Well, I have. My heart aches without her to calm me. I cannot sleep—and no, Mistress Frances does not help as our Fawn did. I miss her! I admit it. And now, I am to see her once again. Will she be sincere in her apologies? For I know she will ask my forgiveness, which I would easily give if I thought she meant it. Do you think she will mean it from her heart? Or will this be another example of a courtier trying to get a favor from the daft old queen?
Yes, I have missed her. And I have missed my Sweet Robin, too. Perhaps it is time to forgive him, as well. I have treated him coldly for a very long time. Now, I shall welcome him to my arms. After all, he has sent Lady Douglass to the country and he has sworn to me that they never married. That was a tale she told to force him to it, but he was having none of it. He said if he could not marry the woman he truly loved, he would never marry. I do believe him, Parry. I truly do.
I shall wear my finest clothes. I shall even wear my small crown. She shall see me in all my splendor. By God’s teeth, then we shall see her cower before us! Come, Parry, we have work to do.
Sixty
July 11, 1574
Mary spent a long time preparing to meet the queen. She bathed and perfumed herself with the rose water she’d had Thomas buy at the apothecary’s shop. The yellow gown she had packed was wrinkled and smudged with dirt but she brushed it as best she could. She wore the matching French hood and put her long black hair beneath the snood. She slipped on her velvet shoes with the seed pearls sewn all over and wore the necklace the queen had given her years ago, the one with diamonds and pearls, having been all this time in her special box. She took the ringlet of hair and placed it inside her sleeve. She drank a tall glass of wine before heading for Whitehall.
This time when she went abroad, people noticed her. Out of the plain dress of a serving girl and into clothes fit for the court made all the difference. Men nodded to her as she passed and women stared at her fine dress. Such looks gave her confidence.
Lord Robert had told her to be in the Presence Chamber at noon and he would see that she got an audience with the queen. She had never been more nervous—it was much like the first time she’d been led into the queen’s presence by Mistress Blanche.
She entered the palace halls and walked with purpose to the Presence Chamber. The yeoman announced her and she strode through the door as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She saw Nora, who smiled at her, and Pakington, who did not. Nora looked healthy and thinner than she had been before her pregnancy. Being a mother must suit her.
Mary saw Oxford, who stared at her as if she had a second head growing from her neck. She nodded to him, but did not speak. She found a spot beneath the window and waited. She did not want to contaminate Nora by talking to her—who knew what trouble that might cause. After all, she was banished, in the queen’s bad graces. The best thing she could do for her friend was to ignore her.
Soon, the bell tolled twelve and many of the courtiers left the chamber, tired of waiting or having other appointments to attend. Mary settled in, expecting another long wait. She gazed at the fine furnishings around her, the tapestries and paintings. How different from the inn where she’d spent the last few days. How different from her beloved Holme Lacy. Suddenly, she wished she could run, leave the court and return to that peaceful house on the hill, return to the children she was just beginning to love. But it was too late for that. The door to the queen’s Privy Chamber opened and Lord Robert beckoned her in.
She rose and smoothed her hair. She walked as quietly as she could and saw the queen sitting on her throne, waiting. Never had the queen looked so regal. Mary noticed she was wearing her crown, something she rarely did. Her dress was covered with pearls and the sleeves were cloth of gold slashed with white silk. Her Majesty looked more like a goddess than a mere mortal.
Mary immediately went to her knees. She stayed in that position for a long moment. Then, she slowly began to creep toward the throne. The room was long, very long and narrow. Already, she felt pain as her knees scraped along the hard floor. The rushes were filled with foodstuff, spittle, and she could only guess what else, yet she hobbled through the muck, still on her knees. The smell of refuse and urine almost gagged her but on she crawled. She hoped that by humbling herself in this way, she could move the queen’s heart.
Finally, she arrived at the throne. She stayed on her knees, glancing up very quickly one time only. She saw Mistress Blanche standing behind the queen on one side, with Lord Robert on the other.
