Mary, Bloody Mary by Carolyn Meyer

Author:Carolyn Meyer [Meyer, Carolyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-007-38172-2
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 1999-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Reginald Pole

The sun dipped low, and servants went from chamber to chamber, lighting the candles. I stood by the open window, the weather being unusually mild for Eastertide. Lady Susan and Lady Winifred sat nearby with their lutes. As the sky deepened from lavender to violet, I watched a lone, dark figure make his shambling way along the rutted road.

“Another wretched beggar, no doubt,” Winifred observed.

The dogs had begun to snap and howl at the tall figure in ragged garments. He fended them off with the staff he carried. I looked again, more carefully. Could that be…?

Abruptly I turned away from the window. My ladies put down their lutes and prepared to follow, but I shook my head. “Stay,” I said, and rushed out in search of Salisbury.

I found the countess in the pantry, conferring with the cook. “Come,” I said, and she followed me into the passageway.

“It’s Reginald,” I whispered. “I’m sure of it. He has come disguised as a beggar. He’s outside now. Oh, Salisbury!”

“I’ll see to it at once, madam.”

I hurried back to the chamber where Susan was attempting to teach Winifred a new tune on the lute. I slowed my steps and took care to enter calmly, as though nothing unusual were happening. The maids stopped playing and made their curtsies as always. “I must change to another petticoat,” I said. The maids glanced at each other but were silent.

Nothing in my wardrobe was right for receiving a visitor, especially this visitor. Not only had Cromwell not sent money for clothes, he had dismissed my mistress of the wardrobe. Usually I dressed simply in a plain woollen kirtle. My choice for dressing up was limited to the blue petticoat and bodice that Salisbury had made for me to wear to Sunday mass.

Susan helped me into it, lacing up the back. Then she combed my hair until it fell over my shoulders in a shining ripple of red-gold.

I held up a mirror of Venetian glass and studied my image. I could see Susan’s puzzled look reflected in the glass and longed to tell her about the disguised beggar, the mysterious visitor that was Reginald Pole. But I could not risk this, so I said nothing. The questions still haunted me: was Susan loyal to me? Or would she betray Reginald — and me as well — to Norfolk, to Anne, to the king?

I had already given away too much with my eagerness and with this sudden change to a different petticoat. To give the appearance of being calm, I opened a book, the works of Saint Augustine, and handed it to Lady Winifred. “Please give us the pleasure of reading to us,” I said. Presently Salisbury joined us — face powdered, a chain with a jewelled cross around her neck — and showed complete interest in Winifred’s stammered reading. Once I managed to catch her eye. She nodded slightly, which I took to mean that it was Reginald and that a meeting had been arranged. Or so I devoutly hoped!

At last I could bear it no longer.

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