‘Then we shall make the Lioness of England into a mask you wear, my lovely. Make someone out of silk ruffles and petticoat rolls and even spare hair if we need to,’ Cat chuckled and Elizabeth wrinkled her nose, ‘and you can conceal yourself behind her until you are well and strong again.’ Cat dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘Only we shall know you are hiding.’
Chapter 38
obert climbed the tower stair and entered his room with a sigh. He was grateful the meeting had been postponed until the afternoon; he hadn’t realised how strenuous the practice would be, after weeks of confinement and idleness. He stripped off his wet shirt and threw it on the chair, then slid his feet from his boots and unlaced his breeches. As he was about to pad naked across the room to the jug of water and wash basin on the dresser, his breath was caught by an imperceptible movement at the side of his vision. Grabbing his dagger from on top of his breeches he turned.
‘Good morrow, Rob,’ Lissey Sheffield beamed at him from his bed. The movement he had seen was her sweeping back the sheet to invite him to join her, revealing her smoothly naked body reclining on his mattress.
He let his breath go from his body, and he smiled at her boldness. ‘Lissey. I have missed you. I had thought you might have found someone else.’
‘I admit I have tried, my Lord. Unfortunately none of them could compare. So here I am, if you want me.’ She laughed aloud as she looked at his crotch and saw how much he did want her. Robert sighed and smiled.
‘As you see, Lissey, your argument is always persuasive.’ He walked to the bed and stretched out by her side, sliding his hands down her skin. He bent his head and kissed her gently, then with a passionate intensity that surprised him. He had indeed missed her.
***
Robert strode quickly into the meeting room and realised with no small amount of relief that Elizabeth hadn’t yet appeared. He nodded to Cecil, Walsingham and Throckmorton and went and poured himself some wine from the side table. He waited until Francis Knollys had ended his conversation with Ralph and then made his way over, nodding coldly to Francis as their paths crossed.
‘Good afternoon, Ralph. What news from Scotland?’ Robert perched on the edge of the table near Ralph and sipped from his cup.
‘My Lord,’ Ralph bowed a greeting from his chair, ink, pens and parchments strewn over the surface of his desk. Robert could see there were letters with seals attached, filled with cramped black writing as well as large sheets of cheap parchment for the notes Ralph would make of the meeting and letter sized pieces of good quality for diplomatic communications. An array of waxes and seals ranged across the top, crested ones, royal ones and plain innocuous ones for the truly secret documents that mustn’t be traced back to the Queen or Privy Council.
‘There is rumour from Scotland, my Lord, and conjecture about the parentage of the child the Queen of the Scots carries. We have had a secret note regarding a murder but no official confirmation. The Queen will be quite concerned, I should imagine.’
Suddenly the door to the gallery was thrust open and Elizabeth appeared, closely followed by Cat, Frances Howard and Anne Cecil. Keeping her head high, she walked to the chair at the head of the table and Cecil held it for her as she sat down and looked at all the council making their bow. Her ladies arranged her skirts and as Robert rose from his own obeisance he saw Cat squeeze Elizabeth’s hand and Elizabeth release her bottom lip from her teeth. The ladies swept from the room and Cecil stood, grasping the lapels of his gown.
‘Your Majesty. It gladdens all our hearts to see you back in your rightful place at the head of this table, and making such a full recovery from that dread disease that laid your Royal personage so low.’
Robert smothered a smile in his wine at the verbosity of Cecil’s welcome. He looked at Elizabeth and could see how nervous she was to be back in Council. Her lip shone with salve and he could see how her hands trembled. He walked swiftly to pour another cup of wine and took it to her, seating himself on her left, opposite Cecil. He didn’t care that he should be lower down the table; Elizabeth may need him to bolster her courage or help her calm herself. He would not leave her now.
‘Thank you, Will. Thank you all. Now, there is much to do, so let us begin. What news from Scotland?’
