The beast inhaled. Then let out its breath and settled back into itself. The wind had shifted easterly. Foul weather threatened. We returned to shore.
I felt sick.
Three nights in Margate. Three nights of listening for hoof beats. Of fearing another turn in my father’s humour. Then back on board and at the rail again.
I thought of Henry and his not-quite confession about Frances Howard. His uneasiness… poor Henry! He never knew this joy!
I would have liked to tell him how happy I am, I thought.
At least, his ship supports me, holds me up, carries me across the water.
I looked back at England and saw white. If I had been a gull, I would have loved the place so much sooner.
I had escaped the demons. I had no doubt that others lurked, my very own, but I could not see any of them now. Just then, I pitied my father because he wasn’t me. I pitied my mother, and Henry, because they never had what I had now, that moment. It was better than the moment of unlacing. Of feeling the air move freely against my bare skin.
My bare skin. A universe I never imagined.
I looked at my Frederick. My husband. My lover. My unexpected friend and ally. My gift from God.
I gave myself permission not to see the shadow in his eyes. It belonged to our future, which I would deal with when it arrived. As I would deal with all the other things I did not yet know. I knew now how much I could do. No matter what might happen, I would have known this time.
I am loved, I thought. I am his star. I make a universe for him as he does for me.
This was a perfect time. I would eat it, drink it, inhale it, roll in it like a hound in sun-lit spring grass. My wolf stretched on warm rocks. I was a child again, filled with the space below the Crags, cousin to the birds wheeling below me. I flew.
A sail shivered and thumped above our heads. A coil of hanging rope knocked gently against a mast.
We flew.
Frederick turned curiously when he felt me fumbling inside my cloak.
I kissed the granite fragment from the Scottish crags. Then I threw it high into the air. As it arched through the air, my stomach dropped in terror. Tears sprang to my eyes. I wanted to call it back. My eyes lost it against the waves, then saw the tiny splash where it entered the water. I could not look at Frederick for fear that I would see the same terror in his eyes that was washing through me.
Then I heard his clothing rustle. His warm hand found my clenched fist among the damp folds of my cloak. Still not looking at him, I clamped my fingers between his and held on. As we watched the strip of grey heaving water between us and England grow wider and wider, I leaned against his shoulder for balance and was slowly filled again with that odd, new contradictory sense of alert peacefulness that he had brought to my body and heart. I looked back at where I imagined my granite fragment had entered the water.
It was done. It was right. I was headed for my very own mountains. My husband’s mountains. Die berge. The mountains. Das volk. The people. My people, who will love me as he does, Frederick said.
My husband. Mein mann.
In a few more days, I would be certain that I was not going to bleed this month. If my suspicions were right, I already carried in my belly a living testament to my new life. I would not tell Frederick yet, not until I was certain.
I imagined telling him. I imagined burying my face in my child’s belly. I could relish again and again the perfect joy of imagining those future moments.
I glanced at Frederick’s serious profile and the dark hair being whipped into his eyes by the wind. I smiled at the thought of his most recent wedding gift to me, now cowering in her wicker cage amid the strange creaks and smells of our cabin, beside my lute case. When my new husband last visited Charlesat Whitehall, she had climbed eagerly onto his lap. Frederick had looked my brother in the eye, tucked Belle inside his coat and walked out, taking her with him. Belle, who had once been so jealous of him. She might again be jealous of the babe, at first, but again would soon learn to love.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
JOHN, my husband and personal Google. Theatre producer and consultant, who knows more than seems possible for any one person (and remembers everything he reads). Who, yet again, tracked down much that I needed to know.
Again and as always to my friend, the award-winning radio and television writer, STEPHEN WYATT, for his generous offerings of sudden thoughts, ‘what-ifs', and articles ‘you should read’ – and for his patient, constructive listening during all those working park walks.
DAVID DIBOSA, for his gift of insight and inspiration in helping me to see and feel the reality of Tallie.
CHUK IWUJI, a charismatic actor who has inhabited the 17th century as the Royal Shakespeare Company’s Henry VI, and helped me to make the imaginative time leap.
GARRICK HUSCARED (aka ‘King James') friend and colleague, the gifted artist, writer, actor-manager and filmmaker, for those conversations about black pirates and otherunexpected Englishmen that lit the slow fuse of Tallie. And for making history so much FUN.
JANEY HUSCARED, friend and fellow-writer, for introductions, bodices to wear and inspirational good talk, among much, much more.
LINDSAY SMITH, passionate historian and side-saddle expert, for advice, information and farthingales.
RICK EVANS, (aka ‘Captain Stanton’ and Hampton Court’s HENRY VIII). I owe his ‘trans-temporal’ sensibilities far more than I suspect he knows.
SUSAN SOLT, long-time friend, for our stimulating discussions about women of African descent in Early Modern England.
My son, TOM FRENCH, for designing and building my website.
EMMA FAULKNER, my sharp-eyed literary PA and conscience.
JEREMY PRESTON, of East Sheen Library for research and support.
