flask of sleeping draught that Master Elton had given her, and now slept fitfully, too afraid to allow herself a good night’s rest in case she humiliated herself with another nightmare or episode of sleep-walking.
The nights felt too hellishly long now, and as soon as dawn lit the women’s chamber with its pale rosy light she was often up and about her business. The other women who woke early would gather for a quiet breakfast, but she could not stomach food at such an hour.
Instead she liked to walk out in the palace grounds, for the pathways were quiet in the soft dawn light and she could be alone there, something next to impossible once the day’s duties had begun.
She had heard from Kate, always her willing spy, that Master Elton was due to return to court any day. But her nerve failed her when she thought of visiting him. She was unsure, for a start, of where he would be lodged at Richmond. Perhaps with the other unmarried physicians, a thought which disturbed her, for it would be most unseemly to be seen calling on him in the gentlemen’s quarters. There was also the consideration that he must think her a wanton now, after the way she had yielded so readily to his caresses that hot summer night at Greenwich.
Margerie shivered at the memory, drawing her woollen shawl closer about her shoulders. She had shown no shame that night, only an unthinking desire for his body. And she had seen in his face that he felt the same for her.
Pure lust.
If only she had realised how life would change at court before leaping so wantonly into his arms. Since the king’s marriage to Jane Seymour, court ladies had been forbidden to wear low-cut bodices, or to cover them discreetly where they had no alternative, and were expected to choose dark or muted colours rather than the bold yellows, golds and reds that Queen Anne had favoured. The wearing of jewellery – apart from a sober cross – was frowned upon, and as for French fashions, they were not to be tolerated. Out went the smart new velvet hoods, so delicately picked out in seed pearls, and back came the old-fashioned gable hoods still popular in the provinces among older women.
Nor was it merely the ladies’ fashions which Jane had changed since coming to the throne. Those long hard nights of drinking and debauchery that had so frequently held sway during Anne’s reign were no longer mentioned even in whispers, and most courtiers were expected to retire to bed soon after nightfall. Prayer books had replaced Italian poetry among the courtiers close to Her Majesty, and although there was still dancing in the evenings, it was the slow pavane and dignified courtly measures that were played, not the foot-tapping French tunes that required leaps and lifts.
Jane was a modest and sedate queen, and although she frequently pronounced herself the king’s servant, it seemed to many that her husband might be brought to heel along with his court. Knowing the king as she did, Margerie did not believe Henry would so easily be changed. Nor would his men. The noblemen still drank deep in the evenings, of course, and continued to debauch maidens. They had not become monks overnight. But such misdeeds were achieved in secret now, behind the closed doors of their privy chambers, not openly in a court of lust and appetite.
She turned down a shady woodland path, keen not only to escape the warmth of the rising sun but also to avoid being seen from the palace. But she had not been walking many minutes into the wood before she heard slight noises behind her and realised that she was being followed.
Slightly alarmed, Margerie hurried her pace. The woodland path would curve round again to join the main walk in a few moments, but here she was out of sight of everyone – and possibly out of earshot too.
Still she heard the footsteps following her, growing closer. Flushed and uncertain of her safety, she picked up her skirts to run, and at that instant felt a hand on her shoulder.
‘Mistress
The nights felt too hellishly long now, and as soon as dawn lit the women’s chamber with its pale rosy light she was often up and about her business. The other women who woke early would gather for a quiet breakfast, but she could not stomach food at such an hour.
Instead she liked to walk out in the palace grounds, for the pathways were quiet in the soft dawn light and she could be alone there, something next to impossible once the day’s duties had begun.
She had heard from Kate, always her willing spy, that Master Elton was due to return to court any day. But her nerve failed her when she thought of visiting him. She was unsure, for a start, of where he would be lodged at Richmond. Perhaps with the other unmarried physicians, a thought which disturbed her, for it would be most unseemly to be seen calling on him in the gentlemen’s quarters. There was also the consideration that he must think her a wanton now, after the way she had yielded so readily to his caresses that hot summer night at Greenwich.
Margerie shivered at the memory, drawing her woollen shawl closer about her shoulders. She had shown no shame that night, only an unthinking desire for his body. And she had seen in his face that he felt the same for her.
Pure lust.
If only she had realised how life would change at court before leaping so wantonly into his arms. Since the king’s marriage to Jane Seymour, court ladies had been forbidden to wear low-cut bodices, or to cover them discreetly where they had no alternative, and were expected to choose dark or muted colours rather than the bold yellows, golds and reds that Queen Anne had favoured. The wearing of jewellery – apart from a sober cross – was frowned upon, and as for French fashions, they were not to be tolerated. Out went the smart new velvet hoods, so delicately picked out in seed pearls, and back came the old-fashioned gable hoods still popular in the provinces among older women.
Nor was it merely the ladies’ fashions which Jane had changed since coming to the throne. Those long hard nights of drinking and debauchery that had so frequently held sway during Anne’s reign were no longer mentioned even in whispers, and most courtiers were expected to retire to bed soon after nightfall. Prayer books had replaced Italian poetry among the courtiers close to Her Majesty, and although there was still dancing in the evenings, it was the slow pavane and dignified courtly measures that were played, not the foot-tapping French tunes that required leaps and lifts.
Jane was a modest and sedate queen, and although she frequently pronounced herself the king’s servant, it seemed to many that her husband might be brought to heel along with his court. Knowing the king as she did, Margerie did not believe Henry would so easily be changed. Nor would his men. The noblemen still drank deep in the evenings, of course, and continued to debauch maidens. They had not become monks overnight. But such misdeeds were achieved in secret now, behind the closed doors of their privy chambers, not openly in a court of lust and appetite.
She turned down a shady woodland path, keen not only to escape the warmth of the rising sun but also to avoid being seen from the palace. But she had not been walking many minutes into the wood before she heard slight noises behind her and realised that she was being followed.
Slightly alarmed, Margerie hurried her pace. The woodland path would curve round again to join the main walk in a few moments, but here she was out of sight of everyone – and possibly out of earshot too.
Still she heard the footsteps following her, growing closer. Flushed and uncertain of her safety, she picked up her skirts to run, and at that instant felt a hand on her shoulder.
‘Mistress
Similar Books
