No Will But His Read Free Page A

Thomas Boleyn."
    This idea so overwhelmed Kathryn that she kept quiet as they ran past open doors showing rooms decorated in a style that Kathryn had never seen, nor even dreamed of. There had been so many different houses in her life, starting with her mother's comfortable but strictly regulated house, with the nursemaids and the servants and every child—Leigh and Howard alike—set in a proper schedule and constrained to do the proper things. Then there had been various houses and rooming houses, after her mother's death, then the house of Dame Dorothy, till she died, then rooming houses again and now, just for a few weeks, there had been the home of her new stepmother, which was opulent but perhaps not as comfortable as Kathryn's mother's.
    But this home was as different from that, as . . . as the tavern where they'd stopped for a bite of food on the way was from any home. This home, so far, had more rooms than any other home she'd ever been in, and each lavishly, invitingly furnished with cushions and painted furniture and . . .
    Kathryn stopped at the open door to a large room, forgetting to follow Mary. She was conscious, though she did not devote much thought to it, that Mary had gone ahead, her steps retreating—then come back, steps approaching again. "Fie, what holds you?" Mary asked.
    Kathryn was looking at a bright room with a broad window in whose embrasure a spacious window seat nestled, covered in many-colored silk cushions. Disposed around the seats were a harpsichord and lutes, polished and shining. In a corner of the room stood a harp, with a carved wood frame. Against the other wall, stood the pianoforte in polished walnut.
    "Aye, come, Kathryn, what look you on so lost?"
    "Is it . . ." Kathryn asked. "Is this where musicians come to play?" She couldn't imagine where the duchess would sit, much less anyone else. But in Kathryn's short life, one enjoyment stood out—even more than her love of oranges—and that was her love of music. When she'd been fortunate enough to listen to a good choir at church, she'd felt as if she could stay there forever. One of her maids had told her this was all heaven was—that there was a great choir, singing God's glory forever. It made heaven a very-desired thing.
    Mary laughed, amusement and indulgence in her laugh. "Ah, no, Kathryn. Sometimes we have musicians who play for Her Grace, but this is where the musicians come to teach us to play."
    "You learn to play?" Kathryn asked with amazement. Her whole life, though her brothers were given masters, there never seemed to be quite enough money to pay for little Kathryn's lessons.
    "We all do. And you will, too," Mary said. "We are, after all, young ladies of quality, and playing well is part of the graces that will find us a husband or see us through in court." With a sudden gasp, Mary added, "You'll probably go to court, Kathryn, soon enough, to serve your cousin the queen."
    But the court and all its wonders were too distant a thought to Kathryn. Instead, she thought of learning music, and her heart sped in her chest, till it would seem as though it would break through. Her house—even when she lived with her mother—had never contained any of these musical instruments, not even a lute. She didn't remember ever hearing her mother sing, so perhaps mother didn't like music. Or perhaps there was more to it. Perhaps Mother hadn't been able to afford a master for so many girls.
    But Kathryn knew her voice was sweet. When she sang about the house, not even Dame Margaret bid her stop. And the idea of knowing how to accompany herself, how to make sweet sounds upon all those interesting instruments, buoyed her along on light feet, as Mary opened a tall oak door onto a vast room.
    The room contained six beds, disposed about its walls, and it had mullioned windows, set with little squares and leaden strips. Through the windows, cold white light poured, lighting a scene of utter confusion.
    There were dresses and caps