Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (25 page)

“If he is as you say, I hope she will continue in her virgin state. It would be unseemly for one such as she to be yoked with a man who has more gowns than she does!” said Mistress Eleanor.

“Hush! Here comes the queen!” said Mary, who stood as the queen entered the tent, accompanied by Lord Robert.

“Ah, here you are, Fawn. I have been searching for you. Robin and I would like to picnic and thought you should like to come with us. We have asked a few others to join us—Oxford, Sir James Croft, and his son-in-law, Skydemore. Master Nicholas and Nora, do come!” said the queen, her arm entwined with her Sweet Robin’s. She stared hard at Lady Douglass, but said nothing.

“A picnic sounds lovely, Your Majesty,” said Mary as she curtsied. She was thrilled the queen had invited John and Sir James. Perhaps that meant they were in high favor and the time would be right for John to mention their plan to Sir James.

*   *   *

Though the sun beamed down without a cloud to give respite, the party of travelers enjoyed the journey to the river, where the servants had set up food and drink for all. Mary could feel sweat streaming down her back, though one of the serving wenches fanned her and the queen with a large palmlike leaf. They sat on pillows, side by side, with Lord Robert caring for the horses at the riverbank across from them. Mary smiled at Sir John, who was talking with Sir James and Oxford. Sir John winked his eye at her when no one was looking.

“Majesty, is it true you are to marry the French duke?” said Mary, biting into a soft, sweet plum.

“We are discussing such a move—remember, dear Fawn, talk is cheap,” said the queen.

Mary knew the queen needed help against the Spanish threat—the Duke of Alva, who seemed a very capable military man, was determined to take over the Netherlands for Philip of Spain and return the country to the Pope. From the Netherlands, it would be relatively easy for Alva to muster his forces and cross over to England. Since the Pope’s edict, the whole of the Catholic world seemed to think England fair game.

“You don’t love him, then?” said Mary, whispering. She had not asked the queen such a personal question in a very long time. Speaking so made her feel closer to the queen, the way she used to feel as a child. Then, she could ask anything, say anything to Her Majesty. Now, their talk was not as easy.

“As I have told you before, love and marriage have very little to do with each other. One marries for safety—unless one has plenty of money and courage. I have both, so I do not feel the need to marry. Better to play the maid and entertain
proposals
of marriage,” said the queen, laughing.

“What if one falls into love? Would you then recommend the married state?” said Mary.

“Even Saint Paul said it is better to marry than to burn—if a woman cannot contain her natural desires, then she should marry. Why are you asking all these questions about marriage? You do not have another girlish fancy, do you? Or are you still smitten with our ‘Adonis’?” said the queen, eyeing her. Mary tried to show no emotion.

“No, Majesty. I was thinking more about you and Sweet Robin. He loves you and you love him—yet you are apart. It is sad,” said Mary.

“Apart? He is with me every day of my life. And so he shall always be. We eat together, hunt together, dance together, do everything except one thing—and yes, that one thing pains me, more for himself than for me. But, nothing for it—such is the life we have. I shall be grateful for it,” said the queen, rising. “Enough of this dismal talk—bring out your lute, Sir James, and play us a crafty tune. Mary has been wanting to hear you sing since she first heard your ‘sonorous’ baritone!”

Mary blushed as they all turned to her and laughed. She caught Oxford staring at her, his look inscrutable. Something about the way he gazed at her made her feel afraid. But soon, the music made her forget that fleeting feeling and she joined in with gusto.

Before long, they were singing a madrigal. Mary stood next to John and she loved hearing his rough voice. Sir James did, indeed, sing like a chorister, his low voice clear and strong. But she liked the scratchy sound of John’s voice, raspy but in tune. She felt his arm sneak around her waist as they stood side by side, and imagined them at Holme Lacy, her playing the virginals and teaching his children to sing. She could think of no greater contentment.

October 1571

The heat of summer had finally relented and the autumnal evenings were temperate and as comfortable as even a queen could desire. Most evenings found the ladies strolling in the gardens or dancing after nightfall while the queen entertained the French ambassador, who continued to tell Her Majesty how very much the French duke adored her, calling her “the rarest creature that was in Europe these five hundred years.” When the queen complained this could not be so because she had heard the duke had referred to her as “that old woman with a sore leg,” the ambassador had to soothe the queen’s ruffled feathers, assuring her of the duke’s undying love.

