“Nay. You are trying to boost my estimation of myself so I will not be clinging to the walls of the Great Hall,” said Mary. “Are there many handsome gallants waiting for us?”
“Sir George Carey, Lord Hunsdon’s son, is at court. He is quite handsome but has his nose out of joint because his father is risen so high. My favorite is Master Nicholas Hilliard—he is a marvelous sketcher of portraits and is fair of face! The queen favors Sir John Pakington and calls him ‘Lusty’ because he writes poetry and is skillful in the tiltyard … and other places,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“But Eleanor, you have never mentioned Master Nicholas. Have you been keeping him a secret?” said Mary as she smiled at a group of gentlemen who had nodded and bowed as they passed by.
“He is no secret—he does not know I exist. His eyes are for the queen, as are all the eyes of the court. But, once in a while, I see him glance toward me. The last time I caught him so, he smiled at me. His teeth are white as the pearls in your new necklace,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“What others are there?” said Mary.
“Well, there is the Duke of Norfolk, who disturbs our queen with rumors that he will wed the Scottish queen. He’s not as young as the others—he must have thirty years or more—but he is manly and makes many beaux gestes. The Scottish queen would be fortunate to have him. Oh, I almost forgot Edward de Vere, the Earl of Oxford—he’s nearest in age to you, Mary. But watch him—I fear he is as randy as a bull in spring,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“I remember Oxford. When I first began my studies at Master Cecil’s house, he was there. I was but eight. He seemed much older at the time—he was perhaps twelve. He studied under Master Nowell for a year, maybe less. I did not see him again. I have no idea what happened to him,” said Mary, shaking her head.
“He would not have bothered you then, but now I fear he chases anyone in skirts. Be forewarned,” said Eleanor.
“I shall watch out for them all. Oh, the queen leads us into the Great Hall. Do stay with me, Nora—I may faint,” said Mary.
The queen walked slowly to her throne, stopping along the way to chat with one courtier or another. She held in her right hand a fan made of peacock feathers with an ivory handle studded with jewels. When she approached the Earl of Leicester, she passed by him without a word but tickled his face and neck with the fan. The earl then left the group of men with whom he was conversing and followed the queen to her throne. He knelt in front of her and she began whispering in his ear. Mary wondered how the earl could be so duplicitous—fawning over the queen after she had caught him in the arms of another woman.
“Mistress Eleanor, I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting your friend,” said a young man dressed in a fine silk doublet with a green velvet cap on his head. On the cap, a white feather plume angled up, making the man seem taller than he actually was.
“This is Mistress Mary Shelton, newly made gentlewoman of the Privy Chamber and royal ward. Mary, please meet Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford,” said Mistress Eleanor as she gave him a small curtsy.
“Mistress Mary, I am charmed … you are the fullest blossom in this bouquet,” said Oxford.
Mary felt her face warming. She lowered her head and curtsied. She was afraid to speak lest her voice betray her fear.
“My lord…” she stammered.
“Might I invite you to dance? Let us join the queen and Leicester—they have begun a stately pavanne,” said Oxford.
“Certainly, my lord,” Mary said as she took his arm and followed him to the dance floor. With great solemnity, she focused on the steps, worried that, though she had practiced this dance a hundred times in the privacy of the queen’s apartments, she might make a misstep. She glanced up and noticed both the queen and Sweet Robin were staring at her. Robin gave her a wink and she smiled at him. Soon after, she began to relax.
“You are not new to court, then?” said Oxford, turning her around as they faced the opposite direction.
“Do you not remember me?” said Mary, skipping with her left foot.
“I am certain we have never met—I would not forget one so lovely,” said Oxford, lifting her into a slow spin.
“God’s blood, you have forgotten me!” she said.
His face began to turn pink and Mary could not help but smile. No doubt, he was racking his brain to recall who she was.
“Have no fear, my lord. I am not one of your quickly forgotten conquests. We were both wards at Master Cecil’s house. We studied under Master Nowell—I was the only little girl in the class,” said Mary.
