Free Conspiracy by Lady Grace Cavendish Page A

a jouster himself.” He offered me his arm again.
    I thought he was delightfully courteous, though of course he is not a suitor—far from it! So I took his arm and did a little bit of hobbling, and steered him away from where Ellie was squeezing out under the canvas. I saw her out of the corner of my eye, puffing and red in the face, with her cheeks bulging like a squirrel's.
    I limped away from the Banqueting House with John in tow. He was talking happily about the betting on the various gentlemen in the jousting, which saved me from having to think of any more foolishthings to say. I don't know how Lady Sarah does it, I really don't. Then I noticed that his right hand was bandaged and stopped still. “Whatever happened to your hand?” I asked.
    “It is nothing,” John said, dismissing it. “I scorched it on a poker when I was mulling some ale for his lordship. I have put comfrey ointment on it and it will soon be better.”
    He said nothing more, while I wracked my brains for something else to talk about. What do you talk about with youths? They are such strange creatures.
    We had just come round by the orchard again, when Ellie came running up, dropped a very respectful curtsy, and said, “Please, ma'am, the Queen wants you,” and winked at me.
    “Oh, of course,” I said, laughing with relief. “I expect it's to look at the costumes for the masque, and I so hope I am a dryad, for I think green and brown will become me well—don't you think so, John?”
    He smiled. “Perfectly, my lady,” he said, and then bowed and went off towards the castle.
    Ellie went with me round to the stable yard, where we collapsed, laughing, in the corner.
    “Fie!” said Ellie at last, wiping her face with herapron. “That was a bit close. Do you think he saw anything?”
    “No, I hope he was too dazed with my prattling,” I said, suddenly feeling gloomy and hot in the face. Whatever would John think of me now? “Did you at least get something to eat?” I asked Ellie.
    “Oh, yes,” Ellie replied, and licked her lips. “I ate so many marchpane dates I feel quite sick. I haven't got any room for that bit of subtlety you so kindly broke off for me. Do you want it?”
    “No,” I said, and shuddered—I hate liquorice root. “You have it.”
    “Suit yourself. Are you going to do any pursuiving now, my lady?” Ellie enquired.
    “Of course …,” I replied.
    “Only Masou's in such a taking about little Gypsy Pete getting hurt, I want to find out who's been causing these accidents and get 'im,” Ellie went on darkly.
    I felt a little guilty. I hadn't actually done any investigating yet—though I had been excused dancing classes. The Queen would be disappointed if she knew. Why can I not think in a straight line when John Hull is about? Perchance I have a tertian fever?

    There weren't many people about the stables, since many of the horses were out being exercised by the grooms. There was one middle-aged man in his shirtsleeves and jerkin, standing on top of the manure heap, tidying it up and combing it flat— which is usually a job done by one of the youngest boys, for obvious reasons.
    I squinted up at him and realized it was Sam Ledbury, who is one of the Queen's grooms. He has helped me on and off horses, me protesting all the while, ever since I was little. And he has looked after the Queen's horses for ever. Of course, he is the Earl of Leicester's man—but the Earl is the Queen's Master of Horse, after all.
    “Hello, Sam!” I called. “Why are you up there?”
    He had a very miserable expression on his face but he smiled and propped up his rake, then jumped down from the heap. “Now then, my Lady Grace,” he said, pulling his cap off, “what brings you here?”
    “Er … Her Majesty asked me to look at her saddle from yesterday,” I said, all in a gabble because, of course, she hadn't exactly asked that, but you could count general investigating as asking.
    Sam looked miserable again. “I just don't