Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set

5

My first two days at Woodstock were a great disappointment. I spent most of that time in the cramped quarters assigned to Lady Lisle and in the even smaller space given over to her attendants. My assigned bedfellow and nearly constant companion was Lady Lisle’s other waiting gentlewoman, Bridget. She had the keeping of the viscountess’s jewels and was responsible for the care of her wardrobe and for dressing her person and her hair.

“What are my duties?” I asked her the first morning, after Lady Lisle had left her lodgings to wait upon the queen.

“You fetch and carry at my lady’s command. You make yourself available to do her bidding, day and night.”

I sighed. “In other words, I wait upon her whim. But what do I do when she is not here? She does not need me to run errands for her when she is with the queen. Does Lady Lisle spend a great deal of her time in Queen Kathryn’s company?”

Bridget rolled her eyes at my ignorance. “Lady Lisle,” she informed me, “is one of the queen’s inner circle of friends.”

“I am delighted to hear it.”

Bridget sighed. “Do not expect me to nursemaid you, Mistress Brooke.”

“Have pity, Mistress Mardlyn. I know nothing of the ways of the court. I would not want to embarrass our lady mistress.”

She gave me a sour look but condescended to explain the workings of the court to me. “You must keep to the schedule,” she warned when she’d given me a brief and far from illuminating account of the hierarchy of the royal household. “We rise at seven, dine at ten, and sup at four.”

“And in between meals? How am I expected to occupy my time as I wait for orders from Lady Lisle?”

“There is always mending.” Turning her back on me, Bridget unlocked Lady Lisle’s jewel box. Her task for the morning was to make certain every piece was accounted for after our journey.

“It is the job of the maids to do the mending.” Curious, I stepped closer. Inside the ornately carved wooden box, a series of nested drawers contained brooches and necklaces and rings. Each piece was stored in its own soft cloth pouch.

“Do you think yourself too highborn to ply a needle, Mistress Brooke?”

Stung, I considered offering to make clothing for the poor but stopped myself in time. I was living at the royal court. If I was to have leisure to amuse myself, I would engage in courtly pleasures. And I would not let a mere waiting gentlewoman spoil my enjoyment at being out in the world.

Plucking up my lute, I began to play a sad song about lost love. Bridget ignored me and continued to count pearls and diamonds, rubies and emeralds, sapphires and garnets. The goldsmiths’ work was intricate and beautiful and some of the lockets opened to reveal tiny portraits. I repressed an envious sigh. One day, I vowed, I would own jewelry just as beautiful.

In the meantime, as Lady Lisle’s waiting gentlewoman, I . . . waited. I remained in her lodgings while she attended the queen, even taking meals there, as Bridget and the two maidservants did. It was not forbidden for me to visit Queen Kathryn’s public rooms—the watching chamber, the presence chamber, and the privy chamber—but I had no good reason to go there, either. As I knew few people at court, I shied away from pushing myself forward. I wanted to be accepted, to have friends, but I was fearful of making a bad first impression.

By the third day, I craved the outdoors. Keeping a wary eye peeled for anyone who might object to my presence, I crossed the large, square outer court and skirted the kennels and the stables. I was tempted to stop and look for Prancer, but I was not quite brave enough to venture unescorted into such an all-male preserve as the stables. Instead, I set my course for the orchard.

Fruit trees stretched as far as I could see. A broad path followed the stone wall that surrounded them, encompassed by a low hedge of cornelian cherry trees and rose, gooseberry, and current bushes. At the outside of the orchard, damson, bullace, and tall plum trees had been planted. On the inside were low plum, cherry, apple, and pear trees, together with a few filberts and medlars. I wandered aimlessly for some time, wondering if it was treason to filch and eat one of the king’s apples. I decided not to take any risks and eventually abandoned the orchard for pleasure gardens full of knot beds and statues, sundials and mounts, shaded alleys, turfed seats, and even works of topiary. In places the wide, graveled walk-ways had been planted with wild thyme and other sweet-smelling herbs. They released a pleasant aroma when crushed underfoot.

The most colorful flowers of summer were long gone, but some varieties of rose still bloomed. Bright green plants grew in profusion—rosemary and lavender, myrtle and germander, too. I walked for nearly an hour among these familiar friends.

Although I saw other people out taking the air, I wasn’t brave enough to approach anyone. I returned to the cramped little room I shared with Bridget and the maids—they slept on the truckle bed—still starved for company. I needed friends. I craved laughter. But I lacked the courage to do so much as venture up the stairs that led to the queen’s apartments.

I pondered this as I lay awake, listening to Bridget snore. I had never been timid at home. What harm would it have done to speak to someone I met in the gardens? And if I ventured into the presence chamber, surely Lady Lisle would acknowledge me, perhaps even present me to the queen.

The next morning I went walking again, but there were far fewer people about than there had been the previous day. None of them seemed approachable. Beset by self-pity, I was on the verge of retreat when a spaniel dashed across my path. A moment later, a young woman about my own age burst out of the shrubbery in hot pursuit.

“Rig!” she called, frantic and out of breath. “Rig, come back!”

“He went that way,” I said, and pointed.

“Wretched beast! If I have to leave the path again, my shoes will be ruined.”

“Take them off,” I suggested.

Her wide-spaced, sea green eyes widened for a moment. Then she laughed. “I will if you will.”

I kicked off my soft leather slippers and left them on the graveled path. In stocking feet, we raced across a terrace and down a flight of steps, past open flower beds raised above the level of the path on oak frames, and through a covert walk created by entwining the branches of two rows of willow trees overhead.

Rig led us on a merry chase. We could climb over the low-growing hedges of lavender or box or rosemary, but every time he ducked under one of the high, clipped hedges planted in privet or briar or whitethorn, we had to go around. By the time we ran him to ground, he had reached the man-high hedgerow that surrounded all of Woodstock. We would not have caught him then had he not found something interesting to sniff.

My companion pounced, scooping him up. “Bad dog,” she scolded, trying to hold on to him and pluck leaves and twigs from his fur at the same time.

I studied the young woman as I untangled the spaniel’s leash for her. She had a long face that narrowed toward a pointed chin and pale, flawless skin. Her cloak concealed most of her clothing, but that cloak was made of brocade and had pearls set into the trim, as did the border of her French hood. The little dog squirming in her arms wore a collar of crimson velvet. It had been embroidered in gold thread with the head of St. Katherine—the queen’s emblem.

“Is Rig Her Grace’s spaniel?”

“He is, and a more spoilt and pampered pup you will never meet.” We began to retrace our steps toward the place where we had discarded our shoes.

“I am Elizabeth Brooke, Lady Lisle’s waiting gentlewoman.”

“And I am Alys Guildford, Lady Lisle’s kinswoman. You replaced me in her household when I left to wait upon the queen.”

We recovered our shoes and walked together toward the palace. I was uncertain of what to say next, but Alys solved that problem for me.

“Tell me,” she said, eyes twinkling as she glanced my way, “how have you been sleeping? Does Bridget’s snoring keep you awake? I always found it useful to stuff cotton in my ears before I went to bed.”