her mother’s impromptu lesson in herbal lore. She ran on ahead, along the length of a path notable in high summer for the bright colors on both sides. Audrey’s favorite blooms were the vivid orange marigolds, symbolizing both death and hope. They began to flower in May, and in some years, like this one, continued to do so until the cold days of winter were upon them.
A stone bench held pride of place on a little knoll beneath a rose arbor. Pale red eglantine climbed over and around it. In summer those flowers filled the enclosure with their sweet scent.
“Do you remember what eglantine represents?” Audrey sank gratefully down onto the hard surface. Even such a short ramble tired her. The basket of mending on her arm felt as if it were filled with lead.
Obediently, Hester recited one of her lessons from the stillroom. There she, like every other young gentlewoman, spent many hours learning how to concoct home remedies to keep the household healthy and to turn the distilled essence of flowers into perfume. “It is a symbol of love, devotion, romance, and virtue. Does that mean this is a suitable place to continue your story?”
“It will do well enough.” Audrey patted the bench beside her. “Shall I recount more tales from the court of King Henry, or is it your father of whom you wish to hear me speak?”
Hester grinned up at her. “Can you not tell me a story about them both?”
11
May 1540
E very year, King Henry celebrated May Day. His Grace was surpassing fond of pageantry, everything from tournaments to disguisings. In the spring after I began my lessons with Jack Harington—I still addressed him as Master Harington, although I already thought of him as Jack—there was a great tournament held in the tiltyard in Westminster. King Henry and Queen Anne watched the jousting from a newly built gatehouse at Whitehall. It was a grand spectacle, or so everyone said.
“All the young noblemen of the court participated and some of the gentlemen, too,” Jack told me as, with Father’s blessing and Edith in tow, he escorted me to the riverside stairs and hailed a two-oared wherry, “but only those who are the king’s favorites.” He sounded wistful.
“I am glad you were not one of them!” I exclaimed. “I’d not want you to be injured.” This was a very forward thing to say and provoked a mutter of disapproval from Edith.
“No chance of that! A mere chorister has other duties. But I was able to watch most of the contests. Tom Culpeper, one of thegentlemen of the privy chamber, was unhorsed in a most undignified fashion.” Jack’s satisfied smile told me Master Culpeper, whoever he might be, was no friend to my music tutor.
The waterman, leaning on his oars, waited impatiently while we settled ourselves in his craft. “West or east?” he demanded, and spat into the murky waters of the Thames.
“Durham House, if you please,” Jack told him, and handed over a coin.
“Your father thinks you are going to court,” Edith said in a whisper as the little boat caught the tide and began to move swiftly westward. Gulls and seabirds wheeled overhead, filling the air with their raucous cries. “What business have you going to Durham House?”
Overhearing, Jack chuckled. “You need not be concerned for your charge’s virtue, Edith. Today the whole court is at Durham House. That is where those bold knights who excelled in the lists are to be awarded their prizes—gifts of money and grants of houses. The king will be there, and the queen, and all the courtiers you could wish for.”
Durham House sits in the middle of the curve of the Thames. Just beyond it, on the land side, the city of Westminster begins. I had noticed its gardens before, when passing by en route to the royal palace of Whitehall. They are planted in three descending terraces on the London side of the mansion. The house itself is built close to the river, allowing easy access by way of a water gate that is part of a two-storied
A stone bench held pride of place on a little knoll beneath a rose arbor. Pale red eglantine climbed over and around it. In summer those flowers filled the enclosure with their sweet scent.
“Do you remember what eglantine represents?” Audrey sank gratefully down onto the hard surface. Even such a short ramble tired her. The basket of mending on her arm felt as if it were filled with lead.
Obediently, Hester recited one of her lessons from the stillroom. There she, like every other young gentlewoman, spent many hours learning how to concoct home remedies to keep the household healthy and to turn the distilled essence of flowers into perfume. “It is a symbol of love, devotion, romance, and virtue. Does that mean this is a suitable place to continue your story?”
“It will do well enough.” Audrey patted the bench beside her. “Shall I recount more tales from the court of King Henry, or is it your father of whom you wish to hear me speak?”
Hester grinned up at her. “Can you not tell me a story about them both?”
11
May 1540
E very year, King Henry celebrated May Day. His Grace was surpassing fond of pageantry, everything from tournaments to disguisings. In the spring after I began my lessons with Jack Harington—I still addressed him as Master Harington, although I already thought of him as Jack—there was a great tournament held in the tiltyard in Westminster. King Henry and Queen Anne watched the jousting from a newly built gatehouse at Whitehall. It was a grand spectacle, or so everyone said.
“All the young noblemen of the court participated and some of the gentlemen, too,” Jack told me as, with Father’s blessing and Edith in tow, he escorted me to the riverside stairs and hailed a two-oared wherry, “but only those who are the king’s favorites.” He sounded wistful.
“I am glad you were not one of them!” I exclaimed. “I’d not want you to be injured.” This was a very forward thing to say and provoked a mutter of disapproval from Edith.
“No chance of that! A mere chorister has other duties. But I was able to watch most of the contests. Tom Culpeper, one of thegentlemen of the privy chamber, was unhorsed in a most undignified fashion.” Jack’s satisfied smile told me Master Culpeper, whoever he might be, was no friend to my music tutor.
The waterman, leaning on his oars, waited impatiently while we settled ourselves in his craft. “West or east?” he demanded, and spat into the murky waters of the Thames.
“Durham House, if you please,” Jack told him, and handed over a coin.
“Your father thinks you are going to court,” Edith said in a whisper as the little boat caught the tide and began to move swiftly westward. Gulls and seabirds wheeled overhead, filling the air with their raucous cries. “What business have you going to Durham House?”
Overhearing, Jack chuckled. “You need not be concerned for your charge’s virtue, Edith. Today the whole court is at Durham House. That is where those bold knights who excelled in the lists are to be awarded their prizes—gifts of money and grants of houses. The king will be there, and the queen, and all the courtiers you could wish for.”
Durham House sits in the middle of the curve of the Thames. Just beyond it, on the land side, the city of Westminster begins. I had noticed its gardens before, when passing by en route to the royal palace of Whitehall. They are planted in three descending terraces on the London side of the mansion. The house itself is built close to the river, allowing easy access by way of a water gate that is part of a two-storied
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