Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (23 page)

“All the conspirators named thus far have been put in the Tower. Bishop Ross has refused to come to court and Ridolfi is on the Continent. These letters incriminate both Norfolk and the Scottish queen. They have plotted your death, Majesty. You must execute them,” said Burghley.

“Not without a trial, and not the queen—I cannot execute an anointed queen. Gather the evidence and see to the trial. Bring Norfolk once again to the Tower. Perhaps he can find a way to excuse himself—I am loath to send him to the block as well. Oh, is there to be no peace for queens!” said Her Majesty. She shooed Lord Burghley away and her chin dropped to her chest. For a moment, Mary did not think she breathed.

“Fawn, what shall I do? Kill every Catholic in the land? Throw them all in the Clink? Remove them to Rome?” said the queen.

Mary stood still. She thought of Sir John. What if the queen
did
arrest those who practiced the old religion? Would she arrest good men, loyal men, like Sir John? She had to dissuade Her Majesty of such action. She slowly walked to the throne. She began rubbing the queen’s shoulders.

“Majesty, your people love you, be they Protestant or Catholic. You must trust in the people of England, for therein lies your greatest strength. I have seen how they hail you when you move among them, how they send their love. They will not allow you to be struck down on account of the Pope,” said Mary, massaging the tense muscles between the queen’s shoulder blades.

“Do they love me? I think it is so—I know I love them. Have loved them enough to forgo marriage to my Sweet Robin—so that strumpet Douglass can dawdle with him! Have loved them better than my own self. Would they strike me down?” said the queen softly.

“They did not love your sister, Majesty. They did not love her because she burned all who disagreed with her. The fires at Smithfield are still remembered. You must not follow your sister’s lead in this, for then the people will turn on you as they did her. No, follow your own gentle wisdom. For the good of
all
your people, Puritan, Protestant, and Catholic. You must find a way for them to live in peace,” said Mary.

“You would make a good queen, Fawn. You have learned your lessons well and seem to have understanding that my councillors lack,” said the queen.

“I have observed you, my queen. This is your own counsel returned to you. For you are a kind and generous ruler, much to your credit. I know you will continue to do what is best for England,” said Mary.

“Best warn your friend Skydemore and any other Catholics you know. The Parliament will not allow for liberality, I fear. Just tell Sir James Croft and his son-in-law to be careful,” said the queen.

Mary nodded and continued to rub the queen’s shoulders. After a few moments, the queen stood and called for her ladies to commence their sewing.

Twenty-eight

Parry, I like not this buzzing in my bones! And around my head! My ears hum with sound. It is terror taking hold of my very body! Such panic shows me to be womanly, when I must rule with the confidence of a king! By the holy cross, this is the shaking fear that stalks me by day and paralyzes me by night. Plots everywhere! Damn the men who devise them. And damn Norfolk and his foolish pride—he’s won his death with it. No, he is not yet arrested, but I fear I must give my advisors something—it may be Norfolk.

But what to do about the Queen of Scots? I cannot have her head! She is an anointed queen, as am I. And my cousin! Oh, why does she seek to take what is not hers? She lost her throne; why must she try for mine?

Look at my hands, Parry. I cannot still them. I think I shall never quell the terrors that quake within my breast. If only I knew what to do. If only I could find a way to rid my country of this conflict between Catholic and Protestant. My “Spirit” and my “Eyes” tell me to be more strict with my Catholic subjects, punishing those who harbor priests, arresting those who attend secret Masses. As I have said before, I have no wish to peer into men’s souls. But they will push me to it with these infernal plots against me. They will push me to it!

Send for my Fawn. I would have one of her special cordials. And tell her to prepare to sleep in my bed with me—for I cannot be alone this night. There are too many monstrous thoughts in my head. I know, I know—I should turn my troubles over to God. How often I have tried, Parry. I pray for hours each morning for the wisdom to rule my people with charity. I pray for a way out of this messy business. When I close my eyes, I see Norfolk’s head rolling onto the platform, landing in the straw, now the color of blood. O blessed Savior, keep me from these night visions. Help me! Dear God, help me! Maybe there is yet a way to save Norfolk from himself. I shall try. By God’s ribs, I shall try!

