Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (20 page)

“But he is a true subject to the queen. He has declared his loyalty to me and I believe him!” said Mary.

“It matters not! The queen has her own plans for your future—she sets great store in you and will see you well matched, perhaps even to Oxford, rake that he is—he’s still an earl. Enough of this foolish chatter! I do not wish to discuss it further. It is time to return to the queen,” said Mistress Blanche, throwing the apple core to the ground.

“I shall never marry Oxford! He has tried to ruin me!” said Mary.

“If the queen wills it, then you shall do it,” said Mistress Blanche.

Mary felt her face begin to burn with anger. Why should the queen have such plans for her? Why could she not marry where her heart led her? Why must marriage be a business arrangement rather than two hearts longing for each other? It was the queen! The queen wished no one happy! She could not marry or would not do so; she hated anyone who might find love. She was determined to see Mary miserable in some foreign country with some old man with lots of lands and money, but no warmth in his body or his heart. Well, let the queen think what she would. Mary would follow her heart, no matter where it led her, even if it led to the grave.

*   *   *

By the time Mary, Sir John, and Mistress Blanche had returned to the progress, the sun had set and they had missed supper. Luckily, the servants at Warwick Castle were overwhelmed by their royal guest and her entourage. The food had not yet been put away and they were able to enjoy some lukewarm chicken and manchet, washed down with the queen’s light ale. After their brief repast, Mary and Mistress Blanche reported to the queen’s rooms to see if Her Majesty had need of them. Mary was surprised by laughter ringing from the Privy Chamber, Her Majesty’s deep-throated laugh quite recognizable. At first, the sound made Mary smile, remembering all the times she and the queen had laughed together over some silly thing when Mary was a child. Then, she remembered how the queen wanted to control every single thing in her life and she could feel the blood rushing through her veins.

The guard announced them, and when she saw them, the queen motioned them to come to her. Mary was shocked to see Oxford and Pakington seated on pillows next to the makeshift throne. Mary and Mistress Blanche curtsied to the queen and Her Majesty indicated for them to sit on two pillows between the men.

“My lord Oxford has been regaling me with naughty stories about country wenches and ladies-in-waiting and what the two have in common. If I weren’t laughing so hard, I’d box his impudent ears,” said the queen, resting her hand on Oxford’s shoulder. Pakington took a long swig of ale and then belched, loudly. Mary thought the queen would send him from the room; instead, she laughed again. “Made room for more, did you, Lusty?”

“Always room for more, Your Majesty. And where did this pretty young thing come from?” said Pakington, playfully twirling Mistress Blanche’s tendril that had escaped her French hood. She slapped his hand away.

“Neither young nor pretty, Sir John! And certainly old enough to know when a man is making himself a fool,” said Mistress Blanche. Her rebuke sobered Pakington and there was a lull in the frivolity. Just then, the guard announced Sir John Skydemore. Mary’s heart skipped like a stone over water. Sir John had changed his doublet and hose, the emerald color of the satin casting his eyes a deeper shade of green than usual. His hair was combed back and Mary couldn’t help but notice how nicely he filled out his clothes, the muscles of his calves evident as he walked, his shoulders wide and strong-looking. She could feel her cheeks flame.

“Your Majesty,” said Sir John, kissing the queen’s proffered hand.

“Ah, Sir John. How were things at Holme Lacy? Do your children fare well?” said the queen in a gracious tone.

“As well as children can fare without a mother,” said Sir John.

“They are lovely children, Your Grace. Three strapping boys and two little girls, all very pretty,” said Mary, coming to his rescue. He could not have known the subject of motherhood was a tender spot with the queen.

“Well, Mistress Mary, you seem to have a knack for knowing how to win a man—coddle his children or, as you did in my case, coddle the man himself,” said Oxford with a lecherous grin.

“Does something go on here? My lord Oxford, even you know better than to meddle with my ward!” said the queen.

“That I do, madam—but what if she meddles with me?” said Oxford, still smiling and staring into Mary’s eyes.

“A gentleman would never so insult a lady, Oxford. She cannot defend herself. But if you do not take back your words, I shall defend her honor for her,” said Sir John in a low, steely voice.

