“God’s blood! You cannot hide your girlish interest from me, mistress. One would have to be dead not to notice his beauty—he rivals Adonis. He is at the Inns of Court, studying law. Sir James asked if the young fellow could sit in on our meeting and I agreed. Fear not, dear Fawn—he is not for you, though you are free to gaze upon him all you like. Just do not become a fool for him!” said the queen.
Mary said nothing. She was disappointed to discover he was married and safe in the family fold, using his father-in-law’s position to wheedle a place at court, no doubt. But he was handsome and Mary fell asleep thinking of him.
Eleven
November 1569
The heat of August had passed, and as winter reared its icy head, fires roared in the hearths of Richmond, where the queen had come for several weeks, to enjoy her “warm box.” The colder air was a relief to those at court, for the foul smells, which seemed to grow even more foul in hot weather, were not so bad once the season turned. Mary looked out from the queen’s apartments to the fields below. The sun was shining and the leaves had gone from green to yellow, russet, and brown. Mary especially liked the deep purples she spied in the nearby woods.
Though autumn was her favorite time of year, this particular fall had been difficult. The entire court was worried about the restless north, whether the northern lords would rebel, as the rumors predicted, or whether reason would win out. The tension was palpable and discord rampant. Mary did not enjoy meeting with the queen and her advisors, for, no matter what point of view Mary heard, she could see no way out of the problems facing the realm. She tried to answer the queen’s questions about policies, but she felt completely inadequate and often wished she could disappear into one of the tapestries with scenes from the life of Abraham, those beautiful and bright carpets purchased at great cost by the queen’s father.
Though she had no head for policy, Mary had taken up a new task, the making of cordials, for medicinal use as well as for pleasure. Her interest had been sparked when Mistress Blanche brought her a draught for stomach ailments earlier in the year. She swallowed it down, surprised to discover it tasted sweet, like a mixture of fine fruits. And it quickly soothed her aching belly.
When she asked Mistress Blanche about the brew, she learned Old Catspaw was the maker. She spent many hours learning how to select the best fruits, how to cover them with aqua vitae so that they could have room enough to “swim” and remain immersed, and how to be patient as she waited the thirty days for the fruit to ferment. Then, she had to strain the large and small pieces from the liquid, bottle it tightly, and keep it away from the sun. Catspaw told her it was best to wait a year before tasting the mix, after she had added a generous amount of sugar, but Mary had a difficult time waiting. She wanted to share her work with the queen as soon as she could, so she brought samples to Her Majesty, who had been quite impressed. So much so, that she gave Mary leave to have her own cordial-making room next to the kitchen. She needed space to store the large vats filled with her concoctions, her utensils—filters, strainers, large spoons, bottles—and the bottles of wine and aqua vitae she used as a base for her brews. She learned how to distill juices and herbs, then add just the right amount of spirits to create delicious and health-inducing aperitifs for her friends.
After she had been released from the dreary meeting of the Privy Council, Mary stole a moment away from her usual duties to slip down to her cordial-making room. She loved going into the deepest recesses of the castle, hearing her feet slap-slap-slapping against the stone hallway. The heat rose to meet her, along with the wonderful smells of baked bread, roasting meat, and apple pastries. She could hear the cooks and scullery maids talking and laughing, the music of the kitchens now familiar to her—the clanging of pots, the click of wooden spoons against the crockery—and she felt at peace.
Suddenly, she felt someone grab her elbow from behind and spin her around.
“Ah, I thought it was you—I would recognize your gracious form anywhere, Mistress Mary. Well met,” said the Earl of Oxford.
“My lord Oxford. You have taken me by surprise. What brings you to the queen’s kitchens?” said Mary, removing her arm from his grasp.
“I was looking for you, mistress. I went to the queen’s apartments in search of you and Mistress Eleanor said you were most likely checking on your cordials. I knew you to be a woman of many skills, but I did not know you dabbled in medicine,” said Oxford.
“’Tis merely a pastime. I am by no means an expert. I have much to learn, but it is pleasant to sip my own concoctions. Why were you looking for me, milord?” said Mary, now walking toward her cordial-making room.
