Three Maids for a Crown: A Novel of the Grey Sisters by Ella March Chase Read Free Book Online Page B

weddings,” the woman complained to Hettie Appleyard. “The whole court is still buzzing about it. Half a dozen of the messengers who have ridden through told how the king ordered treasures from the royal wardrobe be sent to adorn the brides. They recounted how many exalted guests graced the ceremony and mentioned that King Edward himself was disappointed because he was too unwell to attend. But instead of reveling in the triumph, Her Grace is more stinging than a beehive struck with a stick.”
    “Hush now!” Hettie nodded in my direction. “Mind the Lady Mary.”
    The servant blew her cherry-round nose on a fold of petticoat. “Little crouchback knows better than any of us. The duchess nigh knocked her across the room the other day.”
    Since then I had done my best to stay out of my lady mother’s way.
    “I am here to tell you matters just got worse, God save us. Her Grace is in her solar, shattering enough Italian glass to feed the village for a twelvemonth. Half-wild she is. The latest messenger brought tidings that sent her into a fury at Lady Jane.”
    Despite my mother’s temper, excitement bubbled beneath the popinjay-blue sarcenet of my bodice. After all, Jane was far away where the duchess could not strike her. I came out of my corner. “Did my sister send a message to me?” I demanded. Twice Jane had included a note for me with the formal missives that duty compelled her to write to our parents. I kept the letters in my Thief’s Coffer and read them until my eyes ached.
    “I fear the Lady Jane is not well enough to hold a pen. Mrs. Ellen writes the poor thing is sick in mind and body. Your sister fears she is being poisoned.”
    My heart felt like a rock in my chest, but Hettie discounted her claim. “Who would want to poison the Lady Jane? A more quiet and devout girl never lived!”
    “She has a stubborn side. She will scratch like a cat on questions of faith.” The servant’s voice dropped low. “Perhaps Northumberland seeks to rid his son of an unhappy bride. Gossip says the lady’s hair is falling out and her fingernails and skin are peeling.”
    A picture flashed into my head—Jane’s skin flayed away like the image of Saint Sebastian in the gallery while the devil duke looked on, his eyes glowing like a blacksmith’s iron. I did not care how angry my mother was or how cruelly she might punish me. I scooped up my petticoats and went to find her.
    My legs shook as I made my way down the gallery, still thronging with my parents’ friends and acquaintances. Even they were gathered in nervous groups, whispering. I listened for the sounds of confusion, looked for my parents’ gentlemen and ladies-in-waiting. I found them clustered together outside the solar door looking nervous. I knew my parents were in the room beyond the closed oak panel.
    “… dead any day …” I heard Bess whisper. Terror made my stomach coil.
    Something heavy crashed against the door. I charged toward the gentleman usher guarding it. “I will see my lord and lady now.”
    “My Lady Mary.” He tugged at the collar of his doublet. “I cannot think it wise.”
    I gave him the look that made Owen, the stable boy, think I could make his fingers drop right off.
    “I will ask if their graces will see you.” The usher opened the door and began to announce, “The Lady Mary—”
    I did not wait for their response. I went in. The chamber was awash in wreckage. Gold plate and bric-a-brac littered the stone floor. Father paced near the window, his cut-leather doublet half unlaced. His velvet cap had been torn from his balding pate, the white feathers trampled on the floor. A glass shard cut through the sole of my slipper, but I did not slow down, not even when my mother turned on me, her eyes filled with rage.
    Her face was as red as the Tudor roses painted on the sideboard. “Get back to the nursery! I will have Hettie Appleyard whipped for letting you run amok!”
    I clutched the edge of my mother’s ivory inlaid