Shakespeare's Lady

by Alexa Schnee

  “Nothing,” I said, still trying to hide the little book from her prying eyes.

  “Let me read it, Emilia. I’ve seen you writing. I want to see it.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “My verses are nothing that would interest you.”

  I caught her eyes roaming toward my mattress before bed a few times in the coming weeks, but she never said anything about my writing again. I would not have been surprised if she pulled them out and read them while I was not in the chambers, but I never caught her.

  WHEN THE FIRST LEAVES of autumn came, I started to dread my reunion with Henry Carey. I slept more than usual. I also refused to eat, which caused my thin frame to look even smaller. Margaret noticed a change in me, and she consulted the court physician. His diagnosis was low spirits. He bled me a few times and gave me some herbs to brew into a tea, but I did not feel much better afterward.

  “Are you with child?” Margaret asked.

  “No,” I answered. “I bled last week.”

  She ran a hand over her hair, which was pulled back in her signature bun. I looked up at her from my bed. We were all alone. The other ladies had gone out to enjoy the beautiful day.

  “You must perk up,” she said. “Henry is coming back in less than two weeks. You do not want to lose his interest, do you?”

  I was so melancholy that I was almost willing to. The thought of spending my nights waiting up for his command made me cringe. Was it really worth it? Maybe I could be like Lady Bess. She was not married, yet she served her queen and had a place to stay. She was content. I could imagine living here, serving the queen. I could even work my way up to a maid of honor position if I was loyal.

  “Margaret, do you wish you had not married?” I asked. I sat up on my pallet. She stood above me, a motherly expression on her face.

  “No,” she spoke sharply. “I am happy. I am.” She sighed, and I could tell that she was lying. “I just wish I had more time to spend with my husband. I have always hoped for children of my own. But being so close to my queen is the highest honor. Even if she has been closer to Sir Walter lately…”

  “Sir Walter?” My eyes grew wide.

  Sir Walter Raleigh. The queen’s captain of the armada. I should have suspected.

  “I should not have said that,” she cried and covered her mouth.

  “How long?” I asked. My mood was suddenly improved.

  “I cannot say,” Margaret refused. She covered her mouth again after she said it.

  “Come on,” I urged. A hand could not stop Margaret from sharing news. “You have already said it. I’m only going to assume the worst. Has he been seeing her every night? Is she with child?”

  I said it as a joke, but Margaret became panicked.

  “No, I have heard nothing of that, but you must promise not to mention this to Frances. It would escape like the wind if you let her know.”

  HENRY CAREY RETURNED to court just as he said. I was there to see him off, so I was there to welcome him home.

  The leaves were thick on the ground, and they crunched under his horse’s hooves as the beast came up the path. I dressed in one of the new dresses Margaret and I had sewn over the quickly passing summer months. I was almost ready to receive my mother’s dresses from so long ago—my inheritance—but I would have to wait until next year. They were meant for lighter weather. The dress I wore was a scarlet red; it was a nice contrast to my skin, which had become darker. I had spent time in the sun that summer, and my Italian heritage could not be mistaken.

  Henry greeted me with a smile, and I could not help but notice how he seemed even older. In my memory he was younger-looking; he now looked even more like a toad. I forced a smile to my face and took his arm as we entered the palace. A groom led his horse away. He looked at it fondly.

  “That horse carried me faster than any I have ever ridden before.” He turned his gaze to me. “Maybe it knew how badly I wanted to get back and see my lady.”

  My stomach churned, but I kept a straight face as I had hundreds of times before. I was becoming as good as the actors in London. It was too bad they didn’t take women into their troupes. I would have been one of the best.

  “How are your children?” I smiled. He had many, if I remembered correctly.

  He sighed. “They are busy with their own. It’s a sad and humbling day when a man realizes that his grandchildren are nearly grown. It makes a man feel old.”

  I smiled sympathetically and patted him with my other hand.

  “We have received several invitations to go hunting,” I told him. “I would very much like to go.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes, my love. But we shall not accept every one. I am getting too old to rove around.”

  It seemed it had never occurred to him that he might be too old for a mistress.

  “It is wonderful to have you back, my lord.” I let go of his arm and curtsied before I headed back to my chambers.

  “You must come with me to London sometime,” Henry said. “I’ve been looking into several theatre troupes there. They have some delightful shows written by a William Shakespeare that you would enjoy. And I will arrange for your father’s troupe to return to court.”

  “I would very much like that,” I said, this time in all sincerity. It would be nice to journey out of court for a while.

  He reached for my hand and grasped it firmly before we parted.

  “I will call for you tonight.”

  CHRISTMAS WAS NOT AS merry as it had been the year before. Spain was still threatening war, and we were all anxious about what was happening with King Philip II. He had heard about the queen’s idleness and her romance with Sir Walter Raleigh; he also knew that Mary, Queen of Scots, had been beheaded and that the queen had no heir. With this knowledge, Spain was poised to take over the throne.

  We tried to make merry, even though we did not feel like it. We still performed the Christmas traditions that had been carried on for centuries, but there was little joy. We all tried to take our queen’s mind off the threats Spain had sent her—but we would soon find that our attempts were useless.

