Conspiracy (13 page)

Sarah gave me a very significant look so I went along with her, away from the rest, who had decided to play cat's cradle in the shade of a big tree by the lake. Some of the gentlemen were fishing in the lake, which may have had something to do with it.

Sarah and I walked away from the lake and round
the Hall towards the paddock, with Mary Shelton puffing after us. “Where are you going?” she asked. “Can I come?”

I didn't really want her to, especially after Sarah said, “Grace wants flirting lessons.”

“Oooh!” said Mary, looking at me curiously. “I see. Well, can I have some, too?”

“Of course,” said Sarah very graciously.

I caught Mary's arm and whispered, “I've got a good reason for wanting to talk to the Swedish gentlemen—just go along with it and help me.”

“Oh, not Jo—”

“No, of course not,” I interrupted. “It's nothing to do with John!” I was quite annoyed about it. Why does everyone keep harping on about him? Anyway, I've hardly seen him at all lately.

“All right, Grace,” said Mary equably. “Don't pinch my arm.”

Sarah had us line up in front of her and then turn sideways. “Look down, then up through your lashes. That's right, Grace. Down and then up. That's better, Mary.” She sounded like Monsieur Danton.

“Oh, very good,” she praised Mary, “You fluttered your eyelashes, too.”

“No I didn't,” said Mary. “I got a bit of dust in my eye.”

Sarah sighed. “Now, look at me and then look away.”

We did.

She sighed again. “You could giggle a bit, too,” she suggested.

Mary snortled like a pig. I did my best, but what was funny?

“Not like a donkey, Grace—he's supposed to find it attractive,” Sarah said wearily.

I tried for silver bells, like Sarah.

She hurried over, looking anxious. “Are you well, Grace? Perhaps you have a sore throat?” She wasn't being sarcastic: she doesn't know how. She was sincerely worried. That made me laugh properly, and she sighed again. “Well, I suppose that will do. Now, supposing he says, ‘Where are you going?’ What do you say?” she demanded.

“I don't know,” I said. Mary just looked puzzled.

“You say, ‘Where are
you
going, sir?’ YDU never answer a question, you simply ask another question. And sooner or later he'll start to boast and then you can relax.”

Something suddenly occurred to me. “But that's what the Queen does with ambassadors!”

“Exactly,” Sarah agreed. “Now, I forgot to tell you one very important thing. If he's droning on and
on about some horse's wonderful fetlocks, and you're going to die of boredom, you simply fan yourself a little more, breathe in and out quickly and then …” She sort of melted to the ground, where she lay very gracefully with her feet together. Mary and I rushed over and she looked up and grinned. “… you swoon. He'll get very excited and rush for help, and you can always recover quickly if he gets funny ideas about loosening your stay laces!”

“Why would he do that?” I asked, and both Sarah and Mary rolled their eyes at me.

“So, practise. Fan, breathe hard, one leg goes, the other follows, sit and flop. Lovely,” said Sarah enthusiastically when we did it. “Put your hand to your head first and say, Oh … I feel suddenly dizzy …' so he knows you have fainted, because he is only a man, remember. You shouldn't do it too often—only if you're too bored for words or if you need to escape from an embarrassing situation.”

Mary and I practised a couple more swoons because it was quite fun to see how daintily we could fall and lie there with our feet together. And then we got up and marched on to the paddock.

“I don't know,” said Sarah, eyeing me dubiously. “In truth, I think I would need at least a month to
teach you anything much. And we'll be leaving John behind in a day or so.”

I really think that was uncalled for. I really do. Why should I care about leaving John behind? And anyway, he ciould come along with us, couldn't he? With the Earl of Leicester? It's possible.

I tried some more looking down and then up, and nearly sprained my eyeballs.

The Swedish gentlemen had stretched a net between two trees near their tents and were playing a very vigorous game of battledore and shuttlecock, with much leaping and swiping and arguing (in Swedish, of course). I wanted to wave to them, but Sarah said we must just stand there and watch.

Soon the game became even more wild, with the shuttlecock losing feathers and one of the rackets losing a string. One of the gentlemen took his doublet off to play in his shirtsleeves.

“Ah,” said Sarah wisely, “they've noticed us. Do what I do.”

And they had. They abandoned their game and came over and started talking in a mixture of Swedish and Latin.

Sarah giggled when one of them bowed and shouted, “Beautiful! Beautiful!” in a very strong
accent, so I tried to do a girlish giggle, too. I have to admit it did come out sounding a bit like a donkey.

“Latinamne linguam intellegis?”
said one of them.

Mary shook her head. “I know what that one means,” she whispered. “He wants to know if we speak Latin.”

“No,” shouted Sarah. “English!”

