The Dark Lady's Mask Read Free Page B

accomplishments that the Queen took her on as one of her women? Papa made no secret of the fact that he thought Master Holland to be vain and bone idle, and that he believed Angela could do better. At court, she might catch the eye of a man Papa could respect.
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    A S THEY SAILED IN a wherry up the Thames toward Westminster, Aemilia drank in Papa’s tales of the glamor and glory they would soon behold. When Whitehall came into view, Aemilia cried out and pointed, her fingers stabbing the cold air in glee. The palace stretched nearly half a mile along the Thames. This was the Queen’s principal residence, Papa explained, where her ill-starred mother had wed Old King Henry. Its grounds were vast enough to include the Queen’s privy gardens where she walked daily, the royal tennis courts, bowling green, and tilting yard where her knights jousted. With more than fifteen hundred rooms, it was the largest palace in Europe.
    â€œYour best manners today, Little Mischief,” Papa told her. “Make us proud.”
    Aemilia nodded solemnly.
    â€œRemember, my daughters, when the Queen smiles upon you, it’s like basking in sunlight,” Papa told them. “But her moods can change as swiftly as the weather. Do nothing to provoke her wrath.”
    Papa cradled a bulky package—their family’s gift to the Queen. Mother had complained mightily about the expense. After all, Her Majesty paid Papa only thirty pounds a year, so surely she had no right to demand such an extravagant gift. But Papa insisted that the dearest thing of all was the Queen’s favor. Without her patronage, they would lose everything. So Papa dipped deep into their savings to woo a woman who possessed seven palaces.
    â€œHer Majesty speaks fluent Italian,” he said, his eyes fixed on Whitehall as it loomed ever nearer. “Mind your every word. Her spies are everywhere. Her enemies’ spies, too.”
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    T HE GUARDS USHERED THEM into the Royal Presence Chamber, the biggest room Aemilia had ever seen, as though it had been built for giants. Long glassed windows flooded the space with light, and an endless banquet table ran the length of the room.
    Every royal servant from the highest-born courtier to the lowliest boot boy was expected to present Her Majesty with a New Year’s gift. Though the legal year began in March, the Queen celebrated New Year on the first of January according to ancient Roman tradition.
    Aemilia blinked before the magnificence of the courtiers. The men were like peacocks in their silks and lace, while the ladies were more exquisite still, as though the Queen, wishing to surround herself in beauty, had selected them for their looks. The high ladies of court flaunted their velvet, forbidden by law for those of lesser rank. With their faces painted in white lead and red vermilion, they seemed creatures set apart.
    â€œBut where’s the Queen?” Aemilia asked.
    On the far end of the room, she saw the empty throne surmounted by its embroidered canopy.
    â€œHer Majesty is in her Privy Chamber,” Papa said, pointing to a set of great double doors flanked by guards. “Only her most trusted courtiers and advisors are allowed inside.”
    Aemilia’s impertinence was swept aside as a gentleman in silver brocade hailed Papa. She couldn’t keep herself from gawping at the man’s calves, which were encased in pink silken hose. Diamonds glinted from his earlobes.
    â€œDaughters, this is the great poet, Sir Philip Sidney. Your lordship, these are my daughters, Angela and Aemilia. Little Aemilia fancies herself a poet.”
    The young man seemed intrigued. “A noble vocation for a maid. My sister Mary is a poet, greatly favored by Her Majesty.”
    He extended his hand to the girl who appeared at his side. Mary Sidney seemed to be no older than Angela, yet already she had the bearing of a great lady of the court. Pearls gleamed in her red-gold hair and draped her