Taming the Tempestuous Tudor

by Juliet Landon

  Etta looked up and saw him standing a little way off, listening. ‘I should have protected her, Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘She ought not to have had to listen to such filth. I shall never forgive myself for allowing it to happen.’

  ‘But I wanted...wanted to come...here,’ Etta said, still weeping. ‘I insisted.’

  ‘Insisted?’ Elizabeth said, sternly. ‘Queens and husbands insist. Wives obey. That’s all there is to it, Henrietta. Now hear me. You saved my life this afternoon and for that I shall ever be grateful. But the role you hoped for can never be. We can never be closer than we are at this moment, sister to sister, and you will have to take the word of a queen that there are very sound reasons why you cannot be officially acknowledged as a relative. That would be dangerous for both of us. You tried, I know, and I tried to make it difficult for you without subjecting you to a public repudiation. We Tudors are determined, tenacious, self-willed creatures.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Etta, recognising something of herself, after all.

  ‘So now you must go home with your good husband and obey him in all things, as I shall never have to do. Think only on the things you have and not on those you believe you ought to have. Think of your Queen’s love and gratitude, but let our love be a secret between us. Do you understand?’

  Taking Elizabeth’s hands in hers, a familiar gesture that was allowed, she laid her hot cheek on them, wetting them with her tears. ‘Majesty,’ she whispered, ‘I am your humble subject. Thank you. I do understand. Perfectly.’

  ‘And you, mistress?’ Elizabeth said to Aphra.

  ‘I am Your Majesty’s faithful subject. I know nothing of this.’

  ‘Good. Then go home and be at peace. I grew up amongst slanderers and liars as well as mealy-mouthed flatterers and fawners, so if you think I cannot tell one from the other, be assured that I learnt to discriminate at a very early age. Your husband, Henrietta, is a rare honest man, but he is a man, for all that, so you must learn to allow him a little innocent affectionate teasing now and then. It means nothing unless you allow it to. Nor does what you heard about your mother. I have nothing but good memories of her, as I do of my own.’ She held out her arms to Etta and embraced her with a most unusual combination of warmth and formality that they knew would never be repeated, after which the Queen was joined by several of her Ladies-in-Waiting and escorted out of the garden. The soft whoosh of curtsying skirts broke the silence of the night, then a singing voice as a door was opened, then the metallic clash of pikes as the guards closed ranks behind her.

  Lord Somerville sat on the stone bench beside Etta, taking Aphra’s hand in one and his wife’s in the other. ‘I ask you both to forgive me,’ he said, softly, ‘for bringing you into this vipers’ den. I should have asserted my authority from the start. This is no place for decent, innocent women.’

  ‘My lord,’ Aphra said, ‘let’s not apportion blame. There’s no harm done that cannot be undone...that has not already been undone.’

  ‘Aphra’s right,’ Etta said. ‘You did what I asked you to do out of love for me and I took advantage of your good nature, my lord. I’ve been a selfish fool.’

  Somerville placed a loving arm around her shoulders. ‘Come on then, adorable little fool. Let’s go home, shall we?’

  * * *

  Home. It was the sweetest word in a day of extraordinary happenings that had generated too many questions for sleep. Round a blazing fire and with an array of tempting supper dishes nearby, they sat in comfortable clothes to try to make sense of things which, at the time, had passed them by without rhyme or reason. By unspoken agreement, the scandalous Magdalen Osborn was excluded from their discussion, for the Queen’s suggestion that it was better to remember a mother’s virtues than the slander of ill wishers was sound advice they all agreed with. As was her command that Etta should now concentrate on her marriage instead of a life for which she was clearly unfitted. There was to be no arguing with that.

  The presence of Sir Elion, who had been glad to see a conclusion to Etta’s ambition, made it easier for them to tie up several loose ends concerning Stephen Hoby’s unwanted involvement in her affairs. ‘He was a failure on every level,’ Sir Elion told them as he watched the fire dance through his glass of red wine. ‘And failures like him tend to seek revenge. Until it turns round to bite them.’

