Queen's Gambit: A Novel of Katherine Parr Read Online Free PDF Page B

after the Pilgrimage of Grace.
    ‘Well, we shall have to find you a
replacement, won’t we?’
    Only Katherine seems to notice the colour
drop from Meg’s face.
    ‘You can help your stepmother dress
me.’
    The mass is endless. Meg fidgets and
Katherine’s mind wanders to Seymour and his disconcerting gaze, those periwinkle
eyes. Just the thought of him disturbs her, makes her clench up inside. She forces
herself to remember the ridiculous bouncing feather and the ostentation of him,
everything overdone, and focuses her attention back on the service.
    Lady Mary seems so fragile it’s a
wonder she can hold the infant, which is round and robust with a pair of lungs that
would scare the Devil himself. Bishop Gardiner, who has a fleshy look about the face, as
if he is made of melting wax, presides. He drags things out, his voice, slow and
interminable, rendering the Latin ugly. Katherine can’t help but think of him
questioning her sister, terrifying her – that and the poor choirboy’s finger. They
say Gardiner has manoeuvred himself closer and closer to the King in recent years, that
the King seeks his counsel as much as the Archbishop’s.The child
wails red-faced, without ceasing, until the holy water is poured on her head. From that
instant she is completely silent, as if Satan has been chased from her, and Gardiner
carries a smug look, as if it is his doing rather than God’s.
    The King does not attend. And Wriothesley,
the infant’s father, seems perturbed. He is a ferrety man with a permanent look of
apology and a tendency to sniff; he is Lord Privy Seal and some say he holds the reins
of all England along with Gardiner, but you wouldn’t think it to look at him.
Katherine notices his mud-coloured eyes making frequent anxious glances towards the door
as he absently cracks his knuckles, so that an occasional soft gristly clack punctuates
Gardiner’s drone. A slight such as this could mean anything with a King whose
fancies change on a whim; the Lord Privy Seal may hold the reins of England but that
means nothing without the King’s favour. Wriothesley should know all about the
King’s whims; after all, he was Cromwell’s man once, but managed to slip and
slide out of that association as soon as the tide turned – another one not to be
trusted.
    Once it is all done everyone files out
behind Lady Mary, who holds tight on to Susan Clarencieux’s yellow arm as if she
might collapse. Her ladies follow her down the long gallery through a scrum of courtiers
who part as she approaches. Seymour is among them, and two of the younger girls giggle
stupidly when he smiles and doffs that ludicrous feather their way. Katherine looks
away, pretending to be fascinated by old Lady Buttes’s commentary on the way the
young dress, the loose interpretation of the sumptuary laws and what has happened to
courtesy. In her day things were different, she goes on, doesn’t anyone these days
know how to show respect for their elders? Katherine vaguely hears Seymoursay her name along with some flattery about her jewels, doubtless
insincere. She looks his way briefly with a tight nod before turning back to Lady
Buttes’s string of dull complaints.
    Once back in the relative calm of Lady
Mary’s chambers Susan Clarencieux hustles them all through to the outer rooms and
helps Mary, who seems on the brink of collapse, into her bedchamber. The younger girls,
now they are in private, start to pull off their elaborate hoods and loosen their gowns,
chattering and giggling. The women mill about in quiet groups, settling eventually to
their reading or needlework, and spiced wine is handed around. Katherine is about to
take her leave when a kerfuffle starts up outside, a drumming and singing accompanied by
a lute and a great stamping of feet. The girls all reach for their hoods, hurriedly
shoving them back on their heads again, helping each other to tie them on, stuffing
stray tendrils of hair away, while pinching their cheeks and biting