Gilt (11 page)

He finished listening to the flattery of the duke and dowager duchess and strode toward the house. We all sank to the ground again. I curtseyed gratefully, not wanting him to see or notice me. He was too big, too beautiful, with his gold-trimmed clothing and neatly cut beard and fingers burdened by heavy rings.

But he stopped in front of me. I trembled, unable even to look at his shoes.

“Mistress Howard,” he said. Of course it wasn’t me. It was Cat. “I believe I have seen you at court.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Cat said, and rose. “I wait on Her Majesty the Queen.”

“And how do you like it?” he asked.

“I like it well, Your Majesty. She is a good mistress, and you are a good master.”

“Loyalty is a virtue,” the king said.

“Your will is mine, Your Majesty.”

“I like that in a woman,” the king murmured.

Cat’s skirts rustled, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her sink back into a curtsey.

“Come, Mistress Howard,” the king said, his voice quick and hearty. “You shall sit by me this evening.”

I couldn’t help but smile, wondering what the duchess’s face looked like. Little Miss Nobody usurping her place at the high table. Cat rose and I remained in my curtsey, watching her satin slippers practically skipping down the path.

The duchess laid on a banquet of epic proportions for the king, even though in theory, he was “just stopping in for a bite to eat.” Venison, spit-roasted pig, a boar’s head, pike, sturgeon, rabbit, and lamb. Peacock, pheasant, duck. The very best wine, not the vinegary, watery stuff she usually served.

Because we weren’t important, Joan, Alice, and I served the far end of the room, not even able to sit down. Others enjoyed the privilege of serving the king, and then the dishes were passed down the tables. We got the worst cuts of meat, and little of the sweets and marzipan, but it was still like Christmas and Easter all at once.

Cleaning and decorating had rendered the hall almost
unrecognizable. The scratched benches, ancient wooden trenchers, and dogs were all gone. The floor gleamed from repeated scrubbings, as did the tables. The king sat in a brand new chair, on a velvet cushion, the back carved in elaborate designs of stags and Tudor roses.

“Just look at the fabrics he’s wearing,” Joan sighed.

“Look at all the gold,” Alice said.

From a distance, the king’s eyes appeared to recede into the fat of his face, giving him a mean and piggy look. Cat looked like a doll beside him.

“What do you think of his men?” I asked, glancing about the room at the few courtiers he had brought with him. None of them looked to be Cat’s type. They didn’t appear dashing or dangerous. They didn’t have sexy smiles or chin dimples or shapely calves. But they must have had influence, to accompany the king for such a private party. Power and riches. But could she give up looks?

“The two men behind him are passable,” Joan said, dragging her eyes from the king’s furs.

I had to squint a little to see them properly. One had stringy black hair but broad shoulders. He stood in a good imitation of the king’s stance. The other man was older and indifferently handsome.

“Well, they’re not too bad, I suppose,” I said. Perhaps it was the second man Cat was interested in, but she paid no attention to either of them.

She seemed perfectly content to wait on the king, to smile at
his comments, to speak rarely. For the king didn’t really seem to want to converse as much as impress. I couldn’t hear what he said, but he did most of the talking. How could Cat bear it? She hated being around people who talked about themselves more than about her.

But then again, he
was
the king.

“I wonder what he’s saying,” I said.

“Whatever it is, it must be riveting,” Alice said. “Look at Cat’s face.”

Cat watched the king talk as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. She looked . . .
avid
.

“She has to look that way,” I said. “If she looked bored, he would cut off her head.”

Alice puckered, and Joan gagged on her wine.

“I didn’t mean it,” I whispered hastily. “It was a joke. It just slipped out.”

“Jokes like that could lose you
your
head, Kitty,” Alice muttered. “You must watch your tongue.”

I nodded, voiceless.

Joan sighed, leaning back against the wall. “Cat has all the luck.”

“She certainly does,” Alice said. “She has the family connections, the looks, and now the clothes, too. Is it any wonder the king noticed her today? Her duckies are practically bursting out of that bodice.”

“Now who’s making inappropriate remarks?” I asked.

Alice made a face, and Joan giggled into her hand.

“I desire a dance!” the king cried, and clapped his hands. “Mistress Howard tells me that she and her friends here in Lambeth love to dance.”

The duchess called for more musicians, and the servants scurried to remove the trestle tables and benches. The king had brought no ladies with him at all, so even the lowliest among us had a chance for a partner. Trust Cat to open every window of opportunity for us all.

One of the king’s retainers took Cat’s hand and she accepted impassively. Joan giggled at the invitation of Edward Waldegrave. Alice partnered the other courtier, but I kept my eyes on Cat. The man opposite her was tall. A little old perhaps. Blandly good-looking, with a narrow face that stretched into a pointy wedge-shaped beard. Cat smiled at him once but paid him little notice.

“I don’t see what you find so interesting about Anthony Denny.”

I turned to see that William Gibbon stood before me. I blushed.

“I didn’t see you.”

“It appears your attention was elsewhere.” He held out his hand and we began the galliard.

“I was just . . .” I couldn’t finish without giving away Cat’s secret, so I stuttered into silence.

“I’ve been out on business for the duke,” he said, rescuing me. “And have returned just in time.”

I smiled. The galliard was athletic and inhibited conversation.
But when the music stopped, William led me aside into the shadows so we could watch—and whisper—unimpeded. He held my hand lightly, his touch like summer—like the shape and feel and scent of a plum—intoxicating.

“You dance well,” he said.

“Practice.” I laughed. Thinking of late nights in the maidens’ chamber made me feel warm. “Late night dances with Alice. Though I usually play the boy’s part.”

“Really?” he asked. “Why?”

I looked at him to see if I could detect a trace of guile, but saw none.

