Free The Alchemist's Daughter by Eileen Kernaghan

supper ready.”

    Sidonie opened her eyes after a long night filled with restless dreams, and fancied she must still be dreaming. The sunlight falling through the tall narrow window threw diamonds of jewelled light, rose-red and sapphire blue and topaz, across the floor. She sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
    There was a soft knock on the door, and Alice came in carrying a tray. She set it down carefully on the chest beside the bed, next to a velvet-bound copy of Froissart’s Chronicle . There was fine white manchet bread, butter spiced with nutmeg, a pot of honey and another of gooseberry preserves, orange slices, a dish of stewed pears, and a silver jug of barley water.
    â€œI have a message from Master Aubrey,” Alice said. “He bids me tell you, he is alive and well, and when you have breakfasted, he awaits you in the physic garden.”
    â€œA welcome message indeed,” said Sidonie, around a mouthful of bread and honey. “But Alice, where are my clothes?”
    Alice looked momentarily disconcerted. “Alas, mistress, I fear your kirtle is in a sorry state, and your petticoats little better.”
    â€œBut Alice, what shall I wear? I cannot go out in my smock.”
    Alice giggled. “Nay, mistress, Lady Mary has gowns to spare. Do you finish your breakfast, and I will be back in a trice.”
    When she returned her arms were heaped with garments. There was a kirtle of fine pale green lawn worked in silver threads, an apron in ivory silk, a boned underbodice, and a froth of petticoats to go beneath. “Lady Mary is a little taller,” she said, “and a little plumper in the bosom, but these will do well enough, methinks.”
    When she had finished tying Sidonie’s laces and pinning her ruff, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Marry, Mistress Sidonie, you are the very picture of a lady. But something must needs be done about your hair.”
    Sidonie pushed back her tumbling mass of dark brown curls. “When my hair is fresh-washed it has a mind of its own,” she said ruefully.
    But Alice, with a practised hand, gathered up the wayward curls, sleeked them down with rose-scented lotion, and held them in place with a velvet cap. “There,” she said with brisk satisfaction.” Now see.” And Sidonie, who hated mirrors, could not resist a sidelong glance. A slender, elegant figure in green looked out at her from the glass. Sidonie stared bemusedly back. She scarcely recognized herself. “Now, mistress, “ prompted Alice, “you must tarry not a moment longer, it is a rare fine day, and Master Aubrey is waiting.”

    Sidonie strolled in her borrowed finery across the long green lawns. There was no need to hurry; Kit would be happily occupied for hours among the Countess’s botanicals. And so she wandered, pleasantly distracted, through knot gardens bright with late summer flowers, along grassy paths, through arbours and walkways shaded by honeysuckle and clematis. At the far end of a lawn two young men were playing noisy tennis. Further on, beyond a clipped yew hedge, she came upon a game of bowls, the players in their summer silks and feathered hats as gorgeous as the peacocks that strutted on the nearby grass.
    Presently she climbed a flight of moss-grown steps to a terrace, where a man was deadheading roses. Imagining him for one of the servants, Sidonie was about to ask for directions. Then he looked up, secateurs in hand, and she was startled to find that the gardener was Adrian Gilbert. Today he wore no silks and velvets, only plain workman’s breeches and jerkin, and a broad-brimmed felt hat to keep the sun off his face.
    â€œMistress Quince, I bid you good morning.” He made an elegant leg, whipped off his hat and swept it low.
    â€œGood morning to you, Master Gilbert.” Should she curtsey? Sidonie wondered. How little prepared she was for life in these exalted circles! She settled for a