Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (29 page)

Mary looked at the queen. Was she imagining it, or were there tears in the queen’s eyes? They fell silent until Mistress Blanche brought in the tarts with some light ale.

As they enjoyed the food and drink, Mary remembered Old Catspaw.

“Majesty, there is one small favor I would ask of you—it is not for myself,” Mary said.

“What is it, Fawn?” said the queen.

“Old Catspaw has served Your Grace well for so many years. She almost fainted the other day while carrying clean clothes to Your Majesty’s bedchamber. I had hoped Your Majesty could lessen her load. Perhaps give her more time for rest?” said Mary.

“God’s blood! I told her months ago she could work when she liked and retire to her room whenever it suited her. I thought she would quit her duties immediately. But she told me she saw no need to stop doing what she’d been doing her whole life. I made her promise to rest more. She seems determined to keep going—I hope I shall be as determined when I have a head of gray hairs,” said the queen.

Mary smiled at the queen. She realized she should have known that Good Queen Bess would know everything about those who served her. She should have known the queen would have the best interest of her servants at heart.

June 2, 1572

The Duke of Norfolk paid for his folly with his head this day. The queen was melancholy and spent most of the day in her bedchamber. Mistress Mary stayed with her and tried to distract her with cards and music. But nothing could assuage Her Majesty. She spoke bitterly about the foolishness of men and the scheming of those close to the throne.

Thirty-seven

August 28, 1572

God’s death! The world has gone mad, indeed! The French king has massacred his own people—men, women, and children—slaughtered in their houses! Ten thousand Huguenots met their death on St. Bartholomew’s Day! Laid low in the very streets of Paris! How can Madame de’ Medici think I would ever align myself with the house of Valois? She is as mad as her ganymede son!

Our friendship with France is ruined—how can we expect such a vile people to honor their treaty? Oh Parry, I had thought to marry Anjou—I shall never marry now.

Yes, I know he was not a prize but I still hoped … one day … God’s blood, it matters not! I cannot marry the man I love, though he vexes me with his clandestine romances, conducted in the dark, secret passages of my own palace. Under my very nose.

He expects me not to notice how Lady Douglass bats her eyes at him, smiling at his every glance, looking at him as if he were a god! What man can resist such adoration? Such obvious desire?

I see the man himself, the man in all his parts, not just the noble elements of his nature, but I see his lesser qualities as well. And still, I find that man worthy of my love. I do not seek to win him with elevated praise—that I love him should be praise enough. Douglass has lasted longer than some, I’ll give her that. Between her and her sister, my Sweet Robin has his fill while I waste away in endless negotiations and ceaseless longing. My own womb remains empty while he gets who knows how many children on lesser women. I have made him jealous with Hatton. Oh, it is so true—Hatton moons over me like a schoolboy. But he is not my Rob! He is not my love!

Forgive me, Parry. This business with the French has me overwrought. I believe Catholics must be a bloodthirsty lot—the Inquisition in Spain, the massacre in France, attempts on my own crown! Perhaps my ministers are right. Perhaps I should draw up a list of all the known Catholics and keep a steady eye on them. Maybe I should hang them all!

I know, I know—then I would be no better than the French king! And Madame de’ Medici is right in one thing—I will not be safe until I marry and get an heir. Yet, I would marry for love if I could—or kindness. I would have a husband who was fond of me and I, him. Is that so much to ask?

Robin, oh my Sweet Robin! I cannot live without you by my side, yet I must. I must allow you your manly sport with Douglass, with anyone you may like. Yet, I will always love you, only you.

Parry, it is a hard thing to be a woman and be queen.

Thirty-eight

April 1573

“The Earl of Leicester used to take me on picnics with the queen and himself, a few serving women, and Mistress Blanche. We would walk along the riverside, far from the prying eyes of the court. I would nap, and while I did so, the queen and her Sweet Robin would kiss and speak delicious words of love to one another. Sometimes, we would play hide-and-seek or bowles—I have such fond memories of picnics! I am happy you agreed to take one with me,” said Mary as she pulled Sir John by the hand through the meadow grass to a small pond shaded by a large oak tree.

