Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (33 page)

“Has she spoken to you of late? Any word at all?” said Sir John.

“No. She gives me her commands regarding what she will wear, but she has barely said anything else. She is waiting for me to beg forgiveness for our quarrel. She has ruined my life, yet
I
must beg
her
for forgiveness!” said Mary.

“Such is the way at court—she will rule here, of that there can be no doubt. But we will be wed, dearest! I promise you,” said Sir John.

“How? How can you promise such a thing when the queen herself has forbidden it?” said Mary, tears filling her eyes again.

“If my lord Robert can marry in secret and keep such matters from the queen, why should we not do the same?” said Sir John.

“Have you gone mad? She will throw us in the Tower to rot!” said Mary.

“I am not so sure. Others she has forgiven—even Dudley seems to have gotten away with it,” said Sir John.

“That is because she does not know about it!” said Mary.

“Do you forget? Her motto, ‘I see all and say nothing,’ is close to the truth—she has spies everywhere. Very little gets by her. She must know about Dudley’s marriage and she chooses to turn a blind eye to it. She would do the same for her ‘Fawn,’ surely,” said Sir John.

“But are you willing to bet our lives on it?” said Mary.

“I would rather marry you and be in heaven for a few short moments than to live in hell without you—for that is what my life would be if you were not in it,” said Sir John.

Mary turned from him. The serious, wounded man she had first met seemed gone and before her was the gallant lover, ready to risk everything for her. If he was willing to gamble, she must rise to meet his courage.

“All right, sweetheart. All right. We shall marry in secret and pray for the queen’s mercy,” said Mary, turning to him once more and kissing him tenderly.

As their kisses grew hotter, Mary heard footsteps in the corridor. Around the corner hobbled Catspaw, a stack of the queen’s shifts in her arms.

“What goes on here?” the old woman said. “Oh, I know better than to ask—you’ve been discovered, young lovers. Have no fear, Old Catspaw will say nothing—I never tell tales.”

“Please, Catspaw, please do not tell this tale. Here, let me carry those for you! John, give her a coin—go rest a while, old dame. I shall finish your work this day,” said Mary, her face pale.

“I thank you, my pretty. Me old legs is tired, ’tis true. I’ll keep yer secret—my lips are sealed as with wax,” said Catspaw, retreating back down the long hall. “I know how to keep my mouth shut, I do. Never tell nobody nothing … no, I can keep mum…”

“Should we worry about her?” said Sir John.

“I do not know—she is a notorious gossip but she likes me, I think. It matters not. We shall continue with our plans,” said Mary, squeezing his hand.

“Yes, my love—we shall be married as soon as I can arrange it,” said Sir John.

Forty-five

January 1, 1574

He gave me a fan made of white feathers with a golden handle, engraved with my lion and his bear. How I smiled my pleasure at him as he presented it to me—his dark, gypsy eyes staring into my own. How I dissembled, as if I knew nothing about him and that empty-headed Sheffield woman. And how I shivered when he kissed my hand, nothing discernibly changed in his manner to me, but I knew the difference. Oh yes, by all that is sacred, I knew.

I am undone. He has killed me as surely as any of Burghley’s Catholic assassins. I have known and loved him all my life and have given him more of myself than was prudent. I have rejected suitors for his sake, though I knew I could never marry him—not after the scandal with his first wife. I know, I know, Parry—I have used him as well. Used him to avoid a marriage I did not want, used him to comfort me when there was no other comfort. I have called him my “little dog,” shaming him in front of lesser men. We have been through so much together … I cannot believe he would betray me thus, yet it seems he has done so.

I am too filled with despair to be angry, Parry. The anger will come later. I shall, perhaps, banish him. But that would punish me as much as it would him. I shall banish her—that would be better. She can give birth to her bastard in the Tower. Others have done so.

Yes, I have heard that rumor, too. Surely, he cannot have
married
her—behind my back. Bad enough to have given her a babe. Even Dudley cannot believe I would forgive such treachery. Do you believe it true?

