Feeling queasy, I touched my throat and looked at his reflection in the mirror.
His cheeks lifted as he smiled. ‘You must become accustomed to the best jewels, my lady, as will befit your station as my wife. I wish to see these diamonds upon your person every day.’
A hint of the diamonds’ ice in his voice. Not merely a wish: a command.
Behind him, Lizzy stood at the window. One wrinkled hand lay on her collarbone, as if she too felt the chill creeping across her skin.
I swallowed. The diamonds moved.
‘As you desire it, my lord.’
Today I took a trip into Torbury St Jude. The weather is not warm, but at least it is drier. The flood waters have receded and the roads are passable. We travelled between shops in the carriage, for remnants of puddles oiled the streets and the wind whipped up and down the alleys most violently.
‘I have the new napery,’ I told Jane, checking off the list on my fingers. ‘The silver is being polished. The dresses should arrive from London next month.’
‘Mrs Dawson looked scandalised you didn’t order from her shop, mistress,’ Jane said.
She did, poor dear. But what did she expect? This is no country ball. The King and Queen, upon my soul! They will expect fashionable slashed velvet, the most exquisite lace.
‘I cannot concern myself with Mrs Dawson at present,’ I said. ‘There will be time enough for her later. For the moment, I am only concerned with pleasing Queen Henrietta Maria.’
‘Mistress, the Queen can’t help but be pleased with all that fancy decoration in her bedroom and the improvements you’ve made. It’s enough to put her head in a spin.’
I smiled, proud. ‘It looks fine to us, Jane. But she is the Queen. She grew up in the Chateau de Saint-Germain-en-Laye. It will take a mighty effort to impress her. She likes curiosities, strange things no one else has seen.’ I looked out of the window. The oppressive milky sky made our little town appear bleak indeed. Our horse lifted its tail and dumped a load on the cobbles. I sighed. ‘Where will I find exotic things like that in Torbury St Jude?’
‘Mayhap just up the way here, mistress. There’s an establishment I heard talk of at the market.’
I turned to see the shop Jane indicated on the left. It was a small place, pushed back from the straggling, uneven row of buildings that lined the street. The lower storey was made of brick; the upper consisted of old beams and plaster.
‘Hold!’ I called. The horses pulled up. As the click of their hooves ceased I heard the shop’s sign groaning in the wind. I could not make the picture out, but I thought I saw the words Fancy Goods painted above the mullioned window. ‘Jane, I do not know this place. How long has it been there?’
She grinned. ‘I thought you knew everything, mistress.’
I let her sauciness pass. In truth I sensed a strangeness about the shop which I could not put into words. I knew I should not be able to drive on without going inside. There was something important, something there . . .
I have felt that way but once before: it was on that freezing January day, some nine years ago, when I opened Mary’s old leather book and recited its words over the mashed herbs in my stillroom. It was the exact sensation: the apprehension, the certainty.
‘Let us go in.’ I rapped on the roof. The footman sprang down and tried to open the door. It did not want to yield. I put my fingers on the handle and attempted to help him, but it was as if the wind was an iron hand, pushing against me. Barring my passage.
Straining with all my might, I pushed back. The door gave way, blowing open with such force that it slammed back into the body of the coach. I tumbled into the footman’s arms.
‘Are you well, mistress?’
I was embarrassed, but unharmed. My skirts were in much disorder; the wind snatched at them and tore a ribbon loose from my hair. I watched it sail off into the grey oblivion of the sky. ‘I am perfectly well. Jane, you will need to take my arm to the door.’
I was thankful for Jane’s stoutness and her thick, country waist. An odd pair we must have looked, heads down, battling against the wind; Jane in her dirty green kirtle and I billowing in satin and lace.
The wind made instruments of all it touched. From behind came the clink of the horses’ harness, beckoning us back; ahead, the sign creaked as it swung. Its moan grew louder with each step, until at last I could hear the horses no more.
Jane thumped the shop door open with one of her broad shoulders, setting a bell jangling. ‘You first, mistress.’ She all but pushed me in – I paid it no heed, for I was glad of the shelter.
A short, balding man leapt up as we entered. A much-worn maroon jerkin stretched over his stomach. He had small, hot eyes – pig’s eyes, I thought – which fluttered at the sight of us. ‘Good morrow, ladies. You gave me quite a start.’
‘I do apologise. We were somewhat blown in.’
‘Is it breezy out?’
Jane banged the door shut behind us. The bell jangled again. ‘Breezy? It’s fit to blow a gale!’
‘Indeed?’ He smiled, seemed to recover his composure. ‘In that case, I expect you are in need of some refreshment. Let me fetch the wine and sugared plums. Every customer is treated like a duchess in this shop.’
Above his left shoulder hung an ornate gold mirror, carved with cherubs and flowers. My reflection stared back, thoroughly dishevelled. I did not feel much like a duchess.
As he fetched our wine, we had leisure to look around us. The shop was much larger than it had appeared outside, but curiosities packed every inch of it. Dusty cases hung from the walls with displays of crystal and stone lurking beneath the murky glass. Strange, stuffed birds from foreign climes glowered at us, their feathers brightly dyed. Suspended from the ceiling was a skeleton I have never seen before – some monstrous creature with a large horn, like a unicorn, only it protruded from the nose. Even the air tasted unusual, warm with spices.
‘Thank you,’ I said, taking my glass of wine from the shopkeeper. I noticed that it trembled in his hand. ‘I am surprised we have not come across your shop before. Are you new to Torbury St Jude?’
‘Just arrived.’ He proffered the tray of sugared plums. Jane was quick off the mark to seize one and stuff it whole in her mouth. ‘My name is Samuels. I have spent my days travelling the world, madam, and now here I am, with all its rarities laid out before you.’
It was good wine. Another import, I suspected.
I ran my fingers across a cabinet and tugged on a velvet tab attached to the drawer. It slid open. Rows and rows of birds’ eggs lay before my eyes: blue, speckled, some minuscule, one the size of an apple. Nature’s jewels. Not even the diamonds at court could rival treasures rare and delicate as these. ‘In faith, it must be hard to part with your collection. Is not every item a memento of your journey?’