“Is that so?” He flashed a brilliant smile. “Well, you should be. It certainly wasn’t my idea. Mother decided you should start earning your upkeep, though if it were up to me I’d have let you loose in the streets, where you came from. But seeing as you were not”—he flung out an arm—“you can start by cleaning this mess. Then you can dress me for the banquet.” He paused. “On second thought, just clean. Unless you learned how to tie a gentleman’s points while mucking out horseshit in Worcestershire.” He let out a high laugh, finding, as ever, great pleasure in his own wit. “Never mind, I can dress myself. I’ve been doing it for years. Help Guilford, instead. Father expects us in the hall within the hour.”
I guarded my expression as I bowed again. “My lord.”
Robert guffawed. “Such a gentleman you’ve become. With those fancy manners of yours, I’ll wager you’ll find a wench or two willing to overlook your lack of blood.”
He turned back to his brother, stabbed a finger circled by a silver ring at him. “And you keep your mouth shut. She’s but a wife, man. Bridle her, ride her, and put her to pasture as I did mine. And, for mercy’s sake, do something about your breath.” Robert gave me a tight smile. “I’ll see you in the hall, as well, Prescott. Bring him to the south entrance. We wouldn’t want him to spew all over our exalted guests.”
With a callous laugh, he turned and strode out. Guilford stuck out his tongue at the departing form, and, to my disgust, promptly vomited again.
It took every last bit of patience I had to accomplish my first assignment in the time allotted. Most of the discarded clothing needed a good soaking in vinegar to remove whatever detritus clung to it, yet seeing as I was no laundress I hid the nasty stuff from view and then went in search of water, finding an urn at the end of the passage.
I returned and ordered Guilford to strip. The water ran brown off his flaccid skin, the raw bites on his thighs and arms indicating he shared his bed with mites and fleas. He stood scowling, naked and shivering, cleaner than he’d probably been since he first arrived at court.
Unearthing a relatively unstained chemise, hose, doublet, and damask sleeves from the clothing press, I extended these to him. “Shall I help my lord dress?”
He ripped the clothes from my hands. Leaving him to wrestle with his garments, I went to my saddlebag and removed my one extra pair of hose, new gray wool doublet, and good shoes.
As I held these, I had an unbidden memory of Mistress Alice smoothing animal fat into the leather, “to make them shine like stars,” she’d said winking. She had brought me the shoes from one of her annual trips to the Stratford Fair. Two sizes too large at the time, to accommodate a still-growing boy, I’d proudly sloshed around in them, until one dark day months after her death, I tried them on and found they fit. Before I’d left Dudley Castle, I’d rubbed fat into the leather, as she would have. I’d taken it from the same jar, with the same wooden spoon.…
My throat knotted. While I had lived in the castle I could pretend she was still with me, a benevolent unseen presence. The mornings spent in the kitchen that were her domain, the fields where I’d ridden Cinnabar in the afternoon, the turret library where I’d read the Dudleys’ forgotten books: It always felt as if she were about to come upon me at any moment, remonstrating that it was time I eat something.
But here, she was as far away as if I’d set sail for the New World. For the first time in my life, I had the post and means to build a better future, and I was skittish as a babe at a baptism.
Recalling this favorite saying of hers, I felt a surge of confidence. She had always said I could do anything I set my mind to. Out of respect for her memory, I must do more than survive. I must thrive. After all, who knew what my future held? Ludicrous as it might seem at this moment, it wasn’t inconceivable that one day I could earn my freedom from servitude. As Cecil had remarked, even foundlings could rise high in our new England.