Oh Parry, you stab me to the heart! Why say you thus? She lives with him in Leicester House? There were witnesses? It is done?

By God’s wounds, I shall not have it! He is mine! He is mine!

Is there no single person I can trust? Will they all betray me? Oh yes, they flatter and cajole. They pretend love where there is only ambition. I am not blind, nor am I stupid—I know how privilege works. But I had hoped, oh how I had hoped, that with Robin, things were different. I dared believe he loved me just a little, a true love that had nothing to do with my queenship. I dared believe he loved Elizabeth the woman!

A fool! I have been a fool for this dark-eyed man, the handsomest in my court, they say. He is handsome still.

I shall do nothing. I shall watch and wait. She will not win him—what woman could win him from me? I am the queen! She will not keep him for long.

And what of our Fawn? She still stares at me as if I were not of this world, as if I were some demon sent to torment her. Yes, she curtsies and obeys. But there is not warmth between us, none of the closeness we once shared. It seems the little family I sought to create has turned to dust in my hands.

No, I have not sent Skydemore from court. They have my word on the matter—that should be enough to stop them from doing anything foolish. If my wishes are not strong enough to dissuade them from pursuing this matter, then to the Tower with them both! By God’s blood, I will be obeyed. I have flung higher born folk in the Tower when they disobeyed me. My other cousin, Katherine Gray, found out the hard way—I will be obeyed!

Forty-six

Late January 1574

The night was bitter cold, with snow falling thick and fast. The wind howled and Mary pulled her cloak tighter. She shivered as much from fear as the icy weather. She hurried along the castle wall, heading to the courtyard where she was to meet Sir John. He had a horse ready for them to ride to a small chapel where he had arranged for a priest to marry them under the rites of the old religion. She would convert to Catholicism after their marriage and bring up their children in the popish church. It was what he wanted and she desired to please him above all else.

She looked behind her as she half ran to the gate. She could barely see, the snow fell so thickly. She imagined she heard footsteps and wondered if the queen knew, even now, where she was going and what she was planning to do. She had escaped by feigning illness, gagging herself in the jakes and allowing the spittle and bile to stain her dress. Swearing she did not wish to infect the queen with what she called the flux, she talked Her Majesty into allowing her to sleep in the common room where the ladies-in-waiting slept. She had generously shared her sleeping cordial with them and then waited until she heard them all breathing steadily, some snoring softly, before she slipped out into the winter night.

A strong hand grabbed her and pulled her behind the wall.

“Mary—the horse is here,” said Sir John, already boosting her up to the pillion where she would ride behind him.

“I do not think any heard me escape—I waited until they were all asleep,” she said, clambering onto the horse.

“It was the devil finding a man willing to marry us—I finally sent word to our old priest in Herefordshire and paid him a princely sum to ride to Southwark where he will meet us at St. Bartholomew’s Chapel. Do not fret, sweetheart. All will be well,” said Sir John.

“I am shaking—I cannot help it. I cannot imagine Her Majesty’s actions should she discover us,” said Mary.

“She will not, my love. Have no fear. Once we have accomplished the act, she will forgive us and we shall be happy—you will see. She is, at heart, a good woman. And she is kind to those she loves. I have seen the care she takes with you, Mary. She loves you very much—have no fear,” he said, spurring the horse to great speed.

The horse wove in and out of the narrow streets as quickly as possible. Sir John urged the animal on, in spite of the swirling snow. Mary could barely see anything and she wondered how the horse managed to get them to Southwark without injury. Sir John reined in, though the chapel looked deserted.

“Wait here. I want to check it first,” he said.

Mary could hear his boots crunching along the snow-covered pathway. She watched as he opened the heavy wooden doors and disappeared inside. Her hands shook and she felt the cold air travel down her spine to the small of her back, causing her to shiver. She looked around her to see if they had been followed. There was a man across the cobbled street, leaning against the wall of a tavern. He was huddled in a hooded cloak and she could not see his face. Was he one of Lord Burghley’s men? A spy sent by Walsingham? Or a mere cutpurse?

