Chapter 270: A Dead Wife
"I do not want to leave Whitehall," the young woman said.
Livia turned towards her gently. "What is your name?"
"Margery, my lady. Margery Vale."
"Lady Margery," Livia said, "thank you for speaking honestly."
Another woman, older than Margery spoke next. "I do not know if the rumours are true, but if the king has asked that everyone be married off, what can we do?"
At the mention of the king, every gaze came to Livia. They were afraid Henry himself had ordered their removal.
Livia felt their eyes on her. They looked so innocent in that moment, so doe-eyed and uncertain, as though they had been handpicked. Livia hated that she needed to use their fear.
But Theodora had given her no choice.
"I do not know how true the rumour is either," Livia said.
"But you are closest to His Majesty," Lady Margery said. "Surely he must have mentioned something to you."
What they wanted was assurance from the one woman they believed might know the truth of the king’s mind.
Livia felt the danger of that expectation settle on her shoulders. If she defended Henry too fiercely, they would see only the favourite protecting her place. If she accused Theodora too openly, the frightened ones would scatter. If she admitted everything she knew, she would set the room on fire.
So she chose the safer lie.
"Well," Livia said, "His Majesty did not mention anything to me about any marriage. But," she continued, letting uncertainty soften her voice, "if there is truly a command under the king’s authority, then I suppose we should do as he wishes. What is the point in fighting?" Livia asked gently. "Unless, of course, we could delay the matter until His Majesty returns, so we may hear the instruction from his own mouth."
"How do we do that?" one woman asked.
Livia tilted her head as if the thought had only just occurred to her. "I do not know. I shall think of something if you all truly want me to."
"We do," Margery said at once.
A few other women murmured agreement.
One of the older mistresses set down her cup. "Her Grace has only ever sent matches to old men."
"That is not entirely true," another woman whispered.
The dark-haired woman turned to her. "Name one young man she chose without a limp, a dead wife, unpleasant children, and an estate in need of money."
No one answered.
"Precisely." Margery’s eyes shone with anxious indignation. "I have not even been with the king yet. Why should I be sent away to some rejected lord who needs a wife because every sensible woman in England has already refused him?"
"I heard the matches will be noblemen," another lady said, though she sounded as if she were trying to comfort herself.
"Yes," the dark-haired woman replied. "Old noblemen."
Livia gave a small cue to Tabitha, and Tabitha moved towards the musicians. Within moments, the viols began once more. The gathering changed with the sound. Women who had entered as strangers began to shift closer to one another. Wine was poured again. Cakes were finally eaten. The sugared almonds vanished.
Conversations rose in pockets. That was the real purpose of the gathering. Then the doors to the drawing chamber opened.
The music faltered. Theodora entered. She did not merely walk in. She claimed the threshold as though God had personally invited her and everyone else had been trespassing.
"What in the heavens is going on here?" Theodora thundered.
Every woman froze. Then chairs scraped, cups were set down too quickly, and the mistresses rose together in a rustle of skirts and panic. They curtsied at once, heads lowered, eyes down. Fear returned to the room.
Livia also rose and curtsied with the rest.
"I asked a question," Theodora said.
No one answered. The viol players sat motionless near the window, their bows suspended over strings as if music itself had been arrested.
Lady Margery trembled. The woman looked as if she regretted every almond she had eaten.
At last, one of the ladies found enough courage to speak. "Lady Livia thought it would be nice to honour Lady Bella’s memory, Your Grace."
Theodora turned slowly towards Livia. "Interesting...She is your queen now, I suppose. She calls and you all answer."
"We came for Lady Bella," one of the women said.
Theodora turned towards her slowly. The poor woman’s colour faded at once. "For Lady Bella?" she repeated.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"How touching." The Queen Mother’s gaze moved across the room, taking in the table, the wine, the cakes, the fruit, the musicians, the gathered women, and Livia standing among them like a spark beside dry grass. "And to honour Lady Bella, you thought it wise to raise a storm in the palace?"
"With all this noise," Theodora continued, "how are the guards to remain alert? How is anyone to hear danger approach? How is an assassin to be noticed if every corridor is filled with music and chatter?"
That was rich, coming from a woman who had a long list of assassins on her sleeve. Still, hypocrisy had never troubled Theodora.
"It is only music," Livia said softly. She lowered her eyes as she spoke, deliberately making herself look small. It cost her more than she expected.
Theodora’s eyes flashed in her direction. "You think because you are the king’s favourite, that gives you authority over his women?"
Livia dipped her head. "No, Your Grace."
"You are inconsequential."
"I understand," Livia said, keeping her voice careful. "Since we are said to be leaving Whitehall soon, I only thought it would be good for us to know one another. Perhaps we might become friends outside these walls."
"Is it true, Your Grace?" Lady Margery asked. Her voice trembled, but she spoke as she swallowed. "Are we all to be married off?"
The trap had closed. For the first time since entering, Theodora understood that she had not interrupted a sentimental gathering. She had walked into a room full of women who did not realise they were being used.
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