Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (34 page)

“I am sorry you will not have the joyous celebration we would have had if we’d been wed at Holme Lacy. We would have lit the fires, had the cooks make a delicious feast, danced with our neighbors until we could not move. They would have bedded us properly, with the priest blessing our marriage bed and our friends leading us to the bed itself and throwing us in. Then, they would have sung ribald songs, raised the glass to us many a time, and finally, left us to our wooing,” said Sir John as he bundled her to the outer door.

“Perhaps we can still have such festivities when we return to Holme Lacy—if the queen allows us to live,” said Mary.

Sir John stopped and took hold of her by the shoulders.

“Sweetheart, you will live, I promise. If anyone, and I do mean
anyone,
tries to harm you, they will have to get through me to do so. You shall be safe—I will make it my life’s work to insure that,” he said, kissing her. “I have found a room for the night—let us get ourselves to it.”

“But I cannot be gone all night. The queen will call for me first thing,” said Mary.

“Yes, I know. But we can take the room for its proper use on our wedding night,” he said.

She smiled up at him. Maybe things would work out. Maybe the queen would see reason.

*   *   *

The room was warm with a small hearth and plenty of faggots in the nearby basket. The bed looked somewhat clean and Mary checked for bedbugs and any other sort of vermin. She found nothing.

She began to remove her cloak when Sir John’s warm hands stopped her.

“I shall assist you this night, dearest, as if you were the queen herself. I have brought some sweet oil and I will begin with your feet,” he said as he removed her cloak and hung it on a hook.

He moved her to the bed where he bade her sit. Going down on one knee, he carefully removed her shoes and woolen hose. He rubbed the oil onto her feet. It was warm and smelled like spicy fig pudding. At first, she was ashamed for him to handle her in this way, and tried to hide her feet beneath her skirts. But he insisted and began to massage the oil onto the soles, the heels, and finally, between her toes. She leaned back against the pillows and sighed. Slowly, he pried the toes apart so that he could insert his finger, rubbing the oil around and around. He spent so many minutes warming and rubbing her feet that she lost track of time. She had not realized her feet could be so sensitive to his touch. Soon, he worked his way to her ankles; then he worked the oil up to her knees. He untied her sleeves, unlaced her bodice, and removed these. He took off her kirtle, which she stepped out of with trembling legs. She stood before him in her petticoat and shift. Before she knew it, he had whisked the petticoat from her and she was in her soft lawn shift edged in Belgian lace.

“If you will allow me to remove this, you may crawl under the covers and I will apply the oil,” he said.

She helped him lift the shift away. She stood before him in the firelight. She could hear his intake of breath. She hurried under the covers. Soon, she could feel him pour the oil on her stomach, her breasts, everywhere. His hands seemed to multiply and she could feel him on her legs, her belly, her breasts, her hair.

For what seemed like a long time, she watched as he removed his clothes. Then he came to her, his manly smell mixed with the sweet oil. He gave her a wedding night to remember, though no one celebrated the occasion but husband and wife.

Forty-seven

February 1574

The deep winter chill showed no sign of relenting. In Richmond Palace, the queen kept her ladies busy with sewing for the poor and dancing for Her Majesty’s amusement. Mistresses Mary and Eleanor spent most mornings attending the queen’s wardrobe, preparing the spring dresses and keeping the heavier winter gowns smelling fresh and brushed. As far as Mary knew, her marriage to Sir John was a well-kept secret. Every member of the wedding party had sworn a solemn oath never to breathe a word about it, not even to their dearest ones. At first, Mary had been afraid Master Nicholas might let it slip to his new bride, but thus far, Eleanor seemed unaware of Mary’s dangerous actions. That was what she wanted, of course. Their lives depended on such secrecy. But part of Mary wanted desperately to tell Mistress Eleanor about the clandestine wedding, how exciting it had been, how terrified she’d felt, tiptoeing into the hidden chapel, meeting the forbidden priest. And then, the beauty of her wedding night, where her husband had ravished her completely, using his hands, his tongue, and, of course, his manly parts. She had never expected such actions and, at first, had been shy. But John was patient and his tender persistence had been amply rewarded with her little cries of pleasure. She was curious as to whether Mistress Eleanor had experienced similar delights in the marriage bed. But Mistress Eleanor would not be around the palace for much longer—it was almost time for her to go into her confinement. Mary had sewn several gowns for a gift. She had even embroidered some clouts for Eleanor’s babe. There was excitement in the air around Mistress Eleanor these days. Mary found it difficult to wait for the child’s arrival. And she worried for her friend’s first birth, an event fraught with danger.

