"My Lady, please! Think what you do!"
"What on earth is that supposed to mean, Aunt Sybil? Arabella is my sister! Who else could I ask to sit as Head of the Scottish Council while I go south?"
"Myself or perhaps Lady Melrose. Someone like that. Anyone but the Lady Arabella!"
"What have you got against her?" Rachel whirled on Sybil, exasperated beyond words at her godmother's truculence, "This isn't like you, Aunt Sybil! I've never known you hold a grudge against anyone!"
"No, but then Lady Arabella isn't like other girls of her age. She's a bitter little thing, bitter in a way I've never seen!"
Sybil wanted to scream the words at Rachel, to shake her for always, always seeing the best in people, even when they didn't deserve it. God knows her mother had never been so trusting. But she knew that kind of behaviour wouldn't solve anything, and besides, though Rachel loved her like an aunt, their relationship was different to the one Sybil had shared with Anne. She couldn't challenge the new Queen in the same way that she had once challenged the old one. Thus, she bit her tongue on the words she truly wanted to say and contented herself with, "Your sister is young and untested. She's never wielded power in her life. And now you want to hand the Scottish Council over to her, without so much as a warning? I don't think that's wise."
"Arabella is fourteen! I was ruling Wales at fourteen! Besides, we're talking about a matter of weeks, until Papa gets home. How much damage can Arabella do within a few weeks?"
Rachel exhaled, running a hand through her hair impatiently, as her father so often did. In that moment, Nora Rose stepped forward, one hand stretched out placatingly.
"Your Grace. I don't pretend to understand Lady Suffolk's misgivings against the Lady Arabella, but then I have never spent much time at Court. One thing I do know, however. Lady Suffolk was a trusted member of your mother's Court, one of her closest friends. Surely, if Her Grace is loath to grant Your Majesty's sister the power you feel Her Highness deserves to be tried with, she must have a reason for it. Surely, she ought to be heeded, even if her reasons seem murky to us? Perhaps we could come to a compromise. Name the Lady Arabella to the Scottish Council, by all means, but leave someone you trust here to guide her until your lord father returns. I can't speak for Lady Suffolk, but I know I, for one, would be happy to stay if you asked it of me."
Sybil was nodding vigorously at this suggestion, but Rachel wrenched away from her half-sister, scoffing.
"What? You'd have me proclaim to the world that my sister still needs a nursemaid? I think not!"
Hurt flashed in Nora's eyes as Rachel scorned her and, seeing it, the new Queen softened, "I know you mean well, Nora, but what you ask is impossible. And you, Aunt Sybil. Can you not see how my leaving a spokeswoman or handing the reins of the Council to someone else would be taken by Arabella? Especially if I left you behind, Nora. You know how much she scorns our friendship. She'd think I was doing it because I didn't trust her, and I can't have that. Not now. Not with Mama dead and Papa not here."
Sybil made to protest, but Rachel held up a hand, "You say she's young and impulsive. I don't deny that, but of course she is. Do you not realise why she's that way? It's because she's never been allowed to learn to rule the way I did. Mama and Papa have always been so much more protective of her than they were of me. But she's of age now. It's high time she learnt to take her place in my government. This will be a useful experience for her. Besides, Papa will be home in a matter of weeks. I ask you again, how much damage can Arabella do to Scotland in a matter of weeks?"
It was a question to which Rachel didn't expect an answer and both her companions knew it. The silence stretched out for a few moments before the dark-haired young woman nodded, "Good. That's settled then. Nora, you and I ride for London on the morrow. Make sure you have all you need, won't you? Aunt Sybil, I want you to go to Bristol and meet Papa there. Escort Mama's bier wherever he orders. And send word to the other Graces too. Mama ought to have her friends about her on her final journey."
Rachel's voice caught and she squeezed her eyes shut against a fresh wave of tears. Nora, forgetting, for a moment, where they were, reached out to touch her shoulder, seeking to reassure her. She froze as Rachel stiffened under her touch.
"My Lady?"
"You can't do that anymore, Nora. I'm Queen now. Everything has to be different. Everything."
Head high, Rachel swept from the room before her half-sister could reply.
"Her Majesty Queen Rachel would like to see you in her solar, My Lady Arabella," Janet Whitlaw cringed as she addressed her mistress, as well she might. No member of Arabella's household was in any doubt as to the Lady's feelings towards her elder sister. One could hardly say they were sororal. Indeed, so sour were they that, now that she was of age and her parents paid less attention to the intimate goings-on in her household, the Lady Arabella rarely allowed her sister's name to be so much as mentioned in her hearing. Given that, how would she react to this summons?
Fury surged in Arabella. How dare Rachel summon her, as though she was no more than a petitioner. She was her sister, not her subject! Uncharacteristically, however, she bit her tongue. This wasn't Janet's fault, after all, and why would she vent her ire on a helpless target, when, for once, she actually had her older sister within her reach? Saving her ire for Rachel would be far more satisfying.
Without a word, she rose, marked her place in her book and held it out for Janet to take. Janet scurried forward, too relieved to have avoided the usual storm to even think of protesting at how imperious the young woman was being.
Unhurried, Arabella reached for a brush that lay on a stool beside her, removed her hood and brushed her honey curls with long, lingering strokes. Only when they gleamed did she replace her hood and stroll to the door.