Mary took a sharp breath. Surely Sir John could not be calling Oxford to duel in front of the queen. Swordplay was strictly banished in the presence of Her Majesty and those who ignored the rule did so at their peril.

“Enough! Oxford, apologize at once to my ward! Sir John, take your hand from the hilt of your sword!” The queen spoke so vehemently that her voice brooked no argument. Oxford mumbled an apology, then he and Pakington took their leave. Sir John was invited to sit on a cushion while he and the queen discussed a land squabble involving one of his yeomen. Mary sat, trying to calm herself. Oxford had humiliated her in front of the queen and Sir John. How gallant Sir John had been to leap to her defense. How she suddenly was filled with hatred for Oxford and how her heart burned with shame to remember the way he had handled her in the garden. How she wished she had never gone into the garden with him. Sir John must never know of that night. He would not wish to court her if he knew that Oxford had kissed her breasts and fondled her as if she were a mere kitchen wench.

*   *   *

Later, after she had helped the queen prepare for bed, Her Majesty dismissed all of her ladies but called Mary to her.

“Come, dear Fawn, sit beside me,” said the queen as she patted the spot next to her on her bed.

Mary obeyed and sat close to the queen, close enough to smell her perfume. The queen put her arm around Mary’s shoulders and Mary rested her head against the queen’s shoulder.

“You are growing up, my Fawn. I see how all my courtiers admire your beauty—I do not blame them, you have grown quite lovely over the summer. One of my courtiers has asked my permission to marry you,” said the queen, very quietly.

Mary did not speak. Could Sir John have moved so quickly? She could feel her bones reverberating as her heart thumped.

“Did you give your leave?” said Mary, almost afraid of the queen’s answer.

“Do you not wish to know who the man is?” said the queen, smiling.

“Of course. Who is it?” said Mary, thinking to herself how much courage Sir John must have garnered to approach the queen.

“My lord Oxford. He would be a fine match for you—you look well together. But his character is not so steady as I would like. I thought to get your mind on the matter before I answer him,” said the queen.

“Oh, Your Majesty, I have no love for the Earl of Oxford. I would not wish to be wed to him. I … I thought another had made the request,” said Mary.

The queen was silent for a moment.

“I thought as much. I see how you look at Sir John Skydemore—and how you blush when he is near. No, say nothing. I know what I know. And I would say to you, enjoy the man! Spend time with him, dance with him, walk with him in the dusk—just do not think to marry him! For you shall never marry him! He is not fine enough for you, dear Fawn. He is no earl, no prince. You are free to delight in his company. But keep your virtue!” said the queen.

Mary lifted her head.

“I intend to keep my virtue, Your Majesty. But I will not play with Sir John as if he were a toy. As for marriage, I think I should have a say in what man I shall marry—I do not wish to wed some stranger from a faraway land. I would rather follow my own inclinations—as does Your Majesty,” said Mary.

“Ha! I do not follow my own inclinations—would that I could! And you do not have any say in your marriage rights—you are mine to command. You must trust in my love for you, child. I would not set you with someone who would be unkind to you. No, I will search for a man who will love you and be able to maintain you in a fine way—you shall be a great lady,” said the queen.

Mary was silent. She did not think this was the right moment to tell the queen she had already made an agreement of sorts with Sir John. No, she would keep her secrets, just as the queen kept hers.

Twenty-three

Would they not make a pretty pair? Oh, God’s blood, Parry, I mean Oxford and Mary. Ah, a man like Oxford—handsome, quick-witted, funny—so much to recommend him for our Fawn. I know he is reckless—all the more alluring for it. Nothing whets a woman’s appetite like the foolhardiness of men. I hear Oxford tarries far too long with barmaids and other low women. But if he had my beautiful Mary, he should be satisfied at home. He would no longer have need of tavern tarts, mark my words.

Alas, she has no use for the man. I cannot say I blame her—he is not perfect. Yes, I know his eyes are weak-looking. And I agree, his mouth is a bit prissy. But he is an earl! And he does know how to turn a phrase. Well, she has made her decision—this is not a match I shall force upon her.

