Queen's Gambit: A Novel of Katherine Parr by Elizabeth Fremantle Page B

stupor,
hardly knowing where to put herself in all this. Strictly speaking she shouldn’t
be here at all. Apart from the palace workers only noble servants are allowed, and even
that is apparently frowned upon by the Lord Chamberlain as, despite the size of the
place, there is not the space to lodge everyone. But Lady Latymer had insisted on
bringing her. ‘You are as close as family and I have no intention of leaving you
behind,’ she had said. Dot was relieved, for she’d been worried sick at the
idea of going back to Stanstead Abbotts and squeezing herself back into her old
life.
    Their lodgings are among such a tangle of
buildings that for the first three days Dot got lost every time she went out. The room
is quite modest, which surprised Dot who’d imagined a chamber with tall glass
windows and a great bed like the famous one at Ware that can sleep ten men and none of
them touching. Lady Latymer had explained that it is only the dukes and favourites, and
such like, who have the grand chambers in the palace itself, and even some of the earls
and countesses are crammed into a room as small as theirs. They are lucky to have this
room at all, it seems, for many have to find places to sleep outside the gates. In fact,
Lady Latymer appears quite happy with this arrangement. Dot has heard her say to Meg
that it is an indication that the King’s attentions have alighted elsewhere, for
if she were a favourite she would doubtless be lodged in the palace.
    But Dot is sure that the main reason Lady
Latymer likes being away from it all is because she can occasionally snatch a secret
moment with Thomas Seymour. Now there is true passion. Dot cannot erase the memory of
seeing the two of them together in the physic garden at Charterhouse. Just thinking of
it makes her feel tingly down there, and she wonders what it must be like to have a man
on you like that. She can’t imagine for the life of her a boy like Harry Dent or
Jethro going at it like a dog on a bitch in the way Thomas Seymour did with Lady
Latymer. She thinks about it though, at night, touching herself until her belly clenches
and she feels the hot liquid flood to her head, not caring that it is a sin. Why would
God make it feel so good, she reasons, if it is so bad? Meg has said nothing of what
they saw in the physic garden and Dot hasn’t dared bring it up for fear of
upsetting her, but at least there has been no more talk of a marriage for Meg.
    Meg is supposed to sleep in the maids’
chamber in Lady Mary’s rooms but mostly she sneaks down to her stepmother’s
bed. Dot cannot imagine her in a dormitory with a crowd of other girls who, she
supposes, must talk into the night about boys: which ones they fancy, who they have
kissed, and all that. Meg is most often at prayer these days, or biting her nails, or
sitting at dinner pretending to eat.
    Dot has a pallet in an alcove, which is
quite comfortable enough, and has a little curtain she can pull across for privacy. They
are very well like this, the three of them, though it is rather lonely during the long
days when Lady Latymer and Meg are doing whatever it is they do with Lady Mary –
strolling in the gardens and a good deal of embroidery and a lot of going to mass, as
far as she can tell. She misses the jolly atmosphere of the kitchens at Charterhouse
where shewould sit by the hearth and lark around with the others when
she had finished her chores. There is not much to do, save for tidy their small
lodgings, give things a good clean and see to the delicate laundry; the rest goes to the
laundresses, who sit in a steam-fugged room stirring great vats of linens and then hang
it all out to dry on the hedges in the yard, like white flags. She has to see to the
mending too, stitching on hooks and eyes that have come loose or darning any rents. It
doesn’t take her very long.
    She has been exploring and occasionally,
when everyone is at mass and she is skiving, when the place is empty and echoing, she
takes off her