The Virgin Queen's Daughter - Ella March Chase (11 page)

“And so Queen Katherine spoke to the king, brave lady,” Kat continued. “She outwitted Wriothesley and the Catholic Bishop Gardiner who hated her. She even held Henry Tudor at bay, vain, cruel monster that he was. She staved off her destruction, but all the court knew she had stayed death’s hand only for the moment. Another attack would come, and next time her odds of surviving it would be smaller still.”

“But the queen lived.” It was fact now, the suspense over. Yet my mother would not have known how her friend’s story would end.

“She paid a high price for her reprieve.” Lady Ashley paced to the window, stared out at the starless night. “In their quest to bring Queen Katherine down, Wriothesley and Gardiner hunted others who loved the Reformed faith. They found forbidden books, used that evidence to put one of the queen’s Lincolnshire friends upon the rack. They hoped to wring proof to condemn the queen from the poor soul. In the Tower’s history it had never been done before—to torture a gently born woman. When the Lieutenant refused to carry out the orders without the king’s express consent Wriothesley worked that hellish device with his own hands.”

My gorge rose at the image her words painted.

“Queen Katherine dared not intercede for Anne Askew, dared not plead with the king to show mercy. She had to sit by, helpless, silent while they burned her at the stake.”

I had heard of the Protestant martyr, how they had to carry her broken body in a chair to convey her to Smithfield. Even those eager for the entertainment of an execution had been horrified by what Wriothesley had done to her.

“Did my mother know Anne Askew well? Never once did she say so.”

“What would she tell you? We were all ashamed of not speaking on Anne’s behalf, those of us who believed in the Reformed religion. We deserved the stake as much as she did. But no one could save Anne Askew, even if they sacrificed themselves.”

“I wish I had known what Mother suffered.”
What difference would it have made?
A voice demanded in my head.
You would not have remained at Calverley.

“It was mere luck that the king died before he grew bored enough, or lecherous enough, to draw up another warrant for Queen Katherine’s death. Then quickly as it began, the nightmare was over. After the king was buried, we were all sent off to Chelsea.”

I imagined the relief that must have surged through my mother, and all who loved the queen. The joy.

“My princess grieved for her father,” Ashley said. “She
was
but ten years old. But she bloomed like roses in her stepmother’s care, happier than I had ever seen her until . . .”

“Until?” I asked, caught up in the toils of her story.

“Until Lord Admiral Thomas Seymour rode through the manor gates,” Lady Ashley said. “He was such a bold rogue. Some say the most magnificent man who ever trod upon English soil. Yet he had one fatal flaw, the Lord Admiral did.”

“What was that?”

“He was far too easy to fall in love with. Perhaps if I had watched more carefully then, so much pain could have been avoided.” She caught my hand, squeezed it. “It was all a long time ago. I am far more cautious now. Which is why I speak to you so frankly, Mistress Elinor. To warn you of the damage one man can do.”

“Call me Nell. Please.” I did not know why it mattered so much to me to hear my name spoken as it had been my whole life through.

“Nell, then,” Lady Ashley echoed. “I beg you to heed this warning if you never listen to another word I say. Sir Gabriel Wyatt is no man to trifle with. All the court knows that Lord Ashwall got off cheaply.”

“The man he dueled with?”

“Yes. If the Angel takes a dislike to you, you may envy his lordship.”

“Sir Gabriel can hardly cross swords with a woman!”

“He will duel with wits ruthless as his weapons. When he draws them, Mistress Nell, I fear the Gypsy’s Angel might demand you forfeit that which you love most.”

The back of my neck prickled. “I do not understand.”

“Ashwall was vain of his looks, so the Angel cleaved off his ear. Frances Weller valued his reputation, Sir Gabriel ruined his sister. Whatever Wyatt deems a fitting sacrifice he will claim—your virtue, your honor, your wealth.”

“My virtue is in no danger from such a scoundrel,” I said. “That I know for sure.”

“Here at court you know nothing for certain. Everything is illusion. It turns and turns about until none of us knows what is real.”

I thought of home, where honest Crane would soon return to gentling the horses. Jem with his crooked smile, mother who spoke so bluntly I doubted she had ever uttered a falsehood.
For three generations these people have depended upon the de Lacey family for their lives, their crops, their cottages
.
They depend upon you, now, Nell, in your father’s place
.

I remembered the Lacey crest glowing like jewels in the library window. Our family emblem: the hawk, that slight, valiant bird who challenged predators to draw them away from its nest, wolves and bears, hounds and wildcats. That is what I must do as well—swoop and dive, never betraying home by glancing back toward Lincolnshire.

Do not let him know what you treasure,
I heard my mother whisper in my head. But Father was already beyond Sir Gabriel’s reach. What could that Devil’s Angel do? Scrape all the learning out of my brain and burn my books? Yet was that not how they had cornered Anne Askew? Discovering forbidden books in her rooms?

