Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (13 page)

Mary stared into the ball. At first, she saw nothing and wondered what the men, especially Sir John, were thinking. She concentrated on her question. She wanted to know who she was going to marry. It seemed a silly conceit, a subject which would interest any girl her age. Yet she could not help her curiosity. Who one married often meant whether or not one would be happy or miserable. She had seen enough of poor matches made at court. Leicester, the queen’s favorite, had been unhappily yoked to Amy Robsart before her untimely death. Now, it was rumored he had an interest in Lady Douglass Sheffield, since Lady Essex had been banned from court; even the queen herself was miserable, unmarried, but in love with Lord Robert. Even Her Majesty could not find a suitable match.

Yes, marriage meant everything for the future happiness of a maiden.

Soon, Mary forgot about the men standing beside her. She forgot about the thousands of books lining the walls. All she could see was the globe and what she thought she saw within it.

A house, made of red bricks and standing on a little hill, meadows and forests surrounding it, a slate pathway leading to the front door. A woman. Herself? The woman seemed older, yet there was definitely something familiar about her. The woman grew clearer and it was, indeed, herself. Then, dismounting a fine steed, a man. His face? His face? He turned and Mary could see him. Pale green-blue eyes and a somber countenance—Sir John! He embraced the woman and kissed her—a long kiss of possession.

Mary jumped and the image disappeared.

“What did you see?” said Sir John. “You turned as pale as the snow outside!”

“Nothing … I saw nothing … I fear the queen will call for me soon—it is almost time to sup,” said Mary, her mind in a whirl. She gave Dr. Dee her hand, which he kissed gently.

“Do not be a stranger—I like your courage,” said Dr. Dee.

“Thank you, sir, for opening your wonderful home to us,” said Sir John as he escorted Mary down the dark hall once again. She grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around her, barely able to contain her need for fresh, cold air—air that would shake the vision she’d seen from her mind, a vision that had frightened her to death.

*   *   *

Mary and Sir John headed back to the castle in silence. Twilight was falling and the stars beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky. The golden lights of fires and candles could be seen in the houses along the riverbank, great torches flaming on the outsides of the larger homes. People moved quickly, shouting greetings to neighbors and waving. Mary’s foot slipped and Sir John moved to steady her, but she shook him roughly away.

“I am quite able to traverse this path by myself,” she said, her words sputtering out in short, curt syllables.

“Mistress Mary, stop. Please,” said Sir John, halting in the middle of the path.

“What do you wish, sir?” she said.

“Have I offended you? Have I done something to anger you?” he said, holding her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him.

“God’s blood! Did you think to contradict me as if I did not know how to conduct myself? What business was it of yours if I wished to scry in the crystal?” she said hotly.

“Dee deals with forces unknown to man. He is a scientist and has great knowledge. You do not. I was trying to protect you should any evil take place. It is only natural I should wish to keep you from harm,” he said, staring at her with his beautiful aqua eyes, his mouth a small line.

“And why, sir, should you behave in such a ‘natural’ way? I am used to doing much as I please and will continue to do so. There are many wondrous things in this world—am I to ignore these because they cause you discomfort? I think not!” said Mary.

“I thought we were friends. Is it not a part of friendship for one to look after the other?” said Sir John, still resting his hands on her shoulders.

“Yes, as long as such care does not interfere with the other’s growth. If we are to be friends, you must show me the same respect as you show your other friends. Because I am a weak woman does not mean I lack good sense. Look to our queen! There is a woman of great wisdom who rules with gentleness and mercy,” said Mary.

“I agree, though the hangings in the north were, perhaps, less than merciful— No, no, she is a good woman. If I overstepped my bounds, I beg your forgiveness,” Sir John said.

“Very well, I shall consider it. Look! Another falling star! Wish quickly before it goes,” said Mary.

“I wish to kiss you, Mary Shelton,” said Sir John.

He moved his hands from her shoulders to her waist and pulled her to him. She did not resist. He searched out her lips, cold and shivering, and covered them with his own. After a brief moment, he released her. She gazed up at him.

“I wish to pay court to you, Mary. Woo you with the idea that, as we get to know each other better, we shall marry,” said Sir John.

