hadn’t been closed a moment when her servant, Poll, shook her awake again.
“Your father says come at once.”
Groaning, Alice sat up. All around her in the dark chamber, young women were still sleeping. “Is it dawn?”
“I’ve no idea, miss. I just know he roused me from my bed and said fetch you.” Poll placed the candle and its holder on the floor. “Put this cloak around you, and here are shoes.”
“I’m so sleepy.”
“That’ll be two of us, miss.” Poll was sharp.
A single lantern sat on the floor of the stone hallway where a dark shadow detached itself from among the other shadows. It was Sir Thomas Verney.
“Here she is, sir,” said Poll.
Copper caught just a glimmer of lantern’s light as a coin went whirling in the air, and Poll caught it.
“Come along, poppet.”
Alice stumbled behind as her father took her down winding corner stairs.
“That mix from France are a bad lot,” he said, talking over his shoulder. “There was some sort of ugly mix-up in the chapel this night, some girl involved, a serving wench, we think. Nasty business. They are locked in their bedchambers now, but must leave first thing in the morning, banished to the ships, king’s order.” He stopped before a stout door set into a stone wall and knocked on it.
A servant in full livery—as if it were daylight and he waited upon His Majesty himself—opened it, and Alice walked into a chamber twice the size that she and half the maids of honor were packed into. Candles blazed on a table. In a far corner through an archway was a heavy dark bedstead, and Alice could see someone lying there, a white arm flung out from under the covers. His Grace the Duke of Buckingham, one of King Charles’s foremost friends and foremost councillors, sat in a chair. Sir Thomas pushed Alice forward, and blinking, she almost stumbled as she made a small curtsy. She found she couldn’t tear her eyes from the loose robe he wore, lapis-and-citron-shaded dragons twisted and curled into one another, breathing fire, the fire embroidered with shining gold-flecked threads.
“Well?” Buckingham drummed fingers impatiently on the table.
Not understanding, feeling stupid, Alice raised eyes to his face, well fed, showing its high living in certain lines and sags, in pouches under eyes that weren’t smiling. The servant came forward to offer wine on a silver tray, knelt on one knee, just as if Buckingham were royalty. Buckingham waved him away. His face rearranged itself into an expression of hauteur. “Have I waited up for nothing?”
Behind Alice, her father put his hands on her shoulders. “Tell him, pet.”
“What, Papa?” Surely he didn’t know about Gracen or her own part in everything?
“What you told me this morning of the princess.”
Alice bit her tongue on the word “now?” It was almost dawn. She’d slept only an hour or two. The two men with her hadn’t slept at all. She felt halting, exhausted, tongue-tied. “Relations between them are very bad, Your Grace.”
Buckingham made a dismissive sound. “I dislike abusing the ideals of one so young, but that’s the state of many marriages after a time, my dear.”
“Is it? Do you dismiss most of your wife’s servants, her ladies-in-waiting and maids of honor, her majordomo, her priest, the governess for her children? Do you then put in their place creatures who spy and gossip and make trouble, who are loyal to your creature?”
She had his attention. “Creature?”
“The Chevalier de Lorraine.” Monsieur’s lover.
“Banished last year, I thought. To…where was it, Tom?”
“Spain.”
“Italy,” Alice corrected. “Banished in body, not in thought and not in spirit. His letters arrive weekly by courier. Monsieur droops until he receives one, then storms about like a tyrant for days.”
Buckingham had placed his elbows on the arms of the chair, had brought his fingers together, was regarding her over the steeple he made of them. “What
“Your father says come at once.”
Groaning, Alice sat up. All around her in the dark chamber, young women were still sleeping. “Is it dawn?”
“I’ve no idea, miss. I just know he roused me from my bed and said fetch you.” Poll placed the candle and its holder on the floor. “Put this cloak around you, and here are shoes.”
“I’m so sleepy.”
“That’ll be two of us, miss.” Poll was sharp.
A single lantern sat on the floor of the stone hallway where a dark shadow detached itself from among the other shadows. It was Sir Thomas Verney.
“Here she is, sir,” said Poll.
Copper caught just a glimmer of lantern’s light as a coin went whirling in the air, and Poll caught it.
“Come along, poppet.”
Alice stumbled behind as her father took her down winding corner stairs.
“That mix from France are a bad lot,” he said, talking over his shoulder. “There was some sort of ugly mix-up in the chapel this night, some girl involved, a serving wench, we think. Nasty business. They are locked in their bedchambers now, but must leave first thing in the morning, banished to the ships, king’s order.” He stopped before a stout door set into a stone wall and knocked on it.
A servant in full livery—as if it were daylight and he waited upon His Majesty himself—opened it, and Alice walked into a chamber twice the size that she and half the maids of honor were packed into. Candles blazed on a table. In a far corner through an archway was a heavy dark bedstead, and Alice could see someone lying there, a white arm flung out from under the covers. His Grace the Duke of Buckingham, one of King Charles’s foremost friends and foremost councillors, sat in a chair. Sir Thomas pushed Alice forward, and blinking, she almost stumbled as she made a small curtsy. She found she couldn’t tear her eyes from the loose robe he wore, lapis-and-citron-shaded dragons twisted and curled into one another, breathing fire, the fire embroidered with shining gold-flecked threads.
“Well?” Buckingham drummed fingers impatiently on the table.
Not understanding, feeling stupid, Alice raised eyes to his face, well fed, showing its high living in certain lines and sags, in pouches under eyes that weren’t smiling. The servant came forward to offer wine on a silver tray, knelt on one knee, just as if Buckingham were royalty. Buckingham waved him away. His face rearranged itself into an expression of hauteur. “Have I waited up for nothing?”
Behind Alice, her father put his hands on her shoulders. “Tell him, pet.”
“What, Papa?” Surely he didn’t know about Gracen or her own part in everything?
“What you told me this morning of the princess.”
Alice bit her tongue on the word “now?” It was almost dawn. She’d slept only an hour or two. The two men with her hadn’t slept at all. She felt halting, exhausted, tongue-tied. “Relations between them are very bad, Your Grace.”
Buckingham made a dismissive sound. “I dislike abusing the ideals of one so young, but that’s the state of many marriages after a time, my dear.”
“Is it? Do you dismiss most of your wife’s servants, her ladies-in-waiting and maids of honor, her majordomo, her priest, the governess for her children? Do you then put in their place creatures who spy and gossip and make trouble, who are loyal to your creature?”
She had his attention. “Creature?”
“The Chevalier de Lorraine.” Monsieur’s lover.
“Banished last year, I thought. To…where was it, Tom?”
“Spain.”
“Italy,” Alice corrected. “Banished in body, not in thought and not in spirit. His letters arrive weekly by courier. Monsieur droops until he receives one, then storms about like a tyrant for days.”
Buckingham had placed his elbows on the arms of the chair, had brought his fingers together, was regarding her over the steeple he made of them. “What
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