She was still standing on the dais, which gave her the inestimable advantage of standing head and shoulders above all of the men ranged before her. She looked down upon them all, her eyes glittering in her wrath. She was silent so long that the men began to shuffle their feet and clear their throats.
Finally Mary said, “Speaker Pollard, know you not that to speak of the sovereign’s death is treason? Fear you not the block, that you would think to address me such?”
Sir John blanched and swayed on his feet; Gardiner, who was standing next to him, actually reached out to break the man’s fall. He managed to remain upright, but was shaking so violently that he was glad of the support of Gardiner’s arm, upon which he leaned heavily.
Seeing this, Mary was suddenly ashamed; it was not her way to intimidate those about her. But she was dashed if she was going to let them know that, and the realization of it simply fueled her ire. She was a Tudor, after all, and what was bred in the bone was most certainly born in the flesh. Temper prevailed and suddenly she knew an urgent need to vent her wrath. She had long wanted to lash out at Gardiner, and had checked herself many a time in Council. But now the time had come.
She rounded on the Lord Chancellor. “And you, sir!” she said, her voice still gruff and dangerously low, almost a hiss. “How dare you put my Parliament up to such a thing as this?” Gardiner, lost for words, shook his head in denial, his mouth all a-tremble, but the queen continued on. “Think you that I know not who is behind this most irregular speech? Think you that because I am a woman that you shall take advantage of my sex to play me for a fool? I am my father’s daughter, sir, and you had best take heed of that! I will not tolerate any man’s interference with Parliament, which represents my people! You purport to know the people’s minds? I say, sir, that you know only your own, and seek to impose your opinions upon others! I know what lies behind your tampering with the voice of the people to chide your sovereign queen! Do you actually think to convince me, think you that I can be persuaded, to marry the Earl of Devon simply because you are fond of him, and befriended him whilst in prison yourself? Be careful, sir, that your wiles do not land you back from whence you came on the day of my entry into London!”
This speech reduced Gardiner to tears; both he and Sir John now leaned upon each other for support.
Mary then turned her angry gaze onto the entire assembly.
“I have,” she said, “committed to marry the Spanish prince, and no man will convince me to go back on my word once I have given it. For that reason alone I find your arguments against my decision not only irrelevant, but offensive. How dare you attempt to interfere in something so personal as whom I shall marry? I thank you very much for your concern,” she said with the utmost sarcasm, “but I find it right strange that the people, through the voice of the Parliament, would think to advise the queen of this realm as to her choice of husband! It is not customary, indeed, sirs, it is unheard of for Parliament to comment upon, let alone recommend, whom a sovereign ought to marry or ought not to marry; this behavior is not only inappropriate, but unprecedented. You would not have dared,” she hissed, “to speak thusly to my ‘august father’! I find your advice on the matter both unsuitable and disrespectful in the extreme.”
The men of the Parliament, Commons and Lords alike, were so stunned that further speech was impossible; they simply stared at the queen. It was not customary for the sovereign to address Parliament directly except for the most prescribed occasions; it was the people’s forum, not the monarch’s. Custom demanded that any response given to the Parliament was to be given on the sovereign’s behalf by the Lord Chancellor. But one look at Bishop Gardiner was enough to convince all present that no response would be forthcoming from him. He was still sniveling and leaning heavily upon the Speaker’s arm.
No one spoke; no one was quite sure what to do. The queen had taken the initiative to address them directly, and now they were uncertain as to whether or not they ought to turn and leave or if they should stay.
Mary sensed their confusion and took the opportunity to continue her tongue-lashing.
“You may all rest assured,” she said, her voice still brusque and derisive, “that I have the good of this kingdom as much in mind as you do yourselves. I am queen and owe none of you any explanation, but I will tell you this; my decision about whom to marry was guided by God, a higher authority than any of you! May I remind you that I am your anointed queen, chosen by God to rule this country and placed onto the throne by His hand through many miracles? That alone should be sufficient to satisfy you that what I have decided is best for England. You may trust me, gentlemen, to remember my coronation oath and to act according to it!”
Her chest was heaving in her vehemence; the thoughts formulated in her mind faster than she could speak them. Still no one said a word; she continued on.
“Think you to frighten me with rumors and talk of rebellion? I have faced such already and not so long ago! God tests and tries us all, but if our hearts are true and our consciences clear, then we have naught to fear! I trust that God has inspired me to wed Philip of Spain and to do my utmost to produce a legitimate heir for England. I trust in Him to keep me safe and my throne secure. I trow that He will do no less for England! I know what is on your minds, gentlemen all, and fear of the bogey of mailed Spanish armies is nothing more than a chimera that you have created to mask the other issues that plague your consciences. Think you that I know not what these are? I am very much aware of your petty rivalries,” and with this she fixed both Paget and Gardiner with a gimlet eye, “your religious differences, and your self-interest! I will not be governed by such, but by my own judgment, which you would do well to respect, if not because I am your queen, then because I am God’s anointed, chosen by Him to protect and defend His realm of England.”
