The Fallen Queen. Emily Purdy

word: “Enough!” And Jane fell fainting, facedown, flat upon the floor.

      If memory doesn’t deceive me, it was the next day that we were called again to the library and the portraits, gifts from our betrotheds, were unveiled before us.

      For me there was a lush, sable-bearded likeness of Lord Wilton in all his former glory, a big, handsome, burly bear of a man, towering and overpowering in a suit of satin-slashed buff brocade and golden breastplate and feathered helm, armed with a sword and shield like a war god. For the life of me, I couldn’t rightly say whether I found him more frightening before or after his battle scars. He did not have the look of a kind or patient man, but the sort who would order his household with military precision. I only knew, in my heart, I didn’t want him; he was not the man for me. But I also knew it was my duty to obey and futile to resist; no one cared what I thought; like all nobly born girls, I truly had no say in the matter. And so I praised the portrait, calling it “a handsome picture,” and retreated into silence.

      For Kate there was a miniature of Lord Herbert with a bail at the top of the round gold frame so that she might wear it upon a golden chain, jewelled necklace, or a rope of pearls. Lord Herbert had thoughtfully sent along a dozen of these as a betrothal gift so that no matter what gown she was wearing Kate would have something to suit and thus his likeness could always be with her until the day he took his place at her side, he gallantly explained in the accompanying letter. Kate squealed with delight. “How handsome he is!” she enthused again and again, dancing around the room as our lady-mother bent to examine the necklaces with the practised eye of a pawnbroker, alert for any flaws or duplicity.

      Her inspection done, and apparently satisfied with both the quality and workmanship, our lady-mother laid down a rope of pearls and ruby beads and smiled at her favourite daughter’s girlish enthusiasm and pointed out that the miniature she was holding was ringed with diamonds. “Particularly fine diamonds, daughter; take note of them and measure any jewels that come after against them and you will always know exactly where you stand in your husband’s affections. There are ways of managing a man,” she added pointedly, “and the important thing is that you never wear anything that is not first-rate. Never settle for anything inferior, for once you do, he will never bring you the best again.”

      Kate clasped the picture to her bosom and breathed, “But he is so handsome; I am certain I would love him even if they were glass instead of diamonds!”

      “Then you are a fool,” our lady-mother stated simply, “a beautiful simpleton, nothing more, and you shall never amount to anything.”

      Kate gave a wounded little cry, and her lips began to tremble as her eyes filled with tears and she stared, hurt and uncomprehending, at our lady-mother.

      “Now, now”—our lady-mother pulled her close—“it is good to see you so excited and eager to love your husband; you need only temper your exuberance with a little wisdom, daughter, and all shall be well.”

      “Yes, my lady-mother, yes, I promise, I will!” Kate vowed, all sunny smiles again. “I shall see to it that Lord Herbert gives me the best of everything, for I shall ensure that I am worth it by always giving my best to him!”

      “That’s my clever girl!” our lady-mother beamed and patted her cheek. “There are brains behind that beauty after all!”

      Lastly, for Jane there was a full-sized portrait of Guildford Dudley. Its ornate frame of carved gilded gillyflowers and the Dudleys’ heraldic bear and ragged staff was so heavy that it took two men to carry it in. When our lady-mother removed the gold-fringed yellow velvet that covered it, we all gasped and stepped back.

      “My, my,” Father said, patting his heart as he looked the painted likeness of his soon to be son-in-law up and down.

      Head to toe, the spoiled and decadent darling of the Dudleys was like a gilded idol; all that was missing was a pedestal for him to stand upon and a throng of adoring minions kneeling at his feet. Each perfectly arranged golden curl adorning his head shone as though it had been sculpted by a master goldsmith, his lips were arranged in a perfect, petulant, pink rosebud pout, and his green eyes were the exact colour of gooseberries; they made me shudder and think of snakes and pale emeralds all at the same time. His lavish yellow brocade vestments were woven thickly with golden threads in a pattern of gillyflowers accentuated with diamond brilliants and creamy gold pearls. His long, shapely limbs were encased in hose of vivid yellow silk, and he held one foot pointed just so that we could see the bouquet of golden gillyflowers embroidered over his ankle, and upon the toes of his yellow shoes, golden gillyflowers bloomed and twinkled with diamonds that made the ones that ringed Lord Herbert’s portrait look paltry and dull in comparison. Even the rings on his fingers and the heavy golden chain about his neck were bejewelled golden gillyflowers; clearly Guildford considered this his flower. The artist had even painted a mass of them, yellow of course, blooming about his feet. Before our astonished eyes, this radiant young man held out his arms, golden wrist frills gleaming, as if to say to the world, “Here I am—worship and adore me!”

      “With all those diamonds sewn upon the yellow, he makes me think of sugared lemons!” Father observed. “Mmmm … sugared lemons!” He shut his eyes and sighed. “So tart and yet … so sweet! It’s like … love in contradiction!”

      “Precisely”—our lady-mother nodded—“if he were entirely sweet, it would be much too decadent, too soft, and perhaps even effete, but that tartness beneath the sugar denotes strength and thus masculinity, though if one is not careful it can elude the eye. You don’t know how fortunate you are, Jane; you are such a stubborn, ungrateful girl you can’t see it. You know, Jane, I actually envy you! Look at him. He is a sugarplum for the eye, like a gilded marzipan subtlety come to life!”

      “Yes, indeed he is! Mmmm … marzipan … gilded marzipan!” Father sighed rapturously, shutting his eyes again as his tongue savoured the words as if the syllables themselves were sweets. “Guildford is just like gilded marzipan! So rich, so decadently delicious, as divine as a gift of sweetmeats straight from Our Lord’s confectionary kitchen in Heaven served on golden plates by angels!”

      Jane rolled her eyes and wondered sotto voce, “Where in the Bible does it say that the Lord has a confectionary kitchen in Heaven?”

      “Ah well!” our lady-mother sighed. “One cannot have everything, and often carnality has to ride outside up beside the driver instead of inside the coach where the quality sits. Such are the cruel vagaries of life! But, no matter, I shall be this fine young man’s mother-in-law, and he shall reap the full benefit of my advice; that is the important thing! He will go far; I shall make it my business to see to it.”

      “But I don’t want to marry a sugared lemon or a piece of gilded marzipan either,” Jane said softly.

      I crept a little closer and reached up and squeezed her hand, and she gave me a grateful but oh so sad little smile.

      “Mmmm … sugared lemons!” Father sighed again as a ribbon of drool trickled down his chin.

      Our lady-mother rolled her eyes and with her own handkerchief wiped it away. “Enough of that, Hal, we shall plan the menu for the wedding banquet later! Naturally it shall include both sugared lemons and gilded marzipan as a tribute to our beautiful new son-in-law.”

      “Yes, dear.” Father nodded and agreed as he continued to stare, rapt and transfixed, at the portrait of Guildford Dudley. “My God, I never saw anything so beautiful in my life!” I heard him murmur after our lady-mother had gone and only my sisters and I remained, but they were too caught up in their own thoughts to take note of Father’s curious behaviour, and besides we were all so accustomed to hearing him sigh rapturously over sweets … I tried to tell myself it was nothing, and that it was lewd to link it with Guildford’s portrait, and yet … I couldn’t quite convince myself.

      After that the bustle never seemed to cease. From the break of dawn until we laid our weary heads down upon our pillows at night we were all caught up in a feverish mad maelstrom of wedding plans that had grown from an