Feud by Lady Grace Cavendish Read Free Book Online Page B

after being bled. I did hope she'd say she didn't, so I could write in my daybooke, but alas, she asked me to read her the translation of some of Ovid's pretty tales.
    And Carmina's sickness remains a mystery. Usually with illnesses, the patient gets sicker and sicker, till he gets a fever. Then either he starts getting better or he dies. But Carmina has been indisposed for nearly three days now, and before that she was perfectly healthy. She has suffered headaches, sleepiness, lack of appetite—and now belly cramps and a flux.
    If only she would eat something more. Mrs. Champernowne came in just before all the other Maids arrived, bringing a tisane of comfrey. ButCarmina couldn't even drink that, for she said it tasted of metal.…
    Hell's teeth! I've just had the most horrible thought. Carmina's symptoms—sleepiness, dizziness, a metal taste in the mouth, then sickness and stomach cramps—are exactly the things Nick Hilliard told me would happen if I ate poisonous orpiment!
    I don't know how, but perchance Carmina has swallowed some poison, just like my poor mother did when she drank the poisoned wine meant for the Queen. Only it is slower-acting on Carmina, of course.
    God's blood! How awful! But who would want to poison a Maid of Honour? Or—worse—could it have been meant for the Queen?
    My heart is pounding so fast I can scarcely think. I will not mention my suspicion to anyone here. After all, I might be wrong, and besides, if I did, there would be the most tremendous fuss. Sir William Cecil's pursuivants and the Gentlemen of the Guard would be searching the palace, and the Court would be thrown into chaos. In all the disorder, of course, a poisoner could probably slip away.
    I simply
must
tell the Queen. But, first, I think I'll go and talk to Mrs. Teerlinc and get a properaccount of what happens if you eat a poison like orpiment—just to be sure. Mayhap Nick Hilliard was merely trying to impress me earlier by curdling my blood with his hideous description of the symptoms.
    Well, that was exciting! Carmina woke up, blinked a couple of times, and then threw up. She did it very neatly, I must say, just like a cat. Luckily, most of it went in the rushes or the pot she was aiming at, and not in the bed. But some of it splattered.
    Lady Jane was just leaning over to pat Carmina's hand. She leaped back with a terrible scream and shrieked at Carmina that her kirtle was quite ruined with the spatters. Now Mary Shelton is trying to help Lady Jane with a kerchief dipped in white wine. But Lady Jane is still shrieking, flapping her hands about and everyone is saying, “Ew!” at the smell.
    “What is all this noise and commotion and rowdiness?”
    That was Mrs. Champernowne, sweeping in to find Lady Jane in tears over her favourite French kirtle—which has two invisible spots on it—and Lady Sarah giggling because she was well away from the bed and didn't get spattered. Mary is trying to dab the spots on Jane's kirtle, and poor Carmina isbright red with embarrassment and whispering how sorry she is.
    “Well, for goodness' sake,” Mrs. Champernowne has just snapped. “There's no need to squeal like stuck pigs. Lady Jane, stand still so Mary can help you. Lady Sarah and Penelope, go and change ready for supper with the Queen—and be sure you do not prattle, for she is in a terrible mood what with the Scots and all. And Lady Grace, tear yourself away from your scribbling for five seconds, and fetch your uncle back. I will call a Chamberer to sweep up the mess.”
Eventide
    I am sitting on the bed, writing away, with my inkpot carefully stowed on the little shelf in the bedhead which usually holds a watch candle. I have no idea how even more ink stains came upon the bedlinen, but I am taking no more chances.
    After Carmina was sick, I ran for my Uncle Cavendish and asked him to attend upon her— though I know not how much good he will do, since he had clearly been drinking aqua vitae since he left us.
    I escorted him