Chateau de Conde, August 1530
“George! Kate!” Anne flings the door wide, beaming as her brother dismounts from his sorrel mount and hands his wife down from her litter. Bess and Jamie jump out as well, calling happy greetings and running towards their aunt.
Anne catches them both, bracing herself against their enthusiasm.
“My, you’ve grown! Has the arrival of another sibling encouraged you both to get even bigger?”
“Kathy’s very small!” Jamie announces, his plump cheeks rosy in the heat of the August sunshine.
Anne chuckles, “All babies are small, Jamie. She’ll grow. You’ll see. Now, I imagine you two would like to stretch your legs after being cooped up in a litter all day, wouldn’t you?”
She ruffles Jamie’s fair hair and then cups Bess’s rounded cheek gently, patting the dusky pink skin affectionately, “Run through to the knot garden and I’ll send your cousins down to you. They’re very much looking forward to meeting you.”
She nudges Bess and Jamie in the right direction and then nods to a young maid hovering on the edge of the yard.
“Go with them, Fleur. Make sure they don’t get lost. And Pieter, run up the nursery and tell them that my brother has arrived and the children’s English cousins are waiting for them in the knot garden.”
“Yes, Madame,” Pieter and Fleur both nod and scatter to their respective errands. Satisfied, Anne turns to her older brother and pulls him into a hug.
“It’s so good to see you, George! To see you both! I take it you delivered the Princess and our sister safely to Scotland?”
“Indeed,” George smiles, returning Anne’s embrace, “Princess Mary seems besotted with Lord Alexander. I’m sure she’ll be a very happy Duchess. Nora doesn’t seem so thrilled with the new arrangements, but I imagine much of that is just nerves. She’s awfully young to be a Chief Lady of the Bedchamber, after all, and you know how overbearing Lady Salisbury can be. I’m sure things will settle down once she’s no longer with them in a few months’ time.”
“Good,” Anne nods, then releases George and sweeps Kate into her arms.
“Kate, my darling. You’re blooming. Motherhood clearly agrees with you. Has it been a real wrench leaving little Kathy?”
She moues in sympathy at her last words and Kate shrugs, clearly steeling herself against a lance of pain.
“Of course it has, but she’s got good nurses, and Annie’s still at Blickling too, so she’s not entirely on her own. Besides, how could I miss Jamie’s first visit to his Irish lands? You know what people would think of me if I did.”
“True,” Anne demurs, before swivelling back to George, swatting his arm teasingly.
“Kathy? Really? You
know Mary’s already got a Cate. I thought we’d promised each other as children that we’d never make our children share names with their cousins. Mary and I have kept our end of the bargain, so what happened to you keeping yours?”
“I didn’t choose it!” George protests, dodging her playful blows as Kate bursts out laughing, “Bess did. She wanted her sister to be named after both her mothers. How was I supposed to say no?!”
“That girl has you wrapped around her little finger,” Anne laughs, “I don’t think you’ve
ever refused her something she really wants.”
“Is it my fault she’s a Boleyn? I remember someone else who was Papa’s special favourite when we were growing up.”
George casts a significant look in Anne’s direction and she flushes, flicking her hand lightly in acknowledgement of his point.
They enter the solar before she can truly respond, however. Fran comes forward with a smile, greeting George with a firm handshake and a clap on the back and Kate with a gallant salute to her knuckles. He pours them both a liberal draught of Breton cider and guides them to a seat.
The four of them exchange a few more pleasantries and family stories before Fran leans back in his seat and fixes George with a beady look.
“So. Is it true?”
“Is what true?” George blinks, looking back at his brother-in-law blankly.
“The rumour that King Henry intends to take the young Countess of Auvergne and Boulogne as his bride. They say Madame Warwick has written to the Pope asking for her hand.”
“Catherine de Medici?” George sits up abruptly, taken aback, “If they are, you know more than me, Fran. I’ve not been in London for nigh on two months now,” He pauses, chewing the inside of his cheek, before shaking his head, “I can’t see it. I mean, she’s just a child.”
