Tension began withdrawing from my bones as servants scampered through the space, lighting the fire and fluffing the silk pillows. The lanky attendant offered me food and wine, but I declined, thanking them all for their help. When the paneled doors finally closed, I stripped down to my smock and slunk beneath the fur-lined blankets. A glimpse of a smile touched my cheeks, and I rolled over, breathing in any traces of Nick’s scent. I said my bedtime prayers like an exemplary Tudor wife, asking in earnest for my husband to be kept safe.
From that night on, I slept only in Nick’s bed. The invaluable company of my ladies still filled my days, and Alice was the only one brave enough to bring up my change of sleeping habits. I could tell that it was more out of concern than anything else, and I explained that being in Nick’s chambers was my only respite. There, I could still feel him all around me.
“I am certain our dear men shall return in haste,” she reassured me for the zillionth time while stitching a serpent into the cuff of one of Francis’s shirts. As she reached for more thread, her shoulder caught the corner of the hard-backed chair and she hissed through her teeth.
“Is that shoulder still bothering you?” I said, my chest constricting.
“It troubles me only at certain angles.” She offered me a don’t-worry-about-it smile, but her eyes had that same sunken look that I’d seen in my own. The lack of news about Nick and Francis…Alice’s shoulder injury that was my fault…the relentless snow…it’d become harder to get out of bed in the morning.
I was stitching the corner of a tablecloth for the poor when the doors swung open, inviting in a gust of wind and a pewter platter that smelled like a bakery at first light. Bridget and Lucinda had gone to the kitchens for some sweet snacks, which had become our mid-morning ritual.
“Heavens, at last!” said Alice. She rushed up to help them unpack the load. I reminded her of her bad shoulder and took over the task.
“Fresh macarons for our devoted queen,” said Lucinda, biting into one. Her nose scrunched with exaggerated joy as she chewed.
I retorted with a playful scoff and appraised the spread of sweetened almonds, custard tarts, stewed cherries sprinkled with sugar, cookies with warmed dates, and my favorite: fluffy macarons. I reached for one, but Alice’s hand snatched my arm to hold me back.
“Ouch,” I said and then realized Lucinda was coughing. Her skin had paled in seconds, and her nails clawed at her neck. She hacked up a glob of chewed macaron, spitting it onto the rush matting. Strings of saliva dripped from her mouth as she hunched forward.
“Are you okay?” I said, the breath sucked out of me.
Bridget screamed as Lucinda slumped to the floor. I dropped to catch her at the same time as Alice. Our heads knocked together, but I felt no pain, my heart beating out of my throat.
“Touch no more food!” Alice ordered, as Lucinda rolled onto her back and vomited violently, almost choking. “I have seen this before now,” said Alice, rolling Lucinda onto her side. “This is poison.”
I couldn’t speak, my eyes shifting between Lucinda’s pallid cheeks and the clump of spewed-up dessert on the floor. Someone had poisoned the macarons, which were famous throughout the palace for being my favorite snack.
Alice was delivering instructions to Bridget, but I couldn’t make out the words. Bridget nodded, hitched up her skirts, and ran outside to the courtyard.
Sweat poured from Lucinda’s brow, and she kicked with agitation. Alice slipped two fingers into Lucinda’s mouth in an attempt to induce more vomiting.
I leaped forward. “Don’t do that!” I cried. “That could make her worse.” A girl from my school in Hatfield had overdosed at prom, and it’s what the paramedic had said to the guy trying to make her barf.
I crouched to feel Lucinda’s pulse, asking her to look at me. Her eyes rolled backward, and both hands clutched her stomach. Her pulse felt weak.
Alice squeezed my shoulder, and I realized I was sobbing.
“It was supposed to be me.” My voice slipped on the words. “It should’ve been me. They poisoned the macarons, and now Lucinda will—”
“Stop that,” Alice snapped. “You are our blessed queen; we pray to God, day by day, for your health. Better any one of us takes our last breath than you, my lady. The king would never forgive us should any ill befall you.”
“I’m no better than her; I’m just Emmie!” I said, shocking Alice. I scrambled to my feet, hunting for something, but I didn’t know what. “I don’t want this…I didn’t want any of this,” I stammered. “First you…Blackburn…now Lucy. I–I can’t hurt anyone else…I don’t know what else to do.” Tears poured down my cheeks, and Alice rose to comfort me, but I shook her away. “We have to help Lucy,” I said. “She can’t die. None of this was supposed to happen.”
Alice’s face was grave as she crouched back down beside Lucinda.
Two hard knocks shook the doors, and I darted to open them. Doctor Norris was on the front step with Bridget, kicking snow off his slippers. He bowed to me from beneath his black hood.
“We think it’s poison…please help her,” was all I could get out.
Norris strode over to Lucinda and crouched. He dropped his nose to her mouth and cupped his hands around her lips, smelling her breath and then her puddle of vomit. Lucinda was beginning to shiver.
“Can we move her to the bed?” I said. Norris nodded and climbed off his knees with a groan. “She can have mine,” I added in a don’t-argue-with-me tone, opening the doors to my bedchamber.
Norris and Alice hoisted Lucinda up by the shoulders, and Bridget and I caught the weight of her hips and legs. Lucinda gasped painful breaths as we lugged her through the doorway and settled her onto the mattress. I dragged a stool to her side and pasted wet strips of linen over her forehead to cool her while Norris fussed over her. Not only did I want to help Lucy in any way I could, but what awaited me outside the safety of my chambers frightened me to my bones. I hadn’t forgotten the sickening Tudor torture devices that I’d read about in history class. How much did the people here despise me that they would be driven to poison me? Were they so unafraid of Nick’s wrath? Was it a member of Henry Howard’s rebellion or just another rich courtier who detested me? How much further were they willing to go to get rid of me? Boiling people alive came to mind.
Bridget had began hyperventilating and needed to lie down on her mattress. While Alice came and went from our chambers, monitoring the investigation that’d already begun, I stayed with Lucinda. I changed the sheets when she puked on them and offered her water, but she shivered so much that it was hard for her to ingest. Norris tried to catch her urine in a tin vessel, but few drops came. I had to bite away my frustration when he laid rows of leeches across her arms to “balance her humors”. That had about as much effect as the weird gallstone-looking thing he kept dipping into water before making her take sips of it.
Shortly after dawn, a barber-surgeon arrived with a strong lisp and fierce eyebrows. He pulled a knife from his cloak that looked like a nail file and sank it into Lucinda’s forearm, holding up a brass cup to catch the draining blood. I had to leave the room, furious at the archaic treatments that surely had little benefit.