B009RYSCAU EBOK Page 4

  “I’m Elisabeth Brooke,” said the dark-haired girl, dimples forming in her plump cheeks as she smiled. “Everyone calls me Lizzie. This is Phoebe, who is our chamberer.”

  The pale girl bobbed a curtsy and Bess blinked at the idea that she would have a maid.

  “You’ll sleep with me, here,” Lizzie said, plopping herself onto the high bed to watch as Bess undid the bundle of her belongings. “And your clothes can go in that chest—no, not now, later—you must haste and make ready for dinner.”

  “Is there—where do I . . .” Bess didn’t know how to say that her need to urinate was now urgent, but Phoebe read the anxiety in her face.

  “Oh! There is a close stool just in there.”

  Bess went where the girl pointed. In a tiny alcove off the room stood a chair whose cushioned seat had a hole in it. The bottom part of the chair was boxed in, but as Bess hoisted her skirts and peered in, she saw that a pan lay below. There was even a basket with scraps of colored wool that seemed to be there for the purpose of wiping herself, and another for soiled ones. Much more comfortable than using a chamber pot and straw, as she did at home.

  When Bess returned to the bedchamber, the blonde girl who had been helping Lady Zouche had joined Lizzie.

  “I’m Doll Fitzherbert,” she said. “Where do you come from?”

  “Hardwick,” Bess said. “And you?”

  “Norbury.”

  Phoebe had unpacked Bess’s bundle, and her two new gowns and shifts lay on the bed, her red shoes set neatly below them. With an anxious peek at Lizzie’s gown of green silk and Doll’s of carnation, Bess wondered if her own would do. And which should she wear? The tawny velvet had been intended to be her best, and she had not expected to put it on so soon, but it seemed the household was in turmoil over the visiting duke.

  “Shall I wear this?” she asked, and was reassured by Lizzie’s little cry of pleasure.

  “Oh, yes! Very pretty. And such a good color for your skin and hair!”

  With Phoebe’s help, Bess stripped to her chemise. She was ashamed at the state of her shoes, covered with the dust of the road and their soles cracking with wear, and gave Phoebe a grateful smile as the girl took them from her and scurried off. She was dismayed to see that the feet of her stockings were black with dirt, and her legs and smock were mottled gray.

  “We’ll soon have you more comfortable,” Phoebe murmured, bringing in a steaming basin and linen towel. “Sit you down, mistress, and I’ll have you ready in a trice.”

  Bess perched on a trunk while Phoebe washed the dust from Bess’s face, throat, and hands, and then knelt to peel off her stockings and bathe her legs.

  “Surely you’ll be wanting one of your fine new smocks,” Phoebe said, shaking out one of Bess’s new chemises. She held it up like a screen while Bess pulled her dirty shift off over her head and shimmied into the new one before stepping into the skirt of her new gown. Phoebe tied it at the back of her waist and then laced the bodice over it. Bess wondered what she would do if the household was so grand that she had to wear her best gown every day. Would the green wool be good enough? She flushed with shame, knowing what sacrifices her mother had made to provide her with her new clothing.

  She slipped her feet into her new red shoes, turning her feet from side to side to admire them and delighting in their elegance. Whatever else she might lack, these shoes at least would surely be fine enough for any lady.

  She had barely finished combing and rebraiding her hair and placing a cap on her head when a horn sounded from somewhere below.

  “Come!” Lizzie cried. “To the great chamber! Follow me, and do as I do.”

  Bess nearly fell as she darted after Lizzie, for the soles of her new shoes were slippery on the stone floor. She followed Lizzie through Lady Zouche’s bedchamber and into the adjoining room, which was much larger. Audrey and Doll were already there, taking their places on benches along one of three long tables. At the head of these tables, a trestle table covered with a rich cloth was set parallel to the foot of a huge canopied bed, and beside it a smaller table was laden with gleaming gold-plated cups, bowls, and ewers.

  “Why is there a bed in the dining room?” Bess whispered as she seated herself next to Lizzie.

