I glanced upstairs, wary of only bringing a few things and leaving our precious bags behind.
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