“Do you dream of the jester again?” the lady crooned. “Hush, now.”
“Water, please,” Elizabeth begged weakly. Her throat felt parched.
Widening her eyes with delighted surprise, the lady stopped her ministrations. “Why, Elizabeth, you truly are awake! Thanks be to the good Lord!” Quickly she poured a cupful from the silver pitcher on the bedside candle stand. Gently she supported Elizabeth, who sipped the cold water gratefully. “For a moment, I thought you were having another dream.”
Feeling weak, Elizabeth rejoiced that her fever was gone. “Tell me…”she began.
The young woman laughed pleasantly. “In due time. Let me send for something to eat, then I shall talk so much that you will hold your ears and plead leave to sleep again. In good faith, Elizabeth, I am glad you are better.”
Opening the door a crack, the lady spoke to someone unseen, then she returned to the bedside. “I am Lady Anne Bacon, one of the Queen’s handmaids. I have been with you these last three days.”
“Three?” Her mind reeling, Elizabeth signed for more water.
Lady Anne held the cup to her lips. “Aye, my dearest dear. For a time we feared we would lose you entirely. But that young doctor of yours, Philip—so handsome, that one!—he refused to believe Dr. Dee. Imagine! The Queen’s own physician! And here this young man, not even out of university, told our good Dr. Dee—in no uncertain terms, mind you!—exactly how outdated his medical practices were! Oh, my dear! What a blow to the great man’s vanity! As you can see, your Philip Robinson was right!”
“Philip? Is he here?” Dimly the memories of their hellish journey flowed back to her.
“Bless you, no! As soon as he had done as much as he could for you, he jumped on his horse and raced pell-mell back to Oxford. It seems he had been tardy from his books and feared expulsion.”
“Tarleton?” Elizabeth cast her chatty nurse a beseeching look. “Is he well?”
“The jester?” Lady Anne laughed merrily. “Aye, you called for him often enough in your fever. His antics must have pleased you well.”
“Then he is safe!” Elizabeth thought her heart would burst from happiness. At least, her ordeal had been worth it.
“Safe? Why, I should hope so! Only last night, he set the whole court to merriment by pouring a full jug of Rhenish wine over some poor lord’s brand-new doublet. The Queen wept with mirth. ‘Tis good to see her merry, now that Tarleton has returned. Even that old sourpuss, Sir Francis Walsingham, laughed upon that occasion! And what could the drenched victim do, but smile? Forsooth, Elizabeth, if looks could kill, Tarleton would have died on the very spot!” Lady Anne erupted into gales of laughter.
Elizabeth’s lips curved in a weak smile. “Whose doublet was so ruined?” she asked.
Lady Anne shook her hands in frustration. “Oh, dear! I am trying to remember his name. ‘Twas some preening popinjay. Terribly fat, though he fancies he cuts a fine figure! In sooth, he has no wit about him at all.”
“Sir Robert La Faye?” Elizabeth ventured with a chill in her heart.
“Aye! The very name! You know of this lord?”
Elizabeth shuddered. “I was betrothed to him—once.” Good for Tarleton! How she would have enjoyed to see Sir Robert’s face and the expensive, dripping doublet!
“Betrothed? Poor you!” Lady Anne shook her head, then giggled. “‘Twas a most marvelous jest!”
“When can I see Tarleton?” Elizabeth longed to feel his strong arms around her again; to see that wonderful imp’s expression creep into his brown eyes; to hear his soothing voice caress her name softly; to feel his kisses on her hungry mouth. “Please tell him to come to me with all speed!”
“The jester?” Lady Anne looked puzzled. “Nay, you are not strong enough for such lively entertainment. By and by, you will be down in the Hall with the Court and you can laugh at him then.”
“But I want to see him now!” Elizabeth’s lower lip began to tremble.
Lady Anne patted her arm. “Oh, sweet Elizabeth, be of good cheer! You must rest first. Now that Tarleton has returned from his summer wandering over hill and dale, the Queen cannot bear to have him out of her sight. She says she is sick of sad-faced men, and she craves his merriment.”
“Has…has he asked after me?” Elizabeth prayed he had visited her.
Lady Anne regarded her patient with open surprise. “Asked for you? Why on earth? Nay! ‘Twould be unseemly to allow a common player in your bedchamber. The only men the Queen has permitted to see you are Dr. Dee, and, of course, the delightful Dr. Robinson. Such a man! Oh, my!” It was obvious that the Lady Anne was much taken with Elizabeth’s makeshift physician.
