The Wise Woman. Philippa Gregory

Eliza said. ‘Think how high you might rise!’

      Lady Catherine nodded but her face was impassive. She looked at Alys as if to warn her. Alys ducked her head down and sewed.

      ‘Those are London manners,’ Catherine said with soft menace. ‘And what is right and proper for the King is not always a course for his subjects.’

      ‘Of course not!’ Margery said, flustered. ‘Besides, if Queen Anne has a son, he will cleave to her! No King would put aside a wife who gave him a son! It is only barren wives who get that treatment!’

      Catherine’s face went white with anger.

      ‘I mean …’ Margery stumbled.

      ‘The King’s marriage was annulled because Catherine of Aragon was his brother’s wife,’ Catherine said icily. ‘That was the only reason for the annulment of the marriage, and you have all sworn an oath of allegiance recognizing the King’s rightful heir and the truth of his marriage to Queen Anne.’

      The women nodded, keeping their heads down.

      ‘Any talk of divorce at the whim of the King is treason,’ Catherine said firmly. ‘There can be no divorce. The King’s first marriage was invalid and against the law of God. There can be no comparison.’

      ‘With what?’ Eliza asked dangerously.

      Catherine’s grey eyes stared her down. ‘There can be no comparison between your positions and the Queen’s ladies,’ she said with acid clarity. ‘You are none of you high enough to wear scarlet, whatever borrowed clothes Alys may use. I hope that none of you would want to overset the natural order, the God-given order. Unless Alys hopes to see herself in purple? Married to a lord?’

      The women laughed in a nervous, obedient chorus.

      ‘Who did the gown belong to, Alys?’ Catherine asked vindictively.

      ‘I was told it belonged to a woman called Meg,’ Alys said, clearing her throat and speaking low.

      ‘And do you know who she was, Alys?’ Catherine asked.

      Alys lifted her head from her sewing. ‘Lord Hugh’s whore,’ she said softly.

      Catherine nodded. ‘I think I would rather wear brown than flaunt borrowed colours,’ she said. ‘I would rather wear honest brown than the gown of a whore who died of the pox.’

      Alys gritted her teeth. ‘Lord Hugh ordered me to wear this gown, I have no other.’ She shot one look at Catherine. ‘I hope I do not displease you, my lady. I do not dare disobey Lord Hugh.’

      Catherine nodded her head. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Very well. But you had best borrow only the gown, Alys, and not the manners of the last owner.’

      Alys met Catherine’s hard, suspicious gaze. ‘I am a maid,’ she said. ‘Not a whore. And I shall stay that way.’

      After that she kept even more carefully away from anywhere that she might meet the young lord. When he came to his father’s room she sat in a corner, in the shadows. She put off the cherry-red gown which the old lord had given her, and asked if she might take a new one from the box. She chose a dark blue one, so dark that it was almost black, and wore it with a black stomacher tied as flat as a board across her belly. It was too large for her and came too high up under her chin, hiding the swell of her tight-pressed breasts. She rummaged in the box and found an old-fashioned gable hood in the style which had gone out with the old queen, the false Queen Catherine. Alys scraped back her growing curly hair into a black cap pinned tight. Then she pulled the gable hood on top of the cap and pinned it down. It was heavier than her wimple and hotter with her hair underneath, but it reminded Alys for a moment of the steady pressure of the wimple and the bindings around her face which she had worn for so long.

      ‘You look like a nun,’ the old lord said. And when he saw her swift guarded look at him he said, ‘No, wench, you’re safe enough. You look like a woman who is trying to be invisible. Who are you hiding from, Alys? Lady Catherine? Hugo?’

      ‘The other gown was dirty,’ Alys said evenly. ‘I have sent it to be washed. And it is time I wore a hood.’

      Lord Hugh raised his white eyebrows. ‘You can have your pick of that chest of clothes,’ he said. ‘And tell David to show you the other chest. You might as well wear them as anyone else while you are here. When you leave they must stay.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Alys said quietly. ‘Is it not an offence for me to wear scarlet, my lord? I thought only a wife of a landholder could wear red?’

      Lord Hugh chuckled. ‘I enforce the law of the land. The laws are what I say. And anyway, women don’t matter.’

      The castle was preparing for the feast of Christmas and the turkeys and geese gobbled innocently on extra feed. The old lord developed a cough which kept him awake at nights and made him tired and irritable during the day. Alys went out in the dawn frost to pick fresh herbs in the little garden outside the kitchen door and bumped into a man, wrapped thick in a cloak, coming in.

      He put out a hand to steady her, gripped her arm. As soon as he touched her she knew it was Hugo.

      ‘I gave you a fright.’ His smile gleamed from the shadow of his hood. He swept her with him back into the warmth of the kitchen. Servants were sleeping on the floor before the fire and on the benches. Hugo kicked two or three with his booted foot and they staggered sleepily out of his way. He pulled up two stools and thrust Alys down by the glowing embers.

      ‘You’re frozen,’ he said. He took her hand. Around her fingernails her fingers were blue with cold.

      ‘I was picking herbs with the ice on them,’ Alys said. ‘Your father’s cough is a little worse.’

      Hugo took her cold hands and put them between his warm palms. As the feeling came back into her numb fingers Alys grimaced, pulled her hands away and shook them. Hugo laughed softly and leaned forward to recapture them. ‘I’ve been out all night,’ he said. His voice was low; no wakeful servant could hear them. ‘Don’t you want to know what I have been doing, Alys?’

      Alys shook her head slightly and looked away from his intent face to the fire.

      ‘I met some friends who think as I do,’ he said. ‘One of them is the son of landowners, a wealthy man though not noble. Another is the son of a trader. We’re all young, we all want a share of the new world which is coming. We are all held back by our fathers.’

      Alys made a little movement as if she would rise. Hugo tugged her back to the stool with a handful of her cape. ‘Listen to me,’ he said softly. ‘See how I trust you.’

      Alys turned her face away, Hugo kept his hold on her.

      ‘One of my friends plans to set his father aside, have him declared insane and take his land and his wealth. His mother has agreed to support his claim, his wife too. A wicked way to treat your father, is it not, Alys?’

      Alys said nothing. Hugo saw that her face was rosy from the warmth of the fire but around her dark blue eyes the skin was white. He knew she was afraid.

      ‘I would not do that, Alys, unless I was tempted very badly,’ he said. ‘But my father stands in my light – d’you see it, Alys? If it were not for his order that I stay here I would be in London. If it were not for his schemes to keep Catherine’s entailed lands I would be free of her. If it were not for his ambition to be hidden, his passion for peace, I would be at court, chancing my life and my wealth for tremendous prizes. Can you see how impatient I am, Alys?’

      Alys’ lips were pressed together. Hugo had hold of both her hands. If he had not held her fast she would have clapped them over her ears.

      ‘Your chance will come, when God wills,’ she said as he waited for her to reply. ‘You will have to be patient, my lord.’

      He leaned forward so his face was very close to hers. ‘And if I am not patient?’ he asked. ‘If I am not patient and I found