Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (22 page)

“Oxford has been saying lewd things about many of the queen’s ladies. I thought it only right he should have to answer for that—and if I hear of such slander again, I shall run him through,” said Sir John, quietly, without anger. Mary knew he meant his words.

*   *   *

The next morning, Mary watched the snow falling, the flakes as large as goose feathers. She gazed at the whiteness below. No one moved about; even the servants stayed inside where it was warm. She did not blame them; she had no desire to venture out into the cold again.

Suddenly, her eyes caught movement. A lone rider, dressed in the finest clothes, headed to the gates toward the main road. Two packhorses and a couple of servants followed the rider. Mary recognized him by the way he sat in the saddle and by his opulent cloak and hat. It was the Earl of Oxford. He was leaving the court and Mary felt a pang of pity for him. He had humiliated himself this time; perhaps there was justice in the world after all.

Twenty-six

February 1571

As winter continued to chill the land, and the snow piled high around the walls at Richmond, the court kept busy with dances, games of cards and dice, singing, and viewing plays. The queen’s spirits were high and Mary often caught sight of Her Majesty dancing a little jig in the mornings on her way to her daily walk. The other maids sniggered at the sight but Mary admired the agility and grace of the queen, who was, in Mary’s mind, no longer young. But she was young in spirit, Mary thought. And Mary hoped she might approach her own declining years with as much gusto.

Her Majesty kept her maids hopping as the dull, gray days passed. They fetched glasses of watered wine, cut dried fruits into small bites for the queen, and entertained her with funny stories and card playing. Mary’s new duties as chamber woman did not weigh too heavily upon her, in spite of her continuing role as Keeper of the Queen’s Wardrobe.
That
job was time-consuming and difficult because Mary had to ensure all of the queen’s garments remained in good repair. Mary also had to catalogue each smock, gown, kirtle, sleeve, cloak, and hat. She knew which jewels were sewn on which bodice, so that when the queen wanted them switched, Mary could easily find them.

Though she had many chores each morning, the afternoons were quiet and leisurely, as the queen met with her councillors during this time. Thankfully, she no longer required Mary to join her at the dull meetings on a daily basis, though she admonished Mary to keep up with the affairs at court and to be prepared to rejoin the councillors at the queen’s command. Most afternoons, Mary spent sewing or chitchatting with Mistress Eleanor.

“Master Nicholas and I shall be wed by Easter—my father has garnered my dowry and things are all set. I shall return to my home and the ceremony will take place there. Nicholas is so pleased and, I daresay, as anxious for the banns as I am,” said Mistress Eleanor.

“And I am happy for you, dearest Nora. I only wish I could see you on your wedding day. But we both know the queen will not stand for me to be away from her. Oh, look, more snow,” said Mary.

“It is so beautiful coming down … but it gets sullied very quickly,” said Mistress Eleanor.

“Come! Let us walk out and catch snowflakes on our tongues!” said Mary.

“But it’s cold…” said Mistress Eleanor.

Mary had already grabbed Mistress Eleanor’s hand and was pulling her to her feet. She lifted two cloaks off hooks inside the wardrobe and handed one to Mistress Eleanor. Thus bundled, they headed for the courtyard.

A number of people milled around the grounds. Servants with letters to deliver, men bringing in large baskets of firewood, washerwomen carrying bundles of wet clothes, all bustled in and out of the palace, like bees at the honeycomb. But their numbers were fewer than usual.

“Isn’t that Sir John? He looks like he’s in a hurry,” said Mistress Eleanor, pointing to a scholarly looking figure in black robes.

“I think it is—it seems long since I’ve seen him. His studies keep him from court,” said Mary, her heart lifting at the sight of him. She quickly bent to pick up snow and pack it into a ball. She tossed it at him, hitting him on the shoulder. He stopped, looked to see from where the missile had come, and, seeing, broke into a smile. He hurried to the women.

“My two favorite ladies,” he said, doffing his hat and bowing to them.

Both women curtsied and smiled.

“What brings you out on such a blustery day?” he said. “I thought you would be soaking up the heat from the great fireplaces in the queen’s bedchamber.”

