Queen Elizabeth's Daughter: A Novel of Elizabeth I

by Barnhill, Anne Clinard

  Cold winter light shone through the windows of the queen’s bedchamber. No one was in sight, as Mary quickly checked the room. This would be her chance to talk to Eleanor.

  “The fire does not burn too brightly for us this morning. It is freezing in here,” said Eleanor.

  “The queen tries to save money where she can—why pay for wood to burn when no one is in the room?” said Mary.

  “We are in the room,” said Eleanor.

  Both women laughed.

  “You know well enough that we do not count!” said Mary, rubbing her arms for warmth.

  They walked over to the large casket where the queen kept her jewels. Mary turned the key which the queen had given her and lifted the lid. She never ceased to be amazed at the beautiful things contained in the box. They began a careful search for the pearl brooch.

  “How would I look in this?” said Eleanor, as she placed a small golden crown upon her head.

  “Take that off! What if someone comes in? We would lose our positions!” said Mary.

  “You fret too much. How many chances do you think we’ll get to try on the queen’s jewels?” said Eleanor, adding a long rope of pearls to her ensemble.

  They continued to search for the pearl brooch with the blue sapphires, slowly sifting through the hundreds of pieces of jewelry.

  “I have it! Finally! Oh, it is quite lovely,” said Mary, holding the brooch in her hand, admiring the delicate gold work around the stones. The pearl looked especially white in the morning sun.

  “Thank heavens—I would hate to be forced to keep looking and trying on the queen’s things. Such finery! Have you ever seen the like?” said Eleanor, now adding a bracelet of gold beads to her arm.

  Mary laughed and helped Eleanor remove the items from her person. She noticed Eleanor’s ever-ripening belly and knew that soon her friend would leave court to give birth to her child. Mary hated thinking about that time—she would miss Eleanor. If ever she was going to share her news with her dear Nora, now was the time.

  “I … I have something to tell you, Nora,” said Mary in a whisper.

  “Well, then … go on,” said Eleanor.

  “It is a great secret, and before I tell you, I must have your pledge of silence,” said Mary. She kept her voice down and took Eleanor’s hands in hers.

  “My goodness! It must be quite a secret,” said Eleanor. “You are not with child, are you?”

  “No, thank God! But it might be worse,” said Mary, taking a deep breath.

  “What could be worse?” said Eleanor.

  Mary paused. It was harder than she had imagined, telling her secret. She feared the very walls were listening.

  “Sir John … we are, well, we are married,” said Mary, tightening her grip on Eleanor’s hands.

  “What? How did you? When? Oh, you’re hurting me!” said Eleanor.

  “Oh, I am sorry. Last month. We slipped away from court in the dark of night. I just knew someone would catch us, though we had planned our escape well enough. But no, the cold wind, the snow, and the late hour kept everyone close to the hearth or snuggled in their beds. We rode out past Southwark to an inn. There, a priest awaited us. And we were made man and wife,” said Mary.

  “Man and wife … man and wife … the queen’s ward and Sir John, man and wife,” cackled a voice from within the wardrobe press.

  “Who in the world?” said Mary as she rose to fling open the large door. There, curled up on the bottom shelf, beneath the queen’s warm shifts, lay Catspaw.

  “Married, is it? I have been married three times—let me see. The first man was … well, his name was … I think it was Arthur, named after the late king’s brother. Could have been Edward, though…” said Catspaw. She continued mumbling to herself, what sounded like gibberish to Mary.

  “Catspaw! Catspaw! You must listen to me,” said Mary, grabbing the old woman by her thin shoulders and forcing her to look into Mary’s face.

  “Catspaw listens—hears everything! She will not like it, mistress! She will not like it one bit!” said Catspaw.

  “I know—that is why we must keep it a secret! Oh, she will be very angry—she might throw us all into the Tower! Even you, Catspaw! You will not tell anyone, will you?” said Mary.