  “It’s not really a dining room. It’s the great chamber. The best chamber in the house—the duke will sleep here. All these tables will be taken down when dinner is done.”

  Ranks of men and boys in the Zouche livery filled the rest of the table at which they were seated and that on the opposite side of the room. These must be the pages and grooms her mother had told her about, Bess thought, the male counterparts to her position, boys and young men of gentle birth who, like her, were there to learn to take their places in society, and to move up as high as they could.

  The tramp of many feet sounded on the stairs. A liveried man bearing a staff swept into the room followed by another carrying a tall, footed gilt bowl of salt and still others with ewers of wine, pitchers of beer, a great basket laden with bread, and a tray of spoons and knives. They placed the items on the head table and stood as the salt bearer stepped forward, bowed three times to an empty tall-backed chair behind the table, and placed the bowl of salt slightly to the left of it.

  Bess was dismayed at the lack of any food except the bread. And why were Sir George and Lady Zouche not present at the table being prepared so carefully? She leaned toward Lizzie to ask her, but once more a fanfare sounded from below. Three more liveried gentlemen marched in, one of them bearing a great carving knife and another a golden goblet with elaborate tracery. The man with the knife stepped to the stacked loaves of bread, cut a small slice from one, took a bite of it, and set it aside.

  “What is he doing?” Bess whispered to Lizzie.

  “Taking says,” Lizzie answered under her breath, glancing warily at the man with the staff. “A caution against poison. Not so much danger of that now, but ceremony requires it still.”

  Bess’s stomach growled with hunger, and she hoped that no one had heard it. The steward who had greeted her and Jem marched in, followed by three more men with chains of office about their necks. The three dozen people in the room might have been made of wax, Bess thought, they stood so silently.

  Another fanfare rang out, followed by the sound of marching feet, and the tantalizing smell of roasted meat. Bess’s mouth watered and she swallowed. Good—food was coming soon.

  The steward called out, “By your leave, masters!”

  Everyone rose to their feet, the men pulling their hats from their heads. Bess scrambled to stand, catching her foot in her skirts, and only stopped herself from falling by stumbling into the boy next to her. He smirked as she righted herself and she heard other boys snigger.

  “Here are Sir George and Lady Zouche and their guests,” Lizzie murmured, and Bess turned to see Lady Zouche, on the arm of a richly dressed gentleman.

  “That’s the duke,” Lizzie hissed. He was old, fifty at least, Bess thought, with a beaky nose and bushy, square-cut beard that she thought made his face look blockish. His clothes were finer than any she had seen, and jeweled rings flashed on his hands. He bore himself very upright and had a pompous air that she supposed must go along with being a nobleman. Ten or twelve other men followed in his wake, including Jem, dressed in his finest clothes and looking nervous.

  “That’s Sir George.” Lizzie nodded at the gentleman at their head. Bess’s new master was a tall and soldierly man in his thirties, with a strong jaw and bright blue eyes, and she thought him a much finer figure of a man than the duke.

  The gentlemen took their places at the head table but made no move to eat. Bess looked regretfully at the roast joint and platters of meat on the table, no longer steaming. She was feeling light-headed with the lack of food and thought suddenly with terror that she might faint. She breathed deeply and willed herself to remain upright.

  Another fanfare sounded from below. Her stomach turning over with hunger, Bess cried out to Lizzie under the blaring
of the horns, “Will we never eat?”

  But the fanfare ended even as she spoke. Her words echoed off the high ceiling. Every face turned to her. The duke, amusement in his eyes. Sir George, glowering. Lady Zouche, her mouth tight with anger. Bess wished she could sink into the floor. She opened her mouth to apologize, but found that she could not even speak. Surely she would be sent home now. She had been given a golden chance and had failed before she had even properly embarked on her new life. Oh, God, what would her mother say to see her come halting back? And how could she help the family if she could not reach to some higher place in the world?

  The silence seemed to last forever, but at length a black-gowned chaplain stepped forward, and all bowed their heads. No one moved to cast Bess out, and as the cleric said grace, she thanked God, swearing to redeem herself in her mistress’s eyes.

