Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (10 page)

As the curtains pulled tight around them, Mary felt, for the first time that evening, safe.

“Child, will you rub my back? I ache all over,” said the queen, turning with her back to Mary.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Do not fret—Lord Hunsdon will not fail you. He is your cousin, after all, and as such, he cannot fail,” said Mary, her voice soft and soothing.

“I pray you are right, Fawn. Oh, that feels so good … yes, there, across my shoulders … I feel as if I have been like Hercules, carrying the world on these thin shoulders. Perhaps you should go someplace safer,” said the queen.

“I shall not leave you, Majesty. My place is with you and I am safe enough at your side,” said Mary, rubbing the hard knots with great tenderness.

“You are a good child. I am blessed, indeed, to have my Fawn, my Spirit, and my beloved Eyes. Even if the Queen of Scots tears my flesh to ribbons, she will never have the kind of love I have had with you and Sweet Robin—our little family,” said the queen.

“Majesty, I have made a sleeping cordial—would you like to try it?” said Mary.

“That is just the thing I need—ring for the serving wench to fetch it,” said the queen.

Twelve

See how I tremble—it has not stopped since Durham Cathedral. By God’s heart, I do not allow these arms to show their weakness to any but you, Parry. I hold myself still when my ministers are near—they would think me but a weak woman, should I shake thus.

But I do have fears, fears I dare not speak to another living soul. No, not even you. They say Norfolk has not left Kenninghall—that is a surprise, yes. I would have thought he would join his army as they march from Durham, but it is rumored he has not moved.

If I were planning a rebellion, I should think it prudent to join with my army. But I am not Norfolk—who knows what evil he plans, safe in his castle …

I am happy to have my Sweet Robin at my side—without him, I would have given way to my terror. His sword, ready at my service, is a great comfort. Do not worry, Parry, you are a great comfort, too.

Shall my reign end now? Is this the way I shall die? Captured by the queen I now hold captive? My father would spin in his tomb to see the Tudor dynasty end so. I have kept England safe from war these ten years. God’s blood, those advisors do not see my achievement—they think it some sort of idle luck or magic that a woman has ruled thus. Now, they will clamor more stridently than ever for me to marry, to make a tie with some great prince who should protect us against rebels.

I shall not do it! I shall not! I have no taste to marry Philip of Spain or the French king! Nor Eric of Sweden nor the Archduke Charles! I will not have any of them! If I cannot have my Rob—

I shall not give way to tears, madam, do not fear.

If the Queen of Scots should marry Norfolk and, together, they march against me, what would she do with me? Make me a captive? Never! For my living and breathing would be her death! She would send me to the Tower. Would she dare execute me? An anointed queen?

And if so, would it be the axe or would she order a swordsman from France? Think you history can repeat? Oh, my thoughts turn to death. I once said to my Privy Council that I cared not for death, for all men are mortal and I have good courage. Now, faced with it, I find I have not the courage I thought I possessed.

Yes, I have felt such fear before, once. Do you remember when Fawn was but eight and she caught the smallpox? How I nursed her myself, spooning warm broth into her mouth, her lips dry, the skin curling around the edges? She was covered with those running sores, those horrible pustules, and I dotted each one with a salve of aloe and chamomile. Her forehead blistered in beads of sweat and I thought she would surely die.

But she did not die. Instead, I caught the dreaded disease myself;
I
almost died. I was so close to death I could feel his icy grip on my spine and, Parry, I was sore afraid. I prayed to God that I should survive, for the sake of my country and my little Fawn. How my councillors must have prayed for me, too, especially when I named Rob as Protector of England. Cecil and Hunsdon were not happy with those words but I did not care—I knew Rob was the only one I could trust with my beloved country, the only one who shared my love of peace. I knew he would see to our Fawn, as well as keep the north country in line. Oh, I entrusted him with everything and left no doubt in the world of my feelings.

