Page 87 of A Most Forgettable Girl

“Yes, for I saw you in some when I first came to court. You wore red ones over a black tunic, and I made sure to ask what they were called, for I thought them very striking. I was told they originated in Vlandivar and you were the first to wear them here at court.”

Lord Bardulf looked pleased. “I like to trial such fashions,” he said modestly, “but I often discard them just as quickly. It has been said of me, I believe, that I am such a leader of fashion that by the time the rest of court has caught up with me, I have long moved on.”

“But it was me that said that!” Gunnilde exclaimed, feeling gratified.

“Yes, I know,” he said, sketching her a bow. “A vastly pretty compliment, I thank you.”

“But how did you know?”

He tutted, “You must realize how things get overheard and passed along, my dear Lady Wycliffe. Court is positively rife with such whisperings. Besides, a very impudent young squire approached me and asked if I was the Lord Bardulf he had heard so much about. He quoted you as igniting his interest and asked for the name of my tailor.”

Gunnilde had just opened her mouth to find out of Hal’s friends that must have been when a small cough sounded at her elbow. Turning, she found Mistress Bartree’s page, Unwin, stood there. His hair was a good deal tidier than the last time she had seen him, he must have had a trim.

“My mistress sends her regards to Lady Wycliffe and requests her presence in the Queen’s bedchamber,” he announced with a bow.

“Well, aren’t you honored,” Lord Bardulf drawled.

Gunnilde blinked. “I will come at once,” she said, getting to her feet. She turned to Lord Bardulf and bade him a good morning before hurrying after the boy’s slender figure. She checked her appearance in the doorway, ensuring her coiled puffs were still tidily pinned at her brow, and that her ruby brooch was on straight.

On entering the Queen’s bedchamber she found only Mistress Bartree present. The older woman looked up from where she was tidying a box of jeweled pendants. “Lady Wycliffe,” she said curtly. “Sit you down. The Queen will be out presently.”

Gunnilde could only surmise that Queen Armenal was in her garderobe. She sank down onto a low seat and folded her hands to wait. “Is there nothing I can do to help? Perhaps I could—?”

“No,” the other woman responded shortly. “The Queen likes you because your prattle amuses her. Leave the tidying away and care of her to me. Some of us do not have your pretty ways. Let me serve her in the ways I can.” Her words came out half choked in their vehemence.

“You do not like me,” Gunnilde said matter-of-factly, “but I, too, must be allowed to wait on Queen Armenal.”

Mistress Bartree pursed her lips. “I realize that and have said my piece.”

Gunnilde suppressed a sigh. “I never thanked you for providing a ring for my wedding ceremony. It was kind of you. I will be able to let you have it back soon, for my husband has promised to procure me another.”

Mistress Bartree did not look up from her task. “I don’t want it back,” she said without emotion. “I no longer have use for it.”

Gunnilde glanced down at the ring which currently adorned her finger. “I assumed it must be a family piece,” she said.

“No.” The older woman averted her eyes. “Not my family anyway.”

So...it was given to her by another, Gunnilde surmised. A man? She eyed Mistress Bartree with interest. “It was given you by way of a love token?” she guessed boldly.

Mistress Bartree threw a challenging look her way. “No doubt you find such a thing hard to believe.”

“Not at all.”

“I was young once.”

“You are an attractive woman still, Mistress Bartree, and not so very old.” She could not be more than five and forty, Gunnilde estimated, though she wore such ugly headdresses.

Mistress Bartree’s lips flattened to a thin line. “I was not looking for flattery,” she said harshly. “Save your flummery for the Queen.”

At this point they heard a step, and both stood up as the Queen entered the room. Gunnilde was shocked to see Armenal’s wan and listless appearance. She looked sallow and strangely shaken.

“Come and sit down, Your Majesty,” Mistress Bartree urged, rearranging cushions on a comfortable-looking seat.

“I must make an appearance soon, lest tongues start to wag,” the Queen said tiredly, but she dropped into the seat all the same. “Have Unwin fetch me a posset, Magnatrude, for that unpleasant taste I told you of lingers still on my tongue. You know the one which settles the stomach.” She pressed her hand to her midsection and Gunnilde saw her wince. Was the Queen ill?

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Mistress Bartree hurried from the room to summon her page.

“You are not well, Your Majesty,” Gunnilde ventured. “Must you make a public appearance today? The King would wish you to conserve your strength, I am sure.”