“I wanted to tell you something. Or rather, ask … I am not sure which,” said Oxford. His manner was uneasy. Gone was his usual arrogance and in its place, uncertainty. Mary grew more uncomfortable.
“I shall do my best to answer, if you have a question,” said Mary. She watched as the earl shifted from one foot to the other and bit his lower lip. He did not look at her, but instead gazed at the stone floor.
Mary waited, impatient to get to her fruit and spice mixture, to check on its progress.
“Mistress, I am of an age to take a wife. I have met, and I might add, bedded, many a likely prospect. However, none has touched my heart,” Oxford said, still staring at the floor.
Mary said nothing.
“But now…” he said, reaching for her hand, “now I have found one I would wish to be bound to—you, dearest Mary.”
Mary stood still. She could not think of what to say. She could feel the blood pulsing in her neck and her chest pounded. She did not wish to marry this man—to think of him touching her most private parts made her shiver with disdain. Yet, she could not insult him, either. He was an earl, and powerful.
“Can you say nothing to ease my discomfort?” Oxford said.
“I am … I am taken aback, milord. I had no idea you held such feelings for me in your heart,” said Mary.
“I have been unable to think of anything else—Pakington swears you have put a spell on me. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps you have slipped me one of your potions,” Oxford said, smiling.
“Oh no, milord. I would never do such a thing,” said Mary, unsure of how she should respond to him.
“I wish to pay you court, Mistress Mary—to dance with you in the evenings, write poems for you, woo you with every intention of making you my wife. What say you to this?” Oxford said.
Mary continued to stand rooted to the spot as surely as if she were a great oak tree.
“The queen will make my wedding arrangements for me—I have little say in the matter. I will be happy to dance with you and listen to your poetry, but I can make no promises regarding a marriage between us without the queen’s blessing,” said Mary.
“Of course, of course. I shall follow the proper protocol, mistress. But I wanted to sound you out first—to see if you have any interest in me,” said Oxford.
“Sir, I barely know you—I cannot say what my interests are,” said Mary.
“But you do not refuse me outright—this gives me hope. I thank you, Mistress Mary. I shall pursue you, then. You shall find me a faithful knight, filled with ardor, ready to serve you at your pleasure,” Oxford said. He gave her a short bow, then quickly strode up the hallway.
Mary continued to stand, her head spinning with a hundred thoughts. She shook herself as if she were awakening from a dream and walked into her private room. Her hands trembled as she lifted the lid from the fruit and smelled the sweet, sharp aroma of brandied peaches and cinnamon.
* * *
Mary, along with Mistress Eleanor, Mistress Frances, and Mistress Dorothy Broadbelt, rested after tidying the queen’s apartments. Mary wanted nothing more than to tell Eleanor about Lord Oxford’s conversation, but she could not with Mistress Dorothy and Mistress Frances there. Yet, to sit and wait for the queen’s next command seemed impossible to her. She felt as if bugs were crawling over her body and she must move to shake them off.
“The day is fresh and clear—I should like to take Tom across those meadows for a long walk,” said Mary as she continued to stare through the wavy glass.
“Not too cold, nor too hot—a perfect day for it,” said Mistress Eleanor, sitting on one of the low stools scattered about the room.
“I shall not go with you. I intend to wait right here until Her Majesty has need of me—I danced too late last night,” said Mistress Frances, sitting on one of the large pillows strewn on the floor.
“You and that handsome Oxford! He is a cocky fellow,” said Mistress Eleanor, who was seated next to her.
Mary stood, but said nothing. If Oxford danced so often with Mistress Frances, perhaps his interest in her was not as serious as he had led her to believe. She felt a weight lift.
“You were in the arms of Master Nicholas frequently, Nora—are you going to marry him?” said Mistress Frances.
“I cannot marry without the queen’s permission. But perhaps she will give it? I can only—” said Mistress Eleanor.
A commotion brought the ladies to their feet.