“You are that little imp? The queen’s special pet? And quite spoiled, as I recall,” Oxford said.
“I was not! It may interest you to know I have lived at court since I was little—I was only three years old when I first arrived, a poor orphan,” said Mary, lifting her skirts with one hand while he circled her around. She matched the queen’s rhythm exactly and moved with much grace.
“I am sorry to hear you lost your parents at such a young age,” said Oxford.
“Many children lose parents … I am fortunate the queen decided to keep me rather than sell my wardship to some great man far from court,” said Mary.
“I am surprised she did not do so—our Bess is well known for her parsimony,” said Oxford.
“You should not speak so of the queen—it is unkind and untrue. She is most generous to those who love her and whom she loves,” said Mary, fingering the pearls at her throat.
“Have no fear, mistress. My bold talk is part of what the queen loves about me—I am one of her favorites, though I be young,” said Oxford, laughing.
“Bold talk has been known to lower a man by a head, sir,” said Mary.
“God’s blood, you sound like her! Always going on about shortening her subjects when she is in an evil mood. Are you in a foul temper?” said Oxford.
“I was not until I began this dance!” said Mary before she could halt the words.
Oxford stopped where he was, turned to Mary, and began to laugh. He did not take up the dance again but merely kept laughing. Mary realized that soon the whole court was staring at them. She felt the blood rise to her face once more.
“Oh, for the sake of all the devils in Spain, Oxford, what amuses you?” shouted the queen as she, too, stopped moving. She hushed the musicians with a wave of her arm.
“Majesty, forgive me! Mistress Mary’s ‘bold talk’ has tickled me as surely as the feathers of your fan,” said Oxford.
“Come here, my lad, and I shall give you a tickling you will not forget! You have need of a grown woman, not a shooting stalk of a girl,” said the queen.
“May I obey all Your Majesty’s commands with equal pleasure,” said Oxford as he knelt before the queen. She took her fan and ran it round and round his neck. Then, she leaned over to him and kissed him on the cheek.
“You are far too much of a sprout yourself, Oxford, to dawdle with your queen. Return to yon girl and come back to me when a man you be!” said the queen, laughing.
Oxford, without chagrin, walked back to Mary and encircled her waist with his arm. Mary watched as Leicester gave the queen and Oxford a dark look. The queen gestured to the musicians to play again, this time la Volta. The crowd circled around so they could watch the queen and her Master of the Horse begin the dramatic leaping and lifting this dance entailed. Mary searched the hall for Mistress Eleanor and saw her standing next to a handsome man, a goblet in hand.
“Pray excuse me, milord. I am thirsty and will join my friend,” said Mary, giving Oxford a short curtsy.
“A pretty retreat, mistress. Do let me know when you wish to fence with me again,” said Oxford as he turned from Mary toward Mistress Frances Vaughn.
Mary made her way to her friend.
“I see you have survived the dance with young Oxford,” said Mistress Eleanor. “That is better than some have done—I’ve seen more than one maid reduced to tears by his antics.”
“That rutting goat shall never make me cry,” said Mary as sh
e took a goblet from the gentleman standing beside Mistress Eleanor and sipped.
“Well said, ma’am,” said the young man, bowing slightly.
“This is Master Nicholas—the artist I told you about?” said Mistress Eleanor.
“Dear Nora, you have too high an opinion of my small ability,” said Master Nicholas.
“You will find, sir, Mistress Eleanor has a reasonable head on her shoulders and does not stoop to flattery when the truth will serve,” said Mary.
“Who speaks of truth at the court of Elizabeth?” said another young man as he joined them. He was dressed all in red—red doublet, red cloak around his shoulder with false sleeves, red shoes and red hose. The cap on his head was red with gold trim. He, however, had dark coloring with a large prominent nose and a thick black beard. He bowed to Mary and Mistress Eleanor, then grabbed Mary’s hand and pulled her toward the dancing space.
“May I present Sir John Pakington,” said Mistress Eleanor, calling out behind them.