“Lady Ashley, thank you for your kindness to me.”

“Your mother and I did not part as I would wish. I regret much that happened during the time we shared the same roof. She tried to warn me of danger then. I would do the same for her daughter.”

What had my mother warned Lady Ashley of?

“Now, you must be off to bed,” Kat insisted. “You will have a busy day tomorrow, your first full day at court.”

I smiled, suddenly exhausted. “Is it possible I only just arrived?”

“It is.” Kat surprised me by kissing my cheek. I realized in that moment no one had done so with just that sort of simple affection since Eppie left Calverley Manor. “And you have already won yourself a loyal friend.”

I retired to the Maids’ Lodgings, plunging into the barely controlled chaos of six young women being stripped by their servants, their clothes being brushed and laid away, creams applied to faces, and bodies burrowing beneath covers.

After Moll slipped my night rail over my head, I squeezed myself onto the very edge of the bed I was to share, rigid with the effort to keep from touching Lady Mary. My new bedfellow claimed the champion’s portion of the mattress, her short limbs flung wide. Tonight, I was too troubled to haggle over territory. My head was crowded with all I had learned about my mother. As time toiled on, Lady Mary did indeed snore, but so did everyone else. If I had been at home, Moll would have been sleeping nearby instead of a room away. I could have let the familiar sound of her breathing woo me to sleep. But tonight, shadows writhed against the wall, the flames reflected from the hearth, and I was haunted by images Kat Ashley had planted in my mind.

Chapter Ten

The Next Day

I
AWOKE NEXT MORN TO THE RUDE POKE OF
M
ARY
G
REY’S
elbow in my ribs and Lady Betty’s sharp warning. “The queen does not tolerate tardiness in her servants, Mistress Elinor. And unless I miss my guess you have much to learn.”

I leapt up, eager as Moll garbed me in another of the gowns my mother had worried over. A chaos foreign to my mother’s orderly household ruled the Maids’ Lodgings. Women and servants darted here and there, retrieving gowns, searching out lost earrings, dressing night-tangled curls. But the other maids hastening about had been raised from the cradle to serve in the household of a queen. I had not even paid a
visit
to the court because of my mother’s aversion to it. I had read the book Clarissa Barton had given me and gleaned what I could to fit me for life at court. But in truth I had as little idea what was expected of me as my mother had had of the latest court fashions.

All day I was at Lady Betty’s mercy, drilled in lessons far more difficult for me to master than Latin: how to serve the queen her dinner upon bended knee; how to replenish her majesty’s writing implements, refresh the inkwell, sharpen the quills; how to turn back the royal bed for the royal good night and make it up again once she arose. The Mother of the Maids played the role of queen, while I struggled to get each official detail correct, feeling sick at the thought of blundering. That night, after dinner in the Great Hall with its cacophony of voices and over-rich food, I went to bed with my head aching and dreamed of Lady Betty labeling me hopeless as I snagged the queen’s gowns and spilled ink across royal dispatches.

But remaining in my nightmare would have been preferable to facing reality when Lady Betty pounced upon me before dawn, lips pursed in disapproval.

“You are far from ready to attend Her Majesty, yet the queen is determined you will wait upon her this morning. Try not to shame yourself or me.”

As Moll’s deft fingers fastened my gown I vacillated between elation and dread. Had I not come to London to be near Elizabeth? And yet, Lady Betty was right. I was not ready. To make mistakes before the queen would be humiliating indeed.

Lady Betty escorted me and two of the other maids into the Presence Chamber, where, Lettice whispered, the queen spent most of her working day. People were already gathering in hopes they could get the queen to listen to their petitions. The Usher of the Black Rod guarded the entrance to the queen’s private apartments. He stood aside, allowing us access to chambers where only a privileged few were permitted access.

I gaped at the vast portrait spanning the wall of the Privy Chamber, Holbien’s masterpiece, an image of Henry VIII and his father, Henry VII, with their queens. The figures were so lifelike, brimming with such absolute power, I felt as if they glared at me, a whim away from ordering me to the Tower.

We wound through the withdrawing chamber, finally reaching the queen’s own bedchamber. I hung back behind the others, trying to take it all in. A silver-topped table glittered with morning light, a chair padded with cushions and a jewelry chest ornamented all over with pearls sat in the corner while the gilded ceiling glowed above. A single small window overlooked the Thames, while draperies of painted silk from faroff India curtained the queen’s state bed.

As the ladies of the bedchamber drew back those curtains, they revealed bedposts inlaid with woods of different colors and piles of thick quilts—silk and velvet, gold and silver, decorated with embroidery. The queen sat up, maids unearthing her from the coverlets. My heart began to pound.

