“Good luck to her on that,” Mary said grimly.
“M’lady, I been thinking,” Nancy began slowly and then charged on in a rush of increasing speed, “since striped and inset bodices be all the rage, we could cut pieces of ivory satin out of your wedding gown you been wanting to make over, maybe even line the low-square-cut bodice of this May Day dress with the tiny pink roses off that old-fashioned, slashed wedding skirt.”
Mary smiled broadly at the slim girl hovering over her and wiped a threatening tear away with the back of one finger. “Yes, Nance, a wonderful idea. My dear mother should never have done this, but I think she knows how poorly I get on here except for—well, she could know nothing of Lord Stafford.” She and Nancy grinned conspiratorially at each other as if the empty chamber were simply brimming with spies.
“Let’s do it then, Nance. This will lift my spirits on a dreary day.”
“And you will be the best-dressed lady, as well as the most beautiful as always,” Nancy chortled and gathered the washed linen from the little table to give them working room.
“Saints, m’lady, we will never manage to lay and cut this out on this little table, and we sure cannot put it on this floor. Shall we go down to the great hall or some larger table to do it?”
“No. No one wants to see Mary Carey about cutting and sewing her own dresses down there. It is just not done. Here, help me move aside these chairs and this table. This rug is clean and we shall have to be careful. If my mother should appear—which I doubt, since she will probably send for me to Anne’s rooms—she will certainly understand.”
“And Lord Carey?”
“He said he was to be about when the king receives the French ambassadors so I have no idea when he will appear. Right now at least, my Lord Carey is the least of my worries.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Nancy said solemnly, studying her mistress’s face for a moment before they bent to heave and slide the heavy, carved furniture to the corners of the room.
On their hands and knees, they crawled around the edge of the rippled pink sea of material spread between them, measuring, cutting. They studied the cut of earlier dresses and Mary even lay down on the edge of the satin so they could judge the tapered sleeve length before they cut. The rain beat down outside, glazing the windows and occasionally plopping into the ashes of the hearth. Their backs, shoulders, and arms began to ache as the pink cut pieces piled up on the bed.
“There, Nance. And look. Enough for a dress for little Catherine, I am certain. It does not always do for her to be wearing last season’s clothes in such close proximity to the Duchess of Suffolk’s little daughter Margaret. Now we will cut those strips from the wedding gown and snip off those lovely roses. You should be a seamstress and designer of ladies’ gowns, Nance. What a wonderful idea to cut up this old one like this!”
Alight at the praise, the girl beamed at her mistress’s words, her sweet, honest face sprinkled with faded freckles. They had worked over the eight-year-old wedding gown but a few minutes when a knock sounded at the door. Still on her knees, Nancy swung it open and an astounded little boy neither of them recognized stared down in surprise at the two women on the floor over a pretty dress they were cutting to shreds.
“L-Lady Carey?” he stammered.
“Yes. Do not be afraid to speak your piece. I am Lady Carey.”
“I be Simon the linkboy from the east hall down there,” he said, and pointed off down the corridor.
“Yes, Simon?”
“The Lady Carey’s presence is requested by her lady mother, Lady Bullen in this place, m’lady. See here, one a the king’s gent’men wrote it down for me. He extended to her a tiny square of parchment which he had evidently bent and wrinkled in his hot little fist.
Mary rose and took the note from the boy. “Thank you, Simon. You may tell my mother I will attend her immediately.”
The boy grinned. “Yes, m’lady, but I am not ’sposed to go back there. The gent’man already give me a copper for it.” With that, he was gone.
“Imagine paying linkboys to deliver messages these days,” Mary said as she unfolded the little piece of paper. “They used to do that gratis as well as light the halls after dark.”
The note said simply, “Your mother and Anne have come to court. Since they are busy and you are not, I suggest you visit your horse in the east stable block nearest the herb gardens now. Ignore the rain. Eden misses you.”
Staff, of course. Had he gone stark mad sending her a written missive like this? But, of course, it was not signed. Now, the note said. Did he mean right now?