Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (21 page)

“Your Majesty,” he said, doffing his cap and bowing low.

“Oh, Oxford. We are glad to see you looking so well,” said the queen, indicating for him kneel at her side.

“I hope you have good news for me,” said Oxford, smiling up at her.

“I have seen your holdings are increasing. You have had a prosperous year,” said the queen.

Oxford smiled, then shook his head.

“That was not exactly the good news I was hoping for—I meant news of a more personal nature…” said Oxford.

The queen watched as the color rose up his neck to his face. She regretted what she was about to do.

“Love is a funny thing, my lord. It cannot be commanded; it cannot be controlled. I realize you are of an age to take a wife and I have given this matter a great deal of consideration,” said the queen.

“I thank Your Majesty for taking the time to consider my proposal,” said Oxford quietly.

“I fear I must disappoint you—Mistress Mary Shelton cannot be your wife,” said the queen.

“But, Your Grace, why? Who better to raise her up than myself? I am an
earl,
” he said.

“Yes, yes, I know full well what you are, my dear fellow. But it does not suit us to give our Mary away at this time,” said the queen.

“I would be willing to wait—she is but sixteen. I could easily wait until she is eighteen or whatever age Your Majesty chooses. I—” Oxford said.

“No, no. She is not for you. I see I shall be forced to speak plainly—she has expressed no interest in the match. She has turned you down. I am very sorry,” said the queen.

Oxford blanched, but stayed rooted to the spot. The queen realized he wanted to leave, to hide his shame from her—no man wants an audience for his heartbreak.

“We do, however, have some good news to give you, sir,” said the queen in her official voice.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Oxford.

“We have found a very fine match for you—we have already spoken to the girl’s father and he is agreeable. This match will increase your wealth and your prestige,” said the queen.

“That sounds promising. And who is this paragon of virtue you plan to toss my way?” said Oxford.

“Do not get peevish, my lord. We are giving you Mistress Anne Cecil, daughter of my dearest friend. And this, sir, is not a request but a command,” said the queen when she saw a flash of disgust flit across his features.

Oxford did not respond. Then, somehow resolved, he wiped his hand across his face. He bowed his head.

“As Your Majesty commands,” he said.

Twenty-five

January 1571

The fires blazed at Richmond Palace as the icy winds blew outside. Mary sat in the queen’s Privy Chamber, a warm quilt across her knees, the flames throwing out heat and light. The fire felt good on her feet and legs. She looked across the hearth at her friend Mistress Eleanor and smiled. They had the early afternoon to themselves as the queen was busy with Cecil and the other members of the council.

“How go the plans for the wedding?” Mary said.

Mistress Eleanor looked up from her work, an impish grin on her face.

“My father has raised the dowry and we shall be wed at Eastertime. The queen has given her blessing,” said Mistress Eleanor.

“Did she put up a fuss?” said Mary.

“Well, when my father asked her, she made that little ‘pup’ sound she makes when she is not particularly pleased. But then she smiled at him and granted permission. They say she usually does so after a brief time of prating against marriage in general. But, her mood is good these days. I think it is because she is engaged in negotiations for marriage with the French duke,” said Mistress Eleanor.

Though the Duke of Anjou had not acquiesced to any of the queen’s demands yet, negotiations continued. Elizabeth had made so many demands, no one expected him to agree to them. By asking for the impossible, it would then be easy for Elizabeth to blame Anjou if things did not work out. She would seem to be
trying
to marry, yet marriage itself would be avoided once again.

“I do not think she will ever marry,” said Mistress Eleanor.

“She loves to be wooed, that much is certain. And, for six months, she has had little to plague her—no uprisings, no attacks on her lands—she has been making merry with Lord Robert and the new man, Hatton. She likes
him
well enough,” said Mary, her needle working in and out quickly. She was stitching gold thread around the edge of a handkerchief and it was easy work.

“They say it is his dancing! Lord Robert told her he could find a dance master who did a jig as well as Hatton. And she replied, ‘I will not see your man—it is his
trade
!’ Everyone laughed but not Lord Robert. He stomped away and danced the next three dances with Lady Douglass,” said Mistress Eleanor.

“I am sorry to have missed such a show. But my duties as Keeper of the Queen's Clothes have kept me quite busier than usual. And, I have not enjoyed dancing as I once did,” said Mary.

