Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (31 page)

“Have you someone in mind?” said Mary.

“Very much so, but it shall be my secret—at least, for a little longer,” said Lady Douglass.

“The queen returns from the hunt—I hear the yeomen marching outside. Let us put away our work and prepare ourselves for the evening—these summer nights are all too fleeting when we can dance with those we love,” said Eleanor. “Especially for me—I shall not dance long, for the babe will not allow it.”

The queen entered her rooms, her hair damp with sweat and the curls escaping her hunting cap. Her face blazed and she took a seat immediately, motioning for her women to bring refreshment. Like worker bees, they buzzed around the queen, securing her comfort.

*   *   *

The night was, thankfully, cooler and gave everyone a welcome respite from the heat. The sky was deep blue and as clear as Dr. Dee’s crystal, with more stars twinkling than Mary was used to seeing in London. Here, in the beautiful countryside, everything pulsed with life, even the heavens. After supping on a light meal of goose livers with thick gravy and bread, the queen’s ladies busied themselves dressing Her Majesty, from her clean smock to her sumptuous green silk dress with the kirtle of cloth of gold and matching sleeves. As usual, the women worked for a solid two hours helping the queen bathe and dress, lacing up her stomacher, tying on the sleeves and attaching the small ruffs at her wrists and the larger one at her neck. The queen’s hair had to be washed and set up high atop her head with a few curls framing her face. Her white makeup was applied, along with kohl for her eyes and cherry juice for her lips. Mary dabbed the queen’s favorite perfume, sweet marjoram, on her neck, wrists, and décolletage and then took a soft cloth and cleaned her teeth with honey and vinegar. However, the final effect was worth the effort; the queen looked elegant and attractive, a comely woman with pale skin, dark eyes, and a slight hook in her nose—regal.

After working on the queen, who left with a few ladies for the Great Hall, the rest of the women readied themselves, helping each other lace, tie, and squirm into their bulky garments. The stomacher and farthingale were the most difficult; it took at least three women to help one shimmy into the contraptions.

Mary’s dress was the usual silver, which set off her hair and eyes. She, too, had bathed after the queen had finished with the water, and felt refreshed.

“Come, Nora, let us go—you look so lovely, like a ripe peach. Your condition suits you, methinks,” said Mary, grabbing her friend by the hand.

They could hear the music and the scuffling of dancing feet as they approached the Great Hall. Mary saw Sir John standing near the queen and gave him a quick bow. She and Nora headed to the table laden with fruits, comfits, tarts, and pastries. Mary selected a gooseberry tart and turned in time to see Oxford entering the Great Hall.

He was more handsome than she had remembered, his doublet a lovely blue and his eyes lively. He had grown a slight beard and it suited him well. She remembered his kisses, the way he had fondled her. She felt her cheeks begin to burn. She did not like him, and she wished she could see him at court without feeling discomfort.

“Ah, Oxford, welcome!” said the queen, laughing.

He bowed graciously, this time without emitting any offending noises, and the queen motioned for him to come closer. He bent his knee at her throne and they spoke together for some time.

Mary danced with several courtiers, including Sir John. He, too, looked as if he had taken great pains with his appearance for the evening, and he was as gallant as ever. After a spritely galliard, Mary took her leave of her partner and walked outside for some air, catching Sir John’s eye as she headed for the outer porch. She was looking up at the sky when she felt arms around her waist. As she had hoped, Sir John had caught her look and followed her out into the darkness. She leaned into him.

“So, you
have
missed me,” said Oxford, pulling her more tightly against him. She could feel his breath hot on the back of her neck.

She broke free and faced him.

“I … I thought you were someone else,” she said.

“Oh? And who might this mysterious lover be? Is it Pakington? He told me you rebuffed him, but things change, yes? Perhaps that scoundrel Hunsdon? But no, I suspect it is Sir John Skydemore, your hero. He is always meddling in our business,” he said, staring into her eyes.

“It is none of your concern. I must return to the queen,” said Mary, starting toward the door.

“Wait but a little. The sky is dark, the breeze is cool. We are young and one of us is quite lovely,” he said.