  At last the company took their seats and the meal began. Plates of roasted mutton and chicken were placed on the tables, along with baskets of bread and a potage of oatmeal, broth, and herbs. When at last the wooden trencher before Bess was laden with helpings of everything, she was so ravenous she thought she could not get the food into her stomach fast enough, but she tried to eat daintily. The mutton was highly spiced, which she was not used to, but she decided she liked it.

  There was little talk among the people gathered at the tables and though Lady Zouche appeared to be in good humor now, Bess had no wish to draw further attention to herself, so she took the opportunity to look around the room, admiring the high windows, elaborately molded plaster frieze above the mantelpiece painted in bright colors, and fine tapestries covering the walls. The people were even more interesting. Bess was surprised to note that she, Lady Zouche, Audrey, Lizzie, and Doll were the only females present.

  The gowned steward presided over the table where Jem sat with the liveried men who had carried out the ceremony before the meal.

  “Who are they?” she wondered, emboldened to speak now that there was a murmur of conversation.

  “Sir George’s cupbearer, carver, gentlemen ushers, secretary, and master of the horse,” Lizzie said.

  “They are gentlemen then?”

  “Certainly they are gentlemen!” Doll shook her honey-colored curls impatiently. “And they serve Sir George in places of honor, just as he serves the king.”

  “But then there are other servants?” Bess ventured.

  “Of course, but you wouldn’t expect the stable boys and scullions to eat in the great chamber, would you?”

  Bess only shook her head, not wanting to seem ignorant, as that was exactly what she did expect, as that was how the household ate at Hardwick, everyone together.

  “The lower servants eat in the hall below,” Audrey explained, “and those who cook and who serve them eat after that.”

  “The eating must never cease then!” Bess giggled.

  Her belly was comfortably full now, and her head slightly abuzz with ale, so she barely kept from exclaiming when no sooner had the dishes been cleared from the tables but the unseen horns sang out another fanfare, and two men marched to the door, staves in hand, to meet a delegation of servants bearing more dishes of food.

  Doll’s blue eyes danced at the surprise on Bess’s face.

  “The second course,” she whispered.

  The ritual that had greeted the first course was repeated, and more dishes were set on the table between Bess and her messmates.

  “I’ll burst,” she murmured, and Lizzie stifled a laugh.

  “You needn’t eat any more. Just take a spoonful and toy with it.”

  But the new offerings looked so tempting—a pie with gravy bubbling up from slits in its crust, smelling of onions and rabbit, and beef with mushrooms—that Bess found herself eating them, her belly rebelling against her tightly laced pair of bodies. By the time the second course was taken away, she was having difficulty keeping her eyes open, exhausted from the long ride and so many new experiences. She feared that when dinner was over her new mistress would dismiss her for her impertinent remark. But at the conclusion of the meal Lady Zouche did not return to her chamber with the girls.

  “She and Sir George will be entertaining the duke,” Lizzie said. “Which gives us a bit of time to ourselves.”

  “Yet there is still work for idle hands,” Audrey reminded the girls.

  She set Bess to mending a tear in a fine linen chemise, and drew up a stool between Lizzie and Doll. A cheerful-faced woman who introduced herself as Rachel, Lady Zouche’s wet nurse, joined them, sitting near the fire and humming quietly as she gave her breast to a fair-haired baby. Bess glanced around the circle of ladies, their heads bent over their own needlework. The atmosphere was cozy and relaxed. No one said anything about her indiscretion, and she began to think that perhaps she would not lose her place after all. The food and drink still weighed heavily on her, though, and she struggled to remain awake.

  “What news do you think the duke brings?” Doll asked no one in particular.

  “Something good, I think,” Audrey said. “If the tidings were bad we’d have heard them by now.”

  “Perhaps the king is to marry again,” Lizzie ventured.

  “Again?” Bess said, roused by this speculation. “But he’s been married three times already! How many wives does one man need?”

  Lizzie burst out laughing, but Audrey hushed her with a reproving glance.

