The Queen's Lady (2 page)

1

1584

Richmond Palace, Surrey

‘Now, when the Queen wakes, she is never in the best of spirits,’ advised Blanche Parry, leading Her Majesty’s newest Lady of the Privy Chamber into the Queen’s private apartments. Elizabeth was out hunting in the park of Richmond Palace, leaving the way clear for the induction into a lady’s duties. The court had followed the sovereign like the train dangling from the back of her petticoats, sweeping across the snow in a glorious swatch of rich velvets and plumed hats, all mounted on first-rate horses – quite a pageant to entertain the commoners lucky enough to witness their passage.

‘Your ladyship may be asked to sleep nearby to be on hand for messages. I, or one of the other Ladies of the Bedchamber, sleep within.’ Blanche gestured to the canopied bed in the room beyond. The apple-red hangings were exquisitely embroidered with flowers – pansies, roses and love-lies-bleeding.

The Dowager Marchioness of Rievaulx, as Jane was now known, smiled down at the stooped elderly attendant who was her guide in her first days as one of the Queen’s ladies. Mistress Parry had served Elizabeth since before her coronation; now at seventy-six, she surely had earned a better bed than to sleep at the Queen’s feet. Then again, perhaps the faithful retainer did consider it the best place in the kingdom. ‘I will await your commands, mistress.’

Blanche returned the smile and wagged her finger at the young widow. ‘I know what you are thinking, my lady.’

‘Oh?’

‘That someone as aged and half-blind as me should have been pensioned off some years since.’

‘No, mistress, not at all.’ But she had been thinking something a little similar, truth be told.

‘All you young girls do. You try to sit me in the chair nearest the fire, make possets and other such foolishness as if I’m already an invalid. But as I’ve told Her Majesty, this old warhorse has served her for over fifty years and intends to die in harness.’

Jane thought that to have survived the reign of four Tudors so close to the centre of power was something of a miracle and certainly not to be rewarded with the patronizing treatment of untried youth. Jane touched the lady’s arm gently. ‘If I make you a posset, I give you permission to pour it over my head.’

The Queen’s chief gentlewoman bubbled with laughter and patted the back of Jane’s hand where it rested on her elbow. ‘That I will, my lady. Come, I’ll take you to the steward so he can find you a room. You may have to share with one or two others depending on how many are at court. I tell all my noble ladies that they would have been much more comfortable had they stayed with their families, but still you all beg for the honour of serving our sovereign – it speaks well of you.’

‘Thank you, but your praise is undeserved. I am proud to serve the Queen, but I have to admit that I came in the main because the late marquess my husband asked me to do so.’

‘Ah yes, dear Jonas.’ The lady’s eyes flicked over the pretty widow shrewdly, taking in the mourning weeds still worn long after the month’s mind had passed. ‘You grieve him truly, I see.’

Jane twisted the heavy wedding ring of the Rievaulx on her finger. Before Jonas was cold in his grave, his eldest son, Richard Paton, had demanded it back for his own wife and she had taken great pleasure in refusing to part with it. The sons had been predictably cruel from the moment Jonas had been laid in the family vault, spreading foul rumours about the young widow. She knew many – if not most – people at court would think she had married Jonas for mercenary reasons; Blanche’s insight came as a surprise and a blessing.

‘Yes, I miss him. He was a kind and wise husband. I had him for too brief a time.’

‘It gives me great pleasure to find a place here for his widow, though that is scant payment for the generosity he always showed me. Which reminds me: when you receive gifts from those trying to gain an audience with the Queen, it is appropriate to declare them to me or one of the other senior ladies. There is a fine line between a gift and a bribe but we can help you discern the difference.’

And so the instruction continued until Jane felt quite dizzy with information. Having spent her time since Jonas’s death four months ago on her own in Yorkshire, the sudden flood of people, noise and movement that made up the continual parade of court life came as a shock. Jonas had passed peacefully and for a while his sons had let her remain in her home until the details of his will were settled. It was only when the lawyers had locked horns over her widow’s rights that the new marquess ousted her from Rievaulx House and refused to move the tenants from the dower property that by right should have been hers for the remainder of her life. Having no desire to put herself back in her father’s care, Jane had been thankful for the foresight that had caused Jonas to arrange a place at court for her.

