Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (35 page)

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“Married, married—all the folks is married. Lord Robert and Lady Douglass, Mistress Mary and Sir John, Mistress Eleanor and her Nick—all is married, all is married,” sang Catspaw as she carried a stack of clean shifts and bedclothes from the laundry to the queen’s apartments. She walked, as usual, up the servants’ stairs. No one used this passageway except the washerwomen, though Catspaw had caught lovers hiding there in years past. Lord Robert and the queen had been known to take their time in the lavender-scented hallway. Catspaw laughed under her breath when she thought of those two together.

“Love, love, love! Queens forgo it, courtiers show it, poets know it, and…” she sang out again.

“What have we here? What are you singing about, old woman?” said Oxford, coming up behind Catspaw. He, with Pakington behind him, stepped forward to block Catspaw’s path to the queen’s rooms. The old woman cowered and tucked her head as if she were afraid of being hit.

“We shall not harm you, old woman—we heard your song. You’ve been singing it for days now, all along the halls of the castle. A lovely song it is—about love and marriage. We decided to follow you so you could spill your stories to us. Tell me, about whom do you sing?” said Oxford, leaning his arm against the wall so that it made a sort of bridge across the hallway.

“Oh, just old songs—Catspaw knows many old tales,” she said.

“I’ll wager you do, you old gossip. But we heard you name someone—someone who had married? Who were you singing about?” said Pakington, towering over her.

“I wasn’t singing about nobody—just words, that’s all. Catspaw keeps her secrets, she does,” said Catspaw.

“What secrets? If you value your life, you better tell me or I’ll have your tongue cut out—then you will not be able to carry your torrid tales,” said Oxford, standing very close to the old woman.

“Not supposed to tell—it’s a secret—Old Catspaw can keep a secret for the nice lady. Yes, she can,” said Catspaw in a singsong voice.

“Which nice lady? Lady Douglass? Do you know something about her? And Lord Robert? Oh, Pakington, would it not be advantageous to have something on my dear Earl of Leicester? Think what prizes we might win for keeping his secrets,” said Oxford.

“Tut-tut, nothing nice about Lady Douglass. The other one, Mistress Mary—she gives Catspaw cordials, she does,” said Catspaw, slowly pushing against Oxford’s arm.

“Not so fast, old woman. Do you mean the queen’s ward, Mary Shelton? What do you know about her?” said Oxford, a smile spreading across his features.

“She never did marry that Sir John in the dark of night … no, she did not! And she never found a priest in a secret place! She never did!” said Catspaw.

“Could this be true?” said Oxford to Pakington. “Could the queen’s ward have run off with someone?”

“She would be arrogant enough to defy the queen. She has been spoiled by the queen’s favor, if you ask me. Impudent little bitch,” said Pakington.

“But who? Oh, I do not really have to ask—I have seen the way Skydemore looks at her. And how he jumps to protect her from any possible harm,” said Oxford.

Oxford thought for a moment, then lowered his arm.

“You may go, old woman. Speak nothing of this, do you hear? Nothing!” he said.

“Catspaw says nothing—she never tells tales. No, she keeps her secrets … all the secrets…” mumbled the old woman as she walked away.

Both men watched as Catspaw hurried up the hallway, teetering from one side to the other. She looked back at them once, then slowed her pace when she realized they were not following her.

“What are you going to do with this little tidbit of information?” said Pakington.

Oxford paused, then smiled.

“What any humble servant of the queen would do—I shall inform Her Majesty of this news at once! Skydemore is a Catholic—it will not take much to paint him as a traitor. Oh, this promises to be rich, Lusty! Rich!” said Oxford as he turned back the way he came and trotted down the narrow hall, with Pakington following close behind him.

*   *   *

Several days later, the queen was walking in her garden, strolling briskly ahead of her ladies, when the Earl of Oxford and Sir “Lusty” met her.

“Good morrow, Your Majesty. Such a lovely spring morning,” said Oxford, smiling as he bowed. Pakington bowed also but said nothing.

“I am surprised to see you gentlemen out walking—I usually have the gardens to myself,” said the queen, smiling.

