“Fawn, you may wear your yellow gown for this eve’s festivities. I would have you look ravishing for the French ambassador,” said the queen quietly.
“As you wish, Majesty. But what have I to do with Monsieur Fenelon?” said Mary as she laced the queen’s stomacher.
“I wish to make a favorable impression. You are young and beautiful—that should help things along. Besides, if the ambassador gets a good look at you, perhaps another Valois prince would become available—they seem to have no shortage of them. Then our countries would be doubly yoked and a better ally we could not find,” said the queen.
“Majesty, you surely cannot think to marry me to a prince!” said Mary, her mouth open.
“Why not? You are my cousin, a blood relative of the Queen of England. You would make a fine consort for any prince in Europe,” said the queen.
“But Majesty, what if I am already fond of someone here, someone sprung from England’s finest soil?” said Mary, unable to stop the quaking that had begun in her legs.
“Oh, fie. You have rejected the Earl of Oxford. Who else would be suitable for you? If you think of that handsome Skydemore, I have told you he can be nothing more to you than a little toy. I gave you distinct instructions not to find love in that corner. Surely you have not! Or have you?” said the queen, her tone menacing.
“No, Majesty, no. I am Your Majesty’s obedient servant. It’s just … well, it’s just that I am clean amazed at the thought of marrying a man I have never met—it is frightening,” said Mary.
“I agree. That is why I will insist on Anjou traveling to England before I make my decision. And, if things work out as I might wish, you, too, may take a look at your intended before you decide yea or nay,” said the queen.
The Yeoman of the Guard shouted in the outer rooms of the queen’s chambers.
“The Earl of Leicester, here to see the queen! The Earl of Leicester!”
“Come, Mary—let us leave this talk of marriage and sail down the Thames this lovely eve. My Sweet Robin has many delicacies planned for us,” said the queen, rising, then patting her hair into place, pinching her cheeks though they had been rouged, and then gliding gracefully into the outer room where her “Sweet Robin” stood waiting. Mary hurriedly put on her yellow gown, leaving the white sleeves and kirtle she had worn for the day. She quickly hooked her diamond and pearl necklace around her neck and ran to join the queen.
* * *
The queen’s barge was lit with torches and several lords and ladies sat on pillows outside the little glass cabin where the queen rested with Dudley. Music wafted across the river and Mary watched the wherries and other small craft travel up and down the river, each lit by torches and candles. The sight was like watching fireflies in the summer night, lights blinking on and off as the boats moved on the lapping river. Several of the smaller tiltboats followed the queen’s barge while groups of wherries gathered on both sides. Trumpets blared across the river, bells rang and cannon thundered, as the queen passed along. Once the noise started, the citizens of London realized the queen was upon the river and they lined the banks, waving their hats and yelling. The queen sat up in her cabin and waved back at them. Lord Leicester waved, too.
Mary saw Sir James sitting on the other side of the queen’s barge and she hoped Sir John had made it aboard as well. She could not get up to search for him, however, because of her bulky skirts.
“I wish we could traverse the river without all this hubbub,” said Mistress Eleanor, arranging her dress so she could tuck her feet beneath her.
“It is always thus—when the queen moves about, the people flock to see her. I can barely hear the music—these bells and guns will make me deaf,” said Mary. She was aware of movement on the deck as a small group of men walked from one side to the other. At first, she could not make out who they were, but as they approached, she recognized Sir John. She smiled up at him.
“My lady. This night is lovely but you are more so,” he said, bowing to her.
“Do sit down, John. The queen is in her cabin with her Robin. Though she can see us, I do not think her mind will be on us. Have a glass of malmsey,” said Mary, offering him a golden goblet she had just poured from a nearby ewer.
“Here, Sir James, there is room between Nora and me. I would not wish for you to remain on your feet,” said Mary, scooting over, closer to John.
