Courtly Scandals

by Erin Kane Spock

  She just had to breathe, be the lady she was, and get through the rest of the twelve days of Christmas. She had made her choices and she had no regrets. She just wished she had more options than running and hiding in the country. She smiled briefly as Sir Charles met her eyes. His blue eyes always seemed to be smiling. Oxford had blue eyes too, but his were so cold. Not at all the same.

  Mary took her place sedately in a cluster of ladies, part of the parade of nobility in attendance to Queen Elizabeth as She made Her way through the market fair. Mary stood beside the young Lady Howard of Effingham toward the back of the procession. It was obvious to all viewing the procession who was important: Mary was not important, but at least she had been included—even if she was the subject of increasingly terrible gossip.

  In spite of Mistress Parry and Lady Spencer’s visible support, the other courtiers still viewed Mary as something of a freak. Of course, Anne had opted to stay at the palace with her recovering husband. It would take a while before she could show her face again without ridicule. At least Anne’s face was unmarred; Mary had only lightly powdered over her bruise, but not enough to fool anyone.

  Yesterday had been a nightmare, yet Mary wouldn’t change it if she could. At least now she knew she could not rescue Anne from herself. Now Mary knew where she stood. It was hard to accept, but it was better to resign herself to the fact that the true friendship she had had with the then twelve-year-old girl had faded into something fickle with the now sixteen-year-old countess.

  Mary had to steady herself from a sudden surge of vertigo. She should have broken her fast before joining the Queen’s party.

  “Forgive me if I am out of place, mistress.” Lady Howard of Effingham’s sweet voice chimed through Mary’s reverie. “But I cannot help but think you do not look like the sort of woman who would stab an earl.”

  Lady Howard gave Mary a soft smile implying that her words were kindly meant. Mary, still a trifle punchy from her laughing fit that morning, had to ask, “What would that sort of woman look like? I would love to know.”

  Whether or not Mary’s words had sounded as sarcastic as they were intended, Lady Howard took them at face value. “Oh, much shorter.” She nodded sagely. “And with a wild gleam in her eye.”

  Lady Howard’s assessment of the stabbing sort of woman was so seriously meant that Mary could not bring herself to tease the sweet lady and, instead, answered simply, “I see.”

  “While the story is quite exciting and all my friends assure me it is true, I cannot believe you to be so depraved.”

  She must not have been present at the fight. All Mary could do was offer her thanks for the sincere support and try not to smile too broadly. If she wasn’t careful, she may well resume her laughing fit from earlier.

  Queen Elizabeth’s party shuffled between the merchant’s stands, trying to keep to the planks laid in the walkway and not to knock anything over with their broad farthingales. The Queen Herself was speaking with a merchant family, at least four generations were present and all of them beamed at their sovereign. The Earl of Leicester, the Queen’s companion for the outing, began to haggle over the price of a pair of hawking gauntlets. From where Mary was standing, she could see the Queen chastise him for wishing to pay less than they were worth. Leicester said something pretty, which made the Queen laugh. The court, in general, tittered in response, though very few actually heard the conversation.

  Mary smiled to herself. She was amazed to be this close to the Queen. If the Queen allowed her—no, requested her, in Her entourage, what more could the petty gossips say? Mary had been in the Queen’s presence several times now, but it still affected her. How could it not? Queen Elizabeth was God’s chosen ruler of England—being accepted in Her circle was an incredible honor. Mary took a deep breath to settle herself. Between being so close to the Queen and so distracted by Sir Charles, it wasn’t a wonder that she kept feeling off balance.

  Queen Elizabeth was now smiling at the Earl of Leicester, Her dear Robin, with an almost girlish glow. It appeared he had not only bought the gauntlets for himself, but also three new pairs of fine kid gloves as a gift for the Queen, all at full price. The merchants were most profuse in their thanks. Mary imagined that the profit from this sale would support the family through the next year. Mary’s attention focused from the Queen and her circle of admirers to the leather merchant’s grandson. He was waddling around the stall quite happily, as oblivious as his snoring great-grandmother to the fact that he was in the presence of his anointed Queen. He was quite content to slosh with his little boots through the puddles under his family’s canvas tent. He should really get out of the wet before he catches a chill . . .