Mary looked into those strange pale eyes. She could see his sadness, his loss. And, while the idea of him courting her was appealing, she read his heart there, in his eyes. She knew she must refuse him, though it pained her to do so.

“You are not ready, my dear friend. I would you serve only me, not the memory of another. When your heart has healed, then you may pay me court. Though I warn you, the queen has plans for me. So study law and wring out all your tears. For if I love you, I want to be the only woman in your heart,” said Mary.

“How can one so young be so wise?” said Sir John, smiling at her.

“By eating gooseberry tarts!” said Mary, running away from him. He followed her.

Sixteen

Late January 1570

The rift between the Scottish Catholics and their strident Protestant brothers had grown greater after Mary, Queen of Scots, lost her crown. The Catholics assassinated the Earl of Moray, the ruling regent, in an attempt to put Mary back on the throne. James, her son, was just a boy; he could not hold his throne unless he had help—English help. But Elizabeth dared not send an army, for such an act would bring the wrath of France down upon England like the fall of an axe upon the neck of a traitor. Any interference might end with France, then Spain, then the Holy Roman Empire declaring war on Elizabeth, a war she did not want nor one she could afford. Her closest advisors, Cecil and Dudley, were in agreement for once; they both counseled war.

“God’s blood, gentlemen! Can you not see the dangers? Can you not understand why we must keep the peace?” shouted the queen, her voice rough-sounding. Mary sat to the side, half listening to the ongoing arguments. Thoughts of John Skydemore crept into her mind, no matter how often she tried to shoo them away.

The queen rose and walked over to where Mary sat at the window seat observing. Her embroidery hoop hung limply in her hands, the needle tucked carefully into the linen. She had perked up, especially when the queen roared her oaths.

“What say you, Mary? You are fresh to the business of government—perhaps a new outlook is what we need,” said the queen, staring at Mary.

“Majesty, I have no wisdom in these matters—everyone here knows more than I,” said Mary, keeping her head down. She had seen the queen’s anger before when a maid had spilled food or drink, and she did not want to be on the receiving end of such wrath. Her face burned as she felt the men stare at her.

“Now, child, we all know you are new to this game. But your queen has asked for your opinion—you must give it,” said the queen, her voice coiling like a snake about to strike.

“Well … then, I should do nothing as of yet. I should wait to see how the wind blows. The Scottish queen’s supporters may come to naught. If they act, then would be the time for Your Majesty to answer them,” said Mary in a soft voice.

“Aha! A mere child gives me better advice than all the learned men in my kingdom! By God’s teeth, wait I shall! Now, on to other business,” said the queen, walking quickly to her throne and gesturing for Master Cecil to bring her the papers she needed to sign.

Mary pulled her sewing needle from the cloth and began to stitch. The blue thread was bright and just right for the peacock’s feather she was about to create. She was relieved the queen had nothing further to ask her. She breathed a long, slow breath.

“How does one so young, so naïve, gain the queen’s ear?” said a voice.

Mary looked up into the face of the Earl of Oxford, who stood before her in a fine blue doublet with white satin peeking through the slits. His cap was in his hands and he was making a slight bow. His lips curled in an odd way, as if he were making his mouth obey the command to smile.

“Believe me, sir, I have no desire to advise Her Majesty on any issue of state. My realm is determining what sleeves the queen should wear with what kirtle,” said Mary.

“Why does the queen allow you, a mere girl, into meetings regarding the state? This is a new behavior on her part and, to speak frankly, the gentlemen do not like it,” said Oxford.

“Her Majesty wishes for me to understand how our court works. She tells me she is going to make me a fine marriage, and I need to understand important matters so I can help my husband and England. I have expressed no interest in such knowledge of my own accord,” said Mary, taking another stitch.

