by Mary Hooper
‘He says so.’ I thought about this fantastical supposition for a moment. ‘Even so, what can I do?’ I asked helplessly. And then added, ‘Unless I could write and tell the queen that I believe her life to be in danger …’
Isabelle shrugged. ‘Her life is permanently in danger from those who would put her cousin on the throne. Besides, you and I are not capable of penning a letter which would merit the queen’s attention. ’Twould just be dismissed as the ravings of a mad person.’
I sighed. ‘And neither do I own parchment nor pen.’
‘So you will have to go and seek an audience with her!’
‘And how should I do that?’
‘There’s a way,’ she said, ‘for every Sunday when Her Grace is in residence in Richmond she passes through the Presence Chamber, and it’s there that the public gather to petition her or just to look upon her and see some of the wonders of her reign: the fine tapestries, paintings and furniture she’s collected.’
‘I’ve heard of that,’ I said. ‘But can anyone go? Could I go?’
She nodded. ‘Of course. And you’d not be alone, for I’d go with you. I’ve long wanted to see inside the palace!’
‘So I’d try to speak to her …’ The whole idea was exceeding alarming. But then, if I ever again wanted to have a sound night’s sleep without dreams of death, it seemed that I might have to attend on the queen at Richmond Palace.
Chapter Sixteen
During the next week, Alice Vaizey stole into my head at every opportunity. I dreamed of her at night and she crept up on me during the day, whether I was playing with the children, scouring the pots with sand or listening to Mistress Midge berate some poor tradesman or other. I could hear her voice whispering in the trees, ‘Alas, poor Alice’, or pleading, ‘Save my lady!’ within the clip-clop rhythm of the hooves of passing horses. She had entered my life and did not seem inclined to move from it.
The days were growing shorter, the weather danker, and despite the various tonics which cook had prepared, Mistress Dee seemed not to be improving. To stir her from her lethargy, therefore, Mistress Midge proposed that she should take an excursion to see her mother, the dowager, who still lived in the family house in Greenwich. Even this might not have stirred her, but for the fact that Mistress Midge also suggested that the babe be brought from his wet nurse so that he, along with his sisters, could visit his maternal grandmother. Dr Dee was to go as well, which rather surprised me, but I heard from the children that Mr Kelly had gone to Nottinghamshire to scry for lost treasure, so presumed that my employer must have time on his hands.
A boat and waterman were hired, for the journey to Greenwich was to be made by river, and it was arranged that they would travel on the Saturday and come back late on the Monday. The boat was just large enough for five, so the only servant going would be Mistress Allen. This was very good news for me, for it meant that I’d be able to go on my own excursion.
I asked Mistress Midge for the Sunday off, telling her that I was going to try and set eyes on the queen and see her fine possessions, and she didn’t demur at this, no doubt thinking of the cronies she’d have over to gossip and share a few mugs of ale with while the house was empty.
In the market place on Friday, Isabelle and I made final plans. What we should wear was the most consuming question, for people went in their costliest gowns and jewellery and competed with each other as to who could look the wealthiest and most fashionable. She said, too, that the palace guards were fussy about who was allowed through the gates and kept out beggars, the poorer sort and anyone who smelled.
I giggled, sniffing the air. ‘Then today they wouldn’t allow you in!’ I said, for that day she was selling herrings from a basket. These herrings, unfortunately, had come downriver from the city in a barge and taken a day or so in the travelling, so were not at their freshest.
She looked at me impishly. ‘But this is a goodly catch, for I’ve bought the herrings ten for a penny and am selling them at a penny each!’ She continued, ‘And I shall scrub my hands with soapwort tonight, rub them afterwards with rose water, and tomorrow be dressed as fine as everyone else.’
I laughed, for a moment forgetting the seriousness of my mission. ‘And so shall I!’
‘We’ll see some excellent sights, Lucy,’ she continued, ‘for people going to the palace will do anything in order to be noticed by Her Grace. They say the very sight of the clothes and jewels worn is dazzling to the eyes.’
