By Royal Command Page 12

  ‘So who will be at the table for dinner?’ I asked.

  She spat into the fire. ‘That dog-in-a-doublet Kelly – but he hardly counts, because he’s always here – Mr Sylvester, Mistress Allen – the toad-faced strumpet – and the master, mistress and children.’

  ‘That’s seven in all.’

  ‘Seven. And it should have been near double that, with the Walsinghams.’

  ‘Then we’ve got away lightly. And there will be plenty of food left over for us!’

  Hearing this, Mistress Midge cheered up somewhat. And I went to my bed and hardly slept, my mind full of fireworks and excitement.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Christmas day dawned and passed much like any other, for servants do not keep Christmas. To them it merely means two church services to be fitted into their day instead of one, and more cooking, cleaning, fire-making and fetching of water if their family have visitors staying.

  Waking up on Christmas morn at the bellman’s five o’clock call, I immediately thought of Ma and wondered what she would be doing, for this was my first Christmas away from home. The day would not be much different for her, either, for although she didn’t work as a servant, she cut and stitched a pair of gloves every day of her life, come winter or summer, snow or sun. The only difference to her mornings came if my father had been shut in the lock-up the previous night for being drunk, was in the stocks being pelted with rotten fruit, or lying half-senseless in a ditch, waiting for someone to find him. These memories made me very melancholy about my ma’s life, so I said a quick prayer for her safety and rose to begin that day’s chores.

  Late that afternoon I was called into the library to be told how I was to assist Dr Dee and Mr Kelly at the palace. My master, I knew, was not easy in his mind about carrying out such a deception, but as I entered, Mr Kelly was busy assuring him that it would serve to bring their powers to the attention of a greater following of clients. ‘And ’tis only anticipating our own transmuting of gold – for we will surely be able to do this for ourselves very soon.’

  ‘Will it be soon?’ Dr Dee asked wearily.

  ‘Aye, it will, Dee. Just as soon as you’ve interpreted correctly all that the angels have told us.’

  I was standing before them during this exchange, waiting for my instructions, and saw Dr Dee frown and sigh at this comment. He looked up at me with rheumy eyes. ‘I am proud to inform you,’ he said ponderously, ‘that I, together with Mr Kelly, am to attend on Her Majesty at Richmond Palace on New Year’s Eve.’

  I didn’t reply, just looked suitably awe-struck.

  ‘We have decided that you should accompany us.’

  I gave a little gasp of excitement at this, which I did not have to fake, for I’d heard nothing since that day in the library, and had been wondering if the trip to the palace would really happen.

  ‘At the palace there will be a service you can perform for us.’

  ‘Certainly, Sir,’ I said, bobbing a curtsey.

  Mr Kelly stepped forward and looked at me critically. ‘You have . . . some more appropriate dress?’

  By this I supposed that he meant something other than my drab workaday gown.

  ‘I have, Sir,’ I replied, for I had already decided to wear Miss Charity’s green velvet.

  He looked at me doubtfully, perhaps thinking that I was going to show them up. ‘Servants always look their best in their master’s livery,’ he muttered to Dr Dee. ‘And, at least, all dressed the same, there is no doubt who they belong to.’

  ‘There are not normally enough servants in this house for the supplying of liveries,’ came the reply.

  ‘Now. Where are the rings I purchased?’ Mr Kelly muttered, and I tried to curb my impatience – for I had twenty jobs waiting in the kitchen – while he felt through each of his doublet pockets and eventually put two rings: a coarse, cheap metal one and a fine gold one on to the table. ‘This is just a little . . . er . . . game we are playing with the Court,’ he said to me. ‘A game whereby a metal ring will be substituted for a gold one.’

  ‘I see, Sir.’

  ‘You should manage it easily enough, for ’tis quite a simple task.’

  I nodded. Simple, I thought, but risky. For what if I got caught out in some dishonest dealing in front of Her Grace?

  ‘Tell the girl how things will proceed, Kelly,’ Dr Dee said. He glanced down at some chart he was working on. ‘The whole business is your affair.’

  ‘And when it proves a success it will become yours, I suppose?’ Mr Kelly retorted.