The noise eventually died down as the bells were rung only three times, the same for the cannon shot—three for the Holy Trinity—a blessing for the queen. Soon, the night’s entertainments began, with Oxford reading poems composed for the queen and Dudley singing his own songs again. The smaller craft still followed the queen’s barge. Mary watched as the queen and the Lord of Leicester made their way from the cabin to join her on the deck of the barge.
“Fawn, you look as though you are having a lovely time,” said the queen, as everyone started to stand. She motioned for them to keep their seats, but John and Sir James stood anyway. Mary noticed that Lord Leicester, John, and Sir James were effectively blocking the queen, making themselves a wall around her.
“It is a beautiful evening, the music and food superb—even the poetry will suffice,” said Mary, looking directly at Oxford, who took a little bow.
Suddenly, a loud shot rang across the water. Before she knew what was happening, all three men had thrown themselves over the queen. Another shot zinged past Mary’s ear. It sounded like a large fly buzzing, and to Mary’s horror, she watched John begin to sink to his knees.
People seemed to spring to life, as if they had been charged by lightning. Dudley ran toward one of the wherries and leaped across the water to land onboard. The queen stood, her elbows propped up by Sir James and Oxford.
“No harm! No harm!” she cried in a loud voice. Then she sat down beside Sir John, who was still squatting in an odd sort of way. Mary hadn’t realized it, but she and Nora had ducked down behind the railing of the barge. She quickly rose and went to John, who was bleeding from his shoulder.
“Are you hurt? I see blood. Is there a doctor?” shouted Mary.
“I’m all right. Just a little wound. Caught me in the right shoulder—that’s all. Do not fret, ladies,” said Sir John, his hand clutching the injury.
The queen knelt over him and used her handkerchief to stanch the blood. Mary noticed Her Majesty’s face was white beneath her white powder and her hands trembled as she dabbed at Sir John’s wound. The boat had turned around and was heading back toward the palace. Dudley had pulled the wherry alongside the barge and had jumped back onboard, holding a terrified man in his grip.
“Majesty, this is the vagrant who took the shots. Claims his gun went off by accident,” said Dudley.
The man went immediately to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He held his cap in his hands, twisting it back and forth as he tried to explain.
“Your Majesty, I meant no harm. All the cannon was a-firing and the bells was a-ringing. I just wanted to shoot me weapon to do Your Majesty honor. I swear on the body of our blessed Savior, I meant no harm. I would never hurt Your Majesty—I have loved you my whole life,” said the man, his manner sincere.
“You have not harmed us, little man. But your shot has found a mark in our servant, Sir John Skydemore. It is he who must forgive you,” said the queen kindly.
“Bess, I want to take this man to the Tower and rack him. That’ll get the truth from his lips,” said Dudley.
“No! I shall not have an innocent man racked for an accident. I believe him,” said the queen.
“With the Pope’s edict and the Ridolfi plot exposed, you still would trust this, this vagabond?” said Dudley.
“I be no vagabond, my lord. I am a chandler and was borned and raised right here in London. Why, I saw the queen’s coronation and I bless her in me prayers each and every night,” said the man, still weeping.
“Good sir, you are free to go. But when you do, tell your friends that we trust our people and we will do right by them. Go on, w
e have set you free,” said the queen, pushing her Sweet Robin out of her way.
Lord Robert grabbed the queen’s elbow and pulled her to him.
“But Bess, there were two shots fired. This fellow could have fired only one. Surely this is no accident. Surely he has a partner—allow me to rack him to discover the identity of his friend,” he said.
“Whoever fired the second shot is long gone by now, Robin,” she whispered. She turned to the cowering chandler. “You are free to go, little man.”
“What about Sir John? He needs a doctor!” said Mary, holding her own handkerchief over the injury, pressing hard to stop the bleeding.
“Row faster, men! Get us to Whitehall!” shouted Dudley.
“I shall be fine—have no fear. I shall be fine,” said Sir John, looking at the queen and Mary, whose faces hovered above him until his eyes closed and Mary feared he might die before they could get to Whitehall.
