By Royal Command

by Mary Hooper

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I stammered. ‘I . . . I shouldn’t be here at all. I have nothing to say.’

  She gave a sudden cry. ‘You have nothing to say! You frighten me half to death by suddenly appearing here, then tell me you have nothing to say? How did you find me? How do you come to be in this place, and what do you want?

  I heaved a sigh, feeling like the worst kind of intruder; as if I’d come to do harm to the innocent babe in her arms. ‘I followed you here yesterday,’ I murmured, shame-faced.

  ‘Followed me? Why? Do you mean me harm?’

  I hesitated, then felt I must tell the truth. ‘It is just this. Someone suspected you of plotting against the queen, and I was asked to watch you.’

  ‘I was suspected?’

  I nodded.

  She gave a little cry. ‘But I’ve served the queen faithfully for seven years! I’ve turned down every chance of happiness to devote my life to her. And now I am suspected of being her enemy?’

  The child, perhaps hearing the fear in her voice, stirred and made a small sound of distress. Immediately Mistress Pryor seemed to forget that I was there and turned to look at it, smoothing its cheek and rocking it gently in her arms.

  ‘I am so sorry. I have no business here,’ I said, backing away.

  ‘Stop!’ she said. ‘You cannot leave without telling me what’s behind all this. Was it Walsingham who suspected me?’

  ‘I believe it was he – and others.’

  ‘If they are saying that I’d harm our queen then it’s they who are speaking treason, for I am every bit as loyal and true to Her Grace as they. More so!’ And saying this, she began weeping.

  I gave a low curtsey. ‘Please accept my apologies. I assure you that you will hear no more of this,’ I said. I turned to go. ‘And I am truly sorry I’ve caused you such grief.’

  Her head was bent over the babe and, still weeping, she didn’t reply. Deeply ashamed of the distress I’d caused her, I went to the door, only to almost collide with a gentleman coming through it. And it was then that I had my second great shock of the day when I came face to face with the children’s tutor, Mr Sylvester.

  Chapter Sixteen

  He and I stared at each other, both utterly astonished at the other’s appearance. I began to back away, feeling agitated and very much at a disadvantage. I was a mere nursemaid amongst greater folk, and in a place that I shouldn’t be.

  ‘What in Heaven’s name are you doing here?’ Mr Sylvester said. ‘How did you find us?’

  ‘I believe she works for Walsingham,’ Mistress Pryor said, still weeping.

  ‘What?! That can’t be so. She is maid to Dr Dee’s children,’ said Mr Sylvester. He went over to Mistress Pryor and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Has she upset you, sweeting?’ he asked gently.

  Odd and odder . . . I stared at them in some bewilderment and then I looked towards the door, wondering if I should just run away. In spite of my great unease, however, I was most intrigued at this situation, and knew that, if I ran, I might never discover answers to all the questions in my head.

  ‘She came in here with some absurd tale of me being involved in a plot against the queen!’ said Mistress Pryor.

  ‘Never!’

  ‘’Tis so ridiculous that she may have made up the whole thing. Perhaps she is just a thief.’ She looked at me searchingly, taking in my fine velvet gown. ‘You say she’s a nursemaid, but she’s not dressed as one. She has, perhaps, stolen the clothes she wears.’

  ‘I have not,’ I protested strongly, for I greatly feared being taken and thrown into jail. ‘Perhaps . . . perhaps I should explain everything to you.’

  ‘Yes, you should,’ said Mr Sylvester curtly. ‘And you may begin at once.’

  Ten or so minutes later, Tomas and I were sitting on a window seat facing Mistress Pryor and Mr Sylvester. I’d begun by trying to explain the situation myself, but things had gone so awkward between us that I’d asked if I might go and fetch my companion.

  Both Mr Sylvester and Mistress Pryor had looked mighty startled on seeing Tomas, and he equally so on seeing Mr Sylvester. The gentlemen bowed to each other (though Mr Sylvester swore under his breath several times as he did so), and for some awkward moments after this none of us seemed inclined to speak. At last Tomas stood up and went to a light oak rocking cradle in which the babe now rested. ‘How old is this small creature?’ he asked.

