By Royal Command (18 page)

Alighting, and having two servants taking the boxes, we were ushered through the courtyard I’d been in a few nights previously, then taken along corridors and through rooms, seeing innumerable servants and many other persons who were so well-dressed they must have been invited guests. Some were masked and dressed in strange attire, some disguised as animals; there was also a family of dwarves, a troupe of acting men, some morris dancers in gay costume and a woman with a small, docile bear on a lead. Mr Kelly paused now and then to stare after one or other of them, professing himself mortified at the company he found himself in. ‘Mere entertainers and travelling players,’ he said. ‘Gypsies and fire-eaters, quack doctors, card sharps and strumpets. What have I been reduced to?’

‘You have long spoken of your wish to be invited to the palace, Kelly,’ Dr Dee reminded him.

‘But this is no better than being a player at a travelling show, or a base varlet who cries mousetraps in the street!’ he exclaimed.

We were eventually shown into a huge room I heard called a throne room, which was high and wide as a church. People were grouped together here, coming and going from each other with much in the way of flourishing, bowing and curtseying. I was not at all sure of the day’s sequence of events or when I might be called upon to assist in our demonstration of the changing of metal into gold, but, on Dr Dee and Mr Kelly finding themselves some notable gentlemen to speak to, I moved away and made myself as unobtrusive as possible in the background, while watching at every moment for both Tomas and Mistress Pryor.

There was much to see. At one end of the room was a raised dais, and on this a group of musicians were playing a merry air. At the other end was a larger platform, on which stood a gilded throne, and hanging above this a magnificent canopy of purple silk, ruched and splendidly embroidered, bearing a representation of the queen’s crown of state. On the platform also was a table covered with the queen’s New Year gifts – oh, so many gifts that I could not stop my jaw from dropping at the sight of them. There were objects of all shapes and sizes, wrapped and unwrapped, large and small, and amongst them I saw silver and pewter plate, clocks, jewelled boxes, crystal vases and musical instruments. I could have stayed looking for much longer, but mindful of my ma’s oft-repeated observation that it was rude to stare, at last forced myself to turn away from these delights.

On a window seat sat a group of immaculate, bejewelled ladies-in-waiting, sitting as close to each other as their farthingales would allow and seeming to be sharing confidences. I watched them, admiring them greatly and sighing a little inside because of it, for I knew that no matter how fine a gown I wore, my nails would still be torn, my hands chapped, my speech inelegant and my skills in the feminine arts non-existent. I could never be like them, I thought, remembering Tomas’s words when he’d explained that it would be impossible for someone of my background to become a lady-in-waiting. And so surely it was also impossible, came the thought, that Tomas should mean anything with his sweet talk and his hand-kissing, for wasn’t that part of his role: to flatter and to pay little compliments in order to bring a smile to a lady’s lips – even when, like me, she clearly wasn’t a lady?

Shortly after I’d reasoned this, Tomas entered the room with a tiny woman, no bigger than a child of six, on his arm. He was masked and again wearing the Harlequin outfit, and the little woman was partnered with him as Columbine and dressed in a satin gown of quite startling yellow, with everything about her in miniature, from the tip of her jewelled headpiece down to her feet in minute satin shoes. I’d never seen such a delightful and engaging creature in all my life before, not even at a fair, and could not stop from staring whilst she and Tomas promenaded around the floor, drawing all eyes to them.

There was much clapping from the floor, and calls of ‘Charming!’ and ‘Enchanting!’ before, after making two circuits of the room, Tomas led her to the platform beneath the throne. She sat down on the edge of this, swinging her legs, and hadn’t been there more than a moment before she was approached by one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting who, lifting her as if she were a doll, carried her off to a window alcove.

‘’Tis the queen’s dwarf, Tomasina,’ said a woman standing nearby, noticing my fascination. ‘Have you not seen her before?’

I shook my head.

‘Her Grace is most fond of her. She has a bed in Her Grace’s apartment and is always taken on progresses.’

I curtseyed to my new acquaintance, who was, perhaps, in her mid-thirties and wearing a dark gown and single row of pearls. She looked neat and elegant – and ‘twas therefore difficult to tell whether she was a guest or a high servant.

She asked very politely who I was, and I told her my name and that I’d come to the palace with Dr Dee.

