Queen's Pleasure

by Brandy Purdy

  Mr. and Mrs. Hyde were so honored to have me—Lord Robert’s wife—to lodge with them that they had on more than one occasion implored me to treat their home as if it were my very own and to do exactly as I pleased. Though I could not bring myself to interfere in household management, to usurp Mrs. Hyde’s place as mistress and chatelaine; even though I longed for such work to distract me, I did not want to incur her resentment and that of the servants. But I did ask that every day at dusk a candle be lit in each window of all the public rooms that faced onto the road, as well as in my bedchamber, and that they be kept burning until the first light of dawn so that, should My Lord be on his way to me, he would find the house aglow with a warm and inviting welcome that would make him smile and spur his mount onward and speed himself into my arms. Often, I would go out and walk into the gloaming, and, from a little hillock nearby, watch the candles being lit and let them guide me back to the house. As I walked along the avenue lined with chestnut trees, I would imagine myself a weary traveler, like my husband, being guided by those candles like tiny beckoning fingers of flames urging me ever nearer to a pair of empty arms that ached to hold me. And I would pause and look up as the stars came out and wish upon their twinkling brightness that my husband would come soon.

  But when he came, all he did was brandish the bill for the candles in my face, smack it against his palm, and complain about my foolishness and this “ludicrous expenditure,” and ask if it were my intent to make of him a laughingstock.

  Stammering, wringing my hands, and teetering on the verge of tears, I tried to explain, to tell him how much I loved him, that I meant only to give him a warm welcome, to make the house look inviting if perchance he arrived after dark. But he only snorted and dismissively, derisively, waved aside my heartfelt words, exclaiming, “That is the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard! I am Lord Robert Dudley, the Queen’s Master of the Horse, and any house in England would make me welcome and be honored to have me within its walls, and I don’t need a candle burning in every window to tell me so!”

  Pacing before me, he said I had humiliated him and caused him no end of trouble. When he first saw the bill, he had thought there might be an error, that Mr. Hyde had miscalculated or become distracted and mistakenly written the wrong number down; thus, he had his treasurer, Mr. Forster, query Mr. Hyde about the matter. Jewels and fine clothes, lavish furnishings, foods I had a craving for and that made my table look rich, like gilded marzipan, sugar sculptures, candied fruit, or a roasted peacock or swan dressed in its fine feathers—any sort of luxury that made a grand show that impressed others and made life more pleasurable, he could well understand—but £8 spent on candles? “Do you realize, Amy, that working men are fortunate to earn as much in a year?” he demanded. And regarding the fact that they had been left burning from dusk till dawn, Robert could only say, “If I were you, Amy, I would get down on my knees and thank God the house did not catch fire; for I’ll not bankrupt myself to buy another man a new house, even if my wife is the fool who set the old one ablaze!”

  With a long, exasperated sigh he thrust the bill inside his amber doublet. “Pray word of this does not spread, Amy, else everyone will think you a madwoman, and in truth I cannot blame them. £8 squandered on candles—what a ridiculous expense! I’ve half a mind not to pay it! No more candles in the windows, Amy,” he said over his shoulder as he strode out. “And if perchance I do ride up after dark and see candles in the windows, you’ll feel the warmth of my wrath, and then you’ll wish I hadn’t come at all instead of ‘welcoming’ me.”

  “Yes, Robert.” I sighed and hung my head and sank down onto the window seat, defeated yet again and feeling of a sudden tired of even trying. You cannot win, a tiny little voice in the back of my head said. And I knew it spoke the truth. But to stop trying ... to me that was the same as dying. I had to keep trying, fighting this futile and oh, so wearying fight, and hoping that I would discover a way to win back his love.

  But he came to me that night, and he was passionate, and made me believe our quarrel was all forgotten, just another misunderstanding, as all lovers are apt to have from time to time. He said he would come again in February if he could, on St. Valentine’s Day perhaps, for that was a day meant for lovers, the day when the birds chose their mates. I was in his arms when he said it, our naked limbs entwined, and my head resting on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart as he stroked and played with my hair, twining it ’round his fingertips, admiring its golden shimmer in the candlelight. I was so happy that I kissed him, and Robert used his warm, ardent body to roll me over onto my back again.

