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Authors: Victoria Lamb
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of Elizabeth’s bum-roll while Elizabeth herself stood in her underwear, tapping her foot, leaning one hand on the wall.
‘Damn these hellish contraptions. I can scarce breathe. Where is my wine? One of you, fetch me a glass of wine!’
Lettice saw a wine flagon and glasses laid out on the table – two fluted glasses of rich Venetian ware – and poured Elizabeth a glass of wine.
Two glasses
. She kept her face carefully expressionless, though a savage bitterness filled her heart. So my lord Leicester intended to welcome Elizabeth to his Warwickshire home later that night, no doubt as he had welcomed her previously, with a loving cup and his warm skin against hers in the dark.
Her hand trembled as she handed the wine to Elizabeth, curtseying deep. ‘Your Majesty.’
Piercing eyes surveyed her without smiling and Lettice dropped her gaze. Was it possible she knew their secret? Could some spying servant have carried the tale to Elizabeth’s ears?
An unexpected flash of rebellion strengthened her. ‘Should I fetch you something sweet to eat, Your Majesty?’
Elizabeth looked at her a long moment, her thin lips pursed. ‘The Bible. Fetch me the Holy Bible.’
‘At once, Your Majesty.’
She searched the assembled luggage in vain, but Elizabeth’s small book chest was nowhere in evidence. No doubt it would appear in daylight with the rest of her luggage.
‘What’s the matter?’ Elizabeth demanded irritably as Lettice hunted about the room and the other women continued to ready her for bed. Mary was rubbing a rose-scented lotion into her hands to preserve Elizabeth’s skin, as Helena stretched up on tiptoe to remove each slender pin that held her day wig in place. ‘Is my order too difficult for you to follow?’
Lettice gave up the search. ‘I beg pardon, Your Majesty, but your book chest has not yet arrived.’
‘What’s that beside the bed?’
Lettice followed the line of Elizabeth’s imperious finger and saw, beside the vast gold-canopied bed, a small engraved table in the shape of an octagon on which stood a large leather-bound book with gold clasps and deep gilt lettering to the spine. She took it up and brought it over with an obedient curtsey.
‘Open it to the Book of Psalms and read some verses aloud to me,’ Elizabeth instructed her, having finally shed her bum-roll. She stood there innocent enough in her simple white shift. By now Helena had placed a wig of straight, well-brushed, flame-red hair on her head and was starting to pin it in place. ‘With a clear voice. I am in need of the scriptures tonight.’
Sensing herself to be on trial, Lettice unfastened the gold clasps and turned the gossamer-thin, delicate, gold-tipped leaves to the Book of Psalms. The bold black lettering in a Gothic font stared up mockingly at her.
She wet her lips nervously. ‘It is in Latin, Your Majesty.’
‘In Latin?’ Elizabeth paused a moment, frowning across at her. ‘Then you must translate.’
‘I … Yes, Your Majesty. Forgive me, Your Majesty.’
Lettice began to translate, her voice faltering, and had not finished three lines before Elizabeth reached across and knocked the Bible from her hands. The holy book fell to the floor with a crash, its gilt-tipped pages flying open. Lady Mary gave a cry of alarm, perhaps fearing such an action was sacrilegious. Nobody else in the room moved.
‘Where were you as a girl when your teachers should have sat you down to learn your Latin grammar? With your skirts round your ears in some filthy shrubbery, no doubt.’
Elizabeth strode to the bed in nothing but her shift and knitted silk stockings, Lady Helena running behind with an embroidered silk nightgown draped over her arm. Lady Mary stooped to retrieve the Bible from its ignoble position and replaced it on the bedside table.
‘You will have words with the castle steward, Lady Essex, and find my good English Bible in the stores. I will not have this Papist monstrosity in my chambers. You will do
‘Damn these hellish contraptions. I can scarce breathe. Where is my wine? One of you, fetch me a glass of wine!’
Lettice saw a wine flagon and glasses laid out on the table – two fluted glasses of rich Venetian ware – and poured Elizabeth a glass of wine.
Two glasses
. She kept her face carefully expressionless, though a savage bitterness filled her heart. So my lord Leicester intended to welcome Elizabeth to his Warwickshire home later that night, no doubt as he had welcomed her previously, with a loving cup and his warm skin against hers in the dark.
Her hand trembled as she handed the wine to Elizabeth, curtseying deep. ‘Your Majesty.’
Piercing eyes surveyed her without smiling and Lettice dropped her gaze. Was it possible she knew their secret? Could some spying servant have carried the tale to Elizabeth’s ears?
An unexpected flash of rebellion strengthened her. ‘Should I fetch you something sweet to eat, Your Majesty?’
Elizabeth looked at her a long moment, her thin lips pursed. ‘The Bible. Fetch me the Holy Bible.’
‘At once, Your Majesty.’
She searched the assembled luggage in vain, but Elizabeth’s small book chest was nowhere in evidence. No doubt it would appear in daylight with the rest of her luggage.
‘What’s the matter?’ Elizabeth demanded irritably as Lettice hunted about the room and the other women continued to ready her for bed. Mary was rubbing a rose-scented lotion into her hands to preserve Elizabeth’s skin, as Helena stretched up on tiptoe to remove each slender pin that held her day wig in place. ‘Is my order too difficult for you to follow?’
Lettice gave up the search. ‘I beg pardon, Your Majesty, but your book chest has not yet arrived.’
‘What’s that beside the bed?’
Lettice followed the line of Elizabeth’s imperious finger and saw, beside the vast gold-canopied bed, a small engraved table in the shape of an octagon on which stood a large leather-bound book with gold clasps and deep gilt lettering to the spine. She took it up and brought it over with an obedient curtsey.
‘Open it to the Book of Psalms and read some verses aloud to me,’ Elizabeth instructed her, having finally shed her bum-roll. She stood there innocent enough in her simple white shift. By now Helena had placed a wig of straight, well-brushed, flame-red hair on her head and was starting to pin it in place. ‘With a clear voice. I am in need of the scriptures tonight.’
Sensing herself to be on trial, Lettice unfastened the gold clasps and turned the gossamer-thin, delicate, gold-tipped leaves to the Book of Psalms. The bold black lettering in a Gothic font stared up mockingly at her.
She wet her lips nervously. ‘It is in Latin, Your Majesty.’
‘In Latin?’ Elizabeth paused a moment, frowning across at her. ‘Then you must translate.’
‘I … Yes, Your Majesty. Forgive me, Your Majesty.’
Lettice began to translate, her voice faltering, and had not finished three lines before Elizabeth reached across and knocked the Bible from her hands. The holy book fell to the floor with a crash, its gilt-tipped pages flying open. Lady Mary gave a cry of alarm, perhaps fearing such an action was sacrilegious. Nobody else in the room moved.
‘Where were you as a girl when your teachers should have sat you down to learn your Latin grammar? With your skirts round your ears in some filthy shrubbery, no doubt.’
Elizabeth strode to the bed in nothing but her shift and knitted silk stockings, Lady Helena running behind with an embroidered silk nightgown draped over her arm. Lady Mary stooped to retrieve the Bible from its ignoble position and replaced it on the bedside table.
‘You will have words with the castle steward, Lady Essex, and find my good English Bible in the stores. I will not have this Papist monstrosity in my chambers. You will do
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