Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (11 page)

“As you may recall, Your Majesty, Sir John is my son-in-law,” said Sir James.

“Yes, yes, Sir James—I do recall,” said the queen.

Mary realized she was still holding his hand and dropped it immediately. Though she had known of his marriage before, she felt suddenly bereft at the news. Why she should care whether or not this courtier was married was beyond her—yet, she did care. She cared a great deal.

“My dear, departed daughter left him with five young children who are at Holme Lacy with my wife,” said Sir James. “I fear I shall never get over the loss.”

“I am sorry to hear about your daughter, Sir James. And your wife, Sir John. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord,” said the queen.

“Amen,” said Sir James, taking his son-in-law by the elbow and bowing once again as the queen indicated they were to make way for the next courtier.

Mary kept her eyes on Sir John. A widower with five children. Not the sort of man she intended to marry. She blocked him from her mind. The queen had plans for her; in her future lay great events waiting to happen. She refused to be bothered by a minor noble with five mouths to feed. The queen had groomed her for greatness. Yet, those eyes, those amazing aqua eyes. Mary felt goose prickles rising on her arms.

*   *   *

The next morning the queen and her ladies went in procession to the Chapel Royal to hear not one but three Christmas Masses. The people of London crowded in to see their queen as they did each Sunday, falling to their knees as she passed. Mary was used to this give-and-take between the queen and her people. She watched as the queen stopped to accept a bunch of dried flowers from a small child.

“Thank you, sweetkins. These are lovely,” said the queen graciously.

“For when you be sick—the smell help you feel better,” said the child. Others crowded around the queen, one handing her a tattered bag with a few coins jingling within, another a warm loaf of bread.

“My good people, I thank you with all my heart,” said the queen, waving to them before she moved on. A little farther down the walkway, she lifted her arms and said, still walking, “God bless my people.”

The crowd responded with cheers and shouts of “God save the queen!” Mary was proud to walk behind such a sovereign and watched as the queen bound her people to her with love.

As they entered the Chapel Royal, the queen went to her private box while her ladies stood outside. The choirboys sang with heavenly voices. Mary looked out over the crowd of worshippers and saw Sir James Croft and his son-in-law. Sir John was dressed in a green doublet that seemed to influence his eyes, making them turn a deeper shade than they had been earlier. He was watching the queen’s box and she felt his eyes on her, though she knew he shouldn’t be able to see her. She immediately looked at the queen’s trailing skirts and took care not to step on them. When she raised her head again, she saw Oxford across the way, smiling at her. She gave a slight nod.

The tapers were lit and the sweet smell of beeswax filled the chapel. Mary listened as the priest read from the Gospels and the Psalms. His voice droned on and on, almost putting her to sleep.

Soon, the service was over and the queen paraded back to the Presence Chamber where she welcomed her courtiers. Mary stood behind the queen, while Her Majesty sat on her throne, speaking with Sir Christopher Hatton and Lord Hertford, along with Master Cecil and Leicester. When each man spoke to the queen, he knelt until she gave him leave to rise. Mary smiled, thinking they looked like the marionettes she had seen in Cheapside, bouncing up and down. Mary caught movement from the corner of her eye, and before she could react, Oxford had joined her. He stood very close, bowed, and wished her a happy Christmas. Luckily, the queen crooked her finger, motioning Oxford to kneel in front of her.

“Our dinner will be sweet this day,” said Mistress Eleanor into Mary’s ear.

Mary nodded. She watched as various courtiers moved about while the musicians played. Several choristers sang and, for a moment, the queen stopped her talk to listen.

Then, Mary saw Sir John Skydemore enter with his father-in-law. He had a cloak of deep green slung across his shoulders, shoulders that looked as wide as the doorway. He carried himself with ease, met and mingled with the other courtiers quite naturally, as if he had always known them. Mary caught his eye upon her and turned toward Mistress Eleanor.

“After we dine, the queen has requested a play for us—she says she will take a part in it herself. Then, dancing and music,” said Mistress Eleanor. “Will you sing?”

“If Her Majesty asks it of me, though I would prefer not to show myself among all these fellows. Singing to Her Majesty as we go to sleep is one thing—in front of everyone is quite another,” said Mary.

