She grabbed Mary’s hands and pulled her out of bed. They scrambled to their feet and the queen clapped her hands loudly. The women, eyes bleary with sleep, hurried back inside.
“Mistress Eleanor! Call my musicians! I would dance! I would have you all dance!” shouted the queen.
Her Majesty swung Mary around in a circle, skipping and jumping in an Irish jig, humming and singing an old tune about moonlight and fairies. Mary gladly joined in, though she wondered at the queen’s sudden turn of mind. The queen seemed almost frantic in her happiness, a defiant joy that frightened Mary even more than the queen’s rage.
After an hour or more of dancing and drinking sweet wine, the queen finally dismissed her musicians and crawled, slightly drunk, into her grand bed. Mary fell asleep quickly on her trundle bed, listening to the queen’s light snores. She considered all the queen had said.
Was it true? Could she trust no man, not even her Tom? Were they all, as the queen said, dissemblers? Or did the queen wish Mary to remain with her forever? Was that why she’d said the terrible things she’d said about Lord Robert? Mary was no longer angry at Her Majesty. She was confused. She tossed the questions around in her mind until, finally, her heavy lids could no longer remain open.
Six
A little more to the left, Parry. Ah, that’s it. My dancing last night must have been too much activity—that shoulder waxes more painful as each hour passes.
So many tangles for me to set straight—trouble simmering in the north with the Catholics; the Queen of Scots charming every man I send to guard her, in spite of her conspiracy to murder her husband and her ill-conceived marriage to her captor, Bothwell; I have tweaked Spain’s nose by taking over their payships last year; the Duke of Alva has all but turned the Netherlands over to the Pope; France threatens, though this is no new thing. Yet, for all that, what runs through my mind is nothing but the Earl of Leicester and his she-wolf.
And, of course, worry over our Fawn. She is becoming quite beautiful, don’t you think? She may yet grow into the beauty promised in her childhood. Do not be ridiculous, Parry, I am not a fool. I have eyes! I can see she is more beautiful than I have ever been. She looks so like my mother—all dark and striking against the rest of the ladies, pale, blond maids. Like the sea at night, dark upon dark. I am not surprised the young bucks wish to take her away from me.
She was not full of shame at her outburst over that Wotton fellow. But she did make up with me, if ever so reluctantly. I fear she forgets who rules here. She reminds me of my own girlish self—so full of hope, so happy to be alive, so greedy for the future. I would shield her from making the same errors I made. Yes, I mean Seymour—who else? He almost ruined me—kept me estranged from the woman who had been most like a mother to me of all my father’s wives; entangled me in his treasons; opened my young heart and played it with great accomplishment. Aye, Parry, he almost ended me ere I started.
It was easy to forgive Fawn’s anger. I recall how my own youthful urges got the best of me. It took all my strength and control not to lose my temper with my sister when she was queen. Bloody Mary, they call her now, so I hear. Though then she was known only as Queen Mary. Another case where a woman’s heart led her to nothing but pain and sorrow. Poor woman—no child in her womb, only desperate hope blossoming there. And Philip! Turning his eyes to me, while his wife lay in her confinement. At the time, I found such attentions flattering. Now, I find his intentions revolting.
But our Mary is so young, so innocent. I would keep her with me always, Parry. Oh, I shall, I shall. I had it in mind to bind her to some foreign prince—she is, after all, my cousin and has received a fine education. She has been groomed for such a role. But I would not wish her so far away from me.
I do not know why I have been out of sorts of late. There is the usual weight of government, but on some days, I feel the blood pounding through my veins and I growl and bark at everyone I see—even those I love. Even Robin.
My courses do not run as regular, no. But I am yet young! I shall dance and laugh and walk out under the stars for many a long year. I am yet young! And I will make Robin love me—and only me—once more. He must! I am the queen!
