Page 25

“Oh, er...Gunnilde. I scarcely recognized you. You look so...different.” She stole an aghast look in the direction of Gunnilde’s horns.

Gunnilde doubted marriage had changed her looks so vastly.

Instead, she suspected Winifred was uncertain if she was in disgrace or not and ought to be publicly acknowledged.

“I am just on my way to the Queen’s quarters,” she said airily, “to assume my new role as lady-in-waiting to Her Majesty. Had you heard?”

Winifred’s eyes widened. Clearly, she had not heard this momentous piece of news. This was not surprising considering the staid company Winifred kept. Neither she nor Harriet were ever abreast of current court happenings.

Winifred congratulated her generously and asked if she was attending some lecture that afternoon with Harriet and her mother.

Gunnilde happily informed her that she was not.

Winifred expressed sadness that she would not see her there, and Gunnilde prepared to walk on, but Winifred’s hesitant expression halted her.

“Is there something else you would ask me, Winifred?” she asked encouragingly.

“I just—pray might I ask—” She took a deep breath. “What are those white streamers hanging down from your elbows?” Winifred enquired timidly.

Gunnilde beamed at her. “They are called tippets and originated in Vlandivar,” she told her, though she was not entirely sure about that part.

When Viscount Bardulf had worn a pair two months ago, he had made that claim, or so Gunnilde had heard.

“Are they not elegant?” She held up one arm to show their full glory.

Winifred beheld them with a silent and admiring oh .

“You should get some made up, Winifred,” Gunnilde suggested kindly. “They do not have to be floor length like mine, if you are not daring enough. You could get some down to your knees. Then they need not trip you up as you go up steps.”

“And—and what do they signify?” Winifred asked, looking intrigued.

“Signify? Why nothing at all! Except an interest in new manners of dress.”

“I see,” Winifred replied, still looking dazed.

Politely, they took their leave of one another, and Gunnilde sailed on her way, amused to think that Harriet’s friend might have some gossip to impart for once.

Perhaps she would whisper of Gunnilde’s appointment to the Queen at this afternoon’s lecture? It pleased her to think it might be so.

On reaching the Queen’s rooms, she walked once around the outer room, smiling and nodding to all who met her eyes, and then walked through the double doors, into the inner sanctum.

She felt a thrill when the guards let her through unchallenged, and Piers Winstanley, glancing up, smiled at her.

What a good-looking lad he was, she thought. It did one good to see him.

“Good morning, Lady Wycliffe,” he hailed her. “The Queen will be out shortly.”

She took her cue from this that she should await her appearance in this chamber. “How is Her Majesty this morn?” she enquired, halting before him.

He pulled a face. “She is perhaps a little out of temper but will be all the brighter for seeing you, my lady, if you can catch her attention. Some light conversation would doubtless distract her.” He lowered his voice.

“If you will pardon my saying so, The Bartree does not possess such arts to distract her when Her Majesty has need of it. I will be glad to have another around who possesses the talent.”

“The art of ‘light conversation’ you mean?”

“I do. Ah,” he said, turning, “here they are now.”

The Queen walked into the room, resplendent in olive green and gold. She mounted the dais looking neither to the left nor right of her, a carefully blank expression on her face. Close on her heels followed the funereal gloom of Magnatrude Bartree.

“I see what you mean,” Gunnilde murmured. The Queen, it seemed, was not in a genial mood. Over the next hour she summoned no one to her and did not descend once to mingle with her courtiers. Gunnilde drifted around hoping to catch her eye but seemingly failing.

Whenever she tried to approach the other ladies-in-waiting, they appeared to relocate like a flock of restless birds, dispersing and fluttering away from her. It was hard to believe it was not deliberate.

Finally, Mistress Bartree descended the dais to fetch the Queen some refreshment, and Gunnilde glanced across at the Queen to find her watching her. Armenal inclined her head, and Gunnilde sank into a curtsey.

Queen Armenal beckoned, and feeling highly gratified, Gunnilde hurried at once to hasten up the steps. “Good morning, Your Majesty,” she greeted her queen, all smiles. Queen Armenal’s eyes were dull. Was she ill?

“How are you, Gunnilde?” she asked with a faint smile. “Enjoying your new status as wedded wife?”

“Oh,” Gunnilde considered. “Yes, I think so, Your Majesty,” she said tentatively. “I think we will deal very well together eventually.”

