The Other Elizabeth: Royal Sagas: Tudors II

by Betty Younis

  His laugh was gentle.

  “I assure you, I am not prescient – I am simply familiar with his footfall, and I might add that you are not the first to use my hallway as an escape route from his ceaseless inquiries.”

  “If you know I am Michelangelo’s daughter, then you likely know why Cecil takes such a sudden interest in my lineage.”

  He bowed.

  “Indeed, I am familiar with your story and your family. Both the queen and your father have told me the details. Cecil, I must say, is late to the ball.”

  “’Tis one way of looking at it,” Bess agreed and pointed to the statue she had inspected only moments earlier.

  “My father, ’tis his work, you know? It is of my mother and me when we lived in Rome.”

  Dee nodded appreciatively.

  “It is how I recognized you – ’tis an excellent likeness. The fineness of the piece is quite astonishing. He sent it to me with directions to seek you out and give it to you. All things come right.”

  Bess continued to look around the room.

  “Michelangelo tells me you have quite a library – he states that he knew your great grandfather who collected obsessively.”

  Bess laughed, remembering the tales she had heard about Thomas and his bibliophilic ways.

  “My betrothed would love this room,” she commented as she looked around, “For he too putters about a bit.”

  “He is here, is he not? Bring him.”

  “How did you know he was here?”

  “Ah, well, that was a bit of court gossip, child. No prescience there either.”

  They sat together in silence.

  “I must go to the queen,” Bess finally declared, “…for she needs me.”

  “She will survive, child, do not worry. And Bess…please visit again.”

  She bowed and was gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Elizabeth’s condition worsened but Bess refused to leave her side. Even the courtiers who had sworn fealty until their dying day – the very same who had stated loudly and prominently they would stay with their queen or die – had melted away. Bess watched through the window in Elizabeth’s room as empty carriages and rider-less horses appeared from the stable yards. They no sooner slowed to a stop than they were snatched from the servants by owners frantic to depart the pestilence they now found all about. Foreign emissaries from far-away courts rode to and fro upon the drive at breakneck speeds, and with each such arrival or departure the rumors rose and rose again until their pungent and bitter sounds became a palpable crescendo of gloom.

  Dark rumors filled the halls and courtyards. Whispered treason crept and crawled through the eerily empty passageways declaring that all was lost: The queen is dead: the queen is disfigured beyond recognition; she liveth not. A ground swell of panic rode upon the white horse of death and even Bess could not escape the sound of its thundering and ominous hoof beat. Would she live?

  Foreign ambassadors paid lavish court to Bess and the physicians, promising to fulfill their most ardent desires, their innermost wishes, if they would just pass information, even if only a tidbit, of news of the queen’s condition. They gathered and clutched, gossiped and speculated in their dark and velvet robes; the prayers they sent heavenward were not for Elizabeth’s recovery.

  Bess found herself more and more isolated with the queen. Food and drink were now left outside the door for as she worsened the fear of contagion spread. Quinn remained at court and Bess introduced him to John Dee, knowing that not only would Quinn find the man and his science irresistible, but also knowing that such isolation might help save him from the pox. She had initially found her job to be mainly one of distraction – she drew comical sketches of courtiers and ladies maids, gossiped mercilessly and endlessly, and played cards until she thought she could no more. But despite her constant attendance and Huicke’s ministrations, Elizabeth had worsened.

  On day four, her breath became shallow and her cough deeper – it seemed to rattle her very soul and Huicke took constant consultations with other physicians on the royal staff. Robert Dudley’s sister, Lady Mary, had not left court. She stayed behind to demonstrate loyalty on the part of her clan. But on this day, she too fell ill despite keeping her distance to the extent she had been able.

