Looking at Otho, she could see he felt it too. He looked like a stunned fish, opening and closing his mouth. Lord Vawdrey’s arm extended and she saw him passing something that looked like a purse of monies. For a moment, she caught her breath, thinking Otho would likely fling it back in his face. But to her surprise, he took the purse, gave a nod and turned on his heel, disappearing into the crowd, leaving Earl Vawdrey standing to watch after him with an enigmatic expression.
If she did not know better, Una would have thought Otho had been paid off.
*
“Come now, Una!” Queen Armenal called from the other side of the screen. “You must surely be in your shift by now? You’ve been long enough to undress three times and the groom’s party will be approaching soon.”
Una sighed as she unbuckled the last of the straps that held the great structure of her underskirts together. It was an exhausting business climbing in and out of her royal regalia, and these Southern women had no idea of the awkwardness of the wide panniers Una was forced to wear, which made it so difficult to negotiate narrow doorways and corridors.
“I won’t be much longer,” she replied as she stepped out of the wicker cage and from the giggles and laughter on the other side, guessed that the Queen was likely rolling her eyes with impatience.
“I’m sending someone in to help you,” Queen Armenal replied testily. “Jane, do please go and move things along!”
Una bit back her instinctive refusal of help. She had only ever had one attendant, her dear Estrilda who had dropped dead with extreme old age after they had been only two months in residence at the winter court. She had been Una’s mother’s attendant before her and a dear creature, her protector, and her most loyal friend. She was irreplaceable and since she had gone, Una had been fending largely for herself.
It was not that she did not like Jane Cecil, the Queen’s favorite, for she had the nicest manners and had only ever been scrupulously polite and deferring toward her. If Una thought it a little odd that the Queen’s favorite should be sister to the King’s acknowledged mistress, she kept this thought to herself. Recently Lady Helen Cecil had been forced to retreat from court to the country estate the King had gifted her, for she was clearly increasing with child and without husband.
Everyone at court was fully aware of the fact and Una could not say why precisely she found it all so distasteful. Her own father had had a parcel of bastards, but as her mother had died when Una was a few days old, there had been no question of them having to coexist in close quarters. She supposed it was no wonder that the Queen could be a little sharp somedays. After all, she had given Wymer no issue, so perhaps she felt her position precarious, though he already had a son and heir by his first wife, good Queen Eleanor.
Lady Jane swept behind the screen with an apologetic expression on her face. “Allow me to—oh!” she stared at Una in frank astonishment and then at the pile of heavy fabrics and the complicated wooden structure fastened together with leather straps, then back to Una again.
Una cleared her throat. “My royal costume is quite elaborate in its underpinnings. Very different to the Southern royal fashions,” she explained.
Jane nodded. “Yes, indeed,” she agreed faintly. She touched the wicker structure that Una had worn laced around her waist with one slippered toe. “It must have been vastly uncomfortable,” she marveled.
Una nodded. “Yes,” she agreed simply. “But now I am no longer a princess I need never wear it again.” She gave a swift smile to the surprised Jane. “Perhaps after all, it would be helpful if you could assist me?” she suggested, drawing her heavy linen shift up and over her head. Jane hurried forward obligingly to help drag it off her arms, and Una let out a relieved breath to be finally down to her last layer.
She stood now in the very thin strappy garment that was worn against her skin. She knew it to be rather sheer, but as the custom always used to involve placing the bride naked into the bridal bed, she could not see that it would signify much. She rethought this, however, when she saw how Jane stared at her.
“This too is very different to your own?” she ventured, gesturing to the translucent slip.
Jane swallowed and turned very pink. “Indeed,” she gulped. “Why, it has no sleeves at all!”
“No,” Una agreed. “We generally wear a second shift on top of it that has the sleeves. This one is just for next to the skin.”
“Do you sleep in that?” Jane asked, reaching out a hand to touch the filmy fabric of the skirt. “Would you not …” She hesitated, her cheeks flaming. “Fall out of it?”
“If it is cold then I would leave on the outer shift also. As for falling out of it,” Una glanced down at her deep bosom and then back at Jane who was girlishly slight. ”I never have.”
Jane’s lips formed an “Oh,” before he gave herself a slight shake. “Are you ready to—”
Una shook her head and pointed to her frizzy yellow hair. “First I have to remove my wig,” she explained.
“Wig?” squeaked Jane, and Una nodded. “You—you wear a wig, princess?”
“Of course,” Una said shrugging. Her father had worn one and her previous understanding was that all royals did. Now, at Jane’s incredulous reaction, it dawned on her that in this, as in all things, the Blechmarshes were distinct in adhering to the most uncomfortable and rigid of practices. She sighed and sat on the wooden chair, taking up the little bowl she reserved for this purpose, and reaching up began removing the headful of hairpins she wore to secure the false mane in place. After a moment or two of stunned silence beside her, Jane joined her in the task and Una was glad to find her fingers were gentle as she extracted pin after pin and added them to the bowl.
“Wearing all these must give you a blinding headache,” Jane murmured as she extracted the last of the clips.
“My scalp does get very tender,” Una admitted. “But again, after today I will be free from this also, so …”
Finally, the hairpiece felt looser on her head and Una gave it a tentative tug until the whole mass of tight yellow curls came away in her hands. Jane covered her mouth with her hands and stared at her. Una flung the wig on top of the pile of discarded brocade, leather, and wood that comprised of her former self. “There lies Princess Una,” she said softly. Jane turned and stared at the cast-offs almost fearfully. Indeed, Una had to admit looking at the heap, that it almost looked like the poor Northern princess had collapsed in on herself, especially with the distinctive wig sat atop of the sprawling mass.
“It almost seems like we should bury it,” Jane blurted.
Una gave a laugh, surprising her companion greatly. The expression of humor sounded rusty and out of practice coming from her lips. Indeed, she could not remember the last occasion she had had to use it. “Hello,” she said. “I’m Una.” Jane’s eyes grew rounder. “And you must not call me princess anymore.”
Jane made a strangled sound in her throat. “We … we had better see to your hair,” she said, looking almost frightened. Una nodded and together they removed yet another mass of hairpins until her auburn hair was unfastened from the tight braids wound about her head and hung down to her waist in a thick fall of dark reddish-brown.