Sir John made his way to her and bowed.

“Mistress Mary, happy Christmas!” he said.

“And to you, sir,” said Mary, curtsying slightly. “My friend, Mistress Eleanor Brydges.”

“Ah, Eleanor … that was my late wife’s name,” he said softly. “Master Nicholas has already sung your praises to me, lady. I find he does not jest.”

Mistress Eleanor blushed and Mary felt suddenly jealous. Then, her better sense prevailed and she smiled at her friend.

“Since I am a newcomer, would you two ladies care to show me around the gardens? I have heard it said the queen has flowers even in the dead of winter,” said Sir John.

“That she does,” said Mary, taking the arm he offered. On his other side, Mistress Eleanor did the same.

The threesome walked from the Presence Chamber through one of the doors to the cold outside. Mary pulled her false sleeves around her, like a shawl. She placed her hands inside a warm muff made of fox fur. Sir John pulled his cap down over his head.

“This wind is blowing bitter—I fear I shall have to leave you, as I cannot bear it,” said Mistress Eleanor, withdrawing her arm from Sir John’s. “Do forgive me.”

“We shall not be long away, Nora. For the cold is bitter, indeed,” said Mary.

Mary and Sir John walked farther into the gardens. The hedges were still green but the grass was brown and tinged with light frost. They approached a small glass building and Mary indicated for Sir John to open the door. Once inside, boldly colored flowers filled the shelves of the room.

“This is wondrous! I have never seen the like,” said Sir John.

“Yes, it’s quite amazing, isn’t it? Dr. Dee calls it a ‘green house,’ though I don’t know why he doesn’t call it a house of glass. He designed the construction of it and selected the flowers from his time traveling in Europe. He gave instructions to the queen’s gardener about how to care for these delicate blooms. Some are even from the New World—like this one. Isn’t the white flower pretty?” said Mary.

“I have heard of the famous Dr. Dee. Perhaps I shall meet him while I am at my studies,” said Sir John, sniffing a large red blossom.

“His library holds over four thousand books—I have not yet seen it but have heard about it from Her Majesty,” said Mary.

“So you like science?” said Sir John.

“Yes, especially the study of the stars and the night sky. And Dr. Dee knows about the layout of the earth and where each great country lies. He wishes for England to navigate the world and become an empire. And he is an alchemist and a scryer and—” said Mary.

“You enjoy ideas! That much is clear,” said Sir John.

“Is there a reason I should not? Surely you do not believe that because I am a woman, my head should be empty of everything but children and house chores,” said Mary, her face reddening. She thought of Tom Wotton and his taunts. And then she thought of his kisses.

“I believe a woman should think about what she will. I, too, am intrigued by the study of science. That is one of the reasons I have come to London—I would learn more about this world before I am called upon to leave it,” said Sir John.

“You won’t be leaving it soon, I hope,” said Mary.

“I have learned one can never know when that moment will come—we are never ready for it,” said Sir John.

Mary saw a look of sadness pass over his features.

“But this is Christmas Day and I am in London looking at flowers in full bloom with a beautiful woman! Let us make merry!” said Sir John.

“You do not have to hide your sorrow from me. I understand such grief. I lost both my parents within two weeks—the sweating sickness. But, though I lost them, my life has been blessed. The queen became my guardian—she’s like a mother to me. And I have lived here with her since I was but three,” said Mary, looking at him.

“Then you
do
understand,” said Sir John, staring into her eyes. “Thank you.”

They stood for a silent moment and Mary thought the air had become thick and too warm. She removed her hand from her muff and smoothed her hair. She smiled up at Sir John.

“Shall we return to the Presence Chamber? The queen will miss us before too long,” said Mary.

Fourteen

New Year’s Day, 1570

The dinner for New Year’s Day filled the halls of the palace with delicious odors: roast boar, baked pastries filled with mincemeat and spices, rich cakes and confections, tarts and other sweet delicacies. The queen ate in the Presence Chamber where she entertained important guests. The citizens of London were allowed to watch the meal from special galleries installed for that purpose.