In that moment she forgot that she had been raised to believe that women were inherently inferior to men…her own beloved mother had believed this…but she remembered well that her standard of a successful ruler was her father. Gazing out over the now cowed and intimidated Parliament, she could not help but think that far from hurting her authority with her outburst, that she had gained from these men a new respect.
Mary looked about her at the faces of the men; some were friends, some enemies, but all were her subjects, and well they should remember it. She had left them in no doubt of it with this day’s work! Her rage had spent itself, but deep in her heart she was still angry, because the joy that she had experienced on this day of days had been trampled upon by the hurtful speech she had endured and her own violent reaction to it. The moment of triumph and vindication, for herself and her mother, had come and gone and could never come again. And these men had ruined it for her.
She made no move as she thought these bitter thoughts, and the men stood before her transfixed.
And then Paget said, “Methinks, Bishop Gardiner, that you have lost your post of Lord Chancellor this day! The queen herself has usurped your role!”
For a moment no one spoke, and then suddenly everyone laughed at Paget’s sally and the tension was broken. All eyes then turned to her, and she had a choice; share in the jest and laugh, or not. The woman in her longed to tilt her chin and stride from the room without another word, but the queen knew better. Do that and perpetuate a situation already fraught with bad feelings; or laugh with them and put the whole episode behind her. The best she could manage was a smile, but it was enough.
Suddenly a wave of numbing weariness swept over her, and she sent up a silent prayer, not to God, but to her Spanish bridegroom. Oh, Philip, she thought; please come soon and help me; please come and share with me this tremendous burden of rule!
Ashridge Palace, November 1553
The sun streamed through the windows onto the long table where Elizabeth had laid out all the gloves upon which she had been working so hard since her arrival at Ashridge. She enjoyed sewing, and by the enthusiastic testament of others, her meticulous work was exquisite. The glover, of cou
rse, had made the gloves; Elizabeth had been spending her time applying the delicate embroideries to them that made them each unique, and a work of art.
The Christmas season would soon be upon them, and there was no time to waste. Anyone could purchase a golden cup, or commission a set of silver plate; her gifts were special because she made them with her own hands. But it was more than that; she had also created the intricate designs, each pair with its own distinctive pattern.
Elizabeth lifted the pair of gloves that was to be Mary’s and eyed them assessingly. The back of each glove was embroidered with a spray of flowers; marigolds, which were Mary’s signature flower, interspersed with forget-me-nots. The message was clear; Mary was queen, but Elizabeth was heir presumptive, and she expected her sister to remember it well. But perhaps that was too subtle for Mary, who had no guile.
The gloves, regardless of their message, were beautiful; they were made of white kid, as supple and as soft as butter, and the marigolds had been sewn with golden thread. The forget-me-nots were a delicate sky blue, and in the center of each was a tiny, iridescent seed pearl. As small as they were, the pearls absorbed and then reflected the light that fell upon them. That, along with the green of the leaves and the ivy that surrounded the whole, had such an effect that one might have mistaken the embroidered flowers for real ones.
Elizabeth laid Mary’s gloves aside and regarded the others. Almost every flower of the spring and summer garden was represented by the whole. Satisfied, she began to gather them up when a barely perceptible knock sounded upon the door.
She turned to see Kat Ashley, her lady governess, standing there. She eyed her quizzically; Kat bobbed a curtsey and said, “My lady, the surveyor is here and asking to speak with you.”
Elizabeth thought quickly. “Has his horse yet been stabled?”
“Nay, my lady, he has only just arrived, and has not dismounted. I trow he has it in mind to show Your Grace the results of his recent assay.”
“Run, Kat, and bid a groom bring my mare.”
“Sir William stays in the courtyard, Madam, leading your mare,” said Kat.
Clever Cecil! thought Elizabeth. They had great matters to discuss; such things that could not be spoken of where other ears might hear, not even friendly ones. The risk was simply too great. What was more natural, then, than that her Surveyor of Estates should wish to ride her acres with her and talk of that which needed to be seen to, all of which would need her consent? Still, for form’s sake, an escort of some sort was required.
“Tell Parry to mount up as well, and to follow us at a distance.”
Kat bobbed again and replied, “Yes, my lady.”
Elizabeth loved her loyal servants, and trusted them, but she feared that not being as clever as herself, they might unknowingly betray that which must be kept secret, at least for now. The experience that she had gone through all those years ago with Thomas Seymour had taught her that great caution was needed. She had learnt that one must never let one’s guard down; not for a single instant.
The day was fine and as she emerged from the archway into the courtyard, she felt a sudden rush of exhilaration. To ride abroad on such a day suited her very well.
“Good Sir William!” she said jovially to Cecil. “You must have read my very mind. Come, we have much to discuss.” Sir William made to descend from his mount; it was not meet to greet the heir to the throne of England from the back of a horse. But Elizabeth forestalled him and said, “Nay, good sir, please do not dismount, that will only delay my pleasure.”
Cecil nodded and said, “As you wish, my lady.”
The dew was still wet on the fields as Elizabeth set off at a trot and before long she was galloping headlong over the downland toward the forest. The dewdrops threw a million diamonds into the sunlight as they were scattered under her horse’s thundering hooves. Only at the forest edge did she pull up.