‘You work with him?’ she asked, startled. ‘You are some type of . . . of cunning woman?’

I shook my head quickly. ‘No! I’m merely his children’s nurse.’

She stood back a little and surveyed what I was wearing. ‘Well, my dear, I must say that you don’t dress like a nursemaid.’

I smiled. ‘I have a friend who is a lady, and she gave me this gown,’ I said. I hesitated, then saw no harm in telling her the truth. ‘But I’m not here as a nursemaid, for I’ve come to help set up Dr Dee’s apparatus ready for an experiment.’

‘Really, my dear?’

I was torn then between curiosity and politeness, and the former won. ‘And do you . . . ?’ I asked, leaving the question open.

‘I’m maid to one of Her Grace’s maids of honour,’ she said proudly.

‘And have you been so for long?’

‘Ten years,’ was the reply. ‘My young lady came to Court as a girl of twelve, and is now twenty-two.’

‘Is she here now?’ I asked, nodding towards the groups of ladies.

‘Indeed she is,’ said the woman, speaking like a proud mother. ‘She is in blue velvet, with her hair coiled about her head.’

I saw the girl immediately, for although she had quite a plain face, her hair was fair and arranged most beautifully in plaits around her head, these plaits having pearls threaded through.

I gave a cry of admiration. ‘Her hair is very elegant.’

‘And most complicated. It took a very long time,’ she confided with a sigh.

‘You must have many skills and abilities.’

She nodded. ‘All the lady’s maids must be able to style hair, iron ruffs, mend lace and calm a high complexion. Oh, and apply a poultice to feet that have seen too much dancing,’ she added with a smile.

‘And is it true you’re like one big family?’

She nodded and laughed. ‘Mostly we are, because we love what we’re doing and revere Her Grace. Sometimes, though, one or other of us is churlish and there’s a falling-out – as is usual in a family.’

‘Of course,’ I said, and I made some other chit-chat, admiring the cut of a dress, the colour of some leather slippers, asking how the young ladies managed to keep up with fashions and so on, and all the time wondering how I could gain more knowledge of Mistress Pryor. After a short while I said, ‘My cousin, who is ‘prenticed to a perfumer, visited the Court once. She met a lady-in-waiting who was very kind to her, and oft speaks of it.’

‘Who was that?’ the woman asked.

‘I believe the lady’s name was Mistress Pryor. Is there anyone of that name here?’

‘That would be Madeleine Pryor,’ said the woman. She looked up and down the hall. ‘She’ll be here somewhere; I saw her earlier.’ She smiled. ‘You wish to give her your cousin’s greetings, do you?’

‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t dare to approach her! If I saw her I could tell my cousin of it, that was all.’

‘Well, you’ll be sure to see her, for everyone comes into the hall when Her Grace opens her gifts. Although . . .’

I glanced at her enquiringly.

‘I know Mistress Pryor has been feeling rather out of sorts of late, for she oft retires early to her chamber.’

I put on an expression of concern. ‘It’s nothing severe, I hope.’

‘I trust not, for if one young lady suffers with an ague or a fever, then they all seem to catch it. But Mistress Pryor’s ailment seems to be more one of melancholy, for she is oft sad – and now that I think on it, she was so out of sorts she didn’t come with us on Her Grace’s progress to Kent last September.’

‘My cousin will be sorry to hear that she’s unwell,’ I said, my mind sifting and sorting this information. Why had Mistress Pryor declined to go on the progress? Was it in order to pursue her own interests; to work secretly for the Scottish queen?

‘I shall be interested to see Dr Dee,’ said my new companion. ‘When will this amusement take place?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know whether it will be before or after the queen opens her gifts. How do these matters usually go?’

‘The gifts take some considerable time, for as each is opened they are logged into a book by the Lord Chancellor.’ She lowered her voice. ‘By the end of it, the only one who is in the least interested in what comes out of which box is the queen herself, so the strolling players and other divertisements are to keep us from being bored while Her Grace is indulged.’

There was a sudden fanfare of trumpets and a set of double doors were flung open. Everyone turned expectantly and I held my breath, anticipating the queen and wondering what glorious gown and sumptuous jewels she’d be wearing on such an important occasion, but instead a group of five or six noblemen came through, followed by some of the queen’s ladies, including, I saw with a start, Mistress Pryor. All eyes watched while they walked down the room and climbed on to the platform, the ladies dainty and elegant, the men holding themselves very high and proud.

