by Alexa Schnee
“We look forward to hearing your music for the rest of the season,” I added quickly. This conversation was growing more and more uncomfortable.
“And hopefully much longer,” he said. He bowed one more time and then turned his back to us.
As we walked away, I heard whistles and calls from the men in the troupe. The queen had let in a group of animals.
THE QUEEN COULD NOT miss the signs of Frances’s affair much longer.
Margaret and I knew it was time to talk to her. I didn’t want to risk Frances’s anger, but I feared the queen’s wrath more than my friend’s. We took her out of the palace for the day and went around to different shops to pick up the things we would need for the coming season. Frances picked out pearls and satins I could only dream of wearing. I knew she wanted to look her best for Robert Devereux.
As we headed home, the carriage rattling, Margaret cleared her throat, signaling that now was the time. We were going to make this as easy as we could. We hoped to suggest that Frances was making a mistake and that she would come to her senses on her own.
“Frances, how does the Earl of Essex fare?” she asked.
“Oh, excellent. He’s offered to take me to plays in London.”
“London?” I said.
I glanced over at Margaret. She nodded her head, encouraging me to continue.
“Do you think that’s wise?” I asked.
Frances laughed.
“I fail to see why I would want to refuse, Emilia. The earl and I get along very well.”
The carriage bumped along the cobblestone streets. It was beginning to get stuffy inside. I fidgeted on the velvet seat and looked through the window to the people on the street. Some carried baskets of food or clothes to launder. They moved out of the way of the carriage.
“Is it you he gets along with so well, or is it your purse?” I said.
Frances clenched her teeth and immediately looked out the window on the other side of the carriage. She tugged on her glove. Perhaps I should have approached the topic more compassionately, but she needed to hear the truth.
Margaret glared at me. “Frances…,” she began.
Frances raised a hand.
“I do not want to hear any more of it.”
The only sound for the rest of the journey was the wheels of the carriage creaking and the horses’ hooves pounding on the stone. I had spoken my part, and now it was up to Frances to make her choice.
AUTUMN WAS IN THE air. The leaves fell and time seemed to slow. The crisp leaves crunched under our feet as we walked the palace grounds, and we enjoyed our nights drinking spiced wine in the chambers with the crackling fire sounding throughout the room.
Henry called me into his room one day so I might help address the invitations for a hunt he was organizing.
“Of course we shall invite the Earl of Essex, and probably Sir Walter Raleigh,” he said as he signed his name on one of the invitations. Henry had used his finest paper, complete with his official seal printed on the bottom. “What of your cousin, Alfonso?”
“What of him?” I asked.
“Do you think we should invite him?”
I rolled up a piece of paper that he had signed and tied a ribbon around it.
“He is a musician,” I said. “Does he know how to ride?”
“I would assume so,” Henry replied. “It is difficult not to know, when you are a man.”
I was quiet for a while. We must invite him. We both knew that. But we also knew that was not what he was really asking. He wanted to see what I thought of my cousin—and whether or not my cousin had grabbed my attention with his handsome face.
“Very well, then,” I said quickly, avoiding the old man’s knowing gaze.
“You do not like him?” he asked.
I contemplated my response. I did admire his visage. He was such a change from Henry that I couldn’t help but be curious. I could lie to Henry, but I always felt guilty after I did. If I told him the truth, however, he might not want to continue supporting the troupe, which would be a shame. Even if I did not approve of the men who were in it, I felt they were my only connection to my deceased father.
“I do not mind him.” I chose my answer carefully.
Henry smiled and then put his pen back to paper. “Invite him, then.”
A FEW DAYS BEFORE the hunt, Henry called me to his chambers. He handed me a letter from the queen. I slid my finger under the already-opened seal. She would not attend. I sighed and skimmed over the words on the page. The perfectly spaced lettering did not match the signature on the bottom of the page, and I could imagine Her Majesty sitting by the fire, dictating what she wished to say while someone transcribed it for her. I rolled up the piece of parchment before handing it back to Henry.
The day of the hunt dawned clear. Both Margaret’s husband, Lord Russell, and the Earl of Essex would be there, but neither Margaret nor Frances was invited.
Margaret and Frances helped me into my riding habit. I had personally chosen the fabric for it. This was to be my day. I would ride at Henry’s side. My new riding cap sat nicely on my head, and my dress fit perfectly.
“You look lovely, Emilia,” Frances praised. “Look how the black piping complements her hair and her eyes so.”
Margaret smoothed the back of my dress. The train was like an emerald-green puddle on the floor behind me. I checked to see that the row of buttons along the bodice was properly fastened.
“She looks like a queen.” She smiled at me proudly. “Not a man will be able to keep his eyes off her.”
I thanked them and went to join Henry at the stables a few minutes before we were to set off. I found Alfonso with him. He stared at me with a coy smile. I ignored his eyes as I walked to Henry’s side.
“Ah, my darling.” Henry smiled. “Tell me, Alfonso, is she not the most beautiful lady in court?”
“She is like a flower. A rose,” he said without smiling.
“A musician and a poet.” Henry laughed, though it was a bit forced. “What a talented family.”