  “I am not well, today, Bess,” she said to her in the hall just outside Elizabeth’s door. “I believe I must lie down.” Thereupon she had fainted and had to be carried to her room. Shortly afterwards, Huicke confirmed that she, too, had succumbed to the dreaded disease. Elizabeth was too ill to notice, however, for late that afternoon she lost the power of speech. Bess was the first to observe the deterioration and tiptoed quietly from the room before running down the hall frantically. Huicke and a cadre of his fellow doctors came galloping and Cecil was called. That night, she sank into a coma. And as Bess lay on her cot beside the bed, Cecil awakened her, motioning her to follow him into the hall. Bess ignored him, refusing once again to be caught up in the schemes and machinations she knew must come if the queen perished.

  And then it happened: the miracle. On the seventh day, Elizabeth opened her eyes and spoke. John Dee and Bess sat on opposite sides of her bed, taking turns wiping her brow. They had been keeping vigil for hours, talking quietly back and forth about languages, now libraries and rare books, now Dee’s beloved alchemy.

  “Sir John,” Bess half-questioned and half-teased him quietly, “How is it that lead or other such minerals might be turned to gold? I fear sir that you are wasting your time.”

  Dee shook his head, smiling.

  “Child, you are misinformed. Alchemy is not just turning materials into gold – it is the changing of their base characteristics. Why, tell me this: have you ever boiled water?”

  Bess looked at him suspiciously while nodding.

  “Well, you have changed the water somehow, from its natural state to a state of steam. And if you capture the steam, you may change it back again! ’Tis alchemy in its most simple form.”

  “’Tis nonsense.”

  Dee and Bess were caught off guard.

  “Majesty?” Dee leaned towards her and wiped her brow.

  “You are an old magician, Dee, but you have a marvelous library so I forgive you. Now bring me some of that water you just spoke of.”

  Bess flew across the room, returning with a cup while Dee supported the queen’s back. She drank a sip and Bess adjusted her pillows.

  “Majesty, Majesty, thank God!” Bess exclaimed, almost too happy to speak.

  “I had to come back,” Elizabeth said mysteriously. “I was being called, but I heard the two of you jabbering and you would not hush with your nonsense. How could I consider heaven with such silliness in my ears?”

  She closed her eyes and squeezed Bess’ hand before nodding off.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The weeks of recovery were long and arduous. Bess had not realized her own fatigue until she caught a glimpse of herself one afternoon in the queen’s looking glass. Where had the young, fresh girl gone? Who was the sallow and wan woman who stared back at her? The woman whose eyes shone dully forth from circles of deep shadow, the woman who no longer showed signs of youth, but instead appeared as a survivor of some horrific event. Bess noted the grim lines which had set in about her mouth. When Constance had died, she had cried and sobbed unendingly. She had never faced death, and it had been difficult for her to comprehend the finality of the loss. She kept expecting Constance and Agnes to come through the door, or to call out to her from the library. Their deaths had marked yet another phase of her own maturation, that of the ability to accept death and move on, but such a revelation had not come easily. Some remarked on the coldness of Elizabeth’s tutor maid who does not shed tears. Was she made of her beloved stone? Only Dee and Quinn had quietly understood that before them stood a woman whose compassion and love burned steady and deep, far beyond the places where grief and sorrow might touch upon them.

  Bess turned and saw that Elizabeth had awakened and was
studying her. She motioned feebly for Bess to sit beside her on the bed.

  “You must go home,” Elizabeth said quietly. She clutched the ruby cross Bess had given her to see her through. “You have saved me, and now you must rest and regain your own strength.”

  “Maybe later, Majesty.” Bess plumped her pillows. “For if I go now, who will report to you about the traffic on the drive? And more importantly, who will give proper interpretation of your court’s excuses for having deserted you and Hampton Court?”

  Elizabeth smiled and played with the silken tassels at the end of the drawstring on her nightshirt.

  “Go.” It was simple yet commanding. “When I am sufficiently recovered, I will come to Coudenoure.”

  The queen would brook no refusal. Cecil entered with a knock and eyed Bess coldly. He had not been able to break down the wall of silence masking her heritage and he was unaccustomed to such failure, particularly in light of her being a mere maid. He was certain the connection between Elizabeth and the girl was familial, but without her assistance, he realized he could get nowhere. In true Cecil fashion, he had determined that bearing a grudge against the young woman would be an unprofitable waste of energy, and he now forced a kind smile in her direction. Bess in turn curtsied and left the room.