The queen did not look at her.
She did not know whether to speak or not. She kept her head bowed and waited.
Still, there was nothing but silence.
The silence grew until it was unbearable. This woman, who had been kind to her for most of her life, now refused to look at her. Suddenly, Mary realized how much she had missed the queen, how she had longed to share the day’s events with her as she brushed Her Majesty’s hair. Mary felt a tear trickle down her face. She had not realized she was crying. The queen must have noticed it, too. Finally, Her Majesty spoke.
“Why are you here?” the queen said.
“Your Majesty, I have come to beg your pardon. You took me under your wing as a mother hen does her chick. You provided me with all good things, especially your love. I betrayed that love by marrying without your permission. I am here to beg forgiveness and to ask for your love once again. I have been lost without it,” said Mary.
Again, the room grew quiet.
Mary began to lose hope as the silence continued. She thought she could hear the beating of everyone’s heart. Or maybe it was just the thudding of her own.
“These are sweet words. What proof do I have that you mean them? As I know better than most, those at court learn to dissemble so well, the truth is hard to find,” said the queen, her voice like ice.
“Your Majesty,” said Mary, raising her face to look into the queen’s black eyes, “you know me better than anyone. You have been with me since I was but a child. You know I love you and I am telling you what is in my heart.”
“Have you come to try and save your husband?” said the queen.
“Yes. I am begging you to spare him—he is no traitor, of that I am certain,” said Mary.
“I see. So now you tell me my courts misjudge? There is not justice in my realm?” said the queen, her voice rising.
“No, Your Grace. I just tell you I know this man and I know he loves Your Majesty. He has proven his love with his body,” said Mary.
“I am not given to executing innocent people. If Walsingham finds him guilty, then guilty he must be,” said the queen.
Another silence filled the room.
Mary did not know what else to say. She slipped her hand up her sleeve and pulled out the ringlet of hair.
“Your Majesty gave me this many years ago. I have kept it in my box of treasures. Do you remember it?” said Mary, handing the hair to the queen.
The queen held out her long, delicate hands and carefully received the lock. She took it close to her face to examine it.
“I cannot believe you have held on to it this long—it was just a silly fancy. But you have kept it all these years,” said the queen, her voice softening.
“Those who love Your Majesty often keep trinkets to remind us of your love,” said Lord Robert. “And those who have loved you long, those are the ones you can trust.”
“As she who rocked your cradle, Your Grace, I concur with Lord Robert—you can trust those who have been as close as your own family,” said Mistress Blanche, smiling at Mary. Lord Robert gave her warm looks, too.
The queen fingered the strands of hair, one black, the other reddish-gold. She slipped the ringlet on her finger. She spun it around and around. The minutes ticked by. Mary dared not move. Finally, the queen looked into Mary’s face. She did not smile but she did utter a soft sigh.
“All right, Fawn. I shall spare your husband. Because of the love we have shared, I will give you his life,” said the queen.
&n
bsp; Mary could not stop the tears that ran down her cheeks.
“Do not shed tears of joy just yet. There is a condition,” said the queen.
“Anything, Your Majesty,” said Mary.
“You are to stay at court with me all of your days. You will not be given leave to return to Holme Lacy. You will not leave me again,” said the queen.
“I shall stand by Your Majesty until I die,” said Mary.
The queen called for Sir Nicholas Bacon and the Great Seal. She told him to write out a pardon for Sir John Skydemore and bring it to her immediately to be signed. She then sent word for Sir John to be released.
“Your Majesty, I thank you with all my heart,” said Mary. The queen motioned for her to rise. The queen also rose and stepped forward to hug Mary. Lord Robert and Mistress Parry also linked arms around their Fawn. The four of them stood together for several minutes, laughing and crying, then laughing once again. The queen called for malmsey and gooseberry tarts. She then clapped her hands to signal the musicians to begin playing.
