Read Online The Dark Lady's Mask by Mary Sharratt - Free Book Online

Mistress Locke said it was just a rag, only fit for underlings to wear. Though she was no aristocrat like Catherine Willoughby, Anne Locke’s father, brother, and late husband had been prosperous merchants. Born to wealth and plenty, she’d a fine gown of blue-gray lawn and slippers made of kid.
    Mistress Locke whisked her down a grand flight of marble stairs. Craning her neck to gape at the paintings on the wall, Aemilia nearly lost her footing and tumbled headfirst.
    â€œ
Deport
yourself, my dear,” Mistress Locke said. “You must act like a young lady. You’re very lucky that they are inviting you to share their table. In most households, children your age are left to eat with the servants.”
    Â 
    A EMILIA HAD EXPECTED TO dine in a stuffy room, seated at a long linen-draped table, but instead, owing to the weather, the Willoughby clan supped in the rose garden, their feast illumined by lanterns, torches, and the rising moon.
    Servants, as silent and swift as the bats darting overhead, delivered trays of the delicacies Catherine Willoughby deemed appropriate for a late supper. Roasted pheasant and salads; a pie made of larks; crayfish and carp; breast of veal; custard tarts; strawberries and green figs; apricots and almonds. They sipped Rhenish wine as pale as the moonlight.
    Mindful of Mistress Locke’s admonition to act like a young lady, Aemilia struggled to ignore her ravenous hunger and follow the example of her table companions who only sampled each dish, leaving most of the food on their plates. The leftovers, she learned, would be eaten by the servants while any remaining food would be given to the poor.
    Lanterns bathed the Willoughbys’ faces in gold, making her hosts seem like magical beings, their laughter mingling with the night sounds of barking foxes and the wind in the oaks.
    Catherine Willoughby practiced her French with Anne Locke, telling stories in that language that sent them both into spasms of laughter. While Thomas Vaughan and Henry Locke conversed with Lady Susan, Perry insisted on speaking Italian with Aemilia. Her heart exploded in joy, for she never thought to hear Papa’s tongue in her new home.
    She pointed to the porcelain dish of love apples set as decoration on the table. “Papa grew
pomodori
in his garden. He even ate them. I ate one once. It was delicious!”
    â€œDon’t do that here, or you’ll shock my mother,” said Perry, though he did not seem shocked at all. “I was your age when I first set foot on English soil. That makes me a foreigner. I feel as much at home in Europe as I do here.”
    â€œMy brother speaks fluent French, Dutch, German, and Italian,” Susan said, drawing the conversation back into English. “He’s bound for a career in diplomacy.”
    â€œThat is if I don’t marry a rich heiress and live off her money while frittering away my days hunting and hawking,” Perry said.
    His words made Aemilia think of Francis Holland. It was as though a dead, rotting pigeon had been hurled in the middle of the lovely feast table, spoiling everything with its stench. What if Perry was no better than the brother-in-law she had fled?
    â€œDon’t look so miserable, Amy,” he said, touching her wrist. “I was only joking. Do you think the great Catherine Willoughby would suffer an idle son?”
    â€œPerry’s betrothed to Mary de Vere,” Susan said, “who has a tongue sharp enough to break your arm. I doubt she’ll suffer any nonsense from him either.”
    Perry turned to Aemilia, stretching out his palms in entreaty. “Pity me, gentle Amy, for I am held captive by a tribe of Amazons!”
    Ignoring her brother’s jibe, Susan reached for Aemilia’s hand. “Child, you mustn’t take my brother too seriously.”
    Perry nodded. “Indeed, Susan is the serious one. Not me. The sternest and most serious school mistress you’ll ever meet.