Mary and Eleanor were brushing the queen’s clothes and shaking out the silk kirtles and gowns. Each piece of clothing had to be cleaned and packed with rose petals and lavender to keep the bugs away and to freshen the garments. Large wooden trunks were stuffed with items: satins and silks mostly, well suited for the hot weather. Mary took special care to make certain all the pearls and other jewels had been removed before packing the clothes.
“Oh, she does have the most exquisite wardrobe, does she not?” said Mistress Eleanor, smoothing a pair of pale green sleeves before she laid them in the trunk.
“Yes, but you should be glad you do not have to keep track of all these. She has two thousand gowns, not counting kirtles, sleeves, smocks. Sometimes I think I shall go mad with all of these garments. And she knows every single one of them. She often asks for a gown ten years old and moth-eaten. I shall be forced to find it and get it in shape for her. It is tedious,” said Mary.
There was a commotion in the outer chamber and the queen was announced. She swept into her bedchamber, smiling and talking to two men who followed her.
“Ladies, look who has returned to us! My lord Oxford! And Pakington! Oh gentlemen, we have missed you—you know, Oxford, shame should not have kept you from us! We had forgot the fart!” said the queen, laughing.
Mary stared at Oxford, her face heating up. He, too, was blushing, no doubt from the queen’s comment. Then he noticed her staring at him and bowed to her most elegantly.
“Mistress Mary, you are lovely as ever. Mistress Eleanor, marriage must agree with you. I have never seen you looking so handsome,” Oxford said, eyeing both women with undisguised interest.
Mary and Eleanor both curtsied as Pakington bowed to them as well.
“Are you not going to welcome us back to court, Mistress Mary? You do not look pleased to see us,” said Pakington.
Mary said nothing.
“Leave the girl alone, Lusty, it is your queen who welcomes you back. We are most happy to see you both. Since the Ridolfi plot, no one has made us merry. Burghley and that new man, Walsingham, look over their shoulders, certain every man in London is a conspirator. But now you have returned and I shall laugh and dance again. You will join our progress?” said the queen, smiling up at them like a young girl.
“We would be delighted, Your Majesty,” said Oxford.
Oxford turned to Mary.
“You look tired, mistress. Would you like to take a break from your duties and walk with me in the shade garden?” said Oxford.
Mary could not believe he would ask such a thing after she had refused him not a fortnight ago. She remembered his horrid slur against her in front of the entire court. She certainly had no desire to walk with him.
“An excellent idea, Oxford. Do take the child out for some fresh air—the poor dear has been packing all day. She is in need of a rest,” said the queen.
“But Your Majesty, I still have much work to do if your clothes are to be ready for the progress. I cannot stop now,” said Mary. But the queen made that “pup-pup” sound and shooed them out into the outer rooms with instructions to enjoy some light ale while they walked.
* * *
The enormous trees and hedges in the garden made a canopy above them, blocking most of the afternoon sun. Mary wore a large blue hat to shade her face and her matching skirts rustled when she walked. Oxford had offered her his arm but she refused. They moved without speaking until he had led them far from prying eyes. Near a statue of a chubby cupid, there was a small bench. Oxford brushed it off and then indicated for Mary to be seated. She did so, spreading her skirts so there would not be enough room for him to join her. He knelt at her side.
“Mary, dearest Mary, I have not been able to think of anything but you since our last conversation. No, hear me out. I confess, I have been confused by your refusal. I can’t help remembering your passion, the way you gave yourself to me that night in the garden, before Mistress Blanche disturbed us. Oh, I let my mind wander—what bliss we might have had if that woman had not come upon us when she did. Surely you, too, have thought of that night,” said Oxford, his voice insistent.
Mary did not reply. His bringing up the memory of something she had tried to forget was painful. She could feel herself blushing and she could not look at him. He took hold of her hand.
“Won’t you at least look at me? Am I so distasteful to you? I know I should never have embarrassed you at the Frost Fair—I am so sorry. I don’t know what got into me—Pakington kept teasing me about your disdain for me. The bastard accused me of lying about our night together. It was childish of me to give credence to his words, but I wanted to show him I told the truth—that you loved me once. Can you ever forgive me?” Oxford said.
