“My hope tonight is for Master Nicholas to sketch my portrait—and I pray he asks me to marry him. He promised to speak to his father about the match and then to write my father. I can see no reason for them to refuse us,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“Aye, then I shall be forced to treat you as a refined married woman—I shall not be able to stand it,” said Mary, laughing. “I shall tell you a secret—well, two secrets. Before we left London, Sir John Skydemore told me he was going to speak to the queen about courting me. I believe him to be sincere.”
“That is big news, indeed! He is so very handsome, though his holdings are sparse. I fear the queen may not agree to the match,” said Eleanor.
“Once I tell the queen that I am not opposed, surely she will allow it. But that is not my only secret,” said Mary, hugging herself.
“Well, out with it,” said Eleanor.
“The Earl of Oxford has also said he was going to speak to the queen. Though he has been saying it for many weeks now, yet he does nothing. Imagine! Marrying an earl!” said Mary.
“Oh, dear friend—you have not given way to him, have you? Oxford is notorious for making all sorts of promises to young maidens, then never following through. He will play you false. Though he is an earl, he is no gentleman,” said Eleanor.
“I have kept my virtue, dear Nora. Though I had not heard this information before, in my heart I did not trust him. His eyes are not honest eyes,” said Mary. “Truth to tell, I am not disappointed. I find Sir John much more to my liking.”
“Come, I hear Her Majesty approaching. We must set the table for her dinner. I am happy to go a-dancing this eve,” said Eleanor.
Mary felt a sudden breath of freedom. It was good to share her news about Sir John, and she was glad to have her opinion of Oxford confirmed. As she thought about the upcoming evening, she remembered her glimpse of the queen in Lord Robert’s arms. Suddenly, she felt a lightness in her limbs—if the queen could live freely, then so could she. She would dance with every man who asked her; she would smile and enjoy the attentions shown to her by the courtiers. She would sparkle like the diamonds in her necklace.
* * *
“Mary, you have tired me out! Three galliards in a row and still you wish to dance. Come, let us have more wine,” said Oxford as he took Mary by the hand and led her to the tables filled with ale and wine. He handed her a glass, which she drank down quickly. She, too, had worked up a thirst. She watched as the earl drained his mug of ale and then poured more from a nearby ewer. He gulped that down, too. Mary quickly finished her wine and took yet another glass. She noticed the queen walking toward her. She gave Her Majesty a quick curtsy. The queen leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“Dear Fawn, take care you do not imbibe too much drink—it clouds the mind,” said the queen. Then the queen chucked Oxford under the chin. “Have a care with my ward.”
Mary’s face burned with fury. She was not a child! She reached for her glass, gave Oxford a bold grin.
“I shall match you drink for drink,” she said. She smiled at him and quaffed down the liquid. Normally, she followed the queen’s custom of watering her wine and drinking small beer, but tonight she felt free and full of her own power. She had danced with every handsome man in the hall, and now the Earl of Oxford was partnering Mary with great gusto.
“This I should like to see, mistress! Come, let us catch some of the cool night air,” said Oxford, once again taking her hand and pulling her along. She followed with no protest.
“The night is full of stars—and the sweet smell of roses. Or is that you, Mary?” said Oxford, nuzzling her neck, making a great show of sniffing her.
“I smell the roses, sir—but the scent comes from yon flowers, though I did bathe with rosewater and dabbed a bit of almond oil on my wrists. And, truth be told, I stole a little dollop from the queen’s musk jar and placed it just here,” she said, pointing to the space between her breasts. She could not believe she spoke with such boldness. She thought about Sir John, what she would do if it were he in the garden with her, rather than Oxford. She imagined his beautiful eyes, his sculpted body. She could not help but shiver.
“You are different tonight, Mary. You tempt me on purpose,” said the earl as he leaned in close to smell her bosom.