“La Volta!” shouted the queen. She took Lord Robert’s arm and led him to the middle of the floor. Mary and Mistress Blanche watched as the Queen of England pranced and leaped with her love.
Sixty-one
At first, I did not know if I could bring myself to forgive Fawn for her treachery. She looked so young and beautiful when she entered my Privy Chamber—ripe as a plum, ripe with love fulfilled, ripe in a way I shall never know. Yes, Parry, I was jealous—of her youth, her beauty. And of the fact that she had married the man she loved, something I could never do.
Ah, but when she fell to her knees and began to crawl toward me, I felt my heart shift in its cage. I could see the child once more, the sweet loving face of the little girl who had adored me. I remembered her chubby arms clinging to me, the feel of her body against my own. I remembered the smell of her breath while she slept, the sweetness of our waking together. I remembered the time she reached up to touch my face, the gentlest touch I have ever felt. She said, “I love you, Your Majesty.” And the words were so pure and so real they made my eyes water.
I knew, then, I would give her anything she wanted.
Yes, I made her promise never to leave me. Do not worry. I shall reinstate Sir John as a Gentleman Pensioner—they shall both live with me. I am not a cruel woman. I would not keep them apart. Well, I would not part them forever.
Now, Parry, help me into bed. This day has been long and I wish to rest.
Epilogue
April 28, 1603
She who has been our queen for, lo, these many years is no more. I am well enough to attend her funeral this day, though I was not at court with her when she died. She had allowed me, finally, to return to Holme Lacy, for she could see Death had his fingers around my throat. This happened before she grew ill herself. I wish I could have been with her in those last moments when the soul parts from the body. But it was not to be. Perhaps the fresh air at Holme Lacy strengthened me a little. Whatever the reason, Death released his grip so that I am able to escort her to her final resting place.
But I shall see her again. Indeed, I shall follow her soon, perhaps before the harvest. For I feel the cold fingers once again tightening around me.
She would have loved the English sky on this day as her people lined the funeral route to Westminster Abbey. The heavens are blue and filled with white clouds, soft-looking as Her Majesty’s finest silks and satins. Earlier in the day, many Englishmen paid her tribute, all silent, hats off in respect. Four horses arrayed in black velvet pulled the hearse which carried her body encased in lead. Atop this coffin, a full-sized effigy of Her Majesty, holding her orb and scepter, lay dressed in her state robes. Six earls held the canopy of estate over her. Her Master of the Horse led a riderless palfrey behind the hearse, followed by the Marchioness of Northampton, chief mourner.
I followed, a dark drop in the sea of black, over a thousand lords and ladies of the realm, councillors, courtiers, the Lord Mayor, and every person of import in London. I watched the citizens, hanging from windows, climbing on rooftops for a better view, all of us mourning and crying for our Good Queen Bess.
I mourned for more than my queen. She had become my family and I, hers. From the time I was allowed to return to court until her death, John and I served her unfailingly. We were both rewarded: John with high positions and I with gifts of coin that exceeded my dreams.
As time passed, those who had been with the queen since her youth grew more powerful. I was considered one of a trinity of ladies able to work miracles for those who petitioned us. The others were Mistress Blanche and the Countess of Warwick, Lady Jane Russell. One courtier called the three of us the “triumvirate of evil” that surrounded Her Majesty.
It was true, I suppose, if one was trying to petition the queen for something or other. Her Majesty did listen best to us and, as she grew older, she depended upon us to help her remember the details of government. We did our best to protect her from those who would use her. She trusted me implicitly with her clothing, allowing no one else to select and care for her gowns. I made certain she remained regal and beautiful.
But beauty, like everything else, fades in this earthly life. They say at the end, she insisted on hours of prayer, reaching for her priest again and again when he tried to rise to give relief to his poor knees. The comfort of prayer must have helped her. I am only sorry I could not have been there with her, sorry she had to make that last journey without me.