  On St. Valentine’s Day I was up with the sun, though I was so eager and excited, I had barely slept the night before. I sang as I bathed, and Pirto washed my hair with our special blend of lemons and chamomile. I was all smiles as I sat by the fire, my cheeks rosy and pink, and it was all I could do to sit still. I wanted to leap up and run down the road until I met Robert. As I waited for my hair to dry, I rubbed the whole of me with a sweet-smelling lotion I had made from the roses that grew in such pretty pink profusion at Syderstone, and I dreamed of Robert’s hands caressing my naked skin. Then I had Pirto dress me in a new gown of vivid robin’s egg blue satin that opened to reveal a kirtle of cream-colored satin embroidered with branches that stretched across the front on which pairs of birds perched, nestled lovingly, and Mr. Edney had cunningly fashioned little nests for them out of coils of gold braid and filled them with speckled turquoise eggs. I loved it. I was in raptures when I first saw it and even hugged and kissed Mr. Edney and gave gifts of candy and coins to his apprentice boy and embroidery women. It was such a fun, clever design, and I couldn’t wait for Robert to see it. I could barely sit still—I wanted to run and sing and dance—as Pirto brushed my hair until it cascaded down my back in a mass of curls that shone like spun gold. I was so eager to be outside waiting for my beloved, walking, watching the birds and the road for any sign of Robert, that Pirto had to chase after me with a shawl, for the air still had a sharp nip of chill in it.

  I walked and waited and hoped all day. Every time I heard hoofbeats, my heart jounced in time with them, singing in step with them, dreaming that at any moment my beloved would come galloping up, sweep me up into his arms, and carry me away to make love in a bed of wildflowers, just like he used to. But he never came, nor sent a letter or even a gift, not even the tiniest trinket, trifle, or token to let me know he was thinking of me, because he was not thinking of me; he had forgotten me yet again.

  I watched the sunset, and then I gave up, and with heavy steps and an even heavier heart, and my shawl, fallen from one shoulder, dragging on the ground, I went back inside as the darkness descended and the air turned even colder. I was almost late for supper.

  Later, seated at the table, even though I dreaded to hear the answer, I asked Mrs. Hyde how Valentine’s Day was celebrated at court.

  She told me that all the ladies wrote their names down on dainty slips of paper and put them into a bowl, and then the gentlemen reached in—“like drawing lots, my dear!”—and gave a gift to the lady whose name they chose. “Pretty little things that a lady might fancy—a bit of silk, lace, or gilded braid to trim a gown, a brooch, or a silk flower for her to wear, an ivory comb for her hair, a figurine to adorn the mantel in her room, or a book of poesy perhaps.” And, of course, there would be a banquet, “no doubt presided over by a great Cupid sculpted out of sugar and marzipan,” and there would be all sorts of dishes that were said to “encourage love to flourish.” And there was a dance, “a sort of gavotte, only a kissing game set to music,” Mrs. Hyde continued, oblivious to my distress, as with each word I traveled further away from peace of mind. “And there will be a masque, of course, something to do with love, with the Queen at the center of it all, like the Goddess of Love all men bow down to worship. And this year, since England has a new Queen, and a young and beautiful one at that”—Mrs. Hyde nodded knowingly—“I think every man at court will choose her to be his Valen
tine and woo her with a gift. Already they say there are sonnets enough to ‘The Fair Eliza’ to fill a whole library, floor to ceiling, with books.”

  Abruptly I let my spoon clatter onto my plate and stood up, claiming I felt all of a sudden unwell, and I fled upstairs to my room. I could not bear to let the Hydes see me weep.