  A sniff came as answer to this. Mr Kelly turned back to me and said, ‘Dr Dee and I will set up our alembic on a table before the Court, and I will explain to them some of the complex calculations involved in the changing of metal to gold.’

  ‘You must say that it cannot always be performed,’ said Dr Dee gruffly, ‘or we will find ourselves being required to change pewter and copper plates into gold ones, and then where will we be?’

  ‘Of course we will explain that, at this time, only small objects are able to be changed,’ Mr Kelly replied with some scorn.

  ‘And likewise say that all our calculations and reckonings have been done beforehand, so that they may begin to appreciate the complex issues involved.’

  ‘Yes, yes. That as well, Dee,’ said the other impatiently, and the two of them glared at each other for some moments.

  ‘Following this, holding aloft the dark mirror, we’ll call upon certain spirits to come through and change the base metal for the precious.’

  I asked, ‘And what do you want me to do, Sir?’

  ‘I am just coming to that,’ said Mr Kelly. ‘This metal ring,’ he pointed, ‘will be held in a glass dish in the centre of a connected group of glass beakers. Steam will be generated from one of these which will hide the ring from view. Do you understand so far?’

  I nodded briefly, thinking that the children’s monkey would have understood thus far.

  ‘While Dr Dee and I explain to the Court what we’re doing, you will collect the equipment we’ve been demonstrating with and, as you do so, you must slip your hand in the bowl and substitute this metal ring . . .’ he held it aloft, ‘. . . for the gold one.’

  I nodded again.

  ‘Is that quite clear?’

  ‘Perfectly clear, Sir.’

  ‘Then try it out, girl. Try it out,’ said Mr Kelly. ‘See if you can do it.’

  I did as he asked, putting the gold ring on my little finger, slipping my hand into the bowl, picking up the metal one with my index finger and leaving the other behind. They made me go over these movements many times, just as they had done when I was to be the wraith of Miss Vaizey, until they were satisfied, and only then did Dr Dee say I could go back to my duties.

  As I went out I heard Mr Kelly say, ‘We must make sure that she practises every day, for one is never sure how much can be retained in a mind which is taken up with – bah! – nothing but ribbands and gee-gaws.’

  The following morning Mistress Midge and I were set to rise early to begin preparations for the grand dinner, and, waking at four o’clock, I thought to get ahead with my chores by getting up and dressed at this time. Much to my surprise, however, our cook was ahead of me and had already lit the big fire in the kitchen in readiness for the venison to be roasted. A new spit had been purchased for this and Margaret, Isabelle’s little sister, was coming in to turn and baste the beast. It was more usual, of course, to have a dog to do this work, and one had been found running about the riverbank the week before and enticed inside with scraps in order to be trained. Once in the kitchen, however, Tom-fool had leapt on to its back and clung there like a jockey on a racehorse, causing the poor dog to run away yelping with fright and never be seen again.

  The fire now burning well, Mistress Midge went out to the side passageway of the house, calling for me to come and help her carry the venison into the kitchen. I dusted my hands in flour and was on my way to join her when I heard a sudden anguished cry of ‘No! Oh, my Lor
d above!’

  I flung open the door, fearing that the errant dog had run off with our royal meat, but the great carcass was still hanging there on its hook. ‘Whatever’s wrong?’

  ‘The venison. Lord above! ’Tis tainted!’

  I sniffed deeply at the carcass then drew back in horror, for it smelled very ill – like the bodies of dead dogs which have been left overlong on the streets in a hot summer.

  Mistress Midge staggered backwards, her usually ruddy face pale. ‘I’m a dead woman!’ she cried. ‘I’ll be blamed for this for sure . . . charged with letting the royal venison go bad.’

  ‘But how did it happen?’ I asked. ‘’Twas only delivered here a week or so back – and it has not been in the heat.’

  ‘But when did Her Grace catch her deer? For all you and I know it has been hanging in the royal store since summer.’ She gave a low, moaning sound. ‘I am lost. Finished! Dr Dee speaks of nothing but this beast, and everything in the meal is to complement it. I will lose my job for sure.’

  I stared first at her, then the carcass, with horror. ‘Is there anything that might overcome the taste?’ I asked. ‘How would it be if it were cooked, sliced and a strong sauce poured over?’