  ‘She is near three months old,’ said Mr Sylvester.

  ‘And named Elizabeth after our good queen, whom I love and revere,’ said Mistress Pryor somewhat defiantly.

  Tomas sat down beside me again, and there was another silence. ‘Twas, I think, the only time I’d ever seen him at a loss for words. Eventually, he began, ‘As you know, I am the queen’s fool. But perhaps not so foolish when it comes to affairs of the heart.’

  No one made comment on this, and he continued, ‘The child, of course, belongs to you both.’

  At first it seemed that Mistress Pryor might deny it, but Mr Sylvester placed his hand over hers. ‘’Tis too late for subterfuge,’ he said, adding, ‘Yes, she is our natural child.’

  ‘And born of love!’ said Mistress Pryor.

  ‘You, Sir, I believe I recognise from Court as one Leopold Harding,’ Tomas said.

  Mr Sylvester nodded. ‘I was dancing master at Court for nigh on a year.’

  Dancing master. Then that was why, I thought, he sometimes seemed to be dressed more like a court dandy than a scholar.

  ‘And it was then that you and Mistress Pryor . . . ?’ Tomas led him gently.

  He nodded. ‘The truth is this: I was there to teach the ladies-in-waiting their galliards and their pavanes, and while dancing, Mistress Pryor and I fell in love.’

  ‘And Her Grace objected?’

  Mr Sylvester sighed. ‘Her Grace very much objected.’

  ‘We asked for permission to marry and she said no, and banned Leo from Court forthwith,’ Mistress Pryor explained.

  ‘Not only am I banned from Richmond, but from anywhere the Court is on progress: I am not to stay at Whitehall, Syon, Greenwich, Windsor nor Hampton Court, and if I am seen nearby any of those places, then I will be sent to the Colonies.’

  Hearing these words, I stared at him wonderingly. That, of course, was why ‘Mr Sylvester’ had seemed so much against the queen. It wasn’t that he was secretly plotting against her, or had Catholic sympathies, but merely that she had caused him to be parted from the woman he loved and their child.

  ‘That’s why I’m working as a tutor in the magician’s house – which happens to be not far from several of Her Grace’s palaces – so that I can see Mistress Pryor, and our child, whenever possible.’

  ‘Excuse me asking, but did I see you at the palace yesterday?’ I suddenly interrupted.

  He nodded and smiled wryly. ‘I felt it safe, amongst so many, to go there in disguise. And Mistress Pryor and I had a carriage from there to bring us here to Putney.’

  ‘You were in that carriage too?’ I asked. ‘I was hanging on the back!’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, I was there, but we walked separately to this convent.’

  ‘So perhaps it was you, then, who followed me along the dark passageway?’

  ‘Possibly, though I had no idea I was following you.’

  ‘And what of your tale, Mistress?’ Tomas asked. ‘For although I have no cause to question you, I’m very intrigued as to how you’ve managed yourself in all this.’

  Mistress Pryor shrugged. ‘It’s been most difficult. I begged Her Grace to change her mind and let me marry the man I loved, but she said I could only marry when she allowed it, and then it would be to a man of her choosing.’

  I gasped. ‘That’s very hard.’

  ‘It is! But I’m still loyal to my lady and love her dearly. I would never betray her!’

  ‘Of course not,’ Tomas soothed.

  ‘Leo and I continued to see each other, and eventually I found myself with child.’

  ‘And you managed t
o conceal your condition?’ I could not resist asking.

  She sighed. ‘’Twas not easy, but many a lady has concealed such a matter under her farthingale. And . . . and in September, when my time was near, Her Grace and the Court went on a progress and I came here to give birth.’ As she said this she looked at Mr Sylvester, such a look as to make anyone’s heart break, for the love between them was palpable.

  ‘And since then?’ Tomas asked gently.

  ‘Since then I have led a tragic life,’ she burst out, ‘for I am separated from my true love and also my babe, and there is no worse suffering for a mother.’

  ‘But I’m sure they are kind to her here,’ I said.

  She began weeping again. ‘They are kind enough, but this is a home for foundlings and there are above twenty homeless children, some orphaned, sick, crippled or simple. The few nuns who work here cannot give them a mother’s love!’

