I do a final dash down the hall. My lungs are on fire as I hurl myself against the chapel doors. “Come on, you bitches,” I whisper against the heavy panels. I’m so out of breath that I don’t immediately notice when the music stops behind me. I turn around to see the musicians and Bessie peering over at me with uncertain sympathy.
It’s time to close up shop. For tonight, at least. I make my way over to everyone, holding my hair up in a ponytail to air out my overheating neck. “I’m glad we were able to do this,” I say, still out of breath. “I needed to do something to clear my head.”
Bartholomew hesitantly looks at his group before directing his gaze back at me. “If you’re looking for a distraction, my lady, we’re on our way to a gathering in the servants’ hall. You could join us. We’re celebrating your upcoming wedding, so you’d be the guest of honor.”
The guest of honor. That would usually be a nightmare for me, but now I’m not so sure. If I go back to my room and ruminate on how I’m stuck here, I’ll start to spiral. Then I’ll panic. And I’ll inevitably learn nothing.
If I go to the party, I can see things. I can pick up information. I can meet a group of people at the palace that the real Catherine Howard never had access to—or chose not to have access to. Tonight’s hallway fail has painfully proven that I may not be getting out of here anytime soon. If that’s the case, then I need allies. Connections. And I won’t connect with anyone by going back to my room.
I turn my gaze to Bessie. “I sort of feel like we should go.”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my goddamned mind. “You think we should go?” she echoes disbelievingly.
“I mean, they’re celebrating my wedding... It feels rude not to.”
Bessie closes her eyes and takes a breath. “Let me make sure I understand you. You think that you and I should go to a party in the servants’ hall, even though we’re unchaperoned, we do not have Mistress Marshall’s permission, and you’re marrying the king of England in one and a half days?”
“Correct.”
Bessie shrugs. “All right, let’s be off, then.” I may have broken her mentally. Hopefully it’s not irreparable.
I smile at Bartholomew as I pivot around to face him. “Lead the way.”
The group is flabbergasted but excited as they turn to exit though a side door. Bessie and I follow along, moving with the crowd as we head down a narrow passageway. The space eventually opens up, and when it does, the leader moves to my side.
“If I may be so bold as to formally introduce myself, I am Bartholomew Dover. I’ve been a musician here at the palace for the past five years, and I’ve been a fan of your work since you arrived.”
“My work?” I ask.
William looks at us over his shoulder, his cheeks blushing. “Bartholomew is looking for a rich older husband, too.”
“Aren’t we all,” Bessie muses.
Bartholomew smirks and offers her his arm. “I like you,” he says. Bessie happily accepts, and William falls into step beside us, still not seeming entirely comfortable.
“Out of curiosity,” I ask him, “what’s the word around the servants’ hall as far as I’m concerned? Do most of them like me, or do half of them like me? What’s the vibe?”
William and Bartholomew exchange a glance before William answers. “Everyone thinks you’re very pretty.”
“That’s nice. And what do they think of me as a person?”
Bartholomew picks up my hand and pats it. “They think you’re very pretty.”
I nod at his implication. “Got it.”
Bessie and Bartholomew walk ahead. I see that we’re nearing a door, and I stop William as we approach it. “Before we go in, I’m thinking that for tonight, I’d rather not make a big spectacle about me being here. I want to blend in, if that’s all right.”
“Of course,” William replies. “I also prefer to blend in. It’s the one of the few things I do well.”
My expression softens at his words, but the moment shatters a second later when Bartholomew kicks open the door. “Behold! The future queen, Catherine Howard!”
William turns to me, his face coloring with an apology. “Bartholomew is a great friend once you get to know him.”
I give resigned nod. “I love him already.”
Putting my game face on, I enter the midsize hall that’s filled to the brim with people. The bewildered but intrigued occupants drink from wooden cups as they sit or stand around two long tables. Everyone is dressed in toned-down Tudor attire. The women either have their hair down or tucked back in small cloth bonnets, and the men are dressed in unadorned shades of brown or black.
Music is playing and grows louder when some of the musicians we came with join the solo flute player in the back. William and Bartholomew stay close to Bessie and me as we mingle deeper into the boisterous crowd.
