Part 1 (2/2)
I stirred under my blanket with shame.
”The queen will be disappointed in her,” came Frances's voice again. ”She expects us to be pretty.”
”Enough!” said Lady Mary. ”I will wake her now and dress her for the queen.”
”I am am awake,” I said, sitting up and glaring at the three of them. awake,” I said, sitting up and glaring at the three of them.
Lady Mary looked surprised. She was dressed now, her ample flesh restrained by a dark-colored bodice. Frances, sitting on her bed, raised her hands to her face. The other beds were empty. Emme stood regarding me with light brown eyes that were not unfriendly.
”I am Catherine Archer, daughter of the late Sir Thomas Archer of Winchester and as much a lady as either of you,” I said, hoping they would not laugh at me. Instead they looked startled. I got up and stood in my s.h.i.+ft while Lady Mary measured me for new clothes.
”Frances, lend her a bodice and skirt, for she is nearer your size.”
Grumbling, Frances obeyed. The sleeves were too long and she pinned them up. She didn't apologize when she p.r.i.c.ked me.
Emme combed my hair and plaited it. ”Her Majesty is sure to remark upon your hair,” she said. ”It is the blackest that I have ever seen, and falls almost to your waist!”
”Catherine, you are to kneel in the queen's presence and look down until bidden to rise,” Lady Mary instructed me. ”You will address her as 'Your Grace' but only after you are spoken to. The queen does not like a too-soft voice, nor a too-loud one.”
I nodded. My leg began to bounce of its own accord, and I tried to still it.
”Is she very ... beautiful?” I asked.
”She is the queen, queen,” replied Lady Mary solemnly.
”And what must I do to serve her?”
”As the least of the maids, you will empty her closestool and wash her underlinens,” said Frances.
Lady Mary gave her a sharp look. ”Catherine is not a chambermaid, but a maid of honor, like you.” To me she said, ”With Emme and Frances and three others, you will perform small tasks for the queen and wait on her at table.”
At least I would not be alone. I would share the work with the other maids and eat and sleep with them. Perhaps in time they would become like sisters to me.
And then Lady Mary was leading me down a staircase to a long gallery with guards standing at either end, holding sharp halberds.
”This is the queen's privy gallery. She may still be in her bedchamber,” said Lady Mary, opening the door.
I blushed to think of meeting the queen in her bed. Did she sleep in a s.h.i.+ft like any woman, or in royal robes? I followed Lady Mary into the room, which was lit by a single small window and dominated by a huge bed with gold-embroidered curtains drawn back. The bed was empty. I trailed her into the adjoining room and gasped. It was a bathing chamber complete with a gleaming porcelain tub and pipes for water. Next was a room full of musical instruments. I tripped after Lady Mary through a library filled with more books than I had seen in all my life and into a privy chamber containing benches with richly embroidered cus.h.i.+ons. In the next room the remains of a meal were still on the table. I heard voices coming through the door beyond.
”Aha,” said Lady Mary, crossing the dining room, ”she is in her dressing chamber.”
I hesitated. ”What if she is unclothed?” I whispered.
”Her Majesty's ladies are always about her,” said Lady Mary in a matter-of-fact tone, and opened the door without even knocking.
I seemed to see more than a dozen ladies, until I realized several looking gla.s.ses were reflecting everyone in the room. In them I could also see my own astonished gaze. Finally I discerned the queen at the center of the circle of ladies. Her back was to me as she faced the mirror. One lady knelt to fasten her slippers. Another held out a selection of glimmering jewelry. A third tended to her skirts, while a fourth stood on a stool combing her curled hair.
”Your Majesty, I bring you Lady Catherine Archer as you requested,” announced Lady Mary.
The ladies fell back and the queen turned to face me. I could not help staring. I noticed how slender she was, how wide and white her forehead, how bright her hair. Then I saw a dull lock against her cheek and realized with a start the bright, curled hair was false. The lady with the comb had not yet finished her task.
Lady Mary nudged me and I fairly crashed to the floor, bruising my knee. I could have died with shame at being so graceless.
”Get up, my dear,” came the gentle voice. It was the queen speaking to me.
”I cannot, Your Majesty,” I replied, for I was trembling all over. ”Without your gracious help,” I added.
