Assassin (5 page)

“Come, my dear, make appraisal of the gifts,” the Queen commanded.

I went and looked at the cushions, pulling the white silk squares off each gift. One was a small, silver-chased ivory flask with a lid that took off and became a cup—the sort of thing the Queen carries in her sleeve when she hunts, with aqua vitae in it.

The second was a small jewelled knife, set with garnets and pearls, with a pearl Cupid on the end—very pretty. Of course, I have an eating knife, but it just has a bone hilt and a plain leather scabbard, so it isn’t pretty enough to wear on special occasions. I liked the knife—I picked it up and drew it to see whether it was just for show. There was a sharp steel blade, so I put it back carefully.

The third cushion bore a pearl necklace with gold
links—quite simple, but very long, so you could wrap it round your neck and have it dangle all the way to your waist, or wear it as a snood round your hair. I touched the pearls. I am very fond of pearls; my mother used to wear them. I always wear a little pearl ring that she gave me. And what was it Masou had said? I glanced across at him, playing a lute in the corner with the musicians. Why wasn’t I wearing a necklace? Good question.

Then I stepped back and curtsied to the Queen. “May I explain what I judge from these gifts, Your Majesty?” I asked, and tried to think of something clever to say. “This flask, Your Majesty, is beautifully made for bringing spirits to revive one’s spirits when hunting. Perhaps Sir Charles, who has been helping my poor horsemanship, is hoping I will need it soon. From this, I guess a great ability to love, a heart deep enough for anyone to drain, a generous and kindly nature.”

Sir Charles bowed.

“But I fear it will be a long time before I can ride well enough to keep up with the Queen’s Hunt,” I concluded.

I turned to the long necklace of pearls with the gold links. “Here is a rope of pearls. He who gave it knows my favourite jewel is the pearl and has given a
long enough length that I will not feel constricted by it. I read sensitivity to my likes in the giver. But, nonetheless, is the rope of pearls meant to bind me tight, my Lord Robert?”

As usual, Lord Robert reddened and bowed. Sir Gerald was looking very smug now.

“And the beautiful dagger. Surely it speaks of a keen intelligence and a cutting wit. I was tempted because I would like so pretty a knife—but who woos with a blade? Surely a knife cuts the knot and does not tie it, Sir Gerald?”

Now Sir Gerald was scowling. It gave an ugly sneer to his mouth. He knocked back another silver cup of wine and held it out for a pageboy to refill.

I turned to the Queen and went down on one knee again. “In conclusion, Your Majesty, I am happy in your service. I yet have no desire to marry.”

The Queen shook her head, smiling sadly. “It was my promise to your parents, Grace,” she said. “You must have a husband to look after your estates.”

“Well, in that case…” I stood, sighed, trailed my fingers along the dagger and the flask, and then picked up the lovely pearl necklace and looped it carefully round my neck. “I choose my Lord Robert’s gift.”

He looked absolutely moonstruck. Quite like a calf with the bellyache, as Masou described him. I had to squash the urge to laugh.

He came forward with his face as red as ever to kiss my hand. “Um … Lady Grace … I, um … Um,” he said.

The musicians struck up another dance tune as Sir Gerald rolled his eyes and drank another cup of aqua vitae. Lord Worthy hurried over and whispered in his ear again, which provoked a snarl.

Lord Robert and I danced a passage of the Volta, which got everyone staring, but that’s what the musicians were playing. And yes, when Lord Robert lifted me, he felt strong enough and he steadied me when I landed—but he still didn’t manage to say anything except “Um” and “Er.” I felt quite sorry for him, though at least when I’m married to him
I
shall be able to talk as much as I like.

The other courtiers joined in and other couples went jigging and jumping and whizzing past us. I saw Sir Charles sitting at the side near a bank of candles, watching us rather sourly. Then Sir Gerald came through with a rather stout Lady-in-Waiting, and barged Lord Robert out of the way and trod on his foot. Off he went again.

Nobody else had noticed, but Lord Robert was gripping his sword. “I h-hate him,” he sputtered.

I put my hand on his, gripping his sword hilt. “But you won and he lost,” I said. “Why not be kind and forgiving?”

“My Lady Grace …,” said Lord Robert, “you … are … so … w-wonderful.”

Well, it was the longest speech he has ever made me, and it was quite flattering, so I smiled and kissed his cheek.