  That night I dreamt of the Queen dressed as a bee, the queen of the hive, all in yellow and black stripes, glittering with hard, icy diamonds, with a golden crown perched atop her flame-colored curls, and gauzy, shimmering, wire-stiffened wings on her back. Haughty and majestic, she was surrounded by a circle of men, from beardless youths to bald-pated graybeards, all of them costumed as black and yellow bees. They danced in an ever tightening circle around her, jostling and clamoring just to be near her, each holding out an offering—jeweled necklaces, ropes of pearls, brooches, earrings, bracelets, rings, jewels to adorn her hair, velvet-lined caskets filled with loose gems, muffs and cloaks of ermine, sable, or fox, beautiful crystal bottles filled with exotic perfumes, fringed and embroidered gloves to show off those vain, long-fingered hands, bolts of rich fabric, velvet slippers, or golden and silver ones, with jewels on the toes that would twinkle when she danced, reams of lace and braid to trim her gowns, gifts of gold and silver plate, musical instruments inlaid with mother-of-pearl or ivory, fancy saddles, jeweled or fringed, for her horses, Turkish carpets, tapestries, paintings, and statuary to adorn her chambers, and sonnets and songs praising her beauty, grace, and majesty that they raised their voices to recite or sing, vying to be heard over the others who were doing the same.

  And then there was Robert, crashing through the circle of her admirers, astride a big black horse, sending the besotted bee-men and their gifts scattering, tumbling, and rolling. He was clad like the others in the black and yellow stripes of a bee, with wings upon his back quivering with every movement of his shoulders, his fine horseman’s legs sheathed in vivid yellow hose, and tall black leather boots polished to a high gloss that caught the light of the candles. He swept Elizabeth up onto the saddle before him, extricating her from the buzzing hive of male admirers that surrounded her, all reaching out for her, calling her name, begging for her love and favor. But he ignored them all and cradled her close against his chest, his hand grazing her breast as he held the reins, and spurred his horse into a gallop, and carried her away from them all to a bed covered in heart’s blood red velvet to make mad, passionate love to her, though his eyes never left the golden crown pinned tightly to her red hair the whole time. Even in the throes of passion, his eyes were still upon the glittering, golden prize.

  I awoke then, screaming like one in mortal agony, clasping my chest, gasping and crying out to Pirto, who slept nearby on a trundle bed that during the day was tucked beneath mine. I had such a fearsome pain in my chest, like a sword being driven straight through me. There was a burning, aching tightness there, between my breasts, so bad it half made me want to die just to escape it; it was like an ever-tightening knot that needed to be untied in order to ease me.

  As she perched on the side of my bed and held me and stroked my hair and back, Pirto said, with an unmistakable sniff of disapproval, that Mrs. Hyde’s cook was “over-generous with the contents of her mistress’s spice cabinet” and that it was “no wonder that it had set my heart a-burning.”

  I let her hold me, dry my tears, and dose me with a soothing syrup “to cool the burn,” then tuck me back into bed as if I were a little girl again, but I knew it was more than that. Nor was it just my imagination, my worst fears coming to life in the guise of a dream; it was real, and I knew it. My husband had forsaken me; his sights were firmly fixed on the Crown and the woman who wore it, the woman who could make all his dreams come true—Elizabeth.

  20

  Elizabeth

  The Dairy House at Kew, London

  April 1559

  I had given Robert a miniature mansion in London called the Dairy House at Kew as a New Year’s gift. The first time he was to take me there was on a glorious April afternoon. He brought me a soft brown bundle tied up with string and bade me don this disguise and come down the private stair and across the garden to the river, where he would have a barge waiting. I did as he asked, and soon I found myself clad in a simple russet cloth gown with a white linen apron and cap such as a milkmaid might wear, while a disapproving Kat frowned behind my reflected image in the looking glass as she grudgingly did up my laces.

  “Don’t glower so, Kat!” I said, turning to hug her. “I’ve been so busy with one thing and another, Council meetings, and state papers, shoring up our defenses, and being courted by foreign ambassadors for one prince, duke, or another, that I deserve a holiday!” I spread my brown skirts wide and spun gaily around her. “A day just to be free, just to be me!”

  “With Robert Dudley,” Kat said stiffly, the frown deepening upon rather than departing from her face.

  “And what of it?” I shrugged. “He has been a good and loyal friend to me since childhood.”

  “He is a married man,” Kat said sternly.

  “I know”—I nodded—“and I thank God for it! I do not look to have him as my husband, Kat, and I would not even if he were free. I want a man’s company, Kat, but I don’t want to be a wife and have to surrender all I value into my husband’s hands. Robert can take nothing from me but what I myself choose to give.”