“Make way! Make way for the Queen’s Majesty! Make way!” said one of the Gentlemen Pensioners, whose job it was to guard the queen at all times.
Several more of the pensioners entered the queen’s apartments, their faces stern and their hands on their swords. Mary’s heart skipped a beat and she turned to see the queen enter, her face white as death. The queen walked quickly to her desk, took a piece of parchment and a quill. No one spoke, though loud voices could be heard in the hallway. Without observing the usual protocol, Master Cecil, Sussex, the Earl of Leicester, and several other members of the Privy Council entered.
Mary saw fear in their faces and noticed her friends had stopped their chatter and Mistress Eleanor held the hand of Mistress Frances.
“Ma’am, Northumberland and Westmoreland have raised a tremendous army. I fear the Duke of Norfolk’s removal to Kenninghall shall signal them to begin their march southward. You should go immediately to Windsor with your Gentlemen Pensioners and Leicester for your own safety,” said Master Cecil, his voice strained.
“God’s death! For what cause have these nobles risen against their queen? Have we not befriended them? Have we not been generous?” said the queen, quill in hand.
“Majesty, some prefer the Duke of Norfolk by his blood, some like the Scottish queen, some like the old religion, and some are persuaded by all three,” said Sussex.
“Aye, there must be something in the northern air that makes men traitors. My father faced the Pilgrimage of Grace, my sister Wyatt’s Rebellion—it is only fair I should have to fight for my crown and, by God’s blood, fight I shall. Lord Hunsdon, raise an army from the Midlands and go to meet these rebels. I shall send word to Huntingdon at Tutbury to bring the Scots queen as far south as Coventry at once! If this vast army from the north should rescue the Catholic queen, we would have war upon us,” said the queen as she scribbled a note onto the parchment.
“Every Catholic outside London has been predicting just such unrest. They say the stars are aligned to bring trouble upon our realm,” said Sir James Croft in his melodious baritone.
“By the bones of the Virgin, it takes no necromancer to see that sixty thousand men have pledged their services to Northumberland and Westmoreland! This has been coming on since the Queen of Scots first sought refuge from us. We have housed her and even tried to get her reinstated to her throne, but she is a viper. She and Norfolk would marry and bring their armies to London. But she shall not take my kingdom from me. I have the heart of a man, not a woman, and I am not afraid of anything!” said the queen, sealing her orders with red wax that looked to Mary the color of blood.
“Bess, I shall make arrangements to move the court immediately to Windsor,” said Leicester, rising from one knee beside the queen’s chair.
“Anon, Robin. Do not leave us just yet,” said the queen. She wrote further orders and sent the messenger off with instructions.
“Gentlemen, this is all we can do at present. We shall burrow in at Windsor and await word from Lord Hunsdon. Until then, we can pray for his success. Now, begone! And send the serving wenches for some wine and manchet,” said the queen, slumping in her chair.
The chambers emptied except for the maids and the Gentlemen Pensioners. The queen rose and held out her arms to Leicester. He took her in a tender embrace.
“Bess, Bess, you shall be safe in my care. I will never let harm come to you, sweetheart,” said Leicester, rubbing her back soothingly.
“Out, guards! Stand by our doorway this night—we do not need you in our chambers!” said the queen. The men marched out quietly.
“Oh Robin—see how I tremble. Is this the end? Has Norfolk gathered his armies to seize his bride and make way to London?” said the queen.
“Majesty, if he be such a fool, let him come. My sword shall stop him … forever,” said Leicester.
“As much as I have given him, still he succumbs to that woman—she must have such sway with men as to drive them to madness. Monarchs ought to put to death the authors and instigators of war,” said the queen.
“I fear you will have to put the Scottish queen to death, dear Bess. As long as she lives, you are in grave danger,” said Leicester.
“Put my own cousin, my blood, to the block? Destroy an anointed queen? This I shall never do, Robin—for if I take such power into my hands, who shall stop others from doing the same to me? No, I shall keep her in safety,” said the queen. She straightened herself and no longer leaned against Leicester. Mary noticed her color had returned a little.
