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FOURTEEN
The Holy Days of Christmas were upon them before they knew it. The Greys moved their entire household to Chelsea, as Lady Frances declared that Christmas was for children and she wanted to bring Lady Jane from Hampton Court Palace to spend this time with her parents and her sister, Catherine.
“I'll be glad when Christmas is over,” Frances sighed, “and we can enjoy ourselves at the New Year's celebrations. I remember in the good old days, when the king finally rid himself of that religious fanatic, Catherine of Aragon, and was in hot pursuit of Anne, Christmas was spectacular fun. We celebrated with such racy abandon and merriment that the entire Court never slept and was intoxicated for all twelve days!”
Bess closed her eyes as the painful memories of last Christmas washed over her. During the year of her marriage to Rob, the days had seemed endless, yet looking back she realized they had passed in the blinking of an eye. When Bess lifted her lashes and saw herself surrounded by the luxury of Chelsea Palace, she put the bittersweet past behind her. The year 1546 had begun with such deep despair for her, yet it had gone on to be incredibly good to her. Bess offered up a fervent prayer of thanks. If fortune continued to smile upon her, 1547 promised to be the best ever!
Bess knew she wouldn't see much of Rogue this month, as the privy council sat every day, either at Whitehall or at Baynard's Castle, nearby in the Strand. Baynard's Castle was the magnificent abode of William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, whose countess was sister to Queen Catherine Parr. But Bess decided this was most fortunate. Their relationship had become dangerously intimate, and a figurative step back to cool off would be best. She, too, would be busy accompanying the Greys, who would be dividing the Holy Days between Chelsea and Hampton Court.
On the short barge ride upriver, the air was freezing. Henry Grey's glance moved from Frances, huddled in furs, over to Bess, who wore only a woolen cloak. “Aren't you cold, my dear?”
She smiled up at him. “Nay, milord, I'm far too excited about visiting Hampton Court Palace. This time I intend to have a good look at the king, the queen, Prince Edward, and Princess Mary.”
“Brace yourself for disappointment, darling,” Frances warned dryly. “The Tudors are an unpalatable lot.”
Young Catherine Grey, wearing a little fur cape, shivered, and Bess pulled her close to keep her warm.
“Lady Mary is nothing like the Lady Elizabeth, even though they are sisters—rather like Lady Jane and myself.”
“You, my poppet, take after your mother,” Bess told her. “Do you miss your sister Jane?”
Catherine put her lips to Bess's ear. “Even though she's too prim and proper to piss, I do miss her sometimes.”
Bess laughed and hugged her close. As the barge pulled in at the Hampton landing, a picture of Elizabeth in Tom Seymour's arms flew into her mind, and with her newfound knowledge of sexuality, Bess wondered how she would be able to look Elizabeth in the eye.
As it happened, the moment Elizabeth welcomed the Greys, she turned questioning amber eyes on Bess and, as she kissed her cheek in greeting, whispered, “Do you still have your hymen?”
Bess blushed and whispered back, “Yes! Do you still have yours?”
“Unfortunately, my answer would have to be in the affirmative,” Lady Elizabeth said without lowering her voice. “Do let us hurry from the vicinity of the chapel before I'm coerced into attending Mass with the hypocrites. Oh, Lud, speak of the devil!”
As two ladies and their female attendants approached down the Long Gallery, Elizabeth swept to the floor in a graceful curtsy. Bess, Lady Frances, and little Catherine Grey all followed suit.
“Your Royal Highness, Lady Mary, may I present Mistress Elizabeth Hardwick?” The Lady Elizabeth's demeanor was regal.
Bess stared in disbelief at the two middle-aged women whom Elizabeth addressed. Since Queen Catherine Parr had had three husbands and numerous lovers, Bess had expected her to be an alluring courtesan. Instead, she saw a prim and proper figure who could have been mistaken for a respectable vicar's wife. “Your Royal Highness,” Bess murmured.
The Lady Mary was an even greater shock to her. Bess had always imagined the princess to be young and fair, but she was neither. Mary was a little, dumpy, thirty-year-old spinster, with graying hair escaping from her starched cap. “Lady Mary,” Bess murmured.
The two royal ladies clutched their bibles and stared back at the vivid creature in peacock-blue velvet. Bess sensed immediately that the Lady Mary disliked her on sight. She watched her eyes flick over both her and Elizabeth with disapproval, as if to say: Birds of a feather! Finally, the royal ladies turned their attention to Lady Frances and little Catherine, greeting them warmly.
Elizabeth gave them a direct lie. “I was on my way to join you at Mass, but Cousin Frances has asked me to take her to Father. I beg you to excuse me today.”
“That was a narrow escape,” Frances said with her usual irreverence. “The queen looks worn out; what the hell has Harry been doing to her? Not his husbandly duty, by the look of her.”
“I cannot believe that was your sister,” Bess said softly.
“Neither can I,” Elizabeth said dryly.
“Looks like a bloody suet pudding,” Frances declared. “Why doesn't she get that hair dyed, instead of eating pickled bibles!”
“Come to my apartments so we may be private!” Elizabeth commanded Bess.
“That's it, run off and leave me to the wrath of your father,” Frances complained.
“There's hardly a man breathing you couldn't handle, sweet coz.”
“Well, there certainly isn't a hard man breathing I couldn't handle. Run along and have fun. I'll be in Lady Jane's apartments if you're looking for me.”
