Read Online The Lady in the Tower by Marie-Louise Jensen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marie-Louise Jensen
Ads: Link
one side. ‘And I do believe you will break hearts in that dress. If only I were as pale as you. My, I feel quite envious!’
I turned from her with barely concealed disgust. Her insincerity was nauseous.
‘And is that my cloak?’ I asked of the seamstress. ‘May I try it?’ She placed the black velvet cloak reverently around my shoulders and fastened it in front. I swept the heavy fabric around me and paraded a little, my excitement returning. Until I tried to turn my head.
‘Why, I cannot see a thing!’ I exclaimed. ‘This stupid stiff collar is in the way.’
I saw Maria and the seamstress exchange looks. ‘It’s the latest fashion, Mistress,’ the seamstress assured me timidly.
‘Well, it’s no good for riding,’ I argued. It would be like wearing blinkers. ‘Can you not remove it, please?’ Lady Maria shook her head decisively. ‘Certainly not! Whatever would your father say if he saw you in an outmoded cloak?’
I hunched an impatient shoulder. ‘The devil take Sir Walter,’ I retorted. Immediately I bit my lip wishing I could take my words back.
Both the women gasped. Maria shook her head at me repressively. ‘You do not know what you are saying,’ she chided. ‘Why, he has just paid for all these fine clothes for you! Your father should limit the time you spend in the stables, it seems.’ And she then turned the subject at once, picking up the shoes that had been made for me and begging me to try them.
I was as quiet and acquiescent as a doll for the rest of the fitting, understanding that I had disgraced myself. Not that I cared a jot for that, but I must think of Mother’s safety and behave myself. I even allowed them to comb the tangles out of my hair, part it and paste it down flat ready for the French hood. I hated the hood very nearly as much as the English style. It was heavy and pressed on my head, and I could not imagine how ladies could bear to wear all that black velvet hanging down their backs in the hot weather.
I looked an entirely different person when I made my first official appearance amongst the guests. The great hall had undergone as many changes as I had. Many more tables had been set up and all were full. I wondered how the king and his attendants would fit in. The hall was ablaze with candlelight and lit the colourful clothes and jewels of the many guests. There were ladies in sumptuous gowns and men scarcely less finely dressed. At each end of the hall, huge fires blazed, despite the mildness of the early summer weather.
There was a jester in brightly coloured clothes dancing around and making a nuisance of himself. I saw him trip a hapless manservant, who fell headlong onto the rushes, smashing the plate he was carrying. The men at the table nearest to him set up a shout of laughter.
Maria took my arm and led me forwards. There was a sudden hush as Sir Walter came forward to greet me before the assembled visitors. He took my hand and saluted my cheek, just as though I really were his beloved daughter who dined with him every evening. I felt a rush of anger, but I repressed it sternly. He’s acting, you fool, I told myself fiercely. Just acting, and you must act too. And so I curtseyed before him and smiled. You need not think I’ve forgiven you, you disease-infested dung beetle, I thought, as he offered me his arm in exchange for Maria’s. I placed my fingertips lightly upon it and he led me forth to be introduced to some of the guests.
Lady this and Lord that, it seemed my father had only to lift a finger and the rich and powerful flocked to his halls. The names meant little or nothing to me. I simply kept smiling and curtseying. My brother was seated at the top table, of course, drinking his wine like a miniature man. I gave him a smile as I passed him and he nodded casually. Beside him was a handsome young man with a vaguely familiar face.
‘You will remember your cousin, Gregory Hungerford,’ said my father.
I gasped.
‘Cousin Gregory? It is
I turned from her with barely concealed disgust. Her insincerity was nauseous.
‘And is that my cloak?’ I asked of the seamstress. ‘May I try it?’ She placed the black velvet cloak reverently around my shoulders and fastened it in front. I swept the heavy fabric around me and paraded a little, my excitement returning. Until I tried to turn my head.
‘Why, I cannot see a thing!’ I exclaimed. ‘This stupid stiff collar is in the way.’
I saw Maria and the seamstress exchange looks. ‘It’s the latest fashion, Mistress,’ the seamstress assured me timidly.
‘Well, it’s no good for riding,’ I argued. It would be like wearing blinkers. ‘Can you not remove it, please?’ Lady Maria shook her head decisively. ‘Certainly not! Whatever would your father say if he saw you in an outmoded cloak?’
I hunched an impatient shoulder. ‘The devil take Sir Walter,’ I retorted. Immediately I bit my lip wishing I could take my words back.
Both the women gasped. Maria shook her head at me repressively. ‘You do not know what you are saying,’ she chided. ‘Why, he has just paid for all these fine clothes for you! Your father should limit the time you spend in the stables, it seems.’ And she then turned the subject at once, picking up the shoes that had been made for me and begging me to try them.
I was as quiet and acquiescent as a doll for the rest of the fitting, understanding that I had disgraced myself. Not that I cared a jot for that, but I must think of Mother’s safety and behave myself. I even allowed them to comb the tangles out of my hair, part it and paste it down flat ready for the French hood. I hated the hood very nearly as much as the English style. It was heavy and pressed on my head, and I could not imagine how ladies could bear to wear all that black velvet hanging down their backs in the hot weather.
I looked an entirely different person when I made my first official appearance amongst the guests. The great hall had undergone as many changes as I had. Many more tables had been set up and all were full. I wondered how the king and his attendants would fit in. The hall was ablaze with candlelight and lit the colourful clothes and jewels of the many guests. There were ladies in sumptuous gowns and men scarcely less finely dressed. At each end of the hall, huge fires blazed, despite the mildness of the early summer weather.
There was a jester in brightly coloured clothes dancing around and making a nuisance of himself. I saw him trip a hapless manservant, who fell headlong onto the rushes, smashing the plate he was carrying. The men at the table nearest to him set up a shout of laughter.
Maria took my arm and led me forwards. There was a sudden hush as Sir Walter came forward to greet me before the assembled visitors. He took my hand and saluted my cheek, just as though I really were his beloved daughter who dined with him every evening. I felt a rush of anger, but I repressed it sternly. He’s acting, you fool, I told myself fiercely. Just acting, and you must act too. And so I curtseyed before him and smiled. You need not think I’ve forgiven you, you disease-infested dung beetle, I thought, as he offered me his arm in exchange for Maria’s. I placed my fingertips lightly upon it and he led me forth to be introduced to some of the guests.
Lady this and Lord that, it seemed my father had only to lift a finger and the rich and powerful flocked to his halls. The names meant little or nothing to me. I simply kept smiling and curtseying. My brother was seated at the top table, of course, drinking his wine like a miniature man. I gave him a smile as I passed him and he nodded casually. Beside him was a handsome young man with a vaguely familiar face.
‘You will remember your cousin, Gregory Hungerford,’ said my father.
I gasped.
‘Cousin Gregory? It is
Similar Books
