Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (26 page)

“Good sir, you are free to go. But when you do, tell your friends that we trust our people and we will do right by them. Go on, we have set you free,” said the queen, pushing her Sweet Robin out of her way.

Lord Robert grabbed the queen’s elbow and pulled her to him.

“But Bess, there were two shots fired. This fellow could have fired only one. Surely this is no accident. Surely he has a partner—allow me to rack him to discover the identity of his friend,” he said.

“Whoever fired the second shot is long gone by now, Robin,” she whispered. She turned to the cowering chandler. “You are free to go, little man.”

“What about Sir John? He needs a doctor!” said Mary, holding her own handkerchief over the injury, pressing hard to stop the bleeding.

“Row faster, men! Get us to Whitehall!” shouted Dudley.

“I shall be fine—have no fear. I shall be fine,” said Sir John, looking at the queen and Mary, whose faces hovered above him until his eyes closed and Mary feared he might die before they could get to Whitehall.

*   *   *

The next morning, Mary hurried through her duties, anxious to see Sir John, though the doctor had assured both the queen and Mary that the wound was superficial and did not endanger his life. Finally, she was finished brushing the queen’s cloaks. She walked quickly to the rooms where Sir James Croft stayed when at court, knowing this was where they had taken Sir John. She knocked gently on the wooden door and a soft voice called, “Enter.”

Mary was astonished to see the queen seated beside Sir John’s bed, dipping a rag into water, then washing his shoulder. Strips of cloth were stacked on a nearby table and a jar filled with yellow salve sat next to them. Mary had brought one of her cordials for Sir John, one that would ease pain. She held the small vial in her hand and closed her fist around it.

“Your Majesty,” said Mary, curtsying.

“I had to check on our patient first thing. After all, he saved my life,” said the queen.

“I did what any true subject would do, Your Grace,” said Sir John, his face pale but his green eyes lively. He was obviously enjoying the queen’s ministrations.

“We disagree, I assure you. Mary was there—she saw how you bravely threw yourself across my body when the shots were fired. The bullet that hit you would have gone clean through me, if you had not done so. This shall be rewarded, Sir John. Of that, you can rest assured,” said the queen.

“I desire no reward except your safety, Your Majesty,” said Sir John.

“Tut-tut. Enough of talk—you need rest,” said the queen.

Mary was not sure what to do. She did not wish to speak with Sir John while the queen was there, but she did not wish to leave him, either. So, she stood, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Fawn, you are as nervous as a cat. For goodness’ sake, give the man the cordial you made—yes, I can see it, though you would hide it from me—and let us begone,” said the queen.

“Sir, I did brew you a cordial to ease your pain. If you will take it?” said Mary, leaning over him from the other side of his sickbed.

“Mistress, I shall be pleased to take anything from your hand,” said Sir John. Mary quickly pulled the stopper from the vial and poured the contents into his mouth. Then the queen ordered her to the gardens for their usual midday walk.

Thirty-three

God’s teeth! When the shots were fired, I knew I was drawing my last breath! I felt the wind rush out of me and my head reeled. I fell in a swoon before the men threw themselves upon me, my dear Sweet Robin the first to land in my lap. Even Lord Burghley tried to protect me, God love him. But it was Skydemore who blocked me from the side and that is where the bullet landed, right in the poor man’s shoulder. Aye, he was brave! And such a handsome fellow! I did notice a particular concern gathering itself on our Fawn’s pretty face. Parry, I fear she has more interest in the young man than she lets on. She brought him a healing cordial this morning—for his wound. Luckily, I was already with him and could steer them apart. I have told her he is not the man for her—she must obey me in this. Oh, I know you want her to be happy. So do I. But we are older and wiser than she—we know the ways of the world. And, like it or not, wealth and position matter. Our Fawn has grown up at court. She has enjoyed the best music, the best food, the best dancing—if she is deprived of these pastimes, then she shall grow unhappy. And, as her guardian, I am the one who shall decide upon her husband. I want someone who will offer her everything to which she has become accustomed, someone who will cherish her as I do. She has been like my own child. Robin has felt this, too. It is as if we make our own dear family.