  “My lips are sealed, even as with wax, Your Worship. No one will get the word from me, of that you can rest assured. I never gossip, no, never say a word. All secrets are safe with me—even the one about Lord Robert and Lady Douglass—they was married, too, you see. She done all she could to bring him to the altar and she finally got her way. She’s in a way, too—a family way, if you get my meaning,” said Catspaw.

  “Nora, what am I going to do? She will never keep this quiet!” said Mary, close to tears.

  “No one will listen to her—she mumbles to herself all the time—everyone thinks she’s touched in the head. Pay her no mind—if she slips and tells, no one will believe it,” said Eleanor.

  Catspaw grew quiet for a moment and then began murmuring to herself.

  “No one believes … pay her … slips,” said Catspaw, clutching at the soft lawn beneath her, her hands crooked as claws, the fingernails yellow against the crisp, white shifts.

  Mary looked at the old woman and offered to help her rise.

  “Would you like one of my sleeping cordials? It will ease your aches and pains for the night,” said Mary.

  Catspaw stared at her and smiled. She nodded her head and Mary led her to a stool by the hearth. She helped her sit down and then left Mistress Eleanor with Catspaw while she went to the alcove where she stored her cordials. She retrieved the sleeping draught and carried it back to the women by the fire. Catspaw tipped the small vial back and drank every drop. Then, Mary and Eleanor helped her return to the servants’ quarters where she had a small, cold room she shared with three other women. They saw to it she went to bed immediately.

  Forty-eight

  Early March 1574

  Mary kept her ears open during the weeks after Catspaw had overheard her secret, trying to ascertain whether or not the old woman was keeping mum about what she had discovered. Thus far, there was not even a hint of gossip. No one stared at Mary or wagged their tongues when she walked past. She began to sigh with relief and looked forward to the warming weather of spring, though no such weather had come yet. The cold wind still blew almost every day and piles of snow littered the corners of the gardens. Mary had not had a chance to be alone with Sir John since they returned from their wedding night. She had to content herself with a few stolen glances and the occasional brush when they passed each other as each attended to the duties demanded by the queen. Thankfully, her courses had come on schedule and, from the way things were going, she would not have a chance for her condition to change any time soon. Each night before falling asleep, she thought of her wedding night. The memories sent shivers down her spine, and one night the queen had an extra coverlet brought to her, thinking she quivered from the cold.

  Mistress Eleanor had gone into her confinement in London, at her husband’s father’s house. It was a modest but nicely appointed home where Master Nicholas could visit when he was not busy limning at court. His work was becoming more and more popular, especially among the young courtiers, who often gave a miniature painting of themselves to the women they wished to stir. The queen also sat for him several times, impressed with his abilities. Mistress Eleanor had high hopes for their future, though Master Nicholas had little money at present.

  Though Mary was lonely without her friend and without more than casual contact with her husband, she passed the days pleasantly enough. She looked forward to the evenings when she and John might steal a dance together with no one being the wiser. When they did so, they were both very careful not to look at one another for too long, or give each other lingering touches. Mary had to use all of her restraint to keep from caressing Sir John, and she could tell by the stiff way he held himself that he, too, struggled to maintain their ruse.

  Mary thought she would
wait until she and the queen had a quiet moment together, perhaps with Lord Robert, just the three of them, to tell Her Majesty of the wedding. She knew the queen would be furious, but she hoped, with Lord Robert present, he might be able to reason with her. If anyone could do so, it would be he. While she waited, Mary made a special point of being agreeable and pleasant to the queen.

  * * *

  “Married, married—all the folks is married. Lord Robert and Lady Douglass, Mistress Mary and Sir John, Mistress Eleanor and her Nick—all is married, all is married,” sang Catspaw as she carried a stack of clean shifts and bedclothes from the laundry to the queen’s apartments. She walked, as usual, up the servants’ stairs. No one used this passageway except the washerwomen, though Catspaw had caught lovers hiding there in years past. Lord Robert and the queen had been known to take their time in the lavender-scented hallway. Catspaw laughed under her breath when she thought of those two together.