While the queen basked in this lover’s language, Lord Burghley continued his efforts to assure her safety. He expanded his network of spies, often infiltrating Catholic groups and making certain no treason was being plotted. Weekly, he arrested some low person for disparaging the queen’s good name or talking against the French alliance. Dudley was often away from court and Mary detected a strain between the queen and her Sweet Robin. The queen spent more and more time enjoying the company of Sir Christopher Hatton, while Dudley seemed to disappear for days at a time.

As London began preparations for the coming winter, storing up foodstuff and patching cracks and crevices in houses and castles, the queen seemed to want the celebrations of summer to continue.

“Ladies, tonight we shall sail up the Thames at dusk. My lord of Leicester has prepared an elegant entertainment for us, with poetry from the pen of the Earl of Oxford and music composed in our honor by Leicester himself. Wear your prettiest jewels so we will glitter on the water as dazzling as sunlight,” said the queen. She motioned for Mary and Nora to help her with her clothing while Mistress Dorothy and Mistress Frances repaired her hair, weaving it in and out of the metal frame on her head.

“Fawn, you may wear your yellow gown for this eve’s festivities. I would have you look ravishing for the French ambassador,” said the queen quietly.

“As you wish, Majesty. But what have I to do with Monsieur Fenelon?” said Mary as she laced the queen’s stomacher.

“I wish to make a favorable impression. You are young and beautiful—that should help things along. Besides, if the ambassador gets a good look at you, perhaps another Valois prince would become available—they seem to have no shortage of them. Then our countries would be doubly yoked and a better ally we could not find,” said the queen.

“Majesty, you surely cannot think to marry me to a
prince
!” said Mary, her mouth open.

“Why not? You are my cousin, a blood relative of the Queen of England. You would make a fine consort for any prince in Europe,” said the queen.

“But Majesty, what if I am already fond of someone here, someone sprung from England’s finest soil?” said Mary, unable to stop the quaking that had begun in her legs.

“Oh, fie. You have rejected the Earl of Oxford. Who else would be suitable for you? If you think of that handsome Skydemore, I have told you he can be nothing more to you than a little toy. I gave you distinct instructions not to find love in that corner. Surely you have not! Or have you?” said the queen, her tone menacing.

“No, Majesty, no. I am Your Majesty’s obedient servant. It’s just … well, it’s just that I am clean amazed at the thought of marrying a man I have never met—it is frightening,” said Mary.

“I agree. That is why I will insist on Anjou traveling to England before I make my decision. And, if things work out as I might wish, you, too, may take a look at your intended before you decide yea or nay,” said the queen.

The Yeoman of the Guard shouted in the outer rooms of the queen’s chambers.

“The Earl of Leicester, here to see the queen! The Earl of Leicester!”

“Come, Mary—let us leave this talk of marriage and sail down the Thames this lovely eve. My Sweet Robin has many delicacies planned for us,” said the queen, rising, then patting her hair into place, pinching her cheeks though they had been rouged, and then gliding gracefully into the outer room where her “Sweet Robin” stood waiting. Mary hurriedly put on her yellow gown, leaving the white sleeves and kirtle she had worn for the day. She quickly hooked her diamond and pearl necklace around her neck and ran to join the queen.

*   *   *

The queen’s barge was lit with torches and several lords and ladies sat on pillows outside the little glass cabin where the queen rested with Dudley. Music wafted across the river and Mary watched the wherries and other small craft travel up and down the river, each lit by torches and candles. The sight was like watching fireflies in the summer night, lights blinking on and off as the boats moved on the lapping river. Several of the smaller tiltboats followed the queen’s barge while groups of wherries gathered on both sides. Trumpets blared across the river, bells rang and cannon thundered, as the queen passed along. Once the noise started, the citizens of London realized the queen was upon the river and they lined the banks, waving their hats and yelling. The queen sat up in her cabin and waved back at them. Lord Leicester waved, too.

