Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (32 page)

John returned her kiss and they continued their lovemaking, freed beneath the warming sun as they had not been before. She knew before he even touched her private places that they were going to join again as one. For a brief moment, she wondered if they were testing fate by taking another chance. But then he was inside her and she thought of nothing but how she felt, the way they moved together, his mouth on her neck, her earlobes, moving slowly to nibble at her breasts. He untied the top of her smock and pulled the material aside so he could kiss her everywhere. She felt the still-new sensations pulsing deep in her belly, radiating out, the pleasure rippling through her body the way lake water ripples when you toss a stone into the center. She could not stop the sounds tearing from her throat, animal sounds, fierce and guttural. She heard him sigh and then felt his whole body shudder. He collapsed on top of her, still breathing heavily.

“Oh, my love, I cannot keep myself from you … I cannot,” he said. He nuzzled her neck and she held him to her.

“Nor can I keep from you. What are we to do? We have taken another chance, though I promised myself I would not. Let me stand up—perhaps that will help keep a babe from forming,” she said as she pushed him from her. She stood and felt the wetness between her legs. She wiped at it with the skirt of her smock, saying a prayer that such quick action would save her. As she tried to clean herself, she began to cry.

John stood beside her and put his arm around her.

“Do not weep, dearest. We shall marry—you have my promise on it,” John said.

“But the queen! We do not have the queen’s permission! From what Sir James said, we never will! What shall we do?” said Mary, now sobbing uncontrollably.

“Do not fear, my love. We shall marry. I will put the question to Sir James once again. Perhaps he can hurry the Keeper of the Great Seal along. Do not fret,” said John.

Slowly, they got dressed and returned to gather their horses who were standing beneath a large oak tree. Mary was shaking as she thought about what might happen. She did not wish to consider the queen’s evil actions if Mary was discovered suddenly with child. She shook her head to clear the image from her mind. She would not cry any more. She had chosen to be with Sir John, chosen him above the queen. It was unforgivable from the queen’s position, but, as for herself, she would make the same choice a hundred times.

Forty-two

August 1573

The end of the plague season brought the queen back to London, to Whitehall, to attend to state business and return to a more settled life. Already the leaves had begun to lose their vivid green, and hints of yellow and brown peeked through the foliage. Mary and Mistress Eleanor kept busy bringing out the queen’s fall and winter clothing, seeing that the silk women and seamstresses repaired spots the moths had eaten, airing the gowns to remove any musty smells. Keeping the garments Her Majesty owned in good condition took a great deal of time and employed the services of a dozen or so skilled laundresses and sewing women. Mary, as Keeper of the Book of the Queen’s Wardrobe, was responsible for cataloguing and maintaining the articles in good order. Each change of season set a monumental task for her.

“What about this lovely pale blue gown? I have noticed of late the queen has not worn the pastels as often as she was wont to in her younger years. There are a few light stains on the skirts … should this be given to one of her women or should we keep it?” said Mary to Eleanor, who sat on a stool, rather than remain on her feet in her condition.

“Do you have leave to make such a decision?” said Eleanor. “From what I have observed, the queen is loath to rid herself of any finery, whether she uses it or not.”

“I asked her last week if she wanted me to give those items away that were sullied or no longer to her taste. She told me she was too busy listening to Lord Burghley’s lectures about having a care for her person to bother with such decisions. She wanted everything old or worn removed,” said Mary.

She leaned over to whisper into Eleanor’s ear. “From now on, everything she receives, even perfumed gloves and nightgowns, must be thoroughly examined for poison. Burghley fears another attempt on her life.”

Mary lifted the gown in her hands and folded it, placing it into a large trunk.

The women worked in silence for several minutes.

“How are you feeling, Nora?” said Mary.

“Well enough, though I am happy to have a seat while I work. I shall be happy when Her Majesty releases
me
—old and worn-out as I am,” said Eleanor, smiling.

“She does demand much of us. But she also rewards us—well, at least sometimes,” said Mary.

