Bessie straightened her hood and drew herself up to her full height as she turned from the mirror to meet Lady Fiennes's eyes.
"I'm riding out to parley with the Lady Arabella, Lady Celia. In God's truth, I have no idea how this is going to go, so we shall hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Have your husband close the portcullis behind me and double the guard on the Princess's rooms until further notice. No one is to enter even the corridor leading the nursery without either mine or Lady Stanley's permission, is that clear?"
Lady Celia nodded instantly, "Of course, Lady Lancaster. The Princess's safety must be paramount for all of us."
Bessie returned the nod, "Indeed it must, Lady Celia."
Secretly, she was relieved the older woman was being so understanding. She'd never admit it, but she hated giving orders in other people's homes. Lancaster, or one of her other personal castles, was one thing, but she hated doing it anywhere else. She was good at hiding it, but a part of her would always be the little Welsh-Scottish girl who had followed her uncle to Ludlow and London and been wide-eyed at the splendour she found herself in.
But this, with Arabella practically at their gates, was hardly the time to show her nerves.
Steeling herself, Bessie swept down to the courtyard to meet her horse without a backwards glance.
Arabella's entrance startled Bessie. Having heard the rumours of her young cousin's new-found arrogance, she'd expected her to come galloping in, head held high, in a great show of pretended royalty and power.
But Arabella didn't. Instead, she waited for Bessie to meet her in the middle and threw herself in the dust before her.
"Forgive me!" she cried, "I never meant it to come to this, truly I didn't!"
Taken aback, Bessie reared up in her saddle slightly, before sliding to the ground to stand before Arabella, eyes raking the soft blue gown the seemingly distraught girl wore. Though it was made of fine velvet, it was dusty and travel-stained, even unravelling slightly at the hem. Hardly the dress of a Queen, even a Queen claimant.
Indeed, something in Arabella's manner reminded Bessie so strongly of the uncertain little girl she remembered from her visits to the Scottish royal nursery that it tugged at her heartstrings and unbalanced her. What was she supposed to do now? This wasn't what she'd prepared for. She'd expected to meet a belligerent, abrasive Arabella, not this obvious penitent.
She almost responded. God help her, she almost responded. For a moment, she almost pulled Arabella into her arms. The part of her that had always been Arabella's champion, at least as far as she could be, screamed at her to do so, or at least to bend down and help the kneeling girl to her feet. The Duchess in her, however, knew she couldn't. She suffered an internal war for a moment or two, but at last, the Duchess won. As such, she stood, stony-faced, with one hand on her palfrey's bridle to ground herself and waited in austere silence for Arabella to say her piece.
"I never intended to claim Scotland, never." Arabella's voice trembled, but it was clear enough for all that, "Aunt Maggie and Alexander told me to do it."
Bessie raised an eyebrow and scoffed contemptuously, "Pull the other one, Arabella. You can't seriously expect me to believe that your aunt and brother forced you into claiming the throne of Scotland?"
"Well, no, of course not! They didn't. But they swore to me that it was what Papa wanted, that he'd repealed his adoption of Rachel and changed his will in my favour. They swore it on the Bible, on St Andrew and St Margaret!"
"What?! Arabella, this is madness! You know full well that an adoption is irrevocable! And even if it wasn't, your parents lived and breathed their dream of a united Albion. What on earth possessed you to think your father would ever disinherit Rachel, when that would mean throwing away everything they'd ever worked for?
"Oh, I know, but, they'd sworn an oath on the Saints of Scotland themselves, and I just wanted to believe them. I should have known better, but…. I never dared ask him, but… I've always wondered whether Papa ever regretted adopting Rachel before I was even born. Whether he ever looked at me and regretted his actions at all. Aunt Maggie and Alex played on those doubts. They told me he had, that he did love me, even if he never showed it."
Arabella's voice cracked and she dropped her head, only too obviously fighting tears.
Bessie blew out her cheeks, mind reeling as she struggled to take in what Arabella was saying. It seemed almost too far-fetched to believe, but the Arabella she remembered had never been an actress. She would never have been able to pull off an act this audacious, not so well that it actually had a ring of truth to it. And if Bessie was honest with herself, it had more than a ring of truth. King James had thought her aunt couldn't have more children when he adopted Rachel, after all. He'd never expected Arabella to arrive in the world. By the time she had, what most people might consider her birth-right had already been signed over to her half-sister.
In fact, now that Bessie thought about it, festering guilt at having done so might explain a lot about King James's conduct towards Arabella. All those times he'd pushed her aside and treated her harshly at the same time as following Anne's lead in fussing over Rachel…. Perhaps he'd been trying to convince himself that Arabella could never hope to match her older sister, that he had done the right thing in leaving a united Albion in Rachel's hands, even if it wasn't completely moral as far as Arabella was concerned.
That being said, however, she couldn't make things too easy on her younger cousin. She was an out-and-out rebel, after all, "Did it not occur to you to consider the fact that your aunt and brother might be lying? You know full well how much they resent your father's adoption of Rachel."
