The Dog Who Loved a Queen by Jackie French

Author:Jackie French [Jackie French]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780730444152
Publisher: HarperCollins

It seemed like that winter would never end. Master Bourgoine put hot mouse skins on my Queen’s swollen toes. They helped the pain, but not much. They tasted good, though.

At times I dreamt I was running in the sunlight with butterflies to chase. But when I woke I knew I would rather be with my Queen than hunting a horde of badgers (whatever badgers were).

My Queen’s aunt, who lived with us, died that winter too. She was old, but my Queen said it was Tutbury that killed her. My Queen’s face grew paler and her eyes more shadowed. She sent Mary Seton away to France. Seton had been her oldest friend, the last of the four Marys. Seton cried when my Queen told her she had to go, so she at least might have some of her life away from prison. My Queen cried too that night, when all her people were asleep, except for me.

‘How can I bear it, Folly?’ she whispered. ‘Tutbury will kill us all. Cold winds and colder hearts…Little by little my life grows emptier of all I love.’

At least I was there to warm her hands, to lick the tears that fell.

My Queen needed me more than ever now.

And then one afternoon, when Jane called Fléance and Douceur to go downstairs, Fléance did not get up.

Jane called again. Douceur walked over and sniffed his friend, then he sat on his haunches and began to howl.

‘Hooowwl!’ he cried. The sound went on and on.

I whimpered, and put my head onto my paws. My Queen swung her swollen legs out of her bed and knelt stiffly beside him. She put her hand on Fléance’s chest. ‘Oh, my dear friend,’ she whispered.

‘I will take him, Madam,’ said Master Curle softly.

My Queen stroked Fléance and straightened his long ears. ‘We have both been prisoners, you and I,’ she said quietly. ‘Now you are free. Sleep well, my friend.’

She bent and kissed him. ‘Let him have a proper grave,’ she said to Master Curle. ‘He was a good and faithful servant. And if Sir Amyas objects, tell him it is by my orders.’

‘Sir Amyas objects to everything, Madam,’ said Master Curle.

My Queen raised her chin. ‘Let Sir Amyas beware,’ she said curtly. ‘I shall be Queen of Scotland again. Surely my son will sign the papers soon…’

But the weeks went by. And still there was no word from Scotland.

It was strange without Fléance. I remembered how he and Douceur had shown me where to sleep, to do my business. They had never been jealous of my time with our Queen. And if I missed him, I thought, it must be so much harder for Douceur.

It was. Day after day, Douceur refused to eat. Finally he grew so weak that Master Melville had him carried up to our rooms in his basket. He lay before the fire, watching the door as though waiting for Fléance to come bounding in. Every time a servant entered he looked up, then sighed and put his head back down again.

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