“We came to catch snowflakes!” said Mary. She stuck out her tongue and felt a large flake land there. She grinned.

“A fine endeavor. Since you are already out in this cold, perhaps you would like to walk with me in the gardens … er, both of you, of course,” said Sir John.

“Oh, I cannot—I have too much to do in preparation for my wedding. I’m still stitching my smocks and my nightgowns. I was working some lovely silk ribbons onto my nightcap—I’ve had my fill of snow,” said Mistress Eleanor, giving Mary an understanding look.

“I’ll see you back inside, Nora,” said Mary.

Sir John offered her his arm, which she took gratefully. They walked through the snow-covered paths and he steered her behind a large hedge.

“Oh, Mary, I have wanted to see you but my studies have taken up most of my time. Since we returned from Holme Lacy, all I can do is imagine you there, greeting me of an evening, delighting in the children—having one of our own,” said Sir John. He stood close to her and she could feel the warmth of his breath.

“The queen suspects I have a fondness for you—she has told me we cannot marry. She suggests I toy with your affections, enjoy them. But she cautions me against loving you and warns me especially against marrying you,” said Mary. She thought it only fair to tell him a marriage between them could never be.

“But why? I have a good income from my lands, though not as large as some. There are definitely richer men by far. But I have enough to care for my family and would give you a good life. Why is she against me?” said Sir John, turning to face Mary. “Is it my religion?”

“I’m sure your religion does not help matters. The queen has all but raised me. She fancies some foreign duke who would be well suited for me—and she thinks if she can use my marriage rights to secure England, all the better,” said Mary, her tone bitter. She pulled away from him and began to walk fast, back on the garden path.

Sir John followed her, his breath coming in little white puffs.

“But what do
you
want, Mary? Your desires should play a part in your own future,” he said.

She stopped cold.

“I want … I want … I want you. I have no wish to play the high lady on foreign soil, spying for the queen, living for her. I want my own life, my own family right here in England. I do not see why I cannot have this,” she said, flinging herself into his arms.

They kissed, a long, deep kiss that stoked her desire. Though she was cold and could feel the snowflakes land on her cheeks, she continued kissing him. She could sense his muscles tensing as he held her to him. His hands began to touch her breasts, a gentle yet confident touch. She shivered.

“There must be a way we can convince the queen I am the man for you. I have friends, those who may have more sway with the queen than I do. We shall find a way, dearest. It will just take some time,” he said. “Come, let us return to the palace—you are freezing.”

“I hope you are right. Surely she will be reasonable—she says she loves me. That alone should convince her to give me my way,” said Mary, leaning against him. “Perhaps we should just run away and marry. Perhaps that is the best way.”

“As much as I would like that, my love, I do not think it prudent. We do not wish to anger the queen and I suspect any sort of subterfuge would rile Her Majesty. No, we shall go about this in a manner that is sure to please her,” said Sir John.

Twenty-seven

April 1571

Spring had come early, the trees greening beneath the still pale sky and daffodils shooting up through the ground in great profusion. The court had recently arrived at Whitehall to find the palace sweetened with new rush mats upon the floors, the jakes cleaned out, the rooms aired and all the linens washed and fresh. Hyacinths and other early spring flowers and herbs had been strewn on the rushes, and the warm air allowed for open windows both day and night. Mary was happy to have left Richmond, for the stink had become almost unbearable.

Morning had broken with bright sunlight streaming through the windows and the song of the linnets and other birds lightly on the air. The queen was just breaking her fast, though it was mid-morning. She had worked late into the night on matters of state and Mary had seen to it that she was not awakened by the sun, pulling the dark damask bed curtains around her.

In her new position as Lady of the Queen’s Bedchamber, Mary’s duties remained almost as they had been previously, except that now Mary, along with three others, prepared Her Majesty’s chamber each morning and set up to receive the midday meal. She continued laying out the queen’s clean shift each day, then bringing forth whatever clothes the queen might wish to wear, being ever ready to suggest an outfit if the queen had not the mind for such slight decisions. This was often the case, with the queen wearing whatever Mary selected. One of the maids brought in fresh flowers in a vase while another set out some of the queen’s jewels. One maid’s sole duty was to scatter blossoms over the floor and through the corridor where the queen normally passed.

