The Stolen One

by Suzanne Crowley

  “Hmmph,” I snorted. “Pretty words.” I snuck a glance at him.

  “Pretty words for a pretty lady.”

  I looked away. “I’ve been called many things, but never pretty.”

  The queen had left her barge and was now walking amongst the crowd. She wore the lovely crimson dress Dorothy Broadbelt and I had retrieved for her.

  “I cannot believe no man has ever told you you are pretty. Why, every man you’ve known must be dumb and blind.”

  “If you are fishing to see if I’ve had a love, you will not hear it from me,” I said.

  “Hmmm,” he said as he picked up a marzipan, this one a crimson cherry, and ate it. “Now you have me very curious indeed. Have you ever been kissed?”

  His lips were stained with red. I smiled and looked away. He laughed. “I bet you have. Yes, indeed, I bet you have.”

  “Ha, you are like the blackbird who chides the dark. For I have heard you have kissed every unattached girl in the whole court.”

  He threw his head back and laughed again. “Is that all? Only the unattached? Not some of the married women, too? I’m losing my touch.”

  “So it’s true.”

  He sighed and leaned closer. So close I thought perhaps…then he pulled back, but his mesmerizing eyes I could still see very well. Oh, very well indeed. “It’s all rumors,” he said, licking his bottom lip, wiping clean the red stain of the candied cherry, and I found myself licking my own lip. “I’ve only kissed two, well maybe three, and one of them I didn’t particularly care for. I believe it is she who talks of me.”

  “And who may that be?” I asked.

  “A gentleman never tells.”

  A large figure suddenly towered over us, the sun against his back. I cupped my hand over my eyes. It was Rafael, wearing a cerulean blue doublet, its guards cut velvet, roses overstitched in gold thread. It was a piece fit for a king. But he looked none too pleased, and I could not pull away from his stare. Finally, frowning, he stalked off.

  It was not long before he was surrounded by ladies.

  “He looks at you like a papa with an errant daughter,” Nicholas said, sipping from his goblet.

  “Papa. Ha.” I was quick to respond, still staring at Rafael. He was gently stroking a lady’s back. She was beautiful.

  I leaned back on my elbows and looked at Nicholas. God, he was handsome, his long dark eyelashes framing those beautiful green eyes. “You may kiss me if you like,” I said to him.

  “What are you up to, Katherine?” he said. “I can’t kiss you here and he wouldn’t notice anyway; he’s quite engaged.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” I said.

  “It wouldn’t be wise, to tarry with him.”

  My gaze flew to his face. “What do you know of him?”

  “Only the talk,” he said. “He’s quite the mystery, having disappeared from London for so long. And now suddenly reappearing after all these years…and with you.”

  “I know little of him, even though he’s my cousin,” I said, my eyes wide. “I barely remember him when I was young. He’s been gone for a long time.”

  “I believe,” he said, “as do most of them”—he nodded to the ladies and gentlemen of the queen’s court who were strolling by—“that there are no mere coincidences in life.”

  My laugh was forced. Grace had always said something similar, that God sent us coincidences to warn us a bigger truth was on its way.

  “It’s no laughing matter, Katherine,” Nicholas said, his eyes twinkling. “If you want me to talk plainly I will. I mean to have you. We’d make quite a formidable pair at court, me with my place in the Wardrobe—you with your knowledge of dress. I’d have to tame you, though; you act like a little child.”

  “Oh, so romantic, Nicholas.” I picked up a pastry and threw it at him. It missed its mark. He picked it up and threw it back at me. We both laughed. “And I think you are a mere boy who doesn’t know what he is talking about,” I said haughtily.

  He looked wounded. “My, you have a tongue, do you not? That will have to be tamed.”

  “Not by you,” I said.

  “We shall see,” he responded. “Be careful, Kat,” he continued. “The queen is suspicious of Lord Ludmore, and I hear she has already had a private audience with him.”

  “She has?” I asked.

  “She’s a shrewd judge of character. If she see’s anything wanting in him, he’ll soon be set packing. Some say you may be her daughter,” he continued, looking for a reaction in my eyes. “That it be strange a girl like you, so like her in appearance and temperament, and talented of the needle, has suddenly appeared.”