“And Sir Robert La Faye?” Elizabeth could barely speak the man’s name. Just thinking of him made her teeth ache. “Did he ask after me?”
Cocking her head, Lady Anne thought for a moment. “I believe he did—once. He wanted to know if you would live. When I told him aye, he just grunted—such a pig!—and went on his way, without so much as a message of cheer. In sooth, he looks the very swine, as well!”
Elizabeth felt empty inside. After that hellish ride she made for him, had Tarleton so quickly forgotten her? Turning her head away, Elizabeth swallowed back a tear.
Lady Anne spied her troubled look. “Forgive me, dear. I’ve tired you out. I warned you I would talk your ear off.”
Elizabeth mustered a smile. “I am deeply grateful to you for your kind patience. I will be glad to hear as much of your chat as you wish, for I have been in rough company of late.”
“Aye, so your Dr. Robinson told us.”
“Philip?” Elizabeth blushed. “What else did he say?” She prayed Philip had been discreet in his tale-telling.
Lady Anne rolled her eyes. “Alackaday! He didn’t say much. Imagine our surprise to see you with your hair cut so short and you dressed in a poor boy’s clothes!”
“Oh!” Elizabeth remembered young Smith and Ned of Addison Hall. “I borrowed clothing from two poor boys, and I promised them new things.”
Lady Anne clapped her hands. “And so you shall! Oh, what fun it will be to order a wonderful new wardrobe for them—and for you, as well! Outside of that shift you are wearing, you’ve not a stitch to your name.”
Elizabeth experienced a sinking sensation. “What happened to my things?”
“By the stars, Elizabeth! You couldn’t possibly have wanted those smelly clothes! Lady Mary Sidney ordered everything burned, even the shoes.”
Elizabeth almost sobbed. Was there nothing left to remind her of her few short days of freedom—and of love?
Lady Anne clapped her hand to her brow. “Oh, my mind runs apace! There were some items in the pocket of the breeches. I saved them. Also, Philip left your purse with some shillings. He is such a nice, honest man—that Philip.” She sighed, smiling dreamily.
“Where are they?”
Elizabeth looked so stricken that Lady Anne thought it best to humor her, though she couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. She mustn’t excite Elizabeth any more than necessary; it might bring on her fever again. Opening the clothes chest, Lady Anne took out a small carved box, which she placed in Elizabeth’s outstretched hands.
“As you can see your money is safe and sound,” Lady Anne remarked.
Elizabeth didn’t care about her purse. In one hand she held her dear wooden comb, treasuring Tarleton’s thoughtful gift. In the other, she clutched the brass bell from his motley tunic. The only other items in the box were her faithful embroidery scissors, which lay primly in their case.
Elizabeth gazed at the bell with tears welling in her eyes. It was more precious than any gold to her. With a bittersweet tug to her heart, she remembered how she planned to sew it back on—but there had been no time. Lovingly she kissed the brass trinket.
Elizabeth tried not to condemn the jester. After all, Tarleton had been perfectly straightforward with her. Hadn’t he said plainly that he took his pleasures when and where he could? Why should Eliza
beth think she was going to be any different to him? In sooth, it was she who had seduced him, not the other way around. Elizabeth had only herself to blame for the fact that she had fallen in love with Tarleton. Now she was at Hampton Court, as he promised. Though he had obviously put her out of his mind, Elizabeth knew she would never forget the Queen’s royal fool, nor would she ever love another man.
A fortnight later, the Queen, together with her enormous retinue of three thousand souls, packed up their chests, state papers, household goods, hunting falcons, clothing, silver plate and other sundries. Down the great river Thames they sailed in overloaded barges to Her Majesty’s favorite palace at Greenwich. During these two weeks, Elizabeth saw no one except the servants, Lady Anne, Lady Mary and grumpy Dr. Dee. The Queen sent her goddaughter kind messages and tempting tidbits from the kitchens. Gallant Sir Walter Raleigh sent gillyflowers. Sir Robert La Faye sent a note saying that he was looking forward to their next meeting. Elizabeth hurled his curt missive into the fire accompanying it with a colorful oath, which much amused Lady Anne.
From Tarleton, there was nothing.
