When we’re a hallway away from Bessie’s door, Lady Rochford sets our companion on her own two feet to walk ahead of us. “There now,” she says. “We’ve gotten you back safe and sound, so let’s all get to bed, and this frightful day can at last be over.”
No sooner does she finish saying the word “frightful” than we round the corner and nearly collide with a waiting Mistress Marshall. I scream, because she’s scary as fuck, and Bessie screams retroactively. Even Lady Rochford flinches.
“Mistress Marshall,” she says, moving to stand a bit in front of us. “What are you doing awake at this late hour?”
The somber woman turns her head painstakingly slowly. This must be her audition tape forThe Exorcist 12. “A curious question, Lady Rochford, considering it appears that you are all just returning to the palace with Her Majesty.”
Lady Rochford juts her shoulders back slightly. “Yes, we were talking a late-night stroll about the gardens withHer Majestyand would very much like to retire.”
I can’t be sure, but Lady Rochford and Mistress Marshall may be about to square up. The tension is that intense.
“I understand,” the older woman says. “But in the event of future late-night walks, I would like to be informed if one of my girls accompanies you. Bessie is, after all, my responsibility as mistress of the maids.”
“And you aremyresponsibility as queen.” I had no intention of entering this chat, yet here I am.
Mistress Marshall smiles at me, and it is entirely feline. “For the time being,” she says.
I tilt my head as I take in her veiled threat. “I’m sorry Mistress Marshall, I think you must be overworked this evening. That has to be the reason you think it’s acceptable to speak to me theway you are.” Bessie gasps in anoh shitkind of way, and I take a step forward. “As queen, I hereby relieve you of your duties as mistress of the maids. For two months. Lady Rochford, is there someone who could assume the role while Mistress Marshall takes her much-needed rest?”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Lady Rochford answers. “I’d be happy to settle the matter for you personally.”
“Wonderful. Enjoy your time off, Mistress Marshall.”
I walk around and past the woman, who looks like she’s swallowed a fuzzy lemon, and my heart is pounding at such an unnatural rate that I might actually keel over. I’m still wheezing when Bessie catches up to me and grabs my arm.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” she whispers.
I tuck her farther into my side. “Was I too harsh? Should I apologize? I’m going to go back and apologize.”
“Don’t you dare,” Lady Rochford orders. “I’ve been going toe to toe with that scaled fish for years. Watching her get soundly scolded was nothing short of glorious.”
I wish I could enjoy the moment as much as she is, but I’m still in a state of shock.
“See how my hand shakes,” Bessie mutters.
“Yeah, mine, too.”
Lady Rochford leaves me to seek out her own room after she’s helped loosen my gown. She untied the strings at the back so I can undress when I’m ready, but for now, I’m wide awake. In part from my run-in with Mistress Marshall, but mostly from my time in the tent with Simon.
I’m still thinking of him as I stand in front of a mirror near the hearth, though I’m looking down at the moment. I touch my hand to my neck, remembering how it felt to have his mouththere. He was so unrestrained. So hungry for me. My hand dips lower to my midsection, remembering the warm churning I felt when Simon touched my breast. I slip my hand upward to brush over that very spot, and when I turn my gaze up and see Francis Dereham standing behind me in the mirror. I gasp and almost scream, and if he was close enough, I would have smacked him through the fucking wall.
“Francis, what the hell are you doing?” I seethe, whipping around to face him. He just stares in response, completely transfixed. When he does speak a few moments later, his voice is steeped in cold determination.
“Where—is—Catherine?”
A chill shoots up my spine, so cold that it stings. “What are you talking about?”
“Tell me,Catherine, when did you first say that you loved me when we were at Lambeth? What did I gift you on our second midsummer? What was your exact answer when I asked you to marry me?”
He waits, and I say nothing. My throat is bone-dry. My heart is racing. I can’t let him know that I’m rattled. “I don’t have to answer your questions,” I tell him.
He doesn’t make a move toward me, and somehow his stillness is even more nerve-racking. “You won’t answer them because to do so would prove your treachery.”
How can he know? He can’t know. He’s just making a desperate guess. I need to stick to the script. “I hit my head and lost my memories. Bessie said that it’s common.”
“Stop lying!” he shouts. Theo starts barking from his place on my bed, and I run over to soothe him. Francis and I nervously stare at the door, waiting to see if anyone comes. Miraculously, they don’t. Francis lowers his voice as he steps in my direction. “I know everything there is to know about Catherine Howard. How she moves. How she speaks. How shesees and interacts with the world. I know all of this and more. I have been watching you for days, and I can tell with absolute certainty—you are nother.”
He’s backed me into a corner, but not a physical one. I could keep lying. I could gaslight him into thinking that he’s wrong. He’s compulsive and infatuated, and trusting him would most likely be a fatal mistake.