  I picked up a sweetmeat and popped it in my mouth. God’s me, it left an awful taste, like the sour-tasted, weedy medicines Grace used to sneak in to our food. “I’ve heard that rumor.”

  “Some speculate that Lord Ludmore is her long-lost love, and your father.” I choked out the sweetmeat, but caught it in my hand. I continued to cough, the back of my throat burning as though a flame licked up from my stomach.

  “And is it true?” he asked, handing me his goblet of wine. I gulped as he continued. “You’d be set for life, you would, being a queen’s daughter, although she’d never be able to recognize you.”

  “Nicholas—” I interrupted him, my eyes still watering, my head starting to throb.

  He grabbed my hand. “I’m sorry. I’ve spoken too much.”

  I broke away and stood up.

  “Katherine,” he said, his voice low and urgent. And then I saw her—Anna, dressed in one of my finer gowns, walking my way. Beyond her, the queen motioned to me to come.

  I felt dizzy. I was going to faint. Ipollyta stood next to the queen, her lips curved up in a gentle smile. She nodded to me like the toad king to the fly. I was aware that Rafael, somewhere to my left, was heading in my direction.

  “Katherine,” Nicholas called again as I started to walk toward the queen. Anna met me, and I gripped her hand.

  “I had a terrible feeling that you were in danger,” she whispered. “What has happened?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve eaten something rancid, I think.”

  “Let me take you back,” Anna said.

  “No, no, she’s calling for me,” I said. And now suddenly we were before Elizabeth. Katherine Ashley and Blanche Parry stood behind her. I tried to stand tall, but the world began to spin.

  She leaned toward me, a smile on her lips, and then she noticed Anna. The queen’s face fell. Anna was beautiful. Too beautiful.

  “And who is this creature?” she asked.

  “Anna,” I barely choked out. The world darkened as Rafael caught me in his arms.

  I birthed my baby myself, all alone in my small room on this day, August 30. She was early, a scrawny and ugly little thing with malformed ears and a tuft of snow-white hair. She came into this world barely holding on, mewling like a runty kitten. I hoped with all my being she’d not make it a night, but she did. Aye, she did. But I myself had developed a fever, and was in danger of leaving the world when Agnes burst into my room with the news that my good queen was delivering her own child and was asking for me. I could not go. I couldn’t, so weak I was, although I tried. “There, there,” Agnes soothed me as she held my little babe. “The queen has the finest doctor and her ladies to attend her. What shall we name your little babe?” I shook my head. “Take her to the stream and leave her. She’s malformed,” I told her. “Bah,” Agnes laughed. “It’s your fever talking. She’s a beautiful babe, she is.” She lifted back the blanket I’d wrapped her in. “She has only a birthmark, a half-moon. If you shan’t name her, I will. She will be Anna, me own mother’s name. That’s the name she shall have.” “As you wish,” I managed to murmur. “Fetch me wine root and chamomile. I must recover for the queen.” “And not for the babe?” “God’s death, no,” I told her.

  CHAPTER 21

  A month has passed and Anna, my sweet Wren, has left me. I woke up a week ago and fo
und that she had simply vanished, taking nothing with her but Grace’s lute. Nicholas Pigeon made a few inquiries, as he never seemed to leave my side now, and found that she was staying with Lady Ludmore.

  Things had become intolerable for Anna, for you see, after the outdoor feast the queen let it be known that Anna was not welcome. Dorothy explained that it was simply Anna’s beauty, and her beauty alone, that damned her. The queen must always be the shining sun, and if anything were to threaten her, she would strike it down.

  Anna never left our chamber, and even when we journeyed to Whitehall, the queen’s favorite palace, she would not come. When we returned, her pallor grew more sickly, her spells more frequent, till she hardly left the bed. I felt helpless to make her better, I did, caught between the two, my sister and the queen, who sought my companionship more now than ever.

  One night Anna woke me, in delirium she was, insisting there was a ghost in the hall waiting for her. “It’s Grace,” she cried. “She wants me to join her.” But when I looked, shining a candle in the hall, it was Dorothy sneaking out to the rose garden again. “No, Anna,” I said. “There’s no ghost. It’s only Dorothy.”

