She had to hurry from the room before she was sick.
Wooden railing bordered the gallery, cordoning off the drop into the Great Hall. Elsie had to walk all the way around the edge of the square to reach the water closet. Ordinarily, that was not a hardship, but nausea made the distance feel tremendous. She reached out and used the rail to support herself. It creaked. She thought of the footman Mrs Holt mentioned, toppling to his death, and withdrew her hand.
A floorboard moaned across the gallery. Helen was hurrying towards her from the opposite direction, her cheeks as red as apples. The strings of her cap were untied and flapped around her shoulders.
Elsie sucked in a breath. ‘Helen? Where is the tea tray?’
‘Mrs Holt’s making it, ma’am.’ Helen jogged the last few steps, her chin wobbling over the collar of her dress. ‘I hope you’ll pardon me but I wanted to speak with you . . . alone.’
Just then, Sarah tittered from inside the parlour. The companion’s face floated back into her mind.
‘Helen, fetch me a chamber pot. Quickly.’
Once Elsie had expelled her burden and drunk a glass of water, she became aware of her surroundings. Helen had sat her on the worn baize of the billiard table with her feet dangling over the edge. Next door, in the parlour, she could hear spoons clinking against china. Mrs Holt must have finally served tea.
‘I told Mrs Holt I needed to stay with you, for a bit, in case . . . in case you go again.’ Helen spoke in a whisper, her eyes continually darting to the wall. ‘I don’t have long, ma’am. May I speak to you now?’
Elsie was hardly in the mood to deal with staff, but Helen had saved her from vomiting and fainting in the corridor. She owed her an open ear, at least.
‘Yes, I can spare a moment. Please go on.’
‘I . . .’ Helen stopped, at a loss. She looked down and began playing with her apron. ‘I don’t really know how to start, ma’am. Only . . . Mrs Holt told me you’ve been in the nursery.’
Heat, creeping across her scalp. ‘Yes.’
‘Did you . . .’ Another twist of the apron. ‘Did you see anything, ma’am?’
Elsie grabbed the edge of the billiard table. A joke, surely? Mrs Holt had let slip her reaction to the nursery and the maid was teasing her.
The housekeeper in Rupert’s London home had tried to trick Elsie into serving dinner as early as two o’clock, to make her look common in front of the guests. Servants could tell she only had trade money – or shop money, as they called it. Without breeding, they thought her fair game.
‘What, exactly, is it you expected me to see there?’
She waited for the description she had given Mrs Holt of the crib and the toys. But instead, Helen said, ‘Writing.’
‘Writing?’
Helen dropped her apron. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Please, ma’am, forget I spoke.’
‘Have you seen writing in the nursery, Helen?’
She made a frantic hushing motion. ‘Don’t let Mrs Holt hear you. She hates anything like that. Even bought herself a black cat to prove superstitions are nonsense. But ever since the master came down, something’s been . . . strange, here.’
If she was acting, she was good. She had the jittery hands of a woman unnerved.
Elsie chose her next words with care. ‘I think you found Mr Bainbridge, Helen? After he died? It is only natural that you would feel on edge after a death in the house. Perhaps . . .’
Helen shook her head. ‘I thought of that, ma’am, when Mabel never noticed it. And I thought how there’s enough camphor to kill a cat in that nursery, so the fumes might be sending me giddy. But the master . . . he saw it too.’
Elsie wobbled on the edge of the table. ‘Writing?’
‘No . . . not exactly. It’s only me that sees the writing, in the dust. Like a finger did it. But Master’s was different. He saw the wooden alphabets, laid out in a word.’
‘What word, Helen? Could you read it?’
‘Oh yes. Mrs Holt taught me my letters.’ Even now, a touch of pride. ‘Mabel still don’t know hers.’
‘Never mind that, what was the word? What did it say?’
Helen grimaced. ‘Mother. It said Mother.’
THE BRIDGE, 1635
I am not nearly as organised for the royal visit as I wish to be, what with the snow – snow! – at Whitsun, which prevented any travel. That terrible frost destroyed most of my plants. All will need reseeding, or replacing with full-grown blooms. Thank heaven the London hothouses managed to send us roses and lilies! Pray God we can keep them alive in the next three months. Another small mercy was the survival of Hetta’s herb patch. Those little green sprigs have proved hardier than most and the blue-grey stalks of the thistle thrive.
My anxiety increases with Josiah’s burgeoning hopes. He is already drawing up plans for a new wing to the house. This morning he came into my rooms as I dressed, carrying a parcel wrapped in silk.
‘What is that?’ I asked his reflection in the mirror. I had the sense of something cold behind me, something ice-bright.
‘It is a gift, my lady.’ He placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘Can you guess it?’
‘It is a jewel to wear when the King and Queen visit. A . . . necklace?’
He chuckled. ‘My little prophetess.’
He began to unwrap the package. I squinted, not seeing but feeling his hands at my throat. The necklace jangled and touched my collarbone. Sharp, cold. It was like a band of snow.
‘Open your eyes,’ Josiah laughed. ‘Lizzy, pull the curtain, your mistress is half blinded.’
I heard the curtain swish behind me and slowly rolled my eyelids open.
I had predicted the object, but not the quality. Diamonds ringed my neck and dropped down into my bosom. The shape was a bow with three pear drops. Every stone clear-cut, pure as water. The necklace might have belonged to the Queen herself.
‘Josiah . . .’
I caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. He glowed with pride. ‘This will go down to our ancestors, Annie. To James’s wife and his son’s wife after that. Every great family needs an heirloom. These will be the Bainbridge diamonds.’
My lips parted. It was on the tip of my tongue to say I already had jewels from his mother but there was a heaviness, a prickle in the atmosphere that warned me against it. ‘They are very beautiful. Can we . . .’ I shot a look at Lizzy and lowered my voice. ‘Can we afford it, dearest?’
He frowned. ‘Why would you worry about a thing like that? The Midsummer rents will be in soon.’
Rents we had put up since last quarter, I recalled.
‘Of course.’ The diamonds lay heavy on my chest. When I moved them against my skin they were painfully cold. ‘Forgive me, it is only . . . I have never owned anything so fine! In truth, I am a little afraid of it.’
I could not help but recall how Mary spoke of diamonds, many years ago.
‘They ward off the evil eye,’ she told me. ‘Protect you from the darkest magic.’
Was that why Josiah placed them about my neck? Did he suspect my stillroom housed more than simple herbs?