The Lady in the Tower by Marie-Louise Jensen Page A

my feet. They were more comfortable than anything I had worn in years, but would not last five minutes outside the castle. A rich girl’s shoes, I thought. For someone who doesn’t have to walk. But a part of me felt a guilty pleasure in wearing them all the same.
    I could not fix my hood, having no maid of my own. So, carrying the offending article, I was obliged to make my way reluctantly to Maria’s apartments.
    ‘Ah, Eleanor, there you are at last. You are tardy, the king will be here any minute,’ she scolded. Then turning to her maid, she snapped: ‘I am ready now. See to Mistress Eleanor’s hair, and be quick about it.’
    The maid bobbed an apologetic curtsey and drew me into a chair. But no sooner had she picked up the pot of hair paste, than we heard a bugle blown from the gatehouse.
    ‘The king approaches!’ we heard the herald cry.
    ‘Quick, quick!’ cried Maria, quite distracted. ‘We must be in the great hall before he comes! No time for the paste.’ She snatched the hood from the maid and hastily placed it onto my head herself, pinning it into place. I winced as the pins stabbed at my scalp. ‘Let us just hope that keeps it in place for the evening. Come, we must go.’
    ‘The king will only just be riding into the stables now,’ I protested. ‘What’s the hurry?’
    ‘You have much to learn, Eleanor,’ Maria told me sternly. ‘The king may keep us waiting for as long as he chooses, but we must not be even five seconds late for him.’
    ‘He’s not going to care about me,’ I grumbled under my breath. ‘I shouldn’t think he’ll even notice I’m there.’
    With my headdress in place and my dress adjusted, I felt prepared to meet a dozen kings if need be. We hurried to the great hall, our skirts hushing as we walked.
    ‘For pity’s sake, do not hold up your skirts like that, Eleanor,’ said Maria.
    ‘But the floor is dirty. They might become soiled.’
    ‘That is your maid’s business, not yours. At least try to act like a lady.’
    I pulled a face behind her back.
    We were not the first to arrive in the great hall by any means. There was a large crowd already gathered to greet their monarch and more people arriving. The ladies glittered with gold or silver cloth and jewels, the men were equally grand in their extravagantly padded doublets and their tight hose.
    When the king entered at last, my father at his side, everyone bowed or curtseyed low. It was a fine sight, and I was just a split second late dropping into my own deep curtsey. I peeped up at King Henry and experienced a shock. Gone was the tall, handsome man of my memory. Gone was the carefree smile and glow of health and happiness. Instead, an immensely fat old man waddled into view, leaning heavily on a stick. His cheeks drooped and his once merry mouth pouted discontentedly. His eyes, formerly full of energy and joy, now gazed on the world with suspicion and cynicism.
    He was approaching, and Maria nudged me to curtsey deeper. I knew I should not gaze upon the king thus, and I dropped my head lower, watching his feet approach, noting the swollen ankles and also the terrible smell that hung about him. The feet stopped right in front of me.
    ‘My daughter, Your Majesty,’ I heard Sir Walter say. I peeped up again, and my father motioned me to rise. I straightened up and found the king gazing intently at me. There was something other than world-weariness in the eyes that lingered on my face and figure.
    ‘Charming. Quite charming, Hungerford,’ he said. I felt my face grow hot under the royal scrutiny, and was glad when he nodded and walked on.
    ‘You have caught the notice of the king, Mistress Eleanor,’ hissed Maria, wasp-like in my ear. ‘That is fortunate but also dangerous. He has always an eye for the young and pretty.’
    I glanced at her and saw envy. He had passed her by without a look. Could she not be content with her conquest of my father? I considered her dispassionately. She was young, though not