Twenty-nine

Midsummer Festival, June 24, 1571

The day was hot, even for June. The sun beat down relentlessly but the heat did not dissuade revelers from flocking to London for the Midsummer Festival. Mary and Mistress Eleanor linked arms and crossed from Whitehall to Charing Cross Road, chattering like squirrels. Mary was happy to have her friend back at court, and though Eleanor was now married, the two young women still enjoyed spending time together. They were going to meet Master Nicholas and Sir John; the four planned to go to Cheapside, where stalls loaded with all sorts of foodstuffs were selling their goods and there was to be a mumming. The Summer Lord reigned on his high horse, doling out gifts and causing mischief.

“I am glad the queen gave us this day to celebrate midsummer. Did you see the bonfires last eve?” said Mistress Eleanor. They had reached their appointed meeting place and she shaded her eyes to see if Master Nicholas had arrived yet.

“Yes, the queen and Lord Robert and I watched from the queen’s high window. They were like fireflies, flickering here, then there. Oh look! Tumblers!” said Mary as she pointed to two men dressed in checkered hose and matching doublets. The men walked on their hands and flipped first one way, then another. One man cartwheeled across the square, while the other rolled on the ground like a ball.

“Mary! Nora! Over here!” shouted Sir John, waving to them.

The women crossed the square. Traveling minstrels meandered up to them, singing and playing lutes. Mary placed a coin in their upturned caps.

“They do sing well, do they not?” said Sir John, taking Mary’s elbow and leading her to the shade of a large oak. Master Nicholas and Nora followed.

“I have brought pillows for us and lots of sweet wine, still new but tasty,” said Sir John, helping Mary down to a large blue pillow. He sat beside her on a yellow one and Nora perched across from her. Master Nicholas sat across from Sir John.

“I bought some tarts—I know you love gooseberry,” said Sir John, handing one to Mary. She bit into the crisp pastry and caught the dark purple juice with her handkerchief as it dribbled down her chin.

“And you, my dearest Nora, have a preference for peach,” said Master Nicholas, passing the tray to her.

They ate and drank their fill while the minstrels and tumblers performed all around them. People of all sorts milled around the square: fishmongers and flower girls, gentlemen, merchants, a few foreign-looking folk, and lots of children.

“Would you like to go see the Summer Lord, wife?” said Master Nicholas to Nora.

She nodded and he helped her to her feet.

“Shall you come, too, Mary?” said Nora.

“No, I wish to rest here beneath this lovely tree. But we shall catch up with you anon,” said Mary, leaning back on her hands.

She waited until they were out of hearing and then motioned for Sir John to move closer.

“I am afraid,” she said in his ear.

“What dare frighten my lady? I shall topple the beast with my sword! My bare arm if need be,” said John, holding her hand.

“Do not mock me! I fear for
you,
John. The Privy Council is always after the queen to punish Catholics—they want all recusants to sign a pledge that they will serve only the queen and forget the Pope. Those who will not sign, they wish to hang. I am afraid,” she said again.

Since the discovery of the Ridolfi plot and the arrest and trial of the Duke of Norfolk, the mood of those in power had soured toward their fellow citizens who remained in the old religion. Lord Burghley, a staunch Protestant, and Walsingham, his right arm, both urged the queen to punish her Catholic subjects.

“Do not fear. I do not flaunt my faith, nor will I stray from it. I trust in the queen’s good opinion of me; she knows I am her loyal subject and she knows my beliefs. And those of my father-in-law, Sir James. She will not allow any harm to come to us,” said John.

“Still, if you would attend the Anglican services with me, just once a month, it would shield you. Or you could convert, give up your Catholic superstitions,” said Mary.

“Do you hear what you are saying, dearest? You ask me to give up my faith and the faith of my fathers because I fear. Did the blessed Jesu run before Pilate and the mob? No, he just kept doing what he believed he was supposed to do. He did not antagonize, but he did not quake in fear, either. Can I do less?” said John.

“This is mere stubbornness. As our queen says, ‘There is only one Christ Jesus and one faith; the rest is a dispute about trifles.’ Can you not see this?” said Mary.