Seven
August 1569
The air was warm and growing warmer as the sun made its way to its zenith. Mary and the other ladies-in-waiting walked slowly along the garden paths of Whitehall, while the queen and Master Cecil strolled ahead of them. Mary bent to smell a red rose, her nose close to the velvet petals. She inhaled loudly. Her friend Mistress Eleanor paused to finger some nearby columbines. The two young women discussed what gown Eleanor should wear for the night’s upcoming festivities. Mary had recently been made gentlewoman of the Privy Chamber while the queen had been on progress earlier in the summer. It was a great honor. Mary thought the appointment was a peace offering from the queen, a reward for giving up her hopes concerning Tom Wotton. Whatever the reason, Mary was happy for the promotion, even though it meant she would no longer be allowed to wear gowns of any color she wished. Now, she was limited to black, white, or silver, as were all the gentlewomen of the Privy Chamber, including Mistress Eleanor. The only exceptions were when the ladies were off-duty or when there was a special occasion when the queen wanted her court to sparkle with exceptional vibrancy. Her Majesty had refused her begging to wear more colorful dresses, though Mary had argued for over an hour. But on this point, the queen proved firm.
“I have a new white silk with silver sleeves and matching kirtle—I even bought a pair of shoes and have spent the morning sewing pearls on them. I hope to look ravishing!” said Mistress Eleanor.
“Which color will suit me best? Black?” said Mary, still looking at the flowers.
“Your dark hair would look lovely against silver. Do you have such a gown?” said Mistress Eleanor.
“No. My appointment has been so recent I have barely had time to learn my duties. The queen gave me this old white gown—it was one of her own. Though the moths have had it for some time,” said Mary, as she put her finger on a tiny hole in the fabric. “They have eaten their fill, it seems.” Both young women laughed.
“Does the queen pay you for your duties?” said Mistress Eleanor.
“Hardly. If she did, I could have a new gown made. Does she pay you?” said Mary.
“No. I do think she pays Mistress Blanche a pretty sum. But most of us are here on our own. My mother sends me money every now and then—that is how I could afford my new clothes. And, as you well know, I win at dice and cards—luckily, the queen always pays her gambling debts,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“And luckily, she loses frequently,” said Mary, smiling.
The young women continued discussing the advantages and disadvantages of their recent promotions. Mary was not convinced her life would be the better for it.
“You are in a position for which others would commit bloody murder. And you are now allowed to stay in the Great Hall after we sup to enjoy the entertainments, although I have not seen you there,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“Come, we are falling behind the others. Let us hurry,” said Mary.
The two young women walked quickly, arm in arm, across the path.
“You are dodging my question. Why have you not joined in the queen’s festivities of an evening?” said Mistress Eleanor.
“Truth to tell? I am uncertain. Since Tom was sent away, I have no desire to speak with any of the courtiers—they all seem so old and … well, so bold. I am still young … I fear them, I suppose,” said Mary. “It was different when I was a child and the queen sent for me to show off my dancing—I was not afraid, but proud. Now, I feel my stomach quaking at the thought of being on display.”
“I am not much older than you and I tell you—there is nothing to fear. The gentlemen are courteous and witty. Some of them are marvelous dancers—Sir Christopher Hatton, for one. The queen does love a man who can dance,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“That she does. But as for me, I’d just as soon
while away the time in the queen’s apartments, working on my embroidery or reading the Book of Common Prayer,” said Mary.
“I hope you will have a change of heart. If you come, I promise I will not leave your side unless you tell me to go,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“I will make you a bargain—when I have a silver dress, I shall stay for all the festivities in the Great Hall,” said Mary as they joined the rest of the ladies.
“I shall hold you to your part,” said Mistress Eleanor.
* * *
Mary stood as still as she could while the silk woman pinned the sheer fabric around her waist. The color set off her dark eyes, making them even more noticeable.
“How does that feel, Your Worship? Too tight?” said the woman, her mouth filled with pins.