‘Her Grace will be here afore long,’ said my companion in my ear. ‘And there is the lady you asked for, wearing pink satin.’

I thanked her.

‘And do you know who the gentlemen are?’

‘Not all of them,’ I replied. ‘Who is the big, bear-like man with the gold chains about him?’

‘That’s Sir Francis Walsingham,’ came the reply.

I nodded, pleased to have seen him at last. Realising then that there was someone missing, I scanned the faces once more. ‘But where’s Her Grace’s favourite?’ I asked, for Robert Dudley wasn’t amongst the group on the platform.

My companion glanced quickly about her before she spoke, but no one seemed to be paying us any attention. ‘He rode home to his fine castle on Christmas Day,’ she said in a low voice, ‘and has not been seen since.’

‘I heard a rumour . . .’

She nodded, putting a finger to her lips. ‘We all know of it. ‘Tis no more than a rumour still, but everyone is affrighted lest Her Grace get to hear.’

‘But doesn’t she wonder why he isn’t here at the palace?’

‘He’s reported to be unwell, but e’en so . . . Her Grace wants all her men in attendance over Christmastide, and has already let it be known she’s most displeased with him.’

There was another fanfare of trumpets and everyone looked towards the doors once more. I picked up the front of my skirts ready to curtsey, but still the queen didn’t appear. Instead, a dark-suited equerry entered, walked swiftly through the room, knelt before Sir Francis Walsingham and held out a letter.

Sir Francis bade the man rise, read the letter and spoke to him very closely and urgently for several minutes. Following this, they both conversed with the other noblemen on the platform.

By then, most of the room were watching this scene, wondering what was happening, and though I, too, was engrossed, I made sure that I kept part of my attention on Mistress Pryor. Eventually the equerry bowed to Sir Francis and went off, followed by the other gentlemen. Sir Francis then walked to the middle of the platform and, standing with one hand on the gilded arm of the throne, appealed for silence.

When silence was achieved, he said, ‘I fear Her Grace will not join us this day,’ and my heart plunged for a moment, for I thought something terrible must have happened. Others must have thought it too, for there were some cries and exclamations of alarm. Sir Francis went on quickly, ‘Be reassured that Her Grace has come to no harm. However, some correspondence has been discovered which, only just now decoded, has uncovered a plot whereby our royal lady would have been unseated from her throne and replaced with the usurping Queen of Scotland.’

Consternation broke out across the hall until, after a moment, Sir Francis again lifted his hands for silence. ‘Rest assured that the plot was revealed before any harm could be done, and Her Grace is perfectly safe. But as she and her advisers must speak together at some length to ensure her continued safety and well-being, she will not be opening her gifts today. Nevertheless, she entreats you to stay, if you will, and enjoy the company gathered here.’

While all this speech was taking place I was watching Mistress Pryor, and as the word ‘plot’ was uttered, saw high colour come into her cheek. She was alarmed, I could see. Was this just because she feared the queen to be in danger – or because they had uncovered a plot that she was involved in?

As Sir Francis left the platform, disquiet filled the room. People formed and re-formed into groups, discussing the news, and I heard the word ‘Catholic’ uttered in anger several times. A few people left the hall by the double doors, seemingly on urgent business, and others entered. It was then that something very puzzling occurred, for I saw a figure detach himself from a group nearby, walk swiftly down the length of the room and disappear. He was a tall man wearing a short black cape lined in red silk and, though I only saw him in profile and he wore a mask, in style and bearing he seemed very much like Mr Sylvester – so much so that I could not stop myself from calling out his name. Of course, the commotion about the room was such that no one heard me, least of all him, and although my companion looked at me curiously, I merely said that I thought I’d seen someone I knew.

Could it really have been him? I wondered after. The figure had seemed very like, and certainly Mr Sylvester had a cloak the same. But . . . but only a few days past I’d heard him say that the Court was mere artifice, that he hated that foul world and would never enter it. But . . . he’d said never enter it
again
, I thought, recalling his exact words. As if he’d entered it before and found it not to his liking.