“She’s eleven,” Anne reminds her brother archly, “She’ll be of age in April. By the time the negotiations are complete… It’s not impossible, not given what an heiress she is and how eager King Henry has always been to secure himself a chunk of France.”
“Yes, but everyone knows what happened to His Majesty’s lady grandmother. He’ll not want to impregnate a twelve-year-old. And Parliament aren’t going to want a child bride, either. Not with the Succession still so unsettled.”
“No,” Kate agrees, placing a hand on George’s arm, “But they will want the Auvergne, dear. Besides, if Fran’s right and Lady Warwick is the one pushing her candidacy by writing to the Pope and opening negotiations, then the Medici girl’s bid to be Queen must have her support. And we all know the King does whatever Lady Warwick wants him to.”
“Normally, yes. But at the expense of a Prince of Wales, or at least not having one for a good few years? When he could marry Marie de Guise or Eleonora d’Este and have a boy within the year? I can’t see it.”
“Want to bet?” Mischief suddenly lights in Anne’s eyes and she smirks at her brother, “I’ll give you my ivory chess set if King Henry marries anyone other than Catherine de Medici.”
“You’re on!” George cries, “You may have my best lute if I’m wrong!”
The dark-eyed siblings laugh and jostle each other merrily while Kate and Fran look on, laughing indulgently.
Such is the jovial scene that greets the household steward when he comes to announce that dinner is ready.
Hunsdon, August 1530
Kitty watches John, her oldest sister’s steward, out of sight and hunches her shoulders, tugging at her thick blonde hair nervously.
Part of her wants to run after John, to throw herself on him and beg him to take her home, back to Isabel and Mary and little Georgie. She knows better, though. Even at eight, nearly nine, she knows she can’t do that. She might have the Howard name, but she’s a younger daughter, born to a younger son. She’s lucky to have been sent to Hunsdon, to have been chosen to share lessons with the Lady Elizabeth and the Lady Margaret, even if the latter is only the King’s natural daughter. Grandmother Agnes made sure she knew that.
Besides, she gloated to Mary for weeks after she was chosen and her little sister wasn’t, even though Mary is closer in age to the King’s daughters. She can’t go home now, before she’s even met anyone. That would be silly. Mary would laugh at her for
ages!
Biting her lip, Kitty turns to go back inside the house.
Hunsdon isn’t much bigger than home, but it’s much quieter. At home, Kitty, Mary and Georgie would be running riot, laughing and teasing each other, evading Isabel’s scoldings and the slap of Grandmother Agnes’s cane. Here, the whole house seems to be holding its breath, as though it’s scared of something. Even the servants scurry past, throwing Kitty nervous glances, as though they expect to be shouted at at any moment.
The nursery is two floors up in the East Wing. That’s what the servant who helped John with her luggage said, so Kitty makes her way there, thin shoulders shaking every now and then.
At the door, she hesitates. Someone is screaming inside, like Georgie does when he’s upset. The nurses never like to be interrupted when they’re trying to calm him down.
But on the other hand, she needs to tell someone she’s here, so Kitty pushes open the door, grunting with the effort, and creeps inside.
She freezes the moment it swings shut behind her, shrinking against the wall and waiting for someone to notice her.
No one does. No one even hears the creak of the door. The trio of maids in the room are all focused on the little red-headed girl at the table, tutting and cajoling by turns. Even smaller than Georgie, the little girl is kicking and screaming for all she’s worth.
“No! No fish! No! Berries! Berries!”
“Please, Lady Cecily. You had berries for breakfast. Lady Bryan says you mustn’t have them for dinner too, or you’ll be ill. You don’t want to be ill, do you?”
One of the maids leans over, clearly intending to pick up Lady Cecily’s spoon and feed her, but the toddler is too quick for her. She grabs the spoon and throws it as far as she can. The startled maid leaps out of the way and the spoon falls to the floor with a clatter.
“Your Highness! We don’t throw!”