Walsingham smiled silkily ‘There have been some developments, Majesty. The Lairds are unhappy with their Queen, with her behaviour.’
‘God’s blood! What right have they to question her behaviour? She is their Queen.’ Robert heard the irritation in her voice and pushed the cup closer to her hand.
‘No right, Majesty,’ interjected Robert smoothly, earning himself a scowl from Walsingham at his interruption, ‘but their Queen does not hold herself as royally as you yourself know how to do.’ Robert smiled gently as Elizabeth’s brows rose. He moved as if to whisper scandal to her, keeping his voice low, even though all the Council were aware of what rumour he was imparting.
‘They say the child is not her husband’s, but is the offspring of a servant they have had murdered.’
Elizabeth began to laugh softly. ‘Seriously, Robbie?’ She looked round the faces of her council and they all nodded the truth of his statement.
‘I told you Darnley was an idiot, Bess. He might be the prettiest thing she has ever seen, but there is absolutely nothing between his ears.’ Elizabeth picked up her cup, hand steady, and took a sip of her wine.
‘So, we shall have to wait for further news there then.’ She looked across at Cecil. ‘Now, Will. I am sure you have a long list of things you wish to discuss, so start at the top.’
Robert let Cecil’s voice drift away from him as he watched Elizabeth settle back into the role of Queen. His ridicule of the Scottish question had amused her and taken her mind off how nervous she had been. He looked at her carefully as she nodded at whatever Cecil was telling her.
Robert recognised the gown she was wearing; it was one from her girlhood, a dark red brocade, with a fischu and ruff added to make it more fashionable. Her skirt had a huge hoop underneath to hold it from under her feet, as Robert knew it would hang off her diminished frame otherwise. He supposed Cat had rummaged in the armoire to find something that wouldn’t swamp her for this first Council meeting, to give the seamstresses time to make her other garments over to fit, or stitch new. He made a mental note to gift her some new silk fabric, and have some new riding gloves made for her.
Robert dragged his mind back to the meeting and tried to listen attentively as Cecil, then Walsingham and Throckmorton told Elizabeth what was happening in England and abroad. He knew she would ask his advice, so he needed to know on what he was to advise.
***
Robert sat alone in his apartment after the banquet for supper. Elizabeth had retired to her rooms, asking to be alone, and he wanted to take the opportunity to start planning the festivities for her return to health. He couldn’t decide whether to hold them after Easter or wait for the May Day feast; he supposed it would depend on how well Elizabeth recovered and regained her strength.
There was a brief knock on his door, and Thomas strode in, bowed his head and handed Robert a sealed letter, then departed as quickly as he had entered. Robert turned the paper over and over in his hand, before peeling the seal from the parchment and reading the words. He smiled and rose from his chair, selecting his copy of Morte D’Arthur from his bookshelf and collecting pen and paper from his writing desk. Pouring himself another cup of wine, he settled in front of the fire and began transcribing.
Robin, my love. I miss you so. I am trapped here, with my father’s spies watching me, and I ache for you. I am glad you can’t see me. I am huge. The size of a house. You would not want me in your bed, but I so want you in mine. I dream of you lifting me in your arms and lying with me. I think of you constantly, and
can’t wait until I can be back with you and our son. You are my everything. You are my soul. Lily.
Robert smiled as he read the words he had translated from the cipher. He had been amused at the seal of the letter, a tiny lily and a bird drawn with a pin in the soft wax before it had hardened. That gesture told him even more than the words did; it told him how despondent Lettice was at being sent away, how unhappy she was in her isolation. He read the letter again before he dropped it into the hearth and he watched it flare and then burn to grey ash. It would be some time before she was allowed to return to court after the birth of her baby. Robert doubted the child would be his, but he didn’t doubt Lettice’s determination to think of the child as theirs.
With her seal in front of him that he intended to reuse, he drew a fresh sheet of parchment towards himself and began his reply.