* * *
The next morning, Mary hurried through her duties, anxious to see Sir John, though the doctor had assured both the queen and Mary that the wound was superficial and did not endanger his life. Finally, she was finished brushing the queen’s cloaks. She walked quickly to the rooms where Sir James Croft stayed when at court, knowing this was where they had taken Sir John. She knocked gently on the wooden door and a soft voice called, “Enter.”
Mary was astonished to see the queen seated beside Sir John’s bed, dipping a rag into water, then washing his shoulder. Strips of cloth were stacked on a nearby table and a jar filled with yellow salve sat next to them. Mary had brought one of her cordials for Sir John, one that would ease pain. She held the small vial in her hand and closed her fist around it.
“Your Majesty,” said Mary, curtsying.
“I had to check on our patient first thing. After all, he saved my life,” said the queen.
“I did what any true subject would do, Your Grace,” said Sir John, his face pale but his green eyes lively. He was obviously enjoying the queen’s ministrations.
“We disagree, I assure you. Mary was there—she saw how you bravely threw yourself across my body when the shots were fired. The bullet that hit you would have gone clean through me, if you had not done so. This shall be rewarded, Sir John. Of that, you can rest assured,” said the queen.
“I desire no reward except your safety, Your Majesty,” said Sir John.
“Tut-tut. Enough of talk—you need rest,” said the queen.
Mary was not sure what to do. She did not wish to speak with Sir John while the queen was there, but she did not wish to leave him, either. So, she stood, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Fawn, you are as nervous as a cat. For goodness’ sake, give the man the cordial you made—yes, I can see it, though you would hide it from me—and let us begone,” said the queen.
“Sir, I did brew you a cordial to ease your pain. If you will take it?” said Mary, leaning over him from the other side of his sickbed.
“Mistress, I shall be pleased to take anything from your hand,” said Sir John. Mary quickly pulled the stopper from the vial and poured the contents into his mouth. Then the queen ordered her to the gardens for their usual midday walk.
Thirty-three
God’s teeth! When the shots were fired, I knew I was drawing my last breath! I felt the wind rush out of me and my head reeled. I fell in a swoon before the men threw themselves upon me, my dear Sweet Robin the first to land in my lap. Even Lord Burghley tried to protect me, God love him. But it was Skydemore who blocked me from the side and that is where the bullet landed, right in the poor man’s shoulder. Aye, he was brave! And such a handsome fellow! I did notice a particular concern gathering itself on our Fawn’s pretty face. Parry, I fear she has more interest in the young man than she lets on. She brought him a healing cordial this morning—for his wound. Luckily, I was already with him and could steer them apart. I have told her he is not the man for her—she must obey me in this. Oh, I know you want her to be happy. So do I. But we are older and wiser than she—we know the ways of the world. And, like it or not, wealth and position matter. Our Fawn has grown up at court. She has enjoyed the best music, the best food, the best dancing—if she is deprived of these pastimes, then she shall grow unhappy. And, as her guardian, I am the one who shall decide upon her husband. I want someone who will offer her everything to which she has become accustomed, someone who will cherish her as I do. She has been like my own child. Robin has felt this, too. It is as if we make our own dear family.
By God’s blood, I know we are not truly a family—but allow me my fancies! I have so little to console me. I came this close to death yesterday, but I do not shiver. My hands are steady. Why? Because the man who set off one of the shots was a true subject—I could see it in his eyes. He was terrified, certain he was to die. Yet I could see he loved me, trusted me to do right by him even as he knelt before me. And I showed him mercy. Now, he will tell everyone he meets of my generosity and he will defend me to the death. And yes, I do believe he was innocent of any wrong. Dear man, he showed me that my people love me. They do not plot against me. It is queens and dukes who wish to steal my throne, not my people.
Yes, I know there was another shot. Some foul miscreant, no doubt. But even so, I am not afraid, for I have men such as John Skydemore to protect me.
