Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (17 page)

I know not what to do—should I tell her that I am still a maid and there are ways to be with a man that do not include giving up one’s virginity? What sort of ideas might that put into her head? I would not have these dogs at court sniffing around my Fawn! God’s blood, I am her guardian, her protector. I am to act in loco parentis, in the place of her parents. I am responsible for her virtue and I must ensure she makes a good marriage.

If only she knew the torment my unmarried state gives me! If only she could realize the sacrifices Elizabeth, the woman, has made for Elizabeth, the queen! How can I demand her obedience when now she sees me as a vessel for sin? How can I command her respect when she has seen me in my Sweet Robin’s naked arms?

How can she know the way I ache for Rob? Has she ever loved a man? I think not! She is but a child in a woman’s body. She knows nothing and I have not been any help to her.

Yes, yes, I see how Oxford pants after her. I shall send him from court immediately. I know, I know. I cannot send every man from court. But I would protect her, Parry. God’s teeth, she has no idea what rogues these men can be. I would not give a fig for any of them—even my Robin’s eyes wander. No, do not think to comfort me. I know he goes to Lady Sheffield for what he cannot have from me. She gives it willingly enough.

And I do not blame him. He loves me and has always loved me. I believe he shall always love me. I have not married him, lo, these many times he has begged it of me. I allow him a few of the pleasures of my body, but not everything. Not everything. He wants an heir. That he shall never have from me. So, let him sire a baseborn son or two. Where is the harm in that?

As for Fawn, talk to her, Parry. Make her understand. And remind her of the great love I bear her. I can still remember her little hand in mine, rubbing my fingernails as she slept, cuddled against me—child of my heart.

Twenty

May 1570

After Mary had seen the queen in Lord Robert’s arms, she found it difficult to be in Her Majesty’s presence. Each time she helped the queen dress or accompanied her around the gardens, she felt her face blaze with shame. Somehow, sharing such secret knowledge with the queen made Mary feel guilty, as if
she
had done something wrong. All those lectures she remembered the queen giving her ladies seemed laughable now. And Mary did not like the feeling she had that the queen was not quite as royal, not quite as elevated as Mary had thought her. Her Majesty seemed to understand these feelings, as she called for Mary less and less. Mary imagined the queen was ashamed and did not wish to be reminded of her sinful behavior by having to look into Mary’s eyes. But, though Mary was disillusioned and disappointed with the queen, the comings and goings at court continued as usual, and soon the weather was right for the royal progress.

Because she needed something to soothe her nerves as she fretted over the queen’s behavior, Mary asked Catspaw for a cordial recipe that would calm her. She hoped if she could brew something quickly, the queen might also be able to use it on progress. And, though there would not be enough time for the cordial to reach its fullest potency, Mary was convinced anything was better than nothing. Catspaw knew exactly what potion to brew, chamomile blossoms and rose petals, which she swore could calm even the most nervous creature. Mary had gathered the flowers and was in her little room, where the air was cool and a fragrant aroma gathered. She heard the usual kitchen bustle, feet running back and forth, cooks and washerwomen joking as they worked. She was straining the newly washed blooms when she saw a shadow fall across the entranceway.

“I see I find you experimenting—you look like Dr. Dee, poring over his laboratory instruments,” said Sir John Skydemore. He looked a bit disheveled, as if he had hurried from one place to another. Mary smiled at him and he returned her kind looks.

“I suppose I am. Since we are leaving to go on progress soon, I wanted to try this new cordial—for calming the nerves,” said Mary.

“Well, I understand the queen’s progress can be a bit daunting,” he said.

She nodded and continued to strain the flowers. After making certain they were clean, she spread them on a white linen cloth.

“I have been looking for you everywhere, Mary. Luckily, I ran into Old Catspaw and she told me where you were. I have something I would like to discuss with you,” he said, suddenly seeming nervous.

“Oh? What is it?” said Mary, pressing another cloth over the petals.

“I wish to go ahead with our courtship. I must return to Holme Lacy tomorrow to see after the rents and some other things. And, of course, to see the children … I shall join the progress in a week or so. And, when I do return, I would like to speak to the queen about us,” said Sir John.