“I find when it comes to you, my dearest, I cannot say no. The day is lovely—blue sky filled with puffy clouds. Look! Here is a forget-me-not,” he said, leaning over to pluck the tiny blue flower from the new grass. “I have always loved these little buds—see the yellow star at the center? So delicate and small. I hate to think of our big boots crushing such beauty.”

“Then we shall be careful not to do so. Step here—now here. And see, we have arrived at the tree with its mossy skirt,” said Mary. She slipped the flower into her sleeve to put into her treasure box later. Then she turned to see how far behind they had left the pony packed with vittles. Mary could see the serving girl unloading the food. Mistress Blanche told Mary she would ride out later, as she had duties to perform to help the queen prepare for Easter. She said Mary would be perfectly fine in the company of Sir John and the serving wench—no need to worry about her reputation so long as
someone
was with them.

Sir John leaned against the tree trunk and Mary stood beside him. Their fingers were entwined and she could smell ambergris and his clean, manly odor. She loved the smell of him and often, when they kissed, she pressed her nose into his neck to inhale him as they embraced.

“You should know—you are with a dangerous man,” said Sir John, smiling down at her.

“What do you mean?” said Mary.

“The queen has made a list of Catholics considered ‘dangerous to the realm.’ And I am on it. My uncle wrote me of it recently—our entire family is listed. Are you certain you still wish to become my wife?” he said.

“I am not afraid of this ‘dangerous’ man—I am intrigued by him,” said Mary, placing her hands on his chest.

“You had, perhaps, better fear me a little—I am not sure I can control myself here, under the wide skies. Brings out the beast in me,” he said, kissing her, lifting her almost off the ground.

His kiss took her breath and her heart pounded.

“Perhaps
you
should fear
me
—for I would have you right now!” said Mary, kissing him back.

“Just in time—here comes our food!” said Sir John, breaking away from her to help the serving girl, who was balancing a load in her arms. They spread a cloth over a mossy spot and John placed two large pillows side by side. The girl poured ale and set out the food.

“Your Worship, have you any more need of me?” said the girl with a quick curtsy.

“No, Daisy. You may take the pony to the pond for water and then ride a little if you would like,” said Mary.

John gave her a startled look.

“Do not worry, my lord. Mistress Blanche will arrive anon. Until then, we shall eat, drink, and
I
shall be merry,” said Mary.

“Droll, my love, droll,” he said.

They watched as Daisy took the pony to the other side of the pond, mounted her, and trotted off toward the woods. Then they consumed shepherd’s pie, strawberries in cream, and several mugs of ale.

After their repast, Sir John cleared away the food and eating implements, returning them to the basket. He shook out the cloth and spread it again on the soft moss. He sat on one side and patted for Mary to sit next to him. She quickly acquiesced.

“It is lovely to be alone, is it not?” said Mary, relaxing against him.

“It is lovely to be with you, dearest,” said Sir John, encircling her with his arms. He kissed her, a long deep kiss that quickened her breath as well as his. He began to move his hands over her, and she could feel the heat from his touch following her womanly curves. He had never touched her with such a sense of possession, as if they were already wed.

She had come to trust him, knowing he would stop himself before their kisses grew too hot and out of control. Such trust allowed her to enjoy all that he did, rather than worry about having to put a stop to things herself. And so now she gave herself to the moment, not thinking of anything but where his hands and lips were and how they felt against her skin. Suddenly, she realized he had moved his hands beneath her shift and was touching her womanly parts. He worked there for a long time until she felt herself opening, opening, opening. He kissed her again and again and she felt his member against her, then inside her. Her eyes flew open and she saw him above her, his blond hair falling onto his forehead and his aqua eyes fixed on hers. Their eyes linked and their bodies moved together as if by magic. She grabbed him and pulled him to her, her hands guiding his movements. Suddenly, she could feel her heartbeat along her entire body and she shivered with pleasure. Then, she felt him tremble and heard him sigh. He collapsed onto her, then his mouth found her own and they kissed tenderly.

