Innocent Traitor Read Online Free Page B

here. Such matters are far better left to women. But of course, my lady would not see it that way. For her, the King, her uncle, is a paragon. She is so proud of him. In my humble opinion, which I take care to keep to myself, he is a monster. That’s treason, of course, but no less true for all that. Any man who can cut off an innocent wife’s head is a monster. I have no good opinion of Nan Bullen, but anyone with any sense could have guessed she was innocent, whatever else she was. They just made an occasion to get rid of her because she saw him for what he was and wasn’t good at keeping her mouth shut. Five men indeed! Living the life she did, with people always around her, she’d have been lucky to smuggle one man into her bedchamber. Only a fool would take such a risk and she was no fool. I shudder when I think of what happened to her. They say she was brave at the end. What must it be like to face the executioner, knowing yourself to be innocent of any crime?
     
    My life at Bradgate is one unending routine, but I heartily enjoy it nonetheless. Our nursery, which is housed in the tower of the east wing, flourishes on a rather humbler scale than Prince Edward’s, but it is clean and warm, and my little Lady is the pride and joy of all who serve her—that is myself, Mrs. Mallory, two rockers, and two serving girls. Already she has gummy smiles for us, her willing slaves. When I see her tiny heart-shaped face peeping out from under the covers, my own captive heart melts. She is a very forward child with a merry countenance and docile temperament. God be praised, she now sleeps through the night and does not trouble the wet nurse.
    Some would reckon me greatly privileged to be employed in a house-hold such as this. Bradgate Hall has such a dramatic setting: it lies on the edge of Charnwood Forest and is enfolded on all sides by a rugged landscape with sweeping hills, granite cliffs, and rocky outcrops. Red deer roam its chases and deer parks, and buzzards and peregrines keep grim vigil from their high aeries.
    The mansion is a fine one, built in the early years of this King’s reign by the present Marquess’s father and improved more recently. It is famed far and wide for its riches and luxury; no effort has been spared to emphasize the Dorsets’ wealth and status. The great hall alone is eighty feet in length. Rich tapestries line the walls, cupboards groan under the weight of gold and silver plate, and jewel-colored armorial glass glitters in the tall windows. My lord and lady keep a large, bustling household, and the tables in the hall are laid each day for no fewer than two hundred persons. Extra places are always set, for the Dorsets like entertaining, and there are always guests of quality with their retinues; moreover, the laws of hospitality demand that any passing traveler be given food and shelter.
    When guests are present, the Marquess and Marchioness sit in exalted state at the high table on the dais, while those of us of lesser rank are seated, according to our degree, at the lower trestles set along the entire length of the hall. During meals, musicians play to us from the gallery, and a veritable army of servitors marches in with course after course of dishes that have been prepared in the teeming, sweltering kitchens that lie beyond the richly carved screens.
    On the rare occasions when they do not have company, the Dorsets’ meals are served in their summer or winter parlors in the east wing, but always with great ceremony. My lady is very conscious of her royal blood.
    It’s a privileged existence and I suppose I am lucky to enjoy it, coming from such an ordinary background, but it’s not what I came here seeking. I came because my vocation in life is to care for children. And now for one child in particular.
    Yes, it’s all grand and impressive, the life at Bradgate, but there are uneasy undercurrents here. I do not like the Dorsets much. My lady is proud and her heart seems cold; I know she