Lady Ludmore chuckled. “I trust my maids completely, silly headed though they are.” I laughed inwardly at that, considering what Maisy had told me.
Anna and I scurried up the stairs. Anna sat down on my bed as I sorted through the clothing. I didn’t want to leave the gown with the necklace behind, so I changed into it. Anna helped me button up the back, then sat down again.
“The letter,” she said.
I shook my head. “I have no interest in what that horrid woman has to say. I’ll never forgive her. Never.”
Anna looked down. I pulled her chin up. “I’m sorry,” I mouthed.
She turned away and got up from the bed. She picked up several gowns, sleeves, and a stomacher, and silently handed me the woolen cloak I’d seen her wear the day Christian had asked me to marry him. We locked eyes, and I knew with a certainty that she had seen us and was thinking of Christian’s kiss. I reached for her, but she spun and walked from the room. I quickly packed up the pieces and followed her.
Lady Ludmore waited for us. “Why, where do you think you are going? I must see your wares first,” she said. “I have no idea if we are for Cheapside or Leadenhall.”
I brought the bag to the table. Lady Ludmore gently pulled out a gown, one of carnation satin. Along the matching stomacher was the best of my stitching, daffodils with knotted seed pearls. She ran her fingers over the fabric, her face somber and severe. Perhaps we would be headed for Leadenhall.
Maisy and Ava, who had magically appeared, inched closer, their eyes big. Lady Ludmore pulled another piece from the bag, and the maids sighed. It was a lemon yellow poplin, with bees and vines stitched in black and yellow, and honeycombs stitched along the borders. “This one is not as finely done,” she pronounced flatly. Grace had stitched it, not three weeks past, all the while cursing about her weary hands and what used to be. I’d had to finish the work for her.
“I’ll take this one,” she said, smiling slightly and pointing to the daffodil gown and stomacher, “and this one,” she said, fingering the yellow, “for Ava, and if you have another simple one for Maisy.” And the maids clasped their hands and squealed. “For church.” She nodded to them, and even this did not damper their laughter. “And I’ll subtract your room and board for as long as you are here. I’ll have no wastrels and waifs hanging about.”
“My work?” I asked her. “What do you think of it?”
“Among the best,” she said simply. “Now what else do you have?” She pulled the remaining pieces from the bag and examined each one. She nodded in approval. “Don’t go getting a swollen head. I’ve seen better. Come, come, girls,” she said, walking to the door. “We are off to Cheapside. I know of a draper who will gladly buy from you. She has the most extraordinary things. I’ve been buying from her for years.”
“Shall I call for the carriage?” Maisy asked as we went to the door. A carriage? My, she was a fine lady, she was, keeping a real carriage. Why hadn’t she taken it to Gloucester in search of her son?
“Good God, no,” she huffed. “When we could walk ourselves? God rewards those who waste not.”
We could hear bells ringing in the distance. I was lost for a moment, for it sounded just as the bells of Winchcombe Abbey that rang before every mass and on joyous occasions, although they be few.
“Why, that’s St. Margaret’s,” Maisy said. “The queen must be traveling to one of her palaces.”
And then there seemed to be a commotion outside our very door, and Maisy and Ava ran to the window.
“It’s a fancy litter, Lady Ludmore,” Maisy said over her shoulder.
Lady Ludmore opened the door, and Anna and I followed her out to the street. Maisy and Ava peeked through the window, their noses pressed up to the glass.
The crowds on the street had parted and people were squashed up against the walls of the buildings, hushed and expectant.
I couldn’t bear to look. Finally Anna nudged me and I had the courage to lift my head. Ah, God’s me. The most beautiful contraption I’d ever seen was coming our way. It was covered in a golden and cream-colored brocade, quilted diamond-wise and set with glittering jewels at the points. A large, waving white feather steepled at the top. The base of the carriage seemed to be entirely gilded in gold. Six men, three at each side, walked in unison, their legs pumping like a millipede. Somewhere inside was the woman I’d waited my whole life to see.
I held Anna’s hand. Would I have a glimpse of the queen? Would I? Yes. Now, I could see—ruffles, and finery and red curls—then God help me—dark eyes bearing upon me. Or had I imagined it all? I truly did think I should faint, even though Grace always said I wasn’t the fainting sort. It was Anna who braced my back up.
