Thursday 28 July 2011

Hampton Court Riddle

The workmen hauled the heavy oak trunk up into my room and pushed it against the wall.

"There you are, Miss Anne," one of them said in his heavy accent.

I turned towards the window so that they wouldn't see my annoyed wince. The name sounded so English now, so dull. As if to remind me of the fact, a few dribbles of rain began to sneak down the leaded window, as though the sky were crying.

"Thank you," I mumbled, and slipped a coin into his hand. As soon as they were gone, I lifted the lid on the trunk and rummaged through the clothes, looking for something I could change into from my uncomfortable riding habit. I traced the inscription lightly with my fingers: Ann Bullen 1525.

"Mistress Anne?" I turned to see a girl, a year or so older than myself, standing in the doorway with a steaming jug of water. She was not pretty - her eyes were set too close together and her mouth too wide for true beauty - but with her pale skin and startlingly red hair, she was certainly striking.

She indicated the jug awkwardly, with a nervous smile. "I brought some hot water if you want to wash."

I nodded, removing my gloves and travelling cloak and throwing them on the bed. "Yes. Thank you. And I will need to change out of these clothes for dinner." Speaking English felt unnatural, even though it was my native tongue.

The girl put the jug down on the table and came to help me unlace my bodice. "The master told me that he would be dining in his private rooms tonight. Would you like some food brought up from the kitchens, miss?"

"What? I'm not dining with father?"

"No, miss." I sighed. I ought to have known. Still, at least it meant that after tonight's tiring ride I would have the evening to myself. On the other hand, the food brought to me would likely be the servants' dinners; the good food would go to my father. I bit my lip to stop the tears, wishing I were still in France.

The next morning the girl woke me at dawn, awkwardly clearing her throat. "Mistress Anne?"

I quickly got dressed and headed down to see what was for breakfast. My father was already up; I heard his voice shouting at someone in the kitchen. As he turned, he saw me, and I ducked into a low curtsey.

"Father."

"Good, Anne, you're ready." He kissed the top of my head lightly. "We must be going."

"I haven't yet broken my fast, sir."

"Oh, for -" He turned back to the kitchen. "For god's sake, give the girl something to eat and let's be off!"

We rode to London in silence, stopping our journey only once to dine on some bread and cheese. My father seemed pleasantly surprised that I could keep a fast pace with him, and we reached Hampton Court before nightfall. He was clearly in a hurry to get in, throwing the reins at a groom and giving me swift directions to my sister's rooms before making his way up another set of stairs.

"Anne!"

I had barely opened the door before I was engulfed in a huge hug. "Let me breathe, Mary," I insisted, pulling back to look at my sister.

In the years since I had last seen her, she had changed. She had grown into a beautiful young lady of sixteen years, with a full, beautiful figure. Her long blonde hair was held off a pretty, pink and white face by a hood embroidered with gold. I caught a glimpse of a petite, darker skinned girl next to her with raven black hair, tired and dishevelled from hours on the road, and bit my lip. The comparison was not flattering. I felt a contrary surge of jealousy and pride at my beautiful older sister.

"Anne, you have grown so much! I must tell you about everything. But first, you must get changed. The king is to hold a masque tonight and I asked the queen if you may be one of the Ladies. Your gown is on the bed."

"What? Tonight? Mary, I'm tired, I -" But I broke off when I saw the gown. It was floor length, in white satin, embroidered with gold designs and the word Perseverance was picked out at the bottom. I looked at Mary and saw her in an identical gown, with the word Kindness.

"Perseverance? Really? What did I do to get that role?"

Mary chuckled. "Sorry. It was the only one left - we didn't know if you'd be back on time. Here, let me help you."

As she struggled to get me into the complicated costume, her wrist, as it was surely meant to, brushed across my forehead. It scratched a little, and I looked up to see a diamond bracelet glittering there. I doubted if her husband could afford such a gift.

I gave a little gasp, and Mary smiled. "Pretty, isn't it?"

"Who -"

"The king," she said, with a satisfied sigh. "He has been courting me."

"Mary, you're a silly flirt," I said primly. "Don't you realise, this was exactly why you got sent home from France? It would be different if he were looking for a queen - but you're both married, for god's sake!"

She shrugged. "It didn't seem to bother him when Elizabeth Blount caught his eye. You're just jealous, Anne, because I have a husband and a king dancing for my attention, and you have neither."

I restrained another gasp. That was a low blow indeed. I sucked in my lips to prevent the sweep of envy showing in my face. I thought of the words I had scribbled in my diary this morning: Le temps viendra. The time will come. I repeated them over and over to myself.

Mary took that moment to step back. "There. You look beautiful, Anne." She pecked my cheek. "Hurry. We must be down in a minute."

I took my fan and hurried to join the line. I led the way, followed by the Queen Mary of France, then the tallest girl Jane Parker, and finally my sister Mary. I headed into the great hall and lined up along one wall: I stood on the furthest right and my sister on the far left. And in front of each of us stood a knight, who held out a gift. I was handed a perfect rose, the the Queen Mary next to me a golden ring, Jane Parker a white dove in a golden cage, and finally my sister was offered a beautiful pearl.

