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Fen thought about this. “I can think of no examples,” she admitted after a moment. Back home in Sitchmarsh, imprudent marriages most often ended in unhappy lives.
“Well, take your own husband,” suggested the Queen. “Lord Oswald Vawdrey.”
Fen’s heart missed a beat. “Yes?” she croaked.
“Until now, I would have imagined him ideally matched with some cool-headed, composed type. Such as Lady Anne Sumner.”
Fen’s heart plunged down to her slippered feet. “Really?”
“Rather a bloodless beauty, nothing really ruffles her. Have you met?”
“Yes,” agreed Fen without enthusiasm. “I understand she is already married,” she said rather pointedly.
The Queen’s smile widened. “So she is,” she agreed.
“And – if you’ll permit me to say so, your majesty,” said Fen feeling a blush rise up her neck. “I don’t think they would suit one another. Not at all.”
Queen Armenal looked slyly amused. “I am sure you are in the right of it,” she said gravely. “I am merely telling you of the impression I gained, erroneously it now seems.”
Fen nodded, but still felt put out.
“I was never convinced that Helen Cecil would have suited him,” continued the Queen. “That was just a foolish notion of Wymer’s.”
“Helen Cecil?” repeated Fen blankly. She had met her too and not particularly liked her. “But isn’t she-?” she broke off her words in sudden embarrassment. “Oh, your majesty-” she stammered. “I-I meant-”
“You’re right of course,” said the Queen with supreme indifference. “She is the King’s latest mistress.” She shrugged. “He has these peccadilloes, but they never last particularly long. She is quite witless after all, and I daresay he thought she would be restful company.”
Fen thought of Helen Cecil’s lovely but haughty face. “I do not think she would be remotely restful to be around,” she answered without thinking.
The Queen laughed. “You are in the right of it,” she agreed. “In fact, she is rather stupid, but thinks herself to be the sophisticated lady. If he had the taste to take a woman of character, then I would worry. But he would never have the wit to take up with a woman such as yourself.”
Fen sat in astonishment at the Queen’s casual tone and the fact she thought her a woman of character. “But, don’t you-” she started tentatively. “Doesn’t it ever-?” Fen hurriedly broke off her words. She had almost forgotten herself.
“Ask me,” commanded the Queen. “For I can tell you were about to say something interesting.”
“Don’t you mind – about the King, I mean,” asked Fenella awkwardly. “Taking mistresses?”
The Queen settled back comfortably on her cushion. “I would only mind if he chose someone cleverer than me,” she admitted frankly. “You see? I take you as my confessor. I am quite honest with you.”
Looking at the Queen’s lively face and sly eyes, Fen doubted the King would ever find such a lady.
“I am not built for love,” continued the Queen matter-of-factly. “It is best to know these things about oneself from the outset. I like to observe the dance, and pull on the strings to make the puppets perform their steps. Do you understand?”
Fen wasn’t sure that she did. It wasn’t the nicest image. And she had seen the Queen dance with grace and beauty in the banqueting hall. But she knew dimly that was not what Armenal meant.
“And I am always very careful to be oh-so-kind and polite to Bathilde,” continued the Queen with a mirthless smile. “She is the only woman to inspire devotion of the unwavering in the King’s bosom. You have met Bathilde?”
“Bathilde?” Foggily Fen’s memory churned, recalling the King’s bedchamber. Wait! “Was she the elderly lady-?”
“With the face of the sheep? Yes,” said Armenal snapping her fingers. “She is the only woman to really hold his heart. The nursemaid. You see, at one time, she slapped his fingers and wiped the tears. Little Wymer, the budding despot, he respects this alone and will love her until the day he dies.” The Queen sat back in her seat with a satisfied nod.
“Is it really true she still puts him to bed every night?” asked Fen in disbelief.
“No, of course not,” said Armenal dismissively. “But she is the only one permitted to wake him every morning. You may be sure, I buy her the biggest present every midwinter and on her birthday in the June. That way, if he should ever take it in his head to mutter the bad things about me in his private chambers…” she trailed off her words.
“Bathilde would scold him?” suggested Fen.
“She would give him the look most severe! That is all it takes. You think these flibbertigibbets, they have the sense to buy the present for the old nursemaid?”