  Two days later, when the sky was gray and a light drizzle fell, Bess found herself seated upon the solid wooden plank which served as a seat on the ancient wain sent from Coudenoure to fetch her. Norman, the stableman, had blocked traffic on the great drive of Hampton Court as he and his team of oxen slowly made their way to the main gate and then beyond to the front door. His look of complete disregard for the carriages and horses behind him was matched only by the serene plodding of his oxen. The entire ensemble was oblivious to all shouting and cursing pitched in their direction, and all else too save for the purpose for which they had been sent: they were to pick up the mistress and bring her home. And no one was going to get in their way or hurry them along.

  Bess looked up and saw Elizabeth watching them from the window. In a moment of sympathy and solidarity, Bess raised her hand, fingers outstretched, towards the window. After a moment, Elizabeth placed hers on the pane and left it there as she watched the wagon slowly make its way against the steady flow of traffic and disappear through the gate.

  *****

  Bess slept for days. Prudence kept a watch over her, and fairly screamed each time someone suggested she be awakened. She made her special breads, broths and meats and allowed no one to disturb her while she recovered. It was precisely what Bess needed, for nursing Elizabeth in the face of the pox had sapped her strength. The atmosphere at court had proven nearly toxic to her well-being, and as she lay abed at Coudenoure watching the snow fall outside her window, she vowed she would find ways to avoid any attendance at court in the future. The movement from one palace to another, the constant threats and innuendos, the smallpox, all of it had left Bess feeling almost disoriented – it took Coudenoure and its silent peace to restore her equilibrium.

  Winter came on, and as the Yuletide approached, Bess began to feel restored and refreshed. She commanded that great wreaths and bows of whatever greenery the season offered to be draped and displayed about the manor. Bees wax candles were ordered to replace the usual tallow, and Prudence directed their placement so that even the darkest corners of the ancient abode were gaily lit. Quinn had returned to Tyche but spent his days at Coudenoure wandering happily about its halls and yards and eating Prudence’s sweetcakes and plum jams. Comments about his waistline were met with silent, reproachful looks directed towards the speaker. And then followed up with more sweetcakes and jams. There was a general feeling of lightheartedness in the air, a sense of joy that Bess had not felt since she left Coudenoure for court. Even John Dee, now a frequent visitor, commented upon the atmosphere on one of his many stops at the small estate. They sat drinking tea in the library.

  “I must say, you have created a wonderful place here – it seems outside of time, somehow, and beyond sadness.”

  Bess smiled happily, for that was her sense too. Prudence appeared with more cakes and fruit and sat with them in the festive air. Quinn could be heard galloping up the drive.

  “’Tis what I need Sir John, to be creative. I will be returning to my studio work soon, once I have my strength back.”

  He nodded appreciatively, and noted the prominent placement of the mother and daughter sculpture he had given her months earlier at court.

  “Just focus on your languages, my lady,” Prudence’s voice was stern. “You must stay in and not exert yourself. Why not translate some heathen Italian text into our own God-given English? Eh? Your mother loved such pastimes and I have heard many say your Italian is better than even the Italian ambassador’s at court.”

  The mention of her abilities in Italian stirred a memory.

  “Not everyone thinks my Italian is so fluent, Prudence. Just before our Majesty became ill, two foreigners who did not know I spoke French disparaged it in front me!”

  “They were nits – like all Frenchman,” came Prudence’s calm reply.

  Bess reached for another scone and carefully place a fig atop it.

  “I do not know, for they spoke in ciphers about the north and the Pope’s blessing. And the Yule season – they said it all in light of some Yule celebration perhaps – something to do with the first moon. Indeed, I heard another conversation in that same vein which I was not intended to be privy to as well.”

  She popped the scone, fig and all, in her mouth and chewed happily as she looked at them. But their reaction was not what she had anticipated. Dee put his plate down and looked at her with a seriousness she had never seen in him. Prudence did the same.