Mary could not help but smile. Though she was not sure Sir John would suit the queen, as she looked into his eyes, she thought he would easily suit
her.
And she could trust that he was serious about his intentions. Unlike Oxford, who
said
he was going to speak to the queen but, thus far, had not, Mary knew Sir John would keep his word. He had such a sincere manner.

“Are you certain you are ready?” said Mary.

He took two long steps to her, wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her.

“Yes … yes, I am ready,” he said.

*   *   *

The queen and her entourage set out for her annual progress in late May because the weather had turned unusually warm and a siege of summer sickness took hold of the city early. Her first visit was to Nonsuch Palace in Surrey, where the queen enjoyed hunting amid the rich forests and meadows. The whole court traveled with their mistress, though the long parade of wagons and heavily laden mules precluded a quick journey. Instead, the queen and her party slowly made their way through various towns and villages where Her Majesty would be welcomed by the local sheriff, the mayor, and aldermen who dressed in their solemn robes to hand her the ceremonial keys. Then, the people would line up along both sides of the narrow road, throwing flowers at the queen, reciting poems and singing songs in her honor. Often, the queen stopped everything to hear the song of a child or to receive a bag of gold from some poor widow who could scant afford such generosity. No matter what the gift, the queen accepted it cordially, with many waves and kisses to her people.

Although the queen lived in her usual splendor while on progress, her maids did not. Often, they were crowded together with the maidservants of the house and sometimes they were stabled in makeshift tents. The queen loved being among her people and living lavishly at the expense of her courtiers; her ladies did not.

“At least we can enjoy Nonsuch—after that, we head for Sir Francis Carew’s Beddington estate. I have heard there is no room at all there for us—we shall sleep with the kitchen wenches,” said Lady Douglass, brushing specks of dust from her sleeves.

“Surely things will not be that bad—the queen does have a care for us,” said Mary, washing one of the queen’s shifts in a bowl of warm water. The queen had spilled a little wine on the edge of the sleeve, so Mary had taken it upon herself to try to remove the stain before the washerwoman came to collect the laundry. She looked out the window at the sprawling hills below, the forests fully green and the flower gardens showing off the colors of the rainbow—pink roses, purple columbines, pale green lilies—and Mary thought she had never seen anything quite so beautiful.

Though the queen and Lord Robert continued to enjoy hunting together, rumors were circulating about Elizabeth and the Duke of Anjou, that the queen would accept him as a candidate for her hand, though he was much younger than she.

“Old Catspaw has been spreading the news to anyone who will listen,” said Mistress Eleanor, folding the lawn sheets to be fitted on the queen’s bed later.

“That old bird has lost her feathers; she was ever a flibbertigibbet and now she tells such silly tales. The duke is twenty years younger than Her Majesty. Do you seriously think he would consider marrying such an old woman? And, she has that awful sore on her leg! She is aging fast and none the better for it,” said Lady Douglass.

“The queen’s leg will heal—it is an ulcer of some sort. Mistress Blanche has been placing warm compresses on it each night and rubbing an unguent of chamomile and aloe on it. Already, it begins to heal,” said Mary, scrubbing harder on the stain. She wished she were scrubbing Lady Douglass’s face.

“There is to be a grand dance tonight. Lord Robert told me to dress in my finest silks. Are you going?” said Lady Douglass.

“Of course. Where else would we be but at the queen’s service?” said Mary.

“I shall wear my new black gown with cloth-of-gold sleeves and a pale green kirtle. Master Nicholas has said he wishes to sketch me tonight in the candlelight,” said Mistress Eleanor.

“Humph. Sketch you, indeed! I know full well what he would like to do in the candlelight,” said Lady Douglass.

Mistress Eleanor flushed all the way down her neck and looked at the floor.

“Perhaps you would know of such things, having been a married woman. As for us maidens, we have no such wisdom,” said Mary, staring at Lady Douglass hard.

The women finished their chores and picked up their sewing.

“I shall wear my silver dress with silver sleeves—the queen has given me a new diamond necklace to wear as well. Would you like to see it?” said Mary, suddenly proud of her kinship to the queen, at least proud in front of this haughty woman.

