To Ruin A Queen: An Ursula Blanchard Mystery at Queen Elizabeth I's Court by Fiona Buckley Page A

efforts had been made to soften its martial air. It had battlemented towers on the outer walls and also at each corner of the courtyard but only one of the courtyard towers was plainly visible, because the lower storeys of the others were obscured by a very fine hall, surely no more than a hundred years old, and a number of other buildings, some of which were more recent still.
    One, a small house in itself, built of warm red brick in the style of King Henry’s times, stood to the right of the archway. Opposite this was a most extraordinary affair, which looked like the bottom level of a Norman keep, with a modern house, plastered in white and patterned with black timbers, perched on top and overhanging the stone walls beneath. I took all this in with one interested glance and then forgot it just as quickly because suddenly a door opened in the base of the keep and out ran a leggy little girl perhaps eight or nine years old.
    “Meg!” After one breathless moment of uncertainty, I knew my daughter, though she was inches taller than when I last saw her and her red woolen dress was too short for her. I ran to meet her, leaving the others behind. At the same moment, Mattie Henderson hurried from the keep with Meg’s nurse, Bridget Lemmon, following.Mattie was exclaiming: “Meg, mind your manners! Make your curtsy.” Meg stopped and tried to do as she was bid, but I had reached her already and caught her up in my arms.
    “Meg, oh, Meg! Oh, how you’ve grown. And how well you look. It’s been too long. I’m so sorry!” I clutched her, kissed her, and then, because over the top of her head I could see Mattie smiling but also shaking her head, and Bridget looking quite put out, I set her back from me and said: “Now let me see how beautifully you curtsy.”
    “My lady mother.” She did a most exquisite curtsy for me. I saw that she had changed a little; her face had lengthened, becoming more triangular than square, more like my face than Gerald’s. But her brown eyes would always be his. She had not inherited my hazel ones, or my particular kind of dark hair, either. Mine had brown gleams in it but Meg’s, now escaping from its little embroidered linen cap, was the true raven black of the Blanchards.
    “We saw you approaching,” Mattie said. “Meg has had her nose to the window this past half hour and when you came through the archway, there was no holding her. Meg, you are so impatient.”
    “Oh, it’s no matter. I’ve been longing to see her.” I held out a hand to Bridget as she came puffing up to us. Bridget had never been slim and was now decidedly fat. “How are you, Bridget? Well, you’ve seen a bit of England since we last met. How did you manage the journey from Thamesbank?”
    “On a pillion, ma’am, and I was that jolted, I thought my spine would go through the top of myhead. I’m glad to see you, and you looking so well. We’ve all kept pretty stout …”
    “Especially you, Bridgie,” said Meg, giggling.
    “That will do, Meg. Don’t be impertinent. You’re overexcited,” said Mattie. Mattie had always been a very merry soul who often found it quite hard to maintain the dignity proper to a well-bred lady, but now she seemed unwontedly serious. “Bridget, take her indoors. They’re serving supper in the hall very soon, Ursula, and I’ll bring her to you there, when she’s washed her hands and face. And combed her hair and put her cap on straight. Off you go, Bridget. Oh, Rob. I am so glad to see you.”
    Meg reluctantly let herself be led away and Rob, who had held back while I embraced Meg, came up to greet his wife. Then our guide, who had gone on toward the hall, came hurrying back accompanied by a tall, gray-haired man wearing a formal black gown and a butler’s chain of office. Mattie drew herself out of Rob’s arms. “Here is Pugh, all ready to announce you. Mistress Ursula Blanchard is here, Pugh, and this is my husband, Master Robert Henderson.”
    “If you will accompany