Chapter Four: Shocking Stories
Abigail Folger was a big woman. She ate big, and she talked big. And when something was funny, the wealthy widow shook all over with gargantuan gales of infectious mirth. Even the walls seemed to shake to her big hearty laugh.
"Dear girl, you must be joking!" The auburn-haired older woman gave an unladylike snort, eyeing Eleanor Luke shrewdly while shoveling down a monstrous helping of cold mutton pie. "You might pass for a boy dressed like that. But why should I risk my neck for kidnapping a sweet, helpless child? When your parents find out you've fled, they'll search high and low, and I'll get the blame for abducting a well-born lady, not a mere servant boy. And if the king should hear of it, I'll lose my head for sure."
"My parents won't be looking for me," Eleanor said hastily, desperate to keep her one chance of escape from slipping through her fingers. She eyed the widow's hearty dinner with despair, her hollow stomach nearly crying for food. "You see, good mistress, my own true mother died when I was just a babe. And then, a few years back, my father married a woman half his age. She wanted me out of the way so she could get her hands on my father's fortune. She took all I had, all my mother's things and even the dowry for my future marriage. When I complained to father he said I was no longer his daughter. So then I was sent to court to serve as a lady-in-waiting to the new queen." Eleanor lowered her eyes, and stared at the food on the widow's plate.
"Yes, well, that explains why you went to court," Widow Folger said skeptically, shoving her plate across the table. "But it doesn't explain why you left. A gorgeous girl like you should have had her pick of husbands. How did you get kicked out of court?"
"Oh!" Eleanor's mind went blank for a moment. She couldn't tell the truth – the wealthy widow would think she was no better than a whore! Stalling for time, she stuffed her mouth with mutton. The meat was tender, but spicy and salty. Eleanor suddenly realized her throat was utterly parched. She wished the widow would offer her some wine.
"The royal court is full of handsome men," Widow Folger noted, studying the young girl shrewdly as she filled her wine cup. "Did one of them deceive you? Or maybe force himself upon you?"
"No, no, it wasn't like that at all!" Eleanor refused to admit what a fool she'd been, trading her precious virginity for a king's fleeting favor. No man would ever fool her again! "It was only a harmless and girlish prank," she began, in a breathless voice. "The queen had just gotten a very lovely diamond necklace, and carelessly left it on her desk. Since I was new, a group of young ladies-in-waiting persuaded me, or rather forced me, to try it on for myself! I only meant to wear it for a minute or two, but it fit me perfectly. The other girls soon slipped away on other business. And while I was alone, admiring myself in the mirror, the queen's brother came in and saw me. So then I was accused of being a thief!" Eleanor felt tears filling her eyes, just as if her story was true. Well, it was true, most of it. She quickly drank her wine.
"There, there," said Widow Abigail Folger. For the first time she really seemed touched by the young girl's misfortunes. "In a way you're lucky, you know. When he caught you alone, that no-good brother of the queen's might have done more than accuse you!"
"Oh, no, not George Boleyn! You have no idea what kind of stories circulate about him at court."
"Stories?" The Widow Folger looked very curious. "Dear me, you'd better have some more wine! What sort of stories?"
"Oh, shocking stories!" Eleanor could see the widow was starting to take an interest in her. She leaned forward in her chair. "George Boleyn has no use for women. Not even for his own wife! At court everyone knows the real truth about him. Now the night he was married . . ."
Eleanor told all the naughtiest stories about life at King Henry's court, each spicy tale giving her a delicious taste of revenge. Widow Abigail Folger laughed and laughed, her lusty outbursts seeming to shake the walls. Neither lady noticed how late the hour was getting, or the way their voices carried down the hall.