Queen Elizabeth's Daughter: A Novel of Elizabeth I

by Barnhill, Anne Clinard

  I know, I know—then I would be no better than the French king! And Madame de’ Medici is right in one thing—I will not be safe until I marry and get an heir. Yet, I would marry for love if I could—or kindness. I would have a husband who was fond of me and I, him. Is that so much to ask?

  Robin, oh my Sweet Robin! I cannot live without you by my side, yet I must. I must allow you your manly sport with Douglass, with anyone you may like. Yet, I will always love you, only you.

  Parry, it is a hard thing to be a woman and be queen.

  Thirty-eight

  April 1573

  “The Earl of Leicester used to take me on picnics with the queen and himself, a few serving women, and Mistress Blanche. We would walk along the riverside, far from the prying eyes of the court. I would nap, and while I did so, the queen and her Sweet Robin would kiss and speak delicious words of love to one another. Sometimes, we would play hide-and-seek or bowles—I have such fond memories of picnics! I am happy you agreed to take one with me,” said Mary as she pulled Sir John by the hand through the meadow grass to a small pond shaded by a large oak tree.

  “I find when it comes to you, my dearest, I cannot say no. The day is lovely—blue sky filled with puffy clouds. Look! Here is a forget-me-not,” he said, leaning over to pluck the tiny blue flower from the new grass. “I have always loved these little buds—see the yellow star at the center? So delicate and small. I hate to think of our big boots crushing such beauty.”

  “Then we shall be careful not to do so. Step here—now here. And see, we have arrived at the tree with its mossy skirt,” said Mary. She slipped the flower into her sleeve to put into her treasure box later. Then she turned to see how far behind they had left the pony packed with vittles. Mary could see the serving girl unloading the food. Mistress Blanche told Mary she would ride out later, as she had duties to perform to help the queen prepare for Easter. She said Mary would be perfectly fine in the company of Sir John and the serving wench—no need to worry about her reputation so long as someone was with them.

  Sir John leaned against the tree trunk and Mary stood beside him. Their fingers were entwined and she could smell ambergris and his clean, manly odor. She loved the smell of him and often, when they kissed, she pressed her nose into his neck to inhale him as they embraced.

  “You should know—you are with a dangerous man,” said Sir John, smiling down at her.

  “What do you mean?” said Mary.

  “The queen has made a list of Catholics considered ‘dangerous to the realm.’ And I am on it. My uncle wrote me of it recently—our entire family is listed. Are you certain you still wish to become my wife?” he said.

  “I am not afraid of this ‘dangerous’ man—I am intrigued by him,” said Mary, placing her hands on his chest.

  “You had, perhaps, better fear me a little—I am not sure I can control myself here, under the wide skies. Brings out the beast in me,” he said, kissing her, lifting her almost off the ground.

  His kiss took her breath and her heart pounded.

  “Perhaps you should fear me—for I would have you right now!” said Mary, kissing him back.

  “Just in time—here comes our food!” said Sir John, breaking away from her to help the serving girl, who was balancing a load in her arms. They spread a cloth over a mossy spot and John placed two large pillows side by side. The girl poured ale and set out the food.

  “Your Worship, have you any more need of me?” said the girl with a quick curtsy.

  “No, Daisy. You may take the pony to the pond for water and then ride a little if you would like,” said Mary.

  John gave her a startled look.

  “Do not worry, my lord. Mistress Blanche will arrive anon. Until then, we shall eat, drink, and I shall be merry,” said Mary.

  “Droll, my love, droll,” he said.

  They watched as Daisy took the pony to the other side of the pond, mounted her, and trotted off toward the woods. Then they consumed shepherd’s pie, strawberries in cream, and several mugs of ale.

  After their repast, Sir John cleared away the food and eating implements, returning them to the basket. He shook out the cloth and spread it again on the soft moss. He sat on one side and patted for Mary to sit next to him. She quickly acquiesced.

  “It is lovely to be alone, is it not?” said Mary, relaxing against him.