“I told you I was dangerous, my love,” he said, fiddling with her hair, which had come loose and lay spread across the cloth.

“And so you are—what are we to do? I fear if I get with child, the queen will throw me in the Tower—you know I speak the truth,” said Mary, the implications of what had happened beginning to dawn on her.

“I will speak to Sir James on the morrow. There is no reason the queen would wish to stop our marriage. She loves you—I am sure she wants you to be happy,” he said.

“I hope you are right. She does love me, but I think she wants me to be happy living forever with
her,
” said Mary.

“’Tis true—she does not like for any of her ladies to marry. She becomes too jealous of their happiness, I fear,” said Sir John.

“Yes. And she has such high aspirations for me. She has mentioned several times that I should make a fine marriage to a foreign duke to help secure our relations with his country. Or that I might marry here, to one of the premier peers in the land. She thought Oxford would have been a wonderful match for me. I have told her I want not such high marriage, but she has it in her mind—she said she wants me to live in splendid surroundings, just as I do at court. I do not give a fig for such things,” said Mary, her face clouding more and more as she thought about the queen and her lectures about marriage.

“Her hopes for you will never be satisfied with the likes of me,” said Sir John.

“Dearest, you know
my
hopes are
very
satisfied,” said Mary, smiling.

“Give me but a moment and I shall see to your satisfaction once again,” he said, kissing her gently.

“We should ready ourselves for the arrival of Mistress Blanche—she will be here soon, I’ll warrant,” said Mary.

“Let me help you, milady,” said Sir John, pulling Mary to her feet.

“I hope we shall not rue this day,” said Mary, brushing off her skirts and fixing her hair.

“We shall never regret this moment, this day, my love. We shall wed as we planned and the queen be damned!” said Sir John.

Early May 1573

Sir John and Mary walked quietly to the Presence Chamber in the hope of meeting Sir James there. Sir James had just returned to court from Herefordshire and this would be their first opportunity to ask him to approach the queen on their behalf. Mary wore her white silk dress with yellow sleeves and matching kirtle. The light colors looked well with her dark hair and eyes. She had smeared a little kohl on her eyelids and blushed her cheeks and lips with cherry juice. She wanted to look pretty so that Sir James would be pleased with her as a possible wife for John. And a possible mother for Sir James’s grandchildren. John had dressed with special care as well, wearing a dark blue doublet with slashed sleeves that showed a deep red silk within. Never had he looked so handsome, and Mary noticed several of the ladies gazed at him with interest.

Sir James conferred in a corner with Suffolk and Leicester. They were in quiet conversation, serious by the look of it. But seriousness was the order of the day for those with business in the Presence Chamber.

“Ah, Sir John and the pretty Mistress Mary—what brings you here this fine spring day?” said Sir James, smiling at Mary.

“Sir, we have some business of a private nature to discuss with you when you are free,” said John easily. No one could have guessed the true nature of their business from his casual attitude.

“Certainly, certainly. I’ll be finished here in a moment. We were just discussing the French situation. The queen has sent for Walsingham to return to London. The King of France has issued a decree to allow the Huguenots to worship as they wish, and Madame de’ Medici wishes to reignite a romance. This time, she offers the younger brother of Anjou, Alençon. Our poor most royal queen! How many sons does Madame de’ Medici have? Will she offer all of them to our queen?” said Sir James.

“Who knows? All I can say is, here we go again,” said John with a smile.

“I hope Her Majesty will truly consider this match,” said Lord Robert. “She has much to gain with such an alliance—Spain continues to roar against us and I fear if Her Majesty does not make an alliance soon, King Philip will consider sailing his navy from the Netherlands, where he continues to make trouble. The Duke of Alva is a formidable foe.”

Mary said nothing but listened as the men continued discussing the issues facing the nation. She was surprised Lord Robert would be so eager for the queen to marry, something he had sought to block at every turn until now. He seemed relaxed and happy in a way she could not fathom. Finally, the conversation broke up and John took her by the elbow, leading her and Sir James to a small alcove where they could not be overheard.