Read Online The King's Damsel by Kate Emerson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Emerson
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new year did not truly begin until Lady Day, the twenty-fifth of March, we exchanged gifts and gave gifts to the princess. Mysecond letter to Blanche had asked her to send a leaf from the holy hawthorn tree of Glastonbury in a reliquary as a New Year’s gift for the princess. It arrived that very morning, along with a message my stepmother had dictated to Sir Jasper.
I found a quiet corner to read that she was well and that she missed me. Sir Lionel Daggett had visited her both in Glastonbury and in Bristol and had been seen several times at Hartlake Manor and the other properties that made up my inheritance. I winced at that, but kept reading. Then I sat up straighter. Hugo Wynn had been allowed to remain as my steward . . . and his daughter, Griselda, had given birth to a fine, healthy girl child she’d named Winifred.
This news affected me oddly. The baby was kin to me, my niece. If she had been the product of a lawful union . . . and a boy . . . I’d have been disinherited. As matters stood, the child had no claim to my family’s estates and would be raised by her mother and grandfather in the steward’s lodgings. I might never even meet her.
That thought engendered others. I had heard nothing from Sir Lionel since he’d left me at Thornbury. That made me suddenly nervous. Was he, even now, arranging a marriage for me? I did not care for that idea. I knew I must eventually wed, but once I did, my husband would control everything I’d inherited from my father. A wife owned nothing in her own right. If she had fallen heir to land and chattel, jewelry and household goods, as I had, all that became the property of her lord and master . . . as did she.
It was fortunate, I suppose, that I did not have much time to brood on such matters. The princess required the presence of her maids of honor as she accepted offerings from all her household and half the countryside, as well. She seemed pleased by my gift.
Princess Mary gave presents, too, mostly cups and bowls ofvarious sizes. For each of the maids of honor, she’d chosen a more personal gift, individual rosaries blessed by her chaplain.
On Twelfth Night, the day began with a mass and ended with a feast and a mumming. It was the last celebration of the Yuletide season. The Lord of Misrule departed the next day, and soon after we moved to Battenhall Manor, located in the countryside near Worcester. The journey was a short one, only some twelve miles, but once we were settled there, Lady Salisbury’s strict regimen resumed. Once again, my stories were one of the few entertainments the princess was permitted.
As the days passed, I recounted the further adventures of Joseph of Arimathea and of King Arthur and his knights, then branched out into tales of St. Dunstan, whose body had been translated from Canterbury to Glastonbury. I also delved into the legends and lore of the Mendip Hills. I delivered these in a broad local accent that sent all the ladies off into gales of laughter.
I’d heard the speech of Somersetshire and Gloucestershire all my life, and still did every day, from Edyth. She regularly substituted z for s and v for f, dropped the w in wood, added an h to egg, and replaced the word are with bist .
“Thee bist sprack as a banty-cock, zur,” I was declaiming, as part of a story I’d heard at Hartlake Manor, when I noticed that my tiring maid had joined my audience in the presence chamber. In a sea of rapt expressions, hers alone reflected deep distress.
I faltered, recovered, and went on with my tale, but the praise and laughter at the end did not please me as much as they usually did. As soon as I was free to do so, I went looking for Edyth, who had left soon after I noticed her, her eyes glistening suspiciously in the candlelight.
I found her in the maidens’ dormitory.
“I bin looken out var thee,” she said in a choked voice.
“Edyth, you must not mind what I say to the others. They are not from these parts. I am certain, were you to
I found a quiet corner to read that she was well and that she missed me. Sir Lionel Daggett had visited her both in Glastonbury and in Bristol and had been seen several times at Hartlake Manor and the other properties that made up my inheritance. I winced at that, but kept reading. Then I sat up straighter. Hugo Wynn had been allowed to remain as my steward . . . and his daughter, Griselda, had given birth to a fine, healthy girl child she’d named Winifred.
This news affected me oddly. The baby was kin to me, my niece. If she had been the product of a lawful union . . . and a boy . . . I’d have been disinherited. As matters stood, the child had no claim to my family’s estates and would be raised by her mother and grandfather in the steward’s lodgings. I might never even meet her.
That thought engendered others. I had heard nothing from Sir Lionel since he’d left me at Thornbury. That made me suddenly nervous. Was he, even now, arranging a marriage for me? I did not care for that idea. I knew I must eventually wed, but once I did, my husband would control everything I’d inherited from my father. A wife owned nothing in her own right. If she had fallen heir to land and chattel, jewelry and household goods, as I had, all that became the property of her lord and master . . . as did she.
It was fortunate, I suppose, that I did not have much time to brood on such matters. The princess required the presence of her maids of honor as she accepted offerings from all her household and half the countryside, as well. She seemed pleased by my gift.
Princess Mary gave presents, too, mostly cups and bowls ofvarious sizes. For each of the maids of honor, she’d chosen a more personal gift, individual rosaries blessed by her chaplain.
On Twelfth Night, the day began with a mass and ended with a feast and a mumming. It was the last celebration of the Yuletide season. The Lord of Misrule departed the next day, and soon after we moved to Battenhall Manor, located in the countryside near Worcester. The journey was a short one, only some twelve miles, but once we were settled there, Lady Salisbury’s strict regimen resumed. Once again, my stories were one of the few entertainments the princess was permitted.
As the days passed, I recounted the further adventures of Joseph of Arimathea and of King Arthur and his knights, then branched out into tales of St. Dunstan, whose body had been translated from Canterbury to Glastonbury. I also delved into the legends and lore of the Mendip Hills. I delivered these in a broad local accent that sent all the ladies off into gales of laughter.
I’d heard the speech of Somersetshire and Gloucestershire all my life, and still did every day, from Edyth. She regularly substituted z for s and v for f, dropped the w in wood, added an h to egg, and replaced the word are with bist .
“Thee bist sprack as a banty-cock, zur,” I was declaiming, as part of a story I’d heard at Hartlake Manor, when I noticed that my tiring maid had joined my audience in the presence chamber. In a sea of rapt expressions, hers alone reflected deep distress.
I faltered, recovered, and went on with my tale, but the praise and laughter at the end did not please me as much as they usually did. As soon as I was free to do so, I went looking for Edyth, who had left soon after I noticed her, her eyes glistening suspiciously in the candlelight.
I found her in the maidens’ dormitory.
“I bin looken out var thee,” she said in a choked voice.
“Edyth, you must not mind what I say to the others. They are not from these parts. I am certain, were you to
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