“Mistress Elinor,” Lady Betty hissed. “Are you going to stand there or make yourself useful?”

Jolted as if from a trance, I did my best to follow Lady Betty’s harried instructions during the two-hour ordeal of Elizabeth’s toilette. I could not help gawking like Moll as the queen applied her enameled toothpick, then allowed Lettice to rub the royal teeth clean with a tooth cloth. I bumbled the simplest of tasks: all but dropping the silver basin I held for the queen to spit in once she was done cleaning her teeth, then nearly spilling the goblet of watered wine when the queen required a drink.

Elizabeth eyed me askance as I helped Mary Shelton tie a pouch about the queen’s waist, the container holding her notes, letters, and important dispatches so she could keep them close at hand. “Did Lady Calverley send me a juggler or a maid of honor?” Elizabeth asked me with a pointed glance. Heat burned my cheeks as Lettice Knollys snickered behind her hand. The queen raised one fine brow. “I seem to remember you clambering over my prison gate like a wee monkey, Mistress Elinor. Where is that nimbleness now?”

“I was but a child and most determined to deliver my prize to you.”

“I have sometimes wondered in the years since: Did you look at the locks to see what size was needed?”

“I did not think size mattered,” I said, smoothing a crease from the loose gown Elizabeth chose to wear that morning. “Mine was a magic key. Or at least I believed so.”

“Magic? Did you weave some sort of childish enchantment over it?”

“No. The key came from one of my father’s friends, Dr. John Dee.”

“Dr. Dee?” Her gaze turned suddenly sharp. “Yet you did not tell the guard of him when you were questioned.”

“No. I feared what they might do. A boy had frightened me with tales of torture before I left Lincolnshire.”

“Then we both owe him a debt. If you had told the truth neither of us would be standing here now.” The queen’s face softened and I glimpsed the princess I had loved. “Seeing you fight, fierce as any tiger, to keep the guard from taking the key away made me hope. If a child was so passionate about seeing me freed, others must be as well. I amused myself in the days that followed dreaming of life beyond prison bars, imagining the sort of people I would gather around me once I was free. People who had the courage to fight for me—like you. So perhaps the key was magic after all.”

“I am glad of it.”

“And I am pleased you are here, Mistress. Almost as pleased as I am that you did not tell my guard about John Dee’s magic. Let’s you and I conduct an experiment. See if we suit each other now as well as we did then.” Her eyes bathed me in warmth. “God knows, we appear as if we should. Our hair is nigh the same hue.” She turned from me as others helped her finish dressing. I could only be grateful I was not required to work any more laces or fasten the clasps of any heavy jewels. I stared at the nape of her neck, the skin pale, the bumps of her spine beneath it unbearably fragile. I recoiled, thinking of an axe blade biting deep.

I joined the queen’s other attendants, trailing behind her when she broke her fast in her privy chambers, we maids presenting each dish to her upon bended knee. Once her appetite was sated we hastened to the Council Chamber, where the finest courtiers in the land awaited the queen’s pleasure. There the queen danced galliards to “work up some heat.” It was exercise of the body she craved, but she generated other kinds of heat in the chamber as well—desire in the men who crowded round her, and ambition, headier than the wine her guests quaffed.

Next there was a council meeting where I waited outside the chamber in case the queen needed aught. The strident voices rose and fell, sometimes penetrating into the small closet where I sat, straining to listen. The work of a whole nation was being conducted beyond that thick door, I marveled. Decisions that would plot the course of history, consequences that would be felt a continent away.

We accompanied her to the Presence Chamber, the vast room thronged with people importuning her with their private pleas. I listened to her attending to their cares, espousing the causes of the lucky who caught her attention, especially the lowly. She met with ambassadors, deft as any court fool as she juggled the opposing demands of France and Spain and troublesome Scotland.

But the hours that amazed me most were those Elizabeth spent handling her vast correspondence, the queen dictating one letter to a secretary while her own royal hand scribed a second letter
and
she discussed rumors of a winged invention attributed to Leonardo da Vinci with one of her ministers at the same time.

Self-doubt warred with elation beneath the lacings of my new blue gown, one of several exquisite garments that were gifts from Kat Ashley. Delight at being in the center of all things new was tempered by fear of making a fool of myself among such fearsome intellects, a fate I had dreaded beyond all things from the time Father’s learned friends had first come to call. But I had leapt into court’s churning seas of my own accord, I reminded myself. I must navigate them as best I could.

A week flew past, a flurry of magnificent sights, delightful entertainments. Though I still felt awkward and dreaded my occasional blunders, I became more familiar with my new surroundings. I was congratulating myself on surviving a whole day without spilling anything when I was faced with a challenge I had not anticipated: I was forced to play my part in Queen Elizabeth’s daily exercise.

