place, she said to herself, sitting down disconsolately in the cabin.
She was not alone in it, since Eleanor was there, and so was Dr. Amyas Spenlove, the chaplain who for the past three years or so had led daily prayers at Allerbrook. He was by nature rubicund and jolly, but didn’t seem so just now. On the contrary, he looked pinched and unhappy. Dr. Spenlove was an indoor man. In a world where printing had turned the making of illuminated manuscripts into a dying art, there were still people who loved them, and creating the colourful pages was Spenlove’s hobby. Over the years he had become quite well known. At the moment he was preparing a set of the four Gospels for a Taunton gentleman.
In his room at Allerbrook he had a cupboard full of pigments and fixatives and a locked drawer containing gold and silver leaf, and a smeary table to work on. He hated being separated from his hobby and he hated cold weather. He was also, as Jane knew, sorry for her. She had admitted to him, as they rode, that she loved Allerbrook and did not want to leave it to go to court, and although he had said all the expected things, such as “You’ll enjoy yourself once you’re there,” she had seen sympathy in his eyes. He wasn’t liking this journey at all, either on her behalf or his own.
Also in the cabin were the two middle-aged tirewomen Thomas Stone and Francis had found in Taunton.
“Maid of honour is a dignified post. You must have your own woman servant,” Francis had told Jane. “Thomas Stone is looking for one for Dorothy, as well. We’ll choose sensible women, skilled at their work and not too young.”
Eleanor and the two sensible women were talking together just now and they all smiled at Jane as she stooped her head under the cabin door, but although she smiled back, she sat down as far apart from them as the cramped conditions would allow. Eleanor glanced at her thoughtfully, but let her be, for which Jane was grateful.
At home there would be a roaring fire in the hall on a day like this, the sheep and cattle would be in the shippon, and the moors above the house would be dark and brooding and yet beautiful in their stern way. The trees in Allerbrook combe would be leafless, so that the sound of the swift Allerbrook would come up clearly, especially after the recent rain. She had not dared to protest when the news came that a place in the new queen’s entourage was hers. But now, less than a fortnight after leaving home, she was so homesick that she didn’t know how to endure it, and they hadn’t even landed at Greenwich yet!
They were arriving now. The plash of the oars had ceased and the barge was gliding silently onward under its own momentum. Ralph appeared. “Time to go ashore,” he said.
Jane obeyed, followed by the other three women and the chaplain. Dorothy was already stepping ashore on her father’s arm. Through stinging sleet they all beheld the palace frontage, stretching left and right, full of windows, adorned with the towers and turrets that Ralph had pointed out. Straight ahead was a doorway, reached by a broad flight of steps. Heads bowed against the sleet, the party ran for shelter. There were guards at the top of the steps, but a large, impressive gentleman with a blond beard stepped out to greet them and led them quickly inside, into a wide vestibule.
“I’ve had someone looking out for new arrivals. When he said a barge was approaching, I hoped it would be you,” he said.
He had a heavy mantle edged with beaver fur and a thick gold chain across the chest of his black velvet doublet, and though he was not old, he had considerable presence. Jane, concluding that he was a senior court official, promptly curtsied with cheerful informality. Ralph, however, gave a perfunctory bow and said, “Hallo, Edmund!”
“Ralph! At last!”
“This is Sir Edmund Flaxton,” said Ralph, turning to the others. “My cousin—and yours as well, Jane. You’re related to him in exactly the same way as you’re related to me. He’s younger than me, believe it or not. It’s the mantle and the gold chain that give him all that gravitas.”
“You’re a cheeky puppy,” said Sir Edmund amiably. “Behave.”
“Edmund, we all want to thank you.” Ralph spoke seriously and then once more addressed the new arrivals. “He’s worked himself ragged to arrange your appointment here, Mistress Sweetwater, and yours, too, Mistress Stone, when your fathers and I requested it.”
“We are all very grateful for your endeavours,” said Thomas Stone gravely and Eleanor, who had also sunk into a deep curtsy, echoed, “Yes, most grateful” in heartfelt tones.
Ralph performed further introductions and Sir Edmund told them all to come with him. “I’ve an apartment in the palace and I’ve already bespoken some wine and hot pasties. My wife isn’t here—she’s at home in Kent with our little boy, Giles—but I’ve good servants with me. You must all be perished after travelling on water in this weather. Where did you leave your horses?”
“Kingston, to be collected on the way home,” said Dr. Spenlove glumly. “We understood that stabling couldn’t be provided here, and by the time we got to Kingston, the poor beasts had had enough, anyway. The journey was difficult. I fear we’ve arrived much later than we expected.”
“Yes. You’ve missed the wedding, as a matter of fact. This way,” said Sir Edmund.
The route to his rooms was lengthy, across courtyards through long passageways with ornate ceilings, but finally he stopped, put a key into the lock of an unobtrusive door and showed them into a well-furnished parlour with a bedchamber visible beyond a wide archway in the farther wall. A fire sent out blessed waves of heat.
“Please sit down, everyone,” Sir Edmund said. “Yes, all of you. You all look frozen.” The two tirewomen had been hanging back, but accepted the invitation thankfully. “It’s no wonder that you’re late,” their host said as they settled themselves. “Winter travelling is so difficult. But it’s a pity you took so long.”
“We made what speed we could,” said Thomas Stone anxiously. “The appointments are sound, are they not? I mean…”
“Yes, yes, perfectly sound.” Sir Edmund paused as two manservants came in with the wine and pasties he had mentioned. “Here—you probably need this. You’ve had an icy welcome.” He waited until they had been served and the servants had gone and then said, “Presently I’ll call someone to show the young ladies to their quarters and introduce them to Queen Anna and the rest of her household. But I think I had better explain the situation. If you’d been here earlier, you’d have seen it develop, but as things are…”
They looked at him in surprise, waiting for him to go on. “It’s very difficult,” he said, “and confidential. The wedding was three days ago, on the sixth of January. Since then, alas… Oh, how hard it is to explain! I must warn you. It’s no secret within the court, and if I don’t tell you, you’ll soon hear everything, but all the same, it must not be bruited about outside. The king is not pleased with his bargain. I must also tell you that Queen Anna herself seems unaware of this. She is, I think, a very decent and…and innocent lady.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Thomas. “You’re not making yourself clear.”
Sir Edmund looked at him and turned red.
“You mean,” said Ralph shrewdly, “that the marriage is no marriage and may not hold?”
“King Henry tried his best to get out of it before the vows were taken,” said Sir Edmund. “There was some talk of a precontract. But Queen Anna took an oath that it was untrue and that she was free to marry, and so that way of escape was blocked. You young ladies are coming into a delicate situation. You must walk carefully and watch your tongues, and how long there will be a queen in need of maids of honour or ladies-in-waiting, I wouldn’t like to guess.”
“But he can’t…he wouldn’t…!” gasped Eleanor.
“If there has been no carnal knowledge,” said Thomas, “he won’t need to do anything drastic. There could be an annulment. He certainly can’t behead the daughter of a noble European house, even if he manages to…er…invent…”