  “Love, love, love! Queens forgo it, courtiers show it, poets know it, and…” she sang out again.

  “What have we here? What are you singing about, old woman?” said Oxford, coming up behind Catspaw. He, with Pakington behind him, stepped forward to block Catspaw’s path to the queen’s rooms. The old woman cowered and tucked her head as if she were afraid of being hit.

  “We shall not harm you, old woman—we heard your song. You’ve been singing it for days now, all along the halls of the castle. A lovely song it is—about love and marriage. We decided to follow you so you could spill your stories to us. Tell me, about whom do you sing?” said Oxford, leaning his arm against the wall so that it made a sort of bridge across the hallway.

  “Oh, just old songs—Catspaw knows many old tales,” she said.

  “I’ll wager you do, you old gossip. But we heard you name someone—someone who had married? Who were you singing about?” said Pakington, towering over her.

  “I wasn’t singing about nobody—just words, that’s all. Catspaw keeps her secrets, she does,” said Catspaw.

  “What secrets? If you value your life, you better tell me or I’ll have your tongue cut out—then you will not be able to carry your torrid tales,” said Oxford, standing very close to the old woman.

  “Not supposed to tell—it’s a secret—Old Catspaw can keep a secret for the nice lady. Yes, she can,” said Catspaw in a singsong voice.

  “Which nice lady? Lady Douglass? Do you know something about her? And Lord Robert? Oh, Pakington, would it not be advantageous to have something on my dear Earl of Leicester? Think what prizes we might win for keeping his secrets,” said Oxford.

  “Tut-tut, nothing nice about Lady Douglass. The other one, Mistress Mary—she gives Catspaw cordials, she does,” said Catspaw, slowly pushing against Oxford’s arm.

  “Not so fast, old woman. Do you mean the queen’s ward, Mary Shelton? What do you know about her?” said Oxford, a smile spreading across his features.

  “She never did marry that Sir John in the dark of night … no, she did not! And she never found a priest in a secret place! She never did!” said Catspaw.

  “Could this be true?” said Oxford to Pakington. “Could the queen’s ward have run off with someone?”

  “She would be arrogant enough to defy the queen. She has been spoiled by the queen’s favor, if you ask me. Impudent little bitch,” said Pakington.

  “But who? Oh, I do not really have to ask—I have seen the way Skydemore looks at her. And how he jumps to protect her from any possible harm,” said Oxford.

  Oxford thought for a moment, then lowered his arm.

  “You may go, old woman. Speak nothing of this, do you hear? Nothing!” he said.

  “Catspaw says nothing—she never tells tales. No, she keeps her secrets … all the secrets…” mumbled the old woman as she walked away.

  Both men watched as Catspaw hurried up the hallway, teetering from one side to the other. She looked back at them once, then slowed her pace when she realized they were not following her.

  “What are you going to do with this little tidbit of information?” said Pakington.

  Oxford paused, then smiled.

  “What any humble servant of the queen would do—I shall inform Her Majesty of this news at once! Skydemore is a Catholic—it will not take much to paint him as a traitor. Oh, this promises to be rich, Lusty! Rich!” said Oxford as he turned back the way he came and trotted down the narrow hall, with Pakington following close behind him.

  * * *

  Several days later, the queen was walking in her garden, strolling briskly ahead of her ladies, when the Earl of Oxford and Sir “Lusty” met her.

  “Good morrow, Your Majesty. Such a lovely spring morning,” said Oxford, smiling as he bowed. Pakington bowed also but said nothing.

  “I am surprised to see you gentlemen out walking—I usually have the gardens to myself,” said the queen, smiling.

  “I hope we are not intruding, Your Grace,” said Oxford.

  “Not at all—I am glad for the company. My ladies have trouble keeping pace with me,” said the queen, leading the way.

  They walked in silence for a while, occasionally stopping to watch a bird or comment on the budding trees.