“Not too tight—just right. But the neck seems quite low. Can you bring it up a little?” said Mary, barely daring to breathe.
“The queen gave me directions to pattern the gown after her own, Your Worship. And that I must do,” said the woman. “You be a young lass—you can show your duckies if you like, long as you are no married woman. Pretty little breasts they are, too.”
“I have no wish to show my ‘duckies,’” said Mary. She sighed heavily. “But you must do as the queen has bid you.”
Soon, the fitting was over and Mary stood in her shift in the queen’s bedchamber. Several other ladies took their leisure, reading from the English Bible, sewing, playing the lute.
“I am glad you are finally to have a new gown, Mistress Mary,” said Mistress Frances Vaughn. “You are such a pretty package I’ll warrant even the queen envies your beauty.”
“No one is more beautiful than our queen, Mistress Frances. As I am sure you know,” said Mary.
“No one currently at court. Lady Essex is quite the beauty—and I am not the only one who thinks it so. The Earl of Leicester, the queen’s own ‘Sweet Robin,’ has discovered her charms,” said Mistress Frances.
“You mean uncovered,” whispered Mistress Eleanor.
“Hush! Let us let sleeping dogs lie. I do not wish to upset the queen with such talk. She is, after all, buying me this new gown and is most happy I shall soon attend her at evening festivities. I would not spoil her happiness with talk of the she-wolf,” said Mary, into Mistress Eleanor’s ear.
A rustle of movement at the door and the yeoman announced, “Make way for the Queen! Make way for the Queen’s Majesty!”
“God’s teeth, you look like a gillyflower in full bloom—just ripe for the plucking. You were right, Fawn—the silver is perfect,” said the queen, holding the silver material up to Mary’s body.
“Oh, you shall be the envy of every woman at court! But remember,” said the queen as she turned around and looked at all her ladies, “beware the men. As I have said many times, the unmarried state is by far superior to the married state. Our Lord himself told us this. Do not give way to yon courtiers. You know I prefer to have all of your attentions. Come, ladies, let us walk in the gardens before we sup. By the toes of God, I feel the need to stretch out my legs and breathe in the sweet air of England,” said the queen.
* * *
The silk woman took her own time to complete Mary’s new dress. A little less than a fortnight later, she presented it to the queen for inspection, laying it across the queen’s bed.
“God’s teeth, I refuse to pay for a dress that may not fit you well! It has cost me the salary of a yeoman for a year as it is! You must put it on! Mistress Eleanor, Frances—assist Mary at once. Do not stand gaping at me as if I were a madwoman! By the wings of all the angels, must I say everything twice!” screamed the queen as she kicked her foot at Mistress Frances, barely missing her.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said both young women, hurrying to assist Mary.
An hour later, Mary paraded before the queen in the silver gown of fine silk with white satin sleeves matching her kirtle. She wore a silver and white French hood studded with tiny pearls. A net of white silk, fine and delicate as a spider’s web, caught up her heavy hair. White satin shoes with bows of silver velvet made no sound as Mary walked gracefully and slowly. But the more the queen and the ladies commented, the sillier Mary began to feel.
Suddenly, she skipped around the room, bowing to each maid and planting a kiss upon several cheeks. She then made mock of the Earl of Leiscester, standing on tiptoe and bowing to the queen. She said in a loud, low voice, “Your Majesty, may I have this dance?”
No one spoke. All were terrified of the queen’s response. As the problems in the north continued to plague her, and the Scottish queen’s not-so-secret plan to wed the Duke of Norfolk caused her to have trembling fears of losing her crown as the result of that union, the queen had been in a difficult temper for weeks. No one could escape her frustration. The ladies had seen the queen round on Master Cecil and her “Sweet Robin” many times, accusing them of plotting against her and trying to force her to marry. She had not laughed or been merry since the early summer. And now, Mistress Mary dared mock her favorite.