By God’s blood, I know we are not truly a family—but allow me my fancies! I have so little to console me. I came this close to death yesterday, but I do not shiver. My hands are steady. Why? Because the man who set off one of the shots was a true subject—I could see it in his eyes. He was terrified, certain he was to die. Yet I could see he loved me, trusted me to do right by him even as he knelt before me. And I showed him mercy. Now, he will tell everyone he meets of my generosity and he will defend me to the death. And yes, I do believe he was innocent of any wrong. Dear man, he showed me that my people love me. They do not plot against me. It is queens and dukes who wish to steal my throne, not my people.

Yes, I know there was another shot. Some foul miscreant, no doubt. But even so, I am not afraid, for I have men such as John Skydemore to protect me.

No, Parry, I do not need a sleeping cordial. Tonight, I shall sleep with the peace of a suckling babe.

Thirty-four

November 1571

Winter blew into London with a fierceness, whipping cloaks around freezing citizens, snatching hats from heads, causing chilblains and shivering, keeping everyone indoors, huddled around hearths, sipping warming broth. Everyone except the queen. In her usual fashion, she donned heavy robes and walked in the gardens around Richmond, her favorite wintering place.

“Serving the queen will be the death of us all,” said Lady Douglass, scrambling across the frozen grasses of the labyrinth where the queen was heading with Lord Burghley and her Sweet Robin.

“Her Majesty says a walk in the morning is good for what ails you. And from the look of her, the remedy works—she is as fit and spry as I am,” said Mary, easily navigating the way.

“She is slim as a maid, no doubt. Yet such slenderness causes her face to wrinkle like the neck of a tortoise. I prefer a more rounded, womanly figure—such as my own. I expect nary a wrinkle until I reach the old age of forty-five,” said Lady Douglass, lifting her skirts to avoid the frost.

“The queen is but thirty-eight—still young enough to bear a child,” said Mary, thinking about what might happen if the queen accepted the French duke.

“She is of barren stock—her father’s seed did not bear much fruit, though he scattered it far and wide. She will never live through childbirth, even if she does consent to marry,” said Douglass.

“Do not say such things! If she marries, she will give us an heir and she will be fine. She is strong in more ways than in her body. Her spirit will see her through anything!” said Mary,

“Speaking of her ‘Spirit,’ here he comes—following the queen like a little puppy,” said Lady Douglass, her face twisted in a snarl.

“I wonder why they are heading back our way? What has happened?” said Mary, still walking toward the queen. Within a few steps, she could hear the queen’s voice, carrying across the cold air like the boom of a cannon.

“God’s death! I will
not
execute the Scottish queen! Nor will I shorten Norfolk by a head!” roared the queen, outpacing the men behind her.

“Majesty,” said Burghley, “we have letters between the Scots’ queen and Norfolk, proving they planned to marry and then mount a rebellion. They have been in communication with Spain and the Pope—once Ridolfi had rescued the Queen of Scots, he was going to unite her with Norfolk, raise an army in the north, and get reinforcements from Spain—we have their
letters
, proof beyond a doubt!”

“I do not care if you racked a thousand men to condemn them—I will
not
do away with an anointed queen! Nor will I execute Norfolk! He can rot in the Tower—no more talk of this!” said the queen, still moving forward at breakneck speed. Mary and the rest of the women dropped a quick curtsy and fell in behind her.

The men stopped abruptly while Mary and the other ladies followed the queen like goslings after a goose. Mary had seen the queen in a fury many times, but this seemed more serious than usual. The queen marched straight into her bedchamber, ordered everyone out but Mary and Mistress Blanche.

“By the nails of the Cross, they shall not force me to murder those two scheming scoundrels! Keep them under guard—yes! Reduce the queen’s retinue—yes! Watch their every move—yes! But kill them? Never!” said the queen, pacing back and forth, wringing her hands.

“Majesty … please sit down. You will have a fit of apoplexy if you do not becalm yourself,” said Mistress Blanche, trying to catch the queen by her elbow and lead her to a bench beneath the window.

“I will
not
sit down! My legs tell me to walk and walk I must!” said the queen, jerking her arm away.