Her Majesty began every morn with a bout of dancing that would tire even the most energetic feet, her chosen ladies partnered by the most athletic courtiers in the land. My own skills were rusted at best. We had had little heart for dancing at Calverley as my father grew ever more ill. I had done my best to escape notice at court when dancing was in the offing. I watched the proceedings from my dim corner, and there was no question whose hand was prized in the dance beyond all others. Once Calverley’s beekeeper had taken me with him to the hives. He bathed the wooden box with smoke, then drew off the hive’s top, pointing out the bee’s queen. The insects boiled about her in frenzy, feeding her honey. That was how the courtiers behaved around Elizabeth, all of them vying for the queen’s hand in the dance. But once the men were forced to relinquish her majesty to “Sweet Robin” Dudley, they went in search of other partners. Today Sir Gabriel Wyatt’s gaze fixed on me. Appalled, I attempted to duck behind an arras, but there was no escape.

“Mistress de Lacey, our queen has rejected me again. I pray you take pity on a poor Vulcan of a man with no claim to handsomeness.”

“Choose another partner, Sir Gabriel. One not likely to wound your toes.”

With the flare of a minstrel he swept one hand to his heart. “I know I must seem the fool trying to take the floor with you. But there is an infirmity of the mind I have suffered ever since I was a boy back in Maidstone. When a horse throws me, I must tame it to my hand or be trampled in the attempt. You are a most delightful mystery. I will come to know you, Mistress. That much I have vowed. I have already wrangled secrets from certain sources.”

“No one here knows anything about me!”

“You were born and bred in Lincolnshire.”

“You are decidedly misinformed.” I took great pleasure in correcting him. “I was born elsewhere. In an old abbey near Cheshunt.”

“Cheshunt?” Wyatt frowned. “I believe the queen spent some time there after—” He shrugged a velvet-clad shoulder. “It is of no import. What matters is that my sources have deceived me. Fortunate for me, I only passed your maid a counterfeit angel.”

“You had best not trifle with my Moll!” I bristled, all too aware of what quick work a dashing courtier like Gabriel Wyatt could make of my romantic maid’s virtue.

“You think I bedded your maid to unravel your secrets?” Wyatt grinned. “I gave your maid an angel, my dear. The coin. Counterfeits of that denomination have been flooding our shores from the Low Countries this past year.”

I gritted my teeth, furious with him for mocking me, furious at myself for my reaction. “Why do you not go away?” I snapped. “I do not want to dance with you.”

“Faith, what is that necklace you wear?” Sir Gabriel stared at my bosom where it rose above the square neckline of my gown. “Is that trinket what I think it is?”

“It is a gift from my father.”

Sir Gabriel pinched up the chain between two long fingers and tugged the disc into the light. He cradled it in his broad palm. “This is no gift to make a vain maid preen before her mirror. I would think you should prefer rubies or emeralds.”

“This astrolabe is the most precious thing I own.”

“The little maid knows what such a scientific instrument is called?” Sir Gabriel shook his head as if I had thumped it with my fist.

“The
little maid
could take measurements aplenty! Maybe enough to prove that Copernicus is right, that the earth revolves around the—”

Sir Gabriel made a show of bowing to Lettice Knollys as she passed. Fear hollowed the space beneath my ribs, and I wanted to cram my knuckles against my mouth to keep any more rash words from spilling out. What was I doing babbling like that? Challenging the dictates of either church, Catholic or Protestant, could be dangerous. But Copernicus’s theory flew in the face of both churches. One of the few things both religions could agree upon would be that whoever voiced such a dangerous theory was a heretic and should be burned at the stake!

“Lady Knollys,” Sir Gabriel said in a voice smooth with admiration. “You look passing fair today.”

“And you look as if you are up to some dastardly scheme. Are you plotting to rid our newest maid of honor of her maidenhead?”

“There is no danger of Sir Gabriel ridding me of anything at all!”

Sir Gabriel tsked lightly with his tongue. “You will have to learn not to leap like a starving bear at whatever bait Lady Knollys dangles, Mistress Nell,” he warned. “Our ‘Stinging Nettle’ thrives on needling people’s tempers. It makes her prey careless when she wounds tender feelings.”

“You are not the only one whose tender feelings have been bruised this morn, Sir Knight.” Lettice gestured toward the couple withdrawn into the stone window alcove. Both Gabriel and I followed the line of her gaze to where the queen and Dudley stood, locked in heated discussion, the rest of those gathered for the dancing giving the pair wide berth. “I fear there is trouble in Eden.” Lettice laughed behind one perfect white hand. I knew she had caught me chafing the scar marring my own hand. I had been piercingly aware of the imperfection ever since Lettice had warned me of the queen’s horror of deformity. “Of course, Cecil and Norfolk and the rest of the council are delighted.”