Page 26 of The Queen’s Witch

9

Suffolk House

The wagons left Hever at dawn, to arrive before Anne and her escort. A light rain fell. I sat among the hastily packed trunks, becoming wetter every hour, Pipkin traveling snugly in my pocket. I had nothing to do but think of Mark, of Grandmother, of the sacred day of Samhain, just days away. It would be Joan’s third occasion to haunt, to inflict anguish upon those also dead. Did she torment the husband she had murdered, the father I had never known? Or was all her cruelty saved for Grandmother? In what form?

Mark would marry someone else. He was young, handsome, lusty, truly gifted at music. There would be other women for him. I wrapped my arms around my body, as if that could shield me from the heartache washing over me with the rain.

Hours of jolting until, in a soft, misty dusk, we reached the great house where Anne was to stay. During the journey, people by the roadside had shouted, “God save Queen Katherine!” and also, “We want no Nan Bullen!” And then, “No witch be our queen!” Beside me, Emma had stared stonily ahead. At Suffolk House, the gardens still bloomed with flowers, including holly and mistletoe. Did the gardeners not know these were the ancient sacred plants of the Sisterhood, and even of the Old Ones before that? Or was it an intentional rebuke?

Again there were two rival courts, the queen’s and Anne’s. The king rowed the royal barge between them like a bobbing cork, usually dining at Greenwich with the queen and important officials, then supping at Suffolk House with Anne. Courtiers followed, waiting to see which lady emerged triumphant. Anne, frantically gay, staged masques and dancing and other entertainments, but she was not as confident as she had been in August. The jeering crowds along the river, Katherine’s presence rather than Anne’s at official events, the delay of a clear decision from Rome about the king’s marriage, Anne’s constant need to appear fascinating and unconcerned—all took their toll on her. As did the vicious whispered gossip, even though she never allowed the king to stay the night and always slept near her mother and ladies, protecting the reputation that few believed she still possessed.

“Emma, leave us,” Anne said. She sat before the fire, breakfasting alone in her bedchamber. I had already tasted everything.

“My lady—”

“I said to leave us!”

If glances could slay, I would lie beheaded at Emma Colmer’s feet. She left the chamber, and Anne fixed me with those intense dark eyes.

“I believe there is a spy among my ladies, a traitor bought by gifts or promises, who makes reports of me to Katherine’s supporters. Or to Wolsey’s allies. Or to both. I wish you to use your arts to discover who it is.”

“My lady, I—”

“Do not tell me you cannot do it! I want that name!”

I said nothing. Neither a cunning woman nor a thrice-braided Sister could read minds. There was something else I could do to satisfy Anne’s request, but I profoundly did not wish to do it.

“By tomorrow evening,” Anne said. “Tonight, the king sups here, and tomorrow we hunt without—thank the Lord—any of my women except Lady Lee, whom I know to be completely loyal. You will have the traitor’s name by the time I return from the hunt.”

I had no choice but to be bold. “And then—”

“Not your concern! Do as I order! Now leave me and bid Emma return.”

I curtsied, encountered another of Emma’s scowls, and passed through Anne’s privy chamber. I plucked from her workbasket a skein of crimson wool.

Anne’s supporters dallied in a hall so gilded, painted, and carved that even the bevy of richly dressed ladies did not stand out. The women sat on low stools, chattering as they made a pretense of useful sewing, throwing flirtatious remarks at George Boleyn and three other courtiers who lounged at the window. Musicians played. William Brereton had brought a small fluffy dog. He set it to tug at the ladies’ skirts, which pooled at their feet in green and blue and scarlet velvet, satin, brocade. They squealed in mock dismay as the men made lewd jokes about the dog, jokes they would never dare utter in Queen Katherine’s chambers.

None acknowledged my presence—or even noticed it—except the woman I sought.

I did not go to her, merely stood with eyes cast down until I was sure she had seen me. Then I raised my head, nodded once, and left the chamber, dawdling in a passageway. Servants bustled past me. When through a window I saw Mistress Elinor Sedlow walk toward the garden maze on the arm of Sir William Eyston—newly come to court but as brash and devious as if born here—I slipped out through the kitchen door and hastened after them.

“Mistress Sedlow!”

“You dare speak to me?” she said, affronted. As if she had not started this conversation two days ago. I had forestalled her then. I could not do so now.

Sir William laughed. “You are a terrible actor, Ellie. Although, of course, so good at more important things.”

I thrust the skein of wool at her. “I am sorry, mistress. But Lady Anne dropped this and I dare not give it to her now, while she is still a-dressing.”

“Very well,” she said, taking the skein from me.

Sir William was not fooled by my charade. He laughed softly. “What are you at now, Ellie? No, do not answer; it is probably better I do not know. I will await you at the heart of the maze. And of yours, I dare hope.”

He vanished into the high shrubbery. I fumbled in my pocket as if there were more wool to hand Mistress Sedlow, keeping my head down. The house’s many windows might hold watchers. Quickly I said, “I will do as you asked and bring you reports every day of Lady Anne’s conversations. You must pay me as promised, and first.”

“You greedy little harlot,” she said pleasantly, taking the additional wool. Her hand transferred a small pouch to mine. Despite all, I was taken aback; I had not expected such thorough preparation, which showed how sure she was that I would agree. The little pouch felt heavy with coin.

She said, “Now go begin your work,” turned her back on me, and followed Sir William into the maze.