Mary could not believe he had the nerve to bring up the odious business and her anger flared at the thought of it.
“Sir, you have mistaken my feelings and my intentions. That evening in the garden which you revere as a delight was, for me, a hell. Yes, I allowed you familiarity with my person never allowed to anyone else, but it had nothing to do with you! Had you been any man, my behavior would have been the same. I was angry with someone—no, I shall not divulge the name of the person. It was someone I admired, someone I loved. Yet this person had disappointed me, had shown hypocrisy. At that moment, I cared not a fig for what I was doing—I just wanted to show her, er, I mean that person, I could manage my own life. It was complete folly on my part and I thank God Mistress Blanche appeared when she did. She saved me that night,” said Mary.
Now, it was Lord Oxford’s turn to be silent. He hung his head. She removed her hand from his and looked at the branches overhead. She began to watch the birds that twittered and flew from perch to perch, almost as if they were playing a game.
“But Mary, how could you have seemed so sincere? I have thought for all these weeks that you cared for me—I have never met a woman I could not make care for me! Yet you … you have deceived me,” Oxford said.
“Do you not also deceive, sir? You are a great dissembler, far more so than am I. I have heard from others how you promise young maids marriage, rob them of their virtue, and then disappear from their lives. And I believe with all my heart that that is what you had planned for me, too. But since I escaped, you now have it in your mind you love me. I do not think you understand what love means,” said Mary. She rose. “I should like to return to the queen’s bedchamber now—I have much work to do.”
Oxford rose also and put his hands on Mary’s waist. He tried to pull her to him, but she resisted.
“Unhand me immediately or I shall call the guards! Unhand me, I say!” said Mary in her most commanding voice.
Oxford pulled her again to himself, with greater strength than he’d used previously, and kissed her. Mary pushed him away and slapped him as hard as she could across the face. His eyes flew open wide. She could see a red spot beginning to form across his cheek.
“You shall regret that, mistress! By all the saints, you shall rue the day you dared refuse me!” he said, turning and striding toward the castle.
Mary watched him leave. She knew she should not have struck him, but the arrogance in his manner irritated her. Who did he think he was? And with whom did he think he was dealing? She was the queen’s ward and cousin. As such, Oxford should show her more respect. Well, he would now, by God’s blood. He would now.
Thirty-one
By God’s holy wounds, did you see Oxford’s face, Parry? Oh, I have no doubt it was our Fawn who gave him such a slap. Probably well deserved. He is a rake, that one. Yet, I have always loved a rake, haven’t I? A man with spirit—that’s what I like! And I would have given him to our Fawn had she liked him. He will be ill-matched with Lord Burghley’s daughter, I fear. Tut-tut. We shall find someone else for our Fawn.
No, I will not consider Skydemore! He is a minor knight of little import. Our girl deserves better—an earl at the very least! I know she is born no better than Skydemore, except she is our cousin—this raises he
r immensely. And she is educated—a proper wife for a man of wealth and breeding. I shall find someone for her, have no fear. She is still young.
I know all about the Sheffield woman—Robin thinks he can hide her from me. He should know I have other “eyes” in my court, those willing to tell me all they know. Yes, Old Catspaw—she keeps me up to date on what Lady Sheffield is doing. Oh, Lady Sheffield prates on and on about Lord Robert—how handsome he is, how dashing. If she thinks he is in love with her, she is a fool! He shall never love anyone but me. By God’s blood, I know it is so!
