Free Feud by Lady Grace Cavendish

terribly careful not to get any more black dust on my kirtle—there already was some from when the sack fell over. Now there's charcoal smeared on my petticoat, too. I hope it comes out more easily than ink.
    Lady Horsley offered Mary Shelton and me some more sweetmeats, and then handed Mary a whole tray of them.
    “Would you take these sweetmeats up to Carmina, without nibbling any, and tell her I shall be there myself to read to her shortly?” she asked.
    Mary nodded, took the bowl, and left.
    I was just about to go with her, when Lady Horsley decided that the marmelada—which was a stiff paste now, and coming away from the sides of the dish—was ready to be taken off the heat.
    “Would you be so good as to cover these with waxed paper for me, Lady Grace?” she asked, as she scooped the mixture into the metal moulds and pressed it down.
    I hurried to help. The marmeladas won't be ready until they have dried for a month, but then—yum!
    When we had finished, Lady Horsley chivvied me out of the stillroom, with her friend Lady Seymour, and then locked it carefully. I suppose if it weren't locked, none of the sweetmeats would last out the night, but I sighed at it, for how was I supposed to get any more charcoal?
    It was now so late that I had to wait until after dinner before I could go and see Carmina. We ate with the Queen in the Privy Parlour. She seemed to be in a terrible temper, and kept sending away food on the grounds that it was not cooked properly—or had been burnt—until finally two gentlemen were sent to buy pasties for all of us from the cookshop in the nearest village. I thought it was very cleverly done—nobodywould have guessed Her Majesty was worried about poison at all.
    Mrs. Champernowne had made a posset of ale for Carmina, so I volunteered to take it up. At last I thought I would have a chance to talk to Carmina privately about the mysterious Frederick, and give her the charcoal in my petticoat pocket. The only trouble was, the thought of me carrying a jug of ale posset up the stairs made Mrs. Champernowne so nervous that she insisted on coming with me! She watched, eagle-eyed, as I poured it out, though I didn't spill a drop.
    Carmina managed to drink a little. She looked pale, poor dear, and was bored and weary, but she said she felt better.
    At last Mrs. Champernowne took herself off, and I settled down with my embroidery work, watching in case Carmina was going to be sick—with my luck it would go all over my new white kirtle and everybody would blame me. I started stitching butterflies in silk—it's to be a stomacher for the Queen one day.
    “You're very kind to keep me company, Grace,” said Carmina anxiously. “Are you sure you wouldn't like to go and watch the players rehearse with the others?”
    “Not at all,” I replied. “I don't know what they think they're up to. They're acting as bad as gentlemen laying suit to Lady Sarah, I think.”
    Carmina giggled. “I've missed so much,” she said. “You've no idea how boring it is here. Lady Horsley came and read to me earlier, but she sounds as if she's a vicar the way she drones on.”
    So I told her about Lady Jane and Lady Sarah arguing over who could sit nearest the players, and then about Mrs. Champernowne shooing them away and sitting there herself. Carmina laughed at that.
    “Oh, and by the way,” I added casually, as I got the bits of charcoal out of my petticoat pocket, which was now all black, “I've heard that this strengthens the stomach and you should eat it.”
    “What is it?” asked Carmina suspiciously.
    “It's, um, it's just charcoal, and it makes your—”
    “Ugh, no, I'm not eating that! You must be Bedlam mad, Grace, that's disgusting,” Carmina cried.
    “You put pounded ashes of honeybees in goose fat on your nose last week,” I accused. “Why isn't that disgusting?”
    “That was because I had a spot and Sarah said it would help,” declared Carmina.
    “It doesn't do anything for
her
spots,”