Before Mary could respond, Pakington swung her around and around as the fresh music grew steadily faster. She could barely catch her breath as she tried to remember the steps to the country roundel. While her mind could not recall each turn and step, her feet had learned the dance perfectly.
“Methought at court a young gallant would ask a lady if she wanted to dance, not drag her to the dancing floor like a stubborn mule,” said Mary once the music stopped and she stood facing Pakington.
“You have an overly high expectation of chivalry, ma’am. Here, we be brutes,” said Pakington, reaching over to a nearby table and lifting a mug of ale to his lips. He gulped down the drink and called for more. A serving man refilled the mug and Pakington drained it.
“You have proven your point well, sir. And now, I shall return to my friend,” said Mary, searching for Nora.
“You will not find her in the Great Hall, mistress. She and that silly artist have ducked out the door—no doubt to find a private cove where they might escape the prying eyes of the court,” said Pakington.
“You do not know Mistress Eleanor, if you think she would put her honor at risk,” said Mary.
“Oh, I don’t believe there would be any risk involved. She lost her honor some time ago,” said Pakington, laughing.
Mary rounded on him, her eyes full of fire.
“God’s blood, you shame yourself, sir!” said Mary, unaware her voice rang out loudly over the stone walls.
The queen and her Sweet Robin had pushed their way across the crowded hall.
“Why speak you so, Fawn? Has this lusty fellow been bothering you?” said the queen, holding on to Leicester’s arm.
Mary knew she blushed under the queen’s gaze. She started to speak but Sir “Lusty,” as she now thought of him, spoke first.
“Your Majesty, forgive me. I was merely jesting with the new maid—I had not seen her before and her beauty is extraordinary. I shall watch my tongue in the future—I did not know she was one of Your Majesty’s favorites,” said Pakington, bowing low to the queen.
“God’s death, Pakington, you would mar a girl if she were not my favorite? I should have you thrown from court. But it is not this slip of a girl you want—surely, your queen, in her full maturity, could satisfy you, you great brute! Shall we dance, Sir John?” said the queen as she placed her delicate hands against Sir John’s chest.
“Ma’am, the pleasure is all mine,” he said. The queen gave the sign and music, tapping feet, and swirling skirts filled the Great Hall once again with sound.
Before Mary could make her way to one of the few benches set against the walls for the revelers to take their rest, she felt a tug at her elbow. She turned and faced yet another young man.
“Please, mistress, do not think all men at court are like Pakington. Some of us have proper manners and behave in ways that are suited to our station in life. I am Baron Hunsdon, George Carey. My father, Henry, is cousin to the queen,” he said. He gave Mary a small, prissy bow and offered her his arm.
“Would you care to stroll in the gardens? I assure you, your virtue will be safe with me,” he said. He picked a bit of lint or dirt from his doublet and drew a bouquet of flowers to his nose. He then sniffed at the blooms.
Mary thought he looked like one of the peacocks strutting around the grounds, considering himself beautiful and holding his head up as if he were above the rest of the crowd.
“You are kind to offer, sir. But I fear my feet are tired and I suffer an ache in my head. I shall ask the queen if I may return to her chambers,” said Mary, curtsying and moving quickly away from the baron.
* * *
“Why did you not tell me I would be like fresh kill for those vultures?” said Mary as she and Mistress Eleanor prepared the Privy Chamber for the next day.
“How could I have explained what the evenings are like for us? You have been sheltered by the queen, sent off to bed after we sup. Her Majesty has just acknowledged your womanhood—now that you serve as one of her ladies, you must grow used to these men and learn how to handle them. You did very well, I should say,” said Mistress Eleanor as she set the table for the queen’s breakfast.
“I suppose with so many men and so few women, it is no wonder the court is full of romance. The odds are against us—how can we protect ourselves when there are five men laying siege to us at one time?” said Mary, folding a cloth over her arm.
“Even those with wives are not allowed to bring their spouses with them to court—the queen forbids it. She wishes to direct all manly attention to herself—things have always been thus,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“They are all in love with her, no doubt. She is witty and graceful and elegant,” said Mary.
