Chapter Twelve
William, Bartholomew, and Cecily are off to bed, and Lady Rochford and I are dropping Bessie off at her room.
She claims to be flying high from all the delicious food she ate, but it’s more likely due to the generous amount of ale that she downed.
“That was so much fun,” she muses, her arms wrapped steadily around our shoulders. “I have honestly never had more fun in my entire life.”
Lady Rochford grunts as she lifts Bessie up higher. “I’m glad we all enjoyed ourselves.”
Bessie giggles as she pulls us closer. “Is this what it’s like to be a man? You can go out when you want, you can do what you want, and you don’t get in trouble for any of it?”
“Basically,” I answer.
Bessie sighs. “Incredible. Well, at least I have something to look forward to. I should think that I’ll have more liberty once I’m a married woman.”
Lady Rochford barks out a laugh. “That’s some wishful thinking if I ever heard it.”
“No, it’s true,” Bessie insists. “I’m going to marry someone level-headed and kind and not a tyrant. Catherine is going to help me.”
If it wasn’t borderline illegal for Lady Rochford to roll her eyes at me, I’m positive she would. “Right, because Catherine’s husband selection skills are so extraordinary.”
“I resent that,” I tell her.
“I’m sure you do.”
When we’re a hallway away from Bessie’s door, Lady Rochford sets our companion on her own two feet to walk ahead of us. “There now,” she says. “We’ve gotten you back safe and sound, so let’s all get to bed, and this frightful day can at last be over.”
No sooner does she finish saying the word “frightful” than we round the corner and nearly collide with a waiting Mistress Marshall. I scream, because she’s scary as fuck, and Bessie screams retroactively. Even Lady Rochford flinches.
“Mistress Marshall,” she says, moving to stand a bit in front of us. “What are you doing awake at this late hour?”
The somber woman turns her head painstakingly slowly. This must be her audition tape for The Exorcist 12. “A curious question, Lady Rochford, considering it appears that you are all just returning to the palace with Her Majesty.”
Lady Rochford juts her shoulders back slightly. “Yes, we were talking a late-night stroll about the gardens with Her Majesty and would very much like to retire.”
I can’t be sure, but Lady Rochford and Mistress Marshall may be about to square up. The tension is that intense.
“I understand,” the older woman says. “But in the event of future late-night walks, I would like to be informed if one of my girls accompanies you. Bessie is, after all, my responsibility as mistress of the maids.”
“And you are my responsibility as queen.” I had no intention of entering this chat, yet here I am.
Mistress Marshall smiles at me, and it is entirely feline. “For the time being,” she says.
I tilt my head as I take in her veiled threat.
“I’m sorry Mistress Marshall, I think you must be overworked this evening.
That has to be the reason you think it’s acceptable to speak to me the way you are.
” Bessie gasps in an oh shit kind of way, and I take a step forward.
“As queen, I hereby relieve you of your duties as mistress of the maids. For two months. Lady Rochford, is there someone who could assume the role while Mistress Marshall takes her much-needed rest?”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Lady Rochford answers. “I’d be happy to settle the matter for you personally.”
“Wonderful. Enjoy your time off, Mistress Marshall.”
I walk around and past the woman, who looks like she’s swallowed a fuzzy lemon, and my heart is pounding at such an unnatural rate that I might actually keel over. I’m still wheezing when Bessie catches up to me and grabs my arm.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” she whispers.
I tuck her farther into my side. “Was I too harsh? Should I apologize? I’m going to go back and apologize.”
“Don’t you dare,” Lady Rochford orders. “I’ve been going toe to toe with that scaled fish for years. Watching her get soundly scolded was nothing short of glorious.”
I wish I could enjoy the moment as much as she is, but I’m still in a state of shock.
“See how my hand shakes,” Bessie mutters.
“Yeah, mine, too.”
Lady Rochford leaves me to seek out her own room after she’s helped loosen my gown. She untied the strings at the back so I can undress when I’m ready, but for now, I’m wide awake. In part from my run-in with Mistress Marshall, but mostly from my time in the tent with Simon.
I’m still thinking of him as I stand in front of a mirror near the hearth, though I’m looking down at the moment.
I touch my hand to my neck, remembering how it felt to have his mouth there.
He was so unrestrained. So hungry for me.
