The Heretic Wind: The Life of Mary Tudor, Queen of England Judith Arnopp (best books to read in your 20s .txt) 📖

whilemine are slow to form and resemble the path of a drunken bee … a bee that hasfallen into an inkpot and stumbled across my strip of grubby linen.

She leansacross and takes it from me, her brow quirking.

“Oh dear,Mary. You will have to unpick it and begin again. Try to keep your linesstraight – perhaps we should ask one of the women to draw a route for you tofollow – would that make it easier?”

“No, thankyou, Mother.” I retrieve my work. “I will learn. I want to get it right.” Thisis not true, I’d rather be outside, but I want to please her and nothing satisfiesmy parents more than trying my very best.

“Good girl.” Shebeams at me and I bask in her approval. I may lack skill at the needle, but Ihave inherited her pride and resolve. I am determined to do this.

“You will bein charge of your own household when you go to Ludlow.”

Her wordsclang like a great bell in my head, ringing out doom. I drop my needlework.

“Ludlow? Whereis that? When am I going there? Why am I going there?”

“Because youare precious, my child, and must do your duty as the king’s daughter … hisprobable heir.”

It is thefirst time I have heard her admit that she is losing hope of bearing furtherchildren. The workings of the human body are a mystery to me but I assume ithas something to do with the growing gulf between Mother and the king. I frownat the soiled linen in my hand. If I am sent away, the gulf between them willonly increase without me to pull them closer.

“I have nowish to leave … not yet. I think I am too young.”

She continuesto sew, the needle slipping in and out of the fabric, her chin lowered, thelight from the window shining on her forehead, glinting on the jewels of her headdress.

“It won’t befor a year or so yet, you must first be prepared. I think you will like Ludlow;I lived there with my first husband, Arthur, when I was the Princess of Wales.”

I try toimagine Mother as a little girl but can only manage to shrink her form to adwarfish, pious figure. I cannot picture her carefree and bright as she must oncehave been.

“He diedthere, didn’t he? My tutor said Ludlow was a place of contagion.”

She laughs.“No; his death had nothing to do with the castle. It was misfortune; thepestilence came upon us with no warning, just as it did elsewhere. My apartmentswere large and luxurious. I have ordered them to be refurbished for yourcomfort. As I said, I am quite certain you will come to love it there, as muchas I did.”

I don’twant to go. The Welsh border is far from court. I will be alone … I willmiss my father, miss my mother.

“Will LadyMargaret accompany me?”

Margaret Poleis my father’s cousin and has been in charge of my household since I was aninfant. Putting aside her sewing for a moment, Mother tilts her head to oneside and places a calming hand on mine.

“Of course,all of your present household will go with you, and more besides. You will haveevery luxury and a whole wardrobe of new clothes, as well as new plate andgoods. I will sew your linen myself, so you can feel close to me when you wear it.If you work hard at neatening your stitches, you can help…”

My answeringsmile is tremulous. I lower my head and try as hard as I can to keep mystitches straight but the thought of Ludlow is like a terrible cloud. Tearswell up. I try to blink them away but blindly stab the needle into my finger. Isqueal, hold my finger aloft and watch as a bead of blood forms, runs down my wristand drips onto the cloth. Mother drops her work.

“Mary!”

Her women comerunning and the chamber descends into chaos as they vie to tend me. Maria wrapsmy finger in a strip of fabric and wraps her arm about my shoulders.

“There,there,” she croons. “It will soon stop smarting.”

They make asmuch fuss as if my hand has been severed at the wrist. I retrieve it, bury itin my skirts and scowl at them.

“I think thatis enough sewing for one day,” the queen says, and while they scurry aroundclearing away the skeins of silk, I droop at my mother’s side, my face againsther sleeve as I suck my sore finger and think fearfully of a future without her.

The dread ofleaving court for the strangeness of my own establishment is leavened by theheaps of new garments that arrive daily: gowns and sleeves; shoes; new hoods;fine jewellery; furs and plate.

For the firsttime, I am given the luxury of choosing which shade of velvet I prefer, whichstyle of hood is more pleasing. Although I am not yet ten, I am no longer regardedas a child. I am Princess Mary of England, my father’s heir, and one day I willbe the wife of the emperor.

But just as Iam becoming accustomed to the idea of Ludlow, I learn that while I am preparingto leave court, Henry Fitzroi is preparing to join it.

He too is tobe given a vast household but he will be installed at Bridwell Palace, just ashort trip along the Thames from Greenwich. He will be closer to the king whileI am sent away. The news lodges in the base of my throat like an unshed tear.

 St James’ Palace – October 1558

Theblazing light of my infant days fades and is replaced by the dimness of age.The figure of the girl is a dark shadow against the blazing fire.

 “You can imagine how thatfelt. I was being replaced. My position usurped by some bastard boy.”

The child gapes at me, shakesher head and picks up her bucket, dipping a curtsey before turning toward thedoor. As she goes, I notice her wipe her cheek as if she has been weeping and,to my surprise, I notice moisture on my own. I dash it away with the back of myhand and call after her. “Of course, had I known what was to come, and how muchworse things