Though still very weak, Elizabeth looked forward to the trip to Greenwich. Dr. Dee made short work of Elizabeth’s pleasure by giving her a potion so that the invalid slept most of the way downriver, sheltered inside the curtained pavilion on one of the royal barges.
Just before the boat cast off from the water gate at Hampton Court, Tarleton leapt aboard. With a smug grin, he settled himself amidships between the oarsmen. As the barge followed the current to Greenwich, Tarleton entertained the courtiers and crew with a wide selection of songs and tunes played on his whistle. Though his music pleased all who heard it, for Tarleton there was only one special audience—the sleeping lady behind the drawn curtains. Lady Mary Sidney looked archly at the grinning jester.
“How now, Tarleton! I thought the Queen was most clear when she told you her pleasure concerning yon Lady Elizabeth.”
Tarleton flashed a beguiling smile. “Aye, she did, Lady Mary, and, as you are my witness, I obey Her Grace to every jot and tittle of her command.”
“Oh?” Lady Mary cocked her head. Tarleton was exceedingly charming when he chose. “Then why you are here, and not with the baggage, where you usually travel?”
Tarleton cocked his head in imitation of Lady Mary. “Her Grace commanded me not to see, or to speak to, my Lady Elizabeth. Tell me true, Lady Mary, have I set eyes on her?”
“Nay.” Lady Mary tried to keep a straight face.
“And have I spoken to her?”
“Nay, Tarleton.”
“I do not recall that the Queen mentioned anything about not singing or whistling for the lady, but perhaps my mind misgives. What say you, Lady Mary?” He smiled his most impish grin at her.
She giggled. “I say you are a rogue, Tarleton, but a clever one.”
Hours later, when Elizabeth awoke in her new apartments at Greenwich Palace, many of the songs that Tarleton had taught her danced through her mind.
The trees had not yet turned their riotous shades of red and gold when Elizabeth had slipped out of her father’s home and fled down the road to Hampton Court. Now, as she made a slow recovery, those selfsame leaves were gone and the bare, skeletal branches groaned in protest as the icy breath of the promised early winter blew through them. Though she was living amid one of the most glittering courts of Europe, Elizabeth found herself a virtual prisoner. By royal command, she was not allowed to stir outside her apartment, and she saw very few people. No one around Elizabeth would speak to her of Tarleton, nor would anyone take a message to him. The knowledge that Tarleton lived under the same large roof was almost more than she could bear at times. There was one blessing: so far, she had not been forced to see Sir Robert La Faye, whom she knew lurked about the Queen.
In the second week of October, Elizabeth’s French maid, Charlotte, finally arrived with her mistress’s wardrobe from Esmond Manor. The faithful retainer had taken over a month to pack up Elizabeth’s extensive possessions, as well as her own, smaller ensemble, and to make the long journey to Greenwich south of London. Initially shocked to see how thin her young mistress was, Charlotte happily fell in with Lady Anne’s nursing.
“Mon Dieu! Your wrists hang out of your sleeve like…like those of a scarecrow!” The little maid shook her head as she made alterations to Elizabeth’s gowns. “You must eat more.”
“I try but, for once, I have no appetite.” Elizabeth sighed ruefully.
In fact, Elizabeth was having trouble keeping down the little food she did eat. Her unexpected attacks of nausea disturbed her. She planned to mention the matter the next time she saw Philiap. As her first doctor, he was the only outsider allowed to attend her. She much preferred Philip’s visits to those of Dr. John Dee. That doddering quack spoke in a high, reedy voice, and he had nothing but horrible things to say about Philip.
Getting dressed in her gowns proved very tiring for Elizabeth. During the past six weeks, she had forgotten how confining high fashion was. Charlotte’s prodding fingers stuffed her mistress into whalebone corsets, lacing them up tightly. The huge farthingale hoops, heavy stiffened stomachers, a half-dozen petticoats, and double padded sleeves further weighed her down.
“This is just too much, Charlotte!” Elizabeth gasped as her maid adjusted a wide lace ruff around her neck. “I can barely breathe!”
“Non, ma petite!” Charlotte soothed. “You have been so ill. Now you are getting better, and soon you will outshine all the ladies of fashion, oui?”
“Non!” Elizabeth fanned herself. “Please untie the laces. I’m going to faint!” With that, she crumpled to the floor in a heap of brocade and velvet.
“I had the pleasure of meeting Sir Francis Walsingham today,” Philip mentioned casually, when next he visited Elizabeth. Outside, the cold October rain drummed against the windowpanes.
