As he walked down the hill, my father must have reckoned he’d done well. Not only had he got rid of a son who was no use, but he’d got an extra shilling for him. Later, it gave me some satisfaction to realise he’d been cheated; if he’d known where I was really going, he could have asked more. But at the time what I thought was how stupid I’d been, to believe he’d given up the fair man’s ten shillings because the duke’s offer was a good opportunity for me. He’d just got a better price, and if he’d sounded proud, it was only of the fact that I hadn’t turned out to be totally worthless after all.
I had never been all alone among strangers before, and my belly tied itself into a knot as I looked around. People were coming and going, carrying bundles and boxes; I jumped back as a boy staggered past carrying a pile of clothes so high he couldn’t see over it. Something slithered down from the heap and fell on me, and there was so much shiny, slippery fabric that I couldn’t get out from under it.
‘When will you learn to be careful?’ the woman who’d answered the door said to the boy. ‘You know there’ll be hell to pay if that gown’s dirtied.’
She lifted the dress off and peered at me.
‘Goodness, you are a tiny one. Good job you are though, since we’ve only two hours to get your clothes ready. Now, let’s give his lordship a look at you. He said to bring you straight away.’
The angel girl and her mother were sitting by an enormous fireplace – you could have cooked a whole pig in it – and the man standing beside them wore the finest clothes I’d ever seen, so I knew he must be the duke. There was more lace on his doublet than the rector’s wife had on her best frock, and she was reckoned to have the fanciest taste in Oakham. He was tall too, with long black hair and a small pointy beard, and there was something about the way he stood that made him look very pleased with himself.
‘Ah, here we are!’ he said. He turned to the duchess. ‘You were right. Perfect.’
He bent and put his face close to mine. His skin smelt of something sweet, like flowers. I held my legs stiff so they wouldn’t tremble as he touched my hair, pulling out a curl between two of his fingers.
‘Very pretty,’ he said, and looked up at the woman who’d brought me in. ‘Blue for the clothes. And gold thread in the lace – that will look well with the hair.’
‘Very good, my lord.’
‘And get him clean, Marjorie. We don’t want to tickle the queen’s delicate little nose with the stink of the dog shed, do we?’
I plucked up my courage to speak as I followed Marjorie down a passageway.
‘Pardon me, but what did he mean? About the queen?’
‘Didn’t you know? You’re going to live with the new queen, when you get to London.’
I stopped and looked up at her.
‘Why?’
She bent down and ruffled my hair in quite an annoying way.
‘Because you’re such a pretty little thing, and the duke wants a present for her, that’s why. Now, let’s get on, there’s no time to hang about.’
She must be simple. You couldn’t give a person as a present. And anyway, my father had said I was going to live at the duke’s house in London. She must have misunderstood.
The seamstresses, a thin woman with very blue eyes, and a sulky-looking girl, sat surrounded by shelves of fabric in every colour I’d ever seen, and some I hadn’t: rich gold that shimmered as though it was moving; a deep green like fresh oak leaves; the bright red of holly berries; palest pink, like the inside of a snail’s shell.
‘Blue, he says. And gold in the lace,’ said Marjorie.
The thin woman pulled a box down, and rooted about inside it.
‘Gold, gold…’ She plucked out a roll of lace. ‘This’ll do perfectly.’
‘And something plain for travelling,’ said Marjorie.
The girl rolled her eyes.
‘In two hours?’
‘Stop complaining, Lizzie,’ said the woman. ‘Sooner we get on with it, sooner it’s done.’
She stood me on a table and measured me, calling out numbers that the girl wrote down, her tongue between her lips. Then the woman pulled out a roll of fabric that was the colour the sky goes on a clear night, just when the stars are coming out. She held it against me, and nodded.
‘Lucky we don’t need a lot, I’ve only a yard and a half left.’ She picked up a pair of scissors. ‘You can take him now. Best get him washed before we try anything on.’
‘But my mother washed my face before I left home,’ I protested, gripping my breeches with one hand and my shirt with the other. ‘And I don’t stink of the dog shed, I hardly ever go in there.’
‘His lordship wants you washed,’ said Marjorie. ‘So either you take that shirt and breeches off, or I do. What’s it to be?’
I stood shivering in my undershirt and drawers as she scrubbed me with a rough linen cloth, dipping it in a bowl of cold water and wringing it out hard, as if it had done something to upset her. By the time she administered the final attack, tipping my head back and giving my face and ears a good rub, I felt as though I’d been licked all over by a giant cat. I reached for my clothes, but she snatched them away.
‘Fit for nothing but burning, those are. Come on, we’ll see how the seamstresses are getting on.’
Perched on the table in the seamstresses’ room, I caught sight of my reflection in the window. They’d made a doublet like the duke’s, with a wide collar trimmed with lace. There were tiny gold buttons down the front, and breeches in the same material, soft like the fur on a newborn puppy. The boy in the glass didn’t look like me, but when I moved my hand, he moved his too.
While the seamstress was fussing with the doublet’s hem, I brought my arm up to my nose. The fabric smelt of nothing. I thought of my old clothes, waiting to be burned. They didn’t have the stink of the dog shed, I was sure of that, but if I buried my nose in them, I’d smell home. I pictured my family there, without me, and screwed up my eyes so I wouldn’t cry.