The second maid scolds Lady Cecily, but even Kitty can hear the pleading in her voice. Mama used to sound like that sometimes, when she and Mary were naughty and she was too ill to scold them. Sometimes they felt sorry for Mama and stopped, but most of the time they just laughed and ran off.
Lady Cecily laughs, tears turning to joy in seconds. She snatches wildly at her dish, tipping it over and smearing fish and red sauce all over the table linen.
“No fish!” she cries triumphantly, only for her delight to turn to fury a few moments later.
She struggles to get down, roaring when her efforts are thwarted.
Kitty blinks in surprise. Everyone knows that Lady Cecily is fifteen months old. She should be able to walk well enough to get away from a table if she wants to. As she shuffles a little closer in curiosity, however, Kitty realises that little Cecily is sitting in a special chair. It has a piece of wood across it like a lid. Lady Cecily can’t lift her legs to get out without someone lifting the lid first.
The toddler’s cheeks flush as red as her hair.
“Down!” she shrieks, “Cecy DOWN!”
The maids sigh in unison and are about to reply, when one of them, half-turning, spots Kitty.
“Who are you?” she asks, jumping about a foot into the air, and Kitty flushes, embarrassed.
“Kitty, Kitty H-Howard,” she stammers, watching, fascinated, as another of the maids braves Lady Cecily’s flailing limbs to try and wrestle some manchet bread into the girl’s open mouth. The toddler shrieks and spits, refusing vehemently. Kitty can’t believe what she’s seeing. Isabel would never let any of them behave so.
The older girl in front of her tuts sharply and Kitty drags her eyes away from Lady Cecily, blushing scarlet all over again, “I’m – I’m to share lessons with the Lady Elizabeth and the Lady Margaret.”
“Of course you are,” the maid sighs, shaking her head, “Forgive me. We knew you were coming, but the dinner hour is always something of an ordeal in this household. Come on, I’ll take you through to the Lady Elizabeth.”
She sweeps past Kitty, half-groaning, and Kitty has to trot to keep up as they turn into an adjoining chamber.
“I’ve never seen a chair like that before,” she ventures breathlessly, and the maid huffs.
“The carpenter made it specially. It’s the only way to keep the little madam at the table long enough to make her eat anything. You’ll see. Now, Lady Elizabeth and Lady Margaret share this apartment,” The maid pushes open a heavy carved door, and enters, calling, “Lady Bryan? Mistress Howard has arrived!”
Before Kitty can react, however, a brown blur flies through the air towards her, chittering. She shrieks and ducks. The creature’s feet catch the top of her hood and knock it askew.
“Lady Elizabeth! What have I told you about letting Cinders run around?! Is that any way to greet your new companion?!”
A voice rings out sharply above Kitty’s head and there is a demure hum in response.
“Sorry, Lady Bryan. Cinders, to me! You mustn’t scare our new friend, that’s naughty!”
Kitty waits, unsure what to do. After a few moments, she dares uncurl from the ball she has hunched herself down into, to find a girl a couple of years younger than her holding out a hand to her.
“Sorry about Cinders, he gets excited around new people. Don’t you, boy?”
This last is said to the monkey on her shoulder, whom she pats absently. He chitters again and tugs at the black hair that is curling around the top of the girl’s shoulder blades. The girl chuckles softly and turns her attention back to Kitty.
“You must be Katherine. We’ve been expecting you for hours. Eliza Brandon got here days ago. I’m Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Lillibet, so you’d better do the same. Especially now there are two Elizabeths in the nursery.”
“Kitty, Your Highness. I prefer Kitty to Katherine.”
Kitty knows she shouldn’t be so bold, and indeed, Lady Bryan is already frowning in disapproval, but it really is all she can do to curtsy to the Lady Elizabeth. She can feel her eyes going wide and she can barely stop her legs from trembling as she sinks to the floor.
Just minutes after her arrival, she already has one burning question.
What kind of royal household is this? It’s not living up to her expectations at all!
