“Can this be true?” said Sir John.
“Yes! I am clean amazed! She made Master Cecil the Baron of Burghley! And now, she commands we are to play in the snow! Come, John, what shall we make?” said Mary.
“I know—let’s create a statue of Tom, your dog. He should not be too difficult. We can portray him lying down as he does by the fire,” said Sir John.
“Let us begin,” said Mary, tossing a snowball at his shoulder. He scooped up some snow and threw it back at her. Soon, he, Mary, and Mistress Eleanor were battling with snowballs over their patch of ground while the others worked steadily on their sculptures.
“I surrender, Mary,” said Sir John, grabbing her arm, which was ready to fling another snowball at him. He put his arm around her waist and swung her off the ground. He whispered, “I shall always surrender to you, dearest,” as he put her back on the slippery snow.
Mary felt warmth within her and a tingling in her womanly parts. Such feelings had become more and more frequent. It seemed every time she was around Sir John, she could barely contain the urge to fling her arms around him.
The afternoon wore on as the ladies and gentlemen piled snow atop snow. Cheeks were ruddy, and though most of the women wore gloves, their fingers were stiff with cold. Finally, as the pale sun hung low on the horizon, almost everyone had finished his creations. The queen clapped her hands together.
“Now, we shall judge! Each group will tell us what the likeness should be and we shall judge if it be fair or not,” said the queen.
She pointed first to her own statue, which resembled Lord Robert but the legs looked remarkably like those of a hind. “It is Sir Christopher Hatton dancing la Volta!” she said. Everyone laughed.
“It looks more like Sweet Robin with a broken leg,” said Oxford, slapping his hands together for warmth and chuckling.
“I daresay your own legs resemble those of a banty hen,” said Lord Robert, aiming a snowball at Oxford. He ducked and the queen clapped for order.
“What have you there, you lusty young men? Is it a likeness of your queen?” said Her Majesty, trying to see what lay behind Oxford, Norfolk, and Pakington, who stood in a line blocking the view of their creation.
“No, Your Majesty. We call it ‘Mary’s pretty duckies,’” shouted Oxford as the men stepped aside to show a nude woman from the waist up with no head. Just breasts, correct in every detail, lovingly carved.
“Of which Mary do you speak? The Virgin?” said the queen.
“I shall not say which Mary I have modeled this great art work upon—I should not wish to cause her shame,” said Oxford, staring directly at Mistress Mary Shelton.
Mary felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She looked at the snow in clumps at her feet.
“Do you dare to mock our dearest Fawn, Oxford? If that is your aim, I shall clap you in irons at this instant,” said the queen. Her Majesty noted Mary’s distressed looks and stared at Oxford.
Sir John looked at Mary, saw her discomfort, and put his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“No, madam, forgive me. I misspoke—for this is ‘Merry Christmas!’ the happiest of wenches!” said Oxford, trying to appease the queen.
Sir John pulled his sword from its sheath and marched to where Oxford stood.
“You said you will not insult the lady by giving her name. Now you say it is but ‘Merry’ Christmas. Still, you stare at Mistress Shelton. The insult is clear. I will not abide your rude jests! Defend yourself if you be a man!” said Sir John.
The queen gave Lord Robert a quick glance and he strode to stand between the two men. Oxford had not reached for his own sword, but his face had gone pale.
“Sir John, you know it is against the law to draw your sword in the queen’s court. Put it away at once,” said Lord Robert.
“I shall be happy to return my blade to its sheath once this cur has apologized to my lady and to the queen,” said Sir John, standing his ground, his sword still pointing at Oxford’s heart.
No one moved. No one spoke.
“God’s blessed bones, gentlemen! Your queen commands a truce,” said Her Majesty. “If Oxford is to be punished for his impudence, we shall have that pleasure, not you, Sir John.”
Oxford stepped forward and bowed to Mary.
“Mistress Shelton, I am sorry if I have offended you. This was by no means meant to represent you,” he said, his voice unsteady. Then he turned to the queen and, in a grand gesture, bowed with a great flourish.