Rachel was waiting for her when she finished the short journey to her older sister's apartment, but, though the darker young woman held out a hand to her, Arabella didn't curtsy.
She heard Rachel's ladies inhale sharply at her bold behaviour, but held her ground. Rachel wasn't Queen of Scotland yet. She'd be damned if she'd follow the hem of her gown this side of the border. They were both Princesses here, no matter how much their lord father and lady mother might like to pretend otherwise.
There was an awkward silence.
"Have a seat," Rachel turned away, refusing to rise to the bait. Arabella took the proffered stool, triumphant. Rachel had never had a stomach for confrontation.
"I suppose there's no point in beating about the bush," Rachel motioned to a maid to pour two goblets of wine. She handed one to Arabella and sat back, "You know I'm riding south to speak to my Privy Council tomorrow."
As her older sister had said, this was hardly news and Arabella treated it as such, gulping her wine as she waited for Rachel to get to the point. Rachel raised an eyebrow.
"You're hardly rushing to assure me that your household will be ready to ride at dawn, are you, little sister?"
Arabella's lips parted in a sound of protest, but Rachel continued without so much as a heartbeat's pause, "But then, I suppose it doesn't matter. You're not coming with me anyway."
"What? Of course I'm coming with you! I'm your sister! Who deserves a more honoured place in your new realm – at your coronation, when the time comes - than I do?"
Arabella couldn't help herself. It wasn't fair! Just because Rachel was older, she got everything, while Arabella wasn't allowed anything – anything – that might be construed as a mark of favour from their parents. Yet she was their trueborn daughter! Rachel wasn't even Father's!
"You have a point," Rachel conceded, "But I need you to stay here. I'm naming you Head of the Scottish Council in my stead until Papa comes home."
Whatever Arabella had been expecting, it wasn't that. Her mouth fell open.
"You're naming me Head of the Scottish Council?"
"Of course. After all, as you just reminded us both, you're my sister. Who else could I name to the post?"
Rachel smiled and, despite herself, Arabella found herself returning the smile. Being Head of the Scottish Council, however temporarily, would be a thousand times better than any post she could have had by remaining at Rachel's side. It meant actual power, power like she'd never had before.
Taking advantage of the rare moment of concord between them, Rachel took her younger sister's hand.
"Some people warned me you were too young for this, Bella," she murmured, "They said you were too impulsive. But I stood against them because it didn't seem right to me that I should hand the reins of power to anyone but my sister, now that you're of age. So, I need you to prove your detractors wrong. Don't do anything impetuous, all right?"
Arabella hesitated. Who was Rachel to try to mother her like this? For a moment, she contemplated refusing to answer such a patronising request. But, in the end, the lure of having power of her own won out. She nodded.
"I knew I could count on you," Rachel murmured. She stood up and, for the first time in her life, Arabella fell easily into a curtsy to her. It seemed the least her sister deserved after granting her power of her own.
No sooner had Arabella left Rachel's rooms, however, than the younger girl felt sickened with herself. Why had she done that? Why had she fallen for Rachel's manipulations, again? The headship of the Scottish Council was hers by right; she had no need to be so craven in her gratitude for it. Had no need to show any gratitude for it at all, in fact.
If she was honest with herself, Arabella knew why she'd done it, though. It was because she couldn't decide how to feel about her older half-sister. Aunt Maggie said she ought to hate her, ought to resent her for accepting what was Arabella's birth right as her own just due. And most of the time, Arabella did. But every now and again, like this afternoon, Rachel would turn round and do something unexpectedly kind or generous and then she'd be confused again. Why did Rachel have to do that? Why couldn't she be harsh and imperious, like their parents had always been? It would make her own feelings towards her older sister so much easier.
"Damn her," she whispered under her breath, choking back tears of gall, "Why can't she make this easier for me?"
The rider burst into the courtyard, their sweat-lathered horse almost collapsing out from under them as they wrenched to a halt.
"The Queen!" They gasped, "I must see the Queen!"
"The Queen isn't here," The nearest guard laughed, blind to the stranger's distress, "Don't you know that?"
"The Lady Constable then! Whoever's in charge!"
"Calm yourself," A kindlier guard intervened, coming forward to take the messenger's reins as she looked around wildly, "As my colleague says, the Queen's not here. Her Majesty rode out soon after she heard of her mother's passing. She'll be halfway to London by now. But the Lady Arabella's in the Great Hall with the Council. I could take you to Her Highness, but you're hardly fit for an audience. Why don't you go and freshen up first and then -"
"There's no time for that!"
The rider flung herself from the saddle, dashing across the courtyard into the Abbey even before her horse had been led away. The guards stared after her in consternation. Indeed, they were so disquieted by her state of mind that they almost chased her down in case she was a madwoman. Only the livery collar she'd been wearing stopped them. It marked her out as one of Lady Northumberland's couriers. Thanks to their mistress's friendship with the late Queen Anne, Her Ladyship's couriers had the freedom of the realm and access to many of the most important people at Court, including the Lady Arabella.
"No doubt Her Highness will see the woman, in spite of her state," one of them murmured.
"Aye, Iain, that she will," The other answered, "But I fear a woman in such anguish cannot be bringing welcome tidings."