Four days later, Lady Lisle was carried through the outer gate in her litter, a large box fixed to poles that rested on the backs of two horses harnessed in tandem. I was more nervous than I’d anticipated as I watched the entourage pour into the inner court. Liveried men and gaily caparisoned horses filled the area to capacity. The air smelled of leather and sweat, and the clatter of hooves on cobblestones drowned out every other sound.
Kate stood beside me, already shedding tears. My youngest brother, Edmund, was just as reluctant to let me leave and clung to my skirts with the tenacity of a terrier gripping a rat in its teeth.
A liveried servant attached a small stepladder to the door frame of the litter and folded back the sturdy flap of leather that covered it to keep out the elements during travel. Some kind of coarse canvas cloth, treated to make it waterproof, had been used to form the roof, but the sides were open. Striped curtains suspended from rings could be kept open or closed as suited the occupant. At the moment, they were wide open, giving me a clear view of the interior.
Lady Lisle traveled in luxury. She had cushions and pillows both, all covered with silk and so plump that they were likely filled with the softest down. And when she stepped out onto the stepladder, I saw that carpet padded the floor of the litter.
Jane Lisle was a little younger than my mother, a tall, pale woman whose body had been thickened by frequent childbearing. She was an island of calm in the roiling sea of her retainers. When she saw Kate and Edmund and me standing a little apart from Father, Mother, and Aunt Elizabeth, she seemed to know instinctively that I was beset by second thoughts. As soon as she had exchanged greetings with the three of them, she approached us. Her reassuring manner alone calmed my nervousness.
Unperturbed by Edmund’s grimy fingers, Lady Lisle detached him from my skirts and lifted him into her arms. When they were face-to-face, she made him a promise: “I will take good care of your sister. You need have no fear for her.”
Edmund at first responded with a steady, three-year-old stare. Then he flashed an engaging grin. “I like you,” he said. “You smell like roses.”
Kate also took to Lady Lisle. “I should like to go to court, too,” she announced.
“You are young yet, but perhaps when you are seventeen, as your sister is, something can be arranged.”
Lady Lisle’s diplomatic refusal left my sister disappointed but resigned. I vowed in that moment to try to emulate my new mistress. Clearly, she had mastered the art of dealing tactfully with other people’s feelings.
“Allow me to present my two oldest sons,” Lady Lisle said, turning once again to my parents and my aunt. She signaled for a young man of about my own age to step forward. “This is Henry.”
When he doffed his cap, I saw that Henry Dudley had a shock of light brown hair. After he greeted his elders, he turned clear hazel eyes on me and winked.
“And that,” Lady Lisle said, indicating another boy, this one half hidden behind his horse, apparently more interested in making sure the animal received proper care than he was in meeting strangers, “is John.”
John Dudley was Kate’s age. He was shorter, darker in coloring, and less polished in his manners than his brother. He came forward only after his mother called attention to him, but he showed proper manners when he was presented to the senior members of our household.
Both Henry and John Dudley seemed to appreciate the effort I’d gone to with my appearance. First thing that morning, I’d taken a bath. Then mother had filled her deepest silver basin with heated water and washed my hair with soap and ashes. After it had been combed dry, she’d brushed it until it shone. I’d left it loose, like a bride’s, and worn my newest kirtle and gown, decorated with embroidered flowers and birds. The predominant color in all my clothing exactly matched the pale blue of my eyes. John Dudley, although he obviously preferred horses to people, kept staring at me. I made a wager with myself that he’d spend at least part of the journey to Woodstock riding by my side.
At supper I sat between the two brothers. It did not take long for them to start calling me Bess or for me to become comfortable addressing them as Harry and Jack. Harry told wonderful stories of life at court, where he’d spent considerable time during the last two years.
“My father will meet us at Woodstock,” Harry said. “It will be good to see him again.”
“Where has he been?” I asked between bites of haddock in herb sauce—it was Friday, so we had no meat at table, only varieties of fish and dishes made with cheese.
“He was in Northumberland until April as lord warden and keeper of the Western Marches toward Scotland. Then, after Lord Parr was appointed to replace him, Father had to go to Dudley Castle to supervise the rebuilding there.”
I paused with my food halfway to my mouth. “Lord Parr? The new queen’s brother?”
Harry nodded. “He’s the new lord warden, and welcome to it, Father says. The north is a bleak, barren place and deadly dull except for chasing border reivers. Or when we are at war with the Scots. Lord Parr has been there since May.”
May—well before his sister’s marriage to the king. Dorothy would not yet have returned to court by the time he left. I supposed he might have stopped at Eaton Bray, but somehow I did not think so. Not with Grandmother Jane so set against him.
“There’s a maze at Woodstock,” Jack Dudley said, abruptly changing the subject. “I’ll show you the way to the center if you like. You shouldn’t go in alone. If you lose your way, you might never come out again.”
“A maze? Truly?” I’d heard of such things but had never seen one.
“The second King Henry built it a long time ago,” Harry chimed in. “The story goes that it was constructed to hide his mistress from his wife. She was called Fair Rosamund—the mistress, not the wife—and her house was at the center of the maze.”
That struck me as an odd place to build a house, but I did not say so. The conflicting versions of the story the two Dudley brothers told in competition for my attention contained contradictions enough. No one knew the real story anymore. It had all happened too long ago. But I looked forward to exploring the maze at Woodstock and to all the other new and exciting experiences that awaited me at court.
We set out at first light the next morning. Lady Lisle again occupied the litter, together with her waiting gentlewoman, Bridget Mardlyn. Mistress Mardlyn was a decade my senior and had been in Lady Lisle’s service for many years. Thin and wiry in build, her hands were always busy. If she was not plying a needle, then she was tugging at her cuffs or kneading the folds of her overskirt.
Several armed men rode ahead of the litter. Following after came the two-wheeled baggage carts, together with the rest of the entourage on horseback. Two maidservants rode on pillions. I’d traveled that way once as a child and hadn’t cared for it. Sitting sideways on a pillion attached to the back of a saddle requires a woman to clasp her arms around the waist of the man in front of her, lest she fall off. When I’d been a little older, I’d ridden using a man’s saddle, but now that I was grown I had to ride like a lady.
My horse was a gentle bay named Prancer, and I had a new saddle with its own leather cover to keep it clean when I wasn’t using it. It was worked in velvet with flowers of gold thread. Off the side was a velvet sling on which both of my feet rested while one of my knees nestled in a purpose-cut hollow. This position was not as comfortable on a long journey as riding astride, but it was better than being perched on a pillion and less likely to leave me with bruises than traveling by litter. In spite of all the cushions, Lady Lisle and Mistress Mardlyn would be jounced and jostled all the way to Woodstock.