Do you recall that November, after Fawn and I had healed, though we were still weak, Rob fixed a picnic for us inside the Great Hall? He had made trees of logs with green cloth for leaves, soft, mossy velvet for the grasses of the meadow, a bright yellow sun hanging from above. The whole place seemed alive; he even brought a couple of birds to settle on the branches of the trees. How we laughed! It felt good to laugh, after looking death in the face. Fawn and I played with our hair, which was hanging loose on our shoulders. I tipped my head over so she could have my red curls and then she tipped her head over so I could have her thick black locks. And then I had the idea to make rings of our hair. Rob took his knife and cut a long strand of mine and an equally long strand of hers. I wove the two together, red and black, black and red, into one tight braid, and then Rob cut it into two pieces. I made a ring for Fawn and a ring for me.

“This shall always be a sign of our bond, dearest Fawn. If ever you have need of me, send me this ring and I will come to you and I will help you,” I told her. Her eyes shone as she took the ring and put it on her small finger.

I still have mine, yes—it’s in the small casket along with other treasures, gifts from Rob, my mother’s necklace. I do not think Fawn still has hers. Children do not keep such tokens. They are, after all, mere trifles. No, I cannot sit still. I must pace and pace until my heart stops beating like the drums of war.

No, Parry, I cannot eat or rest unless our Fawn gives me her sleeping cordial. I would rather be in the field with my brave soldiers than to wait here, pacing and waiting, wondering what is happening.

Yes, yes, I will take another cordial. Bring it to me. Dear Parry, what would I do without you … and those few who do love me.

Thirteen

December 1569

By Christmas, the queen’s great Northern Rebellion had been quashed. When Hunsdon’s army went to meet them, the rebels scattered. For some unfathomable reason, the Duke of Norfolk never joined his army, though he had ample opportunity. Without such a leader, fear of the queen’s wrath ran through the rebels and they dispersed. Norfolk quickly gave himself up and was put under arrest in the Tower, the Scottish queen was safely back at Tutbury, and those rebels who could, had escaped across the Pennines into Scotland. Others merely melted back into the rough north, disappearing into the mists. However, Sussex routed several hundred and gave them a traitor’s death. The rotting bodies of rebels dotted the small villages in the north, stark warning to traitors everywhere.

In London, the relief was evident in the lavish Christmas celebrations and in the usual flocking to court of lords and ladies from all corners of the realm.

“I shall be glad when Christmas Eve comes to mark the final day of our fasting,” said Mistress Eleanor as she handed the queen’s nightgowns and shifts to Mary, folded and stacked to go into the linen press.

“We shall have gooseberry tarts to our heart’s content,” said Mary, carefully placing the queen’s most private garments on the shelf.

“And marchpane and stuffed peacock and manchet spread with creamy butter,” said Mistress Dorothy.

“And no more fish!” said Mistress Frances.

“We can all breathe again now that Sussex and Lord Hunsdon have removed the threat against us—I thought our lives forfeit just a month ago. Cowering and hiding in these apartments, too afraid to venture a step away from the Gentlemen Pensioners and their swords, the queen ill as an angry hornet. Thanks be to God those days are behind us,” said Mary.

“Did you hear what the queen said to Lord Hunsdon? She was all smiles for him when he brought her news of how he routed the rebels. ‘I doubt much, my Harry, whether that the victory were given me, more joyed me, or that you were by God appointed the instrument of my glory; and I assure you that for my country’s good the first might suffice, but for my heart’s contentment the second pleased me.’ And then she gave him a goodly portion of Northumberland’s holdings. Sussex also grew in wealth for his part,” said Mistress Eleanor.

A manservant entered the queen’s chambers and walked toward the ladies.

“Which is Mistress Mary Shelton?” he said.

“Here, sir,” said Mary.

“The queen sends for you—she is in the Presence Chamber with several of her gentlemen,” said the man.

He bowed and left. Mary glanced in the looking glass on the queen’s silver table and patted her hair, smoothing it beneath her French hood. She straightened her sleeves and pinched her cheeks. She ran her fingers in the olive oil kept for such purposes and moistened her mouth.

“I will be happy when the queen no longer requires me while she is meeting with her advisors—talk, talk, talk!” said Mary, laughing.

“I cannot imagine why she calls you to these meetings—you are not going to be
queen
of anything, except the jakes,” said Mistress Eleanor.

“Well, perhaps I am—you may kiss my hand now, mistress, and do a very low curtsy!” said Mary.