The litter stopped. And suddenly the queen herself looked out. And it was me she was looking at, there was no doubt. She stared at my gown, starting at my elaborate stomacher, then very slowly, scanning the violet silk down to my feet. My shoes. My muddied, tatty shoes. Oh, Lord. Her eyes narrowed and quickly rose to my face. Oh, she was beautiful! I managed a wobbly curtsy. She turned her head and leaned back into the cushions, and the litter lurched forward.
The smell of juniper is always about, for my good lady much loves it. She even sends me out in the fields to fetch it and prepare bouquets for her private rooms. It was here in a field of gillyflowers her handsome lord of a husband found me first. He gave me a lute and told me its beauty could not match mine. I’ve never received such a gift—it was only blows I received from my father, you see, and much more. He’s a very courtly fellow, my lord, high-spirited and merry, and sweet with his words, and so kind to me. So very kind. Agnes warns me of his intentions—seems he has a reputation for the ladies, high and low—but I say fa, for everyone can well see his great love for his beautiful wife. And what wrong can there be if I seize a little happiness for myself?
CHAPTER 12
What did she see in me? I stood there frozen, completely mystified, while everyone around me stepped back into motion.
Lady Ludmore, our bag in tow, grabbed my elbow and pulled me along the street, Anna following quickly behind. The early morning sun had hidden itself behind gray clouds, and it was cold. My whole body tingled. We swept by a hog-faced young lady selling cherries, while other maids, carrying large baskets of linen to be laid out upon the fields, chattered about the queen. Two ruff-necked men, standing before a great barrel of rotting fish, argued the price of pike. Horses grunted and a dog barked. I had not realized until now how quiet the country was, and pretty smelling, too. God’s me, but terrible odors seemed to emanate from everywhere: malted liquor, sweet cakes, and quince pies mixed with the dung of work beasts. And every now and then a breeze brought us the foul stink of the Thames. Lady Ludmore was silent, but when I looked back, hoping for one last glimpse of the litter, she asked calmly, “What is the connection between you and the queen?”
“I have no idea.” At least that was the truth. There was no connection between me and the queen, only Grace’s cryptic demand that I stay away from her.
“You are lying to me, Katherine, and I don’t like liars in my house.”
I had just come from a house of lies, aye, I had. I glanced at Anna, and she cocked her head. Then I said to Lady Ludmore, “There is no connection, none that I know of.”
“Was selling your wares a ruse to get to London?”
“No. We are penniless,” I said. I felt the heavy necklace brush against my ankle. It was only a half lie, and Grace always said a half lie was halfway to the truth.
“And your name. Have you given me your true name?”
I sighed. “It is indeed Katherine, although I was known as Kat back home,” I said, thinking of how Grace first started to call me Kat because I was sly as a barnyard cat, always creeping about with my nose where it shouldn’t be. “But I did keep our last name from you. It’s Bab, and I was embarrassed by it.” And that was the truth.
“Never be embarrassed by your beginnings, my dear,” she said, softening somewhat. “It’s
where you end before the eyes of God that’s most important.” Just then an older gentleman in a chestnut-colored silk suit caught my eye, and I blushed as we walked on.
“You must learn, my dear, to lower those dangerous eyes. You are not in the country anymore.” She didn’t elaborate on this, but continued, “There is more you are not telling me.”
I took a deep breath. “I was not born of the woman who raised me.”
“Why, you could be anyone,” she snorted. “You could be the daughter of the butcher’s wife born in Tilde’s barn. Or born of a barmaid in Moore’s field. A babe was found there, not a fortnight ago, left for dead in the cold of night. The poor soul who left her will hang if she is caught. Or did you think perhaps you are the long-lost daughter of good Bess?” She laughed. “Because of that wild hair?” She laughed again. “Red hair is said to come from the Vikings, and they left many a fool scattered about, I have to tell you.”
“No, of course not,” I responded heatedly. “It’s just that I have indeed always admired her. Since I was a girl, for her dress and her style and her jewels.” I added quickly, “How old is she, the queen?”
“Thirty or so, I believe, child,” she responded. “And you?”