And suddenly, there was a sound of trumpets, and a herald proclaimed:

Each one of these beautiful ladies four,
Sees a knight who declares his passionate amour,
As proof of his love, he hands her a gift,
But cheeky young Cupid decided to them mix.
Each man holds a gift, as well you know.
Yet none holds the one that he wishes to show.
The pearl does not belong to the girl on the right,
Nor is the rose given to the tallest in height.
The one who has captured the heart of the king
Is the one who should own the golden ring.
But who can tell me - which lady love
Is the one who should receive the beautiful dove?


My mind worked for a few seconds, and then I smiled. Took a tiny step forward. I curtseyed to the king, my eyes never leaving his face.

"Your Grace." I let my French accent bleed heavily into the words, rolling my rs faintly. "I believe I have the solution."

Answer (highlight to read): At the king's nod I continued. "Your Grace has said that the lady who has captured your heart has won the golden ring. This can only refer to my sister. The tallest in height - my friend Jane Parker here - is said not to have the rose, nor the dove she was offered, meaning that she must receive the beautiful pearl. I am the furthest on the right, Your Grace, and naturally I do not own this fine rose, which must go to your sister, Queen Mary. And so, Your Grace - I am the lady who receives the white dove."

Monday 18 July 2011

Changes to the site

Hi everyone, me again!


Just a quick word about some updates to the sites. You can enter your email in the box on the right and receive updates about the site - whenever I blog post, you will get informed. Neither I nor Blogspot will ever use your email for junk mail or malware, nor will we pass it on to other sites (in fact I cannot even see your email, so it's very safe).


Please keep on voting - button on the left - to bump this blog up the popularity list. The Writer Award hasn't got long to go now, and voting is really simple, just click - no sign ups, no fuss. There's still the usual poll, but it's over on the right now, so easier to see and vote on.

Thanks for your time, keep on reading and enjoying!!!
~ Tiula

Monday 11 July 2011

Lost in Translation

...and we're back to old-school again. Thanks for humouring me.


Mattie's face was as white as a sheet as she accepted the steaming cup of tea from the police officer with shaking hands.

"Thanks," she murmured, before taking a sip. It was too hot and scorched her tongue, but helped her back to the present.

"How are you feeling?" the police officer asked, kindly.

Mattie took another sip before answering. "A bit better, thank you," she replied. "It was just a bit of a shock."

River sat down next to her. "Of course it was," she said soothingly. "I know it's difficult for you, but we're going to have to ask you some questions about what happened."

Mattie had been expecting this. "I never even knew the man," she replied hastily. "I'd never seen him before! I didn't hurt him!"

"We know you didn't." River patted her arm. "We just need to know as much as possible so we can find the people who did."

"Well..." Mattie drank some more tea. "I don't know much. I was just passing when I heard a scream and a thud. I pushed the door - it was open - and saw him lying there on the floor, his head... all bloody."

She hurriedly drained her mug. "He was still alive, so I quickly called for an ambulance, but it was too late. He just turned over and said something, and then stretched out his hand to me and tapped the floor, and then collapsed. He didn't move after that."

"What did he say?"

"I don't know... I couldn't hear. I think I heard something about a key, but I'm not sure."

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" River asked, taking Mattie's tea from her. Behind her, an argument had broken out between the pathologist and her partner, Carlton.

"You mean, I came down here for nothing?" he was saying furiously.

"Not nothing," Sarah was pleading, but he was having none of it.

"The hell," he cursed, and turned away.

River's curious tilt of her head was more than a question, to which Sarah replied. "I can't find any reason to suspect foul play. The mat at the top of the stairs was loose, he appears to have tripped over it."

"Not pushed?"

"Not if your little witness over there is telling the truth. There would have been no time for any murderer to get away."

"Then what am I even doing here?" asked Carlton tersely.

"Because of who he was, not what happened to him," replied Sarah. She dug into the man's pockets and pulled out a driving license and handed it to him.

"Jose Huertas," he read, in a bad Spanish accent. "Never heard of him."

"AKA Jon Lopez."

"Lopez?" he shot back. "The Jon Lopez? As in, the jewel thief? Never caught?"

"Uh-huh," smiled Sarah. "I've just been speaking to his brother, Diego, over there. He claims that his brother had had a change of heart after his mother recovered from a bad illness last year, and wanted to make amends. He was about to turn himself in when -"

But she was talking to thin air. Carlton himself had vanished, and was talking to Diego.

Attempting to, would have perhaps been a better term, for Diego's English was limited and Carlton's Spanish was worse.

"Your brother - hermano - he was going to go to the police?" he was asking.

"I think - I not quite understand - yes, he find police?" Carlton sighed in exasperation, wondering how he could ever get this line of questioning finished.

Suddenly, his second attempt was interrupted by a flow of fluent Spanish over his right shoulder. He turned to see River, rapidly translating his question for him. Diego's eyes lit up, and he responded in the same tongue. River asked another question - shorter, this time - and was responded with a single, despondent word.

"Translation?" asked Carlton, with a scowl. He hated feeling inferior.

"Diego says his brother was planning to go to the police with everything he stole when he tripped down the stairs, but he doesn't know where his treasure was hidden."

"And how -"

"Four months in Seville on my gap year," replied River, with a smile.

"And how does this help us in any way, shape or form?"

"It means," replied River, "That this time I can tell you where the treasure was hidden."

Answer (highlight to read): The clue is in Lopez's dying words. He did not say "a key", he said "aqui", the Spanish for "here". He tapped the floor, buried under which was his stack of treasure.