Page 1 of The Favourite

1

Kinnerton

Jane trudged on, following her cloaked guide as they skirted the large gray stone house, keeping to the shelter of the shrubberies. The branches and leaves were wet and dripped water droplets onto her already sodden cloak and hood.

She felt utterly wretched, and the cold, wet night in January only accounted for part of her misery. When she thought of how she had left things at the palace, she could not help but quake in her slightly damp boots. Her sister’s letter had stressed the fact that time was of the essence and begged her not to delay.

As such, Jane had been forced to forgo the usual courtesies of requesting royal permission for her absence of leave. She had simply fled her post, and she knew exactly how Queen Armenal would view this abandonment despite the letter she had left explaining her behavior.

It was not as though there weren’t plenty of other ladies at court vying to take Jane’s place as royal favorite. An influx of Northern ladies had captured the Queen’s fancy of late. First, there had been Magnatrude Bartree, who was already encroaching on Jane’s special duties, and then there was Lady Wymarka Kloch with her astrology and her predictions for the future, which the Queen seemed to find so amusing.

That was not even taking into account the usual courtiers hovering on the Queen’s periphery. There were Constance Northcott and Margaret Pryor both of whose ever-changing matrimonial prospects were a constant source of diversion to the Queen. Then there was the usual bevy of young lovelies the Queen kept on the outskirts until they did something she deemed worthy of notice, the likes of Osanna Spencer and her crowd.

Jane bit her lip. Seen in any light, the step she had taken could be seen as rash to her precarious position at court. Then, of course, there was the fact her sister was the King’s official mistress… This made an already foolhardy course of action, positively disastrous. The Queen would likely never forgive her for her betrayal.

Suddenly, the figure in front of Jane stopped and swept aside a curtain of vines, revealing a small arched doorway. The hooded figure turned back to face her. “’Tis this way milady,” she whispered, raising a finger to her lips.

Jane nodded and was glad they had reached the concealed entrance. She did not relish creeping around in the dark and cold and their lantern had been extinguished as soon as they had reached the house. The estate the King had gifted her sister was a fine country property surrounded by thick woodland. Jane, however, had lived in cities since she turned thirteen, and a hooting owl nearby almost had her jumping out of her skin.

The young woman struck upon the door in a series of raps, and a moment later, Jane heard a key turn in the lock. The door opened silently, and to her relief, Jane recognized the face peering out of it, shrouded in a gigantic wimple. It was Ayleth, a servant who had originally been their mother’s before she had accompanied both sisters to court.

Jane’s shoulders relaxed just a tiny bit. It was not that she had suspected foul play, but she was just not used to all this subterfuge. She understood from her sister’s letter that their Uncle Phillip had joined her sister’s household of late and she did not want him to know of Jane’s visit. At least, not until she first had some private speech with her. Why though? Uncle Phillip and Helen had always been thick as thieves.

Ayleth skewered her with a faintly accusatory look—she had always favored Helen over Jane—and then ushered them inside, closing the door firmly behind them and turning the key. Jane walked past the old Cecil family servant without acknowledgment, following her silent guide up a set of winding steps.

At the top of the steps, Jane found herself in a large handsome bedchamber swathed with purple curtains and a lot of formal, dark-looking furniture. It looked nothing like a room her sister would have furnished, for Helen had always loved things uncluttered and airy, yet there, in the middle of a large square bed, lay the sister she had not seen in almost a year and a half.

“Helen!” she uttered, hurrying forward. When her sister lay pale and unresponsive, Jane whirled about to face the composed young woman that had led her here. “What ails her?”

“Let me take your cloak,” the other said, holding out a hand.

Jane shrugged off her wet cloak and the young woman efficiently spread it before the fire. What was her name? Jane’s mind turned momentarily blank, no doubt from the stress and strain of her two-day journey.

Helen must have written it in the letter Jane received three days ago, bidding her to travel at once to The Crooked Cross, meet her servant at midnight, and follow her to Kinnerton. Beth, that was it. Jane thought the name suited her well, for she had pleasant features and a neat, modest appearance.

Beth drew a chair for her up to the side of the bed. “Sit here, milady, and speak soft and low. Ayleth will moisten my lady’s lips with wine, and she will be roused presently.”

Jane allowed herself to be ushered into the chair and then sat gazing in horror at her sister’s waxen features. Helen’s letter had not lied, or even exaggerated. She was grievously ill. It was the unnatural pallor to her sister’s complexion that alarmed her the most. Helen had always been such a glowing picture of health.

Jane darted her eyes about the room but could see no crib. Had the babe died or had someone else taken charge of it? Helen’s letter had been so disjointed, nothing more than a passionate plea to see her only sister, while she still had time.

“Has she seen a priest?” Jane asked, looking first at Beth and then at Ayleth, who was hovering close.

“She didn’t want no priest,” Ayleth responded fiercely. “Just you. Said she’ll take you for her confessor.”

“Ayleth!” Beth remonstrated, then paused a moment. “You will shock the Lady Jane,” she added in a calmer tone.

“I am not so easily offended,” Jane responded. “And besides, I know Ayleth of old.” She wondered how long Beth had served her sister. It could not have been for more than eighteen months, as Jane had never heard of her. “It is not so many years since there were no secrets at all between us sisters,” Jane continued, reaching out and taking Helen’s hand in hers. It felt cool to the touch. She turned back to Beth. “You may leave us now.”

Beth’s eyes widened, and she looked for a moment as though she would argue, before lowering her gaze respectfully. “I will take myself off to a quiet corner,” she murmured, “but I could not stray far, in case my mistress should need me.” She curtseyed and retreated to the far side of the room, before quietly taking a seat and picking up some needlework.

Jane exchanged a glance with Ayleth who bore a look of sulky resentment on her wrinkled face. “In whose employ, is she?” Jane asked softly. “The King’s, or my uncle’s?”

“She be warming your uncle’s bed,” Ayleth responded viciously. “Or so half the servants’ hall reckons.”

Jane dismissed this as mere gossip and spite. Beth looked nothing like the mistresses her Uncle Phillip squired about town. He favored bold, forward women, who commanded the eye. Beth was not that type, looking rather demure. She could, however, be in his employ.

“What became of the child my sister bore?” Jane asked quietly, turning her face aside so that Beth could not make out her words.