  “It is lovely to be with you, dearest,” said Sir John, encircling her with his arms. He kissed her, a long deep kiss that quickened her breath as well as his. He began to move his hands over her, and she could feel the heat from his touch following her womanly curves. He had never touched her with such a sense of possession, as if they were already wed.

  She had come to trust him, knowing he would stop himself before their kisses grew too hot and out of control. Such trust allowed her to enjoy all that he did, rather than worry about having to put a stop to things herself. And so now she gave herself to the moment, not thinking of anything but where his hands and lips were and how they felt against her skin. Suddenly, she realized he had moved his hands beneath her shift and was touching her womanly parts. He worked there for a long time until she felt herself opening, opening, opening. He kissed her again and again and she felt his member against her, then inside her. Her eyes flew open and she saw him above her, his blond hair falling onto his forehead and his aqua eyes fixed on hers. Their eyes linked and their bodies moved together as if by magic. She grabbed him and pulled him to her, her hands guiding his movements. Suddenly, she could feel her heartbeat along her entire body and she shivered with pleasure. Then, she felt him tremble and heard him sigh. He collapsed onto her, then his mouth found her own and they kissed tenderly.

  “I told you I was dangerous, my love,” he said, fiddling with her hair, which had come loose and lay spread across the cloth.

  “And so you are—what are we to do? I fear if I get with child, the queen will throw me in the Tower—you know I speak the truth,” said Mary, the implications of what had happened beginning to dawn on her.

  “I will speak to Sir James on the morrow. There is no reason the queen would wish to stop our marriage. She loves you—I am sure she wants you to be happy,” he said.

  “I hope you are right. She does love me, but I think she wants me to be happy living forever with her,” said Mary.

  “’Tis true—she does not like for any of her ladies to marry. She becomes too jealous of their happiness, I fear,” said Sir John.

  “Yes. And she has such high aspirations for me. She has mentioned several times that I should make a fine marriage to a foreign duke to help secure our relations with his country. Or that I might marry here, to one of the premier peers in the land. She thought Oxford would have been a wonderful match for me. I have told her I want not such high marriage, but she has it in her mind—she said she wants me to live in splendid surroundings, just as I do at court. I do not give a fig for such things,” said Mary, her face clouding more and more as she thought about the queen and her lectures about marriage.

  “Her hopes for you will never be satisfied with the likes of me,” said Sir John.

  “Dearest, you know my hopes are very satisfied,” said Mary, smiling.

  “Give me but a moment and I shall see to your satisfaction once again,” he said, kissing her gently.

  “We should ready ourselves for the arrival of Mistress Blanche—she will be here soon, I’ll warrant,” said Mary.

  “Let me help you, milady,” said Sir John, pulling Mary to her feet.

  “I hope we shall not rue this day,” said Mary, brushing off her skirts and fixing her hair.

  “We shall never regret this moment, this day, my love. We shall wed as we planned and the queen be damned!” said Sir John.

  Early May 1573

  Sir John and Mary walked quietly to the Presence Chamber in the hope of meeting Sir James there. Sir James had just returned to court from Herefordshire and this would be their first opportunity to ask him to approach the queen on their behalf.
Mary wore her white silk dress with yellow sleeves and matching kirtle. The light colors looked well with her dark hair and eyes. She had smeared a little kohl on her eyelids and blushed her cheeks and lips with cherry juice. She wanted to look pretty so that Sir James would be pleased with her as a possible wife for John. And a possible mother for Sir James’s grandchildren. John had dressed with special care as well, wearing a dark blue doublet with slashed sleeves that showed a deep red silk within. Never had he looked so handsome, and Mary noticed several of the ladies gazed at him with interest.

  Sir James conferred in a corner with Suffolk and Leicester. They were in quiet conversation, serious by the look of it. But seriousness was the order of the day for those with business in the Presence Chamber.

  “Ah, Sir John and the pretty Mistress Mary—what brings you here this fine spring day?” said Sir James, smiling at Mary.

  “Sir, we have some business of a private nature to discuss with you when you are free,” said John easily. No one could have guessed the true nature of their business from his casual attitude.