“Humph. She is also beginning to show the wrinkles across her brow. She was never a great beauty, even when she was young, so my mother tells me. She never had your sweet looks!” said Mistress Eleanor.
Mary shook her head.
“Ha! My looks are anything but sweet—the queen has told me she can read my every thought because it is written across my features. My nose is too long and sharp—like the blade of a knife. My lips are not like a rosebud, but pouty, as if I were always unhappy. And my face is shaped like that of a cat. No, the queen outshines me by much. She is the great light at court. The queen is everything glorious in a woman—she dances, plays the virginals and the lute, has a melodious singing voice. She speaks so many languages and is clever in her speech. I would wish to have all her talents and abilities. Most of all, she knows how to handle her courtiers. She has kept the Earl of Leicester’s interest for over ten years and he still adores her,” said Mary.
“Aye, she has her mother’s way about her—the same allure. She runs hot, then cold, then hot again. The poor fellows know not what to think. But Mary, you should mark this—I saw the queen’s ill-humored looks directed toward you tonight,” said Mistress Eleanor as she placed the finger bowl next to the queen’s place and filled it with water.
“But why should the queen spear me with dark looks? I have done nothing,” said Mary.
“When you were at the center of that group of young courtiers, she was jealous. Do not be so surprised—you are young and full of beauty. The queen is not. But she cannot abide this, so she forces the attentions of men young enough to be her sons upon herself. It is loathsome,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“This cannot be. Surely the queen is not so vain! What shall I do? I do not wish to anger her against me,” said Mary.
“I do not know—you are close to her heart. She will not turn against you,” said Mistress Eleanor. “Come, let us sit with our sewing until the queen comes in from her walk—the good thing about serving the queen in her Privy Chamber is there is not much to be done—we shall have some time to ourselves.”
As the two young women worked at their needle and thread, Mary realized she had not thought of Tom Wotton in several weeks. In fact, she could barely remember what he looked like. What she could recall was the way his lips felt
against hers and the way his lean, muscled arms made a shell around her when they kissed. She thought of the courtiers she’d danced with, each with his own special charm. The Earl of Oxford was somewhat handsome, though small in stature. He was unmarried. Would he be a pleasing match for her? Would the queen allow her to marry someone like him? After all, he was an earl. The queen could hardly hope for a better match. Though he was an earl, something about Oxford made Mary’s blood chill. Maybe it was the way he pursed his lips, or the weak look he had about the eyes—a pale blue with very light lashes. No matter. He was not the one—she did not feel anything in her bones, the way she imagined she would when she met the man she would marry.
Mary hummed a familiar ditty, a love song about a maiden and her mysterious lover from the sea. She was sad she had forgotten so much about Tom Wotton. Perhaps she was as fickle as a man. Perhaps she was no better than Oxford, who, according to Eleanor, had the fidelity of a flea.
Nine
Oh Parry, what am I do to? Such rages roil within me, such storms, that I shall never see my way clear of them. What must those young pups in my court think of me? What must my dear Robin think? And Mary, poor Mary … to see the queen command the love of young men away from her?
She is a pretty thing, is she not? And her dancing quite filled with grace. How staunchly she put Oxford in his place! And our “lusty” Pakington! She sparred quite well for her first time in the field.
God’s breath, do I not already see the truth of what you say? Time ticks faster and faster, it seems; the Queen of Scots intrudes on my lands and gathers men to her—there must be something divine about the Queen of Scots, something that obliges her very enemies to speak well of her! She is said to be quite lovely. And she is young, so much younger than I am.
Spain dawdles in the Netherlands and the Duke of Alva amasses a well-equipped army of men. I have no army to speak of and little money to equip one. And Norfolk will not admit to his plan to marry the Queen of Scots—he plots against me, yet smiles and speaks with the greatest charm. My nerves are as frayed as the hem of an old shift.
Queen Elizabeth's Daughter: A Novel of Elizabeth I Page 5