Northampton decided to ignore the girl’s comments, telling himself that perhaps he was inviting them.
“You are to have a wedding, child, at Court. The King himself is interested in your bridegroom and wishes to see an alliance between his House and ours.”
“May I know his name, sir?”
“Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex.”
“An Earl. How old is he?”
“Your own age, child … or as near as makes no difference. Your mother tells me you are twelve. Robert is fourteen.”
“Fourteen and an Earl already!”
“His father has been dead some years.”
“His father lost his head, I believe,” said Frances. “I have heard of the Earl of Essex.”
“It is an accident which happens now and then in the best of families,” murmured Northampton.
“The better the family, the more frequently,” put in Lady Suffolk. “A fact, daughter, which we must all bear in mind.”
“I shall remember,” said Frances.
“I trust you will be grateful to your family for arranging such a good marriage for you,” went on Northampton.
“Is it such a good match?” the girl asked.
“Do you doubt it, Frances?” cried her mother.
“Well, Mother, I have always been taught that there is only one family good enough to mate with the Howards: the royal family.”
Northampton smiled grimly at her parents. “This girl is but twelve, you say?”
“I remember well enough the day she was born,” said Lady Suffolk. “Although I must say that bearing children had become rather a habit with me since I married Suffolk. Seven boys and three girls—not a bad tally, Uncle?”
“The Howards could always fill their cradles. They were not like the Tudors—a barren lot. But this child has a ready answer.” He turned to Frances. “You have a tongue, girl.”
“Why, yes.” She immediately put it out and the expression on her face implied that she enjoyed the gesture.
“Guard it well,” he told her. “I sense a certain waywardness in it. When you go to Court you must not speak with the freedom you employ here in the country.”
“I understand, Great-Uncle.”
“Now, you must prepare yourself for your wedding.”
“Yes, Frances,” her mother put in, “we shall have to start at once on your trousseau. You must be worthy of the Earl of Essex.”
“Fine cloths! Jewels!” cried Frances, clasping her hands together. “How I love them!”
Northampton thought the parents should have had more control over the girl. He now desired her to leave them. He had seen her, assured himself that they had a little beauty who would be ripe for marriage in a year or so; and that was good enough.
He waved his hand and her father said: “You may leave us now, Frances.”
“Yes, Father,” said the girl; but she hesitated.
“Well?” said Northampton.
“When shall I leave for Court?”
“As soon as your wardrobe is ready,” answered her mother.
“We shall lose no time. The King himself is eager to see you married.”
“I wonder why—” began Frances.
But Northampton interrupted impatiently. “It is not for you to wonder, girl, but to obey your parents. I believe I heard your father tell you you might leave us now.”
Frances demurely lowered her eyes, swept another curtsy and blithely left her elders.
In her own chamber, Frances called together three of her favorite maids. They were well-bred girls who were more like friends than servants, and their parents were delighted for them to be brought up in the household of the Earl of Suffolk, who was a man of influence at Court and held among other offices, that of Lord Chamberlain of the King’s Household. These three were not more than a year or so older than Frances; but by reason of her rank and personality she completely dominated them.
“Listen,” she demanded. “It is true—what we suspected. My parents are here because I am to be married. My great-uncle himself deemed it necessary to tell me.”
Then she recounted in detail the interview which had just taken place, coloring it a little to make herself a trifle more audacious than she had been, taking the part of the Earl of Northampton and Frances Howard alternately.
“Mistress Frances!” cried one of the girls. “You’ll be the death of me. And did you, in truth, put your tongue out at my lord?”
“I did. He asked for it. I fancy he wished he hadn’t provoked me. I wished that someone very important … someone like the King or the Prince could have come in and seen me standing there putting my tongue out at the Earl of Northampton.”
“The King would have thought it a great joke, I am sure. He would have given you a high place at Court and made you one of his favorites.”
“I should have to dress in breeches and cut off my hair first,” said Frances, catching at her long curls and holding them lovingly. “The King has no eyes for girls. You should know that.”
“Has he not then, Mistress Frances?”
“Do you know anything?”
“We dare not listen at doors as you do, Mistress,” put in another girl quietly.
Frances swung round and slapped the girl across the face.
“If I wish to listen at doors, Miss, I will. And think again before you speak thus to me. I can have you whipped; and don’t forget it. I might even do it myself … to make sure the blood is drawn.”
Her eyes were suddenly dark with anger. The girls drew back. She meant what she said. She could be friendly at one moment; she could be generous; but if she were offended, vindictive.
The girl was quiet, her eyes downcast as gradually a red mark appeared where she had been struck.
Frances turned her back on her and went on: “I can scarce wait to go to Court. I’m tired of being a child in the country.”
“Marriage is but the first step, Mistress. And when you go to Court all the men will—”
“Go on!” commanded Frances. “Fall in love with me because I’m so beautiful. That’s what you mean, is it not? I wonder what my bridegroom will think of me. He is only fourteen and the marriage is not going to be consummated yet. I have heard them talk of it. They talk of nothing else. I am to go to Court, be married and then sent back here … back to my lesson books, they say, until I am of an age to share my husband’s bed. I want to tell them that I am of an age now.”
“Perhaps it is better to wait.”
“I hate waiting. I won’t wait. I might wait until I’m no longer beautiful.”
“You’ll always be beautiful.”
“Of course I shall. I shall make sure that I stay beautiful as long as I live.”
“Everyone tries to do that, Mistress.”
Frances was thoughtful. Her own mother was beautiful still, although not as she must have been in her youth. Perhaps it was the fine clothes and jewels she wore that dazzled the eyes.
“I know of a way to stay beautiful,” said a quiet voice, and there was silence, for it belonged to the one who had recently been slapped.
Frances turned to her, her face alight with interest. “How, Jennet,” she demanded, and all the venom was gone from her; she spoke as though there had been no friction between them.
“By spells and potions,” said Jennet.
“Do they really keep people beautiful?” asked Frances.
“They do everything. There are love philtres to win the love of those who are indifferent. There are potions to destroy those who stand in your way. It’s called trafficking with the devil.”
“How I should love to traffic with the devil!” cried Frances, delighted because she was shocking them all so much.