Page 9 of Kept 2
Father has secured me a position at court, damn him, and I must attend the new prince’s chambers like a common footman to assist with the child’s lev?e and cur?e, and occasionally with the King’s.
The death of the queen following the birth of Prince Edward has set the court in an uproar and, fortuitously for our family, depending on your point of view, enabled me to gain a foothold, as my father desires, in the royal household. I am to stay with the child during public functions and supervise the dressing and undressing as required.
When the prince is otherwise cared for, I attend the King, who outwardly mourns the queen, but secretly begins anew his attentions to a young former lady in waiting to a past wife. The girl is well connected though, and her uncle and father seek to see her on the throne, so hold her chastity tight. In the meantime, the King looks set to remarry politically within a short time, and I am ever hopeful that this court reshuffle will enable me to leave my unhappy position and return to Ereston.
Constance too is hopeful the fat king’s marriage will enable us to return to our faith and live as husband and wife. She wrote in her dear hand that she felt sure the Lord would introduce someone into the king’s life who would bring back the true faith to this land. But she and I were both mistaken, and it looks as though he is still guided by the disgusting spymaster, Thomas Cromwell. And as to any possible Catholic future with my new charge, I fear that will not occur, despite my wife’s hopes, as Edward VI is surrounded almost entirely by a retinue of protestant attendants. As ever, I outwardly hold to the new king’s faith, but inwardly revile the heresy.
I now nurse my wounded pride at my new role and the fact I have had to leave my lodgings in Oxford and move into court. To be essentially a nanny to a baby, no matter what false and ridiculous title it is given, is apparently a great privilege, but I see it as nothing but a trial.
I would have told Father so, only he was so excited at the prospect of our family fortunes reaching the stars through the favour of the King, should I garner his ear, that I did not bother trying to dissuade him. I did, however, warn him that my stay at the court would be no longer than the time it took for Constance to reach 21 and for me to return permanently to Ereston. I added that in a few short months, I intend to journey home for Easter, no matter his view on the matter.
“My boy, my boy,” he chuckled, “this court position is a great chance for mobility, and I intend, through you, to grasp this opportunity with both hands. You would do well to take up a mistress, or at the very least to frequent a clean whore and gain some manly experience before you think to wed.”
I shuddered at the thought. I had been with many whores, hadn’t my father given me one for my 15thbirthday? Hadn’t I spent years studying at Oxford and living a life of hedonism as all young lords are wont to do? I am no virgin, but that life no longer draws me. I had promised before God that I would remain faithful to Constance, she who was as pure as the driven snow, and so I shall.
But mother was more adamant that women should be my top priority.
“You must find a wife here at court. I will hear no more mention of the church-mouse you left behind. Several very well-connected ladies have mentioned their daughters to me, and you will entertain them as I see fit while we are in town.”
I said nothing. She was wont to slap at any point; I could almost see her palm itching for an excuse. I have no intention of doing anything the disgusting woman says – were she to throw a thousand well-connected beauties my way it would make no difference – I am married, heart and soul, to Constance.
I pause my reading as my meal is served. I want to really enjoy the tastes and study how the dishes are made. So I slip the journal back into the bag at my feet – a new bag, black and beaded and quite pretty, certainly fitting for a restaurant of this calibre.
Much later, surfeit and happy, I look at my phone and realise time is slipping away from me. The dessert has yet to arrive, and I am anticipating it, but my plans are interrupted by low, angry voices, and I grimace and cast a worried glance at Amande as a portly, middle-aged man in a tuxedo and a much younger woman in a tight red dress enter the room.
“Who are you?” he demands, pointing to me where I sit, shocked.
I cast my eye quickly to the Maître de standing behind him, looking confused and worried. I am totally unprepared for being caught out – I’d never been yet. My brain is almost frozen with guilt, but then, as if a naughty devil sitting on my shoulder begins to whisper into my ear, the thought comes to me that since I am possibly going to be dead soon, and these people are total strangers whom I will never cross paths with again, I should brave it out and see how far I can push it.
“Who isshe?” I hiss, standing suddenly and pointing at the woman.
“What? Who isshe?” the woman says, looking not at me, but to her sugar daddy.
“I have no idea,” he says, his voice deep, angry.
“Oh, you three-timing bastard!” I cry. Tears, which, let’s face it are constantly near the surface now, easily conjured, “how could you?”
Amande hands me my beaded bag, wordlessly, as I spin to face him, my face awash with tears, before brushing past the three standing in the doorway, their faces stunned.
I run out of the dining room, through the main part of the restaurant, out the front door and, pausing to take off my heels, pelt down the road. Rounding a corner, now hidden from the restaurant, I put my hands to my knees to catch my breath and burst out laughing.
‘Oh, my God! I can’t believe I just did that. If only Margarita could see me now. I seriously deserve a fucking Academy Award.’
Hailing a taxi, I head back to the youth hostel shaking all over but feeling elated, and strangely stronger and less vulnerable than I have in a long, long time.
Sweet Pastry
(Pastry for such recipes as tarts)
Ingredients:1kg Butter,750g icing sugar, 10 eggs, 2.3kg plain flour
Method:
Make sure the eggs are at room temperature, weight them if they are free-range, they each must be 50g.
Combine butter and icing sugar and mix until creamy and white
Mix in eggs one by one as they incorporate