Dancing makes me thirsty and so, when the music stopped, I fanned myself and asked for something to drink. Lord Robert went to the sideboard where the pages and serving men were pouring wine. He waited patiently for Lord Worthy to get himself some mead, turning to survey the hall before taking a goblet for himself and a little Venetian glass cup of a flower water for me.

Sir Charles and Sir Gerald were collecting the gifts I had turned down. I was sorry I had offended Sir Charles, because usually he really is a nice old thing. Sir Gerald looked furious—pale, eyes glittering, with little patches of colour on his cheeks. He rocked as he swept up the dagger and stuck it in his belt. “Only a silly little chit of a girl chooses a
stripling boy over a man grown,” he snarled. “Does she think Lord Robert will look after her? She’ll be wiping his bum for him.”

He glugged back his wine, not noticing some pink spots on his ruff. He held it out to be refilled, but the pages and serving men are given strict orders by the Queen that anyone who looks drunk is not to be served. She won’t have scenes at her Court as they do at the King of Scotland’s, for instance.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, have we run out of booze already?” Sir Gerald demanded vulgarly.

I took my flower water out of Lord Robert’s hand because he was scowling at Sir Gerald, and turning pink at being called a boy. I was very glad I hadn’t chosen the dagger now; who wants to be married to a bully?

Then the crowd parted, and there stood the Queen. Those who knew Her Majesty well could see that, inside, she was furious. “If you need wine to drown your sorrows, Sir Gerald, I am sure that the winner of Lady Grace’s heart will be magnanimous enough to offer his own,” she said lightly.

Lord Robert went a darker red and his fingers clenched on the goblet in his hand.

Lord Worthy hurried forward and took Sir
Gerald’s arm. “No need, no need,” he said comfortably. “Come, nephew, I think you’ve had enough already.”

“If Sir Gerald is in need of wine, then wine he must have,” declared the Queen, in the tone that nobody likes to hear. “Perhaps you won’t accept it from your victor, Sir Gerald …,” she added, as she glided across the floor and held out her hand for Lord Robert’s cup.

I stood on Lord Robert’s toe and he bowed jerkily and handed his goblet to the Queen.

“But surely you will accept it from me,” she finished.

As she glided back I realized Her Majesty was being very clever, smoothing over the quarrel, perhaps preventing a duel. She handed Lord Robert’s cup of wine to Sir Gerald and of course he had to bow to her and then he really did have to drink it.

“From so fair and merciful a hand, what can I do but accept?” he asked, and drank it all down in one go. Then he made to bow again, lost his balance, and fell flat on his nose!

I laughed and the Queen laughed, and so did everybody else, especially Lord Robert. Only Lord Worthy was still upset. He rushed over, pulled Sir Gerald to his feet, and hissed something in his ear.

Sir Gerald bowed again, this time less unsteadily. “Your Majesty, by your leave, I think I had best get to bed,” he mumbled.

“Yes,” said the Queen pointedly. “I think that would be wise, Sir Gerald. The oblivion of the wine cup is no real cure for a broken heart, but at least there can be the oblivion of sleep, and all shall be forgotten in the morning.”

I thought she was being very nice to him; she is normally much sharper with anyone who drinks enough to fall over. Though I was very surprised that Sir Gerald was upset enough at my rejecting him to get so drunk.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said.

Lord Worthy went with him to the door, but the Queen summoned him back. “Come, my old friend, my Lord Worthy,” she called. “As long as my lord the Earl of Leicester is away, I need a partner. Come dance with me.”

He could hardly refuse, but he didn’t look very happy about it as he took the Queen’s hand, bowed, kissed it, and then led off with her in the French Farandol.

After all that, I was feeling so hot in my rose-velvet gown that I decided if I didn’t cool off, I’d melt. So I slipped my pattens on and went out of the
Banqueting House into the Privy Garden, where it was quite cool and dank. I passed several bushes rather full of people, two by two, and one with a young gentleman flat on his back singing to the stars. I walked quickly on past the maze, to the part that gives onto the kitchens and the buttery.

Ellie was there with someone I recognized as Pip, Sir Gerald’s manservant, who was flapping his hands about.

“I only wanted to brush it out,” he was saying. “Just shake it and brush it and perhaps dust it with rose-leaf powder before hanging it, so it would be fit for the Court another day. But he was in a rage, you know, quite beside himself….”

Ellie tutted and popped into one of the store sheds to emerge with a bucket. “Where did you say he was sick?”