No, Parry, I do not need a sleeping cordial. Tonight, I shall sleep with the peace of a suckling babe.
Thirty-four
November 1571
Winter blew into London with a fierceness, whipping cloaks around freezing citizens, snatching hats from heads, causing chilblains and shivering, keeping everyone indoors, huddled around hearths, sipping warming broth. Everyone except the queen. In her usual fashion, she donned heavy robes and walked in the gardens around Richmond, her favorite wintering place.
“Serving the queen will be the death of us all,” said Lady Douglass, scrambling across the frozen grasses of the labyrinth where the queen was heading with Lord Burghley and her Sweet Robin.
“Her Majesty says a walk in the morning is good for what ails you. And from the look of her, the remedy works—she is as fit and spry as I am,” said Mary, easily navigating the way.
“She is slim as a maid, no doubt. Yet such slenderness causes her face to wrinkle like the neck of a tortoise. I prefer a more rounded, womanly figure—such as my own. I expect nary a wrinkle until I reach the old age of forty-five,” said Lady Douglass, lifting her skirts to avoid the frost.
“The queen is but thirty-eight—still young enough to bear a child,” said Mary, thinking about what might happen if the queen accepted the French duke.
“She is of barren stock—her father’s seed did not bear much fruit, though he scattered it far and wide. She will never live through childbirth, even if she does consent to marry,” said Douglass.
“Do not say such things! If she marries, she will give us an heir and she will be fine. She is strong in more ways than in her body. Her spirit will see her through anything!” said Mary,
“Speaking of her ‘Spirit,’ here he comes—following the queen like a little puppy,” said Lady Douglass, her face twisted in a snarl.
“I wonder why they are heading back our way? What has happened?” said Mary, still walking toward the queen. Within a few steps, she could hear the queen’s voice, carrying across the cold air like the boom of a cannon.
“God’s death! I will not execute the Scottish queen! Nor will I shorten Norfolk by a head!” roared the queen, outpacing the men behind her.
“Majesty,” said Burghley, “we have letters between the Scots’ queen and Norfolk, proving they planned to marry and then mount a rebellion. They have been in communication with Spain and the Pope—once Ridolfi had rescued the Queen of Scots, he was going to unite her with Norfolk, raise an army in the north, and get reinforcements from Spain—we have their letters, proof beyond a doubt!”
“I do not care if you racked a thousand men to condemn them—I will not do away with an a
nointed queen! Nor will I execute Norfolk! He can rot in the Tower—no more talk of this!” said the queen, still moving forward at breakneck speed. Mary and the rest of the women dropped a quick curtsy and fell in behind her.
The men stopped abruptly while Mary and the other ladies followed the queen like goslings after a goose. Mary had seen the queen in a fury many times, but this seemed more serious than usual. The queen marched straight into her bedchamber, ordered everyone out but Mary and Mistress Blanche.
“By the nails of the Cross, they shall not force me to murder those two scheming scoundrels! Keep them under guard—yes! Reduce the queen’s retinue—yes! Watch their every move—yes! But kill them? Never!” said the queen, pacing back and forth, wringing her hands.
“Majesty … please sit down. You will have a fit of apoplexy if you do not becalm yourself,” said Mistress Blanche, trying to catch the queen by her elbow and lead her to a bench beneath the window.
“I will not sit down! My legs tell me to walk and walk I must!” said the queen, jerking her arm away.
“Your Grace, why will you not do away with the traitors? I wish to understand,” said Mary in a soft voice.
The queen stopped her pacing and looked at the girl.
“I shall tell you why, and then you shall give me your thoughts on the matter. Treachery has touched you close enough, with your friend Sir John injured in what may have been an attack on me,” said the queen. She sat down on the bench and indicated with a pat of her hand for Mary to join her. “Parry, some comfits please and wine—add no water.”
Mistress Blanche set about pouring wine and ordering food from the kitchens. Then she sat at the queen’s feet, ewer in hand, ready to refill their glasses as need be.
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