We made our way to the horses. Henry went to inspect his bay, and while his back was turned, Alfonso grabbed my arm. His fingers dug into me.
“You are a flower today, cousin.” His dark eyes looked into mine.
“No rose is without a thorn,” I replied, struggling to get my arm away. “Be careful, or you shall bleed.” My cousin might have been attractive, but he was also a boor.
He dropped my arm. His face was hard as I ran over to Henry. I would have to stay close to him that day. For once I was glad of the old man’s presence.
When everyone gathered, we all mounted. I was eager to get on with the hunt, as Henry and I would ride at the front as the host and hostess while Alfonso had to stay to the back.
We set off at a quick pace. I adjusted my seat in the saddle. The leather creaked beneath me. The men wore sturdy, protective vests and carried bows on their backs so they could remain a safe distance from the stag’s sharp antlers. Dogs trotted around our horses’ feet, ready to get along with the chase.
I was a fair rider, and I started to relax as the hunt went on. Some of the men caught sight of a stag and chased after it, whipping their mounts into a fast canter. The hounds bayed, and I watched as Henry and the others followed. I urged my mare on. We got thicker into the forest, and it was more difficult to see. I had to follow the sounds of the dogs and the horses’ hooves. The men pulled farther ahead.
I saw an open meadow and slowed my horse. I would stop and rest and find them again when they came out of the woods. The grass was much easier to ride through than the forest. Wildflowers dotted the field like the stars on a clear night.
I heard the pounding of hooves behind me—someone had been following me. My hands shook. I said a silent prayer that it would be Henry.
I heard sticks breaking, and I tightened my grip on the reins. Turning my head, I saw a shape coming through the brush. Alfonso appeared through the thicket, slowing his horse until it stopped next t
o mine.
“Lost, my lady?”
“I could say the same to you. It is one thing for a lady to be lost; she has little or no experience of hunting. It is another for a man.”
“I am not lost,” he said. “In fact, I think I quite found what I was hunting.”
He had no manners at all. He knew I was Henry’s mistress and yet he approached me with these advances. Any curiosity I had harbored about him vanished.
I kicked my mare into a fast gait. I needed to find Henry quickly. I heard crashing through the trees, and I thought I saw a glimpse of Henry as he chased after the bloody stag. I rode hard and was glad when I found the party stopped. The deer had escaped and was running toward the top of the next hill.
“Blast,” Henry exclaimed. “I thought we had that one.” He turned to look at me. I am sure I looked none my best. I had rips from thicket thorns along my sleeves, and I felt mud seeping into my dress.
“My dear, were we going too fast for you?” Henry asked. His eyes followed the stag.
I nodded, trying to catch my breath. Alfonso appeared not long after me, his horse galloping at a rough pace.
Henry dismounted and strode over to my horse before softly touching me on the knee. He did not look at me; his head was turned in the direction the stag had escaped.
“Would you like someone to take you back to the palace?” he asked.
Did he offer because he really cared about my affairs? Or was it only because I was slowing the party?
“Thank you,” I replied.
“Very well,” Henry said. “Alfonso, will you please escort Lady Bassano back to Greenwich?”
“No, my lord,” I said. “I would prefer that you escort me yourself.”
The men laughed, and I felt like a small child clinging to its mother.
“I cannot very well leave the hunt.” Henry laughed along with them.
I looked at him with pleading eyes, but he seemed not to see it. He thought too highly of Alfonso to expect that I would be in any danger.
“Well then,” I huffed, “I suppose I will escort myself.” I turned my horse around and headed down the path. I heard the ensemble laughing behind me, but Alfonso did not follow. At that moment I could not help but think how foolish men were and how glad I was that my horse was a mare.
WHEN I RETURNED TO Greenwich, I found it mostly deserted. I handed my horse’s reins to a stableman and made sure that the mare was given oats for her hard work. I went up the stairs to the chambers with my dress torn and my riding cap on one side of my head.
Frances greeted me as I entered. She was hopping around and wearing the biggest smile I had ever seen. She took my hands like she had the day she realized that I had a chance to become a queen.
“What is wrong with her?” I asked Margaret, who stood watching us.
“She wanted to wait until you got here,” she explained. “What happened to you?”
“It’s a long story,” I replied. I brushed a strand of hair away from my face.
Frances looked at me. “I didn’t even notice. Look at your cap—and you are so muddy. Something’s wrong.”
“Come, tell us what happened.” Margaret crossed her arms, and I knew there was no way of getting out of it.
“Must I wait to tell her my news?” Frances asked, her voice thick with impatience.
“Frances can say what she needs to,” I replied. She usually did anyway.
Frances’s eyes glowed and her cheeks were red as she took a deep breath. Her smile shone like the sun.
“All right,” she said. “Robert Devereux asked me to marry him.”
We both glanced at her. She looked so small, so innocent, so unlike the Frances we knew.
I said a prayer in my head. Then I took one of her hands in mine and regarded her. “You cannot agree to marry him,” I said.
“You have to refuse,” Margaret continued.
I expected Frances to be angry with us. Instead, she simply kneaded her hands together. Her face was pale.
“No, no, no…,” she muttered softly.