“You mean you are afraid to be around the courtiers after you refused Oxford. And now that he continues to besmirch your good name, you hide in the queen’s apartments. I wish you would come out of your shell and show him you care not a fig for his slander. Hold your head high and ignore him,” said Mistress Eleanor.

“I shall one day soon—I will not have a choice. The queen has noticed how I absent myself from her evening activities. She has told me I must appear soon,” said Mary.

“How does your Sir John?” said Mistress Eleanor, pulling her thread to her mouth and biting off the end.

“He is handsome, as always—courteous and kind. He does not mind forgoing the pleasures of the evening. He says he is happier to walk in the garden with me or sing while I play the lute. Nora, I think I cannot be more in love,” whispered Mary.

“Perhaps you should set your eyes on someone else. He has so many marks against him—the queen is not likely to promote the match of her favorite ward with a Catholic, and a poor Catholic at that,” said Mistress Eleanor.

“I do not care about his wealth or lack thereof. He has a fine house and five sweet children. And he loves me! Surely these things count for something,” said Mary.

The sounds of a goodly sized crowd moving toward the Privy Chamber caused the ladies to put aside their sewing and come to their feet.

“Make way for the Queen’s Majesty! Make way!” said a Yeoman of the Guard. He stood at attention as the queen swept into the room, followed by some of her ladies and courtiers.

“Ah, Fawn, I am glad to have found you. Come here, child. And you, too, Master Cecil. I have decided, here at the year’s beginning, to honor my two faithful servants. Mistress Mary Shelton, you are now a chamberer of the Queen’s Bedchamber and shall, henceforth, be paid twenty pounds by the year,” said the queen as she handed Mary a bag of gold and allowed her to rise from the curtsy she had immediately dropped when the queen entered the room.

“And now, Master William Cecil, it is with great pleasure that I hereby create you Baron of Burghley. Of course, a proper ceremony will follow, dear Spirit, in a fortnight, but I wanted to tell you now, in front of these do-nothings, so they would hold you in even higher esteem,” said the queen, chucking him under the chin. “Now, off to celebrate my faithful servants and their good fortune. I wish to frolic in the snow—perhaps we shall make a snow queen and snow courtiers! Come all—to the gardens!” said the queen.

“Mary, this is wonderful! You shall be rich! Now you can buy all the silks and satins you want—and pay your gambling debts!” said Mistress Eleanor as they gathered their gloves and cloaks.

“I am plumb amazed! I had no idea the queen was going to do such! I cannot think clear,” said Mary, tying her cloak around her neck and pulling up the hood.

They followed the courtiers and the queen out of doors where a cold wind blew. Already, Master Nicholas had made the beginnings of a snow queen. Others began to carve and create their own statues out of snow. Mary spied Oxford with a couple of his friends, Pakington and Norfolk. She watched as they laughed, piled on snow, then laughed once again. Sir John Skydemore was walking toward the group from another direction. He smiled at Mary and waved.

“What goes on here?” he said.

“Have you heard? The queen has made Mary a Lady of the Bedchamber at twenty pounds a year! It is marvelous news!” said Mistress Eleanor, scraping together a small ball of snow.

“Can this be true?” said Sir John.

“Yes! I am clean amazed! She made Master Cecil the Baron of Burghley! And now, she commands we are to play in the snow! Come, John, what shall we make?” said Mary.

“I know—let’s create a statue of
Tom,
your dog. He should not be too difficult. We can portray him lying down as he does by the fire,” said Sir John.

“Let us begin,” said Mary, tossing a snowball at his shoulder. He scooped up some snow and threw it back at her. Soon, he, Mary, and Mistress Eleanor were battling with snowballs over their patch of ground while the others worked steadily on their sculptures.

“I surrender, Mary,” said Sir John, grabbing her arm, which was ready to fling another snowball at him. He put his arm around her waist and swung her off the ground. He whispered, “I shall always surrender to you, dearest,” as he put her back on the slippery snow.

Mary felt warmth within her and a tingling in her womanly parts. Such feelings had become more and more frequent. It seemed every time she was around Sir John, she could barely contain the urge to fling her arms around him.

The afternoon wore on as the ladies and gentlemen piled snow atop snow. Cheeks were ruddy, and though most of the women wore gloves, their fingers were stiff with cold. Finally, as the pale sun hung low on the horizon, almost everyone had finished his creations. The queen clapped her hands together.