Then the queen took my wrists and lifted me to my feet. Her hands were slim, her fingers long and tapered. I counted four rings on each hand.
”Do not fear to look upon me, child. Think of me as your mother now,” she said. It was a command, though softly spoken.
I lifted up my eyes to meet hers. They were bright and pale. She smiled and it was like the sun beaming from behind a cloud. I no longer saw graying hair against her cheek. I saw the woman on horseback who had once ridden through Winchester, ageless and beautiful. Grat.i.tude welled up in me and I knew I would love the queen, even wors.h.i.+p her, as long as she ruled. I would do whatever she commanded me.
Whitehall Palace was a bustling, crowded place. Besides six maids and a dozen ladies-in-waiting, the queen employed more than fifty grooms, footmen, and handsome guards known as Gentlemen Pensioners. She kept jesters and dwarves for entertainment and an army of servants, cooks, and kitchen maids. Everyone had a duty. Mine was to help Emme and Frances care for the queen's clothing.
When I first entered the wardrobe, a room twice as large as the maids' dormitory, my eyes could not take in everything it contained. There were cupboards with separate drawers for bodices, stomachers, coifs, gloves, and hats. Dozens of pantofles, overshoes with thick cork soles, lined the shelves. I counted fifty-one bodices and eighty skirts on rows of hooks before I gave up, my head spinning. With envious fingers I touched the gowns made of heavy brocade, floral damask, and s.h.i.+ny sarcenet. I admired the velvets wrought with embroidery as varied and colorful as a summer garden.
Lady Veronica, mistress of the wardrobe, opened a thick ledger before me. ”Every new item of dress must be recorded here, and the removal of every worn out or damaged piece noted,” she said. ”Anything out of fas.h.i.+on goes to the tailor to be remade, unless the queen decides to give it away.”
”Give it away,” I echoed in wonder. ”To whom?”
Lady Veronica shrugged. ”To one of her ladies. Whoever is her favorite at the time.”
Frances looked up from the chemises she was folding and smiled. ”Her Majesty gave me one of her petticoats at my last birthday. The hem was damaged, but I repaired it.”
I glanced down at her skirt. Following the current fas.h.i.+on, it was open in front to show the underskirt.
”I'm not wearing it now,” she said with a wave of her hand. ”It is much too fine.”
I wondered why Frances, who seemed so unpleasant, had received such a gift. But I said nothing, only watched Lady Veronica as she showed me how to pair the sleeves and undersleeves and store them with the matching partlets.
Caring for the wardrobe proved more demanding than I had expected. The queen often got ink on her sleeves, which required dabbing with urine, a distasteful task that usually fell to the laundress. But in a pinch we had to clean many a spot of grease and dirt from the queen's clothes, sprinkling fuller's earth mixed with alum upon the garment and brus.h.i.+ng to remove the stain. Lady Veronica taught me how to wash lace by laying it flat on a board, covering it with fine cloth, applying soap, then sponging it with fresh water.
The queen was most particular about her ruffs. They had to be made of the softest cambric so as not to irritate the skin of her neck. No laundress could set the gathered frills to her satisfaction. So I set out to make this my skill, brus.h.i.+ng starch into the folds, drying, dampening, dyeing, and starching again, then poking the hundreds of pleats into perfect folds. The first time it took me all afternoon, though with practice I could soon starch and set a ruff in two hours.
It took that long-two hours-to get the queen clothed in the morning, her hair dressed, her jewels pinned on, her face painted and powdered. Sometimes she would change her clothes at midday or in the evening, especially if there were guests at court. I became breathless from running back and forth from the wardrobe to the queen's chamber laden with skirts, farthingales, and accessories.
For one accustomed to rule, she was often undecided about what to wear. One day Emme and I fetched her blue damask gown, but as soon as it was fitted and tied-which took fifteen minutes-she demanded the green sarcenet instead.
”Which green sarcenet?” Emme said in dismay as we stood looking around the wardrobe. ”There are three of them here.” green sarcenet?” Emme said in dismay as we stood looking around the wardrobe. ”There are three of them here.”
I ran back to the queen's chamber. ”Does Your Majesty prefer the one that is bright green like an emerald, pale green like the gra.s.s in spring, or deep green like the fir trees?”
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