Read Online Queenbreaker: Perseverance (The Queenbreaker Trilogy Book 1) by Catherine McCarran - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Catherine McCarran
Ads: Link
day.
“It
looked like the pit of hell,” Madge sniffed. “Now it wears the respectable glow
of heaven.”
Heaven?
If Heaven reeked of sour lemons, stale rushes, and a dozen noxious odors
beside. Their collision inside my nose almost smothered me. Every body I passed
reeked of some personal scent whose sole intent could only be to overpower its
neighbor. And such neighbors!
A
murder of crows looked more welcoming than those who watched me. My ears caught
snippets of their voices as I passed.
“A
new bird for the cage...”
“Not
much plumage....”
“The
Lady hates peacocks.” Tittering
followed that comment.
“Only
the female. She finds the male bird tres charmant.”
“She’s
the last Maiden to arrive…”
“She’s
a Shelton—Sir John’s next youngest…”
“Lady
Lisle was crying at the card table.”
“She
has her mother’s looks…”
“She
has a clever face.”
They know all about me.
Madge
appeared immune. She blew through the miasma, straight to the next set of
imposing doors and knocked.
The
left hand door opened a crack. A tune, composed of violin and a woman’s breathy
laughter, escaped. I strained toward the remarkable sound. Then the door shut,
slicing the melody in half.
Madge
led me a few steps away. “My sister is coming to greet you.”
Irritation
flared at the bald reminder of who Madge was. Her sister was the most important
woman in the Queen’s household. All England knew it by now.
Jane
Rochford was a greater snob than Madge, and cruel to her husband, my cousin
George. Everyone loved George, except for his wife. Three years ago I had
witnessed her slap him at Christmastide. George had laughed, leading everyone
else to laugh and forget the incident. Even so, Anne had made her Keeper of the
Queen’s Privy Purse—the most lucrative post in the Queen’s household.
Why
Anne put so much trust in her, I could not understand. I would not rely on her
to keep the time.
“Madge?”
We
turned toward the high-pitched voice. A woman of middle height wearing a
monstrous gabled headdress approached us.
“She’s
wearing a breadbox,” I mouthed at Madge.
“It
suits her,” Madge mouthed back before her lips slid into the same flat smile
she often gave me. “Mistress Seymour, I am pleased to see you.”
The
woman made a poised, but quick curtsey. “You look very well.”
How
Mistress Seymour could see to tell with those icicle blue eyes baffled me. No
hint of blood showed blue or pink at her cheeks or throat. A wax taper held
more heat.
She must wear such bold colors so no one
will mistake her for a mist.
Yellow,
scarlet, and jade battled to dominate her costume. There could be no victor as
all were in equal portions. I pitied her purse for the money she’d spent on the
fabrics. But they must be needed to keep people’s eyes from lingering on her
face. Jane Seymour looked like a man.
“Mistress
Jane Seymour, may I acquaint you with my sister by marriage, Mistress Mary
Shelton?”
Mistress
Seymour’s pale eyelids fluttered. “Mistress Shelton.” Haughtiness spiced her
high voice.
Well,
she’s a Seymour. Mother said they’re proud as Howards, but for no good cause.
They
were landed gentry like the Sheltons and dozens of others at court, but with a
distant blood connection to King Edward III. Like the Parkers, they placed too
high a value on it and looked ridiculous for it. They were not rich, connected
or powerful. And if Jane was any example, ugly as sin.
I
remembered my cassock and gave her a perfectly respectful curtsey. Offend no one—that
was my duty. And God had offended Jane Seymour for life with that face.
“You
are the last of the Queen’s maidens to arrive,” said Seymour, as her head
swiveled left toward a great bay window that looked out over a wide garden
filled with orderly rows of trees. A broad, almost treeless hill rose behind
the garden wall topped by the squat, square Duke Humphrey’s Tower. “Lady Honor
Lisle had held out hope
“It
looked like the pit of hell,” Madge sniffed. “Now it wears the respectable glow
of heaven.”
Heaven?
If Heaven reeked of sour lemons, stale rushes, and a dozen noxious odors
beside. Their collision inside my nose almost smothered me. Every body I passed
reeked of some personal scent whose sole intent could only be to overpower its
neighbor. And such neighbors!
A
murder of crows looked more welcoming than those who watched me. My ears caught
snippets of their voices as I passed.
“A
new bird for the cage...”
“Not
much plumage....”
“The
Lady hates peacocks.” Tittering
followed that comment.
“Only
the female. She finds the male bird tres charmant.”
“She’s
the last Maiden to arrive…”
“She’s
a Shelton—Sir John’s next youngest…”
“Lady
Lisle was crying at the card table.”
“She
has her mother’s looks…”
“She
has a clever face.”
They know all about me.
Madge
appeared immune. She blew through the miasma, straight to the next set of
imposing doors and knocked.
The
left hand door opened a crack. A tune, composed of violin and a woman’s breathy
laughter, escaped. I strained toward the remarkable sound. Then the door shut,
slicing the melody in half.
Madge
led me a few steps away. “My sister is coming to greet you.”
Irritation
flared at the bald reminder of who Madge was. Her sister was the most important
woman in the Queen’s household. All England knew it by now.
Jane
Rochford was a greater snob than Madge, and cruel to her husband, my cousin
George. Everyone loved George, except for his wife. Three years ago I had
witnessed her slap him at Christmastide. George had laughed, leading everyone
else to laugh and forget the incident. Even so, Anne had made her Keeper of the
Queen’s Privy Purse—the most lucrative post in the Queen’s household.
Why
Anne put so much trust in her, I could not understand. I would not rely on her
to keep the time.
“Madge?”
We
turned toward the high-pitched voice. A woman of middle height wearing a
monstrous gabled headdress approached us.
“She’s
wearing a breadbox,” I mouthed at Madge.
“It
suits her,” Madge mouthed back before her lips slid into the same flat smile
she often gave me. “Mistress Seymour, I am pleased to see you.”
The
woman made a poised, but quick curtsey. “You look very well.”
How
Mistress Seymour could see to tell with those icicle blue eyes baffled me. No
hint of blood showed blue or pink at her cheeks or throat. A wax taper held
more heat.
She must wear such bold colors so no one
will mistake her for a mist.
Yellow,
scarlet, and jade battled to dominate her costume. There could be no victor as
all were in equal portions. I pitied her purse for the money she’d spent on the
fabrics. But they must be needed to keep people’s eyes from lingering on her
face. Jane Seymour looked like a man.
“Mistress
Jane Seymour, may I acquaint you with my sister by marriage, Mistress Mary
Shelton?”
Mistress
Seymour’s pale eyelids fluttered. “Mistress Shelton.” Haughtiness spiced her
high voice.
Well,
she’s a Seymour. Mother said they’re proud as Howards, but for no good cause.
They
were landed gentry like the Sheltons and dozens of others at court, but with a
distant blood connection to King Edward III. Like the Parkers, they placed too
high a value on it and looked ridiculous for it. They were not rich, connected
or powerful. And if Jane was any example, ugly as sin.
I
remembered my cassock and gave her a perfectly respectful curtsey. Offend no one—that
was my duty. And God had offended Jane Seymour for life with that face.
“You
are the last of the Queen’s maidens to arrive,” said Seymour, as her head
swiveled left toward a great bay window that looked out over a wide garden
filled with orderly rows of trees. A broad, almost treeless hill rose behind
the garden wall topped by the squat, square Duke Humphrey’s Tower. “Lady Honor
Lisle had held out hope
Similar Books