Mary and Mistress Eleanor, along with the queen’s other ladies, waited while the tablecloth and salt cellar were carried into the chamber. Trumpets and kettle drums announced the entry of each dish. The servers bowed three times to the currently empty throne beneath the canopy of estate.

“Come, mistress, we must place the cloth upon the table now,” said Mary as she walked to pick it up. She and Mistress Eleanor spread it over the table and then Mistress Frances and Mistress Dorothy placed the food on the table. Countess von Snakenberg, dressed in white silk, followed Mistress Anne Cecil, who had recently been created a maid-of-honor, as Mistress Anne held a large tasting fork in front of her. The countess bowed reverently to the empty throne and then rubbed the plates with bread and salt. Then Mistress Anne offered “the assay,” bits of meat from each dish, to the guards to eat to make certain there was no poison. The ladies left after their duties were completed and everyone waited for Her Majesty to appear.

Mistress Eleanor leaned over to speak in Mary’s ear.

“I see Sir John Skydemore of Holme Lacy is invited to dine with us today,” she said.

“And I see your Master Nicholas is not here. Did the queen neglect to invite him?” said Mary.

“He was called home—his father is ill. I hope he shall return by the Feast of the Epiphany,” said Mistress Eleanor.

“I’m sorry. I know you would like to spend the festivities dancing with him,” said Mary.

“There are others—there are always others. Remember that, Mary,” said Mistress Eleanor.

“I find my attentions cannot shift from one to another as easily as yours do. I have not found any to my liking since the queen sent Tom Wotton from court,” said Mary, suddenly aware she had been staring at Sir John the entire time she had been conversing with Nora.

“Are you certain? Your eyes seem to have found something to like,” said Nora.

Mary straightened.

“Pffft! Untrue! But look, here comes the queen,” she said.

The trumpets and drums played again, and this time the other musicians joined them. The guards shouted, “Make way for the queen!” and the crowd separated as if the queen were Moses and they, the Red Sea. Lord Robert walked directly behind her, then came a few of her ladies.

“Happy New Year’s Day! Ah, my good Master Cecil, how fine you look in your new suit. Such a lovely wine color, and if you make a spill, it should never show!” said the queen, laughing. Master Cecil bowed and smiled.

The queen sat at her table and selected a few choice pieces of chicken, some greens from a sallet, a thick slice of manchet spread with marmalade, and a glass of lightly brewed beer. She then waved her hands and the ladies cleared the dishes away, sending servants to bear them to the Great Hall where the court would eat after the queen had finished dining.

Meanwhile, the courtiers and ladies chatted while the musicians played a new piece written for the occasion by Master William Byrd.

“I see the queen is broad of mind when it comes to her musicians,” said Sir John Skydemore as he approached Mary and bowed. She gave him a brief curtsy.

“What is your meaning? The queen is liberal with all her subjects,” said Mary.

“I meant only that Master Byrd is a known Catholic and has enjoyed Her Majesty’s protection upon occasion,” said Sir John.

“Her Majesty has often said she has no desire to look into men’s souls, sir. Are you one of those Puritans who wish to bend the world to his own way?” said Mary.

“No, mistress. I am merely surprised, after the recent unrest in the north, that Her Majesty tolerates any Catholics at all,” said Sir John.

“You will find our queen is most gracious—those who were not involved in the Northern Rebellion should not be punished, no matter their religious views. Only the guilty deserve death,” said Mary, her head turned resolutely away from him.

“You are a most remarkable woman, mistress. Would you care to sup with me?” said Sir John. He continued to look at her—she could feel his stare and she faced him again.

“I should be most happy to do so,” she said, her heart beating fast.

The queen finished her meal and called for the subtlety, an enormous creation representing the royal arms in marchpane. Everyone applauded as three manservants carried the confection to the queen’s table. Her Majesty waited for them to cut her a large piece and then proceeded to eat. She dismissed her court, indicating for Lord Robert and Mistress Blanche to stay.

Sir John offered Mary his arm, which she took carefully. She could feel his strong muscles holding her own arm easily. She caught a whiff of his scent—he smelled like yew trees mixed with a manly odor, not strong or disagreeable, just a sharper odor beneath the fragrance of yew.