“Ah, such a pretty girl. Just to whom is the queen going to match you? A prince, perhaps?” said Oxford, sitting down beside her on the window seat. His leg touched hers. Mary scooted away from him. “If Her Majesty has plans for you, I should make my own desires known to her. I have much to recommend me for the position of husband: rank, money, polish. I wonder how the queen would take to the idea of you marrying me. I wonder who else she might have in mind…”

“I am not interested in her marriage plans, truth to tell. I much prefer science and playing the lute to thinking about marriage,” said Mary. She looked at the earl. He was not as handsome as Sir John, but he was very well dressed. And he was close to her in age—not some doting old man. Perhaps he would be better than whomever the queen had in mind. However, though Oxford swore he wished to court her for marriage, he continued to flirt with the queen and every one of her maids. With those who allowed it, he went much further than mere flirtation, according to Mistress Eleanor.

“Would you play and sing for me, milady? I should like nothing better,” he said. Mary could feel him staring at her as she stitched.

“If, of an evening, the queen should like to hear me play and you are in the room, then, yes, I shall be delighted,” said Mary.

“I fear I shall never hear you, then. For the queen wishes to play and sing herself—she will never allow one of her maids to shine in the presence of the sun itself,” said Oxford. He reached up and touched a tendril of her dark hair that had escaped from its caul. He held on to the strand, curling it around his finger.

“You hair is soft as the down of a gosling—would that I could run my hands through it,” he said.

“My lord Oxford, please. You are disturbing my sewing,” said Mary, though she could barely speak. She felt her face grow warm. The earl was so skilled in the ways of love—she had watched him dancing with ladies several times and admired his abilities. Could he be trusted? Did he truly wish to marry her? Or was he trying to ruin her virtue? Why was he here with her, twirling her hair in his hands?

“I hope to disturb more than that, mistress. And, if your pretty blush is any indication, I have done so,” he said.

“If I blush, sir, it is because the fire has warmed the air too much. I shall ask the queen’s leave to take a walk in the gardens,” said Mary, standing.

“Would you like for me to walk with you?” Oxford said.

“That will not be necessary, sir. I have my dog,
Tom,
and
he
is a quiet companion,” she said.

A Fortnight Later

The ground had been covered with snow for weeks, but finally, a thaw had come and the snow was almost melted except for a few piles remaining in shaded areas. The continuing gray skies and cold weather seemed to seep into the very stones themselves. In the Privy Chamber, several ladies-in-waiting busied themselves with cards and sewing. Mistress Frances strummed a lute that needed tuning while Mistress Dorothy slowly dealt cards to herself and three others. Mary and Mistress Eleanor danced together, trying to stay in rhythm to Mistress Frances’s lute.

“By all the saints, I shall go mad! Let us go to Paris Gardens to see the bears!” shouted the queen as she entered the Privy Chamber with no fanfare. She had dismissed her guards and strutted about the room as if she were on fire.

“Come! Come, ladies! You shall all accompany me—it is time to show myself once again to my people. And, if old bear Sackerson doesn’t kill at least one mastiff, I’ll pay you all four groats! Come!” said the queen.

The women put down their cards and instruments, their sewing and dice, and quickly helped the queen put on her blue velvet cloak and heavy woolen hose, rather than the silk ones she preferred while indoors. They applied her whitening powders and rouge, lining her eyes with kohl and her lips with distilled cherry juice. They pulled her hair back into a bun and brought out her blue hat with the white feathers. Then they dressed themselves, having just enough time to wrap up in cloaks and hats.

The queen’s barge pulled slowly through the Thames, which was thick with slush and greenish-gray in color. Mary and Mistress Eleanor shared one of the upholstered seats in the open air while the queen sat in a little cabin on luxurious silk and satin pillows. The queen had pulled the door shut while she and Lord Robert enjoyed a moment of privacy. Cannons boomed and bells clanged as usual, announcing the queen was on the river.

*   *   *

The courtyard where the bearbaiting took place was not as crowded as Mary had seen it in warmer weather. Those who wished to place bets were doing so, while a few small children chased each other around the arena. The queen, who usually watched such spectacles at Whitehall, rarely traveled to Paris Gardens to enjoy the sport. However, as on most occasions when she ventured forth in pubic, she did so with great ceremony. This day, she was content to walk next to her Master of the Horse and keep attention to herself at a minimum. Of course, everyone watched her. The crowd cheered and threw their caps into the air when they saw the queen’s retinue approach. Mary was happy to see that though the troubles of the realm worried the queen, her people held her in the highest regard and seemed to have not a care.