  ‘Revenge?’ said Etta, nestling into her husband’s arms.

  ‘On those who thwarted his ambitions, love,’ Uncle Elion said. ‘I’ve been watching him since he found a position at the Royal Wardrobe with George. We knew he’d made contact with the Spanish ambassador with a view to working for them, like some others we know. Informers are paid well according to their information and he needed contacts at court so he could discover something of what the Queen’s intentions are.’

  ‘What kind of intentions?’ said Aphra. ‘About what she wears?’

  Uncle Elion smiled. ‘More than that, Aphra. Anything to do with her religious intentions, alliances with France, or policy on Scotland, or marriage plans. These all affect her relationship with the Catholic countries, and Hoby thought he’d be able to pick up something useful by keeping his ears open. Unfortunately, he picked up Sir George’s precious fabrics, too.’

  ‘And that,’ Somerville said, ‘was when he was seeing you, my love.’

  Etta sat up straight, but was pulled back again. Being indignant in that position was less convincing. ‘You mean...you knew about him...when I asked Uncle George not to tell you?’

  ‘Give your husband some credit, Etta,’ said Uncle Elion. ‘Of course he knew about Hoby. George already knew that. Nic knew of your friendship when you first met, but you’d not have been too pleased to know that, would you?’

  Etta was silent. She was learning not to overreact.

  Somerville smiled across at his friend with a hint of triumph showing. ‘He made himself appealing to you, love, because of your likeness to the Queen and because he was sure, as you were, that you’d somehow make a connection there. So when your uncle dismissed him for theft, he forged a recommendation to Lord Robert on Royal Wardrobe paper and that’s where we saw him when you first met the Queen. I sent him packing, remember?’

  ‘But you didn’t say...’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t. But that’s why he decided to revenge himself on me, because he could make no more headway with you.’

  ‘Revenge himself...on you?’

  ‘Yes, he saw at the archery contest how Dr Dee and I knew each other and I dare say he might have overheard what Dr Dee was telling Master Leon, about his books coming from Antwerp. Joseph told me how he’d pestered you. The next thing I knew was that someone had tipped off the Stationers’ wardens to visit my warehouses at the Steelyard. That was the night I had to go there and move things.’

  In the safety of his arms, Etta shuddered as she recalled how she had seen Hoby in the passageway only moments later, slaking his lust on a woman. That had been a nightmare of a day. ‘Foul man,’ she whispered. ‘How could I ever have liked him?’

  ‘Because men like that can turn on the charm whenever it suits them,’ he said with his lips against her hair. ‘By coincidence, the Stationers’ visit came on the very day my ships unloaded, so I had to work fast. A day earlier, there’d have been nothing to find. I knew it could only be his doing.’

  She had thought he was with the Queen. How much she had misunderstood him.

  ‘But then,’ Uncle Elion said, ‘he lost his job with Lord Robert, too, and that was the end of the line for him. It was George who told his lordship he was harbouring an informer, so then it was serious revenge time and as foolhardy an act as ever I saw.’

  ‘Me,’ said Aphra, very softly as if to herself. ‘To get back at my father.’

  ‘I’m afraid so, love,’ said Uncle Elion, ‘although one would have thought that with three possible targets, he could h
ardly miss.’

  ‘Thanks to Etta, he did,’ said Aphra.

  Somerville raised his glass, tinkling it against the other two. ‘Then here’s to our heroine,’ he said, sipping the wine.

  She allowed it to pass with a smile, for it would have been churlish not to, but there was so much to be explained about her own self-centred behaviour since her marriage to this wonderful man, so much to apologise for, so many things to put right, despite Aphra’s generous words in the garden that night.

  * * *

  Later, as they lay at peace in each other’s arms after an ecstatic lovemaking when all their words of love had been freed, Etta vowed to make it up to him for the hurts she had inflicted.

  ‘It isn’t necessary, dearest heart,’ he said. ‘I knew what I was taking on when I offered for you. You told me yourself. It’s over now and we’re better for it.’

