Free The Queen's Lady by Eve Edwards

displeasure. ‘I beg you not to speak so.’
    Her reproof sailed over the head of London-born Henny who shared the prejudices of her fellow citizens. They were accustomed to thinking anyone different – Jew, Moor, Spaniard, Russian – the spawn of Beelzebub.
    ‘Shall I send him up, mistress?’
    What else would she ask her to do with him? Patience, Milly, patience , she reminded herself.
    ‘Please.’
    ‘And Old Uriah too?’
    ‘Whatever for?’
    ‘Well, he might turn nasty on you.’
    ‘Henny, go downstairs this instant and show our caller up with all the politeness you are capable of displaying. I will not require a guard. I expect he brings us business from his master or mistress, not threats.’
    Milly checked that all was in order in the room, making a final inspection of her own person to ensure a neat, efficient appearance. She stood by the window, waiting for the visitor to arrive.
    ‘Go on up, um, sir. First door on the right,’ Milly heard Henny say cautiously, as if she were baiting a lion, throwing meat scraps to stop him turning on her.
    The man’s steps were light and fast on the stairs. The door opened, the draught making the flames in the fireplace leap up the chimney.
    ‘Diego! My goodness, it is you!’ Milly was shocked that she recognized the caller. It had been three years since they had last met. He had served her father as a groom and pageboy for years until Porter had fallen into disgrace. When Diego had been sold off with her father’s horse, Barbary, she had lost track of what had become of him.
    Diego grinned and made a flourishing bow. ‘Mistress Milly.’
    Questions crowded into Milly’s brain like groundlings rushing to grab the best places to see the play. ‘How are you? Where are you living? How did you find me?’
    He laughed, seized her outstretched hands and twirled her around. ‘You look well, mistress.’
    ‘I am – but I refuse to let you call me that: I have to be Milly to you or it feels all wrong.’ So many memories danced between them: around the same age, they had become friends when her father had ordered Diego to teach her to ride. Milly suspected Diego found the many-layered class distinctions of England incomprehensible and amusing, observing them when he had to, but ignoring them when it suited. He was one of the few who had not been scared to offer her comfort when her father was dragged off to the Tower. They had kept in touch for a while, but his messages, sent in the form of bead necklaces and bracelets, all handmade with loving attention, had ceased after she had moved for the fifth time. She guessed she had just become too difficult to track. ‘Please, how did you find me?’
    Diego laughed at her curiosity – she was never one to let a secret rest. ‘I remembered, Milly, that you were friends with Lady Jane. I came across her two years ago and asked her maid if she knew where you were but that girl was not helpful.’ His brown eyes twinkled with humour, suggesting the reception of his request had met with a much less polite response. ‘When I saw the lady was at court, I tried her new servants and they were much kinder. They said their lady had called here.’ He squeezed her hands and let go. ‘You have done well for yourself, Mistress Porter.’
    Few others would think the fall from gentlewoman to needleworker a good thing but Diego never saw matters in the usual light. Milly clasped her hands together in delight, this unlooked-for visit making her giddy with happiness as he brought a reminder of the many good times of her childhood. With him, she had always felt somehow more vibrant, more herself.
    ‘I’m so fortunate you took the trouble, Diego. Oh, I have so much to tell you! I thought I had lost sight of you completely. I imagined you were caught up in the household of some great lord, an ambassador perhaps, travelling the world in his entourage.’
    Diego picked up some half-finished embroidery and inspected her work, running his fingers