“Is someone knocking on the outer door?” said Eleanor.

“Who could be here at this time of morning? The queen is in the Presence Chamber with her councillors—thank goodness she cares more about me keeping her clothes in order than having me observe the machinations of the Privy Council,” said Mary. “Enter!”

A young page dressed in the queen’s livery approached the two women and bowed. He went to one knee.

“Mistress Mary? The queen wishes to see you in the Presence Chamber immediately,” said the boy.

“Oh, I had so hoped to escape,” said Mary. She placed the stomacher she’d been examining across the queen’s bed and smoothed her hair into place. Then she followed the boy down the long corridor to the Presence Chamber. The Yeoman of the Guard announced her as she entered.

“Ah, Mary, come here,” said the queen, motioning for her to join her as she sat at her writing desk. The queen arose and Mary curtsied to her.

“Your Majesty,” said Mary.

“Come, let us walk together in the garden,” said the queen, shooing away the others who started to accompany them. “I would have a moment alone with Mistress Mary. I shall return anon.”

The queen hooked her arm in Mary’s and together they entered the herb garden. The smell of lavender and roses made the air pleasant, and though the weather was still warm, a small breeze hinted at the change in seasons.

“God’s blood, it is a lovely day—makes me wish we were still on progress. I should like to hunt on a day like this—much better than listening to Burghley prate on about this and that,” the queen said as she stopped near an ornately carved bench. She sat and indicated Mary was to sit beside her.

“Dearest Fawn, we wanted to speak with you because Sir Nicholas Bacon has come to us with a suit for your hand in marriage. Sir John Skydemore is quite taken with you and has obtained permission from his father-in-law, Sir James Croft, to woo you. As we are sure you recall, we have forbidden this match,” said the queen.

Mary did not like it when the queen spoke to her using the royal “we” because it meant she was speaking as the monarch, not the woman. And the meaning was clear—she was displeased at the request and would employ everything in her power as queen to stop the match.

Mary remained silent.

“We are sorry to refuse Sir John in this matter. We distinctly remember warning you about dallying with him—we were afraid you would break his heart. He has already lost one wife. We are sorry for his disappointment in losing another,” said the queen.

Mary rose from the bench and dropped a deep curtsy directly in front at the queen and remained in that position. She raised her head to look at the queen.

“Your Gracious Majesty, I beg you—please allow Sir John to press his suit. I … I love him as he loves me—I very much wish to marry him,” said Mary in a clear voice.

“Love? Love? What do you know of love? You are but a child! We have already given our answer and it was no,” said the queen, turning away from Mary.

“But why, Your Grace? You gave your permission for Eleanor and Nicholas Hilliard—they are quite happy together. You are godmother to their babe,” said Mary, her voice quaking slightly. Her heart pounded and she felt anger building within her. “Why would you put her happiness so far above mine?”

“Why? Why? Must we have reasons—we are queen!” said Her Majesty, her voice strident. Then she took a deep breath. Another, then yet another. Her body slumped forward a little.

“Dearest Fawn, do not be sad. There will be other loves. I have told you for years I would see you married, but married to someone worthy of you. Sir John is a widower with five children for whom he must provide. He is from a good family, yes, but not the nobility. You are cousin to the queen! You could marry a prince! I have made you fit for any royal court in Europe!” said the queen.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but have you once considered I might not wish to marry a prince—I might want to settle away from court and live a simple life with my family. I am not like you—I have no wish to rule, nor do I want to rise above my station. I aim for just a taste of happiness in this vale of tears. Not the veneer of happiness, danced out in frenzied leaps and jumps. But genuine joy in the everyday things of life—a husband who loves me, perhaps children to comfort me, the scent of roses on the wind—things that touch my heart,” said Mary.

“Sir John is a Catholic! As is all his family! A recusant! For all I know, he could have plans to do away with me! God’s death, after a morning with Burghley, I should be suspicious of every one of my subjects,” said the queen.