What was taking John such a long time? Had someone been inside waiting for him, someone with a sharp knife? Perhaps the priest had not yet arrived. Mary continued to glance in different directions, looking for anyone or anything suspicious. The horse sensed her uneasiness and pawed the icy ground, puffs of foggy breath shooting from his nostrils. Mary felt the cold air enter her own lungs and realized her whole body trembled. She was cold; she was terrified. The night was dark and dreary. Where was John? How long could he possibly be?

Just as she felt tears threatening, the great door opened again and John walked toward her with long strides. He mounted the horse and guided their steed away from the chapel.

“What’s wrong? Where are we going? What’s happening?” Mary whispered.

“The priest will not marry us in that chapel—he says it is too dangerous, too public. He has told me of another location three miles hence. At the crossroads, we shall find the Body and Blood Tavern. They will be waiting for us,” said John, softly.

“What a horrid name! I hope we are not to be married in such a place,” said Mary.

“I shall be happy to marry you anywhere, my love. Do not be disheartened—such a name denotes a certain friendliness to Catholics. We shall be safe there, dearest. And by tomorrow morning, we shall be husband and wife. I cannot wait to hold you again,” he said.

His confidence was contagious and Mary began to relax. She glanced behind them as they rode from the city into the countryside. She could see no other horses on the road this snowy night. Most people were huddled warm in their beds on such a night as this. Mary thought about spending cold nights at Holme Lacy, wrapped in the arms of her husband, her love. She smiled and listened as the wind whistled through the few buildings and trees that lined the road. The steady rhythm of the horse’s hooves gave her comfort and she tightened her hold around John’s waist.

A small inn sat directly ahead on the right. Two large torches lit the place and Mary could see it was a modest establishment, certainly not the sort of place she was used to visiting.

Sir John pulled on the reins and quickly hopped down to assist Mary as she dismounted. The snow continued to fall and she almost slipped on an icy spot. Sir John caught her by the elbow and led her to a rough door where he knocked three times, then two times, then once. Slowly, the door opened and a woman welcomed them inside. No one said a word. The woman put her finger to her lips, shushing them. Mary saw a few travelers lounging at a crude table, eating something steaming from their trenchers. They gave her a quick look, no doubt surprised by her velvet cloak and her fine dress. She wished she had thought to dress more unobtrusively. Surely they would remember her, wonder what she was doing at such a place on such a night. It was too late for worry now, however. She pulled the hood over her head and tried to hide her face as best she could. She followed the woman down a long, deserted hall. Mary saw a full-sized painting of a fisherman holding a large fish. She gave a little gasp as the woman pushed against the painting, and it moved, opening to reveal a secret room. The woman bade them go inside.

Mary was surprised at the closeness of the room. Two tapers burned at a small altar where a golden cross bearing the suffering Lord stood. Incense filled the air and Mary saw the priest, blessing the sacraments in preparation for the ceremony. She saw someone stir to one side and was shocked to see Sir James standing there with Master Nicholas Hilliard at his side. There was also a woman she did not know.

Sir John spoke with the men, who had agreed to come as witnesses. The priest called them to silence and quickly, with a lifetime of experience behind him, he performed the rite of marriage. It was over in just a few minutes and Mary could not believe she had defied the Queen of England for the love of the man standing beside her.

After the Mass was taken, those who had gathered in that small room clustered together and began talking. The unknown woman turned out to be a neighbor of John’s and Sir James’s, Mistress Katherine Blakely. She had been in charge of John’s children and she was very interested in helping Mary with her new duties.

“They are wonderful children—I should hate to be parted from them,” said Mistress Katherine.

“I do not believe you will be asked to leave them, Mistress Katherine. I shall need all the help I can get with five young ones to tend to—I welcome your assistance,” said Mary, smiling at the older woman.

“I hope you will not regret this rash action, my dear. But John is a good man and those five grandchildren of mine need a mother. I am glad you are one of us,” said Sir James, hugging her.

“Thank you for your kindness, sir. We shall not forget your courage,” said Sir John. He then bowed to them all and led Mary away, through the same secret passage.