This morning, the queen had sent Mary and Mistress Eleanor back to her bedchamber to search through her casket of jewels for a large pearl brooch surrounded by blue sapphires. Her Majesty wished to bestow the treasure upon Sir Christopher Hatton, who was quickly outshining Lord Robert as the queen’s favorite. Mary liked Sir Christopher but she felt sorry for Lord Robert. She knew the queen was displeased with him because of his relationship with Lady Douglass. And though there were certainly rumors of their marriage, nothing had been proven, except that Lady Douglass was with child and living in Leicester House. All of this, the queen chose to ignore. Mary could only hope that if Her Majesty ever got wind of her own marriage, the result would be the same.

Cold winter light shone through the windows of the queen’s bedchamber. No one was in sight, as Mary quickly checked the room. This would be her chance to talk to Eleanor.

“The fire does not burn too brightly for us this morning. It is freezing in here,” said Eleanor.

“The queen tries to save money where she can—why pay for wood to burn when no one is in the room?” said Mary.

“
We
are in the room,” said Eleanor.

Both women laughed.

“You know well enough that
we
do not count!” said Mary, rubbing her arms for warmth.

They walked over to the large casket where the queen kept her jewels. Mary turned the key which the queen had given her and lifted the lid. She never ceased to be amazed at the beautiful things contained in the box. They began a careful search for the pearl brooch.

“How would I look in this?” said Eleanor, as she placed a small golden crown upon her head.

“Take that off! What if someone comes in? We would lose our positions!” said Mary.

“You fret too much. How many chances do you think we’ll get to try on the queen’s jewels?” said Eleanor, adding a long rope of pearls to her ensemble.

They continued to search for the pearl brooch with the blue sapphires, slowly sifting through the hundreds of pieces of jewelry.

“I have it! Finally! Oh, it is quite lovely,” said Mary, holding the brooch in her hand, admiring the delicate gold work around the stones. The pearl looked especially white in the morning sun.

“Thank heavens—I would
hate
to be forced to keep looking and trying on the queen’s things. Such finery! Have you ever seen the like?” said Eleanor, now adding a bracelet of gold beads to her arm.

Mary laughed and helped Eleanor remove the items from her person. She noticed Eleanor’s ever-ripening belly and knew that soon her friend would leave court to give birth to her child. Mary hated thinking about that time—she would miss Eleanor. If ever she was going to share her news with her dear Nora, now was the time.

“I … I have something to tell you, Nora,” said Mary in a whisper.

“Well, then … go on,” said Eleanor.

“It is a great secret, and before I tell you, I must have your pledge of silence,” said Mary. She kept her voice down and took Eleanor’s hands in hers.

“My goodness! It must be quite a secret,” said Eleanor. “You are not with child, are you?”

“No, thank God! But it might be worse,” said Mary, taking a deep breath.

“What could be worse?” said Eleanor.

Mary paused. It was harder than she had imagined, telling her secret. She feared the very walls were listening.

“Sir John … we are, well, we are married,” said Mary, tightening her grip on Eleanor’s hands.

“What? How did you? When? Oh, you’re hurting me!” said Eleanor.

“Oh, I am sorry. Last month. We slipped away from court in the dark of night. I just knew someone would catch us, though we had planned our escape well enough. But no, the cold wind, the snow, and the late hour kept everyone close to the hearth or snuggled in their beds. We rode out past Southwark to an inn. There, a priest awaited us. And we were made man and wife,” said Mary.

“Man and wife … man and wife … the queen’s ward and Sir John, man and wife,” cackled a voice from within the wardrobe press.

“Who in the world?” said Mary as she rose to fling open the large door. There, curled up on the bottom shelf, beneath the queen’s warm shifts, lay Catspaw.

