Read Online Assassin by Lady Grace Cavendish - Free Book Online Page B

replied. He still seemed very uncertain, so I led him to Doucette’s stable and unlatched the upper door. She put her pretty head out—I think she has some Welsh pony in her—and nickered to me. I patted her velvety nose and she blew.
    Sir Charles reached out suddenly to pat her neck, and she jerked away, snorting and showing her teeth. He pulled back. “Good God, what’s wrong with the nag?”
    I stared with astonishment. Never ever in all my many (fairly dull) riding lessons with Sir Charles have I heard him talk of a horse that way, or indeed seen a horse react to him like that. It was astonishing.
    I was going to ask what was wrong with
him
. Howcould he forget everything he had told me about moving softly and slowly with horses? But then a dog-page came trotting up with the newly brushed dogs.
    “My lady,” he said breathlessly, “the Queen has called for you to take the dogs to her.”
    I guessed Her Majesty’s Council meeting had tried her patience. She likes to play with the dogs when she’s annoyed. I took the leads, said a hurried goodbye to Sir Charles, and rushed back to the Privy Gallery.
    Just in time, I remembered to take my boots off before I went upstairs to change again (it is hellishly hard work to look smart and fitting for the Queen’s magnificence). Then I lifted my skirts and raced up the stairs. As I reached the top, Mrs. Champernowne pounced.
    “What are you doing, Lady Grace?”
    “I’m going to change my kirtle again so I can attend Her Majesty properly attired,” I said, quite sickly and sweet.
    “Your stockings, child, look at your stockings!”
    I looked down at where I was still holding up my skirts. Well, they had been a very nice pair of knitted white silk stockings but they were now a bitblackish around the feet and there was a hole in the toe of one and the knee of the other.
    “Oh,” I said, hastily dropping my hem to hide the offending garments. “I was trying not to make so much noise, Mrs. Champernowne, like you told me, and…”
    She shut her eyes for a second, then looked up to the ceiling. “Lady Grace, boots are for— Wear your slippers while you— Oh, for goodness’ sake, give me the stockings and go and put your woollen ones on. You cannot possibly attend the Queen with filthy stockings, look you…”
    Very quickly, for she seemed near to bursting with annoyance at me, I stripped off the offending stockings, gave her the whole lot, along with garters, and ran barefoot along the passageway to my chamber to change again! Woollen stockings are a penance! They itch like mad! Why not go barelegged? Who can see your legs under all the petticoats and the farthingale and so on? Ellie doesn’t even own a pair of stockings and it doesn’t seem to be killing her.
    The Queen was in a terrible mood that afternoon. I sat near her while she petted the dogs and threw balls for them, and did some embroidery. Mary Shelton was then lunatic enough to slap crossly at Henri when he bounced over to lick her face.
    “Out of my sight!” Her Majesty roared. I’ve left out her swearing because it’s too rude to write down. “How dare you beat my dog? Out, you, and your sour, yellow looks…” And a hairbrush and a pot of lip balm whizzed past Mary’s head as she ran for the door, ducking as she went.
    I whispered to Lady Bedford, suggesting that maybe the tumblers might amuse. So they were sent for and we all watched Masou and a little old dwarf man and a strongman do somersaults and handstands and juggle with their feet. Masou then did a trick where he kept pretending to drop his balls and clubs and then caught them with his feet or his knees or his teeth and kept it all going, and that, at last, cheered the Queen up.
    Since she felt sorry for him, Her Majesty invited Lord Worthy to share supper with her. And then she bade me join them, too. I really didn’t want to—I was too nervous about the midnight plans to have much appetite for pheasant and salt beef and venison