  We were all silent for a while, then Tomas said, ‘In time, if Her Grace marries, then her feelings may mellow.’

  ‘I cannot wait that long!’ Mistress Pryor said. ‘Every day away from my child is like a dagger in my heart. I only live for the time spent in this place.’

  ‘But your coming here is most dangerous,’ Tomas said. ‘If the queen should discover that you have gone against her wishes, and have a child out of wedlock, then she may have you sent to the Tower.’

  Mistress Pryor clutched at Mr Sylvester’s hand. ‘I know, and fear that very punishment above all others, for then my darling babe would be taken away from me!’ Saying this, she burst out weeping again, and even Tomas and I vowing on our lives that no one should learn her secret from us did not stem her tears.

  I took Tomas’s hand, and such was the strength of my feeling in this matter that it did not seem overly bold. ‘Do you not have the ear of the queen?’ I asked him fervently. ‘Would it not be possible for you to speak to her on this subject and obtain permission for Mistress Pryor to marry?’

  Tomas sighed. ‘In these matters, the queen is stubborn and always has been. Someone tried to address her on behalf of Mistress George – she who is even now in the Tower – but Her Grace merely stamped her foot and said that as she was single, her ladies must remain so.’

  ‘But the queen is most fond of you,’ I pleaded. ‘Is there nothing you can say to help?’

  Tomas thought for several moments, slowly shaking his head. ‘At the moment, with her own love life so much spoken of, I dare not address her on the subject of marriage. In the meantime, however, perhaps I can devise a method whereby you are able to see more of little Elizabeth.’

  Mistress Pryor looked up from her kerchief. ‘Really? How could that be?’

  ‘With some Tom-fool trickery,’ Tomas said, smiling, and on hearing this, Mistress Pryor could not restrain herself, and leaving the side of Mr Sylvester, ran to Tomas and flung her arms around his neck.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tomas had promised to try and fulfil this vow to Mistress Pryor by Twelfth Night and, though he hadn’t confided in me the means he was going to use, he had also promised that I might play a part in it. Consequently, Twelfth Night saw me waiting anxiously behind a large folding screen in the palace banqueting hall, where I was due to appear before the Court as a representation of Winter in a court masque. I was dressed in floating panels of fine white muslin, standing behind girls similarly attired in gauzy yellow for spring, pink for summer and bronze for autumn. My role was a very small one, for the Seasons did not have to sing or dance, and, despite my fears about my appearance, I was happy to have another chance of being near to Her Grace, and of determining how Tomas was going to work his own particular magick.

  My spying mission was over. I had not saved the queen’s life nor discovered any plot against her, and the day’s task was not a mighty one concerning queen and country, but one involving just two people and a child. I felt it was, nevertheless, exceedingly important.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Tomas whispered to me. He had a beard longer and whiter than that of Dr Dee, his cloak was full, black and patched with many colours, and he wore a laurel wreath on his long grey wig. He was Olde Father Time, the central figure of the pageant.

  I nodded, too overawed to speak.

  ‘Now. Do you really know it’s me?’ he asked in my ear.

  I nodded assuredly, for I’d seen him don his wig, beard and cloak in the small withdrawing room and there had been no opportunity since for him to have been replaced by someone else. He smiled at me, his stage-paint creasing and cracking, and I managed to smile back, wondering when I’d see him as his real self again, with no disguising nor masquerading. He looked magnificent, but I would a hundred times rather have had beside me the lad I’d ridden with to Putney.

  On the other side of the screen to us, in the hall, was Her Majesty the Queen, together with the most important members of her Court, those maids of honour and ladies-in-waiting who weren’t appearing in the masque and a selection of foreign dignitaries. They sat on gilt chairs facing a low stage which had been overlaid with grass of unnatural greenness and contained twelve painted wooden clouds, each representing a month of the year and having a girl dressed in filmy sky blue standing beside it. As each of these clouds had ‘floated’ on to the stage, the girl accompanying it had spoken a pretty rhyme in praise of her month.