“Dearest, you do not understand. I will not become dishonorable in my own eyes, no matter how frightened
you
may be. I choose to trust my God and my queen. I suggest you do the same,” he said. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently several times.

“What am I to do with you?” she said, her heart melting toward him.

“Marry me. Come live with me at Holme Lacy—where we will be safe from all of this argument,” he said, kissing the inside of her palm and then her wrist.

“Will you speak to Sir James about us? Perhaps he can propose our union to Her Majesty. I dare not,” said Mary, gazing into his eyes.

“I would not have
you
bring the matter to her—that would be unseemly. I will speak to Sir James. He is in Herefordshire for the next few months attending to business. When he returns to court, I shall talk with him,” said Sir John.

Early July 1571

The day was glorious. Clear, sunny skies and a warm breeze had made gathering herbs and flowers for her cordials a most pleasant excursion for Mary. She’d taken
Tom
with her into the nearby woods to search for ground ivy, a wild plant that often makes a carpet along the shaded floor of the forest. She wanted to try a new cordial, one which was supposed to help with digestion. Ground ivy was the most important ingredient. Luckily, she found the plant in great profusion and quickly gathered a goodly supply while
Tom
sniffed out rabbits.

After she had filled half of her basket with the pale green leaves, she and
Tom
hiked to the meadows on the other side of the small copse of trees, where she searched for tansy. That was not so easy to find, but, after a long search, she found enough to serve her needs. She and
Tom
made their way back to the castle, where Mary immediately went down to her room by the kitchens. She allowed
Tom
to settle in on the cool stones beside her worktable after giving him a large bowl of water. Soon, he was asleep and Mary busied herself preparing the herbs for steeping. She was daydreaming about John, excited at the thought of enlisting Sir James Croft to help them in their quest for the queen’s permission to marry. She had gone so deep into her fantasy as she washed and picked off the bugs and bad spots on her herbs, she did not hear the gentle knock on the door.

“Mary?”

She looked up from her work and almost dropped the handful of herbs she was placing into the large jar of aqua vitae. Oxford!

“God’s teeth, you gave me a start!” she said as she curtsied, her hands still full of tansy and ivy.

“Not the welcome I had hoped for, milady,” he said, smiling.

“What are you doing here?” she said. She placed the herbs into the jar, making certain the leaves were completely covered by the liquid. Then, she put a heavy stone lid on top. She turned to face him.

“The queen sent for me. She has forgiven my, er, indiscretion,” he said. Mary thought she could see a slight blush cross his features.

“I daresay she has forgiven much worse,” said Mary. She tried not to smile as she remembered Oxford’s terrible moment of humiliation.

“I have not yet been to see Her Majesty—I am certain there will be great jesting at my expense. But it will be worth it to be back at court. But this is not why I sought you out, Mary,” he said. He took a step toward her, thought better of it, and took a step backward.

“I cannot imagine why you have sought me out, sir. I would have thought we had nothing to say to each other,” said Mary.

He paused. She could see that whatever he had come to do was difficult for him. She could see the slight twisting of his face, almost as if he were in pain.

“I have come to beg you to reconsider my proposal. The queen informed me that you have no love for me, no interest in becoming my wife. You may not know this, but she has matched me to Anne Cecil, that horse-faced women. I cannot abide her, yet I am to marry her in December, with her great father’s blessing. It seems I get part of the Cecil fortune and they get noble blood,” said Oxford. The bitterness in his voice cut through the air.

“I am sorry you have those feelings. I know Mistress Anne and find her very pleasant,” said Mary.

“You do not have to bed her—oh, I am sorry, Mary. I did not mean to offend,” said Oxford. Suddenly, he walked toward her. She was afraid, not sure what he might do. Surely he would not accost her here, in the castle with people all around. She prepared to scream for help. To her surprise, he dropped to one knee in front of her. He took her hand and kissed it softly.

“I am begging you, Mary. Please marry me. Please speak to the queen and tell her you will accept me. I will do my best to be a good husband to you—I have never been a faithful lover but for you, I would try, I would really try,” he said.