Blanche led Jane at a slow pace to the steward’s apartment not far from the Queen’s suite.

‘What else can I tell you? Ah, yes. Naturally, you are entitled to the bouge of court, meaning lodging, food, lights and fuel for your fire if your room has a grate. Two suits of livery are also yours – I’ll give you the cloth; you’d best see a tailor as soon as possible as the Queen likes her attendants to be appropriately attired the better to emphasize her appearance. We are the setting; she the jewel – do not forget this.’

‘No, mistress. Then may I beg leave to go to my needlewoman this afternoon?’

‘You have your own? Will not one of our court servants do?’ Blanche did not sound too impressed by the fastidious habits of the rich ladies who thought themselves above a service that served others well.

‘I am patron to a deserving woman, mistress – an old friend before her father’s fortunes were overset. She depends on my custom for her finishing business. I would not want to wreck her prospects by withholding my custom.’

‘As kind as you are beautiful,’ chuckled Blanche, her opinion of the young marchioness restored. ‘I am sure you can be excused. You are not due to be sworn into the chamber until the morrow so the Queen will not look for you this day.’

Jane took a boat downstream from Richmond to London, accompanied by her maid and two footmen. The Thames, a chilly slate colour, flowed at a rapid clip as the tide raced out, leaving the banks muddy wastes. As a marchioness, she could, of course, have summoned Milly Porter to come to her, but Jane craved the privacy and informality of her needlewoman’s workshop. There she would be guaranteed a warm welcome, and a chance for a lively gossip without fear of interruption.

As they neared Westminster, Jane noticed that the two men at the oars were staring at her boldly. She flicked a glance at the elder of her footmen and he immediately had a sharp word with them, demanding more respect for his mistress. They dutifully lowered their eyes.

One had to keep the lower orders in their place, of course, but there were limits. Jane had never felt quite right ordering around her old friend even though she had turned seamstress. Before Milly’s father had got mixed up in a plot against the Queen five years ago, he had served Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, as his chief serjeant-at-arms, and his only daughter had been treated as a gentlewoman. As both families lived close to each other and the children were of the same age, Jane and young Milly Porter had shared a tutor. Then the Porters had hit their rock. Imprisoned for informing Her Majesty’s Catholic enemies of the doings in the Leicester household, Silas Porter had been stripped of rank and wealth and sent to the Tower; Milly had been made destitute, no longer welcome in Leicester’s household. Loyal to her blameless friend, Jane had kept abreast of Milly’s plight as she was passed from house to house of her distant family. When Jane had assumed control of her own fortune on marriage, it had given her great pleasure to help Milly set up her fine finishing and embroidering workshop, freeing her from the humiliation of living as a disgraced poor relation. Not accepted as a tailor – the guild system was too strict to allow a woman entrance to that profession – Milly had found her niche as a finisher of their work in the feminine skills of embroidery and lacemaking.

At the landing place, a network of planks led her safely over the muddy banks exposed by the low tide. Taking a horse-drawn litter to the workshop, Jane was spared walking in the filthy streets of the capital. Her maid and footmen were not so fortunate, having to avoid as best they could the horse manure and rubbish dumped in the gutter. As the litter jogged along the streets, Jane lifted her gaze to the tower of St Paul’s; it dominated the London skyline, rearing over the rooftops like a giant’s castle from one of the tales she had heard in the schoolroom. She had spent many happy days with Milly, acting out the stories. Jane remembered with some chagrin she had always demanded to be the princess. Milly had had to make do playing a variety of heroes and villains, but she hadn’t seemed to mind; that was until life had forced them on to their different paths, Jane’s upwards and Milly’s down.

The litter stopped outside the little workshop in Silver Street, just north of Cheapside. Not having yet had the opportunity to visit, Jane was pleased to see that it was a handsome property with a bow window and an overhanging upper room almost meeting the house opposite. The window was draped with tempting samples of Milly’s needlework – best quality linen worked with intricate red detail, flower-bejewelled silks and night-black velvet sprinkled with gold embroidery. A beautiful lawn ruff edged with lace, almost as elaborate as the Queen’s own, sat in pride of place on a red satin cushion, indicating that this particular establishment supplied only the most elegant customers, either those who frequented court or the rich city wives who followed the same fashions.

