Chapter 269: This Has To Work
Tabitha looked over the table and hated every untouched thing upon it. The wine had been poured. The biscuits were neatly arranged on silver plates. Bowls of fruit stood between dishes of sugared almonds, little cakes, cherries, and thin wafers that had taken one kitchen maid nearly an hour to prepare under Tabitha’s suspicious supervision.
The room should have looked welcoming. Instead, it looked abandoned. Livia sat in a chair near the hearth, outwardly composed and inwardly tangled in nerves. Her fingers rested loosely in her lap, but Tabitha had known her long enough now to see the tension in them.
She had not prepared for no one to come. That had been foolish of her, perhaps. The other women owed her nothing. She was the king’s favourite. She was the Italian woman for whom Henry had humiliated a French princess and turned all of Whitehall into a pot of boiling scandal. Some of them had once shared his bed. Some had hoped to. Some had been sent towards him like offerings and returned with shame.
Bella would have come. That thought hurt. Bella had possessed that rare gift of making anyone feel at home around her.
Livia had assumed, stupidly, that a piece of Bella’s warmth might still linger among women who had known her.
After nearly an hour, even hope had begun to look embarrassed. Lionel walked towards her from his place near the door. He had stood there the entire time.
"My lady," Lionel said quietly. "I think you should abandon this quest."
Livia looked up at him. "No. This has to work, Lionel."
"It cannot work if no one comes." He studied her, and his face softened by a degree. Since Bella’s death, she had begun to notice the tiny places where Lionel’s iron cracked. He was still the same grim man but guilt had changed the way he looked at her. He no longer saw only the king’s dangerous favourite who ruined a long standing friendship between his highness and the duke.
Livia looked around the quiet chamber again. "Are there any viol players at court?"
"I am certain a consort can be found."
"Then find one."
He looked at the untouched table, then back at her. "You are sure about this?"
"I am."
"Music in Whitehall?"
"You sound as if I have suggested setting fire to the chapel."
Lionel sighed and shook his head. "Very well. I shall send for someone." He went to the door and spoke with the guards outside.
It took less than fifteen minutes for three musicians to arrive. They entered carrying their viols. They bowed.
"My lady," the older musician said. "Lord Ashcroft sent for us."
"Yes. Thank you for coming." Livia rose. "This is a mourning gathering for Lady Bella Cresswel. I would like something soft."
"A pavane, perhaps."
Livia nodded. "Yes. That would do."
The musicians arranged themselves near the far side of the chamber, beside the tall windows where the light had begun to fade. They tuned carefully, each low note trembling into the air before settling into agreement with the others.
Then they began. The first notes were deep, drawn slowly from the viols until the chamber seemed to breathe differently. The music gave shape to the sorrow sitting inside it.
Livia sat again and listened. For a few minutes, she forgot to be embarrassed by the empty room. She remembered only Bella laughing, Bella teasing her about Henry. Her eyes stung as she blinked hard.
The music rose slightly, fuller now, three instruments moving together with such tenderness that even Lionel looked away. That was when Livia nearly surrendered. She almost stood, almost retreated into her room where she could finally have the good cry she had been postponing.
Then the doors opened. One woman entered first, her eyes lowered. Another followed behind her.
Then two more. A hush moved through the chamber as skirts whispered over the floor and uncertain faces appeared.
Livia rose slowly, her heart beating hard. The court ladies began to filter in one after the other. It did not take long for the women to loosen a little.
The ladies still kept a careful distance from Livia. They spoke politely, praised the music, and glanced at her when they believed she was not looking.
Livia did not mind. She had not gathered them for friendship, though some bruised part of her wished that were possible. Livia needed witnesses.
Most of all, she needed an audience for what she suspected would inevitably happen. The killer of joy in Whitehall would arrive sooner or later.
Until then, Livia let the women settle into the room. She did not press them with questions. She allowed the viols to do the work.
The music continued softly by the windows. The ladies began to speak in low voices. A few moved closer to the table. The biscuits finally found purpose.
For nearly an hour, Livia waited. At last, Livia looked to Tabitha. Tabitha moved to the musicians and murmured a request. The viols softened, then fell silent.
Livia’s hands felt cold, but her voice, when it came, remained steady. "I would like to apologise to everyone here," she began, "that it took such a sorrowful incident to bring us all together."
Lady Bella’s name had not yet been spoken, but it was already present among them.
"I wanted to say that I hope and pray Lady Bella finds the peace she was denied on earth," Livia continued.
The women murmured a soft amen. Livia swallowed the ache rising in her throat.
"And I pray for us too," she said, "that in this new step we are said to be taking towards our new lives, only men worthy of us may be chosen for us." She made the sign of the cross.
Then she looked up and nearly smiled. The women did not look comforted. One woman, very young and pale-haired, sat near the edge of the room with her cup in her hands. She looked no older than Livia. No wonder Theodora had liked women like this. Innocent, pretty, quiet.