“That was taking a terrible chance! God only knows what they would have done to you if they had found you’d taken them.”
“I know, I know. But they didn’t. I was quick.”
Cassandra picked up one of the brittle parchments. “Incredible.”
“Wait,” said James. “I’ll leave them with you for now. Read them later. They’re rather racy.”
“Really! So they prove Elizabeth wasn’t a virgin? I don’t see any signature on them.”
“Any expert will be able to match the handwriting to hers, but there’s no doubt in my mind. The content makes it pretty clear who the writer is, and who she’s talking about. Mom, this discovery is nearly as big as finding out who wrote the plays. If solving that mystery doesn’t put me on the map as a serious Chronologist, this will. I can’t wait to release these to the world, and publish my experience of meeting Elizabeth the First in person.”
Something about what he was saying didn’t sit right―the letters were Elizabeth’s personal property that she never intended to share with the world. Still, Cassandra was dying to read them.
“I’ll leave you alone with them for now. Do you need anything?”
“Um. No. I’ll stay here and rest tonight.” Worry nagged at her. Would there be retribution from the palace about his leaving so suddenly?
“Okay. Goodnight. Careful with those,” he joked.
“Don’t worry,” she replied with a smirk. The outside light was fading, so she lit the lamp by her bed. Which should she read first? She gently picked one up.
My Dearest,
I dare not write thy name for fear someone find this. I never thought I would give my fairest flower to anyone, for that gift can only be for one man, and that man wouldst forever have power over me. However, this I do not fear from thee. Thou art married, and cannot want anything from me but my body and soul―not my power, nor that coveted position by my side. In my heart, though, thou art my husband, for thou art the only man who shalt ever know me in such a way.
I never expected the moment of surrender could be so momentous. The way thou slowly unfolded me, so I was open to thee and ready, was an awakening, like beholding a new land for the first time, though I have as yet seen none but my precious England. Still, I imagine standing on a distant shore and realising there is another world to be conquered. Now I have conquered that world. The world of physical love, and thou art my guide.
To feel thy lips on mine, to have thee touch the secret jewel that hath never before been touched, to understand that jewel hath a purpose and the purpose to bring me ecstasy―how joyous! And finally, to have thee inside me, to truly become one with another, to feel thy blood pulse with my blood, hath made me complete. I long for our next meeting, and when we name it, I will await thee in my bed, to take thy pleasure how thou wilt. My skin aches with anticipation.
I am thine forever…
Elizabeth had used the informal “thou” with the object of her desire, presumably Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, as James had inferred. Though most people thought of this form as formal, biblical even, Cassandra had once learned it was how someone addressed one they were very close to, a beloved; in fact, how one might address God in their personal moments of prayer. Sometimes it was even used to belittle someone, to show them distain. Yet in general, people didn’t use it much outside the family because “you” provided more distance, even respect in day to day dealings with others. “Thou,” in all its forms, and the way the verbs transformed with it, was how a parent addressed a child, a husband a wife, or even a master a servant or a dog.
She picked up another one. However non-deliberate, James seemed to have preserved the order in which they were written.
My Dearest,
I am fresh from our bed. Thou hast only left me moments ago. Thy scent lingers on my skin, my linens, my pillows. I desire never to leave this bower again. I long to stay and burrow myself in our nest, eating and sleeping only, whilst I await our next meeting. Yet this cannot be. Duty calleth me to rouse myself and thou must return to thy wife. Thou tell’st me thou dost not share the same intimacy with her, but how can that be true? Doth she not crave thy sweet body as I do? Yet I choose to believe thee because I cannot endure the thought of thee touching another woman as thou touch’st me. And I know thou dost not, thou canst not, for thou dost not love her, this I know. What thou and I share is what no one else ever can. I am the faerie queen and thou my king. We were born to live in the heavenly world of our own ethereal love, among the stars, between the earth and the moon.
Come to me again! I command thee! Do not squander thy beauty on that mouse of a wife. Come and kiss my snow white breasts, let thy tongue linger on my marble thighs. Enter me with thy manhood and make me a warrior princess―give me thy masculine seed and let it transform me. Lay thy mouth on my mouth, thy body on my body, thy hands on my hands, thy soul on my soul.
Come back to me my perfect stag, and bear me far away with thy magical spirit.
Thine forever…
Dudley must have dutifully returned these letters to Elizabeth, but could there have been letters from him to her in that batch the Queen’s maid burned?
Cassandra carefully carried the bundle to her desk and laid them there. She would read the others later. She went through her bedtime ritual, climbed into bed and blew out the lamp. It was early, but she needed to sleep. The day had taken its toll.
Chapter Nine
James and Cassandra made their way back to The Curtain by carriage. Before they could knock on the door of the theatre, the sound of loud voices stopped James’s hand.
“They’re rehearsing,” Cassandra whispered.
James tried the door. It was unsecured. “We’ll be quiet.” He opened it just enough for them to fit through, and stepped in.