“I do not believe the earl would look quite so pretty in a dress—but I shall dance with you, Mary! It will do my heart good!” said the queen, laughing. The two women stepped lively to a galliard, the others clapping their hands and singing. Round and round they twirled, two pretty birds in flight. Finally, winded, they stopped.
“If only Leicester could make me laugh again! How I have missed a good jest! Oh Mary, you are such a comfort to me,” said the queen, now sitting on her chair while Mary sat on the floor beside her.
“And you, Majesty, are the kindest mother I could have,” said Mary.
“I am Mother to all of England—not only you—to all these maids!” said the queen. She smiled and motioned for Mistress Blanche to approach.
“Parry, go into my jewels and bring a pretty for each maid here—and for Mary, a pearl necklace, one with diamonds, too, so she will sparkle a little now and then,” said the queen. She rose and her women followed suit. “Just remember—never outsparkle your queen!”
As Mistress Blanche did the queen’s bidding, Mary waited at the back of the group. She watched as Mistress Frances elbowed her way to the front so she would receive the first “pretty” and observed the happy smile spread over her features.
“Are you not anxious to see the lovely necklace Mistress Blanche will give you?” said Mistress Eleanor.
“Not really. Though I like jewels as much as anyone, I am pondering the queen’s quicksilver humors. First, she is in a rage; then, she is laughing and dancing—I cannot fathom what spurs these rapid changes,” said Mary.
The two women discussed the myriad of problems besetting the queen: the continuing trouble brewing in the north, the unpredictable Queen of Scots, and the queen’s personal heartbreak over her Sweet Robin’s attentions to Lady Essex.
“How does she manage it? She seems to know everything that happens at court—as if she has eyes everywhere. And, though she faces a ceaseless sea of difficulties, she navigates her way through them. I am in amazement to think on it,” said Mary.
“They say she has spies at all corners—from Old Catspaw, the washerwoman, to Master Walsingham, who assists Master Cecil, to Master Cecil himself. Of course, she has her ‘Eyes’ as well. I do not know why she does not go mad—I’d be in Bedlam were I queen!” said Mistress Eleanor, smiling.
“Oh, Mistress Blanche is beckoning us—let us see what ‘pretties’ she will give us,” said Mary.
Mary was amazed when Mistress Blanche handed her a very long rope of pearls interspersed with diamonds, with one large diamond at the center. This was no bauble, but a jewel fit for a princess. She stood still as Mistress Blanche roped it around her neck and thought of the pleasure she would feel when she secreted it into her treasure box.
* * *
The last week in August, the court prepared to move to Greenwich as the smells and heat of the last month had made Whitehall no longer fit for habitation. Mary assisted the queen as she dressed for t
he night’s activities.
“You will join us in the Great Hall this evening, Fawn. I have arranged for a short play to be presented, and then we shall dance. I would see your skills at conversation and your dancing feet move with great delicacy this night—I have invested much in you and wish to observe how well my efforts have been met,” said the queen, as Mary helped pile curl upon curl of Her Majesty’s hair upon a wire frame, while other ladies tied the queen’s sleeves onto her bodice. Still others painted the royal face with white paste and her cheeks with rouge. For upward of two hours, the ladies worked their magic, turning an almost middle-aged woman into a regal and handsome woman—a desirable woman.
“Yes, ma’am. I shall be along anon. I would like to freshen myself first,” said Mary.
“Of course, of course. You must look your best. Mistress Eleanor and Mistress Frances will help you—also, Mistress Dorothy. Hand me the looking glass,” said the queen.
Eight
August 1569
The sultry night sky was clear and the stars glittered like tiny diamonds sewn onto a black velvet cape. Mary and Mistress Eleanor walked behind the queen as she entered the passageway leading from the gardens to the Great Hall.
“You do look lovely in your new dress, Mary,” said Mistress Eleanor. “You are the prettiest girl here, of that there can be no doubt.”
Queen Elizabeth's Daughter: A Novel of Elizabeth I Page 4