There was a loud noise.
Unbelievably, the earl had broken wind as he bent, touching his cap to the ground. Mary watched in amazement as his face turned from pale to deep red. The entire crowd had gone silent with shock. The queen’s face was inscrutable and Lord Robert covered his laugh with a cough. Oxford didn’t move at first. Silence hung in the air.
Finally, Oxford mumbled something indiscernible and then, without waiting to be dismissed, he hurried away from the queen and the courtiers. No one knew quite what to do. The queen, her face a mask of seriousness, clapped her hands again.
“By the feet of Jesus, I always said Oxford was full of hot air!” said the queen, suddenly laughing. Everyone joined in the merriment, relieved. Then the queen turned to Mary and smiled.
“I see Mistress Shelton and her companions have created a fine likeness of her dog. Ah yes, quite a good likeness,” said the queen.
Mary watched as the queen caught Lord Robert’s eye and they both began to laugh. Soon, everyone was snickering and giggling again.
As the crowd evaluated the other carvings, Mary put her hand on Sir John’s arm.
“Thank you for defending me, John. Oxford has been given his way with his bold talk—because he is highborn, he thinks he can say or do anything,” said Mary. She had seen the look in Sir John’s eyes when he faced Oxford, a look that had been frightening, yet oddly arousing. She felt her blood rushing through her body. She realized he had been ready to fight, maybe even die for her honor. He was a man of strong character. She wanted him to take her in his arms, kiss her deeply, and move his hands across her body as Oxford had done.
“Oxford has been saying lewd things about many of the queen’s ladies. I thought it only right he should have to answer for that—and if I hear of such slander again, I shall run him through,” said Sir John, quietly, without anger. Mary knew he meant his words.
* * *
The next morning, Mary watched the snow falling, the flakes as large as goose feathers. She gazed at the whiteness below. No one moved about; even the servants stayed inside where it was warm. She did not blame them; she had no desire to venture out into the cold again.
Suddenly, her eyes caught movement. A lone rider, dressed in the finest clothes, headed to the gates toward the main road. Two packhorses and a couple of servants followed the rider. Mary recognized him by the way he sat in the saddle and by his opulent cloak and hat. It was the Earl of Oxford. He was leaving the court and Mary felt a pang of pity for him. He had humiliated himself this time; perhaps there was justice in the world after all.
Twenty-six
February 1571
As winter continued to chill the land, and the snow piled high around the walls at Richmond, the court kept busy with dances, games of cards and dice, singing, and viewing plays. The queen’s spirits were high and Mary often caught sight of Her Majesty dancing a little jig in the mornings on her way to her daily walk. The other maids sniggered at the sight but Mary admired the agility and grace of the queen, who was, in Mary’s mind, no longer young. But she was young in spirit, Mary thought. And Mary hoped she might approach her own declining years with as much gusto.
Her Majesty kept her maids hopping as the dull, gray days passed. They fetched glasses of watered wine, cut dried fruits into small bites for the queen, and entertained her with funny stories and card playing. Mary’s new duties as chamber woman did not weigh too heavily upon her, in spite of her continuing role as Keeper of the Queen’s Wardrobe. That job was time-consuming and
difficult because Mary had to ensure all of the queen’s garments remained in good repair. Mary also had to catalogue each smock, gown, kirtle, sleeve, cloak, and hat. She knew which jewels were sewn on which bodice, so that when the queen wanted them switched, Mary could easily find them.
Though she had many chores each morning, the afternoons were quiet and leisurely, as the queen met with her councillors during this time. Thankfully, she no longer required Mary to join her at the dull meetings on a daily basis, though she admonished Mary to keep up with the affairs at court and to be prepared to rejoin the councillors at the queen’s command. Most afternoons, Mary spent sewing or chitchatting with Mistress Eleanor.