“Why should I not tempt you, sir? You are a young man, handsome and witty. Why should I forgo enjoying you?” said Mary, her head spinning a little. She did not know why she said such things to him, except she kept remembering the queen in Sweet Robin’s naked arms. If the queen could dally so, why should Mary not emulate her? This thought had been buzzing in Mary’s head since she had discovered the queen’s lewdness. Besides, the queen thought she could control Mary’s every move; Mary was a woman full-grown. And she would prove it.
“Now you begin to sound like a courtier, indeed. Come into my arms, dearest. There you shall find a heart that beats as hotly as your own,” he said, drawing her to him.
He kissed her and she allowed herself to respond to him. She raised her arms around his neck and leaned into him, their bodies touching from head to toe. She felt him rise and enjoyed the sense of power she had discovered. She imagined it was Sir John who kissed her. With Sir John in her mind, she was surprised to discover her body responding. Slowly, Oxford walked her behind the hedge, never stopping his kisses and moving his hands over her bodice. She did not flinch when he began to unlace the ribbons of her dress. Soon, he had loosened her bodice completely. She was up against him, her breasts free against his strong chest. He kissed her over and over, his hands reaching beneath her shift, touching her nipples and circling them with his palms. Then, he began to kiss her neck and her ears. She leaned her head back so he could reach her. Soon, she felt him pull her bodice over her head as she squirmed out of it. He then untied the ribbon at the neck of her shift and pulled it down past her shoulders, so that she was naked from the waist up. She felt his mouth on her chest, her nipples, her belly.
He panted and began to lift her skirts. At this, she stopped him.
“Milady, what is wrong?” he said, barely able to speak.
“I fear we go too far, sir. I am not … I am not ready for completion of the act,” she said, breathless.
“But why, dearest? I promise you will not be disappointed…” he said, beginning to kiss her again. She could feel his tongue trace across her shoulders, then plunge down the crevice between her breasts. His mouth, warm and wet, was on her nipple again.
Suddenly, there was a movement in the bushes. Mary pushed him away and drew up her shift to cover herself.
“What goes on here! My lord Oxford, I suggest you remove yourself at once! Before the queen comes hither! Go!” said Mistress Blanche, her face white. She hurried to Mary and helped her tie herself back together. Then, she took her, none too gently, by the elbow and guided her to a side door into the darkened hall leading to the queen’s apartments.
She did not say a word until they were in the queen’s bedchamber. The fire burned in the hearth and a few candles lit the room. They were alone.
“Sit!” said Mistress Blanche, pushing Mary down onto a chair by the gaming table.
Mary plopped down, then stared at her feet.
“What in the world were you thinking? Edward de Vere is one of the most debauched men at this court. Yet, I find you almost ruined right there in the queen’s gardens! Do you wish to bring dishonor upon the queen? Do you wish to cheapen yourself so you can never make a good marriage? Tell me! Tell me why you were acting so stupidly!” said Mistress Blanche in a cold, quiet tone.
“I suppose I was acting as the queen acts. I suppose I wanted to see for myself what love is all about,” said Mary, growing angrier as she spoke. “Why should I forgo the pleasures of the Earl of Oxford when the queen takes pleasure with her ‘Sweet Robin’ all the time? Everything they say about her is true! She is lustful and a disgrace to Christendom. How dare she insist on the virtue of her maids when she has besmirched her own!” said Mary.
>
“I see. And how old are you, mistress?” said Mistress Blanche.
“Sixteen—of marriageable age,” said Mary.
“And how old is the queen?” said Mistress Blanche.
“She is thirty-seven,” said Mary.
“And do you not think a woman of thirty-seven knows better what she’s doing than a girl of sixteen? If Oxford had had his way with you this night, what would you have done if a babe had been the result? No one would have you then. The queen would put you in the Tower and I would not blame her. You will note, the queen has not had any babes, nor will she. Yes, she may lie with Lord Robert, but she remains intact. She keeps her head about her and does not allow him full possession of her person. God knows what might have happened if I had not come along when I did!” said Mistress Blanche.