“Your Grace, why will you not do away with the traitors? I wish to understand,” said Mary in a soft voice.

The queen stopped her pacing and looked at the girl.

“I shall tell you why, and then you shall give me your thoughts on the matter. Treachery has touched you close enough, with your friend Sir John injured in what may have been an attack on me,” said the queen. She sat down on the bench and indicated with a pat of her hand for Mary to join her. “Parry, some comfits please and wine—add no water.”

Mistress Blanche set about pouring wine and ordering food from the kitchens. Then she sat at the queen’s feet, ewer in hand, ready to refill their glasses as need be.

Tom
and the queen’s dogs curled up next to them,
Tom
putting his head on Mary’s foot.

“I will not take the lives of such highborn nobles because I believe God has placed us where we find ourselves. In His mercy and kindness, He put me on the throne of England. I believe it is His will that I stay here and try to keep my kingdom in security and at peace. I have brought about changes in religion which I believe are good and for His glory. But each monarch has such work to do. The Queen of Scots, though she has behaved foolishly and has lost her crown, is still God’s anointed representative on Earth. How could I do away with such a person? She is my kinswoman as well. As for Norfolk, he is young and ambitious, yes. I certainly will not allow them to marry, for if they had a son, the country could easily be split into civil war—those who wanted a return to the Pope would side with their boy, and the Protestants would align with me. I cannot allow such a threat, for it is not the rulers who pay the price of war, but the people. They pay with their goods and their lives,” the queen said as she sipped the wine. She paused, took a deep gulp, and then breathed more easily.

“I want my people to have happy lives. God knows, they have enough to plague them—droughts, bad crops, illness, poverty—to add war seems most unkind,” said the queen, her breathing settled into a more regular rhythm and her voice calm.

Mary mulled these thoughts over, wondering if she would ever understand the woman who sat next to her. The queen seemed the most loving, considerate, and wise ruler a people could ever hope to have. Yet, she could change into a selfish, cruel mistress if the mood took her.

“So, dear Fawn, what think you? Should these traitors die?” said the queen.

Mary considered her words carefully.

“I agree that to execute a fellow queen would rouse the Catholics all over Europe to arms. Such an act would give the Pope a reason to gather his forces and attack England. I do not believe we could withstand the arms of Spain, France, and the Hapsburgs, though we be separated by the water. In my heart, I think the taking of any life is God’s right, not ours,” said Mary.

“You are well reasoned, Fawn. You see to the core of it. What of Norfolk?” said the queen.

“I would preserve him if I could. But I have seen how angered the men of the realm are against this treasonous plot. If Parliament finds him guilty, I fear, as head of the state, you would have to give him the same as all traitors get—death. Though I would not like it, for he is young,” said Mary.

“These are my own thoughts, Fawn. Parliament will have to force me to execute him—then the blame goes to them. You have a good head for government, dear one. You have learned much from your tutor and from listening to the Privy Council. You shall be a real asset to your husband—whoever he may be. Ah, here is the food! I have worked up an appetite—” said the queen as she reached for a comfit filled with cherries.

Early December 1571

“Dr. Dee is kind to invite us once again to Mortlake,” said Mary, leaning on Sir John’s arm for support as she slipped and skidded across the icy cobbles on the road.

“He likes you—he has told me it is rare for a woman to take an interest in science. He says it is because you are of the queen’s blood; such tendencies are communicated in the blood, he believes. Much like hair and eye color—he says even our capacity for faith is carried on in our blood,” said Sir John, shielding Mary from a cart that seemed, momentarily, out of control.

“Whew! I thought that load of wood was going to run us down!” said Mary, clinging to him, her arms tight around his neck.

“If
this
is the result of such a scare, I would wish carts to run at us
every
day,” said Sir John, holding her close.

She looked up at him, his wavy hair moving slightly in the wind, his aqua eyes staring into her own. Before she thought, she kissed him, there, in the middle of the street. They had avoided each other in public places. Rather, by assignation, they had met a few times, talking about their plans and stealing kisses and caresses. Mary found it more and more difficult to restrain herself from him.