  The Great Hall smelled of holly. Cooked goose and puddings called to us from the table, while familiar carols beckoned us to dance. Henry and I sat at the long table, his hand resting comfortably on my knee. In the middle of our Christmas celebration, the doors of the Great Hall were thrown open and a man entered. His clothes were foreign, a black cape worn by Spaniards on special occasions. I could not remember seeing him at court before. The bright music stopped, and the dancers ceased their joyless prancing as we all watched him stride down the aisle towards the queen.

  She did not raise an eyebrow. She did not seem surprised to see the figure approaching her. Her golden throne, carved with unrivaled intricacy, made Her Majesty seem even more imposing than usual. The man handed her a single scroll tied with a ribbon. Her jeweled hand reached out and took it, slowly yet confidently. Elizabeth was not one to show fear. I could see her tightening her grip around the scroll before waving him away.

  The man left without a word, his sword hitting against his hard leather boots, and the queen rose once the giant double doors closed behind him. She whispered in Sir Walter Raleigh’s ear before picking up the hem of her dress and striding down the center of the Great Hall. She walked toward the heavy doors alone.

  “Is she all right?” I said to Henry in a hushed tone as I watched her.

  “Oh yes.” He nodded. “Elizabeth always manages to take care of herself. It’s probably more business with Spain.”

  “War?” I asked. His gaze said yes. “You would not be summoned, would you?”

  He tightened his hand on my knee before shrugging his shoulders. “I have recently been appointed general in Her Majesty’s army.”

  I should have been relieved, but I found I did not want Henry to go. If he were to perish at war, all my hopes for the future would die as well.

  ENGLAND, 1588

  DURING THE REIGN OF QUEEN ELIZABETH I

  W
HITEHALL COURT

  AS I FEARED, HENRY left a few weeks later. He helped to lead the queen’s army as they traveled to Essex while Elizabeth stayed at court.

  The winter days were lonely. Whitehall Palace seemed empty, with most of the men gone. A few lingered on—either the very young or the very old. Henry Carey probably should have been among the latter, but being so close to Elizabeth made him a significant ally.

  It was about this time that a new member of court arrived.

  He was Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex. The queen took an immediate interest in him. He was young while she was growing frail, but age was not an obstacle for the queen. They were often seen around the halls together. We did not know if they were talking of war or if they were speaking of things more personal.

  One night at dinner, Frances turned from Thomas Campion, who was ceasing to interest her. The poet was one of the few men who remained at court; his skills did not include combat. He sat quietly, talking to me only if he felt the need to speak at all. Her clear blue eyes bore across the hall.

  “Will you accompany me?” Frances asked. “I am going to introduce myself to him.”

  “The Earl of Essex?” I asked. I glanced over to where he sat. He was on the queen’s right, in a chair next to her throne. Elizabeth had taken to walking around the Great Hall during the meal with some of her advisors, and I knew we didn’t have much time before she would return and he would once again be at her side.

  “I don’t know if that’s wise,” I answered. “You know how the queen fancies him.”

  “It’s only an introduction,” she pleaded. “Besides, what harm could it possibly do?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Not now. It’s not as though he’s leaving soon—not the way the queen dotes on him. Perhaps when she is not present.”

  I turned back to Thomas. I could hear Frances sighing and huffing beside me. She was not used to being refused what she wanted.

  After a few moments, she spoke to me. “Fine. If you won’t do it, I will greet him myself.”

  She began to make her way around the other ladies walking about the room. She passed them with grace, almost as if she were dancing.

  “Excuse me,” I said to Thomas Campion, as I stood to follow her. I squeezed my way past clusters of skirts. Ladies peered at me curiously, but I had to reach Frances before she did something we would all regret.

  “Frances,” I said, catching up to her. She had already curtsied before him. Quickly, I did the same.

  “This is my friend, the lady Bassano.” Frances’s voice dripped with false politeness.

  The man looked up from his ale and nodded politely at us. “Charmed.” He smiled. “A pleasure. Are you ladies-in-waiting?”

  We nodded. He had a very sharp face, but it was still pleasant to look upon. His brown eyes mirrored his sly smile, while a full beard grew from his chin.

  “How long are you planning to stay at court?” Frances asked. I noticed that her voice was slightly more hesitant than when she usually flirted with courtiers.

  He shrugged his solid shoulders. “I am at Her Majesty’s disposal.”

  “We look forward to your company.” I looked to my left and noticed the queen returning. She was coming toward us rapidly, her political advisors surrounding her like bees. Her white dress trimmed in gold shone above all others like a beacon.

  “You must come visit us in the chambers sometime,” Frances insisted.

  His eyes drifted to her small frame. “You can most certainly count on me.”

  I tugged on her skirt but knew it was too late. The queen had already seen Frances in conversation with her favorite. If we left now, it would seem we were ignoring Her Majesty’s presence.

  As the queen approached us, Frances and I curtsied deeply. I could see only the toes of her shoes poking out from beneath her dress.

  “Your Majesty,” we said.