“Eventually?”

“Yes, for I have already realized how I can be of help to my husband and—”

“Wait!” The Queen held up one slender beringed hand.

“First you must be seated, Gunnilde. Draw up one of those footstools and make yourself comfortable.” Gunnilde dragged one of the plump cushioned low stools in front of the Queen and sat herself down.

“Magnatrude will return presently with some refreshment. Now, continue.”

“What was I saying?”

“How it is you can aid this new spouse of yours in his endeavors,” the Queen prompted.

“Oh yes. Well, I have decided I simply need to inspire him with a love of ballads and then everything will be much easier for him. You see, at the moment he sells cathedral music to bishops, but he needs more commissions in order to make a proper living from it.”

“And you think that the ballads, they will prove more popular?”

Gunnilde nodded. “Certainly, I do. Religious music is all very well but everyday folk want something more enjoyable and uplifting and not so...so—”

“High-minded?” the Queen suggested.

“Exactly, Your Majesty. I have never commissioned a piece of music personally but if I was to, then I would want it to be something that I can hum or sing at my own leisure, not something I will struggle to remember, or that will take upward of three instruments to perform.”

The Queen looked thoughtful. “Have you heard any of his music performed?”

“I have not, Your Majesty, at least not to my knowledge.”

“He has performed in the palace several times and I am sure I am not surprised. With his looks, I daresay there’s many who would pay a pretty penny merely for his presence at their feasts.

He is very handsome, is he not? Some might say the handsomest man at court.

” She sent a piercing look in Gunnilde’s direction.

Gunnilde shook her head. “He would not like that at all, Your Majesty,” she said earnestly.

“He has very refined feelings and would probably feel cheapened by such an experience. Being treated like a paid performer, I mean.” The Queen looked taken aback by such frankness.

“You must own, Your Majesty, that being a composer sounds more respectable than being a troubadour,” she continued apologetically.

“Yes,” Armenal acknowledged after a small pause. “There is something in what you say. I suppose there might be some awkwardness about such an arrangement. Poor Sir James is hampered by his social standing when it comes to exploiting his talents it seems.”

Her tone was rather dry, Gunnilde thought, folding her lips, determined to say no more on the subject. She certainly did not want to put the Queen out of humor with her husband. That was the opposite of her intent!

“Ah, here is Magnatrude now,” the Queen said, sitting up straighter.

Gunnilde’s heart sank a little as the older woman climbed the steps to the dais with a measured stately step. She carried a silver salver with little dishes of nuts, dried figs, and dates. Behind her came her little page carrying a tray with pitcher and goblets.

“Draw up another chair, Magnatrude, and be seated here with us. Gunnilde here has been telling me how she means to further her husband’s cause.”

Magnatrude Bartree sent Gunnilde a cold look as she set down her tray before the Queen. Unwin added his items to the small table and fetched his mistress another of the low cushioned seats.

“Thank you, Unwin, now go and take some refreshment yourself,” Mistress Bartree bade her page, briefly touching the top of his head.

He smiled up at her and retreated down the steps.

Gunnilde watched the brief interaction with interest. So.

..Mistress Bartree was not all glares and hostility. Not when it suited her!

“Now, Gunnilde, repeat to me what you said about encouraging Sir James to broaden his palate when it comes to music,” the Queen instructed.

Gunnilde did so. “Is she not ingenious, this protégé of mine?” Armenal demanded, eyes dancing.

Gunnilde was glad to see the gleam back in her dark eyes, even if the amusement was at her expense.

Magnatrude’s lips twisted into some grim semblance of a smile.

“It seems a somewhat convoluted plot to my mind,” she said dismissively.

“What Sir James surely needs is a rich patron. Any wily wife would go about securing such a thing as a matter of urgency. But perhaps Lady Wycliffe has already realized this,” she said, looking deliberately from the Queen to Gunnilde and back again.

Catching her meaning, Gunnilde gasped and felt her cheeks grow warm. “I dare assure you, Mistress Bartree, that such a thing was not my intention in the slightest!” she said hotly.

Magnatrude Bartree’s back stiffened even further. “I am sure I do not know what I said to cause offence—”

“Oh, yes you do, madam!” Gunnilde interrupted her. “You plainly implied that I am set about cajoling a royal appointment out of the Queen, even at this moment! But to put things plainly, I do not think such a thing would suit him at all!”