Chapter Nine: Big Plans

"Where am I?" Lady Eleanor woke up with a start, feeling lost and disoriented. The royal court, the treachery of the Boleyns, her cold unloving parents – all seemed very clear in her mind. Yet she could not remember how she came to be here.

Rolling over in her rather lumpy bed, the bewildered blonde beauty stretched and yawned, taking stock of her surroundings. The room was clean, but small and bare – a servant's room. Abigail Folger, that was it. She was the one who had brought her here. Abigail was charming, yet her temper could be fierce. Eleanor liked her. But could she trust the older woman?

Just then the widow called to her, shouting that her breakfast was getting cold. Kicking free of the covers, Eleanor tumbled out of bed, wincing as her bare feet hit the icy floor. Her clothes . . . where were her clothes?

When she flung open the creaky door and looked in the musty closet, Eleanor saw no sign of the boyish garb she had worn on her journey to Bristol. There was nothing to wear but a lady's ruffled chamber robe and a pair of bed slippers. Eleanor dressed as quickly as she could, fumbling a bit with the frills and lace. Was she a prisoner here? Why had the widow taken her clothes?

"Ah, there you are. Sleep well?" The Widow Folger was already dressed, seated behind a massive oak desk in her study. She took up a long feather quill, and dipped it into a pot of ink. Several heavy coin pouches were on the desk as well, and she seemed to be doing sums while counting all the coins.

"I slept very well, thank you." Eleanor was amazed to see a woman doing her own accounts. At court ladies were confined to gossiping, embroidering and plinking out love songs on the lute. It was frightening to realize how little one learned in that place.

"I'm glad you slept," Abigail said, not looking up from her accounts. "Now it's time to begin the day's business. But first a bite to eat. Breakfast, or I suppose we should call it lunch."

"Is it really that late?" Eleanor fingered the ruffled collar of her robe, feeling awkward about sitting down to eat all alone. A low wooden table had been set before the fire, heavily laden with warm rolls, steaming hot tea, fresh butter and pots of jam.

"Is it late? Dear child, the morning has come and gone!" Abigail Folger threw down her quill and leaned back in her chair, stretching until her bones cracked. "I was a little slow getting started myself this morning. Who wouldn't be after getting home at such an ungodly hour! But business doesn't wait. Of course the first thing I did was to send our travel clothes out to be washed, or else just burned. One can't stay clean on the road. All that dust and dirt, and the grease in those filthy inns!"

"Yes, I wondered where my clothes were." Eleanor crammed a buttered roll into her greedy gullet, the warm dairy-fresh butter seeming to melt in her mouth. She felt a bit of a pig, but she remembered now that she had pushed her soup away at dinner last night. Too tired to eat. She slept in the carriage, but when they finally arrived at the widow's place she was too worn out to notice much. All she remembered was climbing out of the carriage and falling into bed. Abigail Folger was laughing all the while, telling the crowd of sleepy servants that the "poor weary gentleman" was really just a very weary young lady!

"Don't you worry about clothes." Abigail smiled, watching the eager way Eleanor devoured her breakfast. "If all goes well you'll be swimming in new gowns by Christmas. While you were upstairs sleeping I received a letter. It's from that clever man Cromwell, at court. It seems he's got plans for you. Big plans."

"Oh, dear." Suddenly Lady Eleanor Luke lost all her appetite.