“I know what he believes and I respect his courage for adhering to his beliefs. I do not think his loyalty to you is in question—he saved your life, if I may remind you,” said Mary, rising from her curtsy.

“You do not have my permission to stand! How dare you say you respect a man who breaks my own laws! How dare you imply that my court is bereft of joy! You shall not marry a man who will not convert to the religion of the state—
my
religion! By the feet of God, you shall marry whom I decide, when I decide, if I decide!” said the queen, herself now on her feet, pacing in front of Mary.

“May I have leave to return to my duties?” said Mary, her voice full of fury.

“Yes! Return to them at once! We shall not speak of this again—the business with Sir John Skydemore is finished!” said the queen.

Mary curtsied and walked away from Her Majesty as fast and furiously as her feet could carry her. Her head was spinning. What to do now? What could she possibly do?

Forty-three

God’s blood, that child will be the end of me! Thinks she is in love with a man not good enough to clean her boots. I try to protect her from making such a mistake and what do I get for my trouble? Dark, angry looks and sulky silences. Oh Parry, I know she is young—I was young, too, once. And had it not been for you and your wisdom, I might have met my end at the block. Yes, Tom Seymour almost led me astray, almost led me to my death. She does not understand that these forces with which she is toying have serious consequences. It is no longer the case of a scratched knee or disappointment at losing a game of bowles. If she marries rashly, she could end up spending her life in poverty. She, who has never known want, could starve if she married some ill-considered lout.

I know Sir John is not completely without means—but I want so much more for Fawn. I do not wish to see her merely scrape by; I want her to fulfill her potential. She can be so much more than what she dreams for herself.

Or, God forbid, she could die in childbirth—plenty of women do. I would not see her die, Parry. I could not bear it.

Do you recall when she had the smallpox? Of course you do. I was so afraid. Yes, I remember how hot she burned. I nursed her myself, stayed by her side for days. But we got her through it, though I did come down with the cursed disease a couple of weeks later. Yes, thanks be to God I survived, too. And you would not allow either of us to go outside for weeks afterward. I grew so agitated, Robin brought the outdoors in to us and we picnicked in the castle. I can still feel her hair and my own as I plaited the strands together; mine, red and very fine, like silk—hers, more coarse and curly, and dark, so very dark. Woven together forever.

No, Parry. You are right. We do not choose whom we love. We simply love. I have loved Fawn since that first time when you brought her to me and she called me her “shining lady.” I think I knew, somewhere in my heart, I would never have a child of my own. Whatever there is of the mother in me, those feelings have gone to Fawn.

I shall not allow her to ruin her life! I shall not!

Forty-four

September 1573

“What are we to do, my love? Her Majesty is against us and I cannot see any way past that,” said Mary as she cried against Sir John’s chest. They had arranged to meet in the laundry hallway while Mary was supposed to be working on the queen’s wardrobe. Mary sent Sir John a message through Mistress Eleanor, fearing the queen’s wrath if she and John were to be seen together.

“We shall find a way, dearest, we shall find a way,” said Sir John, holding her close.

“I am ruined! I am no longer a maid! Even if I wanted to find a husband, who would marry a woman whose honor has been plundered?” sobbed Mary.

“I would gladly marry just that woman,” said Sir John.

His remark caused more weeping.

They stood still for a few moments.

“Have your … have your courses returned?” he said softly.

“Yes, just yesterday. I had a very hard time for the last week, worrying myself almost ill, fearing the worst. But yes, we have escaped the danger for a second time. We shall not tempt fate again,” she said.

“Oh, would that I could have you in my arms, though,” said Sir John, lifting her chin so he could look into her eyes.

“I
am
in your arms,” she said, smiling a little.

“You know my meaning,” he said, his breath growing husky.

“I do, sir. Your wish is my own,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

They kissed and Mary’s breath came in quick gulps. She felt his hands around her waist, then moving to her buttocks to pull her to him. They had not seen each other in weeks except to glance and smile when they thought it safe enough to do so. Mary had thought of him night and day, remembering their time together.