“Sixteen.”
“Hmm. The queen would have been fifteen when you were born. Not too young, after all. My own grandmother birthed my mother at that age. But it’s extremely outlandish to even think such a thing, Katherine. Stay away from her. Stay away from the court, I warn you. What little time I have spent there showed me it’s an evil, evil world unto itself, even if they are dressed finely. Only the very strong and the very lucky survive. Stick to your sewing, my dear.”
“So you’ve been to Elizabeth’s court?” I asked as we continued to walk along. The hustle and bustle of the crowd had begun to grate on my nerves. I turned and saw that Anna felt the same. She held her hands over her ears.
“Only but a few times. I had my fill long ago, and of course I have had other matters to occupy my time. I knew her mother, I did, and there never was a more determined and cunning woman, and Elizabeth inherited the worst of her. And she got the worst of her father, too—his temper. God has a sense of humor, he does.” She laughed.
A long, cold shiver went down my back. It was as though Grace was walking next to me, her words echoing in my mind—You’ve inherited the worst of your parents, God save you.
We walked in silence, Anna humming to herself like a little bee. All sorts of people—young and old, wide and thin—bustled about: a lady carrying a tiny dog that yapped at us as we passed, little children dressed in finery, a dirty maid sobbing into her apron, a red-faced gentleman with a hawk upon his arm, singing to himself. I started playing a game—searching the crowds, looking for a glimpse of the dozens, if not hundreds of pieces of clothing I’d stitched through the years. They’d been taken from me, sold, and sent off into the world. And now, perhaps I’d see them again, touch them again, and know they were loved.
Finally Lady Ludmore entered a timber-framed shop. I glanced at the shop sign: MINIVER’s. And underneath a small royal crest that read, “By honor of the Good Queen Elizabeth.” Anna and I followed Lady Ludmore.
The shop was dark and low-ceilinged. There was a wooden counter in the middle of the room. In one corner a maid sat on a stool stitching, and in another corner I could see a dress form fitted with a lovely gosling yellow frock. Two other gowns, not very well made—why, I could see missed stitches even from where I stood—were displayed near the entrance.
“Where is your mistress today, Lily?” Lady Ludmore asked the maid.
“In the back, ma’am, wrapping a package. We’ve another order from the queen! Nicholas…” She blushed. “I mean, Mr. Pigeon, Clerk of the Wardrobe of Robes, is expected to come for it!”
“Go along and fetch her anyway!” said Lady Ludmore. “Tell her whatever she’s packing pales to what we have for her here.” Lily looked us over curiously, frowning at Anna, who was examining the yellow gown in the corner, and went to fetch her mistress.
Lady Ludmore removed her gloves and placed them on the counter. Anna, hand on the gown, turned to me, her eyes big. I went to her. It was of yellow sarcenet, a day dress. My heart began to beat. Yes. Strawberries, snails, and leaves in elaborate couch stitching, double backed across the stomacher. One of my signature stitches. I’d finished it several months ago. I’d accidentally spilled cider on the back hem. Grace was always chiding me, so careless I was. I’d scrubbed the stain out best I could and never showed it to her, of course. I carefully lifted the bottom hem. It was there—the pale faded area where I’d scrubbed the cider out.
A woman came through a curtained doorway. She was beautifully dressed, but she was snout-faced and poxed like old Mr. Dar. I stepped away from the yellow gown.
“Well, well. I can give you a good price for that, I can. Stained, it is. Only time I’ve ever been cheated from that old goat of a man and now he’s disappeared and I can’t get my good money back. Used to bring me gorgeous things, he did, from orders I had from Edmund Pigeon, of the queen’s wardrobe, who bought them from me, paid a pretty piece of gold for them, he did. We go back years, we do, and now what do I have to show for it? He’s sending me his son in his place.”
“I have to say I have things much more beautiful than this.” I pointed to the gown, my fingers shaking slightly. Lady Ludmore’s mouth dropped open. I could feel her eyes silencing me.