  “Lady Bassano, Lady Sidney.” She emphasized Frances’s married name. “Don’t you think it’s getting rather late? You’d best be getting back to the chambers.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I answered, keeping my eyes lowered. Frances and I turned to leave. I did not look behind me, but I could feel the queen’s eyes on us until we were no longer in sight.

  I WAS WALKING THE passageways to the banquet hall a few days later. I was going to meet Margaret, who had invited me to eat with her and some other maids of honor. I was dressed in one of my finest gowns, a dark blue satin. I fingered the silver chain around my neck. The halls were mostly abandoned. Some of the Christmas decorations remained, and I could still detect the scents of holly and pine. The sky was heavy and the air damp. A man fell into step next to me. His boots clunked at a steady rhythm, and I found myself walking in time to the noise. I peeked over my shoulder to see who it was. I recognized him as the playwright from Twelfth Night a year past.

  He muttered softly. He did not seem to notice that I was there beside him. His brown eyes studied the floor as he walked.

  “Excuse me,” I asked, when I had finally built up enough courage to speak. “Are you talking to me?”

  He stopped and looked up at me as if he was in a daze.

  “Sorry?” His dark eyebrows lowered.

  “Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry. I thought you might be addressing me.”

  He smiled and shook his head.

  “I was practicing lines.” He grinned. “But I will address you now, if you like.”

  We began walking again. There was something about him that puzzled me. He looked the same as I remembered him, dressed simply but spotlessly. We began walking again and continued down the hall.

  “That’s all right; you don’t have to,” I said. “I rather dislike formalities, anyway.”

  It was quiet for a while. We passed some ladies headed back toward the chambers. They whispered and looked at me, and I thought I heard Henry Carey’s name amongst their murmurs.

  I looked over at the playwright to see if he had heard any of their conversation, but he appeared to be absorbed in his own thoughts again. My shoulders loosened.

  “Have you been at court long?” I asked to break the silence.

  “No,” he said. “I come looking for support every now and then. I have a theatre company in London.”

  “You won’t stay long, then?”

  “Probably not,” he replied.

  His short answers frustrated me. Did this man have no manners? When I had found my way to the banquet hall, I was almost glad to excuse myself.

  “It was nice to make your acquaintance, Master…”

  “Shakespeare. Yours as well.” He nodded his head. “Perhaps I will see you around court.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Perhaps you will.”

  His eyes were vacant; he didn’t seem to hear me.

  “Parting is sorrowful,” I said. I raised an eyebrow at him.

  He looked at me, suddenly interested, and he nodded again. He turned and continued down the hallway, and I realized he hadn’t even asked my name.

  THE WORRIES OF WAR loomed closer, but the queen was distracted. The snow fell outside our window like bits of tiny lace from the gray sky. Frances, Margaret, and I sat in the main room of the chambers, wishing we could walk in the fine powder but hating the cold that kept us from it.

  “She doesn’t even care about our country anymore,” Frances said. “England has given her full support and yet she seems to care not. All she seems to care about is that blasted Earl of Essex.”

  Margaret laughed. “Who could not? He is very handsome.”

  “You would think she would have more important things to think about,” Frances insisted.

  Margaret and I looked at each other.

  “Frances?” My voice did not quite come out as strong as I would have liked. “Why do you keep mentioning the earl’s name?”

  “I do not,” she said. She glared at me.

  “Come, now. Be honest with us. You talk of no one else of late,” Margaret scolded.

&nbs
p; Frances sighed before she walked over to me. She looked at the floor and brushed off her skirts. Had I ever seen Frances so uncomfortable before?

  “He is the first man who ever made me think of remarrying.”

  “Oh, Frances,” Margaret exclaimed, going over to her and hugging her tightly. “What a terrible trap you have fallen into.”

  We pitied Frances. She had set her sights on an unreasonable goal. When the queen chose her favorites, she expected them to be devoted to her for the rest of their days. Sometimes the men she loved married anyway, but it only made the queen look upon them and their wives with spite. If the earl was to marry Frances, they would never again be in the queen’s favor.

  Frances’s only option was to forget about the dashing fellow and focus on other things.

  THE WAR DRAGGED on for months, but on July 12, 1588, the Spanish Armada finally approached England’s shores. The queen moved to Essex, miles away from Whitehall Palace in London, with more men and soldiers. Court was empty. The only people who remained were the ladies. Elizabeth was to be a king and with her men. She was far from cowardly.

  Queen Elizabeth readied the troops at Essex. It was said that she wore a silver breastplate over a white dress, the latter a symbol of her purity and virginity, as she gave a moving speech and rallied her army.

  The Spanish Armada came down from the Netherlands; King Philip II allied with them and positioned his ships to sail from Spanish ports to Ireland and northern England. It was an illconceived plan. Anyone who had grown up in England knew that the tides there were unpredictable and unsafe. The Spanish did not know.

  The Armada, the greatest naval company in the world, crashed into England’s shores seventeen days later. Their ships were shattered and unable to fight. Without the Armada, Spain was lost.

  England rejoiced. We had been saved. We were still at war, but we would win. Our queen was safe; not a single man had died in battle. There would be much feasting and merriment at court.