Holding Court Read Free Page B

skirt and white tights giving me the eagle eye. He only has one; the other is covered with a black leather eye patch.
    “May I be of service, milady?”
    “Um, sure,” I say. “I’m Juliet Verity. I have an interview at one thirty for the Maid of Kent position?”
    “Maid of Kent, eh?” he says. “So, she finally got caught, what-what?”
    “Pardon me?”
    “You’ll be wanting to go to the King’s study, Mistress Verity. The stairs are at the end of the hallway.” He points me in the right direction.
    “Thanks, uh…” I pause, waiting for him to tell me his name.
    “Floyd. Floyd Bean. But most folks call me the Keeper.”
    “Okay then, uh, Mr. Bean…Keeper. I’d better get to my interview.” I have the sudden feeling of pressure in my head and chest that tells me my PTS is about to strike. I bolt for the stairs, anxious to get away from the Keeper and his creepy one-eyed stare before I say something I’ll more than likely regret.
    “Was there something else, Mistress Verity?”
    I shake my head, but it’s too late. “Stop, or you’ll feel the maiden’s embrace!” I yell.
    I don’t wait for the Keeper to respond.
    When I get to the second floor, a woman in a beautiful Tudor gown directs me to Hank’s office. I knock on the heavy wooden door and a booming voice responds, “Prithee enter!”
    I open the door to find King Henry sitting behind a large wooden desk. He’s using an old-fashioned feathered quill to write something, but puts it down when he sees me.
    He looks at me with some surprise and, I think, confusion. “Mistress Verity?” he says, reaching a hand up to scratch his robust beard.
    “That’s me, uh, Your Majesty,” I’m not sure what the protocol is so I drop a curtsy and then feel stupid for doing so. I’m wearing a vintage 1950s polka-dot dress I found on the last thrifting trip I went on with Mom. With my Bettie Page hair and cherry-red lip gloss, I stick out like a sore thumb in Lunewood Castle. But then, so does the laptop I spy on the corner of Hank’s desk. I’m not sure what the Tudor equivalent might be. An abacus?
    “Please, be seated, Mistress Verity. Am I to understand you are interested in portraying the Maid of Kent?”
    I nod.
    “I must confess, I believe a few curious things are now beginning to make sense.”
    “Oh?” I have no idea what he’s talking about.
    “The fact that you have the gift of visions. Or do you know Angelique personally?”
    “Angelique?”
    “The current Maid of Kent, the woman whose position you would be filling while she is on maternity leave.”
    “Oh, uh, no. I’ve never met her. I’ve never been to Tudor Times before, actually.”
    “Indeed? Then I suppose we can dispense with the question of your abilities.”
    “We can?”
    He grins at me. “I believe you proved yourself in your mother’s shop. How is Lady Anna, by the way? It was indeed a pleasure meeting you both yesterday.”
    “She’s getting ready to leave for Paris. Which is why I’m out of a job for the summer.”
    “I see. Do you have any experience performing in front of large groups? Your duties as the Maid of Kent would include being part of the dinner entertainment for the castle guests.”
    “Oh. Um, I went to theater camp in junior high?” I don’t tell him that, against my better judgment, Cami had coerced me into signing up, and I’d blown my first audition when I burst a blood vessel in my eyeball trying to keep myself from blurting that Sidney Barlow was going to start riding the crimson wave in the middle of the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet . I ended up being given the job of prompter. I was supposed to follow along in the script and help the actors if they forgot their lines. Which is a ridiculously inappropriate job for someone with a blurting problem. I’d lasted one dress rehearsal.
    “Fair enough. Why don’t we start you out on a trial basis? Angelique will give you a tour of the castle and go over the position with you. I