My hand dips lower to my midsection, remembering the warm churning I felt when Simon touched my breast. I slip my hand upward to brush over that very spot, and when I turn my gaze up and see Francis Dereham standing behind me in the mirror.
I gasp and almost scream, and if he was close enough, I would have smacked him through the fucking wall.
“Francis, what the hell are you doing?” I seethe, whipping around to face him. He just stares in response, completely transfixed. When he does speak a few moments later, his voice is steeped in cold determination.
“Where—is—Catherine?”
A chill shoots up my spine, so cold that it stings. “What are you talking about?”
“Tell me, Catherine, when did you first say that you loved me when we were at Lambeth? What did I gift you on our second midsummer? What was your exact answer when I asked you to marry me?”
He waits, and I say nothing. My throat is bone-dry. My heart is racing. I can’t let him know that I’m rattled. “I don’t have to answer your questions,” I tell him.
He doesn’t make a move toward me, and somehow his stillness is even more nerve-racking. “You won’t answer them because to do so would prove your treachery.”
How can he know? He can’t know. He’s just making a desperate guess. I need to stick to the script. “I hit my head and lost my memories. Bessie said that it’s common.”
“Stop lying!” he shouts. Theo starts barking from his place on my bed, and I run over to soothe him.
Francis and I nervously stare at the door, waiting to see if anyone comes.
Miraculously, they don’t. Francis lowers his voice as he steps in my direction.
“I know everything there is to know about Catherine Howard. How she moves. How she speaks. How she sees and interacts with the world. I know all of this and more. I have been watching you for days, and I can tell with absolute certainty—you are not her.”
He’s backed me into a corner, but not a physical one. I could keep lying. I could gaslight him into thinking that he’s wrong. He’s compulsive and infatuated, and trusting him would most likely be a fatal mistake.
Theo finally lies down again, and I keep my voice even as I turn back to Francis. “I get that you’re upset, but you need to leave now.”
“I will not go!” he whisper-yells, moving frighteningly close to my face. “I will have the truth! Where is she?”
Something inside me snaps. Maybe it’s his aggression breathing down on me. Or maybe it’s the spiced wine that I drank at the revels. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m so damn tired of lying that if I do it one more time, I’ll scream and rip my hair out.
I move in closer to Francis’s looming form. I glare back at him, matching his ire with plenty of my own. “I. Don’t. Know.” I emphasize each truthful word with approximately zero fucks.
Francis leans back with a disbelieving tremor. “You admit it, then? You took her?”
I come close to laughing. “I didn’t take her. All I know is that I fell or fainted, and when I woke up, I was Catherine Howard. I’m from the future, and trust me, if I could bring her back and be home again, I’d do it in a second.”
I watch as Francis starts to breathe hard. His eyes are wide. His neck muscles are tense. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s in the early stages of a panic attack. I wait for a telltale verbal cue.
“You’ve gone mad,” he mutters.
And there it is. I should try to soothe him, but I just don’t have it in me. I sit down on the cold stone floor, pulling my knees into my chest. “Maybe we both have,” I tell him.
He stays where he is for several seconds until he slowly joins me on the floor, sitting down across from me. He looks at me for a long time. “What happens to Catherine?” he eventually asks, his voice soft. “If you’re from the future, then what happens to her.”
I take a moment before I answer. “She’s killed. Henry has her executed. He executes you, too.”
His stunned eyes flick open wider at my admission. They stay with me until he turns to stare at the fire in the hearth. “So, in your future . . . Catherine is dead. Were she and the king married for many years?”
I just told him he was going to be murdered, but he’s still thinking only of Catherine. I hesitate again, wondering if I should cushion this for him. Ultimately, I decide to continue with the truth. “No, they’re not married for long at all. She dies young.”
Francis pushes both hands into his hair.
He grips it so tight, I’m worried that he’ll hurt himself.
I’m about to stop him when he suddenly stands, pacing the space between us like a horse penned in too tight.
“I won’t let this happen. She and I are meant to be together.
You need to bring her back. Bring Catherine back, and she and I will run away. ”
His tone is frantic. I keep mine steady. “You think Henry and his men wouldn’t find you?”
“I don’t care!” he counters. “What can we do to bring her back?”
I stand up as well, moving deeper into the room to sit in a chair against the back wall. “I wish I knew,” I tell him. “I’ve tried going back to the place where I was transported, but that doesn’t seem to work. I have someone who’s trying to help me, but what he did find is impossible.”