“Now, we shall judge! Each group will tell us what the likeness should be and we shall judge if it be fair or not,” said the queen.

She pointed first to her own statue, which resembled Lord Robert but the legs looked remarkably like those of a hind. “It is Sir Christopher Hatton dancing la Volta!” she said. Everyone laughed.

“It looks more like Sweet Robin with a broken leg,” said Oxford, slapping his hands together for warmth and chuckling.

“I daresay your own legs resemble those of a banty hen,” said Lord Robert, aiming a snowball at Oxford. He ducked and the queen clapped for order.

“What have you there, you lusty young men? Is it a likeness of your queen?” said Her Majesty, trying to see what lay behind Oxford, Norfolk, and Pakington, who stood in a line blocking the view of their creation.

“No, Your Majesty. We call it ‘Mary’s pretty duckies,’” shouted Oxford as the men stepped aside to show a nude woman from the waist up with no head. Just breasts, correct in every detail, lovingly carved.

“Of which Mary do you speak? The Virgin?” said the queen.

“I shall not say which Mary I have modeled this great art work upon—I should not wish to cause her shame,” said Oxford, staring directly at Mistress Mary Shelton.

Mary felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She looked at the snow in clumps at her feet.

“Do you dare to mock our dearest Fawn, Oxford? If that is your aim, I shall clap you in irons at this instant,” said the queen. Her Majesty noted Mary’s distressed looks and stared at Oxford.

Sir John looked at Mary, saw her discomfort, and put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“No, madam, forgive me. I misspoke—for this is ‘Merry Christmas!’ the happiest of wenches!” said Oxford, trying to appease the queen.

Sir John pulled his sword from its sheath and marched to where Oxford stood.

“You said you will not insult the lady by giving her name. Now you say it is but ‘Merry’ Christmas. Still, you stare at Mistress Shelton. The insult is clear. I will not abide your rude jests! Defend yourself if you be a man!” said Sir John.

The queen gave Lord Robert a quick glance and he strode to stand between the two men. Oxford had not reached for his own sword, but his face had gone pale.

“Sir John, you know it is against the law to draw your sword in the queen’s court. Put it away at once,” said Lord Robert.

“I shall be happy to return my blade to its sheath once this cur has apologized to my lady and to the queen,” said Sir John, standing his ground, his sword still pointing at Oxford’s heart.

No one moved. No one spoke.

“God’s blessed bones, gentlemen! Your queen commands a truce,” said Her Majesty. “If Oxford is to be punished for his impudence,
we
shall have that pleasure, not you, Sir John.”

Oxford stepped forward and bowed to Mary.

“Mistress Shelton, I am sorry if I have offended you. This was by no means meant to represent you,” he said, his voice unsteady. Then he turned to the queen and, in a grand gesture, bowed with a great flourish.

There was a loud noise.

Unbelievably, the earl had broken wind as he bent, touching his cap to the ground. Mary watched in amazement as his face turned from pale to deep red. The entire crowd had gone silent with shock. The queen’s face was inscrutable and Lord Robert covered his laugh with a cough. Oxford didn’t move at first. Silence hung in the air.

Finally, Oxford mumbled something indiscernible and then, without waiting to be dismissed, he hurried away from the queen and the courtiers. No one knew quite what to do. The queen, her face a mask of seriousness, clapped her hands again.

“By the feet of Jesus, I always said Oxford was full of hot air!” said the queen, suddenly laughing. Everyone joined in the merriment, relieved. Then the queen turned to Mary and smiled.

“I see Mistress Shelton and her companions have created a fine likeness of her dog. Ah yes, quite a good likeness,” said the queen.

Mary watched as the queen caught Lord Robert’s eye and they both began to laugh. Soon, everyone was snickering and giggling again.

As the crowd evaluated the other carvings, Mary put her hand on Sir John’s arm.

“Thank you for defending me, John. Oxford has been given his way with his bold talk—because he is highborn, he thinks he can say or do anything,” said Mary. She had seen the look in Sir John’s eyes when he faced Oxford, a look that had been frightening, yet oddly arousing. She felt her blood rushing through her body. She realized he had been ready to fight, maybe even die for her honor. He was a man of strong character. She wanted him to take her in his arms, kiss her deeply, and move his hands across her body as Oxford had done.