“On the edge of the mat,” Pip told her. “I’m sorry, I would do it myself, but…”

“Not to worry.” Ellie made a wry face. “I’m used to it after feasts.”

She caught sight of me and grinned, rolling her eyes. Her sleeves were rolled up and she had her apron on.

“… so I’m sure the canions will be crumpled and his ruff bent. And when he wakes up tomorrow and
finds I haven’t undressed him, I’ll be the one to get the blame, you know. It’ll all be my fault and I shouldn’t wonder if he doesn’t kick me out then and there and…”

Poor Pip was wringing his hands. I’m more pleased than ever that I turned down Sir Gerald’s pretty knife—you can tell a lot from the way someone treats their servants and it’s
not
a good sign that Pip is so scared of Sir Gerald.

“He’s in one of my Lord Worthy’s chambers, isn’t he?” asked Ellie. “Why don’t I knock on the door, go in, and do the floor, and if that doesn’t wake him, you’ll know it’s safe enough to go in yourself and put everything away before you go to bed?”

Pip looked pathetically grateful. “Would you do that? Be careful, he can be violent when he’s drunk and angry,” he warned.

“Oh, fie!” sniffed Ellie. “If I can’t dodge a kick when the kicker’s blind drunk, I deserve a bruise on my bum. Don’t you worry, Pip, I’ll see to it.” She gave me a wink and hurried past to the Grace-and-Favour Chambers, lugging the bucket of lye and a floorcloth.

I turned and went back to the Banqueting House, where the light from the banks of candles was shining out through the painted canvas, throwing silhouettes
of Venus and Adonis onto the grass. So I stood and looked for a while, although I was getting chilly.

Somebody came near and turned to bow to me, then took my hand. “Who is it?” I asked.

“Robert,” came the reply.

I smiled and relaxed and let him hold my hand. In the darkness I could only see the shape of him.

“When may I k-kiss your lips, my Lady Grace?”

Another long speech! Perhaps it was easier for him to talk when no one could see.

“When we’re properly handfasted next month,” I said primly.

He kissed my hand instead and I let him. It was very romantic and proper. “A long t-time away. W-will you d-dance again, Lady Grace?”

“With you, my lord?” I said. “Of course.”

I let him lead me back to the dancing and we joined the line for another Farandol, which I thought was quite brave of Lord Robert, considering how often I had trod on his toes during the Volta.

We danced several more dances together. Sir Charles came up, still looking miserable, and offered to shake Lord Robert’s hand, which I thought was quite good of him. He stared at me all the time, though, which worried me. Then I saw Pip, Sir Gerald’s man, come back into the hall and speak to
Lord Worthy—who was holding the Queen’s fan for her while she watched Sir Christopher Hatton, one of the Queen’s favourites, demonstrate a new measure in the Volta. Lord Worthy spoke sharply to him, glancing over at Lord Robert and me once or twice. From the hand gestures, it looked as if Pip was explaining how Sir Gerald had been sick and gone to bed, and Lord Worthy looked a little less worried then.

At last the Queen decided that she had danced enough—and so, naturally, had all her Maids of Honour and Ladies-in-Waiting. We formed up in a line, a little less neat-looking than it had been on our arrival, and processed out, while the musicians played and the men started gathering together and talking about taking a boat down to Paris Garden.

When I went to help the Queen undress she waved me away. “No, my dear, take Fran to your chamber and get yourself to bed. You must be exhausted.”

I suddenly noticed how sore my feet were and how my legs ached and how my stomach felt strange from being squashed together by my tight new stays, so I kneeled and kissed her hand.

“Was this St. Valentine’s Feast to your liking, my dear?” She smiled at me.

“Oh yes, Your Majesty. I’ve had a wonderful time,” I told her. And it was true—once I’d got the business of the gifts out of the way.

As I took my leave, the Queen added, “Grace, you will find something waiting on your pillow, my dear.”

I curtsied again, wondering what it was, and made my way with Fran to my chamber.

Fran unlaced and unhooked me very quickly, and the rose-velvet kirtle and bodice came off. Then the petticoat and farthingale and bumroll and the other petticoat, and then, at last, Fran unlaced the stays and I said, “Oooff!”

It’s pleasing to wear stays and know how small your waist is, but it’s even better to take them off and let everything sag. And then, of course, your innards start working again, so you really need to be alone, and Fran knew it, so she smiled and gave me a kiss on the cheek.