“I hope we are not intruding, Your Grace,” said Oxford.

“Not at all—I am glad for the company. My ladies have trouble keeping pace with me,” said the queen, leading the way.

They walked in silence for a while, occasionally stopping to watch a bird or comment on the budding trees.

“Your Majesty, I wish to offer my congratulations,” said Oxford, during one of their pauses.

“Oh? For what?” said the queen.

“I understand your cousin and ward, Mary Shelton, has married Sir John Skydemore. I heard it was a small affair, though I would have thought the queen’s ward would have had a more elaborate service. But I suppose Skydemore’s religion might have had something to do with such a subdued ceremony. After all, he makes no secret of his popish ways,” said Oxford pleasantly.

The queen did not speak. She turned pale. She faltered and both Oxford and Pakington reached out to steady her.

“This cannot be true—who told you of this so-called marriage?” said the queen.

“I will admit we got the information from a well-known gossip, Your Grace. But one who seems to know everything that goes on at court. Old Catspaw,” said Oxford.

The queen stood still and closed her eyes, as if she were suddenly weary. Finally, she uttered a whispery “Can this be true?” to the men.

Both men nodded. Without another word, the queen turned and headed toward the palace. Oxford looked at Pakington and smiled.

Forty-nine

Parry, bar the door. I have come to the chapel to be alone. Let no one enter.

God’s blood! Is it true? Can my Fawn have been so foolish as to marry that Skydemore man? I cannot believe it! No, it cannot be.

Rumors about Rob. Rumors about Mary. Who instigates this war against my heart? Are the rumors true? Could those two, whom I love above all others, could they have betrayed me? By God’s bowels, I shall find out! If I have to tear out the tongues of every man, woman, and child in London, I shall have the truth!

No, Parry, give me no cordials! Give me no wine! Where is Fawn? Tell me, I say! Tell me at once!

Sewing? In my Privy Chamber with the other ladies? How obedient! How docile! I shall go to her immediately! No, no, I will not wait until I am calm—I shall never be calm again! Out of my way, Parry! Out of my way or I shall knock you out of my way! She shall pay for breaking my heart! She shall pay!

Fifty

March 1574

Mary and several of the other ladies sat in the Privy Chamber, each engaged in needlework. Mary was sewing the hem of a shift of coarse linen for the upcoming Maundy where the queen would distribute such items to the poor. She was taking particular care as she wanted the garment to be as fine as she could make it.

“I do not know why we must work our fingers to the bone sewing for the poor. Do you think they care if they have a new shift for the Maundy?” said Mistress Frances.

“Of course they care—they have little enough as it is. This seems the Christian thing to do,” said Mary. “Do you know what has happened to Lady Douglass? She is a good seamstress.”

“Lady Douglass has been excused to nurse her sister, who, according to Douglass, lies at death’s door,” said Mistress Frances.

“We all know where Lady Douglass lies,” said Mistress Margaret, one of the queen’s new ladies.

“She’s married Lord Robert and is big with his babe,” said Catspaw.

“I didn’t hear
you
come in, old dame,” said Mistress Frances.

“How do you reckon I live so long, missy … I come and go and no one knows I’ve been,” mumbled the old woman.

“Is it true then? Has he married her?” said Mistress Margaret.

“True as the blue sky—I know a scrub woman who works for the man what married them,” said Catspaw, walking slowly to lay her stack of linens in the linen press.

The women continued to chat, speaking of lords and ladies, the queen’s new favorite, the Earl of Oxford’s abominable treatment of his wife, and the dozens of priests crossing the Channel into England, with the Pope’s edict to reconvert the English people to the true church.

Suddenly, a disturbance in the outer hall startled them. Without warning, the door opened and the queen stormed into their midst. She strode to where Mary sat stitching, knocked the work from her hands, and grabbed her arms. She yanked Mary to her feet and Mary found herself face-to-face with Elizabeth. Her Majesty’s black eyes were icy and her cheeks blazed. Her reddish-gold hair had come partially undone and wild curls sprang around her head, making her look like the Medusa of Greek legend. She was, indeed, a terrible sight to behold.

