Conspiracy by Lady Grace Cavendish

Author:Lady Grace Cavendish [Cavendish, Lady Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-53640-2
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2005-09-25T04:00:00+00:00

I must catch up with all that has happened, so I am writing this secretly at the joust.

It was Mary Shelton shouting for me in the garden, so I went over to her. She was very red in the face from dancing practice. “You are so lucky to get out of the dancing,” she moaned to me. “I don't think it's fair—why should we have to go over and over it and get shouted at? Anyway, the Queen wants you because you have a speech to give, and one of the Earl's house-poets has written it.”

My heart sank. It would probably be very long, and the rhymes idiotic. It's a terrible pity nothing much rhymes with Elizabeth, because very often poets call the Queen Eliza so they can rhyme it with surprise her, or worse.

We all headed back into the castle. Ellie came with us so she could gather some dirty laundry and use it as her excuse for being away so long.

When I got to the Long Gallery, all the Maids of Honour were there, as well as four Ladies-in-Waiting—so there were ten naiads and dryads in all. They were fanning themselves and drinking mild ale thirstily. It looked as if it would be a very vigorous dance, but that's how the Queen likes them.

The Dancing Master, Monsieur Danton, was drinking aqua vitae by the gulp. “Now zen, milady Grace,” he said, “You 'ave just a few steps, vous comprenez? Only a very few. And zen you say zis speech …” He gave me a long scroll and I looked at it with foreboding. It began, “All hail, fair England's fairest Queen. All hail, our gracious Eliza …,” which told me all I needed to know.

The Queen arrived, pages running ahead of her shouting, “The Queen!” She had been doing governing, closeted with Sir William Cecil and a pile of papers to do with Scotland. She looked in a very bad temper, and practically shoved Cecil through the door, to be rid of him before he could start prosing on about some other administrative problem. Then she came and stood by the Dancing Master, who bowed and cringed. She smiled at him, and spoke to him in French, and then laughed at his protestations. Ireally wanted to talk to the Queen privately and tell her what I had found out, but I didn't get the chance immediately.

“Come!” said the Queen, clapping her hands. “Let us see this dance.”

The other five Maids of Honour lined up, curtsied, and began to skip and hop, first to one side, then the other. Then they made a ring, circled each other as in a Bergomask, and then formed a Farandole Snail Shell. At the end of it, I read my speech as best I could, stumbling over all the odd words.

Next, the Queen took Lady Sarah's place—which made everybody tense up—and did what she could remember of the dance. Monsieur Danton kept stopping the musicians, playing wearily in the corner, to correct her

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