Now, let us sleep, dear. I know how these journeys tire you, Parry. Soon, we shall return to London and settle in for the winter. Then, all the problems of the world shall tumble down upon my shoulders. No, I have not yet decided what to do with the Duke of Norfolk. Fool! His own hand has condemned him—why would he be careless enough to write letters to the Scottish queen? Well, I have never accused him of being intelligent. But come. Let us not spoil our sleep with such thoughts. Look, there is our Fawn, already asleep—I can still see the little child in her face. Oh, how I miss those days! I was her “shining lady,” do you remember? She would have done anything to please me. Now, I wonder what she thinks—she rarely tells me these days. Oh, she is obedient and pleasant most of the time. But every once in a while, I catch a hateful look as it flits across her features—as if I am her enemy. She thinks she is in love with Skydemore but she knows nothing of love. She is yet young. She will understand more as she grows older. She will realize I have only her best interests in my heart. I want to keep her near me—is that so wrong? I want her to be with me forever.
Thirty-two
September 1571
“They have arrested Norfolk yet again!” said Mistress Eleanor from her seat in the corner of a commodious tent put up at Coventry, the last stop before the court returned to London from the summer progress. She fanned herself, her cheeks ruddy with the heat.
“This time, he will lose more than his freedom, I fear,” said Lady Douglass, also looking limp from the warm weather.
“I shall be happy to return to Whitehall—and soon this heat will turn to the cooler air of autumn, though not quickly enough for me,” said Mary, lifting her skirts above her knees. The women chattered and fanned, fanned and chattered.
“Did you hear Anjou was wooing the queen again? I understand for the first time, Lord Robert encourages the match. When the queen complained that Anjou was nineteen years younger and would always be so, he said, ‘So much the better for you!’ I suspect Lord Robert no longer loves Her Majesty as once he did,” said Lady Douglass, her mouth making a sneer.
“He seems the same to me, Lady Douglass. You only wish he would have a change of heart because you want him for yourself,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“Can you blame me? Now that you have enjoyed the sweetness of the marriage bed, do you not agree that such a state is as close to heaven as we shall get in this world?” said Lady Douglass.
“You have not said much of the marriage bed, Nora. What am I missing?” said Mary.
“It is not seemly to discuss such intimacies—but I will tell you that I like nothing better than rising with my lord in the early morning, waking him with kisses,” said Nora, blushing.
“And if you are ever a widow, God forbid, you shall miss such moments. So, yes, I would have the Earl of Leicester if he should ask me—for I long to lie in his arms,” said Lady Douglass.
Mary thought of the day in the woods when she had seen with her own eyes the queen in just that position with Dudley. And she wondered how the queen would react if Dudley should remarry.
“He loves the queen—do you not see that? If he dallies with you, it is only to satisfy his lust. Have a care, Lady Douglass. Men will use you if they can—I have learned this much,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“We shall see who uses whom. But I have heard that the French duke likes to dress as a woman and he, well, he takes men more often than he takes women, though he seems to take them all!” said Lady Douglass. “Can you imagine our Elizabeth married to such as that?”
“If he is as you say, I hope she will continue in her virgin state. It would be unseemly for one such as she to be yoked with a man who has more gowns than she does!” said Mistress Eleanor.
“Hush! Here comes the queen!” said Mary, who stood as the queen entered the tent, accompanied by Lord Robert.
“Ah, here you are, Fawn. I have been searching for you. Robin and I would like to picnic and thought you should like to come with us. We have asked a few others to join us—Oxford, Sir James Croft, and his son-in-law, Skydemore. Master Nicholas and Nora, do come!” said the queen, her arm entwined with her Sweet Robin’s. She stared hard at Lady Douglass, but said nothing.
“A picnic sounds lovely, Your Majesty,” said Mary as she curtsied. She was thrilled the queen had invited John and Sir James. Perhaps that meant they were in high favor and the time would be right for John to mention their plan to Sir James.
* * *
Though the sun beamed down without a cloud to give respite, the party of travelers enjoyed the journey to the river, where the servants had set up food and drink for all. Mary could feel sweat streaming down her back, though one of the serving wenches fanned her and the queen with a large palmlike leaf. They sat on pillows, side by side, with Lord Robert caring for the horses at the riverbank across from them. Mary smiled at Sir John, who was talking with Sir James and Oxford. Sir John winked his eye at her when no one was looking.
“Majesty, is it true you are to marry the French duke?” said Mary, biting into a soft, sweet plum.