LYNNE DREW, Publishing Director at HarperCollins, for launching my little ship of state and for keeping a steady hand on the tiller.
SUSAN OPIE, my editor, and JOY CHAMBERLAIN for accompanying Elizabeth and me on the journey. (Every writer should have such editors – inspirers, whip-crackers, friends.)
NB In my last novel, The Principessa, I smuggled the names of Susan Opie and Joy Chamberlain into the text, as a literary game. This time, it’s Lynne Drew’s turn…
ROBERT KIRBY, of United Agents.
ORLY (Café Strudel) and LEO GIANNINI (Café Al Fresco) for giving me working places away from home.
About the Author
CHRISTIE DICKASON started writing at the age of three, before she could spell. She went on to study English at Harvard, then won an MFA in Directing at Yale Drama School. After spending fourteen years as a theater director and choreographer, with the Royal Shakespeare Company and at Ronnie Scott’s, among others, she returned to her secret passion for writing while convalescing from illness. In addition to her novels, she also writes poetry, music lyrics, and for the theater. As a child, she lived in Thailand, Mexico, and Switzerland, and has now lived longer in London than anywhere else. For more information and to contact her, please visit her website, www.christiedickason.com.
CHARACTERS IN THE KING’S DAUGHTER
REAL
JAMES I OF ENGLAND AND VI OF SCOTLAND – King of England after the death of Elizabeth I. Previously King of Scotland from the age of two, after the forced abdication of his mother, Mary, Queen of Scots. He accepted the English throne from the woman who had signed his mother’s execution warrant.
ELIZABETH STUART – second child and first daughter of James. Born in Scotland.
HENRY FREDERICK STUART, PRINCE OF WALES – oldest son of James and older brother of Elizabeth. Born in Scotland.
CHARLES, DUKE OF YORK – their younger brother, with the recorded nickname of ‘Baby Charles’ (later Charles I of England). Born in Scotland.
ANNE OF DENMARK – Queen to James, mother of Henry, Charles and Elizabeth.
ROBERT CECIL, LORD SALISBURY – English Secretary of State and chief adviser to James. The ‘secret king'. Also known historically as ‘the Ki
ng’s Little Beagle’ and ‘the King’s Monkey'. In this book, also called ‘Wee Bobby'.
SIR FRANCIS BACON – cousin to Cecil, and his frustrated political rival.
ROBERT CARR – favourite and likely lover of James. Subsequently replaced by the Duke of Buckingham.
LORD AND LADY HARINGTON – guardians of the young Elizabeth after James’s accession to the English Crown. NB Not to be confused with his cousin, Sir John Harington, godson of Elizabeth I and inventor of the flush toilet (which Elizabeth I did not think had a future).
LADY ANNE DUDLEY SUTTON – childhood companion, then lady-in-waiting to Elizabeth. Niece of Lady Harington.
FREDERICK, ELECTOR PALATINE – German prince, suitor of Elizabeth.
FREDERICK ULRICH OF BRUNSWICK – German prince, suitor of Elizabeth.
MRS HAY – Elizabeth’s former nurse.
OTHERS – real courtiers, ladies-in-waiting, doctors, ambassadors and political figures, including poet and dramatist Ben Jonson, royal architect Inigo Jones, and the suitors for the hand of Elizabeth. Even the put-upon playwright, Samuel Daniel, is real, and I ask his ghost to forgive the liberty I take with his reputation.
And BELLE, BICHETTE and CHERAMI.
FICTIONAL
THALIA BRISTO – ‘Tallie'. With African parents, but raised in Southwark. Bought as a gift for Queen Anne and given by her to Elizabeth. Her presence at court is based on an often-overlooked demographic reality. The number of people of African descent in England at this time was large enough for Elizabeth I to have ordered them to be expelled in 1596. (See Historical Notes.)
PETER BLANK – serving man to Prince Henry. However, his alleged great-grandfather, of African descent, was historically real, one of the official trumpeters, first to Henry VIII, then of Catherine of Aragon and Henry VIII, who can be seen pictured in a procession on the Great Tournament Roll of Westminster at the Guild Hall in London.
MRS TAFT – and the whores at Fish Pool House in Southwark. They are, however, based on reported reality.
ABEL WHITE – Scottish stable groom to Elizabeth.
FRANCIS QUOYNT – fire master and fireworks expert, formerly employed by Cecil.
Author’s Note
THE HISTORY BEHIND THE STORY
SOURCES
Elizabeth Stuart was much observed and described from a respectful, if not star-struck, distance, but almost nothing is known about her emotional life. Her many letters usually conform to the formulae of the period and don’t give away much except her famous high spirits. A gossipy biography written later in the 17th century by one of the court ladies is now thought to be flummery. I have therefore tried to make the historical chronology of events correct as far as I could learn (and sources agreed) while having to imagine almost entirely what Elizabeth thought about almost everything. The challenge has been to imagine the privately plausible from the known public details, portraits, gossip, etc. The same challenge arose with most of my other main historical characters.