‘But what if we don’t get noticed?’ I asked. ‘What if Her Grace passes by and doesn’t stop – for she can’t speak to everyone, can she? What if she’s feeling unwell that day, or is of unreasonable temper …’
Isabelle put up her hand to stop me. ‘Then, if you believe in the worth of the message you bring, you’ll have to step forward and seize your chance with her.’
I looked at her in dismay. ‘I could never do such a thing!’
‘You may have to,’ she said, ‘or have poor Alice in your head for evermore.’
* * *
We’d hoped to travel to the palace in style, but none of the horses that Isabelle’s brother exercised were available on the Sunday, so we had to walk. It was not raining, however (such an occurrence would have been disastrous for our outfits), so Isabelle stepped out early, around seven o’clock, and came along the river path to call for me.
On opening our kitchen door, I stared at her, amazed. ‘You look like a real lady!’ I said, for though she was only wearing my green gown, she’d borrowed a hat from a neighbour and trimmed it herself with flowers and greenery picked from the hedgerows, and was also wearing a pretty lace shawl, the border of which she’d trimmed with silk ribbons.
‘And you look very fine, too,’ she said, and we gave a low, formal curtsey to each other and burst into giggles.
I was wearing the brown linen bodice and skirt which had been passed to me by Mistress Dee, but Mistress Midge, being something of a seamstress, had shown me how to slash the full sleeves of the bodice and display yellow silk beneath, as was the fashion. I didn’t have a hat, alas, but had plaited my hair about my head and pinned it up with some fancy hairpins borrowed from that same lady. Dressed, then, in all our finery, we picked up our skirts and set off.
The walk to the palace took an hour or so along the riverside, and was much enlivened by the ’prentice lads, who left off kicking their footballs in the street to shout after us, or banged on windows as we passed. ‘Sweeting! Is it your own wedding you go to, or is there a chance for me yet?’ one called, and another whistled long and said, ‘I swear I’d die for a kiss from such beauties!’
‘And I swear I’ll always primp myself up from now on,’ Isabelle whispered to me, ‘for I’ve never had as much attention in my life.’
Nearing Richmond Palace, we were surprised by the number of people going in our direction. Not many were in carriages, but there were several in horse-drawn wagons or being carried on litters, and many more on horseback or foot. We looked at all these carefully, judging our own outfits against those of the women and assessing the cut of the doublet, the shape of the leg and the elegance of the young men, and thereby finding several to our liking.
‘Have you thought about what you will say if – no, when Her Majesty notices you?’ Isabelle asked me as the golden towers of the palace came into sight.
I shook my head. ‘But if what you think is true and the spirit of Alice Vaizey is speaking through me,’ I said, ‘then I shall leave it to her. She’ll know if and when to speak, and what to say.’
She nodded. ‘An excellent notion. And either way, you and I shall have a fine day out and ’twill be something to relate to our families ever after.’
Our families, I thought with a pang, and wondered to myself how Ma was faring and how long it would be before I saw her again.
We both fell silent for a moment as we approached the vast gates with perhaps twenty others, wondering if we might be scrutinised and found lacking in something or other, but the guards �
�� smart in red and purple livery, their steel halberds shining like mirrors – seemed genial enough. ‘You good folk will have a long wait,’ one of them said, ‘for Her Majesty doesn’t bestir herself too early on a Sunday morning.’
‘About what time d’you think we might see her?’ I made bold to ask.
The guard, after looking us up and down and giving a wink of approval, said, ‘Eleven o’clock is her usual time to appear in the Presence Chamber.’
I looked at Isabelle, excited and afraid. Just about two hours to wait …
As we went through the gates, side-stepping the peddlers selling ribbands and gee-gaws, I looked around me, amazed, for the palace was much, much larger than it appeared from the riverside and was surrounded by many other secondary buildings which I hadn’t been able to see before. We were not given long to marvel at the size of it or wonder at the loveliness of the gardens, however, before we were ushered up a flight of marble steps, through two sets of doors and into a long corridor which led to a vast chamber, the largest I could ever have imagined – bigger than the interior of any church I’d ever seen and perhaps as large as those churches which are called cathedrals. Some of the windows were of coloured glass and some plain, but there were a great many of them and the whole place, hung with bright silk flags, looked as you might imagine the interior of a faery castle.
