Page 8 of A Most Forgettable Girl

Mayhap she could even turn it to her advantage, she thought nervously, passing through two more doorways and finding herself in a smaller chamber, decorated with gold and green wall hangings. After all, she could hardly make a worse impression than she had at her presentation when her formal curtsey had gone largely ignored.

The Queen lowered herself into a seat before the fireplace as Mistress Bartree threw logs upon the blaze. “Come and sit before me, Mistress Payne,” the Queen instructed. “Make yourself comfortable by the fire.” Gunnilde made haste to comply, the Queen regarding her thoughtfully all the while. “You are but lately come to court, I take it?” she said as her eyes roamed over Gunnilde’s face.

Gunnilde strove to hide her wince. “No, Your Majesty. I came to court in September as a guest of the Portstanley family. I was presented to you at the feast of St. Gyles...” Her words trailed off miserably, but after all, she had always known she must have made next to no impression.

“The Portstanleys,” Armenal repeated with a frown. “They are a cultured family, are they not, keen on enlightened thinking?” She did not sound particularly enthusiastic about the fact. “You are much in sympathy with such subjects? The arts, the sciences,” she enquired politely.

“Not really, Your Majesty,” Gunnilde admitted. “But the Portstanleys are intimate acquaintances of my best friend in all the world, Lady Eden Vawdrey.”

“Eden? She is the great friend of yours?” The Queen sat up in her seat. She made some gesture to her lady-in-waiting, and Mistress Bartree crossed the room to open a cupboard and extract three goblets.

“She is,” Gunnilde said fervently. “I am devoted to Eden.”

“And she to you?”

“I believe so, she has always been most kind and generous toward me.”

“You have been to stay with her at Vawdrey Keep?”

“Several times. I am godmother to her daughter, Agnes,” Gunnilde offered proudly.

The Queen nodded, as though finally accepting the veracity of her claims. “But how is it that your very good friend Eden, she did not present you to me herself?”

“She wanted to Your Majesty, but you see...”

“The child rearing,” the Queen decided with a sigh.

“Er...yes. And other commitments at home. A married lady’s life—”

“You need not tell me of this,” Armenal assured her with a wave of the hand. “I am lamentably familiar with the subject.” She looked up at Mistress Bartree’s approach with a tray of drinks. “I always caution you, Magnatrude, do I not, against taking such a foolhardy step?”

“You do, Your Majesty,” Mistress Bartree replied in a low, rich voice, and to her surprise, Gunnilde realized the older woman was not without attraction, though she could not imagine any man being so brave as to offer for Magnatrude Bartree. The lady-in-waiting offered the contents of her tray first to the Queen and then to Gunnilde.

“They so very rarely listen,” Armenal sighed. “No matter how nicely they are set up. First Eden, then Jane... I daresay someone will try enticing Magnatrude away from me next, is that not so, Magnatrude?”

“Never, Your Majesty,” Mistress Bartree said fervently, then retreated to a seat a little further away from them to pour herself a cup of mead.

“Well, well, we shall see. I have all but lost faith in the loyalty of handmaidens,” she said bitterly. “Experience hath proved a cruel mistress.”

Gunnilde, unsure what else to say, took a swig of mead. It was good and sweet and warmed the cold pit of her stomach. She began to feel a bit better about the situation. Surely this was an honor, to sit in the Queen’s private sitting room and converse with her, practically just the two of them.

“And you?” Queen Armenal asked suddenly, almost making Gunnilde spill her drink. “What are your own marital prospects? You cannot be older than one and twenty I am sure.”

Gunnilde took a deep breath. “I am fully two and twenty, Your Majesty. But the truth is, I’ve decided against marriage after suffering a crushing disappointment in my youth.” She paused to dab her eyes with her handkerchief and allow this momentous statement to sink in. “No, I have decided that the role of sympathetic listener is mine. You will not know of this, Your Highness,” she said with quiet pride, “but I am in much demand to act as chaperone here at court. Many couples have need of my offices.”

“Is that so? You take the strolls down the long gallery dogging the steps of the courting couples?”

“I do.”

“And sit with them on the end of the bench, keeping the watchful eye as they converse?”

“Most readily, Your Highness.”

“And this does not bore you?” the Queen asked incredulously. “The role always of onlooker and friend to lovers?”

“Oh no, Your Majesty! I vastly prefer it.”

Queen Armenal’s eyebrows shot up. “Prefer it?”