  “Your Majesty, I wish to offer my congratulations,” said Oxford, during one of their pauses.

  “Oh? For what?” said the queen.

  “I understand your cousin and ward, Mary Shelton, has married Sir John Skydemore. I heard it was a small affair, though I would have thought the queen’s ward would have had a more elaborate service. But I suppose Skydemore’s religion might have had something to do with such a subdued ceremony. After all, he makes no secret of his popish ways,” said Oxford pleasantly.

  The queen did not speak. She turned pale. She faltered and both Oxford and Pakington reached out to steady her.

  “This cannot be true—who told you of this so-called marriage?” said the queen.

  “I will admit we got the information from a well-known gossip, Your Grace. But one who seems to know everything that goes on at court. Old Catspaw,” said Oxford.

  The queen stood still and closed her eyes, as if she were suddenly weary. Finally, she uttered a whispery “Can this be true?” to the men.

  Both men nodded. Without another word, the queen turned and headed toward the palace. Oxford looked at Pakington and smiled.

  Forty-nine

  Parry, bar the door. I have come to the chapel to be alone. Let no one enter.

  God’s blood! Is it true? Can my Fawn have been so foolish as to marry that Skydemore man? I cannot believe it! No, it cannot be.

  Rumors about Rob. Rumors about Mary. Who instigates this war against my heart? Are the rumors true? Could those two, whom I love above all others, could they have betrayed me? By God’s bowels, I shall find out! If I have to tear out the tongues of every man, woman, and child in London, I shall have the truth!

  No, Parry, give me no cordials! Give me no wine! Where is Fawn? Tell me, I say! Tell me at once!

  Sewing? In my Privy Chamber with the other ladies? How obedient! How docile! I shall go to her immediately! No, no, I will not wait until I am calm—I shall never be calm again! Out of my way, Parry! Out of my way or I shall knock you out of my way! She shall pay for breaking my heart! She shall pay!

  Fifty

  March 1574

  Mary and several of the other ladies sat in the Privy Chamber, each engaged in needlework. Mary was sewing the hem of a shift of coarse linen for the upcoming Maundy where the queen would distribute such items to the poor. She was taking particular care as she wanted the garment to be as fine as she could make it.

  “I do not know why we must work our fingers to the bone sewing for the poor. Do you think they care if they have a new shift for the Maundy?” said Mistress Frances.

  “Of course they care—they have little enough as it is. This seems the Christian thing to do,” said Mary. “Do you know what has happened to Lady Douglass? She is a good seamstress.”

  “Lady Douglass
has been excused to nurse her sister, who, according to Douglass, lies at death’s door,” said Mistress Frances.

  “We all know where Lady Douglass lies,” said Mistress Margaret, one of the queen’s new ladies.

  “She’s married Lord Robert and is big with his babe,” said Catspaw.

  “I didn’t hear you come in, old dame,” said Mistress Frances.

  “How do you reckon I live so long, missy … I come and go and no one knows I’ve been,” mumbled the old woman.

  “Is it true then? Has he married her?” said Mistress Margaret.

  “True as the blue sky—I know a scrub woman who works for the man what married them,” said Catspaw, walking slowly to lay her stack of linens in the linen press.

  The women continued to chat, speaking of lords and ladies, the queen’s new favorite, the Earl of Oxford’s abominable treatment of his wife, and the dozens of priests crossing the Channel into England, with the Pope’s edict to reconvert the English people to the true church.

  Suddenly, a disturbance in the outer hall startled them. Without warning, the door opened and the queen stormed into their midst. She strode to where Mary sat stitching, knocked the work from her hands, and grabbed her arms. She yanked Mary to her feet and Mary found herself face-to-face with Elizabeth. Her Majesty’s black eyes were icy and her cheeks blazed. Her reddish-gold hair had come partially undone and wild curls sprang around her head, making her look like the Medusa of Greek legend. She was, indeed, a terrible sight to behold.