Lady Mary by Lucy Worsley

Author:Lucy Worsley
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781408870136
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2018-03-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

February 1534, Hatfield

Mary spent the rest of the day in her room, preparing herself for a different kind of life. She called back the serving women, and had them bring back the dress she had rejected.

She decided to test the limits of what Reginald said: that nothing was forbidden to her at Hatfield House apart from leaving the estate. So she asked to be brought a bath. It took some time, and she could see that it was not easy at short notice, but eventually clanking pails arrived and Mary was splashing herself in a tub before the fire. She had the serving women comb her hair, and asked them to neaten it.

‘I shall fetch Lady Shelton and her embroidery shears,’ one of them said.

‘Can’t you do it yourself?’ asked Mary, who did not really want to see Lady Shelton again, particularly not if she were annoyed at being disturbed from some other task about the busy household.

‘Please, m’lady,’ the serving woman said. ‘If I were to hurt you with the blade by accident, it would be the end of my life.’

So Lady Shelton came. After she had finished trimming Mary’s clean hair, it felt different, so soft and sleek, almost like the pelt of an otter.

‘It’s … a becoming look,’ said Lady Shelton.

She spoke politely, but Mary could tell it wasn’t just an empty phrase. Even peering at her reflection in the murky silver mirror, she could see that having less hair made her white neck look long and curved, like a swan’s.

They had brought her many outfits now – a long blue dress fit for a ball, a cloak for riding in black velvet trimmed with mink. Mary asked them to take away the old black-and-brown monstrosity, the smelly shepherd’s cloak that she’d worn for many weeks, and burn it.

Then she remembered how it had kept her warm and alive through some very difficult nights. ‘No, wait, don’t burn it,’ she said quickly. ‘Give it to some poor man in the village.’ When she had been a proper princess, and lived at court, she’d had no idea what it was like to be cold or hungry. She was determined never to feel like that again if she could help it, but she wouldn’t ever forget what it was like.

Lady Shelton gave one of her clipped little nods, as if she approved of Mary’s thought. ‘Quite right,’ she said. ‘It is true that your mother always gave a good deal to charity.’ Mary was taken aback. Surely Lady Shelton was her mother’s enemy? It had been generous of her to mention Catherine, and Mary liked her a little more for having done it.

The next morning, Mary was dressed in a black riding dress and cloak. The serving women apologised for the lack of colour in her outfit, but they explained that it had been hard to find clothes of the right size and make in the neighbourhood, and that this was the only one available.

‘Why not just bring me my own from London?’ she asked, chagrined.

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