Why do you mention Sir John Skydemore? What is he to our Fawn? He is nothing. No more than a poor knight who has five hungry mouths to feed. And Catholic, to boot. After the Pope’s decree, I should arrest every Catholic in the land on charges of treason. Or so my Spirit tells me. Sweet Robin agrees. But I shall not act on their suggestion. I believe in my people—even those who cling to the old religion. Let them! I am still their queen and they will not take up arms against me. You shall see, Parry. By God’s knees, my people shall remain steadfast.

Yes, we do see that Skydemore has fine qualities—but a bit too dour for our tastes. Yes, he is handsome—those eyes! And yes, he seems in good health. Oh, I do not doubt he is ambitious—Inns of Court, is it? Parry, have you been hit by Cupid’s dart? It sounds as though you have an affection for this young man yourself!

Twenty-four

August 1570

The queen and her court returned to Whitehall and to all the problems and difficulties they had left behind while on progress. As a result, the queen’s mood was no longer merry. The men on her council were filled with ideas about how to protect the queen from the Pope’s call to the Catholics of England to revolt. It seemed to Mary all they did was talk, talk, talk.

Mary stood behind Her Majesty in the Presence Chamber while Master Cecil thundered.

“Ma’am, what must I do to prove that Your Majesty is in danger? You must bind the Catholic citizens to yourself; they must not give any allegiance to the Pope. And if they will not sign this pledge, then you must hang them! Hang them all!” cried Master Cecil.

“Dear Spirit, we know you mean well—we know you have our safety and the best interests of England at heart. But we will not put such a yoke around the necks of our people. As long as they attend Anglican services once a month, they shall not be required to sign anything. If they have secret Catholic services, well, let them. Soon, they will no longer be able to find enough priests to say the Mass. Catholicism will die out of its own accord,” said the queen, patiently.

“If not new laws, then the queen must consider taking a husband to help us fight against Spain and France—for they are Catholic nations and will do as the Pope commands. He has practically ordered them to make war upon us,” said Lord Sussex, standing at attention.

“God’s bones, man! Do you think we have not been thinking of these things? We have already opened the way for the French to press the suit of Catherine de’ Medici’s elder son, the Duke of Anjou. Though he is not much more than a boy and a rabid Catholic, the French ambassador will arrive shortly,” said the queen.

“I am gratified to see that, as usual, Your Majesty has understood the danger and has taken action to nullify it,” said Sussex, bowing to the queen.

“And, to show our faith in our Catholic subjects, we are releasing the Duke of Norfolk from the Tower. He has assured us he has no further interest in marrying the Scottish queen and is our loyal, obedient subject. This will send a message to the world that though the Pope has excommunicated us, we have no fear of our beloved people. We are no tyrants here. And now, gentlemen, you can tell the Pope that, as Supreme Governor of the English Church,
we
excommunicate
him
!” said the queen.

The men roared with laughter as the queen joined in. Mary felt a wave of admiration for her queen, amazed at how she dealt so bravely with the Pope and these men of power and prestige. She knew she would never be able to show such courage, and she would not know how to advise a royal husband if the queen found one for her. She shuddered. She did not want a royal husband. When she thought of marriage, it was Sir John’s face she saw in her mind. When she thought of the marriage bed, it was Sir John’s hands she imagined roaming her body. Such thoughts made her quiver and she could not wait to see him again.

October 1570

The queen was alone in her white garden, though the blooms were gone and the foliage of some of the bushes had turned russet and deep plum. She sat on a stone bench beneath a large yew tree. A couple of her Gentlemen Pensioners stood at the entrance to this small section of the gardens, waiting to escort her back to the Privy Chamber when her business here had been concluded. She heard approaching footsteps and braced herself for the act she was about to commit. She knew she would be pleasing one of her courtiers this day, and most likely making another miserable.

The queen gazed over the grounds, pleased with the sight as always. How she loved the gardens at Hampton Court Palace! She had taken great pains to see that throughout the year, there was something beautiful to look upon, planning with her “Sweet Robin” how to best utilize the space. But, enough dreaming of happier work. The Earl of Oxford approached.