“Is it the truth? Is it? Speak!” screamed the queen, her face just inches from Mary’s own.

Mary tried to curtsy and bowed her head.

“By God’s bones, look at me!” yelled the queen.

Mary gazed into the queen’s face and felt her knees grow weak.

“Is it true?” said the queen in a whisper more frightening than her screams.

“Is what true, Your Grace?” said Mary.

“That you have married that Catholic! The man we expressly forbade you to wed!” said the queen, her hands still gripping Mary’s arms with a strength Mary would not have imagined coming from so slight a woman. Her arms ached.

Mary paused. She did not know what to say. If she lied, and the queen did, indeed, know the truth, things would go much worse for her. She took a deep breath.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I have wed Sir John Skydemore,” said Mary.

The entire room fell silent.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

“How dare you defy us?” shouted the queen.

Before Mary could answer, she felt a sharp slap to her face. The blow made her see stars and the stinging of her cheeks felt like a hundred bees were attacking her. Before she had a chance to recover from the first blow, a second landed on the other side. She fell back against her chair but the queen did not allow her to crumple. Her Majesty pulled Mary back to a standing position and continued beating her about the head and shoulders.

“I have raised you up from a poor orphan child—given you my love and anything you desired. I have prepared you to be fit to marry a prince! But no, this was not enough—you would marry for
love
! As if such a baggage could understand anything about love!” said the queen as she slapped Mary everywhere she could land a blow.

Mary tried to avoid the hammering attack of the queen’s hands and feet, but with little success. She finally covered her face with her hands and was surprised to find tears on her cheeks.

“I have loved you as mine own child…” said the queen, continuing to kick and hit Mary, her eyes blazing.

“But you are
not
my mother! If you were,
my
happiness would be important to you! You would care about
me,
not your
dreams
for me! If you were truly my mother, you would be happy I had found love in this sordid world you have made around yourself!” said Mary.

“Why you impudent, monstrous … You are no better than a stewed whore—marrying without my permission means there is no legal marriage at all! I shall have it annulled!” stormed the queen, once again raining slaps and kicks onto Mary.

“Well, then I would be truly
your
daughter—a cold, untouched woman! A woman with a withered-up heart, a heart shriveled and dry as an oak leaf in autumn! A woman no one could ever love!” screamed Mary.

The queen grew silent. Then she reached for the nearest object, a large gold candlestick on the small table next to Mary. She threw the object at Mary as hard as she could. Mary raised her hand to deflect it, but the candlestick hit her hand with great force. She felt a bone crack. She screamed as pain seared through her. The candlestick fell with a clatter and Mary screamed again, a long, loud shriek.

She looked at her finger, which was poking out at a right angle from her hand.

“You have broken my finger!” Mary said as the digit began to pulse.

“You are lucky I have not broken your bloody neck!” said the queen as she turned to leave. “You and your man are banished from this court! Begone immediately! Take nothing with you! You shall never return! You are lucky I do not throw you both in the Tower!”

Fifty-one

No, I am finished. I have ranted and raved enough for one day. Yes, I banished them. I’ve been told they have already left the palace. No, I gave them nothing. I will give them nothing. I have been betrayed by everyone I have ever loved. First, my father when he took my own mother from me. Then my dear brother, who changed the succession to exclude me. And do not forget my sister, keeping me in the Tower, blaming me for any rebellion that took shape during her reign. Now, Robin lives with another woman and my Fawn, my dearest girl, has married a Catholic, an unimpressive man with little to offer. Well, she has made her bed and now she must lie in it.

I know you have not abandoned me, Parry. If you were to turn against me, I should not know what to do. Oh, I am tired of it all. Endless scheming, dissembling, manipulating. Fawn was right—it is a sordid world at court. I can almost understand why she might believe she would be happier away from all this—yet, to leave me! To choose that man over her queen! After all I have done for her, after the love I have given to her. She has struck a blow to my very heart!

Yes, Parry—you are right. This grief is the price we pay for love. But it is too costly—I would not wish to feel this bereft again. The cost is too high.

Fifty-two