  ‘I think I knew for certain that I loved you when you held that transparent silk behind my head, my darling, and told me I should wear that and nothing else just for you. Do you remember?’

  He chuckled. ‘I remember everything. Every detail. You are priceless.’

  ‘So tomorrow I shall ask you to tell me all about yourself and your family. I want to know all there is to know. I’m ashamed that I’ve not asked before.’

  ‘All right, and tomorrow I shall give you a task to prepare while I’m away.’

  Her hand stopped in mid-caress. ‘What? Where...when? Why?’

  ‘I shall be staying at the Sign of the Bridge for two weeks after Easter.’

  In spite of all her efforts to make him explain, he fell asleep before she had obtained the slightest hint of what this two-week-long task might be.

  * * *

  She resumed her interrogation at first light. ‘Don’t leave me now,’ she complained. ‘Not so soon?’

  He pushed her back on to the bed with one sweep of his forearm, hovering above her with a scowl. ‘Did you or did you not promise to obey me in all things, woman? Have you forgot so soon?’

  Surprised, and rather excited, too, she blinked at him. ‘Yes...er...no, my lord. Do you really want me to obey you in all things? The Queen says I ought.’

  ‘That would be expecting too much, wouldn’t it? No, I’m a realist. Let’s just accept each other as we are, shall we? So let’s see if you can accept this request from me. I want you to prepare a wedding while I’m away in London.’

  ‘Whose wedding? Aphra’s?’

  ‘No. Ours.’ He watched her eyes open wider with the soft dawn of understanding.

  ‘But...?’ she whispered.

  ‘No buts. I have prepared a list of two hundred guests and you can add as many as you wish from your relatives and friends. Give your list to Joseph and I will see to it that everyone receives an invitation. Two weeks after Easter will take us into the time when marriage ceremonies are allowed again and all my captains will be in harbour. That’s all the time you’ve got. I want a banquet of gigantic proportions, the best musicians, entertainment, everything we didn’t have before. Questions?’

  The smile that had struggled to emerge now suffused her eyes, watering them with happiness. ‘And I’m to do this on my own?’

  ‘No, you’ll have Aphra. She’ll help. It’s now up to you, my lady. Well, what now?’ His face relaxed its sternness as her arms came up to hold him.

  ‘Thank you...thank you, my love. Of all the things I robbed you of...’

  ‘Hush, wench. I knew a simple wedding was not your style. I told you I could tame you.’ His kiss was thorough and masterly, giving her a taste of what the future would hold.

  ‘Are you saying you told me so, my lord?’

  ‘Mmm...’ he said, nuzzling into her neck. ‘That’s what I’m saying.’

  * * *

  For the next few weeks, Etta had worked hard to make good all the omissions of that first shabby affair when the conflicts of her heart had raged out of control. Extra hands were hired from Mortlake village to scrub and polish, to fill the larders with local produce and to prepare a feast for over three hundred guests, including Lord Robert himself. Rooms were made ready for relatives, even stabling for their horses and lodgings for the multitude of servants who came with them. In the garden, lanterns were hung from trees. Bowers, pavilions, arbours and arches were covered with white blossom from the hedgerows, the pathways outlined with garlands, outdoor seats covered with white cushions and decked with primrose bouquets, bows and fluttering ribbons.

  Food was brought in from all over the county, augmented by exotic delicacies brought by Somerville’s own ships docked at Southampton, the best wines, spices and rare birds’ eggs wrapped in gold foil. White-covered tables creaked under platters of roast meats, fish and sweet concoctions fashioned in the shape of castles with helpless maidens on the tops. Venetian glass sparkled with wines, home-brewed ales in silver tankards, ivory-handled cutlery, white linen napkins and Somerville’s best silver plate brought into use at last.

