The Lady of Misrule by Suzannah Dunn Page B

the Partridges’ kitchen close at hand, he was buying meals in from the Tiger Inn, the Partridges had told us, for himself and his attendant.
    â€˜Lording it over me, all of them. You can see it,’ he insisted, ‘you can see it in their eyes.’
    My own eyes half opened, to see him strutting up and down a row of sage. ‘I mean, is it too much to expect them to think for themselves?’ Then, vehemently: ‘Little people .’
    At which point, as if summoned, Goose banged through the Partridges’ door, flinging me an acknowledgement as she did so (‘Lady Lily-Loola,’ on this occasion) then stalking off across the bailey. Was Goose a ‘little person’? The day before, I’d asked her where she came from and with a gloriouslaugh she’d said, ‘A long way away, but not far enough.’
    â€˜And you know what? You know what?’ Guildford’s petulance knew no bounds. ‘Why not just have done with it? They want to string me up, do they? Well –’ he flung his arms wide ‘– here I am.’
    Don’t tempt me.
    Jane’s response was merely ‘We’ve been treated well.’ We : she and I, it seemed, were a we.
    â€˜Oh, well, yeah,’ was his gloomy rejoinder, arms slapped back to his sides, ‘but they’ll be easier on you because you’re a girl.’
    Or tougher on you because you’re a prick.
    She changed the subject: Any news of your father?’
    â€˜On his way.’ Guildford didn’t elaborate, snapped off a sprig of rosemary to lob it over his shoulder.
    Being brought in, more accurately: his father wouldn’t be dropping by of his own accord for the pleasure of some flower-gathering.
    â€˜My brothers, too. Tomorrow, probably.’
    Then came fulsome nose-blowing from the attendant, for which Guildford made a point of pausing, head cocked as if ascertaining some fine detail and resuming only when any more discharge would have been life-threatening: ‘But she can’t hold him to blame.’
    The attendant coughed, perhaps from physical necessity but possibly in surprise.
    Jane closed her eyes, emphatically: this, by the look of it, was old ground. She , the soon-to-be-crowned Queen, and blame , for having advanced the claim of a pretender.
    â€˜She can’t.’ Guildford circled her, stepping over a patch of chives but not quite clearing it, which drew a disconcerted glance from the attendant, as if we were responsible, too, for the welfare of the herbs. ‘I mean, how can she blame him? What else could he have done?’
    Jane must’ve signalled impatience or scepticism because then he was remonstrating, ‘No, no, this needs to be said,’ and even taking her by the shoulders, from which she recoiled into a fold of arms.
    I’d given up the pretence of not watching. I was just keeping an eye, I told myself. Someone had to, and Guildford’s attendant was more interested in the contents of his handkerchief.
    â€˜Because how convenient for everyone to forget what the King wanted.’
    Jane started a small pacing of her own, to shake him off.
    â€˜You,’ he said. ‘He wanted you. Not her.’
    Keep your voice down. This helps no one.
    He aimed a kick at whatever it was that had been suffering his attention when we arrived.
    â€˜The King’s dying wish was that you succeed him. Has everyone forgotten that?’
    I wondered what was going through Jane’s mind. People said the boy-King had been her soulmate, but people said all sorts of things – whatever best served their purpose – and lately more than ever. It was hard to imagine her being anyone’s soulmate. She gave nothing of herself. Well, not tome, but then again, why would she? Nor to her husband, although if what I’d seen of him so far was typical, that was hardly surprising.
    â€˜And you know very well he’d never have chosen his half-sister as his heir.