“If I wish to listen at doors, Miss, I will. And think again before you speak thus to me. I can have you whipped; and don’t forget it. I might even do it myself … to make sure the blood is drawn.”
Her eyes were suddenly dark with anger. The girls drew back. She meant what she said. She could be friendly at one moment; she could be generous; but if she were offended, vindictive.
The girl was quiet, her eyes downcast as gradually a red mark appeared where she had been struck.
Frances turned her back on her and went on: “I can scarce wait to go to Court. I’m tired of being a child in the country.”
“Marriage is but the first step, Mistress. And when you go to Court all the men will—”
“Go on!” commanded Frances. “Fall in love with me because I’m so beautiful. That’s what you mean, is it not? I wonder what my bridegroom will think of me. He is only fourteen and the marriage is not going to be consummated yet. I have heard them talk of it. They talk of nothing else. I am to go to Court, be married and then sent back here … back to my lesson books, they say, until I am of an age to share my husband’s bed. I want to tell them that I am of an age now.”
“Perhaps it is better to wait.”
“I hate waiting. I won’t wait. I might wait until I’m no longer beautiful.”
“You’ll always be beautiful.”
“Of course I shall. I shall make sure that I stay beautiful as long as I live.”
“Everyone tries to do that, Mistress.”
Frances was thoughtful. Her own mother was beautiful still, although not as she must have been in her youth. Perhaps it was the fine clothes and jewels she wore that dazzled the eyes.
“I know of a way to stay beautiful,” said a quiet voice, and there was silence, for it belonged to the one who had recently been slapped.
Frances turned to her, her face alight with interest. “How, Jennet,” she demanded, and all the venom was gone from her; she spoke as though there had been no friction between them.
“By spells and potions,” said Jennet.
“Do they really keep people beautiful?” asked Frances.
“They do everything. There are love philtres to win the love of those who are indifferent. There are potions to destroy those who stand in your way. It’s called trafficking with the devil.”
“How I should love to traffic with the devil!” cried Frances, delighted because she was shocking them all so much.
“It’s the way to get what you want … if you’re bold enough,” said Jennet.
“I would be bold enough,” declared Frances.
She knew that when the wedding had taken place she must return to the country, but she was not going to think about that.
In a few weeks’ time she would set out for London in the company of her parents, taking her elaborate wardrobe with her; she would see that Court of which she had heard so much; she would actually live at it until the ceremony was over. She wondered whether she could persuade her parents to allow her to remain in London. It was a pity that Great-Uncle was there to make their decisions for them. He would most certainly not agree.
But Frances was one to live in the present without giving much thought to the future. She was going to Court; let that suffice.
Her mother was as excited as she was. Lady Suffolk loved pageantry, and this wedding was going to be one of the great Court occasions.
“You see, my daughter, the King is eager for it. And he and the Queen and Prince Henry will all honor you with their presence.”
There were dances to be learned. What joy! Frances loved to dance. There were curtsies to be practiced. There was advice on a hundred points.
“You’ll do well,” her mother told her, “as long as you are not over-saucy. That might amuse the King, but the Queen and the Prince wouldn’t like it. It is more important that you please the Queen and the Prince than the King. And I doubt not that you will.”
“I have heard, Mother, that girls do not please the King.”
“That is something to keep in the mind and not on the tongue.”
Frances allowed the tip of her tongue to appear between her perfect teeth.
“Great-Uncle Northampton has already warned me,” she said.
“Remember it,” admonished her mother.