“Master Nicholas and I shall be wed by Easter—my father has garnered my dowry and things are all set. I shall return to my home and the ceremony will take place there. Nicholas is so pleased and, I daresay, as anxious for the banns as I am,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“And I am happy for you, dearest Nora. I only wish I could see you on your wedding day. But we both know the queen will not stand for me to be away from her. Oh, look, more snow,” said Mary.
“It is so beautiful coming down … but it gets sullied very quickly,” said Mistress Eleanor.
“Come! Let us walk out and catch snowflakes on our tongues!” said Mary.
“But it’s cold…” said Mistress Eleanor.
Mary had already grabbed Mistress Eleanor’s hand and was pulling her to her feet. She lifted two cloaks off hooks inside the wardrobe and handed one to Mistress Eleanor. Thus bundled, they headed for the courtyard.
A number of people milled around the grounds. Servants with letters to deliver, men bringing in large baskets of firewood, washerwomen carrying bundles of wet clothes, all bustled in and out of the palace, like bees at the honeycomb. But their numbers were fewer than usual.
“Isn’t that Sir John? He looks like he’s in a hurry,” said Mistress Eleanor, pointing to a scholarly looking figure in black robes.
“I think it is—it seems long since I’ve seen him. His studies keep him from court,” said Mary, her heart lifting at the sight of him. She quickly bent to pick up snow and pack it into a ball. She tossed it at him, hitting him on the shoulder. He stopped, looked to see from where the missile had come, and, seeing, broke into a smile. He hurried to the women.
“My two favorite ladies,” he said, doffing his hat and bowing to them.
Both women curtsied and smiled.
“What brings you out on such a blustery day?” he said. “I thought you would be soaking up the heat from the great fireplaces in the queen’s bedchamber.”
“We came to catch snowflakes!” said Mary. She stuck out her tongue and felt a large flake land there. She grinned.
“A fine endeavor. Since you are already out in this cold, perhaps you would like to walk with me in the gardens … er, both of you, of course,” said Sir John.
“Oh, I cannot—I have too much to do in preparation for my wedding. I’m still stitching my smocks and my nightgowns. I was working some lovely silk ribbons onto my nightcap—I’ve had my fill of snow,” said Mistress Eleanor, giving Mary an understanding look.
“I’ll see you back inside, Nora,” said Mary.
Sir John offered her his arm, which she took gratefully. They walked through the snow-covered paths and he steered her behind a large hedge.
“Oh, Mary, I have wanted to see you but my studies have taken up most of my time. Since we returned from Holme Lacy, all I can do is imagine you there, greeting me of an evening, delighting in the children—having one of our own,” said Sir John. He stood close to her and she could feel the warmth of his breath.
“The queen suspects I have a fondness for you—she has told me we cannot marry. She suggests I toy with your affections, enjoy them. But she cautions me against loving you and warns me especially against marrying you,” said Mary. She thought it only fair to tell him a marriage between them could never be.
“But why? I have a good income from my lands, though not as large as some. There are definitely richer men by far. But I have enough to care for my family and would give you a good life. Why is she against me?” said Sir John, turning to face Mary. “Is it my religion?”
“I’m sure your religion does not help matters. The queen has all but raised me. She fancies some foreign duke who would be well suited for me—and she thinks if she can use my marriage rights to secure England, all the better,” said Mary, her tone bitter. She pulled away from him and began to walk fast, back on the garden path.
Sir John followed her, his breath coming in little white puffs.
“But what do you want, Mary? Your desires should play a part in your own future,” he said.
She stopped cold.
“I want … I want … I want you. I have no wish to play the high lady on foreign soil, spying for the queen, living for her. I want my own life, my own family right here in England. I do not see why I cannot have this,” she said, flinging herself into his arms.
They kissed, a long, deep kiss that stoked her desire. Though she was cold and could feel the snowflakes land on her cheeks, she continued kissing him. She could sense his muscles tensing as he held her to him. His hands began to touch her breasts, a gentle yet confident touch. She shivered.
“There must be a way we can convince the queen I am the man for you. I have friends, those who may have more sway with the queen than I do. We shall find a way, dearest. It will just take some time,” he said. “Come, let us return to the palace—you are freezing.”