‘Well done, Milly,’ Jane murmured, pleased to see the use her friend had made of her prime location. Jane accepted a hand from her footman as she descended from the litter. Her other attendant was already opening the door, ushering her into the haven of the shop, past the watchman guarding the entrance and out of the dangerous chaos of the streets.

A young servant waited within and bobbed a deep curtsy. ‘My lady, how may we serve you?’

Jane was still looking around the room, enjoying the signs of a flourishing business, orders ready wrapped on a table, a customer examining buttons in a layered jewellery box.

‘Tell your mistress that the Marchioness of Rievaulx is here,’ her footman replied on her behalf.

Soon after the servant had disappeared upstairs, a shriek of delight greeted this message. Jane would have laughed if she was not so mindful of her dignity before strangers. Her presence had already attracted the attention of a couple of passing housewives who stood on the pavement outside; they were eyeing her fine bronze satin doublet and skirt striped by panes of black ribbon, pricing every yard from gold thread to amber beading. Pretending to be ignorant of their interest, Jane turned slowly to display the outfit in full, hoping they would be encouraged to return later and place their orders for fancy work here in future.

Her attention sprang back to the stairs as a bright-eyed Milly clattered down the narrow flight and rushed into the room, hands outstretched as she would have once greeted Jane after a long holiday apart. Milly checked herself just before she collided with her friend and sank into a curtsy.

‘My lady,’ she said breathlessly. Several inches under five feet, Milly was a great deal shorter than her friend and slight with it. She always jested that she used half the material in her own dresses than the tailor did for Jane’s fuller figure, claiming it a useful economy for someone of her scanty means.

Aware they needed to keep up appearances before others, Jane gave her a regal dip of her head. ‘Mistress Porter. I wish to bespeak two suits of livery from your tailor, finished by you, of course.’

‘For your servants?’ Milly asked, darting a look at the brawny footmen.

Oh yes, her friend would like to get her hands on those two fine specimens for their inside leg measurements, thought Jane with a smile. ‘No, for myself. I have taken service – with the Queen.’

Milly shrieked again – then clapped her hand over her mouth. Jane nearly lost her composure – she’d forgotten how Milly always squawked and squealed at the most inappropriate moments, habitually getting them both into trouble. ‘You are fortunate, my lady. To be at court – with the Queen – and all those fine gentlemen!’

‘Quite.’ Jane bit her cheek to stop her amusement bubbling over. ‘I have the cloth with me.’ She gestured to her maid to hand over the bolt of white satin wrapped in a protective sheath of canvas.

‘May I take your measurements, my lady?’ Milly gestured to her stairs.

‘Of course.’ Jane swept ahead to the private chamber above. ‘Wait below,’ she ordered her attendants.

Once safe upstairs, Jane dropped her starchy marchioness manner and sank on a chair by the window to give in to her laughter. Milly joined her, leaning against the sill.

‘Oh, it is so good, my lady, to see you again!’ Milly exclaimed, her face flushed with excitement.

‘You have “my lady-ed” me enough, Milly. To you, when we are alone, I insist on being Jane.’

‘Not Jane the Vain?’ teased Milly, recalling her old nickname in the schoolroom.

‘Only if you want me to call you Silly Milly.’ Jane linked her hands across her stomacher, relaxing into the chair as much as her boned garments would allow.

‘I think I will pass on that honour.’ Milly perched on a footstool. ‘So, Jane, any change to your measurements since the mourning weeds? Master Rich still has the old patterns he used for them.’

‘None.’

‘Excellent, so we have plenty of time for our gossip. Tell me everything.’ She twirled her hands encouragingly.

Jane’s smile dimmed. ‘You know most of it already.’

Milly sobered and hugged her knees. ‘You must miss him.’

‘More than I thought possible.’ Jane sighed. ‘He helped me mend after the Earl of Dorset disaster.’

‘Not to mention that you jilted the earl in part because you were madly in love with his younger brother,’ Milly said sagely.