  “He’s not just any man, he’s the king, and he must ensure that he has an heir.”

  “But he has a son,” Bess said. “It’s just two years ago since Prince Edward was born.” She recalled the joyful pealing of the bells of the church at Ault Hucknall, and the service of thanksgiving for the safe deliverance of the prince. And then the tolling of the bells and the mourning for Queen Jane, who had died less than a fortnight later.

  “He must have another,” Doll said, picking up a skein of scarlet thread and comparing it to the embroidery she had been working. “Lest something should happen to Prince Edward.”

  “And his daughters?” Bess persisted. “Could they not be queens?”

  “No,” Audrey said. “Of course a woman cannot rule. The king must have more sons. Besides, the king’s daughters are princesses no more, but are called only the Lady Mary and the Lady Elizabeth.”

  “But why—” Bess began, and then stopped. It seemed as if a cold shadow had fallen over the room. The smiles had faded from the faces of the other girls.

  “The king’s daughters were removed from the succession,” Audrey said briskly.

  Bess longed to ask for more information but Audrey had picked up her needlework and her eyes were fixed firmly on it.

  “Lady Zouche served Anne Boleyn both before and after she was queen,” Lizzie whispered, her dark eyes somber. “She was forced to testify against Queen Anne when the king turned against her, and then served in the household of Queen Jane. Audrey was with our lady then, but she does not like to speak of those times.”

  Bess was startled to think that she was among people who knew of the doings at court firsthand. One of her earliest memories was her mother crying at the news that King Henry had put aside his first queen, Catherine, and she knew that Queen Anne had been found guilty of treason and beheaded, but these episodes had seemed very remote from her life. Looking around at the girls’ faces, pale with anxiety, she realized with a sense of awe that she was now much closer to such great and tragic events.

  Lady Zouche swept into the room, two little spaniels yapping at her heels. Bess was struck with fear. She had almost forgotten about her mistress’s glare at her over dinner. Now her stomach went cold at the thought that perhaps Lady Zouche had arrived to cast her out and send her back to Hardwick. She jumped to her feet and curtsied, but as she raised her eyes, she was relieved to see that her mistress’s face was alight with excitement.

  “Such news!” Lady Zouche cried. “The king is to be married again! He has contracted with the sister of the Duke of Cleves.”

  “I knew it!” Lizzie
crowed.

  “God help the poor lady, then!” Bess murmured. She felt Lady Zouche’s eyes on her, and wished she could bite her words back. But Lady Zouche only looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, and after a moment she nodded.

  “Yes. We must pray for the success of the marriage. And for the well-being of Anne of Cleves.”

  Bess felt she could breathe again.

  “Will we go to London, your ladyship?” Lizzie wondered. At that, Lady Zouche’s smile broke out once more.

  “Yes, certainly. We must be there for the wedding.”

  Bess felt a surge of excitement. London! The center of the world, from everything she knew. She had never really thought that she might go there, and now she would not only be going to London, but to the wedding of the king himself.

  “When?” she cried. “When will we go?”

  “Soon,” Lady Zouche said. “The marriage will not take place until December, but the new queen must have a household, and her ladies and others will be chosen very shortly.”

  “Do you think you will serve the new queen, my lady?” Doll gasped.

  “It’s over early to think about that,” Lady Zouche said primly. “But certainly we must be in London when she arrives. And the traveling will only get harder the longer we wait.”

  * * *

  THAT NIGHT, WHEN BESS AT LAST CLIMBED INTO BED NEXT TO Lizzie, her head spun with the events of the day. She had been overwhelmed at her introduction to the Zouche household and had feared that surely she had lost her place as soon as she’d arrived. But recalling the look of approbation in Lady Zouche’s eyes, she now felt on firmer ground. She would not be cast out. She had been accepted. She realized with a pang that Jem would leave the next day, and she missed her mother and sisters already, and said a prayer for their safety and happiness at Hardwick. But perhaps her being in the Zouche household would enable her to help them somehow. And soon she would travel to London, and would see the king and his new queen.

  CHAPTER THREE