“It’s impossible for someone like Alice to lift me,” I said simply, and indicated my height. “I’d probably crush her.”

“Funny,” he said, slipping an arm around my waist. “I had no problem at all.”

“You are a bit taller than she is,” I said, but my voice caught slightly. “I’m huge compared to her.”

“I think you’re just right,” he whispered.

I sensed every place his body touched mine. One hand on my hip. His arm along my back. Chest just touching my side. His right knee lost in my skirts.

“Kitty,” William said, his mouth so close to my ear I could have kissed him with a turn of my head. “Kitty, I think I . . .”

He paused and I turned. So close. He raised his other hand to stroke a wisp of hair from my forehead. I felt lost in the lightness of his touch.

Then the musicians fell silent, breaking the spell, and we
looked back to the room. The king had risen and made his way slowly to the empty floor.

“A pavane!” he called. A slow, stately dance, one that wouldn’t trouble his leg.

He turned and held his hand out to Cat. She curtseyed, and when she rose, a triumphant smile lit her face. She didn’t like slow dances. But her countenance reflected no boredom or irritation. Far from it. She looked . . . radiant.

She no longer looked detached. No, she watched the king with every step she made. In the light, in the dance, beneath her gaze, his features lost twenty years.

The king and Cat only had eyes for each other.

I felt as if I had been struck by lightning. I stared, prostrate with the knowledge of who had replaced Culpepper in Cat’s affections.

“
I
, C
ATHERINE, TAKE THEE
, H
ENRY, TO BE MY WEDDED HUSBAND
,” C
AT
said solemnly.

The king told everyone he had been unable to consummate his marriage to Anne of Cleves. Her body repulsed him. His conscience pricked him.

“To have and to hold from this day forward . . .”

Anne had been engaged before. To the Duke of Lorraine. The ambassadors from the Duchy of Cleves were unable to produce the proper paperwork proving the contract was null and void.

“For richer, for poorer . . .”

A betrothal was as good as a marriage, legally binding. King Henry balked at bigamy. When it suited him. Queen Anne could be lost in translation and become the King’s beloved “sister,” no harm done.

“In sickness and in health . . .”

I saw the appeal of losing status rather than losing your head, but who would willingly accept being superseded by a little girl? Seeing one of your
maids
crowned queen while you sat by and smiled and pretended not to understand?

“To be bonny and buxom in bed and at board, till death do us part
are you listening to me?
”

The sharpness of the words startled me away from the open window in the maidens’ chamber. The sun was out, carrying waves of the scent of the fresh June leaves in the apple orchard.

“Of course I am, Cat,” I lied. I’d heard the words so many times already I could have said them myself.

“This is my
wedding
,” Cat snapped. “I have to get it right. It has to be perfect.”

“It will be,” I assured her. Not that any of us would be there to see it. We weren’t invited. We didn’t even know what day it would be.

“What does it mean?” asked Joan, who lolled on her bed, rummaging through Cat’s new cast-offs. Every day brought a new gown, a new jewel, a new bauble. Cat, festooned with attention, dripping with royal favor, passed on the least of her wardrobe to the rest of us. The poor.

“Bonny and buxom?” Joan grinned and hefted her own breasts to illustrate.

“No!” Cat said. “Bonny means cheerful. And buxom, obedient.”

Henry wouldn’t say that part. No man was expected to owe cheer and obedience to his wife. So it might as well have been breasts.

“What will happen to Queen Anne?” I asked.

“He’s giving her Richmond Palace,” Cat said. “And bucketloads of money. And don’t call her that. She’ll be the Lady Anne soon.”

She’d be able to live on her own. Without having to answer to anyone. But she’d be alone. I wondered if the trade-off would be worth it.

“It’s her own fault, really,” Cat added. “She rejected him.”

“No, she didn’t, she married him. He’s rejecting her.”

“No, I mean before she married him. She was in Rochester and he disguised himself as a traveler. Rode hard from Greenwich to meet her. I mean, how romantic can you get? He couldn’t wait to see her, to kiss her for the first time. But when he got there, she pushed him away.”

“But if he was disguised, how did she know it was him?”

“Well, everyone else did.”

“But she’d never seen him before,” I said. It seemed unjust that she was vilified for a natural reaction. A strange old man comes up and tries to kiss you, who wouldn’t push him away?

“That didn’t matter to him. You see, he still thinks of himself as the handsomest man in Christendom. The golden hero. The statuesque godlike figure of classical art and mythology. The man she rejected was a dilapidated, fat, smelly old man. After that, whenever he was with her, that’s how he felt.

“But I make him feel like the Greek god,” she finished. “And as long as he sees himself that way through my eyes, he’ll be happy. And once I get that crown on my head, I will give him no reason to feel any differently.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said.

“Of course I’m right,” she replied, laughing. “I’m always right. I was right about us going to court, wasn’t I? When I’m
queen, I shall bring you to be my favored guest. You shall supplant the greatest ladies of the kingdom in status and in my affection.”

When she’s queen. Cat Howard.

“Cat,” I whispered. “You’re going to be queen.”

“I know,” she said, her eyes alight, an edge of awe creeping into her confidence.

“You’re going to be the Queen of England!”

I threw my arms around her and danced her up and down the room, our laughter echoing up the long gallery. Joan sat still on the bed, smiling, rubbing the raised velvet brocade on her new skirt.

“And you’ll really take me with you?” I asked when we caught our breath.

“I promised, didn’t I?” she said. “When I left, didn’t I tell you I’d find a way to get you to court? For us to be there, just like we always dreamed?”

“Well, you certainly found it,” I said.

She grinned.

“And we’ll do just what we always said. We’ll eat too much and dance all night and flirt with
all
the boys,” she paused. “At least you will.”