Innocent Traitor Read Online Free PDF Page B

pinching the tender flesh, and pulls her from the chair.
    “You will not disobey me!” she warns, shaking her. “You will ask my pardon and then you will eat your dinner. Is that understood?”
    Jane is gulping in fear and beyond words.
    “Answer me!” Lady Dorset bellows, and when Jane remains mute and trembling, she slaps her on the cheek, twice. The child screams, and I make to go to her, but a scowl from my lady stops me dead in my tracks. I dare not provoke her further, for to do so might lead to my dismissal, and that would never do. Loving Jane as if she were my own flesh and blood, the prospect of being parted from her is unbearable, as is the thought of what her existence would be like without the protection of her doting nurse, for her mother’s harshness toward her seems to increase daily.
    I watch in silent misery, knowing myself powerless, as the Marchioness dumps her squealing daughter back on the chair, hands her the spoon, and orders her, “Eat!”
    And Jane does eat, her fish salted with the tears that are streaming down her face. Later, when Lady Dorset has gone, she is sick and spends most of the afternoon asleep in my arms, exhausted by distress and nausea.
     

    “Jane’s education,” my lady announces, “will be as good as, if not better than that afforded to the King’s daughters, the Lady Mary and the Lady Elizabeth. She will be made familiar with the classical works of the ancients, as well as history, mathematics, theology, and the Scriptures. She will learn the languages that are advantageous to her future role in life. At the same time, we shall engage dancing and music masters. You yourself, Mrs. Ellen, can teach her embroidery. We must not neglect the traditional feminine arts. And Jane must be schooled in the ways of the court. She must be taught perfect manners, how to dress like a princess, and how to carry herself like one. The importance of her high birth must be drummed into her. She is born to great things.”
    It all seems a shade too burdensome for such a tiny little girl. Looking at Jane’s pointed, heart-shaped face, with its freckled nose and earnest, dark-browed eyes, I wonder if she will grow up to be a beauty. That is not a requirement of the greatest importance in marriages of state, but it helps. I’ve heard that the King, in his search for a foreign bride, has insisted that he see her first before committing himself.
    Lady Dorset is determined to help Nature along.
    “Something must be done about those freckles, Mrs. Ellen,” she demands. “We must search out a remedy.” We’ve already tried several lotions and pastes, but nothing has worked so far.
    “Her good feature is her hair,” declares my lady. “It’s the same Tudor red as the King’s.” Yet she complains that Jane’s is frizzy and unruly, and it is true that it does not submit happily to being scraped back under a cap. In my humble opinion, it should be left to fall free, a wavy cloud of auburn flying in the wind. But my lady would never agree.
    “Jane is very small for her age,” she says. “She’s too skinny. It gives her the appearance of being delicate, which she most certainly is not.” Lady Dorset has good cause to know this, for it has been made abundantly clear, on the occasions when the Marchioness has had cause to pull Jane over her knee and chastise her protesting, wriggling body, that this child is strong and healthy. She is also highly intelligent, and much advanced for her age, but although my lady values erudition in girls, she sees Jane’s precocity as undue forwardness, which must be discouraged.
    “A clever maiden is no great asset in the marriage market,” she declares. “We must cultivate sufficient modesty to overcome this handicap.”
    “Indeed,” I agree, but unlike Lady Dorset, I shall not be too rigorous. She is right that it does not become a maid to be too saucy and forward, but I have no desire to break Jane’s spirit.
    Lord Dorset paid one of his rare