Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 2: The Queen’s Fool, The Virgin’s Lover, The Other Queen. Philippa Gregory

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СКАЧАТЬ woman, Mrs Kat Ashley, Elizabeth’s best servant and protector, was at the head of the hall, her hands clasped together under a solid bosom, her hair scraped back under an imposing hood. She looked the royal train up and down as if we were a pack of pirates.

      The councillors delivered their letters of introduction, the physicians theirs. She took them without looking at them.

      ‘I shall tell my lady that you are here but she is too sick to see anyone,’ she said flatly. ‘I will see that you are served such dinner as we can lay before you; but we have not the rooms to accommodate such a great company as yourselves.’

      ‘We will stay at Hillham Hall, Mrs Ashley,’ Sir Thomas Cornwallis said helpfully.

      She raised her eyebrow as if she did not think much of his choice and turned to the door at the head of the hall. I fell into step behind her. At once she rounded on me.

      ‘And where d’you think you’re going?’

      I looked up at her, my face innocent. ‘With you, Mrs Ashley. To the Lady Elizabeth.’

      ‘She’ll see no-one,’ the woman ruled. ‘She is too ill.’

      ‘Then let me pray at the foot of her bed,’ I said quietly.

      ‘If she is so very ill she will want the fool’s prayers,’ someone said from the hall. ‘That child can see angels.’

      Kat Ashley, caught out by her own story, nodded briefly and let me follow her out of the door, through the presence chamber and into Elizabeth’s private rooms.

      There was a heavy damask curtain over the door to shut out the noise from the presence chamber. There were matching curtains at the window, drawn tight against light and air. Only candles illuminated the room with their flickering light and showed the princess, red hair spread like a haemorrhage on the pillow, her face white.

      At once I could see she was ill indeed. Her belly was as swollen as if she were pregnant but her hands as they lay on the embroidered coverlet were swollen too, the fingers fat and thick as if she were a gross old lady and not a girl of twenty. Her lovely face was puffy, even her neck was thick.

      ‘What is the matter with her?’ I demanded.

      ‘Dropsy,’ Mrs Ashley replied. ‘Worse than she has ever had it before. She needs rest and peace.’

      ‘My lady,’ I breathed.

      She raised her head and peered at me from under swollen eyelids. ‘Who?’

      ‘The queen’s fool,’ I said. ‘Hannah.’

      She veiled her eyes. ‘A message?’ she asked, her voice a thread.

      ‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘I am come to you from Queen Mary. She has sent me to be your companion.’

      ‘I thank her,’ she said, her voice a whisper. ‘You can tell her that I am sick indeed and need to be alone.’

      ‘She has sent doctors to make you better,’ I said. ‘They are waiting to see you.’

      ‘I am too sick to travel,’ Elizabeth said, speaking strongly for the first time.

      I bit my lip to hide my smile. She was ill, no-one could manifest a swelling of the very knuckles of their fingers in order to escape a charge of treason. But she would play her illness as the trump card it was.

      ‘She has sent her councillors to accompany you,’ I warned her.

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Your cousin, Lord William Howard, among others.’

      I saw her swollen lips twist in a bitter smile. ‘She must be very determined against me if she sends my own kin to arrest me,’ she remarked.

      ‘May I be your companion during your illness?’ I suggested.

      She turned her head away. ‘I am too tired,’ she said. ‘You can come back when I am better.’

      I rose from my kneeling position by the bed and stepped backwards. Kat Ashley jerked her head towards the door to send me from the room.

      ‘And you can tell those who have come to take her that she is near death!’ she said bluntly. ‘You can’t threaten her with the scaffold, she is slipping away all on her own!’ A half-sob escaped her and I saw that she was drawn as tight as a lute string with anxiety for the princess.

      ‘No-one is threatening her,’ I said.

      She gave a little snort of disbelief. ‘They have come to take her, haven’t they?’

      ‘Yes,’ I said unwillingly. ‘But they have no warrant, she is not under arrest.’

      ‘Then she shall not leave,’ she said angrily.

      ‘I’ll tell them she is too ill to travel,’ I said. ‘But the physicians will want to see her, whatever I say.’

      She made a little irritable puffing noise and stepped closer to the bed to straighten the quilt. I glimpsed a quick bright glance from beneath Elizabeth’s swollen eyelids, as I bowed again and let myself out of the room.

      Then we waited. Good God, how we waited. She was the absolute mistress of delay. When the physicians said she was well enough to leave she could not choose the gowns she would bring, then her ladies could not pack them in time for us to set off before dusk. Then everything had to be unpacked again since we were staying another day, and then Elizabeth was so exhausted she could see no-one at all the next day, and the merry dance of Elizabeth’s waiting began again.

      During one of these mornings, when the big trunks were being laboriously loaded into the wagons, I went to the Lady Elizabeth to see if I could assist her. She was lying on a day bed, in an attitude of total exhaustion.

      ‘It is all packed,’ she said. ‘And I am so tired I do not know I can begin the journey.’

      The swelling of her body had reduced but she was clearly still unwell. She would have looked better if she had not powdered her cheeks with rice powder and, I swear, darkened the shadows under her eyes. She looked like a sick woman enacting the part of a sick woman.

      ‘The queen is determined that you shall go to London,’ I warned her. ‘Her litter arrived for you yesterday, you can travel lying down if you will.’

      She bit her lip. ‘Do you know if she will accuse me when we get there?’ she asked, her voice very low. ‘I am innocent of plotting against her, but there are many who would speak against me, slanderers and liars.’

      ‘She loves you,’ I reassured her. ‘I think she would take you back into her favour and into her heart even now, if you would just accept her faith.’

      Elizabeth looked into my eyes, that straight honest Tudor look, like her father, like her sister. ‘Are you telling me the truth?’ she asked. ‘Are you a holy fool or a trickster, Hannah Green?’

      ‘I am neither,’ I said, meeting her gaze. СКАЧАТЬ