“Married, is it? I have been married three times—let me see. The first man was … well, his name was … I think it was Arthur, named after the late king’s brother. Could have been Edward, though…” said Catspaw. She continued mumbling to herself, what sounded like gibberish to Mary.

“Catspaw! Catspaw! You must listen to me,” said Mary, grabbing the old woman by her thin shoulders and forcing her to look into Mary’s face.

“Catspaw listens—hears everything! She will not like it, mistress! She will not like it one bit!” said Catspaw.

“I know—that is why we must keep it a secret! Oh, she will be very angry—she might throw us all into the Tower! Even you, Catspaw! You will not tell anyone, will you?” said Mary.

“My lips are sealed, even as with wax, Your Worship. No one will get the word from me, of that you can rest assured. I never gossip, no, never say a word. All secrets are safe with me—even the one about Lord Robert and Lady Douglass—they was married, too, you see. She done all she could to bring him to the altar and she finally got her way. She’s in a way, too—a
family
way, if you get my meaning,” said Catspaw.

“Nora, what am I going to do? She will never keep this quiet!” said Mary, close to tears.

“No one will listen to her—she mumbles to herself all the time—everyone thinks she’s touched in the head. Pay her no mind—if she slips and tells, no one will believe it,” said Eleanor.

Catspaw grew quiet for a moment and then began murmuring to herself.

“No one believes … pay her … slips,” said Catspaw, clutching at the soft lawn beneath her, her hands crooked as claws, the fingernails yellow against the crisp, white shifts.

Mary looked at the old woman and offered to help her rise.

“Would you like one of my sleeping cordials? It will ease your aches and pains for the night,” said Mary.

Catspaw stared at her and smiled. She nodded her head and Mary led her to a stool by the hearth. She helped her sit down and then left Mistress Eleanor with Catspaw while she went to the alcove where she stored her cordials. She retrieved the sleeping draught and carried it back to the women by the fire. Catspaw tipped the small vial back and drank every drop. Then, Mary and Eleanor helped her return to the servants’ quarters where she had a small, cold room she shared with three other women. They saw to it she went to bed immediately.

Forty-eight

Early March 1574

Mary kept her ears open during the weeks after Catspaw had overheard her secret, trying to ascertain whether or not the old woman was keeping mum about what she had discovered. Thus far, there was not even a hint of gossip. No one stared at Mary or wagged their tongues when she walked past. She began to sigh with relief and looked forward to the warming weather of spring, though no such weather had come yet. The cold wind still blew almost every day and piles of snow littered the corners of the gardens. Mary had not had a chance to be alone with Sir John since they returned from their wedding night. She had to content herself with a few stolen glances and the occasional brush when they passed each other as each attended to the duties demanded by the queen. Thankfully, her courses had come on schedule and, from the way things were going, she would not have a chance for her condition to change any time soon. Each night before falling asleep, she thought of her wedding night. The memories sent shivers down her spine, and one night the queen had an extra coverlet brought to her, thinking she quivered from the cold.

Mistress Eleanor had gone into her confinement in London, at her husband’s father’s house. It was a modest but nicely appointed home where Master Nicholas could visit when he was not busy limning at court. His work was becoming more and more popular, especially among the young courtiers, who often gave a miniature painting of themselves to the women they wished to stir. The queen also sat for him several times, impressed with his abilities. Mistress Eleanor had high hopes for their future, though Master Nicholas had little money at present.

Though Mary was lonely without her friend and without more than casual contact with her husband, she passed the days pleasantly enough. She looked forward to the evenings when she and John might steal a dance together with no one being the wiser. When they did so, they were both very careful not to look at one another for too long, or give each other lingering touches. Mary had to use all of her restraint to keep from caressing Sir John, and she could tell by the stiff way he held himself that he, too, struggled to maintain their ruse.

Mary thought she would wait until she and the queen had a quiet moment together, perhaps with Lord Robert, just the three of them, to tell Her Majesty of the wedding. She knew the queen would be furious, but she hoped, with Lord Robert present, he might be able to reason with her. If anyone could do so, it would be he. While she waited, Mary made a special point of being agreeable and pleasant to the queen.