  ‘They would detect it! And besides, ’twould still be tainted underneath. With Mistress Dee’s weak stomach it might poison her.’ She groaned. ‘I should have noticed it before, but with everything else there was to do I did not. I’ve worked my fingers down to their very bones and have been fair light-headed with work these past days . . .’

  On and on she went, until Margaret and Isabelle arrived, for no one had thought to inform them that, there being only seven for dinner, their services were no longer needed. I was happy to see her, for I had much to tell my friend about my trip to the palace – but those stories would have to wait until we could speak in secret, of course.

  The sorry tale of the venison was recounted by Mistress Midge, with much sighing and lamenting. ‘My master will be up soon and will have to be informed of what’s happened,’ she finished. ‘And when he hears, then that’ll be the end for me.’

  ‘But there is so much else to eat,’ Isabelle said, looking around her at the menagerie of foodstuffs covering every available work surface. ‘And you say there will only be seven at table?’

  ‘Aye. But Dr Dee has anticipated eating that venison more than any other food, for it was given him by the queen and is almost holy in his eyes.’

  ‘He’ll say that we haven’t cared for it properly,’ I added.

  Isabelle frowned momentarily, then her face cleared. ‘Of course! The venison being tainted, we must make new!’

  Mistress Midge snorted.

  ‘Only listen,’ Isabelle went on eagerly. ‘Sometimes they serve roast venison at the tavern where I wash the pots, and they charge double for it over ordinary meat – for everyone knows ’tis the queen’s beast, and rare.’

  The cook and I both nodded.

  ‘But ’tis not real venison, but only mutton, boiled and coloured.’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘’Tis so.’ She looked round at us, excited. ‘And I know how they do it, for the tavern-keeper’s wife showed me how. Do you have a side of mutton in your cold store?’

  Mistress Midge nodded. ‘I was serving shoulder of mutton with oysters as a side dish.’

  ‘Well, you must take the piece of mutton, steep it in small-beer and vinegar, then parboil it in a pan with some violet colouring. When ’tis roasted over the fire and cooked through, no one will know the difference. No, not even if Her Royal Majesty herself was to dine on it!’

  ‘Glory!’ Mistress Midge said, planting several hearty kisses upon Isabelle. ‘We are saved!’

  The tainted venison was carried out to the river and thrown in before it was fully light, then the false venison prepared and cooked under Isabelle’s direction (although it proved difficult, but not impossible, to keep Dr Dee out of the kitchen). At noon – following much anguish, swearing, blaspheming and roaring – all was ready and the table in the dining room groaned under a dish containing a calf’s head, a soused heron, a bowl of oysters, two pigeon pies, a dish of larks, a varied selection of sweet and almond tarts and fancies, and the gilded marchpane cake. At the top of the table, in front of where Dr Dee would sit, a silver platter contained slice upon slice of ‘roast venison’, its succulent meat – dark, with a hint of purple – seeming to symbolise its royal origin, and all covered with Mistress Midge’s special, royal, gallendine sauce.

  ‘It is,’ said that lady, surveying it from the doorway, ‘a table to be proud of. A table as might be seen in any of the grandest houses in Europe.’

  It was apparent that the diners thought so too, for after the meal Mistress Midge was called into the dining room and presented with the compliments of everyone there, Dr Dee speaking lyrically of the succulence and vast superiority of the venison over any other meat in the world and saying that the fact that the animal had been killed by the queen’s own fair hand gave it a special flavour all of its own, which everyone had remarked on.

  The meal being completed, we washed the dishes and then set ourselves the task of eating all that had been left. This was some considerable amount, for the two pies had not even been cut into. Mistress Midge then fell asleep in front of the kitchen fire and Margaret took the monkey for a walk outside, leaving me and Isabelle to gossip (with much talk of Robert Dudley’s suspected marriage) until late.

  Mr Sylvester had been invited into the library to speak and share his learning with Dr Dee and Mr Kelly and wasn’t seen again until past six o’clock, when, before leaving, he came to pay his respects to Mistress Midge and thank her once again for the meal – which behaviour we thought most courteous and gentlemanly. To confirm our opinion, he also left a silver sixpence for those who’d laboured in the kitchen and, seeing him to the front door and handing him his high hat and cape lined in red silk, I thanked him for this.