Cassandra turned sideways to squeeze her enormous dress, with its farthingale underneath, through the opening. Halfway through, she became stuck. Something was caught on her skirt. James hadn’t noticed and was already moving into the shadows of the theatre behind the pit. The rehearsal continued on the stage. Samuel Cross was wearing a long dress, piping his lines in a high voice, while Will Slye, his leading man, bantered with him. Another play she recognized was being rehearsed: Much Ado About Nothing.
It was no use calling out to James; she’d have to yell to get his attention, and his eyes were fixed on the stage. Then he turned to see why she wasn’t behind him and noticed her predicament.
He wasn’t the only one. “Duchess Von Schell!” The action on the stage stopped. Shakespeare was hurrying across the room to her.
“Oh dear,” Cassandra muttered.
“What are you doing there?” the playwright cried.
The company of actors, positioned here and there on the stage and in the wings, craned to look at her and a titter broke out among them.
“Stop that!” he yelled to them. “Have some respect.”
A familiar heat crept over Cassandra’s face. “I’m, I’m caught,” she managed.
Both Shakespeare and James were at her side in the same moment.
“How dare you leave your aunt to fend for herself as you sneak about our theatre?” Shakespeare shouted at James. “Are you spying? Perhaps for The Admiral’s Men?”
“Master Shakespeare, of course not,” Cassandra said, her patience about at its end. “My nephew and I had something pressing to see you about. I just…I simply became snagged on something coming through the door. Please forgive our intrusion.”
“You, milady, are always welcome,” Shakespeare said, glaring at James.
Her son bent down, found the offending thread that had caught on a splinter of the door, and freed it. Cassandra moved into the space with as much dignity as she could muster.
“Take a break!” Shakespeare yelled to the actors. He took Cassandra’s hand. “Dearest Duchess, how can I help you, please tell me.”
The actors gathered as close as possible to the side of the stage where they could hear the conversatio
n.
“I received a message from you yesterday,” Cassandra began in a low tone.
“Yesterday? I sent you no message yesterday,” he replied.
“Well, that is what I thought. It was signed by you, or rather, someone who called themselves ‘Will’ asking that I meet them at Billingsgate Gardens, and I know you live near there.”
“I do, but I assure you I did not beckon you yesterday. I would never presume to do such a thing. And did you go forth?’
“Yes, very stupidly, with no escort.”
“And as a result, the waterman shot the arches with her in the boat and they both nearly drowned,” James fired accusingly.
“Nephew, that is not Master Shakespeare’s fault,” Cassandra reminded him.
“But are you quite well?” Shakespeare went on. “I am most concerned for you.”
“Yes, I am, thank goodness.”
“Obviously no thanks to you,” Shakespeare spat at James. “Where were you? You should not have let her sally forth alone.”
“I wasn’t there. I was at the palace,” James retorted.
“You leave your aunt alone so you can cavort at the palace?”
“I was detained by the Queen. Yet as soon as I heard my aunt had been in trouble, I went to her.”
Shakespeare’s tone immediately changed. “I am surprised Her Majesty so willingly let you go.”
“She did not. I went without her knowledge or consent.”
“Then may God have mercy on your soul.”
Cassandra exchanged a look with her son. “We shall leave you, gentle sirs,” she said to Shakespeare and the company. “James, perhaps you should return to the palace.”
“No,” he replied. “I shall not.”
“I admire your bravery in that decision,” the bard said to him. “Admire it, but not envy the potential result. Good luck. Duchess,” he continued, kissing her hand, “I am at your service if you should require me. As you noted the other night, I am not in the best of favor with Her Majesty, but if I can put in one word on your behalf, or even that of your nephew,” he added with a sidelong glance at James, “I shall be happy to do it.”
“Thank you.” She nodded to him, and they took their leave of the actors.
The driver took the same route back through London that Cassandra was becoming familiar with, past the Royal Exchange and through the Stocks Market. The traffic slowed at the Market, where a large crowd was gathered. She craned her neck out the window to get a look. A man stood atop a wooden platform, about two meters high, with a simple scaffolding beneath, and a ladder attached to the side. He was kneeling, and his legs were tied, as was one of his arms, secured to his body with a rope. He wore only his undergarments, which were ragged with holes. On one side of him a man stood reading something out loud from a parchment, though it was impossible to hear what he was saying. On the other side a man wearing a hooded robe stood holding an ax, and behind him, a burly looking fellow hovered. Before the kneeling man was a wooden block that reached him at about chest level. Something about the frail, wan looking person seemed familiar.
“James,” she cried, suddenly recognizing the poor soul. “That’s Robert Greene, the man who gave me the pamphlet denouncing Shakespeare.”
“What?” He leaned over her to look.
“What are they doing to him?”
“A beheading? That can’t be. They usually do that on the Tower Green.”
“Why would they cut off his head?”
“I don’t know. Maybe if he had been caught stealing.”
“They would do that for such a minor crime?”
“I’m afraid so. Oh my God, Don’t look!” James grabbed her and pulled her away from the window. “They’re going to cut off his hand. I just remembered. The Queen had his right hand severed for writing the libelous things he did, not just against Shakespeare, but all kinds of prominent people. This was the punishment she conceived for him.”