  “Certainly, certainly. I’ll be finished here in a moment. We were just discussing the French situation. The queen has sent for Walsingham to return to London. The King of France has issued a decree to allow the Huguenots to worship as they wish, and Madame de’ Medici wishes to reignite a romance. This time, she offers the younger brother of Anjou, Alençon. Our poor most royal queen! How many sons does Madame de’ Medici have? Will she offer all of them to our queen?” said Sir James.

  “Who knows? All I can say is, here we go again,” said John with a smile.

  “I hope Her Majesty will truly consider this match,” said Lord Robert. “She has much to gain with such an alliance—Spain continues to roar against us and I fear if Her Majesty does not make an alliance soon, King Philip will consider sailing his navy from the Netherlands, where he continues to make trouble. The Duke of Alva is a formidable foe.”

  Mary said nothing but listened as the men continued discussing the issues facing the nation. She was surprised Lord Robert would be so eager for the queen to marry, something he had sought to block at every turn until now. He seemed relaxed and happy in a way she could not fathom. Finally, the conversation broke up and John took her by the elbow, leading her and Sir James to a small alcove where they could not be overheard.

  “Why the secrecy? You two aren’t planning to get married, are you?” said Sir James, laughing.

  “Well, sir, that is exactly what we are planning … with your help,” said John.

  “I do not blame you one bit, John. Mistress Mary has all the qualities a man could wish for in a wife—she is beautiful and kind, and obedient,” said Sir James, looking her over as if she were a fine horse.

  “I would not be so certain about the ‘obedient’ part, Sir James. Thus far, she knows her own mind well and is not afraid to speak it,” said John, his arm around her waist.

  “And I must insist that you gentlemen cease talking about me as if I were deaf! I can hear and contribute as well as any,” said Mary. Though she smiled when she spoke the words, both men understood she meant what she said.

  “’Tis a fine match. You have done well for yourself, John, to win the cousin of the queen,” said Sir James. “I shall speak to Sir Nicholas Bacon on your behalf. As Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, he will attend to such business. We can only hope the queen will be amenable to the idea.”

  “We thank you, Sir James. We look forward to the day of our wedding with much enthusiasm,” said John. Sir James gave a quick bow to Mary and excused himself.

  “Do you think he was surprised?” said Mary, reaching for John’s hand.

  “I think he might have been stunned! I am surprised he did not volunteer to go directly to the queen himself. But I trust him in this matter. If only I could trust myself,” said John, pulling her to him.

  “We must not! We cannot be seen before the queen gives her approval. She will throw us into the Tower as she has others. I fear her wrath!” said Mary.

  “Do not fear, dearest. She has no reason to object—I have proven my loyalty with my body,” said John, still holding her close.

  “Reason will have nothing to do with it. You are a Catholic and your name is on the ‘dangerous’ list,” said Mary. “And you threaten to take away her ‘Fawn.’”

  “I am also a Gentleman Pensioner and the man who saved her life, remember?” said John.

  “I remember, but will she?” said Mary.

  Thirty-nine

  July 1573

  The queen’s progress was heading to Lord Burghley’s lavish home, Theobalds, in Essex, where the queen hoped to be entertained in grand style. The caravan of wagons, carts, litters, horses, and pack mules snaked its way along the road at the pace of a snail. And very like a snail it was, the queen taking everything she would need for her comfort: her gold plate, her dresses, her looking glass, her state papers, even her bathtub. Carrying her house with her was hard work, though others took care of the details. Most of the court was forced to accompany her, though the ladies often complained of the irritations of such travels. Mistresses Mary and Eleanor had left their mounts in order to stretch the kinks out of their legs and enjoy the fresh air, unimpeded by the odor of horse.

  “Have you heard anything yet?” said Eleanor as she walked beside Mary.

  “Not a word. Sir James has been busy, but I would hope our request would be quickly and easily granted,” said Mary. She stopped for a moment to catch her breath.

  “Her Majesty has not mentioned it?” said Eleanor.

  “Again, not a word. Her manner toward me is ever the same—if the idea displeased her, she would let me know,” said Mary.

