She hardly dares to look at Susanna’s expression. Her certainty ebbed away with her words, for it’s only now that she truly comprehends what she is asking of her lady.
Susanna’s silence is a mirror to Howard’s unease.
“May I know why?” Susanna says at last.
Howard is prepared for this question. She does not like to lie – for part of her wants to tell her ladies everything, to trust in their loyalty, and maybe one day she will be at liberty to do so – but nor can she risk the safety of Seymour and the other queens by telling the truth. And while Susanna is the least likely to share a secret, Howard knows only too well the way such morsels of information can be bartered for popularity.
“I wish to study uninterrupted.”
Susanna’s mouth forms a silent “O”. “And you do not want me to tell anyone?” she says.
“If you must, then you must. But I … I do not want everyone to pity me, or to think me ridiculous for attempting to teach myself. They all thought me stupid for employing Voda Kelaverrin. They think me beyond hope and I don’t want them to laugh if they are proved right.”
Goldfoot croons into her ear. She cannot look Susanna in the eye. It is both wrong and a relief, this peeling open of a truth to cover deceit. Susanna’s hand jerks, as though she wants to comfort Howard. Howard cannot remember the last time she was held by another woman.
“I will do my best for you, Your Majesty,” Susanna says.
“You can pick any of my gowns,” Howard says. It is the smallest of thanks for what Susanna is doing, though she does not know it.
Susanna colours and looks away. “I serve you without expectation of gifts.”
There is an unspoken end to her words. Howard is certain that she wants to say more.
“Is there something else you would wish for?”
The blush deepens. Below them, a shout goes up from a boat that has missed its mooring.
“I only wonder … might you stop the other ladies from teasing me?” Susanna says. “I know that I am awkward compared to all of you. I know that my love of painting is not womanly, but I …”
She trails off, her eyes flickering between Howard and the stones upon which they stand. The little bird inside Howard’s chest flutters. Susanna seeks a protector, but that has never been Howard’s role. How could it be? No one looks at Howard and sees a guardian. They see only the thornless rose, the frightened songbird. She is so small: how could she possibly protect Susanna?
Howard envisions scolding her half-sister Legh, or her elder, Lady Tylney. She cannot imagine either of them accepting a rebuke from their young queen.
But she needs Susanna’s help. She is out of time.
“I will try,” Howard says, hoping that she does not sound too faltering. She expects a smile, words of gratitude. She does not expect Susanna to burst into tears.
“Hush, Susanna,” Howard says, appalled.
“I am sorry,” Susanna sobs.
Goldfoot croons from Howard’s shoulder. He wants her to comfort the woman, but Howard is utterly unequipped for this display of weakness. When she was a child and sharing a chamber with her aunt’s other wards, to cry was to invite cruelty. She is about to say as much, when Susanna presses the heels of her hands into her eyes and says, “I have just been so very lonely.”
The bird in Howard’s chest emits a single cry, and is still.
Has she not thought the same after every encounter with the other queens? Has she not felt lonely, in a way, her entire life?
Maybe solitude in the midst of company is not simply the way of things, as she had thought.
She embraces Susanna, holding the other woman’s head to her shoulder. If the position is awkward for Susanna, who is after all taller than Howard by nearly a head, then she shows no sign of it. She clings to her queen, her hands clawing at her back.
“You are not alone,” Howard whispers. The waterfall below them might know whether she speaks to herself or her lady:shedoes not.
In her music room, she lays cushions at the foot of the door and stuffs scraps of fabric inside the keyhole. Susanna may be keeping watch outside, but Howard cannot risk her overhearing talking through thesunscína.
The sun is directly opposite this room at midday, so that when the harpsichord is open, the curved glass of thesunscínareflects the light onto the walls and ceiling, turning the mahogany to rainbow. On the other side of the window, she can hear the sleep-inducing trickle of water from the fountain in the courtyard.
When she presses thesunscína, Cleves, Parr and Aragon are already there, and in the middle of a heated discussion.