Cassandra impulsively looked back, just for a second. The large man behind Greene held his arm down on the block as the wretch twisted and cried. The ax came down, separating the victim’s arm from his hand. Blood spewed everywhere. Shrieking in pain and horror the man collapsed to the ground. Cassandra screamed.
“I said not to look!”
Cassandra closed her eyes and leaned back in the carriage, trying desperately to loosen the ruff around her neck. James managed to unpin it and used it to fan her. She saw the moment again and again in her mind: the hand dropping off the front of the block. The fountain of blood, the man flopping backward.
Something cool touched her palm. She opened her eyes. James had slipped a flask into it. “Drink,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Just some brandy,” he replied sheepishly.
She took a sip. Its warmth going down was soothing.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” her son said.
“You’re right, I shouldn’t have looked. I’ve never seen anything so horrible! My God, James, what kind of world have we allowed ourselves to become a part of?”
“I’ve always known it was violent and barbaric, but being here makes me realize just how very dangerous it is. As soon as we can prove who wrote the plays, we’re outta here.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not worth it. I’m thinking we should get out while we still have all our body parts intact.”
The carriage pulled up in front of James’s house. Waiting there was a coach with the royal coat of arms emblazoned on it, and four palace guards standing with hands ready on their sword handles. James leapt out of their own carriage and approached them as Cassandra peered from the window.
“Have you come for me?”
“James Gwynne?” said the man in charge.
“Yes.”
“And Duchess Von Schell?” he added, jutting his chin in Cassandra’s direction.
“You can have no need of her,” James said. “I am the one who left the palace without the Queen’s permission.”
“She has ordered both of you to come with us.”
“What? What has the Queen to do with my aunt?”
“That is not our concern,” the soldier answered. Another guard approached Cassandra, opened the door of the carriage for her, and extended his hand to help her out.
“Mo―aunt, no!” James cried.
“Do not create a disturbance, James,” Cassandra said. “If the Queen has ordered me to come, than I must obey.” She walked with the guard to the other conveyance, her head still reeling from the terrible scene she’d just witnessed, her knees weak. “And you must too. Come now.”
His face clouded with anger, he got in and sat opposite her.
At that moment, Mistress Flint came rushing out of the house, the maid Lucinda by her side. “Master Gwynne, Duchess! What is happening?” the housekeeper cried.
“We are being summoned to the palace,” James said through the still open door. “Do not be concerned. I shall send word back to you presently. Please carry on about your duties, good woman.”
“Very well, sir,” she replied, mouth hanging open. Lucinda’s eyes bulged even more than usual. Mistress Flint grabbed the young woman by the hand and pulled her back inside as the carriage drove away.
The ride to Whitehall was long and bumpy. Neither James nor Cassandra spoke much. The vision of Robert Greene’s dismemberment played over and over again in her mind, and the images of the severed heads and body parts on top of the city gates swam before her closed eyes. Her heart began to pound and her hands trembled. By the time they arrived at the palace, she was sweating and nauseous. She held tight to James’s arm as they were ushered through the endless corridors to the Presence Chamber. There sat Elizabeth, on her throne at one end of the long room, scowling. Behind her, and on a lower step of the dais, stood Robert Cecil, his expression blank.
“Your aunt seems perfectly fine to me,” the Queen said loudly, before James and Cassandra could give her the proper honors.
They hurri
ed to stand before her, then James bowed deeply while Cassandra practically fell to the floor in a low curtsy. He replied, “You are correct, of course, Your Grace, she is well, but I could not be assured of that until I saw her with mine own eyes. It was the honorable thing to do.”
“Perhaps. However, that is not really why I called you back here. You may stand.”
James stood erect and looked directly at the Queen, while Cassandra remained with eyes cast down, shaking from head to toe.
“Though I am displeased that you left the palace without my permission, I understand the devotion of a nephew to his aunt. As a matter of fact, it is precisely because of you, Duchess Von Schell, that I asked you both to my presence. Is Von Schell indeed your late husband’s name?”
If it were possible to control a blush, Cassandra now willed herself to do so. “Of course, Your Majesty.” She glanced meekly up at Elizabeth.
“Because I have been looking into the matter, or I should say, my secretary has,” she tipped her head toward Cecil, “using our contacts in Austria, of which there are many, and we could discover no one who knew of Duke Von Schell ever having been married, least of all to an English woman.”
Cecil lowered his gaze and suddenly seemed very interested in his boots.
“I assure you, Your Majesty, such is the case.” Cassandra’s voice quavered beyond her control. “Perhaps you were investigating the wrong Von Schell. My husband was duke of a very small duchy near Bavaria, far from Vienna or Salzburg, and thus―”
“Enough of this! There is only one Duke Von Schell and he is indeed dead…but sans widow.”
“I, I do not know what to say.” Cassandra’s head throbbed. James remained silent at her side. Had Cecil betrayed her or was he merely doing his job? It was just yesterday he had taken her home after her accident, and they had had what she considered a rather meaningful conversation. It seemed underhanded of him to be so friendly while at the same time snooping around into her background.
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