Cecil had no fear of horses, but he was a careful rider, and although he had managed to put some distance between himself and Master Parry, it still took him a few minutes to catch up to Elizabeth.
When he was within earshot Elizabeth shouted, “Sir William! Have you ever seen these woods alive with bluebells in the spring?”
Sir William approached the edge of the forest where Elizabeth awaited him and replied, “Indeed, my lady, I have, and what a sight it is.”
Elizabeth laughed to herself; the gloves came to mind again, and she spared a thought for how cleverly she had chosen the flowers for her cousin Margaret’s gift. She had intertwined the daisy that was Margaret’s signature flower with the thistles that were the emblem of Scotland; the thistles were not only apropos in that manner, but the prickly symbol of Scotland was also most appropriate to her cousin’s personality. The bluebells that had started her thinking about the gloves again were among her favorites, and it was those that she had sewn onto Kat’s gloves.
Cecil waited patiently whilst Elizabeth thought her thoughts, her red-gold hair lifted by the breeze. He had the greatest respect for this younger daughter of Henry VIII; she had a brilliant mind. Sir William Cecil came from a long line of royal servants; his father and grandfather had served hers, and he had served Henry VIII as a Page of the Robes as a youth and then had held various posts under the Lord Protector, Northumberland and Edward VI. He had worked behind the scenes to ensure Mary’s accession, but had refused a post at her court; he was a Reformist and deemed it prudent to plead ill health to avoid the dangers of serving a Catholic monarch. He had decided instead to place himself as Elizabeth’s servant. She was seventeen years younger than Mary; Mary was old to be embarking upon marriage and motherhood. He might be wrong, but there was every chance that Elizabeth might someday be queen, and he was content to cast his fortunes in with hers.
They walked their horses along the edge of the forest in companionable silence for a while. That was one of the things that Cecil most admired and appreciated about Elizabeth; she was not wont to chatter incessantly about trifles, as some females felt compelled to do.
It was very fine for November, but Cecil’s knees ached, and that was not a good sign. Whenever his knees ached before Christmas instead of after, it usually meant that they were in for a spell of bad weather. But today the breeze blew from the south and it was warm for autumn; the sky was blue instead of white. The birds sang and except for the bleakness of the bare trees, the view was pleasant and it was good to be out of doors.
But he could put it off no longer. “My lady has heard of the acts that Parliament has passed?”
At first Elizabeth did not answer, but after a few moments she replied, “Yes, of course.” The Act of Restitution had made a strumpet of her mother, and had confirmed her own status as bastard. Her servants had done their best to shield her from the news, and for that she did not thank them; it was far better to operate from a position of knowledge rather than ignorance. But it still hurt.
While Elizabeth did not condone her brother’s actions in attempting to alter the lawful succession, it had cut her to the quick that Edward had passed over her as his heir to the throne in favor of her cousin Jane. She had always been his favorite sister and she had adhered most sedulously to the reformed faith. But their cousin Jane was indisputably legitimate and a much more zealous Protestant than herself. She could not help it, but she found it hard to be vehement about her religious beliefs. She was not certain why this should be so, she only knew that it was. She believed in God, she prayed earnestly, but she could not for the life of her see why the form of that belief should cause such trouble. But this she kept to herself.
“You must not let it upset you,” said Cecil. “It affects nothing.”
“I know,” Elizabeth replied. She did know what he meant; that was one of the things that she admired and appreciated about Sir William Cecil. He was without doubt a completely loyal royal servant, and could be depended upon to give her good advice, even advice that she did not wish to hear. Invaluable! And he never belabored a point; he simply said what
must be said and then was silent. What he meant by the Act of Restitution changing nothing was that regardless of it, she was still Heiress Presumptive to the throne of England, bastard or no. Had not her sister acceded to the throne whilst still a bastard by law? It had made no difference. But it still rankled.
“I am concerned for you,” he said.
Elizabeth turned to look at him and gave him her rare smile. “There is a veritable litany of reasons and causes why one might be concerned for me,” she said wryly. “Which of them is bothering you today?”
Despite himself, Sir William laughed. A good sense of humor was an invaluable asset, and Elizabeth possessed a rare wit. “Paget believes you to be intriguing with the French ambassador.”
Elizabeth snorted inelegantly. “I believe, Sir William, that an intrigue requires at least two participants. Noailles continually plagues me, and I have learnt some very interesting tidbits of gossip from him. But I assure you that he has acquired nothing from me, nor will he.”
Sir William knew the subtle difference between a lie and the ability to dissemble, but many did not, and therein lay the cause for the talk that Elizabeth was in league with the French. She viewed it as her duty to learn all she could about England’s ancient enemy, but not in order to place herself on the throne with their help; he knew this, and so did she. Elizabeth would have had little to gain and much to lose from such a ploy. But others took at face value the fact that Noailles communicated with Elizabeth. That was because they did not know her as he did. He would have bet his last groat that not a single word that passed between them had been committed to paper; nor would he insult her by asking.
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