Will’s hand settled on my shoulder. “Discover useful information, Jane, and His Grace will be in your debt. He can be most generous. If the information you provide has sufficient value, you will be able to name your own reward.”

I AWOKE ON Christmas morning uncertain where to go or what to do. Was I still to attend upon the princess? I knew she would hear Mass in private with the king and queen, then walk in procession with them to the chapel for Matins. The entire court would join them there, both to worship and to watch the king participate in the service. I doubted that anyone would notice if I was absent. Except, perhaps, Will Compton.

I sighed and wrapped myself more tightly in the sinfully thick and warm coverlet that graced my bed. I ran my hand over the soft fur from which it had been made and wondered what animal’s pelt I stroked. That made me think of the spaniels some ladies in waiting kept at court. Although in general I detested the little beasts, I thought perhaps I should acquire one. I was not accustomed to sleeping alone.

Always before I had shared my bed with someone. I was not certain I liked having the entire expanse of mattress to myself. On the other hand, I did not miss my most recent bedfellows, two of the Lady Mary’s attendants who thought themselves my betters simply because their fathers had been knighted.

I tried to imagine the expressions on their faces when they heard about my luxurious new quarters. They would speak disdainfully of my morals, but secretly they would envy me.

Drowsing in my warm little cocoon, indulging myself in pleasant fantasies, I was startled by the sound of the outer door opening. I cowered behind the bed hangings, uncertain what to do. A moment later, two servants entered the inner chamber. They seemed surprised to find me peering out at them from the gap in the bed curtains.

“What do you want?” I was relieved to hear no tremor in my voice.

“We come to collect all the unfinished candle stubs and the torches, mistress.”

“Why?” Genuinely curious, I pulled the coverlet around myself and leaned out into the chamber. They had a large basket with them, into which they’d put the remains of candles.

“They are melted down and made into new, if it please you, lady.”

“You collect these every day?”

Two heads bobbed in unison. “Aye, mistress.” They looked anxious, as if they feared I would call a guard.

“Away with you, then. Go about your business.”

They scurried out like mice pursued by a cat and left me to wonder what else went on in the royal household that I had never noticed. Even on Christmas, I supposed, close stools must be emptied, candles replaced, and meals cooked.

That made me wonder where Nan was. Nan Lister, the maidservant who was now all mine to command, should have brought washing water to the chamber by now. It was her job, too, to keep the brazier—the fireplace, I corrected myself—fueled, in addition to mending tears in clothing and serving as my tiring woman.

What else did she do, when her work was done? Was she well compensated for her services? A wry smile made my lips quirk at the thought that her wages per annum might be greater than my paltry stipend. It was fortunate indeed that I was not responsible for paying her.

She should have slept on the truckle bed. Stepping through the hangings, still wrapped in my coverlet, I almost tripped over the narrow, wheeled bed, but of Nan there was no trace. I shoved it into place beneath the larger bed, noticing as I did so that a bunch of mulberry twigs had been tied to the underside to keep fleas at bay.

Had Nan declined to serve a French nobleman’s mistress? That seemed an unlikely explanation. What servant would dare refuse an order from the king? But why else did I have no one here to wait upon me?

I was alone.

Abandoned.

I shook off the sense of disquiet that shivered through me. I told myself I should be glad of the privacy, a rare and precious thing at court. In truth, I could not remember ever being so completely solitary before, save for once when, as a child, I wandered off into the woods near Amboise and was lost for the better part of an hour. I had been terrified then. Now I was merely ill at ease.

Trailing the coverlet, I approached the clothes press. It contained new garments in the Flemish fashion. Unfortunately, I would need help to assume any of them. Every piece—sleeves, bodice, kirtle, and partlet—required fastening together with points. It was a physical impossibility to dress myself.

Would anyone notice if I did not attend one of the greatest feasts of the year? My stomach growled at the thought of all that food. To begin the first course, a boar’s head was always carried in on a platter decorated with rosemary and bay. Seethed brawn made from spiced boar was a traditional Christmas treat. There would be roast swan, as well. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of other dishes would follow. The best never reached the lower tables, but there was plenty enough for all to dine well, and no sooner would dinner be complete, than we would sup. This year the king had planned a banquet, too, a rich offering of sweets and fruits after supper.

The whole court would feast, I thought miserably, while I starved to death for want of a maid to lace me into my clothing. Would anyone notice I was missing? Harry Guildford might, but only if he needed my help. For weeks he had been preoccupied with organizing the revels to be presented for Twelfth Night, neglecting both wife and friends to supervise every detail. I sighed. Even if he realized I had vanished, he would have no notion where to look for me.

I was dressed only in a chemise and half in and half out of a new kirtle when my rescuer arrived. The tentative scratching at the outer door was accompanied by a soft voice calling my name. Guy’s voice.

Clasping the sleeves and bodice to my bosom, I let him in.

“Jesu, Jane!” His eyes widened as he took in my disheveled state.

Heat flooded into my face, and with it, no doubt, high color. I did not dare glance at my reflection in the looking glass. My loose, uncombed hair was better suited to the role of wild woman than waiting gentlewoman.

“Compton sent word to the duke only this morning of your new accommodations. When I noticed you were not in chapel, I thought I should come and find you.”