  “Bess, what have you heard?” Prudence asked gently.

  Bess became alarmed but before she could speak Quinn strode in.

  “Good day, ’tis a good day!” he said, reaching for the tea and a plate. Dee waved him silent.

  “Child, what have you heard?”

  Bess slowly and methodically related the two conversations she had overheard at court. As she did so, she realized she had been a fool. She began pacing frantically before the fire.

  “God in heaven – I was distracted by the small pox entirely, and never thought of what I heard. ’Tis about the witch of the north, Mary, is it not?”

  She called out to a servant to saddle her horse and resisted Prudence’s attempts to calm her.

  “No, no, you do not understand – it must have to do with our sovereign’s very life. She survives small pox only to fall to an assassin’s blade? Dear God, help me, help me!”

  Finally, Dee spoke loudly and authoritatively.

  “Bess! Compose yourself! You will not help our queen by panicking, nor will we be able to formulate a plan!”

  Quinn spoke quietly.

  “My love, can you identify the men who spoke?”

  “The second conversation, the one about the Pope’s blessing, yes, I can.”

  Prudence and Dee conferred quickly in the corner. The atmosphere, so festive only moments earlier, was now filled with alarm. The warm light of the candles became a garish river of foreboding as the four of them conversed. A quick, mutual nodding of heads signified an agreed upon course.

  “Quinn, you will ride at once to Cecil – he is at his estate in Stamford. Do not stop for anyone and do not deliver your message to anyone save him. Can you find him? “

  Quinn nodded and was gone.

  “Bess, you must ride too, child. Elizabeth is at Whitehall and she must be warned.”

  He paced before the great hearth.

  “I will ride to Dudley – he will be able to help Cecil call the realm to arms.”

  Quinn in his haste had not bothered to close the great wych elm doors of the front of the manor. They heard the cling and clatter of bits and horses brought up by the servants at Quinn’s command. Prudence ran from the room only to return momentarily with blankets and cloaks. As they moved en masse to the
doors of the estate, Bess turned quietly to her.

  “This is my fault. ’Tis all my doing – if only I had not been distracted by the noise and constant buzzing of the palace. ’Tis my fault!”

  Prudence hugged her, and then spoke the words which would see her through the long night ahead.

  “Look at me, Bess. ’Tis no matter in heaven whose fault it is. And ’tis no coincidence that God has brought us to this point. Coudenoure stands with our queen. Now get over yourself and your emotions and ride, child, ride, for our very kingdom depends upon it!”

  Bess mounted rapidly, dug her heels into her mount’s side and disappeared down the drive. Following close behind was Dee. Prudence stood in the cold, snowy air, and as always, said her prayers. But this time, they were accompanied by orders to the servants.

  “You! Collect everyone on the estate, for we must prepare should we be called upon to defend ourselves.”

  She moved to the hearth, and lifted Thomas’ heavy sword from over the mantel. Once again, she thought grimly, once again.

  *****

  She rode blindly, holding tightly to the pommel of the great steed. She used first the medieval paths and wagon roads and then joined the proper London Route which ran past Greenwich Palace.

  Her horse knew the way well, and as she rode her thoughts too raced frantically, trying desperately to latch onto some plan or scheme which might have some chance of success. But there seemed to be no good way to protect the queen for she had no certain knowledge of who was involved in the plot or where they might intend to strike.

  The Greenwich Road was deserted save for the odd scattering of old vendors and their older yet carts and oxen bedded down for the night on the sides of the road. Lack of a certain plan was producing a panic had just begun to envelope her when suddenly a mad galloping destrier passed her headed in the opposite direction. Bess slowed, willing her thoughts to do the same. As she did so, yet another man girded in armour swept past. What was this? Before she could think, a full contingent of armoured and heavily armed men swept towards her through the darkness. From within their midst a shout could be heard and the party halted uneasily. A white stallion appeared. Elizabeth rode upon it. Bess suddenly knew what she must do.