My lovely Lily. I miss you also. I miss your beauty, I miss your wit. I too, long to be with you, lifting you into my bed. I would not care that you are the size of a house, although I doubt that is true. Your delicacy and fragility would seem to dictate how you look when you are with child. I am sure your beauty blooms into graceful elegance as your time draws near. If I could be with you, my lovely Lily, trust that I would be. I count the hours until you return to me. Your Robin.
He carefully sanded the letter and folded it, pouring the wax cautiously so he could reaffix the disc of wax with the tracery. He knew he didn’t have to write in cipher; he would give the letter to Thomas, who would guard it with his life to take it to Lettice.
Robert poured himself another cup of wine and gazed into the flames of the fire. He pondered his life, and how it had become so complicated, with his relationships with the Queen, Lissey and now Lettice.
He thought about Lissey, her sardonic acceptance of him, her thinly-veiled amusement at how they had each found in the other a match for their baser instincts. Robert knew she didn’t love him like Lettice did, like Elizabeth had when they were younger; he didn’t love her like that either. He did like her, though. He didn’t want to treat her badly and although he didn’t want to give up his position with the Queen and all the benefits that brought him, he thought he ought to think about making sure Lissey was financially provided for. That would need careful handling, he thought; he didn’t want to make her feel like a whore.
Robert considered his love for Elizabeth, a love he had held since they were both ten years old, and she had come back to court under Queen Kate’s tenure. She had been as nervous as a colt, he remembered, frightened to say or do anything that might send her back into exile. His father and Queen Kate had made sure all the children of the court had the best tutors for everything, and Kate had loved Elizabeth and Edward like her own children. Robert remembered making a friend of Elizabeth, being drawn to her fierce intelligence, keen wit and wanting to unlock her guarded heart, drawing her into the troop his brothers made and including her brother Edward and the Grey sisters in all the boisterous pranks that a group such as they had been responsible for.
That she had fallen in love with him was his own doing, he knew. That she no longer felt quite that depth of feeling was neither of their faults. It was the result of the responsibility she felt as Queen, the loyalty she felt to her country that was removing her from the feelings she had as a woman, little by little. He was astute enough to realise that one day, all Elizabeth would love would be England, and although his loyalty to her would always be unquestionable, he felt that he couldn’t devote himself to an abstract like that, until death.
Which left him his relationship with Lettice, who he realised was passionately in love with him. That she was also married was both a curse and a blessing. It meant she belonged in name to another man, although that wouldn’t prevent them from being together at every opportunity when she returned. But Lettice’s marriage would also free him to attend on Elizabeth for as long as she still wanted him, and show her the love that she still so obviously needed since her illness.
He sighed and took another drink from his cup, swallowing the wine and then making his way to the door to find Thomas. If he gave him the letter now, he could set off at first light to deliver it to Rotherfield Greys, and her father would be none the wiser.
Chapter 39
xhausted, Lettice lay sweating on the bed having a moment’s respite from the pains of childbirth that wracked her body.
‘God’s blood, Mother. The girls didn’t take this much moving,’ she gasped.
‘It will soon be over, my lovely. And when it is, you will have a beautiful babe, probably a boy; they are lazy to birth,’ Cat wiped Lettice’s face with a cool cloth while Meg changed the draw sheet beneath her hips.
Walter’s mother Dorothy looked up from her seat by the crib, ‘A strapping, handsome son, Lady Knollys.’
Cat gazed across the bed at the Dowager Countess, and squeezed Lettice’s hand, ‘Any healthy baby is a blessing, Countess, and a safely delivered mother. We shall make sure they are both well.’ Cat’s remark was greeted with a tut from Walter’s mother.
‘My Wally needs a son. He loves his little Penny and Dorry, but he knows his duty is to provide an heir.’ The Dowager Countess of Essex pressed her lips together primly.
‘And I need to keep my daughter, Countess. We shall pray that we both get our wish,’ Cat’s tone hardened. Dorothy Deveraux looked up and smiled condescendingly at Cat.
