not speak of it, but you do not always remember that you belong to a noble house. I know that your father is not rich … but the Duchess would be most disturbed if she knew …”
“Knew what?”
“Your … er … being of such a noble house …” She could not prevent the little smirk appearing—the one which was always there when my family was mentioned. “… and I being here to serve the Duchess …”
“What are you trying to tell me, Mary?”
“I have been bold. I said to Manox, ‘You play the fool in a most dangerous fashion.’ ‘How so?’ he asked. And I said, and this is true enough, ‘And if my Lady Duchess knew of this … love … between you and Katherine Howard, she would seek to undo you … this talk of troth-plight … What think you Her Grace would do an she heard you have planned to marry this noble-born young lady?’”
“You said that to him? How could you?”
“’Twas my duty as I saw it. Consider, I pray you. If the Duchess were to hear of this … what would happen to Manox, or to you? Give a thought to it. I did, and I thought it was right to speak to Manox rather than to Her Grace.”
“But in the Long Room …”
“Yes, in the Long Room. You and Manox sporting with the rest. But let me tell you his reply. It is not pleasing to hear. He said: ‘Fear not. My intentions are not of the nature you believe. They are what is called of a dishonorable nature, and from the freedom I have so far enjoyed with the lady, I doubt not that I shall be able to attain my purpose without taking the steps you suggest.’”
I felt dizzy, and a sudden rage possessed me—not against Mary Lassells but against Henry Manox. How could he speak thus of me? Was it true that Mary Lassells was jealous of his devotion to me? I could not believe that he had said such words. But something told me that they could be true.
“Fie on him!” I cried, stamping my foot, and Mary put an arm round me.
“I understand,” she said soothingly. “You are so young, you have not yet experienced the perfidy of men. This is how theyspeak of their mistresses when out of hearing, yet when they are with them it is all honeyed words and vows of eternal faithfulness.”
“I cannot believe he spoke thus of me.”
“Ask him.”
“I shall … and now. I cannot wait.”
“He will lie. All men lie.”
“Henry Manox has always told me how much he loved me and would die for me. I shall go to him now and you shall come with me.”
She looked aghast, and then she smiled secretly.
“You could see him tonight and there tell him.”
“No,” I said firmly. “I shall not wait, and shall speak to him now.”
“But how?”
“We shall go to Lord Beaumont’s house … through the gardens, and I shall ask someone to bring him to me. And you will be with me, Mary. We shall confront him … face to face.”
Mary was uneasy, but I did notice a certain relish in her eyes, as though she would enjoy confronting this traitor and, of course, prove that she was telling the truth because she could see that this was the only way she could make me believe it.
I had never known I could be so angry. I felt degraded. I kept thinking of Uncle William Howard, Marshal at the coronation, and my grandmother, holding the Queen’s train and riding in the carriage near her. I was indeed of a noble family, and this low-born servant had dared speak of me as though I were a common slut!
I think Mary Lassells was surprised by this determined girl, who had hitherto seemed so young and helpless. I strode over the lawns to the Beaumont gardens, Mary walking meekly beside me.
I saw one of the servants and I called to him. I said in a voice which might have belonged to my grandmother: “I would speak with the musician Henry Manox. Pray tell him that Mistress Howard sends for him, and bring him to me here.”
The servant bowed and hurried off, and it was not long before Manox appeared.
He looked startled, and I said immediately: “Henry
“Knew what?”
“Your … er … being of such a noble house …” She could not prevent the little smirk appearing—the one which was always there when my family was mentioned. “… and I being here to serve the Duchess …”
“What are you trying to tell me, Mary?”
“I have been bold. I said to Manox, ‘You play the fool in a most dangerous fashion.’ ‘How so?’ he asked. And I said, and this is true enough, ‘And if my Lady Duchess knew of this … love … between you and Katherine Howard, she would seek to undo you … this talk of troth-plight … What think you Her Grace would do an she heard you have planned to marry this noble-born young lady?’”
“You said that to him? How could you?”
“’Twas my duty as I saw it. Consider, I pray you. If the Duchess were to hear of this … what would happen to Manox, or to you? Give a thought to it. I did, and I thought it was right to speak to Manox rather than to Her Grace.”
“But in the Long Room …”
“Yes, in the Long Room. You and Manox sporting with the rest. But let me tell you his reply. It is not pleasing to hear. He said: ‘Fear not. My intentions are not of the nature you believe. They are what is called of a dishonorable nature, and from the freedom I have so far enjoyed with the lady, I doubt not that I shall be able to attain my purpose without taking the steps you suggest.’”
I felt dizzy, and a sudden rage possessed me—not against Mary Lassells but against Henry Manox. How could he speak thus of me? Was it true that Mary Lassells was jealous of his devotion to me? I could not believe that he had said such words. But something told me that they could be true.
“Fie on him!” I cried, stamping my foot, and Mary put an arm round me.
“I understand,” she said soothingly. “You are so young, you have not yet experienced the perfidy of men. This is how theyspeak of their mistresses when out of hearing, yet when they are with them it is all honeyed words and vows of eternal faithfulness.”
“I cannot believe he spoke thus of me.”
“Ask him.”
“I shall … and now. I cannot wait.”
“He will lie. All men lie.”
“Henry Manox has always told me how much he loved me and would die for me. I shall go to him now and you shall come with me.”
She looked aghast, and then she smiled secretly.
“You could see him tonight and there tell him.”
“No,” I said firmly. “I shall not wait, and shall speak to him now.”
“But how?”
“We shall go to Lord Beaumont’s house … through the gardens, and I shall ask someone to bring him to me. And you will be with me, Mary. We shall confront him … face to face.”
Mary was uneasy, but I did notice a certain relish in her eyes, as though she would enjoy confronting this traitor and, of course, prove that she was telling the truth because she could see that this was the only way she could make me believe it.
I had never known I could be so angry. I felt degraded. I kept thinking of Uncle William Howard, Marshal at the coronation, and my grandmother, holding the Queen’s train and riding in the carriage near her. I was indeed of a noble family, and this low-born servant had dared speak of me as though I were a common slut!
I think Mary Lassells was surprised by this determined girl, who had hitherto seemed so young and helpless. I strode over the lawns to the Beaumont gardens, Mary walking meekly beside me.
I saw one of the servants and I called to him. I said in a voice which might have belonged to my grandmother: “I would speak with the musician Henry Manox. Pray tell him that Mistress Howard sends for him, and bring him to me here.”
The servant bowed and hurried off, and it was not long before Manox appeared.
He looked startled, and I said immediately: “Henry
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