“I dare not think
which
one of us you think lovely!” she said, jerking her arm away from him.

“Lady, you wound me. As you must know, I continue to think of you—your eyes, your hair, the shape of you. My hands remember, did you know? They remember every curve,” he said, taking her elbow once more.

“Sir, you are mistook if you think I have any interest in you. You are married and treat your poor wife terribly—you are no gentleman,” said Mary.

“’Tis true, ’tis true. But I do not love my wife,” said Oxford, his arm snaking around her waist.

“Nor do you love me. You love only yourself—even the queen knows that,” said Mary.

“What has love to do with anything? You and I, we want each other—there is nothing of love in it. We are like rutting pigs. Come in the mud with me, lady. You will like it there, I promise,” he said.

Mary could hear the music wafting over the summer air. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sir John heading toward them, scanning the darkened gardens to find her.

“No, milord. You must find another to rut with you. For I am made of better stuff. And I have learned that when love is involved, mere rutting turns to something else, something pure and true. Leave me,” she said.

She backed away from him, hoping Sir John would notice the movement and come to her. Her ploy worked. Sir John was walking toward them.

“Oh, Mistress Mary, I’ve been looking for you. Oxford,” Sir John said, giving a small bow to the earl. Sir John strode to Mary’s side and stood next to her. She immediately took his arm.

“I am so glad you have come—I hear them playing a pavanne and I wish to dance. If you will excuse us, my lord Oxford,” said Mary.

“Certainly,” said Oxford, himself giving a small bow.

As Mary and John headed for the dance floor, he paused before they entered.

“Is everything all right? Did Oxford bother you?” said Sir John.

“Everything is fine now that you are here, dearest. I will say Oxford is not one to give up his ambitions easily—but I managed him,” said Mary.

“We have an enemy there. But my blade will make him think twice before he tries you again. Let us dance, my love—for I long to hold you, even if for a mere moment,” said Sir John.

He led her into the hall where they joined the other dancers.

Forty-one

Early August 1573

Mary was tired of the constant travel required of her when the queen went on progress. For two months, she and almost the entire court had made a circle around the Midlands, staying at various locations for a few days to a week at a time. Though each gentleman did his utmost to entertain the queen and her retinue, after a while, the festivities seemed forced. Mary imagined a great sigh of relief being heaved as their hosts watched them ride away.

For Mary, it seemed her work never ended while on progress. The queen’s wardrobe had to be kept in excellent condition in spite of dusty roads, jostling wagons, overstuffed chests, and sometimes careless handlers. She was forever brushing and shaking out the queen’s dresses, trying to remove a new stain, sewing on pearls from one pair of sleeves to another, until she thought she would scream if she had to look at another garment. Her dismay must have been written across her face because when they arrived at Warwick Castle, the queen beckoned her to her side.

“Ah, Fawn—you seem overwrought. After we get settled in, I insist you take the afternoon away from your duties—tut-tut, I will brook no argument. I do not wish to work my ladies into an early grave. You should ride out into Warwick’s forest—I hear there is good game to be found and a beautiful little river. Perhaps Mistress Eleanor could go with you—though I suppose she will be tired, given her condition. Now, off, girl!” said the queen.

Mary curtsied to the queen, thanking her profusely. Her heart lifted at the thought of enjoying the summer sunshine, an entire afternoon away from the queen and the bustle of court life. She immediately wondered where Sir John might be found and if, somehow, he could steal away with her. She hurried to the small room she shared with Eleanor to change into her riding clothes, selecting a hat of blue satin with a long, white feather sticking up, giving her just the jaunty look she was hoping for.

As Mary walked to the stables, she kept her eyes open for Sir John. She saw several of the Gentlemen Pensioners in a huddle in the hall that led to the queen’s apartments but Sir John was not among them. Then, just as she was about to turn toward the stables, she saw him walking alone up ahead of her. She ran to catch him.

“Where are you going, sir?” she said as she caught up to him.

He turned, surprised, and then smiled.

“I thought it would be a good idea to check the duty schedule with Sir Christopher—he has not yet told us who shall guard the queen by day and who by night,” he said.