“Frances?” I asked.
“Frances,” Margaret spoke as quietly as Frances had, “you must say that you cannot marry him. Even if by some miracle the queen were to give her permission, she wouldn’t look upon you with favor.”
It was the queen’s duty to match her ladies with husbands. She would never agree to this marriage. And if the queen did not approve and they married anyway, they would be guilty of treason.
“Remember what sort of wrath the queen shows those she does not like,” Margaret said.
Frances pulled her hand away, and her eyes glossed over. Her expression was more frightening than anything I had ever seen. The only time I remembered seeing a face that eerily subdued was when the Queen of Scots had known that the ax was about to meet her neck.
Would Frances be beheaded too? Would the queen be that cruel? All she had done was fall in love, like all girls are bound to do. My hands grew sweaty and my breath short.
The silence in the room frightened me as we waited for Frances to speak. It was as if time had stopped.
“I can’t turn him down.” Frances finally unleashed her words. She stood in place, her hands kneaded together. She was astonishingly calm. It was as if she had seen a ghost. “I can’t do that. I love him.”
“But the queen, Frances,” Margaret urged.
“I can’t,” Frances said. Her eyes flashed something that I recognized. “Because I have already accepted.”
“Frances…,” I said. Didn’t she understand?
“No!” she exclaimed. “All my life I have done what Her Majesty wanted, what everyone thought she approved of. I had to marry Philip Sidney, a man I did not love. I had to be her lady-in-waiting, and I have had to make sure that I don’t offend her. I cannot lose the only man I have ever loved to the queen. I would rather face the block.”
Margaret gasped. Frances was prone to dramatics, but there was something in her tone that made me think she was speaking the truth. What would life at court be like without Frances? Would it really be worth it to marry Robert Devereux?
“You know what this means, Frances,” I said. “It’s—dangerous to—”
“To associate with me?” she finished for me.
I looked over at Margaret before nodding.
Frances reared her head back as though she had been slapped. Margaret and I had always been there for her, but now it was clear that we would not be by her side. We would be her friends, but we would not follow her to the executioner’s block.
She gazed at each one of us. First at Margaret, her only friend before I had come to court. Margaret simply shook her head. Frances’s eyes darted towards mine. I saw in them both indignation and distress. Something in her face made me wish I could change things between us, but it was too late. Frances had used me and pushed me. When she was upset, I had to give her my full attention; when she was angry, I had to humor her. I was sorry that all she could think of was her own self and that she was so lonely, so angry at the world and at the queen—but I was not that way.
I looked at the ground. I heard stomping as Frances made her way across the chamber, her hurt echoing on the floorboards.
“You are both invited to my wedding,” Frances said coolly from across the room. “But after that, I never want to speak to you again.”
ENGLAND, 1590
DURING THE REIGN OF QUEEN ELIZABETH I
WHITEHALL COURT
IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL wedding. The chapel at Essex had been decorated with lovely white roses and fine lace. Delicate roses hung from the sides of the pews. Rose petals dotted the floor, while sunshine shone through the windows and onto the smooth stone.
The Earl was dressed in a white doublet. The queen sat on her throne, brought from court. Her lips were a small, fine line that did not move during the duration of the ceremony, and her eyes were hawkish. Her hands clutched the arms of her throne, and every so often she glanced at the empty seat next to her.
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br /> I will never forget the image of Frances walking down the aisle. She spent a great deal of money on her dress, and I had never seen one its equal. She was covered in the most expensive lace possible, with a long train following several feet behind her. Pearls hung from her ears and draped around her neck. She left her hair long and fastened white roses in it with pins. She looked like an angel sent from heaven, and at that moment I desperately wished that I had been able to be her friend in her darkest hour. I wanted to stop her halfway down the aisle and tell her how I was sorry. But she did not look at me or Margaret. Her eyes were on Robert Devereux, her husbandto-be. Looking back now, I can see that losing Frances was both a misfortune and a blessing. I know I would not be the same person that I am today if she had not cast us out. I would have had a much easier life if I had had Frances there to fight my battles for me. Maybe God knew that this was for the best and that I would be a stronger person if Frances was not there. She had been the sister I’d never had, and I knew I would never have that again.
After the ceremony, we journeyed to the large banquet hall in Essex’s manor. It had been decorated with obvious care. Tapestries hung proudly, the room was littered with hundreds of roses, and the tables displayed roasted swan as the bride and groom’s meal of choice.
When Margaret, her husband, the Count of Cumberland, Henry, and I went to wish Frances luck in her new life, she greeted us as strangers. She was sweet—overtly so. She treated us as if we were not once her closest confidants, her best companions.
“Congratulations,” I said, handing her my wedding gift. It was a length of fine blue velvet, Frances’s favorite.
“Thank you,” she said with ice tingeing her words. She looked beautiful in her wedding gown, her veil pulled back from her luminous face. Her cheeks wore circles of natural blush, and curls, so perfectly placed before the ceremony, escaped from her crown.
Margaret handed her a gift before letting Lady Bess pass us. Frances welcomed Bess with open arms, giving her a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. I wondered if Lady Bess knew that she was being used as a pawn in Frances’s game.
