The Queen's Dwarf A Novel by Ella March Chase Read Free Book Online Page B

that “the Fairy King bites.” But even my sharpened stick would not protect me in London’s vast crowd.
    When we stopped at a water gate, the important members of the duke’s party boarded a fleet of barges to finish the trip down the Thames, abandoning lesser servants to a city whose jaws seemed ready to grind flesh from bone. I almost wept with relief when Ware herded me onto one of the boats.
    Oarsmen in Buckingham livery set to rowing, and I fought to keep my balance as the oak hull began to sway. When I dared look up again, I marveled as the filth and furor of the city thinned, huge gardens rolling from the shore to the grand houses lining the Strand. It was hard to believe that I would belong to these palaces, people.
    I strained to look at Buckingham’s family in the barge some ways ahead of mine. Beneath a canopy embroidered with falcons, the duke’s mother, the countess of Buckingham, peered out with avaricious eyes. I remembered something Clemmy had said.
    Beware around that one, friend. After old Queen Anne died, the countess shoved herself into her place, as the mother of the king’s dearest “friend.” She had been strutting through the court as if she were consort to King James, having her way in everything until the new queen arrived. Sure she figured a little French chit would march to her drumming like everyone else, but the princess has more spine than that. Not one to like being sent down a step, the countess. When James gave her a title, she made sure he did not raise her husband to earl alongside her. Might as well have nipped off his pizzle and dressed him in a petticoat.
    The countess looked just the kind of woman who enjoyed cutting men to size. Proud and frightening, she sat rigidly on the edge of her bench. Buckingham’s wife perched beside her like a songbird assured the hawk would not eat her—yet. The duchess’s gaze was solemn, except when she looked at her husband. Then her cheeks warmed. I wondered about the masked lady who had scorned her. Buckingham’s wife would cut herself on that woman’s sharp edges.
    We had barely docked at the water gate when Ware hastened me through a small door in the walled courtyard. If Burley had been glorious, York House was like tumbling into Heaven.
    The Great Hall was full of workmen preparing for the celebration to come. A huge dais where the queen would sit was being decked in cloth of gold. A vast canvas cloth was painted the blue of a sun-washed sky. Workmen gathered drifts of muslin into billowy clouds, hammering them into place upon what seemed to be wagon beds attached to ropes and pulleys.
    “Is this where I will perform?” I surveyed the setting with unease. How could I possibly speak loudly enough to fill such a space?
    “No. The duke and his guests will dine on the main courses here, then repair upstairs to the banqueting hall, where sweet stuffs will be served—along with you. When the old king reigned, the guests would have been too bent on debauchery to care about your performance. But King Charles is fastidious regarding his manners and expects his courtiers to be the same.” Ware chuckled.
    “What amuses you?” I asked, risking being called impertinent.
    “I was only thinking how foreign dignitaries wrangle for invitations to Buckingham’s banquets. It is a shame battles and negotiations cannot be held amid floating clouds and coffin pies, or Buckingham would be the greatest statesman of our age.”
    We walked deeper into the building. My steps slowed as I stared at paintings lining the walls. “That angel’s limbs seem to move,” I whispered.
    “Not even the king has a finer collection of art than His Grace,” Ware said. “You’re not to wander about to gape at it. You go nowhere except in my company, now we are in London.”
    Under different circumstances, I might have liked staying out of the confusion, but the fact that Ware had ordered me to do so made me chafe. “Why should I not look about if I