Page 116 of The Favourite

He rolled his shoulders, as though to shrug off his cares, and unwound a length of rope which he had left conveniently on a ledge during his previous visit. Using this, he navigated the crumbled steps that had necessitated the staircase’s abandonment and made his way to the top where a cache of letters was awaiting him.

He passed only the most cursory of glances over their contents. He could scarcely bring himself to care these days. Usually, he liked nothing more than uncovering a good plot. Nowadays, he would far rather uncover Jane. Maybe he should look into dragging Jane to some secluded country retreat for a few days, he pondered.

Not Kinnerton, he told himself with a swift frown. There, she would be distracted by Mistress Beth, who wrote her long enough letters as it was, detailing her every decision and household expense. No, he would investigate finding some small hunting lodge where they would be practically alone together. Mayhap just one discreet servant, or a pair at most, he conceded, if they came with the house.

The important thing would be having the run of the place to themselves. Then, there would be no one else to worry about, and no one else to stumble across them. Jane could be perfectly abandoned with him without fear of discovery. He might not even allow her to fully dress the entire time.

Instead, they could gambol about the place, nymph and satyr, and consummate their passion in rooms with many windows, positively flooded by daylight. Then he could examine her every blush at his leisure.

Yes, he liked that idea, though a cold day in February was perhaps not conducive to his vision. He frowned. Still, even if it pissed down with rain, and they ended up huddled under a pile of blankets, he had a suspicion he would relish every minute with her.

A rustle from below had him retreating behind a dusty column, but it was only a bird, alighting on the arrowslit. It tipped its head to one side and considered Alisander a moment with bright eyes before it was gone again with a rustle of wings.

He breathed out. For a moment there, he thought he must have been followed. The awful thing was it was only instinct that had kept his actions vigilant. His mind had not been on the task at hand, at all.

Jane had taken recently to watching him suspiciously when he left her side. He should really have discouraged that as soon as he noticed it. The truth was, though, that he rather liked it. He liked it whenever he had her undivided attention. He sighed.

Alisander was starting to suspect he was an entirely hopeless cause.

26

The Queen had been strangely subdued that morning and sunk in her own thoughts. Magnatrude Bartree had been cold and officious when Jane had first arrived to aid with Her Majesty’s dress, but by the end of the morning, she had thawed sufficiently to exchange alarmed glances with Jane.

“Something ails you this morn, Your Highness?” Mistress Bartree had ventured at last in her deep, curiously attractive voice. She would be a handsome woman, Jane thought, if she did not insist on wearing such unflattering headdresses. Those skull caps were so severe.

“No,” the Queen had answered swiftly. “I have much to arrange, that is all, and I put my thoughts in order. My dear Magnatrude, you must hurry along to the King’s apartments at once and make the enquiry after the good Bathilde. Make it known that the Queen wishes to know if she has passed a peaceful night.”

Jane could tell from the lady-in-waiting’s reaction that this was not the Queen’s usual practice, but she hastened at once to fulfill the directive.

“Jane, you must go in search of Piers and send him to fetch the royal tailor. I want full sets of mourning clothes made up for the King and me, in purest white. Have him bring samples for approval. There can be no delay. The time grows near, you understand?” She sent Jane a frowning glance. “You might want to send for your own tailor also, for I mean to suggest the whole court is plunged into deepest mourning.”

Jane blinked. The whole court? She was a little shocked. Such things only occurred in Karadok on the death of a monarch. Perhaps it was different in the Western Isles? Seeing the Queen look at her expectantly, she hurried off to fulfill the request with a prickle of apprehension climbing her spine. She had forgotten that Queen Armenal did not believe in half-measures.

By late afternoon, she was feeling something akin to panic at the extravagance of the plans the Queen was making. “Have my pearl coronet brought out of the strong room,” the Queen demanded, “for I will wear only pearls when I am dressed for mourning. There must be no gold or any other color in sight, whatsoever.”

Jane could see that Mistress Bartree was also much taken aback by proceedings, though perhaps that was because, in the north, purple was the color of mourning and not white. Jane heard her whispering to her own page, that he must hie at once to her tailor, for she did not own a single gown of that color.

Then Magnatrude instructed urgently, he must make for the home of her dear sister-in-law, the Baroness Kentigern, and beg for the loan of her pearls, though she acknowledged with a worried expression that her brother might not allow it. “You must stress, Unwin, my dire need of them,” she implored him, then sent him off with a pat to his shoulder.

At three o’clock, a messenger approached from the King. Queen Armenal rose at once. “I will go and join the King at Bathilde’s bedside,” she said grandly. “Jane, Magnatrude, you may go. I will not impose this duty on you, for I will stay however long is necessary, until the very end.”

They both curtseyed deeply, and Jane could see Mistress Bartree was torn between the impulse to vow she would follow her queen into the jaws of death itself, and the need to go beg, borrow, and steal as many white garments as she could procure.

As for Jane, she made her way back to their quarters with a strange sense of dread. She had a terrible feeling her advice to the Queen was going to lead to disaster. On reaching their rooms, she leaned weakly against the door and closed her eyes.

“Why milady, whatever’s happened?” Ayleth asked, coming out of Anne’s room carrying a tray.

Jane regarded her a moment in silence before answering. “Court is about to be plunged in deepest mourning,” she admitted hoarsely. “And I did not even wear mourning for my own sister.” Her words were choked, and she had to shut her eyes, for fear of disgracing herself.

“Your sister’s death was unexpected, milady,” Ayleth said after a heavy pause. “You were too busy fulfilling her dying wishes to pay attention to such things.”

Jane’s eyes flew open. “Yes,” she agreed hoarsely. That was true enough.

“Certainly, no one would have expected you to get married in white!” Ayleth looked shocked at the idea. “No bride would do such an inauspicious thing.” Jane smiled at her weakly, and after a moment, the servant returned the gesture. “You honored the Lady Helen in the way she would have wanted,” Ayleth said with a nod. “By securing that child’s future. You go and sit before the fire, and I will bring you a glass of wine by and by.”

The older woman moved purposefully away before Jane could either agree or disagree. With a sigh, Jane took herself into the sitting room and dropped into a seat. Ayleth was right. It was foolish to feel guilty that she had been unable to wear formal mourning clothes for her sister.

Presently, Ayleth brought her a goblet of wine and Robert fussed over the fire, poking it and almost smothering it with too many logs. Hearing barely discernible footsteps in the corridor, Jane’s heart gave a great leap, leaving her breathless. “Alisander!” she called out, starting from her chair.