“I hope you are right. Surely she will be reasonable—she says she loves me. That alone should convince her to give me my way,” said Mary, leaning against him. “Perhaps we should just run away and marry. Perhaps that is the best way.”
“As much as I would like that, my love, I do not think it prudent. We do not wish to anger the queen and I suspect any sort of subterfuge would rile Her Majesty. No, we shall go about this in a manner that is sure to please her,” said Sir John.
Twenty-seven
April 1571
Spring had come early, the trees greening beneath the still pale sky and daffodils shooting up through the ground in great profusion. The court had recently arrived at Whitehall to find the palace sweetened with new rush mats upon the floors, the jakes cleaned out, the rooms aired and all the linens washed and fresh. Hyacinths and other early spring flowers and herbs had been strewn on the rushes, and the warm air allowed for open windows both day and night. Mary was happy to have left Richmond, for the stink had become almost unbearable.
Morning had broken with bright sunlight streaming through the windows and the song of the linnets and other birds lightly on the air. The queen was just breaking her fast, though it was mid-morning. She had worked late into the night on matters of state and Mary had seen to it that she was not awakened by the sun, pulling the dark damask bed curtains around her.
In her new position as Lady of the Queen’s Bedchamber, Mary’s duties remained almost as they had been previously, except that now Mary, along with three others, prepared Her Majesty’s chamber each morning and set up to receive the midday meal. She continued laying out the queen’s clean shift each day, then bringing forth whatever clothes the queen might wish to wear, being ever ready to suggest an outfit if the queen had not the mind for such slight decisions. This was often the case, with the queen wearing whatever Mary selected. One of the maids brought in fresh flowers in a vase while another set out some of the queen’s jewels. One maid’s sole duty was to scatter blossoms over the floor and through the corridor where the queen normally passed.
Each morning, after arising and breaking her fast with bread, light ale, and perhaps some cheese, the queen spent time in prayer and the reading of God’s Holy Word. In a small closet, the queen’s Bible remained on a stand and there was a pillow on which Her Majesty would kneel. She often stayed in privacy for upward of an hour. When she came forth from her closet, she would be ready to dress for the day.
O
n days when she did not have to meet with her council, the queen often sat in her house gown with her ladies in the bedchamber and translated ancient works into the English tongue and then back to Latin or Greek. Her ladies did sewing while the queen worked at her books.
But on this day, the queen lent her hand to sewing as well, for the Maundy services were coming soon, and after the queen had washed the feet of thirty-eight poor women, one for each year of the queen’s age, Her Majesty liked to give not only a gift of coin, but a new shift. She also wished to continue her mother’s tradition of sewing shirts for the poor, to distribute to those not selected for the washing of the feet at the Maundy services. Mary missed Eleanor’s deft hands, but her dear Nora was to marry Master Nicholas on Easter Sunday, and she was away from court.
“We have not much time to make as many shirts as possible, ladies. Let your fingers fly,” said the queen, her own slim fingers moving like hummingbirds at the fabric.
“I have completed ten, Your Majesty, and now work on number eleven,” said Lady Douglass, her brows arched as if she alone had done any work.
“We should have thought you might have doubled that number, madam, if you had used your time wisely. However, we understand you have been spending long hours looking over our horses,” said the queen.
Mary sat perfectly still. She, too, had heard rumors about Lady Douglass walking down to the stables each day with her sister. It was bruited about that both were in love with Lord Robert, each vying for his attentions. Mary had seen Lady Douglass smile and touch Lord Robert in an overly familiar way. And she knew that if she had noticed, so had the queen.
“It is a pastime of mine, Majesty. I hope to breed one day,” said Lady Douglass. She looked directly at the queen and smiled.
“Have a care, madam. Breeding is a delicate process. You must be certain you have the right stud, one who is well matched for the dam. Otherwise, there is trouble for the dam,” said the queen, her tone even but her meaning clear.
Queen Elizabeth's Daughter: A Novel of Elizabeth I Page 17