  The Sun, Moon and Stars were also there and these were represented by gentlemen ushers robed in silver and gold. Climbing on to the stage, they’d each spoken in turn and likened themselves to the queen, shining down on the people as she did and warming them with the light of her love. Each act was greeted with great acclaim by those in the hall.

  ‘Now!’ Tomas said at last to Spring, and with her leading the way (the Seasons, thankfully, having no words to speak apart from declaring their names) we joined those onstage.

  Breathless, I looked up and above the heads of those seated in front of me, fixing my eyes on a point at the back, close to the painted ceiling, and only knowing where the queen was sitting by the fierce diamond-blaze of her jewels sparkling in the light of the room’s innumerable candles. It had been rumoured that Her Grace’s French suitor was sitting somewhere in the audience, and I longed to look along the rows for a small, pock-marked man – but that would not have been seemly.

  The musicians struck up a seasonal tune and the ladies onstage who represented the months of the year did a dainty dance, forming themselves into fours, twos and sixes with practised ease. They came to rest, curtseyed before the dignitaries and received applause. When this died away the musicians struck up anew and the audience let out a collective ‘Aaah!’ of recognition as Olde Father Time appeared: a stooped figure with an hour-glass hanging on a leather strap around his waist.

  And a swaddled infant steeping in his arms.

  He declared:

  ‘The old year dies – but only look

  The young one cometh fast,

  And we must to the future look

  And never to the past!’

  ‘Welcome to the New Year!’ he cried, and so saying, put down the babe on the sward of grass and bowed low before the queen. The tableau was complete.

  Loud applause and cheering followed, then Olde Father Time trudged wearily away. The applause being renewed, he returned to the stage and, after bowing once more, escorted each cloud-girl in turn to the front, where she curtseyed low and was led off. I and the other Seasons were then escorted off by the gentlemen ushers, leaving – alone onstage – little Elizabeth, still asleep.

  For a moment people didn’t seem to notice her and things continued as normal: ladies went to get changed, the gentlemen ushers began to disrobe and those outside in the banqueting hall could be heard voicing their approval of the masque and wondering what entertainment was coming next. Tomas and I exchanged glances; mine was anxious, for I still did not know what was in his mind.

  After a moment we heard someone outside call, ‘There is the babe still left here!’ and Tomas winked at me.

  A li
ttle later came another such cry, and then the queen herself, her tone very amiable, called, ‘Where is my fool? Or should I say, where is Olde Father Time?’

  Tomas went on to the stage once more and, throwing his beard over his shoulder with a flourish, bowed before the queen.

  ‘Tomas,’ said Her Grace, ‘we enjoyed your pretty play, but it seems you have forgotten to remove one of the characters.’

  Tomas looked towards little Elizabeth and pretended surprise. ‘Ah yes. The New Year.’

  ‘Whose child is she?’ said the queen, adding, ‘We presume it is a she?’

  ‘She is, Your Grace, and named Elizabeth,’ said Tomas.

  The queen nodded graciously in acknowledgement of this.

  ‘As to whose child she might be . . .’ He shrugged. ‘She is no one’s child, for she comes from a home for foundlings.’

  ‘And is she not to return there?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Tomas said, affecting carelessness. He looked towards me. ‘Is there someone here from the home to take her back?’

  I came around the screen and bobbed a curtsey. ‘There is not,’ I said. ‘I believe they have gone without her.’

  ‘Ah. I suppose one babe more or less is nothing to them,’ said Tomas.

  ‘But that seems most cruel!’ interjected the queen.

  ‘Maybe so,’ he said. ‘But then a child must learn early that life is hard, and for those with neither family nor patronage ‘tis even harder.’

  ‘So this child has no one to care for it?’

  ‘I believe no mother, father, aunt nor uncle,’ said Tomas, to some gasps from ladies-in-waiting. ‘No one in the world.’

  I saw some of the foreign gentlemen shaking their heads. One said, ‘This is very sad, and would not happen in my country.’

  ‘Is there nothing we can do for her?’ one lady-in-waiting asked, and I didn’t have to look to the voice to know who it was.

  ‘Yes! We will care for her at Court!’ said the queen of a sudden. ‘We will nurture this brave symbol of the New Year and hope that she’ll return our love by bringing us good luck and a generous harvest.’