  At that point Mary realized that her own boots were wet; she was standing in an inch or so of water. Was the ice solid? Surely the weather was not warm enough for the Thames to thaw. Her last thought was punctuated by another sense of vertigo, only this time Mary recognized it for what it was: The ground beneath her was shifting.

  Quelling her growing panic, she scanned the frost fair before her. Most of the noble ladies had kept to the planks in the walkways and had not noticed the standing water. She could see no cracks in the ice, but she was not fool enough to ignore the impending threat.

  Hefting her skirts, she hurried her way around the throng pressing into the leather merchant’s tent. So many courtiers, all in one spot. If the ice was thawing . . .

  “Sir Charles,” Mary called as she neared him, trying to appear as calm as she could even as she felt the freezing water splash around her ankles. “The ice. The ice is not safe.”

  • • •

  Sir Charles was having a difficult time staying focused on his job. He was on duty escorting Queen Elizabeth and her party at the frost fair. It was always difficult to be on guard with the Queen while she was surrounded by her countrymen. Queen Elizabeth insisted that she be able to mingle with them, but that increased the threat to Her person. Charles had, years ago, resigned himself to the fact the Queen did need to be available to Her people, but he didn’t have to like it.

  The frost fair was not nearly as bad as the market fairs She frequented while on summer progress. At least here he was close to the palace and his guardsmen were well rested. On progress, however, they never really knew what the next accommodation would be or the security risks that might be involved. His only challenge with this frost fair was the additional distraction of Mistress Mary.

  He had left her that early morning, not entirely sure what had just happened. Of course, he knew what had happened, but there had been something more to it than a simple coupling. He couldn’t get his head around it. Seeing her right now wasn’t exactly helping, especially since he kept catching her surreptitious glances. Part of him wished he had never left her bed. The other part wished she had opted to stay in bed all day and avoid the court altogether. That way he could work out his confusion with a clear mind.

  Charles shifted focus to the Queen. She was torturing Lord Leicester and had even coaxed him into purchasing her three pairs of leather gloves. The merchants were careful not to get too close as they thanked her, all but throwing themselves prostrate at her feet. Good thing, too, for the ground was wet. Very wet.

  Looking up, he caught the eye of two more guardsmen and signaled them to him. What was the best exit strategy? If the ice was not secured against the bank and the entire fair shifted the total weight on the river during the evacuation, it could crack or worse. He would have the guard split into two groups, escorting citizens and courtiers to either side of the ice. He would ensure the Queen’s safety personally. They nodded at his command, calm professionalism masking any fear. They would get the job done.

  “Sir Charles.” He heard Mary’s voice and turned to find her right in front of him. Oh God. She had to get off the ice. Now.

  “The ice. The ice is not safe.” Looking into her clear green eyes, he saw her trust.

  “You are right. My men are already beginning escorts to either side of the rive
r. We cannot panic, and we cannot rush to one side. Do you understand?”

  Mary calmly nodded. “I will join the ladies again and help keep them calm.”

  Charles was relieved at the resolve in her eyes. Mary was a strong woman. “Thank you. I must go to the Queen.” His reverance was almost imperceptible as he ran to the Queen’s side.

  Again, Charles gave the briefest of reverances and removed his hat as he approached the Queen. Time was of the essence. “Your Grace, we must leave the ice now.”

  Queen Elizabeth took in the situation immediately and moved toward the water steps at Baynard Castle as Sir Charles directed. “You will see to it that Our subjects are seen to safety as well.”

  “It is being done as we speak.” Sir Charles could not help but admire the Queen’s ability to remain calm and smiling in the face of potential disaster. She held a tight hand on Leicester’s arm, but never betrayed any sense of urgency or fear.