  ‘Not at all!’ he said in most cheerful fashion, swaying slightly, for he’d probably drunk a little too much Rhenish. ‘I dined like a royal today!’

  ‘Indeed, Sir,’ I nodded. ‘But at Court I expect they eat on gold and silver plates, and have drinking glasses made of crystal.’

  ‘Court!’ he said, seizing on that word. ‘Spare me tales of Court, do, for there everything is pretence and artifice, and people only speak to lie.’

  ‘I can’t think you really mean that, Sir,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, but I do! At Court, all is false – and even love is decried and despised. I hate that foul world and will never enter it again!’

  I was taken aback at the bitterness in his tone, when previously he’d been so merry, and wondered to myself again if, hating the Court so much, he also hated the queen . . .

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was near eleven in the morning on New Year’s Eve that I rode with Dr Dee and Mr Kelly to the palace in an uncovered carriage, they not disguising the fact that they scorned being seen travelling with a servant. I rode alongside the driver, sitting beside the boxes which contained their equipment, and heard Dr Dee and Mr Kelly quarrelling and bickering all the way there, as bad as any married couple.

  Alighting, and having two servants taking the boxes, we were ushered through the courtyard I’d been in a few nights previously, then taken along corridors and through rooms, seeing innumerable servants and many other persons who were so well-dressed they must have been invited guests. Some were masked and dressed in strange attire, some disguised as animals; there was also a family of dwarves, a troupe of acting men, some morris dancers in gay costume and a woman with a small, docile bear on a lead. Mr Kelly paused now and then to stare after one or other of them, professing himself mortified at the company he found himself in. ‘Mere entertainers and travelling players,’ he said. ‘Gypsies and fire-eaters, quack doctors, card sharps and strumpets. What have I been reduced to?’

  ‘You have long spoken of your wish to be invited to the palace, Kelly,’ Dr Dee reminded hi
m.

  ‘But this is no better than being a player at a travelling show, or a base varlet who cries mousetraps in the street!’ he exclaimed.

  We were eventually shown into a huge room I heard called a throne room, which was high and wide as a church. People were grouped together here, coming and going from each other with much in the way of flourishing, bowing and curtseying. I was not at all sure of the day’s sequence of events or when I might be called upon to assist in our demonstration of the changing of metal into gold, but, on Dr Dee and Mr Kelly finding themselves some notable gentlemen to speak to, I moved away and made myself as unobtrusive as possible in the background, while watching at every moment for both Tomas and Mistress Pryor.

  There was much to see. At one end of the room was a raised dais, and on this a group of musicians were playing a merry air. At the other end was a larger platform, on which stood a gilded throne, and hanging above this a magnificent canopy of purple silk, ruched and splendidly embroidered, bearing a representation of the queen’s crown of state. On the platform also was a table covered with the queen’s New Year gifts – oh, so many gifts that I could not stop my jaw from dropping at the sight of them. There were objects of all shapes and sizes, wrapped and unwrapped, large and small, and amongst them I saw silver and pewter plate, clocks, jewelled boxes, crystal vases and musical instruments. I could have stayed looking for much longer, but mindful of my ma’s oft-repeated observation that it was rude to stare, at last forced myself to turn away from these delights.

  On a window seat sat a group of immaculate, bejewelled ladies-in-waiting, sitting as close to each other as their farthingales would allow and seeming to be sharing confidences. I watched them, admiring them greatly and sighing a little inside because of it, for I knew that no matter how fine a gown I wore, my nails would still be torn, my hands chapped, my speech inelegant and my skills in the feminine arts non-existent. I could never be like them, I thought, remembering Tomas’s words when he’d explained that it would be impossible for someone of my background to become a lady-in-waiting. And so surely it was also impossible, came the thought, that Tomas should mean anything with his sweet talk and his hand-kissing, for wasn’t that part of his role: to flatter and to pay little compliments in order to bring a smile to a lady’s lips – even when, like me, she clearly wasn’t a lady?