The serving woman entered with a tray of manchet, cheese, and fruits along with a bottle of wine and several goblets. She poured a glass and handed it to the queen.
“Come, ladies, drink to fortify your spirits! Tomorrow we shall move to Windsor, so this night will be a busy one. You must prepare for a long stay,” said the queen, taking a long swallow.
“Majesty, can you tell us what is happening? Are we to be slaughtered?” said Mistress Eleanor, her voice sounding shaky.
“We shall not be slaughtered, Nora. We are perfectly safe with yon pensioners to guard us and Lord Robert’s trusty sword. The army of the north has sacked Durham Cathedral, destroying the English Bible and the Book of Common Prayer in a bonfire. Then they celebrated High Mass. They now begin their march south, probably first to Tutbury where they shall find their quarry has been stolen from them. Then, onward to London,” said the queen as though explaining a geography lesson to a less-than-apt pupil.
“Is our army large enough to defeat them, Your Grace?” said Mary.
“Ha! We have four hundred men from London—most of them old or blind or young and untried. They have no weapons except rakes, if that. We hope Hunsdon will be able to rally many from the Midlands, but even that is not sure—so many will take to the Catholic side. They are superstitious and ignorant and altogether blinded by popish loyalties,” said the queen.
“Bess, your people will rise to protect you—why, the citizens of London will take to the streets to fight if Norfolk’s army gets this far,” said Leicester.
“I pray you be right, Rob. I pray you be right. Now, kiss me good night for I crave sleep above all else. Who knows what fresh hell the morrow shall bring,” said the queen. She eased into his arms and they kissed for a long while. Then Lord Robert Dudley strode from the queen’s chambers, his blue velvet cape flowing behind him and the matching cap bobbing jauntily with each step.
“Now, Mary, let us go to our bedchamber. Ladies, sleep elsewhere tonight. I would have some quiet time with Mary and Mistress Blanche,” said the queen.
* * *
In the queen’s bedchamber, one candle burned by the bedside; the torches had been put out and the fire was merely embers. The queen in her silk nightgown and cap with Belgian lace around the edges sat on the edge of her sumptuous bed.
“Mary, I would you sleep with me this night—as you did when you were
a child. I need the comfort of your presence,” said the queen, holding the bed curtains so Mary could crawl in first.
“I should be honored, Your Grace,” said Mary, climbing in. “I have not forgotten how warm and cozy your bed is.”
“Would that it were this night,” said the queen, moving in beside Mary. “Parry, close the curtains, won’t you?”
As the curtains pulled tight around them, Mary felt, for the first time that evening, safe.
“Child, will you rub my back? I ache all over,” said the queen, turning with her back to Mary.
“Yes, Your Majesty. Do not fret—Lord Hunsdon will not fail you. He is your cousin, after all, and as such, he cannot fail,” said Mary, her voice soft and soothing.
“I pray you are right, Fawn. Oh, that feels so good … yes, there, across my shoulders … I feel as if I have been like Hercules, carrying the world on these thin shoulders. Perhaps you should go someplace safer,” said the queen.
“I shall not leave you, Majesty. My place is with you and I am safe enough at your side,” said Mary, rubbing the hard knots with great tenderness.
“You are a good child. I am blessed, indeed, to have my Fawn, my Spirit, and my beloved Eyes. Even if the Queen of Scots tears my flesh to ribbons, she will never have the kind of love I have had with you and Sweet Robin—our little family,” said the queen.
“Majesty, I have made a sleeping cordial—would you like to try it?” said Mary.
“That is just the thing I need—ring for the serving wench to fetch it,” said the queen.
Twelve
See how I tremble—it has not stopped since Durham Cathedral. By God’s heart, I do not allow these arms to show their weakness to any but you, Parry. I hold myself still when my ministers are near—they would think me but a weak woman, should I shake thus.
But I do have fears, fears I dare not speak to another living soul. No, not even you. They say Norfolk has not left Kenninghall—that is a surprise, yes. I would have thought he would join his army as they march from Durham, but it is rumored he has not moved.
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