“Next month the dowager queen’s new book will be delivered.”
I nodded. We were all anticipating the delivery of The Lamentations, or Complaint of a Sinner.
“Lady Ogilvy, whose husband is an associate and financial backer of the book’s publisher, is going to deliver the books to the queen, and the queen shall hold a reception for her friends that day.”
“Yes, my lady, I am aware of this,” I said softly, not knowing where she led.
“Lady Ogilvy was a particular friend of my mother.” Elizabeth stared in her lap. I had never heard her mention her mother before. “Kat is a wonderful governess in all manner but she does not have as much experience in gowning and adorning as a lady in waiting might have. I know you have long been at court; you assist the Queen’s Highness with her wardrobe even now. I should like to be beautifully presented when Lady Ogilvy arrives. She has”—she held her hands together, the long white fingers restraining one another from shaking—“indicated that she would like to see me, particularly and privately.”
“It would be my distinct privilege,” I responded, bowing my head slightly.
The Lady Elizabeth smiled, retaining her composure. “Thank you, Mistress St. John. That brings me much relief.”
I made my way to Kate’s chamber the next day. Whilst I helped her I asked, “Do you think there might be money for the Lady Elizabeth to have a new gown afore your reception? Like as not many courtiers will be here, and ’twould be good for them to see what a fine lady she has become under your tutelage.”
“Yes, yes, that is a splendid idea,” the queen said with enthusiasm. “I shall have the seamstress called immediately. Should you like to assist us?”
“It would be an honor.” I clasped a collar around her neck. “I have not met Lady Ogilvy, who delivers the books.”
Kate shook her head. “She was sometimes at court events, but there was no occasion for you to have met her in particular, as she was not one of my ladies. She was, however, close to Queen Anne Boleyn and even attended her at her execution. Lady Ogilvy especially requested that she make the delivery for her husband, who backs Thomas Berthelet, the publisher. She has written to me that she has some items to give to the Lady Elizabeth, with my permission, items she did not feel were appropriate to convey whilst King Henry lived. I have, of course, given her my leave.”
Over the course of the next month the seamstresses completed two gowns for the Lady Elizabeth, one in dark blue with ivory damask underneath, stitched in gold, which set her red hair off to its finest, and one in black. I did not care for the new black dress, which I instantly recognized as the one in my vision. Thinking that perhaps I could forestall the prophecy by removing the possibility of the gown, I spoke up at the time about ordering a different dress instead, but Kate believed it to be becoming and proceeded with having it made.
On the evening of the reception I finished with Kate and then asked, “May I help the Lady Elizabeth with her hair? I know she has attendants of her own, but perhaps it would be an especial privilege to have the lady who assists the queen dowager assist her as well?”
Kate agreed, and I did Elizabeth’s hair up in a fine net of gold and pearls and a dark blue French hood very much in the style her mother was famously known for. When we were finished, she looked at herself in a looking glass and broke out in a delighted smile. “I am become a woman, Mistress St. John.”
“A beautiful woman, my lady,” I agreed. She was now past fourteen years old and marriageable. I grinned and Kat Ashley clapped her hands and we made our way to the hall where the reception would be held.
As it was November, the hall was ablaze with candles and the fires roared at each end of the room from hearths much taller than a man and twice his height, sidewise. There was a small group of musicians in the back, near the virginals, and they played softly. Mead and wine were passed by Kate’s household servants.
I knew most of the guests—Kate’s sister and her sister’s husband, and her brother, William Parr, who had financed the book with the Duchess of Suffolk, who was also there. I had not seen so many highborn nobles since King Henry had died, though my lady often entertained nobility with dancing and the like. All made polite conversation with Thomas but ’twas clear they were there to celebrate the queen dowager and her new book. Cecil had written the preface so he and his wife were there. I had written a letter to my brother and handed it to one of Cecil’s pages to deliver to Hugh upon his return. I inquired after our mother, who wrote to Hugh but not to me.
In the center of things, next to the queen, stood a lovely woman who was perhaps ten years Kate’s senior, clad in a rich gown of silver crushed velvet that set off her auburn hair, now threaded with silver that matched her dress, and tied back in a becoming knot. Kate called me to her.
“Lady Margaret Ogilvy, may I present Mistress Juliana St. John?”
I dipped a short curtsey and Lady Ogilvy smiled.
Though children were not often allowed to events such as these, Lady Ogilvy had brought her son, William, a lad of about ten, who stood by stiffly until the Lady Elizabeth called him aside and made small talk with him of a common nature. He drew her near and whispered something in her ear and she burst out laughing, the girl again, and he laughed with her, shaking his head of brown curls. I knew not why, but the sight of them together caused Lady Ogilvy to quickly wipe away a tear.
Lady Ogilvy turned to the table where the white, leather-bound books lay and spoke with others about Kate’s newest work, which had been delayed until King Henry’s death, lest he find its bold reformer pleadings to be heresy. My lady had escaped the first trap laid for her but may not have escaped a second. I had read the book myself and found it deeply moving, a bright beacon of a personal call to faith in the religious fog in which we oft found ourselves. I made my way to Elisabeth Brooke and spent much of the evening in her company. I missed sharing a chamber with her.
“William and I have married,” she whispered to me. “He shall tell the king, and the lord protector, at Christmas. I cannot see how they may find it disagreeable now that reform is the triumphant faith.”
I embraced her for a moment, sharing her joy. And then I looked toward the hearth.
Thomas seemed to go from jovial to sullen as the attention was focused upon his wife and not himself. I saw him make his way to the Lady Elizabeth, who was, of a sudden, alone.
He coaxed a smile from her and put her hand in the curve of his elbow. Within a minute I saw Lady Ogilvy approach them, personally untangle Lord Thomas’s arm from the Lady Elizabeth’s as a mother might, and lead her away.
The next morning, the Lady Elizabeth knocked upon my chamber door. I opened it and curtseyed. “Yes, my lady, please come in.”
She did, and closed the door behind her. I noticed that she came alone; she rarely moved about without attendants or other maids of her household. “Thank you for your assistance, Mistress St. John,” she said. “My mother was well-known for her beauty in person and in dress. As Lady Ogilvy was not only her friend but her mistress of robes it was particularly important to me that I be well arrayed.”
“You looked beautiful, my lady.”
She nodded slightly. “Lady Ogilvy delivered unto me some pieces of my mother’s jewelry, including her pearls, her personal favorites, which Lady Ogilvy had saved for me. She also relayed some … words of comfort and affection.”
I knew this unusual disclosure was her way of thanking me and also a display of trust, because Elizabeth was circumspect and shared very few of her personal thoughts or feelings. “A true blessing,” I said.
She nodded and a rare soft look passed across her countenance afore she took her leave.
I never heard her speak of her mother again.