She was the kindest yet the cruelest of mistresses. When I was sick with any small illness, she would treat me with her own medicines and spoon broth into my mouth from her own hand. She never struck me or anyone else again. At least, not that I know of.
Yet, she kept me with her at all times. I could not return to Holme Lacy unless I begged and pleaded. Rarely, she would give in to my pleas and allow me a fortnight with the children. On those occasions, I loved being surrounded by the peace and beauty that was Holme Lacy. But, more often than not, she recalled me to court before even one week was out. She said she could not sleep without me.
I believe her. She had enough difficulty resting and, in her later years, kept a rusty sword by her mattress, fearing an assassin would break into her apartments and do away with her. I knew how to soothe her, bring her lids closed and help her relax. Sometimes, I gave her one of my cordials. Other times, I would sing or rub her back. She was almost like a child then, and I, the mother.
John and I never had children of our own. I blame the queen. He and I were rarely together, though we were married. She kept us both too busy for our own love to engender a babe. Though I did not have children of my own body, I tried to raise John’s children as best I could. I saw to their education and made certain they had proper clothes to wear. I kept in close contact with their governess, and when I was allowed a little time with them, I tried to make up for my frequent absences. Sometimes, they would come to court. The queen was kind to them and seemed to favor them above the children of her other subjects. Somehow, they grew up, the way children do. They are now busy with their own lives.
As time passed, I devoted myself more and more to the queen.
* * *
There is a strange scent permeating London this afternoon. It smells something like sweet marjoram. I want to inhale it, remember it, this sweetness. For I am convinced she is here, still here in the very bricks and mortar of the castles, in the cobbles and in the shops and alleyways. She is in the river, traveling to and from her houses, sustaining her people in their daily jaunts. She rises like the mist from the water and permeates everything. She is in the very air of this England.
I go to join her soon. Already, I feel cold, as if my blood is no longer able to warm me. I shall be happy to see her again, to feel her hand on my face and hear her whisper, “My Fawn.”
Author’s Note
Once again, I have shaken the family tree to find a story about one of my ancestors. In At the Mercy of the Queen, I wrote about Lady Marga
ret Shelton, first cousin of Queen Anne Boleyn. In Queen Elizabeth’s Daughter, I’ve written about Lady Mary Shelton, who served at Elizabeth I’s court and was her second cousin.
After reading a historical novel, I want to know how much of the story is true. I suspect this response is pretty common among readers. Folks want to know which part of the story is fact and which part the writer made up. Here are some facts about Lady Mary Shelton.
First, Lady Mary was born around 1550–1551, according to various sources. She was, indeed, an orphan. Her parents both died on the same day, November 15, 1558, the same month Elizabeth became queen. This made Mary a royal ward of the court because she was the queen’s second cousin. Her older brother, Ralph, was of age and inherited the various family properties. Most likely, he would have kept Mary in his care, though the final decision about her fate would have been in the hands of the Court of Wards and, ultimately, in the hands of the queen. Mary’s marriage would have been of great importance, given her close proximity to the queen, and the queen would have retained Mary’s marriage rights. This would have enabled the queen to make a political match, using Mary’s position either to strengthen her own or to reward a faithful courtier.
I changed Mary’s age when she was orphaned, making her three years old, rather than eight. I thought a three-year-old would appeal to Elizabeth’s maternal instincts more strongly, with the child’s need for care being greater. Although Mary would have been a little older than Elizabeth was when she lost her own mother to the executioner’s sword, perhaps Mary’s bereft state would have touched Elizabeth’s sympathies. A younger child would also allow the attachment between them to have been stronger, more like a mother/daughter relationship.
Mary’s rise in position occurred as it appears in the novel and she did become one of the queen’s favorites; she exercised a great deal of power and persuasion, especially in the queen’s later years. She was rewarded handsomely for her service, and the meticulous records she kept of Queen Elizabeth’s wardrobe have given us a thorough look into the clothing of the day (see Queen Elizabeth’s Wardrobe Unlock’d by Janet Arnold).
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