Each morning, after arising and breaking her fast with bread, light ale, and perhaps some cheese, the queen spent time in prayer and the reading of God’s Holy Word. In a small closet, the queen’s Bible remained on a stand and there was a pillow on which Her Majesty would kneel. She often stayed in privacy for upward of an hour. When she came forth from her closet, she would be ready to dress for the day.

On days when she did not have to meet with her council, the queen often sat in her house gown with her ladies in the bedchamber and translated ancient works into the English tongue and then back to Latin or Greek. Her ladies did sewing while the queen worked at her books.

But on this day, the queen lent her hand to sewing as well, for the Maundy services were coming soon, and after the queen had washed the feet of thirty-eight poor women, one for each year of the queen’s age, Her Majesty liked to give not only a gift of coin, but a new shift. She also wished to continue her mother’s tradition of sewing shirts for the poor, to distribute to those
not
selected for the washing of the feet at the Maundy services. Mary missed Eleanor’s deft hands, but her dear Nora was to marry Master Nicholas on Easter Sunday, and she was away from court.

“We have not much time to make as many shirts as possible, ladies. Let your fingers fly,” said the queen, her own slim fingers moving like hummingbirds at the fabric.

“I have completed ten, Your Majesty, and now work on number eleven,” said Lady Douglass, her brows arched as if she alone had done any work.

“We should have thought you might have doubled that number, madam, if you had used your time wisely. However, we understand you have been spending long hours looking over our horses,” said the queen.

Mary sat perfectly still. She, too, had heard rumors about Lady Douglass walking down to the stables each day with her sister. It was bruited about that both were in love with Lord Robert, each vying for his attentions. Mary had seen Lady Douglass smile and touch Lord Robert in an overly familiar way. And she knew that if
she
had noticed, so had the queen.

“It is a pastime of mine, Majesty. I hope to breed one day,” said Lady Douglass. She looked directly at the queen and smiled.

“Have a care, madam. Breeding is a delicate process. You must be certain you have the right stud, one who is well matched for the dam. Otherwise, there is trouble for the dam,” said the queen, her tone even but her meaning clear.

“I shall always take great care, Your Grace,” said Lady Douglass.

The queen had instructed the yeoman at the door to keep any petitioners away unless there was a dire emergency. She would go soon into the Presence Chamber to handle the business of the day, but for the morning, she wished to repose with her ladies.

Because Her Majesty did not often take such time for respite, Mary did not expect any interruptions. She was taken aback when the yeoman entered and went to the queen, bowed, and whispered.

“Leave me!” said the queen to her women. “Not you, Mary—I would have you stay.”

Mary remained seated while the others hurried out and Lord Burghley entered, his face flushed and his manner tense. He approached the queen and went to one knee beside her throne.

“Majesty, I have just had a message from our man Bailey in Dover. He has intercepted a letter from a Florentine banker, Roberto Ridolfi, who is currently living in London. It is a letter to the Duke of Alva,” said Lord Burghley. He paused to catch his breath. Mary noticed beads of sweat sprouting across his brow.

“God’s blood, Spirit! Out with it!” said the queen.

“Your Majesty, in this letter was discovered a plot upon Your Majesty’s life!” said Lord Burghley.

He went on to explain that the Queen of Scots and the Duke of Norfolk had exchanged dozens of messages in which they discussed murdering Elizabeth. Then, they planned to place the Scottish queen on the throne of Britain. After Her Majesty had been killed, Mary, Queen of Scots, would marry Norfolk and make him king.

“We have discovered this Ridolfi fellow is an agent of Rome, and it was
he
who brought the papal bull,
Regnans in Excelsis,
to London. It seems he, along with Bishop Ross and others, have agreed that with your death, Spain and the Pope will send troops and arms to turn this land back to Rome,” said Lord Burghley.

“By God’s blood, will they never leave me alone? I have been generous to the Catholics in my land, more so than my Privy Council advises. Yet they continue to plot against me. How many are arrested?” said the queen, standing so that her sewing dropped to the floor. Mary bent to pick it up and placed it on the queen’s silver-topped table.