They were trying to say something, shouting in Swedish, and then one of them said something about
quae sunt nomina vestra?
and Mary thought that meant something to do with names. So Sarah pointed to herself and said, “Sarah,” and Mary did the same, shouting, “Mary,” and I was going to do it, but they were all gathered round Sarah saying things like, “Sarah beautiful,” and suchlike, which was really quite annoying.

“Is there anyone who speaks English?” I asked, to lots of blank looks. I elbowed Mary. “Go on, say it in Latin.”

She looked alarmed. “I don't know much Latin. Um, er …
adestne aliquis qui Anglice loqui potest?”

That got a long sentence with the name Eric in it, and then one of them turned and pointed. Eric was the grim-faced clerk, in a sober suit of black. He came over and looked very disapproving at us, which
wasn't surprising because Sarah was still giggling. “Can I help you, ladies?” he asked. He didn't sound very friendly and he had a very strong accent. “Vat do you vant?”

“Are you the only one who speaks English?” I asked.

He scowled at me. “Vy do you vant to know?”

“I just wondered.” I thought of asking about the accidents. Maybe I could sort of allude to them. “Everyone is very impressed with the Prince, and the way he saved our Queen from falling off when her saddle slipped.”

“Yes,” said Eric, frowning a little bit less. “His Grace vas vorriedr-he says there seem to be many dangerous things happening here.”

“What are you gentlemen planning to do for the masked ball?” asked Sarah, doing the looking-down-and-then-up thing. It didn't work on Eric, though.

“His Grace and all of us vili be there. Ve look forward to it,” said Eric stiffly, not sounding as if he did at all.

“There
you are!” came Mrs. Champernowne's voice as she puffed towards us from the castle. “Will you come within at once? The gentlemen of the Removing Wardrobe are here, look you, and you must try on your disguises. Come along with you.”

So that was the end of that, though the Swedish gentlemen waved cheerfully to Sarah as we went back to the castle.

I've written it down, though, to be honest, I think it was a waste of time. All we found out was that the Swedish gentlemen don't speak English—and the only one who does, the Prince's secretary and translator, Eric, speaks with an accent. Not one of them could have disguised himself as Sir William Cecil's liveryman, or a merman for that matter, without his accent being noticed. Which means it couldn't have been one of the Swedish gentlemen who collected the livery from the Wardrobe, or delivered the double ale to Rosa and her father, or scared Rosa away at the fireworks. So I am no closer to working out who could be causing the accidents at all.

At the moment, the last remaining bit of floor is covered with chests full of disguises for the masque. All the other girls are grabbing them and trying them on. They go over our normal black or white Court gowns and are made of silks and voiles, in green and brown for dryads, and blue and white for naiads.

Mary Shelton is trying on a naiad costume, which looks quite becoming on her. Sarah is standing in a
corner, being fitted by one of the Wardrobe tailors for her Queen of the May costume. It is being made in costly cloth of silver and white velvet because, of course, she will be disguised as Her Majesty the Queen. My mask is very pretty, with its green ribbons and silken leaves, but Sarah's is quite wonderful. It has elegant white feathers and diamond spangles around the eyes. She has just put it on and she looks very mysterious as it covers all of her face, not just her eyes. She is looking in the glass, turning this way and that to see the diamond sparks glitter, while the tailor is trying to let her bodice out at the sides with panels of white velvet in the side seams. I wonder how many of the gentlemen will fall for the Queen's trick—and I wonder how the Queen will look dressed as a dryad!

“Oh, Sarah,” said Carmina, who was swishing her blue naiad ribbons about, “you will look beautiful. Are you nervous?”

Sarah nodded. “I wish I were just being a dryad now,” she said. “I have to make a speech, too. Will you help me learn it, Carmina?”

Which reminds me, I suppose I really should start learning
my
speech—Mary has said she will help me. I hope I don't tangle my tongue on all the
Elizas.

We have had a light supper and, I have to practise some dancing now, as well as that speech. …

The Queen just came in. She looks happier. She has been for a walk in the gardens with the dogs and that always relaxes her. It isn't relaxing for anybody else, mind. She walks incredibly fast and is impatient if you can't keep up. Now she is putting on the dryad costume over Sarah's white damask gown. Oops! Lady Helena had to put two handkerchiefs down the front for padding! But with the green and brown leafy mask and her hair dressed simply, she really does look like Sarah.

Hell's teeth! I am wearied to death. We just went through the whole dance three times, with Her Majesty taking Sarah's place and Sarah processing in stately fashion as the Queen.

My feet are aching and I have to learn that speech again, for I forgot it when the Queen was scowling at me. I don't think she likes being called Eliza much, either.