They are far beyond words; they cannot even say goodnight. She lifts her face to him, and he kisses her softened mouth. She clings to him as he holds her. I think I will have to peel them off each other, one tendril after another, like bindweed.
‘You really have to go,’ I tell him.
Gently, he puts her from him. ‘Perhaps tomorrow,’ he whispers. It is the first time I have ever heard him think beyond the presentmoment. They are starting to want more than the intensity of now, than the moment of intimacy – they are starting to want a future.
‘Yes, yes, I have to see you tomorrow,’ she tells him.
‘If it is safe, if it is possible,’ I say.
I take hold of his hand and draw him away. She leans back against the wooden bedpost, as if she cannot stand if he is gone. Gently, I push him out of the door and lock it behind him.
‘I love him so,’ she says simply.
Gently, I guide her back to her bed, and put her between the rumpled sheets. She turns her head till she finds the place where he laid his head and she puts her face beside it, as if to inhale the scent of him as she sleeps.
‘Goodnight,’ I say.
She cannot speak, she smiles as if she hears his voice, sees his face. I take her candle and I sit by the fire until she sleeps.
I never thought I would see a true love, a love as green as a willow, in this arid court. I thought I would steer her through the hazard of courtly life and bring her safely to widowhood, bitter, wiser, and richer. I thought that court would spoil her and enrich her. I never dreamed it might transform her into a creature as beautiful as a swan, paired for life.
I, too, am changing. I never dreamed that I would come through this cold-hearted court, through the valley of the shadow of death, to believe that love matters more than power. The love that we offer to the king is false coin. The love that he promises to one favourite after another is worthless, too. The king only loves himself, and he loves himself madly, without restraint. The court is a flock of starlings, stripping everything it can peck. But I walk through this battlefield of warring desires as if spring is greening all around me. I have lived in a deception all my life; I have never had a mouth clean of lies – but now, I believe truly. I believe in something that rings true: I believe in the redeeming power of love.
FRANCISDEREHAM, HAVINGbeen quiet and at peace, a discreet beggar for occasional purses, now strolls into the queen’s room while she is sitting with Lady Russell and the ladies after breakfast. The king is in too much pain to hunt, but he is taking a ride around Lord Russell’s new park on a steady horse.
‘Your Majesty,’ Francis Dereham says, with his oily smile. ‘I bring you a friend from our happy childhood, a friend from Norfolk House!’
I rise to my feet, dreading the introduction of one of the tutors, schoolmasters, or pages who seemed to have spent their time flirting with the girls, or one of the indiscreet cousins that litter Norfolk House. Kitty is watching him like a bird watches an approaching snake.
‘Oh Alice!’ she says in relief as a young woman comes in and makes a demure curtsey. ‘Alice Restwold!’ She leaps to her feet and kisses her on both cheeks. ‘How glad I am to see you! What a long time it’s been!’
She turns, smiling and pretty. ‘Lady Russell, may I introduce my friend Mistress Alice Restwold. We were brought up almost as sisters in my grandmother’s house, and I’ve not seen Alice since I left for the court!’
Yes, I think at once. So why are we seeing her now?
Lady Russell greets the young woman, who curtseys politely to her and then to the rest of us. Her manners are elegant, there is no reason to refuse her a place. I would just rather not add another pupil from that school of vanity at Lambeth.
‘You can lodge with Catherine Tilney,’ Kitty says. She looks at me. ‘She can come to London with us, can’t she, Lady Rochford?’
‘Of course,’ I say, feigning a welcome. Since the girl is introduced by Francis Dereham, he is sure to have told her that childhood friends are welcomed and will be well provisioned if they play their cards right.
Catherine Tilney takes Alice off to her room, and before dinner,Kitty gives her a pair of gowns and a couple of hoods. They are the same height and build.
‘We used to be bedfellows,’ Alice says, admiring her reflection in the queen’s long looking-glass. ‘Together night and day.’
‘That was a long time ago,’ I say repressively. ‘And Her Majesty is called to a different station now.’
‘Oh, of course,’ she says quickly, her gaze going from the new gown to my grave face, reflected over her shoulder. ‘Her secrets are safe with me!’
‘I should hope there are no secrets,’ I say firmly. ‘Nothing can be said in the king’s court that cannot be said to the king himself. And nothing can be said that would displease the king.’
‘No, no,’ she says again. ‘You can rely on me, Lady Rochford. I’m very glad to be here.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ I lie.
WE STAY ATChenies for several days, and though Lord and Lady Russell are extravagantly generous hosts, the king’s temper scarcely improves. He is aZeus Xeniawho demands godlike hospitality for merely arriving at their door. They lay on hunting and fishing, and they lose money to him playing cards every evening; but the insult at York burns in his belly and makes him belch after every enormous meal. I can see the same strain in Lady Russell’s face that I see in my mirror every morning.
I have some sympathy for her. For her husband, Lord Russell, a couple of days of feasting and driving deer towards the king is amply rewarded by the wealth that he will skim from England as a trusted favourite. But Lady Russell, who has to supervise the household, provide the entertainment, simulate admiration and even desire for an impossible guest, it is thankless work. I see her glance at Kitty with genuine pity: she knows that to be a queen to a sick and dying king is no way to spend young womanhood.