  Sir Charles had the Queen and Her immediate court safe on the water steps when he heard the ominous groaning sound of the ice straining to hold, followed by a resounding crack as the glossy surface of the Thames splintered into jagged sections, bobbing in the current. The court was safe and, he could see, his men across the way had the merchants and other patrons safe as well. Out across the icy expanse of the river, the merchants’ pavilions teetered on their unsteady ground. Many people would be losing their livelihood this day, but thank the Lord that none would lose their lives. If it hadn’t been such a sad sight, it almost would have been comical to see the bright colors of the canvas tents bobbing slowly downstream. In fact, there was the leather merchant’s tent . . .

  Charles’s observations stopped dead. There, next to the leather merchant’s tent, was Mary, bright in her red gown against the starkness of the ice, clutching a small child.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mary calmly joined the group of ladies behind the Queen as Sir Charles and his guardsmen saw them to safety. It felt romantic, really, to be rescued by such a man. It was something medieval troubadours would sing of, the shining knight in service to his lady love. Of course, all her knight was doing was supervising his men, ensuring the ladies following were not clustered too closely together or dawdling. He looked competent and in control, still, it might have been more exciting for him to have scooped Mary up in his arms and carried her to safety. Or, better yet, if he had carried her to his chambers and thrown her down upon the bed and had his way with her. Who was she to naysay the man who had saved her life? Yes, it was the stuff of fantasy but, when she really thought about it, Mary didn’t want to be rescued. Or, rather, she didn’t want to have to be rescued.

  Smiling at her wayward thoughts, she continued to carefully choose her footing across the ice, each step closer to safety, but precarious in its own way—she was more worried about falling on the ice than falling through the ice. She hadn’t really considered the logistics of walking on ice when she chose her boots that morning. Inwardly cursing the fact that she had not stayed on the planks, she tried to focus on each step—her feet were so cold that she could hardly feel the pressure of her own weight. It was no wonder that she hadn’t noticed the water right away. She just hoped she would make it to the steps without incident.

  Mary clutched her cloak tightly around her body as she consciously put one foot ahead of the other, following the parade of gentlewomen. The ice seemed stable enough, but she could see that the bank was beginning to move ever so slightly—or rather, the ice was giving up its hold on the bank and starting the inevitable journey downriver. Speeding up her steps, Mary looked back toward the frost fair and saw the similar parades of people being herded off the ice on the southern bank of the river. A few of the merchants had to be forced from the ice, leaving their tents and wares behind. It was sad to think of the vendors—of the fact that they had come with hopes of selling their goods to the noble courtiers, instead, were losing their livelihood. Perhaps Queen Elizabeth would reimburse them.

  Turning back toward her destination on the north bank, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked again and saw it again in one of the pavilions. The leather merchant’s tent. The little boy. Dear Lord, please let her get to him soon enough. Why hadn’t his family seen him to safety? He was no more than a baby.

  Mary did not spare a moment for thought as she turned on her heel and moved quickly over the slick ice, keeping to the planks when she could. The tent was just shy of midriver and very close to a break in the ice. Both sections were moving together downriver, but the ice on the south half was jutting slightly above its counterpart. She had to get off the ice right away—the southern half was larger and, as the river narrowed heading downstream, it was being forced against the portion on which she stood. She could tell that the next step was for the ice to either splinter into smaller pieces or for the larger half to force itself on top and submerge the section upon which she stood. Either way, it looked bad for her. She must hurry.

  Where was the child?

  Over the roar of the river and grinding ice, Mary heard his plaintive wail. There he was—lying face down in the freezing slush, gripping one of the ropes securing the tent. He looked up in surprise and fear as Mary bent over and scooped him off the ice. The boy clung to her like a lifeline, shivering and wet, his lips frighteningly blue.