‘Of course, you have had so very many children, Lady Knollys. Wally was an only child for so long, it was just me and him while his father was a soldier. We were so close, and only I know how much he longs for a son to follow in his footsteps.’
Lettice began to groan again as the pains started coming quickly and strongly, and she let out a high-pitched scream. Meg hurried to her other side and held her hand as the midwife began to massage Lettice’s distended stomach.
‘Push now, my lovely.’ Cat nodded encouragement at her daughter as the contractions gathered strength and Lettice dragged another breath. ‘Push hard, and then push again.’ Meg wiped her brow and squeezed her hand encouragingly.
‘Not much longer, sweetheart,’ she whispered.
‘I was in agony for days with my Wally. That’s why he was so precious.’ Cat glared at Dorothy and twisted her lips in disgust. She bent to speak to Lettice.
‘Once more, my lovely, then you can have a little rest.’ Cat glanced at the midwife, who nodded that the baby’s head was almost there. ‘You are three more pushes from your babe. Next time a pain comes, push as hard as you can.’
Lettice took a huge breath, and then pushed and groaned as the pain washed over her again. Meg looked down Lettice’s sweat-soaked body and her brows rose.
‘I can see the head, sweetheart. The baby’s head is there. One more big push and we shall see what you have.’ Lettice took another breath as another wave of pain came.
Cat’s excited tones filled the room ‘It’s a boy, Lettice. Oh, my lovely girl, you have a son.’ Lettice slumped back on the pillows and closed her eyes thankfully.
‘Oh, Letty, my Wally will be so pleased he has a son. Do you know what you are naming him? Are we going to have another Wally to love?’
Lettice opened her eyes and looked at her mother-in-law as Cat helped Meg wash and swaddle her son, and the maids bustled round gathering up the soiled linens. The midwife tugged at the cord and continued to massage Lettice’s belly, pressing down as she pulled gently.
Cat looked up from the mewling baby, and spoke to Lettice, ‘Let’s get the after-birth out of you safely, my lovely, and then you can hold your boy.’
‘His name is Robert,’ said Lettice tiredly, and Meg stifled a gasp.
Dorothy Deveraux went to look at the healthy, strong little boy being carefully wrapped in clean linens and smiled.
She beamed at Cat. ‘It is so important to honour your family when it is as old as ours, don’t you agree, Lady Knollys? When one can trace one’s lineage back to the sister of a Queen of England, it is a responsibility to honour the past.’ She glanced at Meg and continued, ‘Of course, when you are newly ennobled, heritage matters less. The family of a knight, for instance, just wouldn’t understand.’
Cat passed the baby into Meg’s arms to give to Lettice and stood up, drawing herself to her full height with her spine straight and her shoulders back. Dorothy Deveraux seemed to shrink backward as Cat looked down at her.
‘My husband may only be a knight, Countess, but I am a Howard, niece of a Queen and cousin to the present Queen. Your family may be able to trace back to Katherine Woodville, also the daughter of a knight, before her sister caught the eye of the Plantagenet King if I’m not mistaken. Nevertheless, my family can trace their descent directly from Henry II, and we Howards were at the right hand of kings for many years before the Woodvilles were ever “ennobled” as you put it.’
Dorothy Deveraux blinked in astonishment at Cat’s vehement words and sat down heavily in the chair, while both Meg and Lettice suppressed smiles and looked intently at the beautiful new-born boy. Cat strode across to the midwife to inspect the afterbirth, nodding her approval and paying her. Then she opened the armoire.
‘Now then, my lovely. Let’s get you into clean linens and if the Dowager Countess would be so kind as to ask the wet-nurse to come up. I’m sure young Robert will be hungry after all his hard work entering the world.’
Dorothy jumped up and scurried out of the room to find the wet-nurse, and Lettice and Meg gave into their laughter. Cat looked at them and shook her head despairingly.
The Last Howard Girl (Tudor Chronicles Book 3) Page 27