“This is my ward, Katherine Ludmore,” she said. “Her mother, my husband’s youngest sister, has recently died of the ague. She’s been gently raised as best as one can in the country, but she has a few manners to learn.” Why, it was a bold-faced lie, it was! Her ward. And how she’d said she’d stand no lies! “And her maid,” Lady Ludmore added, nodding toward Anna. Anna nodded back. “Her mother taught her the most beautiful, gorgeous stitching, I assure you.” She motioned for Anna to bring our things to the counter.
Lady Ludmore pulled out the fanciest piece, a luscious seawater green velvet, a damask pattern of cowslips and fall leaves gently sewn on the surface, pale gold bugles shaped like flowers set within. I’d had the good sense not to spill anything on that one; the velvet alone was worth a tiny fortune.
Mrs. Miniver’s eyes got large. “Aaaah,” she sighed. She grasped my work in her hands, examining it. Would she know the embroiderer was one and the same? She looked up at me a moment and then at Anna, but she didn’t say anything. She only smiled like a cat whose long-lost kittens have come home. “Yes, yes. What else do you have?”
Lady Ludmore displayed the other pieces and Mrs. Miniver examined them, glancing back at me again.
“Well, I’m sure,” she said. “Perhaps. Not the quality that I was hoping.” My face fell.
Lady Ludmore laughed. “Now Minerva,” she said. “How many years have we known each other? And you think I’m an imbecile half-wit, do you?”
Mrs. Miniver frowned, stroking the green velvet.
Just then the door opened and a young man entered the shop, dressed finely, in a golden doublet with a matching cloak.
“Why, Mr. Pigeon!” Mrs. Miniver called to him. She quickly folded my garments and put them back in the bag, with a wide, stiff smile.
He approached us, his eyes on my face. No matter what Lady Ludmore had said about lowering my eyes, I could not do it. I couldn’t pull mine away from his. He was smiling. He was young, perhaps five or six years older than me. And devastatingly handsome.
He turned to Mrs. Miniver and bowed to Lady Ludmore. “Lady Ludmore,” he murmured.
She nodded back. “Mr. Pigeon.”
“And who is this, may I ask?” he said, looking straight at me as Anna shrunk back in the shadows.
“Miss Ludmore, my niece, new from the country,” Lady Ludmore responded, frowning at me disapprovingly, for I still had not lowered my eyes.
He nodded to me. “Nicholas Pigeon,” he said. We stood smiling at each other until Lady Ludmore grabbed the bag and pulled my arm.
/> “We must hurry home. I trust we will hear from you,” she said to Mrs. Miniver as I stumbled after her, looking back over my shoulder at Nicholas Pigeon.
Grace always said thrice a surprise in one day and you might as well dig yourself a grave in hallowed ground and pop yourself in before the devil finds you. For when we walked back into Lady Ludmore’s home her son, the minstrel Spaniard, was sitting there, Maisy on his lap.
Lady Ludmore screamed. Maisy jumped up with a squeal, like she’d been bucked off a horse and ran just out of Lady Ludmore’s reach into the kitchen, wailing all the way.
We all turned our attention back to Rafael, who sat at the table with the wide grin of a wolf on his face. There was no sign of the minstrel he last was, for he was dressed now for all the world to see as the son of a lord, his clothes rich and fine, with a bit of a foreign look to them. He pushed away his elaborate breakfast and put one booted leg up on the table.
“Well, Mamá?”
“Fa, you bad son, you.” Lady Ludmore slapped him on the top of his head.
“Ouch,” he yelped.
And she slapped him again. “Do you know how much misery you’ve caused me?”
“Yes, yes.” He was half yelping, half laughing. She continued to slap at him. Maisy and Ava peered from the kitchen, their hands over their mouths.
“Why, I’ve almost died, I have, looking for you. Kicked by a cow in Wiltshire. Brought down sick in Oxford by a ghastly blackbird pie. And do you know what trouble you’ve sown with your wicked ways? Do you?” Ava’s face disappeared from the doorway, then Maisy’s.
“Mamá, is this the greeting I’m to get?”
She finally stopped slapping him and stood back, breathing hard. “Get your nasty feet off my table. Have you not ever learned your manners?” He moved his feet down, still smiling at her.
“You must be hungry. You are thin as a bog reed, you are.” She clapped her hands. “Maisy,” she bellowed. “More food for my boy!”
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