“And how fares Sir Francis?” Elizabeth asked, having yet to meet the man she had heard so much about.
Lifting her double ruff, Philip inspected the scar tissue on her shoulder. “He suffers from stones in his gall bladder, caused from overwork, no doubt. We had a very interesting conversation. Ah! You have healed nicely,” observed Philip with a certain pride, “but ‘twill take much longer for your muscles to regain their former use. Please make a fist for me, my lady.”
“I’ve tried, Philip!” Elizabeth’s fingers of her left hand quivered as she tried to ball them together.
He looked at her with sympathy. “Does it pain you?” he asked quietly.
“It tingles, as if my arm has gone to sleep,” she answered, rubbing the affected area carefully.
Philip nodded. “That’s to be expected.”
“Dr. Dee suggests that I drink powdered rhinoceros horn in vinegar. He says ‘twill give me strength.” Elizabeth wrinkled her nose with distaste at the thought.
Philip snorted in derision. “Dr. Dee thinks he is God in a nightgown, and you’ll do no such thing, Lady Elizabeth. It doesn’t work, and ‘twill make you sick.”
“I already am,” Elizabeth told him quietly.
The medical student regarded her steadily. “When?” he asked softly.
“Nearly every day.”
“In the mornings?”
“Usually.” Elizabeth eyed him through her lashes.
“And how do you feel afterward?”
“Fine, though I still seem to tire easily.” Why was Philip looking at her so oddly?
Philip crossed to the window, staring out at the rainlashed garden. Then, he took a deep breath. “I must ask you something of a personal nature, my lady, and I beg you to answer me. I ask it as your doctor, not out of idle curiosity.”
“What is it?” Elizabeth felt a small stab of fear.
“Did you ever… lie with Tarleton? I mean, as a wife lies with her husband?” Philip did not look at Elizabeth, but, instead, he continued to stare at the last few blossoms on the rosebushes below.
“Aye,” Elizabeth confessed softly
. That golden afternoon under the greenwood trees burned in her memory. In a clearer voice she asked, “Does my admission shock you, Philip?”
Philip gazed at her, so fragile by the fireside, then he swore under his breath. Crossing to her side and kneeling before her, he took her hands in his.
“Nay. I know how much you loved him.” Philip gently placed one hand over her stiff beaded stomacher. “But you have got to stop wearing things like this, my lady. ‘Twill not bode well for the little one you carry.”
“Little one… ?” Elizabeth gasped, then blushed deeply, as the full impact of Philip’s words engulfed her. “Oh, Philip! Are you sure?”
“When did you last have your monthly courses?” he asked quietly.
Elizabeth chewed on her lip as her thoughts filtered back to the day she’d first met Tarleton. “I have always been a bit irregular,” she murmured. “I think ‘twas a week or two before my father died.”
Philip nodded. “Then I am sure,” he replied quietly. “You will have a sweet babe in early May.”
Elizabeth had half suspected her condition, but she tried to tell herself that it was not possible. She thought she was merely suffering the aftereffects of her fever. Now Philip confirmed her fears. Feeling light-headed, she gripped his arm for support. The vision of the thin, ragged peasant girl burying her bastard baby in a ditch swam before Elizabeth’s eyes. No! She’d never let that happen to her.
“You had no idea?” asked Philip gently.
Elizabeth could only shake her head mutely. Philip quickly poured a little wine into a cup.
“Drink this,” he said, as he removed the choking ruff from around her neck.
“Tell no one,” Elizabeth begged him.
“Not even Tarleton?” Philip cocked his eyebrow in surprise.
“Tarleton?” She shook her head. “Oh, Philip, he has forgotten me!”
She looked at the student with such sadness that Philip felt a knife twist in his stomach. “Nay, not so, sweet lady,” he said soothingly.
Tears stung behind her eyelids. “Not two days ago, I saw him just below my window in the garden, Philip. He was singing…” She bit her lip as she recalled the scene. “He was singing the Robin Hood duet with… Lady Catherine Germaine, one of the Queen’s maids. And when the song was over, he chased her about the rosebushes, saying that she owed him a… kiss for the song! I heard them plainly, even through the glass.” Elizabeth wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. She did not want Philip to see how deeply Tarleton’s betrayal had wounded her. “They were both laughing quite merrily, and never once did he look up to see me at my window.” Avoiding Philip’s searching eyes, she stared into the fire.
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