“I have more important things to do, mistress, than to see what castoff the queen has tossed to her little dog. Lord Robert has asked me to go along on the hunt—I must ready myself,” said Lady Douglass, rising and throwing her sewing hoop on the table near the queen’s bed. She then swished out of the room, her skirts twirling about her legs.

“
I
want to see it, Mary—pay her no mind. Her head is as empty as Pakington’s pockets,” said Mistress Eleanor.

Mary rose and walked to the linen press. She reached deep within and pulled out her treasure box.

“Oh, the special box! I have not seen this in a while,” said Mistress Eleanor, squinting to see inside.

“My treasures … I did not want to leave them behind when we went on progress, so I hid the box in here. Look! The necklace,” said Mary, pulling out a small gold chain on which tiny diamonds glittered.

“It is beautiful—not gaudy like those heavy links Lady Douglass wears. It is delicate, like you, Mary. I think it’s perfect for tonight. What is
that
?” said Mistress Eleanor, pointing.

“Oh, a silly keepsake—my hair woven with the queen’s. She pledged her eternal friendship with this ringlet back when I was a child. But I kept it … such tokens of the queen’s affection are rare and it means more to me than these diamonds,” said Mary, replacing the necklace and closing the lid. She hid the box once again in the cupboard.

“My hope tonight is for Master Nicholas to sketch my portrait—and I pray he asks me to marry him. He promised to speak to his father about the match and then to write my father. I can see no reason for them to refuse us,” said Mistress Eleanor.

“Aye, then I shall be forced to treat you as a refined married woman—I shall not be able to stand it,” said Mary, laughing. “I shall tell you a secret—well, two secrets. Before we left London, Sir John Skydemore told me he was going to speak to the queen about courting me. I believe him to be sincere.”

“That is big news, indeed! He is so very handsome, though his holdings are sparse. I fear the queen may not agree to the match,” said Eleanor.

“Once I tell the queen that I am not opposed, surely she will allow it. But that is not my only secret,” said Mary, hugging herself.

“Well, out with it,” said Eleanor.

“The Earl of Oxford has also said he was going to speak to the queen. Though he has been saying it for many weeks now, yet he does nothing. Imagine! Marrying an earl!” said Mary.

“Oh, dear friend—you have not given way to him, have you? Oxford is notorious for making all sorts of promises to young maidens, then never following through. He will play you false. Though he is an earl, he is no gentleman,” said Eleanor.

“I have kept my virtue, dear Nora. Though I had not heard this information before, in my heart I did not trust him. His eyes are not honest eyes,” said Mary. “Truth to tell, I am not disappointed. I find Sir John much more to my liking.”

“Come, I hear Her Majesty approaching. We must set the table for her dinner. I am happy to go a-dancing this eve,” said Eleanor.

Mary felt a sudden breath of freedom. It was good to share her news about Sir John, and she was glad to have her opinion of Oxford confirmed. As she thought about the upcoming evening, she remembered her glimpse of the queen in Lord Robert’s arms. Suddenly, she felt a lightness in her limbs—if the queen could live freely, then so could she. She would dance with every man who asked her; she would smile and enjoy the attentions shown to her by the courtiers. She would sparkle like the diamonds in her necklace.

*   *   *

“Mary, you have tired me out! Three galliards in a row and still you wish to dance. Come, let us have more wine,” said Oxford as he took Mary by the hand and led her to the tables filled with ale and wine. He handed her a glass, which she drank down quickly. She, too, had worked up a thirst. She watched as the earl drained his mug of ale and then poured more from a nearby ewer. He gulped that down, too. Mary quickly finished her wine and took yet another glass. She noticed the queen walking toward her. She gave Her Majesty a quick curtsy. The queen leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“Dear Fawn, take care you do not imbibe too much drink—it clouds the mind,” said the queen. Then the queen chucked Oxford under the chin. “Have a care with my ward.”

Mary’s face burned with fury. She was not a child! She reached for her glass, gave Oxford a bold grin.

“I shall match you drink for drink,” she said. She smiled at him and quaffed down the liquid. Normally, she followed the queen’s custom of watering her wine and drinking small beer, but tonight she felt free and full of her own power. She had danced with every handsome man in the hall, and now the Earl of Oxford was partnering Mary with great gusto.