  “You always did say you would never marry, ever since you were a little girl,” Kat mused aloud, “but I always thought, I always hoped, you would grow out of it. ’Tis not natural for a woman to be alone, Bess... .”

  “And I don’t want to be alone, Kat,” I assured her, “and I will not be alone, but I do not want to be a wife either. For me, that is unnatural. I value my freedom far too highly to ever give it up; I want to be mistress of my own fate, not surrender it to a lord and master.”

  “If you only knew... .” Kat grasped my hands tightly and gazed up at me with tears brimming in her old, faded eyes. “And you are wrong; there is one thing he can take from you without your consent—your reputation! Please, have a care for your reputation. People are saying—”

  “Gossip!” I said with a disdainful shrug and a sour puckering of my lips. “People always must have something to talk about, even if they must embroider fancifully upon the bare facts or make it up out of whole cloth. Please, Kat, don’t scold me. I have had so little joy in my life, and Robert makes me happy. Being with him is such fun... .”

  “Aye, love, I don’t doubt it.” Kat nodded grimly. “The kind of fun that can get a bastard in your belly or you branded a harlot forever!”

  Stung, I gasped and leapt back as if she had just slapped me.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I do not mean to hurt you!” Kat came and put her arms around me. “But you are Queen now, not a green girl like you were in the days of the Lord Admiral, and people take note of all you do, and already they have noticed how much you favor Lord Robert above all other men. They are even saying—”

  I pulled away from her and ran to the door. “I don’t care what they are saying!” I cried, tossing my head rebelliously. “Don’t tell me any more!” I stamped my foot. “I’m going to have a good time today with Lord Robert, and damn all gossips and scandalmongers—neither they nor anyone else can stop me!”

  I was about to flounce out the door, when I stopped, seeing the tears trickling down Kat’s face. I turned and came back to her and tried to explain. Kat had always been like a mother to me, and I wanted her to understand. I needed to know that she did not think ill of me.

  “His wife doesn’t love him, Kat, and he doesn’t love her; they’re estranged. The marriage has grown cold and bitter; they married young and repented as they grew older and saw how little they had in common. I could tell how much it grieved and saddened Robert when he spoke of it. She doesn’t want to come to court. I intended to invite her, but Robert urged me not to; he said it would frighten and upset her, and she would cry and make herself sick, fearing that her refusal wou
ld offend me, and I might punish her for it by forcing her to come anyway. She wants to stay in the country. And you know Robert is not the kind of man who could ever be content to play the country squire, spending his days wading through barley crops and flocks of sheep. He was meant for greater and grander things, things that I can give him, as a reward for his loyalty and the pleasure of his company, all of which takes nothing away from Amy; rather, it gives him the means to indulge her whims, to let her stay content in the country and have her pretty gowns. Truly, Kat, we are not hurting anyone; we are more sinned against by the gossips’ tongues than we are indeed sinners.”

  Kat sighed deeply and shook her head and then, with a little halfhearted smile, gave in and gave me a hug. “Off you go, pet,” she sighed. “But please,” she implored me, “have a care with that handsome rascal; he sore reminds me of the Lord Admiral. Now, there was a man!” she sighed, her old eyes misty with memory.

  “I promise, I will.” I kissed her cheek. “You need have no fear on my account, Kat. I’m not a little girl anymore, and Lord Robert is not the first handsome rascal I’ve met,” I added brightly as I shut the door behind me and ran merrily down the stone steps to the barge where Robert was waiting to enfold me in his arms and cover my lips with his.

  When the stately little house first came into sight, it glowed like a puddle of fresh-spilt milk struck by the sun. The lawn unfurled before it like an emerald carpet, dotted with white marble statues and cunning seats shaped like milk pails. I laughed and clapped my hands in sheer delight as I sprang from the barge, without waiting for Robert to help me, blessedly unencumbered by my heavy, ornate court finery, feeling free and airy in my plain cloth gown and but a single petticoat, and no stiff, unwieldy farthingale, and without the pinch and bite of stays underneath as a rigorous reminder of decorum. I ran across the lawn with Robert chasing after me, darting behind statues and trees, letting him catch me to steal a swift or sometimes lingering kiss before I laughed and darted away again like a dragonfly.