“It is well you did. I appear to have lost my new maidservant.” I made a helpless gesture with one hand, almost losing my grip on my clothing as I did so.

Guy hesitated. “I will go in search of her.”

“Far simpler to tie my laces yourself.” Straightening my spine, I turned my back on him, dropped the sleeves, and hoisted the kirtle. “The points at my waist first, if you please.”

Once again, Guy proved more than adequate as a tiring maid. I began to suspect that, in common with the duke, he might have had considerable practice dressing—or rather, undressing—women in court dress.

When I was suitably attired for the Christmas Day festivities, we went together to the great hall. We separated there, Guy to sit with the duke’s men, while I joined the Lady Mary’s other attendants. I pretended not to notice the intense scrutiny I received.

That day seemed interminable. I held my head high and ignored the countless conversations that abruptly ended as I approached and the whispers that began as soon as I’d passed by. That it was Christmas made it a little easier to endure the snubs. Rank perforce gave place to revelry, and there was a good deal going on to distract the court’s attention from speculation about me.

Master Wynnsbury was in rare form. In common with the king’s fools, the Lord of Misrule could say what he would to anyone, even the king. He was wise enough not to abuse the privilege, but he knew King Henry’s taste. He kept up a steady stream of ribald tales and jokes about bodily functions, fare that would not ordinarily have been approved of in the presence of the queen and princess. Both royal ladies showed great forbearance and endured the tasteless jests without demur. The king roared with laughter at every one.

The king’s banquet was the last event of a long day. There was only one table, set up in the shape of an inverted U with Longueville, the queen, the king, and the Lady Mary seated at the top. A select group of courtiers occupied the two long sides, each man paired with a lady. To my relief, I was seated between Guy Dunois and Ned Neville.

“Your maidservant has been located,” Guy whispered as we were served the first of twenty different sorts of jellies sculpted into the shapes of animals and castles. It was more common at banquets to dismiss the servants and serve ourselves, but I suspected King Henry was attempting to impress the duke.

“I am in your debt.” I waved the jelly away, knowing there would be more delectable selections ahead.

“She says she became lost among the passageways.”

“That is more than possible. Pleasure Palace is a maze if one does not know it well.”

He lifted his eyebrows at the name and I found myself flushing as I explained why I’d called it that.

“She was a child and knew no better.” Already well on his way to being cup-shot, Ned leaned in front of me to grin at Guy.

My color deepened. He made it sound as if I had been someone’s mistress even then. I covered my embarrassment by biting into a sweet biscuit.

Out of consideration for me, Guy ignored Ned’s comments as well as his boisterous behavior. He seemed set on putting me at my ease—a good thing, since we sat at table for hours. Every sort of wine from Burgundy to Canary was served, along with confections in animal shapes, marchpane, “kissing comfits” of sugar fondant, fruits dipped in sugar and eaten with special sucket spoons, and the mounds of syllabub called Spanish paps. Servants brought in bowls of water in which to wash our hands between courses, but after enough wine, it was more fun to lick the excess sugar off our fingers.

At last the hippocras and wafers were served, signaling the end of the banquet. Scarcely a caraway-seed-covered apple was left by the time the king finally rose to call for dancing. Stifling groans, the members of his court joined in. The musicians played tune after lively tune, and it was dawn before anyone escaped to bed.

By then, I welcomed the solitude of my lodgings. I slept the whole day through, and if servants crept in to collect the candle stubs that morning, I was blissfully unaware of their presence.











9

The court made frequent moves from one palace to another even in winter. We were at Richmond again in time for the New Year’s Day giving of gifts. Some said the tradition went back to pagan days. It did not, in spite of the name, mark the start of the new year. The year of our Lord fifteen hundred and fourteen would not officially begin until Lady Day, the twenty-fifth of March.

On the morning of the first of January, I was on duty as one of the Lady Mary’s attendants. My first task was to deliver her New Year’s gift to the king. Members of the royal household crowded the presence chamber, waiting for their names to be called, but as the representative of the second lady in the land, I was passed directly through to the privy chamber. Only Sir Thomas Bryan, the queen’s vice-chamberlain, was ahead of me. He had brought Her Grace’s gift to the king, her husband.

Sir Thomas glanced at me then quickly away, but not before I caught a glimpse of his disapproving expression. I repressed a sigh. He knew. And if he knew, so did his daughter, Meg Guildford, and Meg would have lost no time in telling Harry. I had no idea how my old friend would react to the news that I had given myself to a French prisoner of war, but I suspected he would not be pleased.

A fanfare sounded, breaking in on my gloomy thoughts. The usher of the chamber waved Sir Thomas forward and called out the customary words: “Sire, here is a New Year’s gift coming from the queen. Let it come in, Sire.”

When the door to the royal bedchamber opened, I caught a glimpse of the king. Fully dressed, he sat at the foot of his bed. His father had followed the same practice, waiting there to receive gifts from every member of the court. They were presented in order of rank, from the queen through the noblemen through the lords and ladies of lesser titles. Even those courtiers who were away from court sent gifts through representatives.

My own present for King Henry would be a pair of gloves I had embroidered myself. The gift was similar to those I had given him in years past. He always seemed pleased. I was the one who wished I could afford better. This year in particular, I regretted that I did not have the funds to give him a truly memorable gift.