  All Somerville’s mercer colleagues and their wives were there on the day, and so many of his friends, captains and staff, that Etta’s memory for names was stretched to its limit. Levina came, too, promising to finish Etta’s portrait, and Dr Ben with his best student, Master Leon, and all those from the royal court who had shown kindness to Etta and Aphra, old Lady Agnes, their grandmother, parents and siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins, friends and neighbours, estate workers and local dignitaries. Lord and Lady Raemon, who took full responsibility for ‘throwing the cat among the pigeons’ in the first place had a lot of diplomatic explaining to do when asked why the happy couple required another wedding so soon. ‘A blessing, not a wedding,’ they said.

  ‘Oh?’ Eyebrows were raised. ‘Really? A blessing...as in...blessing?’

  ‘Too soon to be certain,’ they said, smiling mysteriously like expectant grandparents trying not to give too much away.

  No hint of this was to be seen on the appointed day when Etta appeared at the church door wearing an exquisite dress of pale-green silk brocade with a creamy-white forepart of satin embroidered thickly with seed pearls. Her long red hair had been dressed with ropes of pearls and gold threads in a maze of plaits and curls and, as Somerville had seen nothing of either her or the house during the preparations, he was smitten all over again at the ravishing sight of his beloved wife walking towards him in what some of the older guests thought was a quite indecent haste. Ever unorthodox, Somerville swept her into his arms there, at the altar, in an embrace that was eventually brought to a pause by the same chaplain who had married them. ‘Ahem!’ he said, above the laughter of the congregation.

  So there, on a sunny spring morning at Mortlake, the marriage of Lord Somerville and his lady was blessed in the hope that it would be happy and fruitful which, if he had but known, it already was. One could hardly have called it a ‘solemnisation’ as there was so little solemnity about it. Bells pealed out across the river, reedy choirboys sang, ladies wept openly and men gulped as the procession walked back to the manor pelted by white blossom all the way. And then the feasting began, an event that was talked about for generations to come.

  In a moment of semi-privacy, Etta managed to ask Nicolaus if he thought the preparations were an improvement, knowing the answer. ‘Beloved,’ he said, holding her close to his cream-satin doublet, ‘this is the most wonderful way I could ever have dreamed to celebrate our happiness. Thank you, sweet thing. For everything.’

  ‘Everything?’ she said, with a coy look.

  ‘Yes, I know what you refer to, but, yes, everything. Without that to begin with, our happiness might not have been as great as this. Look at all those laughing faces. There’s your family, sweetheart. You are loved, appreciated, admired and I adore you.’

  ‘Then I have nothing more to search for, have I? You are all I need.’

  Seeing them emb
race for the umpteenth time that day, guests smiled indulgently, nudging elbows, raising glasses once again. Others roamed through the gardens, bathed with warm sunshine, while a servant approached Lord Somerville to say that there were wardens from the Stationers’ Company in the library looking through his lordship’s papers. As he was at that moment standing quite close to Dr Dee and Lord Robert Dudley, those two went with him to see what urgent reason had brought the wardens here on such a day, though two of them could hazard a guess.

  Marching into the library in some indignation ready to bawl the men out for this inconsiderate behaviour, they were confronted by a weighty official with a sheaf of papers in one hand, scowling his disapproval, and another two searching through the bookshelves behind the desk. Recognising Lord Robert, however, they froze to a horrified standstill. ‘Exactly what do you think you’re doing in my library?’ Somerville said, ominously.

  Looking from one well-known man to the other, the first bullying words emerged rather lamely. ‘Er...my lords...we have...er...’ his eyes shifted wildly ‘...information regarding...er...books written by...er...you, Dr Dee, sir...which do not conform to...er...’

  ‘What rubbish are you talking?’ Lord Robert shouted, under no obligation to exercise any politeness to these men. ‘Of course Dr Dee has books here. Why would he not? Her Majesty the Queen reads them and if she approves...’

  At that precise moment, Etta appeared in all her wedding finery looking for all the world like her royal half-sister. Taking in the situation in one quick glance, she continued the drama for real in her most queenly manner. ‘And if I approve, who are you to come in here and disapprove? By whose authority?’