A little more helpfully, King James wrote extensively and spoke his mind with no thought of tact – and was much quoted, often in horror or indignation. Sir Francis Bacon left us his Essays, Apophthegms, and other treatises, which give glimpses into his formidable, if unhappy, mind. Whilewriting, I sometimes found myself cursing as well as blessing that gossipy old letter writer John Chamberlain for locking in the exact dates of events at the Stuart court while leaving my real questions about the people unanswered.
Apart from the disastrous fictional masque, ‘Niger in Albion’ I have not made up any major court events. (Mind you, all word of such a disaster would undoubtedly have been suppressed.) I have, however, compressed the time frame once or twice to avoid an endless sequence of masques, hunts, feasts, and other recreations. Frustratingly, Elizabeth is largely left out of historical reports while hindsight often includes Charles (at the time a minor figure not expected to survive into adulthood) because he later became king, led England into civil war, and had his head chopped off. I have occasionally inserted Elizabeth into occasions when, though not noted, she could well have been present.
If Henry had lived to become Henry IX, he would very likely have changed the course of English history by avoiding the Civil War. He might, however, have become embroiled in the religious wars on the Continent. He is oddly absent from most general history books, even though he was widely popular and his death in 1612 caused a nationwide outpouring of popular hysteria and grief similar to that following the death of Princess Diana. The reasons for this absence from official history should be apparent in the story.
Elizabeth’s early life, treated in this book, held two peaks of interest – the time of the Gunpowder Plot and the time leading up to and including her marriage. Her greatest melodramatic adventures were still to come, very soon. To compare my imagined Elizabeth with what is known of the historical one, you will find a time line on my web site, www.christiedickason.com.
HISTORICAL REALITIES
The love of Henry’s life was indeed his sister, Elizabeth. But, given his strict morals, stern temperament, and open distaste for his father’s loose living, I did not rise to baited hints that their relationship was incestuous. In that dysfunctional family, it did not need to be sexual to explain their closeness. Henry may or may not have had an affair with Frances Howard (later famous for the Overbury murder case). But most sources, and his own character, suggest that he was still a virgin when he died at the age of eighteen.
Queen Anne was indeed furiously opposed to the Palatine marriage for Elizabeth, on religious, financial and status grounds. Her mocking of Elizabeth as ‘Goody Palsgrave’ is documented. Elizabeth did defy both parents to secure her marriage to Frederick. The scene of his first arrival in London is closely based on factual reports, as is the about-face that Frederick somehow produced in James after the (documented) near debacle of the betrothal ceremony.
Henry was deeply involved in and committed to settling the New World. However, one source reports that his interest was largely kept secret because of the political and commercial sensitivity of European interest in the Americas. In the book, I have suggested one particular reason for his secrecy. James did fear both of his older children and envy their wide popularity among the English. This was not paranoia. He himself had been used to depose his own mother while he was still a toddler. Later, he had tacitly acquiesced to the execution of his mother and accepted the English throne from her executioner. As a child, he had been kidnapped and manipulated by powerful Scottish lords who wanted to rule Scotland through him. He had every reason to fear a palace revolution that would put his son on the throne in his place – or his daughter.
Though Tallie is fictional, the presence in early 17th century England of people of African descent is well documented,although, until recently, scholarship has tended to focus on the development of the trans-Atlantic slave trade later in the century. A 1617 portrait of Anne of Denmark shows a barely visible, unremarked, groom of African descent holding her horse. Titania’s ‘Indian boy’ in A Midsummer’s Night Dream, Aaron the Moor in Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus, and other literary references (including the queen’s ‘noble blackamoor’ who pulled a masque chariot in place of a lion) are further examples. Londoners would almost certainly have seen African envoys, merchants, scholars, and sailors. And, without doubt, their explorations, exploitations, piracy and commerce brought the 16th and early 17th c. English into contact with a wide range of peoples, from those (in the Americas) whom they considered ‘savages’ to the ‘noble moor’ like Shakespeare’s Othello. Queen Elizabeth herself bought a white taffeta coat for a favourite ‘lytle Blackamoor’ – which did not stop her, in 1596, from ordering the removal of all blacks from England, ‘of which kinde of people,’ she wrote, ‘there are already here too manie…’
There was undoubtedly fear and suspicion among the English of anyone who looked ‘strange'. But one challenge in writing Tallie was to try to set aside our modern attitudes towards racism and the legacy
of the slave trade, to guess what attitudes might have predated ‘scientific racism'. The slave trade with the West Indies had only just begun and was still on a very small scale. In a period when you could also buy the guardianship of a wealthy orphan, apprentices and indentured labour, slaves, per se, were still most often thought of as captives of war, like Aaron the Moor. In the early 17th c. on the written evidence they left behind, the English seemed to be fairly xenophobic towards most foreigners, the French and Italians in particular. In that hierarchical society, wealth, status and education would have defined a person as much as colour of skin.
Also by Christie Dickason
The Firemaster’s Mistress
Copyright
HARPER
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First published in Great Britain in 2009 by HarperCollins Publishers.
THE KING’S DAUGHTER. Copyright © 2010 by Christie Dickason.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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