“But she is false! She tells her ladies to guard their virtue, yet she does not guard her own. She plays the whore for Lord Robert!” said Mary.
Mistress Blanche drew back her arm and slapped Mary across the face.
“You listen to me, you foolish girl! The queen has sacrificed everything for her kingdom. She knows she cannot ever marry—especially cannot marry the man she has loved these twenty years. She can neither bear his children nor share his bed. She cannot even live with him and enjoy the simple things—waking together on a sunny morning, sharing the joys of domesticity, bringing a child into this world—yet she loves him. And you, you who know nothing, you would judge her as a wanton. I suggest you think hard about all she has done for you. How she has loved you. The many nights she sang you to sleep, though the thorny problems of the world weighed on her. She has been as a mother to you in so many ways … she does not deserve your scorn,” said Mistress Blanche.
Mary had never seen Mistress Blanche in such a state. Usually calm and kind, comforting and full of sweet words, the strange woman who stood before her seemed to have changed before her very eyes. Mistress Blanche admonished her to stay within the bedchamber and consider her words. Then she turned without another utterance and stormed out of the room.
Mary began to cry. She cried because part of her knew Mistress Blanche was right—she had been foolish, and she was lucky Mistress Blanche had saved her. She cried because she felt sorry for the queen and ashamed of her own thoughts toward Her Majesty. She cried because she wished she had been in the garden with Sir John Skydemore. And she cried because she did not know how she would ever face the Earl of Oxford again.
Twenty-one
July 1570
As the summer grew hot, the queen’s progress continued west, toward Gloucestershire, as far toward the Welsh marches as the queen wished to travel. Already the ladies-in-waiting were anxious to return to London, to the easier work of moving only a small distance from castle to castle along the Thames, where each of the queen’s palaces had to be sweetened after a few weeks’ time. The moves were expected in London, and carried out with precision by armies of servants used to such maneuvers, unlike this progress to the wilds of the west, where few people could accommodate the queen and her court, and the cumbersome loads took longer to carry due to poor roads. The ladies were tired of sleeping in cramped quarters with little comfort. The queen, however, demanded they be energetic and ready for all the festivities to be enjoyed on progress: hunting, dancing until midnight, walking through the forests, riding horses fast as the wind, attending plays and jousts, enduring the homage paid by the poor peasants and little children. The civilization found in London seemed truly a different world from this backward outcountry. However, though her servants were less than happy, the queen herself continued to be delighted by her people and the hospitality of her hosts.
The progress finally arrived at Gloucester where Sir Norris and his wife would host them for several days before they turned back in the direction of London. After a night’s rest from their travels, the queen and her ladies were ready to take their pleasures in the new day.
“What fresh entertainments must we pursue today?” said Mistress Eleanor, as she cleared away the queen’s dishes from breaking her fast. It was mid-morning but the queen, as she told her ladies, was not a “morning woman” and so their day’s activities never started until after the midday meal.
“I understand there is to be a hunt and picnic in the glade afterward. Sir Norris has planned a great banquet of all the queen’s favorites—lots of tarts and sweetmeats with quail and boiled cabbages. They say his baker makes the finest manchet in all the land—he mills and sifts the flour twenty times before he uses it,” said Lady Douglass, sitting on a chair watching the others do their work.
“I wonder if we shall be included in the hunt,” said Mistress Mary, gathering the tablecloths and handing them to the laundress who stood nearby.
“I hope not. It is too hot and I am always afraid I shall be shot by mistake—I have a hard time with the bow. If she forces us, I shall wear my crimson dress—no one will mistake me for a stag,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“I enjoy the hunt. Her Majesty instilled a love for a hard ride and a quick kill when I was a child,” said Mary. She whispered in Mistress Eleanor’s ear, “And Nora, Master Nicholas has joined us at last. You can take heart at that news.”
“Come along, then. Let us finish our work and join the queen on her walk in the gardens. I have heard Sir Norris has lovely roses,” said Lady Douglass.