  “All is well, sweeting. Let us find your mother.” Mary crooned softly as she undid the ties on her cloak and swaddled the boy. He felt so small, fragile. He was probably not much past his first birthday, two at the most. Mary held him tightly against her shoulder, feeling him shiver through her thick cloak, and started back the way she had come.

  With a piercing grind, the two halves of the thick ice pressed against each other. The current forced the ice downstream, compressing the thick slabs. Could they handle the strain? Mary took purposeful steps, struggling to keep to her feet on the unstable surface, to make her way to the north bank. No longer was she near the water steps at Baynard Castle—the floe had moved downstream. If she ran, she might be able to jump over the crumbling ice at the embankment and reach the steps at the Queenhythe dock.

  Clutching the boy tighter with one arm, she lifted her sodden skirts and tried to run. She had to make it. There was no other option. This little boy needed her. Step after step and she was closer. So close.

  One more groan and a shocking crack, and her world jolted. The ice from the south forced itself up and her half was tilting. Digging her toes into the sleet, she tried to press on, to scale the slope.

  And then she was down, sliding toward the churning Thames that gushed up onto the ice sheet as it was forced under.

  Mary clawed at the ice with her free hand, desperate to find a hold. Something to save her. She could not die yet—she had to help the poor child. He deserved a chance at life. The ice was slick, and though the slope was not extreme, Mary found herself and the boy sliding inexorably toward the jagged edge and churning water. She had to find a handhold. Scrambling wildly, Mary gripped the first solid thing she encountered—a rope for a tent. Thank God the vendor had hammered a spike into the ice to keep his tent secure. She tightened her hold on the rope and offered a silent prayer of thanks as the ice crashed once more, this time buckling as it came to a jarring stop. She had to be strong—she had to hold tightly. The freezing water lapped around her skirts, trying to suck her down, but Mary held on. She had to.

  “Hand the babe to me.” Sir Charles’s voice cut through Mary’s fog of panic. Was he really here? Looking up, she saw him, his red uniform a blaze against the ice.

  “How . . . ” Mary tightened her grip on the rope. She could barely feel her fingers.

  “The ice has stopped against the pylons of London Bridge.” Charles reached for her cloak-wrapped bundle, and Mary instinctively tightened her grip. “Let go of the child and I will see him to safety.”

  Mary knew that he would. Still it took every ounce of willpower she had to loosen her hold and let him take the boy out of her grip. Th
e child let out a slight wail at the loss of her heat, but quieted quickly. Mary imagined that the boy knew he was safe—that he had been rescued by one of the Queen’s knights. Thank God. Mary prayed again, this time with joy. She had done it; she had saved the baby. All would be well—he would have a good life, cared for in every way. He would never doubt that he was wanted. Loved.

  “Mary! Mary—open your eyes.” Mary could hear Charles’s voice. She was so glad he was here. He had helped her save the baby.

  “Mary, I can’t carry you without your help.” Why was Charles so upset? The boy was fine. “Mary-my-love, you must open your eyes. I need your help. Do you think you can walk?”

  Mary opened her eyes to find Charles clutching her. They were still on the ice, how odd. She felt so warm.

  “God’s teeth, Mary, stay with me. I cannot lift you alone. I need you to hold on to me.”

  Wasn’t she holding on to him already? No—that was the rope. She could feel it biting into her palm, her fingers. If it wasn’t for the pain, she wouldn’t have felt her hand at all. In a rush it all came back. She was on the ice. Charles was trying to save her. She had to help him.

  “What . . . what can I do?”

  “There’s my strong girl.” Charles smiled as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. She could see the worry in his eyes as he lowered himself beside her so they both lay on the ice. He had a rope around his waist and, she could see, there were a number of guardsmen on the other end, standing on the ice wedged against the bridge. “Just hold on to me.” Charles’s hand was over her harsh grip on the rope helping her to release her grasp. “There we are. Now hold on tightly around my neck. I have you.”