“I shall bow, O great mistress, but you shall have the backside!” said Mistress Eleanor, bending over so her bottom was in the air.

“Then I shall backhand it!” said Mary, swatting at her.

“I shall get you for that!” said Mistress Eleanor, giving chase. Around and around the chamber they ran, pulling the other two ladies into their game. Soon all four were batting at each other, running and laughing.

“Stop! I must be off or Her Majesty will have my head!” said Mary. She hurried out the door before the others could catch her. Walking more slowly, she fixed her hair again and straightened her skirts. When she arrived at the Presence Chamber, she told the guard who she was. He opened the door and stepped inside.

“Mistress Mary Shelton,” he said in a loud voice.

Mary saw many gentlemen talking in clusters as she made her way toward where the queen was sitting. The queen saw her and motioned her to sit at the pillow near her feet.

“Oh, my Fawn, you look as if you have been on a merry chase this morning. Come. I want you to observe how I manage these,” said the queen as she opened her arms to indicate the buzzing crowd of courtiers.

Mary sat on the large pillow and looked around. She recognized Sir John Pakington and Oxford. Lord Robert knelt on the other side of the queen while Master Cecil stood slightly behind the throne. Most of the men were strangers. Mary noticed Sir James Croft’s son-in-law immediately as he talked with Sir James. Her heart leaped and she quickly looked down. When she raised her head, she could not help but gaze at him again. She caught his eye and he returned her stare. He did not turn away. She lowered her eyes.

“We have much for which to thank our God this Christmas, have we not, Fawn? He has delivered us from civil war,” said the queen, smiling.

“Your Majesty, though we have won this skirmish, I fear the war will not be won until the Queen of Scots is given the traitor’s death she deserves. She is the fount of all discontent and I fear she will remain so as long as she lives,” said Master Cecil.

“Dear Spirit, let us leave off speaking of our doom this day as we remember Christ’s birth. Allow us to celebrate a little, will you not?” said the queen.

“As you wish, Your Majesty—but in the New Year, we shall have much to discuss,” said Master Cecil.

“Tut-tut, tut-tut,” said the queen.

Mary watched as Sir James and the handsome young man—Adonis, she silently named him, remembering the queen’s comment about his beauty—made their way to the queen. Sir James bowed deeply, as did the young man. Mary watched him as he leaned over. He was not as young as she had first thought, for she saw tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. His hair shone in the morning sun streaming through the windows. She still thought him quite handsome, even at a close distance. There was something about his manner—calm and assured—that she found appealing.

“Majesty, you remember my son-in-law, Sir John Skydemore, from Holme Lacy of Herefordshire. He is newly come to court to study law at the Inner Temple and is looking for rooms at the Inns of Court,” said Sir James.

“Welcome to Hampton Court, Sir John. We can always use another man who knows the law,” said the queen, offering him her hand to kiss. Mary watched as he did so with great grace and affection.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Already I am dazzled by the beauty of this palace. Never have I seen the like. And your own beauty, if I may say so, matches very well your surroundings,” said Sir John.

Mary had heard many men say such things to the queen. Oxford frequently discussed the queen’s merits, using flowery language and overblown style. But the words from this Sir John seemed sincere. The queen must have thought so, too, because she was smiling at him.

“And this is our dearest cousin, Mistress Mary Shelton,” said the queen.

Mary looked up at Sir John and found him bowing to her. His smile was like the sun breaking through clouds; it warmed his entire face and those around him. Mary discovered she was returning his happy look and felt her face flush. He took her hand to kiss, and when his lips touched her skin, she shivered. His lips were dry and soft and his kiss as gentle as the fluttering of a butterfly.

“I can see the family resemblance—two beauties set next to all this finery is almost too much to bear,” said Sir John.

“Then I suggest you shield your eyes,” said the queen.

“I said ‘almost,’ Your Majesty, ‘almost,’” said Sir John, still staring into Mary’s eyes.

She held his stare because his eyes were unlike any she had seen. They were a strange mix of blue and green, pale. They seemed lit from within. A darker rim held in that bold color, emphasizing it. She felt as if she could look into those eyes forever; they were mesmerizing.