“We are discussing such a move—remember, dear Fawn, talk is cheap,” said the queen.
Mary knew the queen needed help against the Spanish threat—the Duke of Alva, who seemed a very capable military man, was determined to take over the Netherlands for Philip of Spain and return the country to the Pope. From the Netherlands, it would be relatively easy for Alva to muster his forces and cross over to England. Since the Pope’s edict, the whole of the Catholic world seemed to think England fair game.
“You don’t love him, then?” said Mary, whispering. She had not asked the queen such a personal question in a very long time. Speaking so made her feel closer to the queen, the way she used to feel as a child. Then, she could ask anything, say anything to Her Majesty. Now, their talk was not as easy.
“As I have told you before, love and marriage have very little to do with each other. One marries for safety—unless one has plenty of money and courage. I have both, so I do not feel the need to marry. Better to play the maid and entertain proposals of marriage,” said the queen, laughing.
“What if one falls into love? Would you then recommend the married state?” said Mary.
“Even Saint Paul said it is better to marry than to burn—if a woman cannot contain her natural desires, then she should marry. Why are you asking all these questions about marriage? You do not have another girlish fancy, do you? Or are you still smitten with our ‘Adonis’?” said the queen, eyeing her. Mary tried to show no emotion.
“No, Majesty. I was thinking more about you and Sweet Robin. He loves you and you love him—yet you are apart. It is sad,” said Mary.
“Apart? He is with me every day of my life. And so he shall always be. We eat together, hunt together, dance together, do everything except one thing—and yes, that one thing pains me, more for himself than for me. But, nothing for it—such is the life we have. I shall be grateful for it,” said the queen, rising. “Enough of this dismal talk—bring out your lute, Sir James, and play us a crafty tune. Mary has been wanting to hear you sing since she first heard your ‘sonorous’ baritone!”
Mary blushed as they all turned to her and laughed. She caught Oxford staring at her, his look inscrutable. Something about the way he gazed at her made her feel afraid. But soon, the music made her forget that fleeting feeling and she joined in with gusto.
Before long, they were singing a madrigal. Mary s
tood next to John and she loved hearing his rough voice. Sir James did, indeed, sing like a chorister, his low voice clear and strong. But she liked the scratchy sound of John’s voice, raspy but in tune. She felt his arm sneak around her waist as they stood side by side, and imagined them at Holme Lacy, her playing the virginals and teaching his children to sing. She could think of no greater contentment.
October 1571
The heat of summer had finally relented and the autumnal evenings were temperate and as comfortable as even a queen could desire. Most evenings found the ladies strolling in the gardens or dancing after nightfall while the queen entertained the French ambassador, who continued to tell Her Majesty how very much the French duke adored her, calling her “the rarest creature that was in Europe these five hundred years.” When the queen complained this could not be so because she had heard the duke had referred to her as “that old woman with a sore leg,” the ambassador had to soothe the queen’s ruffled feathers, assuring her of the duke’s undying love.
While the queen basked in this lover’s language, Lord Burghley continued his efforts to assure her safety. He expanded his network of spies, often infiltrating Catholic groups and making certain no treason was being plotted. Weekly, he arrested some low person for disparaging the queen’s good name or talking against the French alliance. Dudley was often away from court and Mary detected a strain between the queen and her Sweet Robin. The queen spent more and more time enjoying the company of Sir Christopher Hatton, while Dudley seemed to disappear for days at a time.
As London began preparations for the coming winter, storing up foodstuff and patching cracks and crevices in houses and castles, the queen seemed to want the celebrations of summer to continue.
“Ladies, tonight we shall sail up the Thames at dusk. My lord of Leicester has prepared an elegant entertainment for us, with poetry from the pen of the Earl of Oxford and music composed in our honor by Leicester himself. Wear your prettiest jewels so we will glitter on the water as dazzling as sunlight,” said the queen. She motioned for Mary and Nora to help her with her clothing while Mistress Dorothy and Mistress Frances repaired her hair, weaving it in and out of the metal frame on her head.
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