I looked up, and up, for the ceiling was far and away above our heads – and wonder of wonders, it was painted sapphire blue and strewn all over with glittering gold suns, stars and moons.
‘Oh – oh!’ Isabelle clutched me, awestruck too, and we both stood and stared above us for a while, turning on the spot until, almost dizzy, we were told to move along to make room for all the other petitioners coming into the chamber.
It was all very fine. Great arrangements of flowers and leaves stood high in the window alcoves, and there was a section roped off in the centre of the room with red carpet laid down, while the rest of the floor was strewn with herbs and rushes. More and more people arrived and grouped and regrouped themselves, settling on the floor, adjusting their outfits, re-pinning bodices or smoothing their hair. Some had rolls of parchment, which I supposed were their petitions, while others carried small boxes, and Isabelle and I spent some time speculating on what treasures these might contain, for we’d heard it said that Her Grace was immensely fond of receiving presents of jewellery, so much so that people sometimes ruined themselves in order to buy a fine diamond pin or gem-studded novelty to win her favour.
We settled ourselves as near as we could to the ropes in order to get the best possible view, and looked around us. The whole effect, as Isabelle had predicted, was astounding, for although there were a few poorer folk in their plain Sunday best, and even one or two Puritans in severe black and white, the women’s gowns were mostly vast cartwheels of fine and costly materials: crushed velvet, fine wool, muslin, sarcenet, satin and lace, and in every colour imaginable: magenta, tangerine, scarlet, violet and ochre. Their necks were hung about with necklaces of every type, and most had great ruffs of fine lace which reached past their ears at the back and dipped low in the front, in one case exposing almost the whole of the woman’s bosom.
The men were hardly dressed any less flamboyantly, wearing velvet doublets in bright colours – blue or green or scarlet – closed at the front with elaborate frog-fastenings and embroidered all over with flowers. From beneath these jackets silk hose emerged, disappearing in turn into soft leather boots dyed all colours of the rainbow.
Isabelle and I stared about us, almost speechless. So this was what the inside of a real palace was like and this how the queen’s wealthiest subjects displayed themselves. Those huge farthingale skirts worn by the women were the latest styles from Paris.
‘Your first time to the palace?’ There was a youngish man at my elbow wearing a striking red hat which bore more feathers than a chicken.
‘It is,’ I said, nodding. ‘And yours?’
‘Good heavens, no,’ he said. ‘I am here most Sundays in the hopes that heaven and Her Grace will smile upon me.’
‘And has she ever?’ Isabelle asked.
‘Not yet,’ he said. He rolled his eyes and pretended to fan himself. ‘But every Sunday I live in hope.’
‘And what would happen then?’
‘If Her Grace condescends to notice me and I can be droll or witty in my response to her, or sing her a fine song, then she may offer me a position.’
‘A place at Court?’ I asked. ‘But what as?’
‘Oh – as anything!’ he said airily. ‘A lute player, card player, minstrel or poet, or just someone who can turn a fine leg when dancing or impress with his Italian manners. I can do all those things, but have no patron to speak for me, so have to rely on my own cunning.’ He patted his velvet doublet, which was in the Tudor colours of red and green, then took off his feathered hat and tucked it underneath his arm. ‘I spend my days rehearsing my compliments to the queen, for I mean, come what may, to win her favour.’
‘We wish you luck, then,’ I said.
He fanned himself again. ‘I shall get to Court or die in the attempt!’ he declared, and we hardly knew what to reply to this.
The time we spent waiting in that chamber passed in an instant, and indeed I felt that I could have stayed there a whole month and not tired of marvelling at all the fops and fine ladies, and – almost better – those who thought that they were looking magnificent and put on airs and graces, only to draw mocking glances from those around them. Eventually, though, we heard the distant sound of trumpets, and excited whispers passed through the chamber to say that Her Grace was on her way.
