I could not look away. I was transfixed, entirely seduced by worldly glory, whilst the creature both charmed and repelled me in equal measure.

“I have rooms for you in my own accommodations,” Mother Abbess was explaining as the dogs sniffed around her skirts. “Anything we can do to make your stay one of solace and comfort at this sad time, my lady…”

Was she then a widow, with her dark veil and cloak? Had she perhaps come to us to spend some quiet time in prayer and contemplation to honor her dead husband? But here being unpacked were a lute and coffers that could only contain clothes. The lady clicked her fingers to hurry her servants along. She did not show evidence of mourning other than her outer garments; nor did she seem aware of the honor of being given rooms within the Abbess’s private lodging, out of bounds to all nuns except for Sister Matilda, Mother Abbess’s Chaplain. Who was this woman who traveled with such authority and self-consequence? Who had dared to show Mother Abbess so little respect?

Mother Abbess’s face continued to preserve a formidably glittering smile. “I will send refreshment to you, my lady.”

“Immediately, if you will.”

“We eat dinner at midday.…”

“I will eat in the privacy of my rooms.”

“Of course, my lady. And if you require anything…”

“Yes. I need a maidservant, a woman to undertake basic tasks for me. I need someone young and capable.” She fixed Mother Abbess with a stare that brooked no dissent.

“Indeed, my lady. I will send one of our conversa to you.…”

Without warning the exotic creature, held inexpertly by the tire-woman, squirmed and bit and escaped to dart through the nuns with harsh cries, snatching at skirts. The nuns flinched as one, their cries in counterpoint. The lapdogs barked and gave chase. And as the animal scurried past me, I knew!

Do it!

An opportunity. A twist of fate.

Do it!

Stooping smartly as the tormented creature skittered past, I snatched at the trailing end of its chain so that the animal came to a screaming, chattering halt at my feet, its sharp teeth very visible. I gave them no thought. Before it could struggle for release, I had lifted it into my arms. Light, fragile boned, its fur incredibly soft, it curled its fingers into my veil and held on.

I felt my face flush as a taut silence fell and all eyes turned on me. Should I have regretted my boldness? I did not. Not even when I discovered that the lady was perusing me as if I were a fat carp in the market. I tried a curtsy, unfortunately graceless, my arms full of shrieking fury.

“Well!” the lady remarked, her lips at last curved into the semblance of a smile, although her eyes remained sharply cool. “How enterprising of you.” And the smile widened into one of blinding charm, sparkling like ice on a puddle on a winter’s morn. “This girl…She’ll do.”

“My lady…!” remonstrated Mother Abbess, frowning at me. “One of our conversa would be far more…”

“I think not.” And, raising her hand in an imperious gesture as if the matter were decided, she said, “Come with me, girl. Keep hold of the Barbary.…”

And so I followed her, my mouth dry, belly churning with a strange mix of shock and excitement. I was to become a maidservant. To fetch and carry and perform menial tasks for a woman who had chosen me. For only a short time, it was true, but I had recognized a chance to be noticed. To be different. And I had seized it by the scruff of its gilded neck. But not for long. As soon as I had stepped into the rooms set aside for our guest, the creature squirmed from my hold and scampered up the embroidered hangings of the great bed, to worry at the damask with sharp teeth. I remained where I was, ignorant of my tasks for this ostentatious person who began to divest herself of her cloak and veil.

“Take these!” she ordered.

Holding out a pair of embroidered gauntlets, she dropped them to the floor, anticipating that I would retrieve them. Her veil and wimple followed in similar fashion, carelessly discarded with no thought for the expensive cloth. I scurried to obey. Thus I had my first lesson as a lady’s waiting woman.

I could not take my eyes from her.

At close quarters, her beauty was even more remarkable. Without the veil, her hair, neatly plaited and pinned over her ears, glowed a soft red-gold in the dim room, the same rich color of the pelt of the fox cub I had seen cast on the midden in the town. As for her skin, pale and translucent, it had a pearl-like hue, soft as the pearls on Mother Abbess’s rosary. Her features could not have been more perfect if she had been a revered statue of Our Lady. I simply stood in silence and admired. Ungainly, inept, unattractive as I knew myself to be, I was in awe of this beauty.

The lady let the cloak fall into my arms, and I stood holding the weight of sumptuous cloth, not knowing what else to do. She gave me no direction, and the sheer arrogance of her demeanor forbade me to ask.

