The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(43)
Her thoughts were diverted from such dark musings by a sudden blare of trumpets. She looked up, and was surprised to see Lady Frances Grey standing in the doorway, accompanied by a tall, skinny girl of about twelve or thirteen. They approached the princess and curtsied so deeply that Coby began to wonder how they would stand upright again.
“Your Highness, allow me to present my daughter, Elizabeth Sidney.”
Coby tried not to stare. This child was the daughter being courted by the Earl of Rutland? She had heard that the aristocracy often married young, and here was proof of it. Come to think of it, Lady Frances was barely old enough to have a grown daughter.
“Come nearer, my dear. Let me get a good look at you.”
The girl stepped carefully between the cushions, her face pale as milk against her dark hair.
“This is the child Rutland wants to marry?” Princess Juliana asked over the girl’s head.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Well, she’ll need fattening up before she’s fit for the marriage bed,” the princess replied, frowning.
“I was hoping you might take her into your service,” Lady Frances said.
“Another one?” The princess glanced at Coby, who flushed and looked down at her hands.
“As you know, Your Highness, I am with child and have not the strength to chase after a grown daughter. And her grandmother is not a well woman either.”
“Very well. Send her to me next week.” Juliana cocked her head on one side. “I don’t suppose her courses have started yet?”
Elizabeth flushed scarlet.
“No, Your Highness,” her mother replied.
“Hmm. Well, you can tell Rutland he can have her when they do, but no sooner.”
Lady Frances and her daughter curtsied again and withdrew from the royal presence. Just before the duchess turned to leave, Coby swore she saw her wink in her direction. Was this some ploy of Lady Frances’s, to bring Rutland within Coby’s reach? If so it was a callous move, to use her own daughter as a pawn to draw out the guisers. Coby resolved to take the poor child under her wing and protect her as best she could from the harridans at court. The fact that Lady Frances was relying on her to do just that left a sour taste in her mouth, but what choice did she have?
The rest of the morning’s business was of little interest to Coby: an artist who had been commissioned to paint new portraits of the princess’s daughters; a delegation of scholars from the Cambridge college endowed by the princess, bearing a book of moral instruction dedicated to her, and a tailor with dolls dressed in the latest fashions from Spain and Italy. The latter were cooed over by the other ladies-in-waiting, their insistences that they could not do without such dresses for the coming year bringing a gleam of avarice to the man’s eyes.
As the tailor departed, Princess Juliana’s steward stepped forward.
“One final matter, Your Highness, and one that I think will give you great pleasure.” He handed her a letter.
Princess Juliana cracked the seal and read.
“From my cousin Joaquim,” she said, smiling. “And what is this? He sends a gift.”
“What kind of gift, Your Highness?” Lady Derby asked. “Jewels, perhaps, or a popinjay from the Indies?”
“Better than that, Your Highness.” The steward clapped his hands.
For a moment nothing happened. No sound of trumpets, no stamp of feet. Then the silence of the audience chamber was broken by a high, sweet voice, singing. Coby could not quite make out the words or the language; Portuguese, perhaps, like the princess? After a few moments the singer appeared in the doorway: a slender young man, dark of skin and hair and dressed in courtly finery.
“Bartolomeo Pellegrino, Your Highness. A castrato, all the way from Rome.”
The ladies-in-waiting burst into excited whispers at this news. The Italians were famous, or perhaps infamous, for their eunuch singers, castrated before puberty to preserve their youthful voices. Enhanced by the power of an adult male’s lungs, they were said to be the closest one could come on Earth to the voices of angels. Coby saw many of the ladies blush and heard them giggle about how handsome the young man was, and what a pity he was not a man entire.
The song died away, and Bartolomeo walked the length of the presence chamber to bow before the princess and her companions.
“I bring you greetings, Your Highness, from your noble cousin, and his heartfelt wishes for your health and happiness.”
“Welcome to England, Signor Pellegrino. Please, come sit at my feet and tell me all the news of my uncle’s court.”
Coby quietly observed the young man during this exchange. It was true he was very handsome despite being unfashionably swarthy of complexion, with a wide brow, finely curled black hair and eyes of a striking jade green. His voice, as high as a woman’s, had a soft Italian accent, though he spoke surprisingly good English. The other ladies hung on his every word, and laughed prettily at every slightest jest. Coby was content to watch and listen and note which of the ladies showed him the most favour. Lady Derby for one did not seem overly in awe of him, although she feigned interest well; mostly to please Princess Juliana, Coby suspected. Guiser or no, Lady Derby’s ambitions stretched far higher than a court minstrel. Rumour had it that Prince Robert would be visiting soon, to hunt in the park. If so, Coby was ready to do whatever was necessary to keep him and Lady Derby under observation, and perhaps determine the lady’s loyalties once and for all.