Mary saw Sir James sitting on the other side of the queen’s barge and she hoped Sir John had made it aboard as well. She could not get up to search for him, however, because of her bulky skirts.

“I wish we could traverse the river without all this hubbub,” said Mistress Eleanor, arranging her dress so she could tuck her feet beneath her.

“It is always thus—when the queen moves about, the people flock to see her. I can barely hear the music—these bells and guns will make me deaf,” said Mary. She was aware of movement on the deck as a small group of men walked from one side to the other. At first, she could not make out who they were, but as they approached, she recognized Sir John. She smiled up at him.

“My lady. This night is lovely but you are more so,” he said, bowing to her.

“Do sit down, John. The queen is in her cabin with her Robin. Though she can see us, I do not think her
mind
will be on
us.
Have a glass of malmsey,” said Mary, offering him a golden goblet she had just poured from a nearby ewer.

“Here, Sir James, there is room between Nora and me. I would not wish for you to remain on your feet,” said Mary, scooting over, closer to John.

The noise eventually died down as the bells were rung only three times, the same for the cannon shot—three for the Holy Trinity—a blessing for the queen. Soon, the night’s entertainments began, with Oxford reading poems composed for the queen and Dudley singing his own songs again. The smaller craft still followed the queen’s barge. Mary watched as the queen and the Lord of Leicester made their way from the cabin to join her on the deck of the barge.

“Fawn, you look as though you are having a lovely time,” said the queen, as everyone started to stand. She motioned for them to keep their seats, but John and Sir James stood anyway. Mary noticed that Lord Leicester, John, and Sir James were effectively blocking the queen, making themselves a wall around her.

“It is a beautiful evening, the music and food superb—even the poetry will suffice,” said Mary, looking directly at Oxford, who took a little bow.

Suddenly, a loud shot rang across the water. Before she knew what was happening, all three men had thrown themselves over the queen. Another shot zinged past Mary’s ear. It sounded like a large fly buzzing, and to Mary’s horror, she watched John begin to sink to his knees.

People seemed to spring to life, as if they had been charged by lightning. Dudley ran toward one of the wherries and leaped across the water to land onboard. The queen stood, her elbows propped up by Sir James and Oxford.

“No harm! No harm!” she cried in a loud voice. Then she sat down beside Sir John, who was still squatting in an odd sort of way. Mary hadn’t realized it, but she and Nora had ducked down behind the railing of the barge. She quickly rose and went to John, who was bleeding from his shoulder.

“Are you hurt? I see blood. Is there a doctor?” shouted Mary.

“I’m all right. Just a little wound. Caught me in the right shoulder—that’s all. Do not fret, ladies,” said Sir John, his hand clutching the injury.

The queen knelt over him and used her handkerchief to stanch the blood. Mary noticed Her Majesty’s face was white beneath her white powder and her hands trembled as she dabbed at Sir John’s wound. The boat had turned around and was heading back toward the palace. Dudley had pulled the wherry alongside the barge and had jumped back onboard, holding a terrified man in his grip.

“Majesty, this is the vagrant who took the shots. Claims his gun went off by accident,” said Dudley.

The man went immediately to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He held his cap in his hands, twisting it back and forth as he tried to explain.

“Your Majesty, I meant no harm. All the cannon was a-firing and the bells was a-ringing. I just wanted to shoot me weapon to do Your Majesty honor. I swear on the body of our blessed Savior, I meant no harm. I would never hurt Your Majesty—I have loved you my whole life,” said the man, his manner sincere.

“You have not harmed us, little man. But your shot has found a mark in our servant, Sir John Skydemore. It is he who must forgive you,” said the queen kindly.

“Bess, I want to take this man to the Tower and rack him. That’ll get the truth from his lips,” said Dudley.

“No! I shall not have an innocent man racked for an accident. I believe him,” said the queen.

“With the Pope’s edict and the Ridolfi plot exposed, you still would trust this, this vagabond?” said Dudley.

“I be no vagabond, my lord. I am a chandler and was borned and raised right here in London. Why, I saw the queen’s coronation and I bless her in me prayers each and every night,” said the man, still weeping.