“God’s Bones!” she remarked with casual blasphemy that impressed me. “Do I have to tolerate these drab accommodations? I wager it’s worse than a dungeon in the Tower.” She pointed to me to place the cloak on the bed. “It’s mean enough to make me repent!” Picking up a jewel casket, she opened it and trilled a laugh that was not entirely pleasant. “I suppose to you, girl, this is beyond luxury. I suppose you have never slept in a bed such as this—nor ever will.…”

“Yes, madam. No, madam. If it pleases you—how should I address you?”

The lady crowed and addressed her tire-woman, who smirked knowingly.

“She does not know who I am! But then, why should a novice in this backwater of a nunnery know me? But by God! She will within a twelvemonth; I swear it! The whole country will know of me!” The viciousness of the tone was incongruous, stridently at odds with her beauty. “You will call me ‘my lady,’” she said as she tossed the box onto the bed and approached me to finger my veil with obvious distaste, pulling its folds into some sort of order. “I am Joan, Countess of Kent. For now, at least. Soon I will be wife to Prince Edward. The future King of England.”

I knew nothing of her. What I did know was that I had been chosen. She had chosen me to serve her. I think pride touched my heart.

Mistakenly, as it turned out.

I became a willing slave to Countess Joan. The Fair Maid of Kent whose grace and beauty were, she informed me, a matter for renown throughout the land. When she needed me, she rang a little silver bell that had a remarkable carrying quality. It rang with great frequency. The Countess’s tire-woman, Lady Marian, a distant and impecunious cousin of Fair Joan, seemed to find every excuse to be absent when the need arose.

“Take this gown and brush the hem—so much dust. And treat it with care.”

I brushed. I was very careful.

“Fetch lavender—you do have lavender in your herb garden, I presume? Find some for my furs. I’ll not wear them again for some months.…”

I ravaged Sister Margery’s herb patch for lavender, risking the sharp edge of the Infirmarian’s tongue.

“Take that infernal monkey”—for so I learned it to be—“outside. Its chatter makes my head ache. And water. I need a basin of water. Hot water—not cold like last time. And when you’ve done that, bring me ink. And a pen.”

My reply to everything: “Yes, my lady.”

Countess Joan was an exacting mistress. If she was in mourning for her dead husband—he had been dead a mere few weeks, she informed me—I saw no evidence of it: Her attendance at the offices of the day was shockingly infrequent. But I never minded the summons of her bell. A window into the exhilarating world of the royal Court had been unlatched and flung wide for me to see and wonder at. How would I not enjoy the attention she gave me, even though she never addressed me except to issue orders? She called me “girl” when she called me anything at all, but I was not dismayed. If I made myself indispensible to her, what further doors might she not unlock…?

“Comb out my hair,” she ordered me.

So I did, loosening the plaited ropes of red-gold to free them of tangles with an ivory comb that I wished were mine.

“Careful, girl!” She struck out, catching my hand with her nails, hard enough to draw blood. “My head aches even without your clumsy efforts!”

Countess Joan’s head frequently ached. I learned to move smartly out of range, but as often as she repelled me she lured me back with one astonishing revelation after another. And the most awe-inspiring to my naive gaze?

The Countess Joan bathed!

It was a ceremony. Lady Marian folded a freshly laundered chemise over her arm; I held a towel of coarse linen. And Countess Joan? She stripped off all her clothes without modesty. For a moment, embarrassed shock crept over my skin, as if I too were unclothed. I had had no exposure to nakedness. No nun removed her undershift—it was one of the first lessons taught to me. A nun slept in her chemise, washed beneath it with a cloth and a bowl of water, would die in it. Nakedness was a sin in the eyes of God. Countess Joan had no such inhibitions. Gloriously naked, she stepped into her tub of scented water, while I simply gaped as I waited to hand her the linen when her washing was complete.

“Now what’s wrong, girl?” she asked with obvious amusement at my expense. “Have you never seen a woman in the flesh before? No, I don’t suppose you have, living with these old crones.” She laughed aloud, an appealing sound that made me want to smile, until I read the lines of malice in her face. “You’ll not have seen a man either, I wager.” She yawned prettily in the heat, stretching her arms so that her breasts rose above the surface of the scented water. “Both my husbands were good to look at in the flesh, were they not, Marian?”