“What of it? It would hardly be the first time you had dressed up as some courtier. Now hurry. Before Renard catches us up.”
Gwynnie tore the other gowns from her mother’s grasp and ushered her into one of them. She yanked it over her mother’s head and hurried up one of the steps in order to tie the laces at her mother’s back, fastening them so tightly that Emlyn gasped in surprise. There was little more they could do in the time they had left, so Gwynnie settled herself with tearing the coif off her mother’s head and brushing the loose tendrils back behind her ear.
“Just look important and imperious.”
“That is my bread and butter, miting.”
“I had noticed. Just look important enough to scare him away. He may be happy to threaten two maids, but if he thinks a fine lady is walking these corridors, someone of higher class, he will not risk being seen.” Gwynnie thrust her mother back out of the door and hid on the staircase, leaving the door ajar so she could peer through.
Emlyn stood calm and still, her hands locked formally together in front of her as she raised her head and admired a tapestry on the wall nearby.
Renard’s footsteps could be heard approaching. He must have halted, for the sound abruptly stopped. Gwynnie pressed her face to the gap between the door and the frame, straining to see him.
His figure appeared at the other end of the corridor. Renard would know that he should not be in this part of the tower, near the ladies’ chambers, for it would be considered scandalous. He backed up slowly, anxious about being seen by Emlyn, who he had clearly mistaken for a courtier. He continued to creep backward until he disappeared entirely. His distant footsteps on another set of stairs echoed as he ran away.
“He is gone,” Emlyn called to Gwynnie as she opened the door. She placed her hands on her hips, looking quite the part of a fine lady. “You think fast,” she said admiringly. “That is good. I have taught you well.”
Gwynnie said nothing as she tiptoed into the corridor, closing the door behind her. Her mother had taught her much, yes, but a lot she had learned herself over the years, desperately thinking of ways to keep her mother safe.
“What’s that?” She strained to listen, her head cocked to the side. More footsteps were coming their way, but they did not belong to Renard. This tread was much lighter than his.
“Quick! Back to the stairs.” Emlyn pointed at the door to the spiral staircase.
They pushed through the door again, leaving it open just a crack.
A lady appeared in the corridor with two younger ladies behind her. One carried a tall wax candle, while the other struggled to lift a carved wooden box. The lady who led the way, her golden hair shining in the flickering candlelight, carried gowns and a leather bag on her shoulder. The golden embroidery of her gable headdress had slipped a little, as if she had pulled it on in a hurry.
“Are you certain of this, my lady?” one of the younger ladies asked. “It is so close to the queen. Your chamber will be practically beside her own.”
“Yet it is not for me to judge the commands of the king, is it? He is God’s word on earth. If he wishes me to move chambers, then I must obey.” She paused by the small door. “He has said my brother will accompany me. Naturally, he wishes to avoid any suggestion of a scandal.”
Gwynnie held her breath and felt her mother’s hand curl around her arm. If the lady turned to their staircase, they would surely be discovered.
They could see the lady’s face clearly now. There was a sadness in her eyes, a sadness Gwynnie had not seen when she had witnessed this same lady at the joust handing her favour to the king.
“It’s Jane Seymour,” Emlyn whispered unnecessarily in Gwynnie’s ear.
“My lady?” One of the women halted by Jane’s side and placed a hand on her arm. “Is all well?”
“But of course.” Jane raised her head, a smile on her face. But Gwynnie had seen enough forced smiles in her time. She’d seen them on Emlyn’s face, noted the tight lines around her lips and the way her eyes didn’t brighten with true joy. “Let us be quick now. If we are to do as the king asks, then I must be in my new chambers before the morn.”
She hurried away, the ladies following closely behind her. As they retreated, taking their bright candle with them, Gwynnie stood straight, moving back from the door.
“What is he doing?”
“Who?” Emlyn asked, shrugging off the fine gown that she had pulled on over her maid’s dress.
“King Henry,” Gwynnie said. “He is inviting another lady into his tower, when his own wife…” She trailed off, recalling the woman’s voice she had heard coming from the king’s rooms on the night she had first broken into the tower.
“Not all are faithful in marriage,” Emlyn said, hurrying to fold the gown up with the others. “Some take their vows as lightly as they take their laundry.” She pushed the clean gowns into Gwynnie’s hands.
“How romantic.”
“Just so.” Emlyn picked up the farthingales and they stepped out into the corridor together, both glancing in the direction that Renard had retreated. The corridor was empty.
“You took your vows seriously,” Gwynnie whispered. “You took them so seriously that after my father died, you…”
“We do not need to speak of what I did.” Emlyn walked away. Gwynnie hastened to catch up, nearly tripping on the hem of her gown in her haste.
“You said it was self-defence,” Gwynnie said, hurrying after her mother. “You had no choice.”
“I know what I said.” Emlyn abruptly stopped walking and turned to face Gwynnie, her expression grave. “It does not do to dwell on the past. We must look to the future.”
“That is what I hope for. I look for a future in France or Ireland, somewhere far from the thieving, far from our own pasts,” Gwynnie said in a rush. “Yet I cannot help but wonder sometimes if you have no wish to leave this life at all.”
“I vowed to you I would, did I not?” Emlyn smiled.
Gwynnie felt as if she had been kicked in the gut, for it was another one of those false smiles.
“Come, we must be quick. Before that man finds us again.” Emlyn turned on her heel and walked away, urging Gwynnie to follow.
Gwynnie did not speak again as they hurried to their tasks in the laundry, watching out for Renard, for she was too caught up in her own thoughts. She began to wonder why they had come to the palace, and if it was possible that her own mother had lied to her. Perhaps Emlyn had never intended to leave England and turn her back on being a cutpurse after all.
CHAPTER 19
“I cannot sleep.” Emlyn’s voice sounded in the darkness.
“Well, I am enjoying an incredibly peaceful sleep myself. Such dreams of serenity, it is practically a blissful heaven fallen to this earth.” This time, Gwynnie’s sarcasm didn’t even earn her mother’s reprimand.