Arabella's head came up at that. Her eyes were wide and tearful as she flushed, "They might resent Rachel, but I thought Aunt Maggie and Alex loved me. Would you deliberately lead someone you loved – and who loved you – into high treason?!"
Suddenly, Arabella completely lost even the last vestiges of her self-control. She broke down, sobbing bitterly.
"I'm sorry! I just wanted to believe them! I just wanted to believe Papa loved me as much as he loved Rachel!"
Bessie couldn't stop herself. Her heart clenched and she pulled Arabella to her feet and into her arms.
"Oh, darling," she crooned, as she had done a thousand times before. In that instant, she was more indulgent older cousin than Duchess of Lancaster and Countess of Albany.
They stood like that for a few moments before Arabella pulled away.
"Well?" she said hoarsely, "What do we do now? Where do we go from here? I throw myself on your mercy, cousin."
"It's not my mercy you need. It's Rachel's."
Bessie shook her head, the movement so slight as to be almost imperceptible. She sighed.
"Come on. You're coming with me. I'll write to Rachel and she can tell me what to do with you."
"What? Now?" Arabella's eyes went wide as Bessie turned for her horse.
"Yes, now!" Bessie snapped, "Or do you want me to change my mind? I don't have to be this generous, you know. I'd be well within my rights to arrest you for a traitor here and now."
Arabella gaped for a moment – surely, arresting her would breach the terms under which they had met in the first place – but, then, as if realising Bessie held the upper hand, she acquiesced. She sprang on to her horse and followed Bessie meekly.
As such, though the portcullis of Broughton Castle had opened to let Bessie out alone, when it was raised a second time, both she and Arabella cantered under it.
"Margery, come here, would you? I need you to do me a favour," Bessie smiled across at the young girl, her eyes warm with what she hoped would be taken for encouragement and not relief at finally being able to pass the adoring child off on to somebody else.
Margery's eyes lit up, "Yes, Lady Lancaster!"
She almost skipped over, beaming. Her eyes were shining at the thought of being able to do her favourite adult a service.
Bessie gestured to Arabella, who stood beside her, trying very hard to look as though she couldn't see the furtive glances the servants were shooting her as they eyed her up, trying to work out why their Queen's sworn enemy was here, within the same four walls as the Queen's only daughter, "This is my cousin, the Lady Arabella. It would be a great help to me if you could wait on her for me. Would you do that?"
Margery struggled with herself. Her parents had drilled loyalty to the Howards into her. The idea of waiting on the Queen's rival warred with that loyalty. On the other hand, however, the Lady Arabella was a Howard herself. And it was her beloved Lady Lancaster who'd asked it of her.
Besides, it would only be hospitable of her to help a guest who needed it. Queen Rachel wouldn't hold hospitality against her, surely?
Thus decided, Margery nodded, "Of course, Lady Lancaster. It would be my pleasure."
Turning, she curtsied to Lady Arabella, "Follow me, my Lady. We've got a room set aside for you."
They hadn't, of course. The room her mother usually kept aside for honoured guests was currently being occupied by the ailing Princess Elizabeth. But, despite that, Margery knew her mother would have said exactly the same, if confronted with an unexpected royal guest. Given her mother was out on the estates, the duty of welcoming Lady Arabella fell to her, so she echoed what her mother would have said, eager to be seen as more of a woman than a child by the youngest royal daughter, no matter how ticklish her current status.
Lady Arabella hesitated, then nodded, "Thank you."
Then, in a move that shocked Margery – didn't Lady Arabella, by virtue of being a Queen's daughter, outrank Lady Lancaster? – the older girl dipped her knee to the Duchess.
"Thank you, cousin," she said softly. The words rang in the air for a moment.
Her Grace returned the half-curtsy in cool silence, before Lady Arabella followed Margery up the stairs.
Arabella eyed the younger girl as she moved carefully about the room, setting things in order and chattering as she did so.
"My cousin has promised to come to dinner tonight when he gets off guard duty."
"Oh?"
The moment the word was out of her mouth, Arabella could have kicked herself. She'd intended to pump the daughter of the house for information, but she'd never intended to be so obvious about it. She should have kept her voice flat, not let it leap like that.
Luckily for her, Margery was too much of a chatterbox to pay much heed to her audience.
"Oh, yes, my Lady. Jack finishes at Vespers. My father thought it sensible to change the watches at the same time as we had services. He said, if the Lord had seen fit to divide the day up into such set periods, then who was he to quarrel with that order?"
Arabella hummed non-committally as Margery seemed to look to her for a response. Satisfied, the young girl returned to her duties.
Arabella's mind, meanwhile, was whirring, filing all the information away for future use. In that instant, she thought she'd never been so grateful to Bessie. Her cousin had done her a great service, encouraging little Margery to act as her waiting woman. If the girl carried on as she was, Arabella would learn all about Broughton's inner workings in no time at all.