  “Promise me, Kat,” she had whispered. “Promise me you’ll not let Mama take me.” And then she had laughed bitterly. “She wants me, for she knows I’m the easiest of us to pull beneath the ground.”

  “No, no, shhh. You’re talking nonsense.”

  But nothing I said or did seemed to help—none of the herbs or potions I mixed for her, nor my soothing words. She had become impenetrable, lost to even me. The queen, upon hearing of my concern, sent her doctors, but they could do nothing for Anna. And then she disappeared, leaving me afright with worry. When Nicholas found she was at the Ludmores’, I inquired of her, and Lady Ludmore promised to send word when Anna had recovered.

  Rafael had not spoken a word to me since the day of the outdoor entertainment. He had carried me to my chamber, I was told by Dorothy, and there was much talk, so worried he seemed to be. He had paced up and down the hallway, but when told I had come to, he took his leave. I’d seen him at court, in the arms of a blonde, a woman who Dorothy tells me is a hussy and who has made the rounds of the randy men. He’s hardly even looked at me again, and the one moment I did catch his eyes upon me they were so dark and empty, I looked away.

  And as to what ailed me that day, I was sure as the sun sets that Ipollyta had tried to poison me, but when I shared my suspicion with Dorothy, she bade me not to say a word of it ever again. “Never make a scene, nor accusation, nor unkindly remark,” she advised me. “Those that heed these words stay the longest at court, and those that stay the longest rise the highest.”

  Strangely Ipollyta seemed to retreat, letting me take her place as the queen’s pet, although I did perchance to see a sour look upon her face like a rat who’s been denied the larder cheese. And one day a small packet of needles arrived, beautiful fine needles, expertly sharpened, but I tossed them away. I knew from whence they came, poison arrows, I was sure, and who knew what would become of me if I pricked myself?

  I’d lost my appetite. Dorothy insisted that her John said it couldn’t have happened in the kitchen, as there were yeomen who watched every bit of food that was destined for the queen’s table. He said that the sweetmeat had gone rancid in the sun. I’d lost quite a bit of weight, but Nicholas said it suited me, more of a woman I looked now than a chubby child.

  It was the end of September, still hot. Since Anna left, I’d spent my free afternoons in my room, the window propped open, stitching on the great gown for the queen. And although she teased me relentlessly about seeing it, I told her she would not until I’d stitched the last stitch, and only then. I’d finished the great lion and sewn the rubies into its eyes. He stared at me, fiery and knowing as I stitched the birds and other beasts with rich threads. And all the while the wolf lurked, waiting for my needle, and whenever I gazed upon it, I thought of my poor Anna. Finally I took some soap and tried to wipe it clean, but it remained like a whisper in the dark. Yes, Anna haunted me, in my thoughts and in my dreams.

  The queen was going to raise up Robert Dudley to the peerage and make him an earl. Some said it was in preparation for her finally marrying him. Others said it was merely to keep him at her side, for his eyes had begun to wander. And later after the ceremony, Nicholas was finally going to allow me to accompany him to the Queen’s Wardrobe to return the investiture robe the queen would wear that morning.

  As I sat stitching and waiting for Nicholas, there was a soft tap on my chamber door. Anna! I put my stitching down and quickly opened the door. But nay, it was not her. Just a shy maid who peered up to me from under a low-brimmed maid’s cap.

  “Do you remember me, miss?”

  I did not. She watched me carefully, her eyes hooded, as though she was memorizing my features.

  “Are you Dorothy Broadbelt’s maid?” I asked. Since Anna had left, my hair had returned to its former unruliness. Even the queen had noted it, for although she didn’t want anyone to outshine her, she didn’t want us looking like we have slept in the barn, either. Dorothy had promised her maid would come that morning and work her magic on it.

  “No, ma’am, it’s Iris.” She nodded. “From the Tower.” She blinked like a shy goat.

  Aaah, yes. It had been dark and she had been sitting by the fire. And she had known of Mrs. Eglionby. “I have a letter from my mother,” Iris continued. “Sorry, miss, but my mother doesn’t write, nor I. We both had to seek assistance.”