* * *
The afternoon was dreadfully hot as the queen gathered her courtiers around her.
“My friends, we shall hunt in pairs so no one will be lost in these strange woods. Lord Robert and I shall ride out together and the rest of you find a partner. No one is to go out alone. Blow your horns if you make a kill. One of my servants will find you and assist in bringing the meat home. If we are able hunters, we shall eat well on the morrow!” said the queen, giving the signal to begin.
Mary was mounted on a gray palfrey and thought to partner with Mistress Eleanor, but then she saw Master Nicholas lead Nora’s horse away. She looked around.
“Ah, the lovely Mary—would you be so kind as to partner with me?” said Sir John Pakington, his mouse-brown hair blowing in the wind, the black feather in his cap a sharp contrast. He had blunt features, was tall and large, prone to heaviness.
“I should be pleased to do so,” said Mary pleasantly enough. A part of her wished Sir John Skydemore would ask for her, but she had not seen much of him since he had joined the progress. She kept hoping to catch a glimpse of him. She thought of Oxford; she had not spoken with him at all since Mistress Blanche sent him away from her. Remembering the shame of that night made Mary shudder. Oxford seemed to have harkened to Mistress Blanche’s words and had not approached her again. She had seen him dancing with Lady Douglass several times while on the progress, or chatting with Mistress Frances. He had not even looked her way.
The air grew slightly cooler as they entered the woods and followed a small path that curved first one way, then another. Pakington led the way, carefully holding on to the reins of her horse and holding branches so she would not be swatted. They came to a brook and Pakington stopped to allow the horses to drink.
“Shall we rest here a moment, Mistress Mary?” he said, offering her his hand.
“Yes. I find I, too, am thirsty,” said Mary, allowing him to help her down.
“I believe this stream is pure—unsullied here in the forest. Allow me,” he said. He bent to the brook and filled his canteen. He took a long drink and then handed her the vessel. “I am sorry I have no cup fit for your lovely lips.”
“Have no worry, I am used to such as this. Often, the queen and I, along with Lord Robert, have traveled in the forests and refreshed ourselves with such streams,” said Mary, drinking her fill from the leather canteen. The water tasted sweet and was cold and refreshing.
She returned his canteen to him and stared into the creek to see if she could see any fish. Before she knew what was happening, Pakington had grabbed her and spun her around to face him.
“You are a
pretty maid—and, from what I hear, one who likes a romp as well as any man,” he said, kissing her fiercely on the lips.
She pushed him away from her, placing her hands on his chest. Finally, he released her from his kiss.
“What is the matter, Mary? Do you wish a jewel first? Some coin?” he said, his hands roaming over her hips.
“Sir! I have no wish for either! I am an honest maid in the queen’s service—her cousin! I would suggest you unhand me immediately and apologize!” said Mary, her voice trembling.
“What’s this? I do not understand. I have heard it said you are nothing but a common strumpet and will allow any man of breeding to enjoy your favors,” said Pakington.
“And who told you this? Who has besmirched my good name?” said Mary. Her voice was loud in the silent forest and she shook with anger.
“Well, I … that is, I should not say … that is, it was talk among the courtiers … Not sure who said what … I’m sorry, mistress. I see now how wrong such talk can be … do forgive me, I beg of you,” said Pakington, who had gone to one knee as he saw her draw her bow and place an arrow aimed at his heart.
“A name, sir. Give us the name of the scoundrel who defames our honor,” she said, holding the bowstring taut. “God’s blood, you shall tell us immediately or pay the price!”
Mary thought she sounded exactly like the queen as she heard the plural pronoun slip from her lips—commanding and powerful, which was how she felt with the bow in her hands.
“Oxford, ma’am. Oxford told us all he has made do with you, and now he has no more use for you. Told us you were still ripe for plucking,” said Pakington.
Mary shifted her aim slightly and let loose the arrow. It struck a stump near Pakington’s head.
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