“He may have his suspicions, but if we acted our parts right then he will have no cause to accuse us,” Lady Tylney says.
At the other end of the fabric – at the other end of the chamber – Susanna sighs, picks up her little scissors and starts to unpick some of her work. Howard watches the other women as they take note.
“Have you been clumsy again, Susanna?” Legh says.
Susanna ducks her head as the other women laugh.
“She wishes to do good work. I see nothing shameful about that,” Howard says, sweeping into the room. Her women look up, startled.
“Your Majesty, we did not see you,” Ursula says. There is something reverently hungry about the way she watches Howard now, ever since she witnessed her wielding the bordweal. Privately, Howard is not sure why: after all, it was Ursula’s fortitude that allowed Howard to find the right way.
“I did not mean anything cruel,” Legh says.
Howard settles on the floor, halfway between her half-sister and Susanna. “Everyone is cruel from time to time. But perhaps we can save our cruelty for those who deserve it.”
Her ladies stare at her. She is shocked at herself, truth be told. She does not know where those words came from: they are like something Queen Cleves or Queen Parr might say. She is not sure they were wise words, though – not to utter at this time, when Legh knows of her betrayal of Henry. Legh has never taken kindly to correction. It is as if Mary Boleyn herself is in the chamber with them, not just her wedding gift.
“I enjoy your wit, Legh,” Susanna says. “Only – not when it is directed at me.”
“Who should I direct it at then?”
“How about that new lord the king left behind him?” Ursula says.
Howard tries not to react. “Who? Culpepper?”
Legh smirks. “I would rather direct something else entirely athim.”
The women laugh, and it is as if nothing has changed between them. They accepted the truth of Medren and the bordweal with far more grace and ease than Howard had expected. It unsettles her, until she remembers that she, too, understood it as true so very quickly when Seymour explained it. As if it had merely been veiled beneath taffeta all this time, and they had been willingly playacting.
Howard feels raw and fresh and daring, though, and she does not want them to forget that they are all part of a rebellion now.
“I think Culpepper may be loyal to me actually,” she says.
Ursula leans closer. “Do you mean …?”
Howard tells them of the part she played in Boleyn’s escape from the Tower, and her suspicion that Culpepper knows exactly what she did. “Surely I would be in the Tower myself by now if he was not for our cause?” Howard says.
Lady Tylney breaks the silence. “Do you plan to admit him into your confidence?”
Howard picks up the edge of the swathe of fabric. “Not yet. But I would be grateful if you would all advise me on the matter.”
They resume their needlework, and presently servants come to light the candles around the edge of the chamber. Susanna’s cheeks are flushed. Legh is unusually silent. And Ursula and Lady Tylney keep darting looks at her. All of them know that something has changed, beyond the storm of Howard’s revelation. It is a change that has taken root in the copse of their company, and only time and tender care will dictate whether all saplings will thrive.
Howard was designed to be a sapling. To be buffeted, staked, pruned and fruited.
Can a tree tug itself free from its loamy chains and walk? Can tree turn to gardener?
“I have another idea for the new queen’s gift,” she announces.
Ursula looks up. “Does this mean I can stop sewing? This thread is giving me a terrible headache.”
Howard fingers the silk.
“There will be more sewing,” she says to general groans. “But the spider’s thread can be set aside for now. And I will sew with you all.”
“Are we going to get in terrible trouble?” Legh says, caught between alarm and intrigue.
“Why would we? I am but a silly little queen with not a bad thought in my silly little head,” Howard says.