Mary could barely restrain herself from holding on to his arm as they walked. She noticed he held himself stiffly away from her. She knew he, too, wanted to touch, to be reassured of her love.

“And where are you going, milady?” he said.

“I have the afternoon free—the queen has sent me out riding for my own pleasure. I was going to have one of the stable boys saddle a horse for me,” said Mary.

“I shall be happy to assist you,” he said.

Mary looked up at him, shading her eyes from the sun that beamed down brightly.

“I would like it if you could come with me—we could enjoy this lovely place in the quiet hours of the afternoon,” she said.

He paused in contemplation. Then he bowed to her.

“If my mistress commands I accompany her—for her protection, of course—I do not see how I can refuse,” he said.

“I suppose we should ask someone else along, just so there will be no tittle-tattle about us. Nora isn’t feeling up to a ride these days. Who can we invite?” said Mary.

“Not a soul. For if you ride out first, and I follow in a little while, who is to know we plan to meet? You can be certain to tell the stable boy the queen has commanded that you ride this afternoon for your health’s sake. I shall tell him I am sent on an errand for Sir Christopher. With all the court settling in, I do not believe our doings will be noticed at all,” said John.

Mary considered what he said. She was nervous about such a plan, but it had been three long months since they had lain together and she longed to kiss him once again. They had promised each other they would refrain from acting as man and wife. They knew they could not take the chance of a babe coming before they had gained the queen’s permission to marry.

“I shall do as you say. I will take the horse beyond the eyes of Warwick Castle and will meet you at the edge of the forest. We shall have hours together, my love. This is a great gift!” she said.

*   *   *

Never had a wood seemed so beautiful, so perfect. As Mary and John rode side by side beneath the shady trees, she felt as if she had entered the land of the fairies. The sun filtered through the leaves, creating shadows that danced and moved as if by magic. She could hear the skittering of small creatures in the undergrowth and she imagined hedgehogs and rabbits, birds and snakes, field mice and deer, all living their lives out of her sight as if they inhabited a different universe.

Beyond the brushy comings and goings of the animals, there was a deep quiet in the forest. The silence made Mary feel as if she were in a cathedral of some kind, the trees acting as the great arches, and the varying shades of green, the stained glass. They had come to a holy place and Mary could feel the sanctity of it. They remained quiet as they rode through the forest, and Mary knew John felt it, too—the rich spirit of the woods, the blessedness of the earth.

There was no trail they followed, but Mary could tell the land was rising and they were climbing a hill. As they came to the end of the tree line, there was a meadow of tall, fragrant grasses littered with daisies and wild red flowers for which Mary had no name. John reached over and pulled her horse to a halt.

“Shall we walk a while?” he said.

She nodded and he helped her down. They stood together for a moment and then he took her in his arms. He did not kiss her but simply held her, their bodies molded together. She could hear no sound but the steady rhythm of his heart, the in and out of their mingled breath.

“When I was a boy, there was a hill much like this at Holme Lacy. My brothers and I would wage battles over who could hold the top. We would often lie in the tall grasses and roll down to the bottom, trying to tumble anyone we could on the way down,” said John, still holding her.

“I have never rolled down a hill—though the queen was relaxed when we took our picnics, she was never
that
relaxed! I cannot imagine her doing such a thing or allowing me to do it, either,” said Mary. “I suppose I missed out on lots of things, growing up at court.”

“Well, we can’t have that! Come on!” he said, pulling her down beside him. He wrapped his arms around her and off they went, rolling one over the other, over and over, gathering speed as they tumbled. Mary saw the grasses and flowers in a great swirl against the blue sky and felt the soft earth beneath her. The ground was punctuated every now and then by a rock that poked her in the back, though not uncomfortably. She could not help but laugh as they spun down the hill, arms entwined, John taking his weight on his elbows so as not to squash her. Finally, they landed at the bottom of the hill, both giggling. She felt free. She had no one to correct her behavior or tell her to remember her position. She was there with the man she loved, the earth, and the sky. She rolled over onto him and kissed him, a kiss full of all the longing she had ever felt. She could not have named that which she desired—it was ineffable, as indistinct as fog. Yet her entire body was filled with it.