  “Of that you can be certain—Her Majesty is not one to keep her feelings inside,” said Eleanor, pausing to wait for Mary.

  “I cannot imagine what is taking Sir Nicholas Bacon such a long time to ask … I have not seen him for weeks,” said Mary. “Do you think he is avoiding me?”

  “He is Keeper of the Great Seal—a busy man. Do not worry—you saw how easily the queen agreed to my wedding, though she continues to keep me near to her. I rarely get to see my husband. Luckily, she maintains him at court to paint miniatures; otherwise, I would never have any time with him,” said Eleanor.

  The women continued to walk, following the wagons loaded with the queen’s clothes. Mary’s job included making certain the queen’s favorite summer gowns were ready for her to wear and to see the garments remained in pristine condition on their travels over the dusty, often muddy roads.

  Mary tried to see John, who was riding with the Gentlemen Pensioners surrounding the queen. But the sun was in her eyes and she could not make him out.

  “I cannot believe Catspaw is making this progress,” said Eleanor.

  “Poor old dear—she told me this would be her last. I do not think she will live beyond another year or so,” said Mary.

  “People have been saying that for years and yet here she is! She must have some sort of magic,” said Eleanor, laughing.

  The two women walked with others along the road. As they approached a village, townspeople lined the roads for a glimpse of the great Elizabeth, their golden queen. The farmers in their simple clothes cheered at the sight of the caravan, and children crowded around, knowing that a view of the queen would make the memory of a lifetime.

  Upon their arrival at Theobalds, the queen took refreshment in her apartments while Mary and the other ladies unpacked the items they would need in the crowded servants’ quarters they were forced to share with Lord Burghley’s staff. They slept two or three to a bed and barely had enough room to change their clothes. To Mary’s dismay, Catspaw had been given no special treatment due to her age. She was to room with Mary and Eleanor, along with several others.

  “The queen’s man’s got hisself married, did ye know?” said Catspaw, as she shuffled into the room and plopped down on what Mary had thought was to be her bed.

  “What are you ta
lking about, old dame?” said Eleanor, unfolding her dresses and trying to find a place to store them so they would not become soiled and wrinkled.

  “Leicester, he married Lady Sheffield over a month ago—I heard all about it. They say she was with child but the babe came early and died. And now, he’s scared to death the queen will find out about it! If she does, he’ll be lower than a shit-shovel man,” said Catspaw.

  “You have told us this tale before—’tis mere gossip. When will you learn, old woman? You should not meddle in the affairs of your betters,” said Eleanor, taking a comb from her bag and coaxing the snarls from her hair.

  “Just keep yer eyes open—you’ll see. Lord Robert looks at Mistress Douglass different. And she is moon-eyed over him more than ever. Just hope the queen don’t find out—there’ll be hell to pay,” said Catspaw.

  “Well, she won’t hear such tales from me,” said Mary. “Her Majesty has enough to vex her without upsetting her humors with tittle-tattle.”

  Mary and Eleanor finished arranging their things. Mary pulled her special box from a velvet bag she had been carrying and hid it in the trunk holding her undergarments. As always, finding a safe place for her treasures was first in her mind. She opened the box for a quick peek inside as she riffled through the shifts and smocks. She always checked to be certain all her treasures were there. She saw the forget-me-nots she and Sir John had picked, the stones she had collected from her picnics on the river when she was a small child, the ringlet of the queen’s hair braided with her own, Oxford’s poem, her other items. Everything was in its place.

  A page knocked on the door of the ladies’ quarters.

  “Mistress Mary Shelton—the queen is calling for you! Mistress Shelton!” he shouted, his voice cracking.

  “Here, boy! I’m here. Nora, I shall see you at the entertainment later this evening. Rest while you can—I fear our travels will tire us,” said Mary as she gathered her skirts and followed the young fellow. She had been to Theobalds before, but to her, the mansion seemed similar to every other great house they visited on progress—rooms upon rooms upon rooms. She continued following the page, though it felt as if he were leading her away from the queen’s apartments, rather than to them. Suddenly, she felt someone grab her arm.