And so far – on that first, mid-July, swift-sweet day – I was getting away with it, scurrying behind the Lady Lieutenant through the Tower of London. We were on our way to some lodgings, I thought: somewhere for me to kick off my shoes and lay down my head, fasten some shutters against the belting of London’s bells. After two long days on the road, that was as far as I could think, it was all I wanted, and at seventeen I was naïve enough to think that whatever I wanted, I’d get. Nothing about the unguarded door to which she led me was any different from all the others we’d passed in passageways and courtyards. Not that I’d had time to see much; she wasn’t hanging around. Tight-lipped and bustling, she acted as if England’s unequivocal proclaiming of the wrong queen, thirteen days before, had been an oversight for which she, with a hasty rejig of household arrangements, could make amends. Follow me, she’d said at the gatehouse, and diligently I’d done so, almost tripping over myself to keep up, but as far as I was concerned I was under no one’s orders.
What do You think about The Lady Of Misrule (2015)?
