“The queen is coming this way,” Alys whispered, and dropped into a curtsy.
I turned too quickly and almost lost my balance. Her Grace strode toward us between two rows of male courtiers sweeping off their hats and bowing. I hastened to follow Alys’s example, as did Mary, and remained in that position until a crimson velvet skirt appeared at eye level.
“Mistress Brooke, I presume?” The queen’s voice was soft and melodious and instantly put me at ease.
“Yes, Your Grace.” I looked up into luminous hazel eyes. She was queen of England now, but only a few months earlier she’d been just another country-bred gentlewoman like myself.
Queen Kathryn had been blessed with a clear complexion. What I could see of her hair beneath her French hood was a bright reddish gold. She was several inches shorter than I was and just slightly taller than Lady Hertford, who stood next to her, staring at me with unnerving intensity.
“My dear,” the queen said, “I hope you are enjoying the pleasures of Woodstock.”
“She has already discovered the maze.” Lady Hertford’s dry voice sent a flutter of alarm coursing through me. How had she known that? And what more did she know?
“I hope you had a guide who knew the way to the center.” Queen Kathryn sounded amused. “I was most fortunate in that regard. My lord the king escorted me to Rosamund’s Bower.”
A sudden image came into my mind—old, infirm King Henry in the legendary lovers’ trysting place, forcing his attentions on his bride. I swallowed convulsively and prayed my revulsion was not obvious. “Lady Lisle’s sons kindly offered to show me the way, Your Grace. And, as it turned out, my aunt, Mistress Bray, already knew the secret of the maze.”
She and Ned Brydges had emerged a full hour after the rest of us made good our escape. Grinning, Ned had assured everyone that they had not been lost. Dorothy had said nothing, but one of the points holding her bodice to her skirt had been broken.
Queen Kathryn evidently knew Dorothy well. Her laugh was a light, musical sound. “I am certain it was a grand adventure,” she said before moving on to speak with one of her gentlewomen of the privy chamber. They were distinguished by their livery, gowns of black, double-jean velvet and with the queen’s badge pinned to their caps.
A few days later, I encountered the king in the garden. I had seen him several times since arriving at Woodstock, but only from a distance. Most often he’d been sitting next to Queen Kathryn, his heavily bandaged leg resting in her lap.
Alys was walking Rig again, while I kept her company. His Grace entered the gardens, moving slowly, leaning on his staff. He appeared to be debating some weighty issue with one of his courtiers. A half dozen more trailed after them.
“Rig was sick last night,” Alys said, pulling my attention back to the spaniel dancing at our feet. “The queen was most distressed.”
I looked at the little dog, happily padding along the graveled path, head swiveling left and right at every new sound and scent. “It cannot have been anything serious.”
“The greedy little pig ate the king’s game pie. All of it.”
I smothered a laugh. “I trust His Grace pardoned Rig, else there’d have been a beheading on the spot.”
“The queen pleaded for clemency, and His Grace, being still a newlywed, graciously granted it.”
Poor queen, I thought, having to bed that fat old man. I glanced toward King Henry and his entourage and was wise enough not to say such a thing aloud, not even in a whisper. It would doubtless be accounted treason. Instead I opened my mouth to ask Alys about the masque planned for that evening. Before I could get a word out, Rig started to bark. That attracted the king’s attention. He made his ponderous way over to us to glare down at the hapless spaniel.
“Take that nasty little beast away,” he ordered.
Tugging on Rig’s leash, Alys hastened to obey, but when I would have followed, the king laid a heavy hand on my forearm.
“Stay a moment, Mistress Brooke. It has been some time since you last graced our court. You were a beauty then, but now you have surpassed all our expectations.”
“Your Grace is too kind.” I felt my cheeks heat but my hands went cold as ice. The king might be safely married, but I still did not want him paying too much attention to me.
“Does your brother still study in Italy?” he asked.
I was surprised he remembered that William was in Padua, until I recalled that peers, and their sons, needed the Crown’s permission to travel abroad. I recounted what little I knew of William’s travels and then, to my great relief, His Grace left me where he’d found me.
8
When the progress ended in late October, the court settled in at Whitehall Palace. Distinguished by its rose-colored brick walls, Whitehall stood at Thamesside just at the curve of that great river. To the east lay London. The old palace of Westminster was a short distance to the south. It had been heavily damaged by fire early in King Henry’s reign. Only the Great Hall remained intact and Westminster was no longer used as a royal residence. The two land entrances to Whitehall were towers that straddled the narrow, cobbled road that ran from Charing Cross to Westminster Abbey. Farther to the west was the Palace of St. James, King Henry’s “house in the fields,” built when Anne Boleyn was queen.
The interior of Whitehall was as great a rabbit warren as I remembered, but I soon learned my way around. I was particularly fond of the queen’s gallery, which overlooked the Thames. There was always traffic on the river, an ever-changing panorama of wherries and tilt boats, rowing barges and sailing ships. On clear days, I could see all the way from Lambeth Palace, just opposite Whitehall on the other side of the river, to London Bridge.
A week after our arrival, I was walking in the gallery with Mary Woodhull when I overheard one of the queen’s ladies tell another that Will Parr had returned from the north.
His sudden appearance set tongues wagging. It was customary to wait to be recalled by the king.
“Will he be reprimanded?” I asked Mary.
“With his sister so newly married to the king?” Her eyes danced with merriment. “Cousin Will would have to go out and lead a rebellion before anyone would accuse him of putting a foot wrong.”
I hoped Mary was correct. The king’s temper was uncertain, especially when his leg pained him. Even the queen knew to be wary of His Grace when he was out of sorts.
By the next day, wagering favored Lord Parr remaining in royal favor. It went against the resumption of his courtship of Dorothy Bray.
I’d barely spoken to Dorothy since our sojourn in the maze. I tried to tell myself I did not care if she won Will Parr back or not, but it was a lie. She did not deserve to keep him when she’d been carrying on with another man in his absence.
Two days after Lord Parr’s return, Mary and I were again in the queen’s gallery. This time Alys was with us. We could not walk for exercise in the garden. Rain fell in cold torrents outside the windows.
“I believe I am going to win my bet with Jack Dudley,” Alys said.
“What happened?” Mary asked. Alys had bet Jack a half angel that Dorothy Bray would not be able to entrap Will Parr again.
“I saw Lord Parr’s face when Dorothy made so bold as to attempt to drag him behind an arras. He broke free, scowling, and would have naught to do with her.”
“Foolish creature,” Mary said. “When a man decides he’s had enough of a woman, it is pointless to try to change his mind.”
“Do not be so certain.” I remembered Dorothy’s boast that she had Will Parr wrapped around her little finger. “He was besotted with her once.”
We reached the end of the gallery and turned in unison to walk back the other way.
“That was before Ned Brydges,” Alys said. “Someone will have told Lord Parr about Ned and Dorothy.”