Isabelle and I were standing about halfway down the vast chamber and could see along the passageway where we’d come in, which was now also lined with people three or four deep. Those who’d been sitting down to wait now stood up, and then almost immediately began kneeling or bowing their heads in order to receive the queen’s blessing as she passed.
The trumpets sounded again. ‘I see her!’ I said to Isabelle excitedly, straining to see over a hundred heads. ‘She’s wearing silver and white.’
‘A most wonderful dress of silver tissue,’ gasped Isabelle, her head bobbing this way and that.
‘Her favourite shades,’ the young gentleman with the feathered hat said. ‘White to symbolise her virginity and silver to emphasise her status.’
‘And there are lots of maids of honour!’ I said. ‘They are two by two following my lady.’
‘One of those bold misses has recently run off to marry a fortune-hunter,’ murmured the young man, who then began pushing his way to the very front, right by the rope, the better to gain the queen’s attention.
I didn’t take my eyes off Her Grace and saw her pause several times to speak to different people, and noticed that some of these – a very few – were invited by her to take their places in the train of maids and courtiers that followed behind.
The trumpeters at last sounded a fanfare in the main chamber and I clutched Isabelle’s hand, hardly able to draw breath for excitement. As the queen, her farthingale swaying, glided in like a ship in full sail, there was an immediate cry of ‘God save Your Majesty!’ And the gracious reply came, ‘I thank you, my good and loyal citizens.’
There was then a moment’s rapt silence before those standing nearest to her began calling out, ‘May Your Majesty grant me a position at Court to serve you!’ ‘Your Grace, please to hear my petition!’ ‘My good queen! I’ve worked all my life and am now destitute!’ ‘Your Majesty, my child will perish without your aid!’
Oh, such things they shouted as would melt the heart of the hardest man! But Her Grace had probably heard them all before and passed most by, nodding courteously, occasionally taking a rolled parchment or accepting one of the gifts, smiling at everyone and saying, ‘Bless you, my good people!’ as she waved her hand over us in benediction. A few more lucky ones were chosen by her and came from behind the ropes, bursting with pride, to join the litt
le group in her wake.
The queen came closer and I still didn’t have a clue in my mind about what I might say, for the intense excitement of being in her presence seemed to have taken everything out of my head. Slowly she moved to stand in front of where we knelt and I began to take in every detail of her appearance. Her ruff flew out each side of her head like the eaves of a house and topped a gown of white and silver tissue, as I’d already observed. Almost every part of the fabric of this gown was covered, encrusted, in either embroidery or jewels or both: great pear-shaped pearls, coloured gems, gold chains and precious, glittering diamonds and emeralds. Around her waist she wore a belt of silver and turquoise from which hung a variety of small and exquisite objects: a pomander, silver scissors, some keys, a miniature looking glass and a round object, which I knew to be a pocket watch. The very sight of her was both spectacular and astonishing, and to know that in front of us stood England’s queen was the most astonishing thing of all.
The befeathered youth, who had moved so far forward that he was standing on the red carpet, called, ‘Your Grace! I have composed a song to your beauty!’
The queen stopped and smiled at him, her hair very red in contrast with the icy paleness of her face. ‘Then you must certainly come and sing it to us!’ she said, her voice clear and light.
‘Oh!’ Isabelle breathed in my ear. ‘Now, Lucy. Speak while she’s near us!’
I opened my mouth, but it was dry with fright and the very notion of speaking to the Queen of England was so daunting that I could not, for the very life of me, utter a single word. I had, perhaps, two seconds in which to act, but this passed in a heartbeat and then Her Grace had gone past us.
‘Oh!’ I breathed, terribly dismayed. My one chance to be of service to the queen and I hadn’t taken it.
Isabelle, seeing my distress, squeezed my hand in sympathy. ‘Never mind.’
‘I dared not …’ I began, and then, suddenly, there was a burst of laughter from the passageway and a jester – a flash of yellow silk – came into the Presence Chamber, tumbling over and over in perfect somersaults. The crowd roared and applauded; even the queen turned and smiled at her fool.