  My heart began to beat. She held the letter out and it was a good long moment before I took it. But took it I did, grasping it in my hands. I fetched a small coin for her.

  “Thank you.” She bowed and retreated, looking me over once more, before turning and running down the hall.

  I turned the letter over. I ripped it open.

  My Good Lady,

  Me daughter tells me you have asked if I ever knew a Mrs. Eglionby. And I thought I’d never hear her name uttered again, so surprised I was. Yes, I indeed knew her. A very long time ago. And she was a good, good governess, who very much loved the little babe, the Mistress Mary who was in her charge. But she couldn’t help her, not with the circumstances being as they were. My own mistress is very much aggrieved and sorrowful for her treatment of the sweet little girl and would change things now if she could. It haunts her to this day, the knowledge that the child, a queen’s child no less, disappeared under her care. She hasn’t heard a word of Mrs. Eglionby in many a year and can’t help you on that account. My lady feels strongly that the key to the mystery be with a maid who came with the child’s entourage, a maid named Grace, a saucy wench if there ever was one I must say, for I knew her well too. Find this Grace and perhaps you will have your answer.

  I ran for the door. I opened it. Nicholas was standing there before me.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked as I looked past him up and down the hall. “I rather do like your hair free like that, my country lass.”

  I discreetly folded the letter behind me.

  Dorothy had said once to watch the queen carefully; one could learn everything there was to know about handling men. For in the end, she was always the master in such things great and small.

  “She’s only giving him a peerage so Queen Mary will think more of him,” Katherine Knevit whispered behind me, and Mary Shelton shushed her. Whatever the reason, Robert Dudley was very dignified and proud as he walked around the presence chamber talking with the dignitaries and ambassadors who had gathered for the event. Everyone was richly attired—the councilors in robes and velvets, cloaked courtiers in their finest silks, extra feathers in their caps, doubly thick gold chains upon their necks, the ladies in their most glimmering gowns and costly jewels.

  As I strolled about the room with Nicholas, who was neglecting his clerkly duties as usual, I discreetly searched for Rafael. Finally I spotted him, this time a brunette woman by his side. He caught my eye and nodded, but his attention quickly returne
d to his lady. Chin in the air, I turned to Nicholas. I chatted and giggled and brushed his arm with my fan, just as I had seen the queen do many a time with her courtiers.

  The queen sat in a large red damask chair over which hung a crimson velvet canopy and a carved and gilded coat of arms. Sir Melville was by her side, her ladies talking amongst themselves nearby. The queen wore full ceremonial robes of damask silk and a great golden crown with jewels as large as walnuts that shimmered across the room like colorful moonbeams. Her face radiated complete happiness.

  The queen’s eyes alit on me. “Come here, my Spirit,” she called. Nicholas slinked behind a courtier and slipped from the room. “So we’ve moved from the rose garden into the Wardrobe, have we?” She laughed as I approached her, a puzzled look on my face. “Aaah…I know everything, dear Kat, but he doesn’t have to slink off like a naughty dog caught with the kitchen roast. Perhaps I would approve of the match.”

  I bit my lip. I was not thinking of him right now. My eyes darted to Rafael.

  “Oh, I see.” The queen laughed. “Is that how it is. Where has he been, by the way? I’m very offended he’s been absent from court.”

  Her eyes narrowed on the woman. “Lady Marion Huckabee. I can have her banished to the country if you like.”

  I turned to her. “Nay. I don’t know….”

  “Just as Blanche once said,” the queen mused, “you don’t know your own heart. But does anyone? She shall be gone tomorrow. She should be by her own husband anyway. He’s an invalid, never leaves their estate. My guess, my dear, is that you could have your Spaniard in a fortnight if that was your wish.”

  “Do you think so?” I asked her. “He’s ignored me for weeks.”

  The queen let out a hearty laugh. “My dear, you have much to learn in the affairs of men. Much to learn. He’s biding his time, as you must too.”

  “My maid Anna has joined Lord Ludmore’s household,” I said quietly.