Page 119 of The Favourite

The council members began to stir at this, murmuring in shock and consternation. “Five hundred masses!” bleated Lord Schaeffer, a respected senior counselor. He looked stunned, his head whipping around to survey his fellow lords of the High Council. “But—but only a royal sovereign would command such—”

“Silence!” the King roared. “You dare to contradict my Queen?”

“Then, of course, there is the final resting place to be determined,” Armenal continued as if no one had interrupted her. She addressed the King solely at this point, ignoring the council members completely. “Has a spot yet been determined, Your Majesty?”

The King shook his head, looking irresolute. “Fitzborough Castle has been suggested,” he said in a choked voice, “where I was raised, but—”

“That is quite out of the question,” Armenal said briskly. “I cannot think who was foolish enough to suggest such a thing.”

Jane noticed a section of the council stiffen with affront. She could wager a guess who had suggested it from the expressions on Lord Lowan and Sir Barrett Covington-Bart’s faces.

The King’s expression wavered, his eyes moistening. “I confess I was not easy in my mind at the notion.” His chin wobbled. “We have never been apart for more than ten days, and then, only in time of war ...”

“Of course, you have not. Carrying her body so many miles away is quite untenable! Bathilde must be laid close to hand.”

The King nodded eagerly. “You suggest—?”

“Kilnacre Abbey, of course,” the Queen said coolly. Gasps of shock were heard all about them. Jane’s heart raced. Kilnacre Abbey? Armenal serenely ignored the stir her words had caused. “Bathilde must be laid to rest where she can await you, as faithful a companion in death as she was in life.”

“You mean—?” The King frowned.

“Your Majesty, only royal sovereigns and their consorts are interred at Kilnacre,” Lord Schaeffer quavered in horrified tones. “Such a thing is unheard of and would set a most unfortunate precedent.”

“That is true, Your Majesties,” Lord Vawdrey cut in regretfully. “Even bishops are not permitted a spot in the royal enclosure.”

“Indeed!” chimed in Lord Caterby, emboldened by Earl Vawdrey’s acknowledgment. “Just where do you suggest we make room for Mistress Bathilde’s tomb, Your Highness? Do you suggest that the King’s own mother’s resting place is disturbed to make room for her?”

Shocked murmurings echoed throughout the chamber and Jane wondered for a moment if the Queen had not rather overshot the mark. When she had suggested the Queen take Wymer’s grief seriously, she had never dreamed that she would take it this far!

Lord Lowan sucked in his cheeks. “You surely do not forget, Your Highness, that your first wife, good Queen Eleanor, already occupies a spot to the left of your own plot.” He averted his eyes tactfully at this solecism.

Wymer turned very red and appeared to be on the point of explosion at this reminder of his first wife’s resting place. “I am not likely to forget where the mother of my son and heir lies!” he thundered.

“Certainly, we do not forget that fact,” Queen Armenal countered coolly. “But I did not mean that any former queens should suffer any indignity in order to make way for Bathilde’s tomb.” She paused. “My own future plot can be halved, and space given over for it. Both of us, nay all three of us, including the late Queen Eleanor, may rest in eternity beside the King.”

King Wymer’s head whipped around, and he beheld his wife speechlessly as the room broke out in an astonished babble of voices. Jane’s mouth fell open. She glanced sideways at Magnatrude Bartree, who looked similarly astonished. They stared at one another wordlessly before turning back to face the dais.

The King sprang from his throne and strode to his wife’s side, grasping for her hand. “You would do this Armenal?” he cried. “You would make such a sacrifice for my sake?”

“But of course!” The Queen was entirely calm and matter-of-fact as everyone around them reeled at this unexpected turn of events.

The King quivered in the grip of strong emotion for a moment before turning back to face his Privy Council. “You see this example of noble womanhood before you! Was there ever such a female of such distinction? There is no one like her,” he burst out, carrying her hand to his lips and pressing it there passionately. “You have heard the Queen’s decree! Bathilde will be interred in five days’ time at Kilnacre Abbey.”

Jane gasped, as appalled as everyone else, at this total breach in etiquette. She still could not quite believe the Queen’s proposal. Such a thing was completely unheard of! Going by the look on everyone else’s faces, neither could anyone else.

Only Lord Vawdrey looked as unruffled as ever. “The Queen carries all before her this morn,” Jane heard him murmur to Lord Schaeffer, who was still spluttering in horror. “You must not take it so hard, Andrew.”

“You think,” Lord Schaeffer quavered, “that the King may see reason in time?” He mopped his brow with his kerchief. “The Queen is not Karadok born and bred, so perhaps she cannot grasp how deeply inappropriate such a proposal is, but the King …”

“Hush, my friend,” Lord Vawdrey cautioned, and Jane did not catch the rest, for they had swept past her, and he now had a firm grip of Lord Schaeffer’s arm and likely his tongue too. Feeling a touch to her arm, Jane turned and Mistress Bartree nodded significantly to the dais.

It seemed King Wymer had taken his fill of everyone present, save for the Queen, for he was leading her determinedly down the steps. Jane and Magnatrude hurried after their retreating white figures trying to catch up with them. This endeavor proved practically impossible, considering the way the crowds were closing in on them.

Linking arms in rare accord with one another, they fended off the enquiries about their full mourning and pushed their way through by sheer determination. To their mutual dismay, their efforts were in vain. No sooner did they have the door to the Queen’s Presence Chamber in sight, than they found it once more barred with guards.

“No admittance to Her Majesty’s rooms today, by order of the King,” one of the soldiers told them.

Magnatrude glared at him but to no avail. “This is all highly irregular,” she fumed.