“You must know me pretty well,” I tell her.
She shrugs. “I know you well enough. I’m very observant, and you’re quite forthcoming with your thoughts.” She moves toward me again, this time opting to sit in the wooden chair beside the bed. “Now tell me, what on earth possessed you to ride out alone? When that man carried you back, Mistress Marshall nearly fell into fits. You know that old crone hates us.”
“Who’s Mistress Marshall?” I ask. Then, for good measure, “And just to clarify, what’s your name?”
The girl leans forward with a discerning gaze, moving her finger in front of my face and tracking my eye movements. “Perhaps your fall did more damage than I thought. My name is Bessie Stanley, and I’ve been your friend since we arrived at the palace six months ago.” Surprise alights her face a second later. “Wait, are you with child, Catherine? Get your legs up and we’ll have a look.” She eagerly stands, and I pin the blankets to my waist like a roller-coaster lap bar.
“I’m not pregnant,” I assure her.
“How can you be sure? I have no doubt that the king would be pleased if you were.”
I reactively grimace. The king seems nice enough at the moment, but the thought of him being my baby daddy is pretty fucking sinister.
“I’m sure because I haven’t donethatin over a year.”
Bessie rolls her eyes, giving me a “sure, Jan,” kind of look. “Of course you haven’t,” she says. “Is your memory really altered, Catherine, or are you playacting?”
I slide my hips back as I sit up taller on the mattress, trying to gauge how I should approach this. I need to be smart. I need to use everything I can to my advantage.
“Things just feel fuzzy,” I decide to say. “It must be from the accident. Maybe that’s why I don’t seem like myself.”
Before Bessie can respond, my bedroom door swings open, revealing the entrance of a severe woman in a gray dress with a mean downturn to her mouth. Her headpiece isn’t rounded like ours. It’s pointy like a roof, and she says nothing as she stops to stand in the center of the room.
Bessie’s gaze lowers. “Good afternoon, Mistress Marshall.”
The woman scowls at her in return before focusing on me. “You’re awake.”
I carefully nod, and Bessie steps closer to my side. “She is, thankfully. I’m sure you’re relieved, as are we all.”
If “relieved” means unleashing violent hellfire from her eyes, then yes, this lady is very relieved.
“And tell me, Catherine Howard, just what were you doing outside the palace walls?”
I turn to Bessie, and she nudges her chin for me to answer. “I don’t remember exactly,” I hear myself reply.
Before I can say more, Bessie shoves my head back into the pillow. “Her fall seems to have addled her mind, Mistress Marshall. These things sometimes happen after such an injury.”
The woman takes a step closer. “In that case, let me remind you that I am the mistress of the maids and any dishonor you bring to yourself, you also bring unto me.”
“I’m sure the malady is only temporary,” Bessie says. “No doubt Catherine will be back to her captivating self in an hour, and she is so very grateful for your concern.”
“So grateful,” I echo. “Very grateful.”
The woman pauses before turning to Bessie. “If she is recovered, the king will want an audience with her. See to it that she reaches him without incident.”
“Yes, Mistress Marshall,” Bessie replies.
With a final stare and a slow exit, Mistress Murder leaves the room, closing the door behind her with athud.
Bessie and I let out a collective breath. I’m not someone who’s easily intimidated, but I might have just peed a little.
“Well, that was fun,” Bessie muses. “Worry not, Catherine. Once we are married, she won’t be able to lord over us anymore. We’ll be ladies of the court, and she will remain just as she is. Then I’ll tell her what I think of her.”
“Will you really?” I ask skeptically.
Bessie takes a beat. “No. I would cut off a toe rather than look her in the eyes.” A second later she claps her hands together and flings back my blanket. “All right. You heard the woman. The king doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I’ll fetch a maid to assist you.”
My mouth is open to respond, but the door has already shut behind her. Alone with my thoughts and the after-smell of scary lady and incense, I twist to lower my feet to the floor. I get up slowly, thankful that I don’t feel dizzy as I begin to walk the length of the room. I think best when I’m moving, and right now, I need a game plan.
