“Is it the truth? Is it? Speak!” screamed the queen, her face just inches from Mary’s own.
Mary tried to curtsy and bowed her head.
“By God’s bones, look at me!” yelled the queen.
Mary gazed into the queen’s face and felt her knees grow weak.
“Is it true?” said the queen in a whisper more frightening than her screams.
“Is what true, Your Grace?” said Mary.
“That you have married that Catholic! The man we expressly forbade you to wed!” said the queen, her hands still gripping Mary’s arms with a strength Mary would not have imagined coming from so slight a woman. Her arms ached.
Mary paused. She did not know what to say. If she lied, and the queen did, indeed, know the truth, things would go much worse for her. She took a deep breath.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I have wed Sir John Skydemore,” said Mary.
The entire room fell silent.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
“How dare you defy us?” shouted the queen.
Before Mary could answer, she felt a sharp slap to her face. The blow made her see stars and the stinging of her cheeks felt like a hundred bees were attacking her. Before she had a chance to recover from the first blow, a second landed on the other side. She fell back against her chair but the queen did not allow her to crumple. Her Majesty pulled Mary back to a standing position and continued beating her about the head and shoulders.
“I have raised you up from a poor orphan child—given you my love and anything you desired. I have prepared you to be fit to marry a prince! But no, this was not enough—you would marry for love! As if such a baggage could understand anything about love!” said the queen as she slapped Mary everywhere she could land a blow.
Mary tried to avoid the hammering attack of the queen’s hands and feet, but with little success. She finally covered her face with her hands and was surprised to find tears on her cheeks.
“I have loved you as mine own child…” said the queen, continuing to kick and hit Mary, her eyes blazing.
“But you are not my mother! If you were, my happiness would be important to you! You would care about me, not your dreams for me! If you were truly my mother, you would be happy I had found love in this sordid world you have made around yourself!” said Mary.
“Why you impudent, monstrous … You are no better than a stewed whore—marrying without my permission means there is no legal marriage at all! I shall have it annulled!” stormed the queen, once again raining slaps and kicks onto Mary.
“Well, then I would be truly your daughter—a cold, untouched woman! A woman with a withered-up heart, a heart shriveled and dry as an oak leaf in autumn! A woman no one could ever love!” screamed Mary.
The queen grew silent. Then she reached for the nearest object, a large gold candlestick on the small table next to Mary. She threw the object at Mary as hard as she could. Mary raised her hand to deflect it, but the candlestick hit her hand with great force. She felt a bone crack. She screamed as pain seared through her. The candlestick fell with a clatter and Mary screamed again, a long, loud shriek.
She looked at her finger, which was poking out at a right angle from her hand.
“You have broken my finger!” Mary said as the digit began to pulse.
“You are lucky I have not broken your bloody neck!” said the queen as she turned to leave. “You and your man are banished from this court! Begone immediately! Take nothing with you! You shall never return! You are lucky I do not throw you both in the Tower!”
Fifty-one
No, I am finished. I have ranted and raved enough for one day. Yes, I banished them. I’ve been told they have already left the palace. No, I gave them nothing. I will give them nothing. I have been betrayed by everyone I have ever loved. First, my father when he took my own mother from me. Then my dear brother, who changed the succession to exclude me. And do not forget my sister, keeping me in the Tower, blaming me for any rebellion that took shape during her reign. Now, Robin lives with another woman and my Fawn, my dearest girl, has married a Catholic, an unimpressive man with little to offer. Well, she has made her bed and now she must lie in it.
I know you have not abandoned me, Parry. If you were to turn against me, I should not know what to do. Oh, I am tired of it all. Endless scheming, dissembling, manipulating. Fawn was right—it is a sordid world at court. I can almost understand why she might believe she would be happier away from all this—yet, to leave me! To choose that man over her queen! After all I have done for her, after the love I have given to her. She has struck a blow to my very heart!
Yes, Parry—you are right. This grief is the price we pay for love. But it is too costly—I would not wish to feel this bereft again. The cost is too high.
Fifty-two
Late March 1574
“Does it hurt very much, dearest?” said Sir John as he rode with her toward Holme Lacy.
“I fear it does. But not so much as when the apothecary put it back into its place. I was glad of my cordial at that moment for I fear that without it, I should have fainted dead away,” said Mary, pillioned behind him. A mule carried the few things they were able to take with them, Sir John leading it with a rope.
“It shall heal in time—it may be crooked, but then you can tell our grandchildren it was made so in the service of Good Queen Bess,” said Sir John.
“How can you joke? She was furious—as angry as I have ever seen her. And all those horrible things I said! I cannot believe I said such to an anointed queen! I am clean amazed she did not throw both of us into the Tower,” said Mary, leaning her face against Sir John’s back, her eyes still red with crying.
“She is displeased, to say the least. But I know she loves you and her banishment will not be forever,” said Sir John.
“I do not care if I am gone from court the rest of my life—I have all I need, you, my treasures—” said Mary.
“Do you mean to say you took the time to fetch that old box!” said Sir John.
“Of course! How should I leave my home without the sweet memories captured in the box? I had not thought it before, but the court is the only home I have ever known. I shall miss it—and the queen. How we used to laugh in her enormous bed when I was her sleeping companion—all those years spent knowing I was safe when I was with Her Majesty. I suppose I did get the royal treatment from everyone, once they saw how she loved me,” said Mary, suddenly sad and wishing she could have at least said good-bye to the queen. Tears rolled onto her cheeks once more.
“Do not cry, love. Think no more about those times. We shall make happy memories for ourselves at Holme Lacy. And I shall keep you safe, sweetheart. We have no need of the court to bring us joy—we bring that to each other,” said Sir John.
On through the snowy road they trudged, the wind howling as if in anguish and the cold seeping into Mary’s feet and legs until her whole body shook with it. After three difficult days of such travel, Mary caught sight of Holme Lacy, the beautiful, sprawling manor house on the hill, torches blazing, welcoming her home.
She was beginning her new life. She wondered what the queen was doing at this moment. She wondered if Her Majesty missed her at all. She wondered if the queen would ever forgive her.
Fifty-three
April 1574
Birdsong filled the spring air as the queen walked along the garden path, Lord Burghley, Dudley, and Walsingham strolling beside her, her gaggle of ladies following behind. The air was still cool and the queen wore a shawl of green silk over her house gown of simple white lawn. Her ladies were fully dressed for the day but the queen preferred to walk, have her prayers, and break her fast before adorning herself with the royal garb.
“Majesty, Walsingham has news from France that will not please you, I fear,” said Burghley, struggling to keep pace, his words punctuated by puffs of breath.
“God’s teeth, what now?” said the queen, easily outpacing the men, except for Dudley, who matched her ste
p for step.
“If I may, Your Grace, the Pope has trained a militia of God’s soldiers—Jesuit priests who are already sailing for our land. They shall endeavor to win the people back to the Pope and then Spain and France stand ready to invade. As we must save our land from the superstition and ignorance of the Roman Church, Your Majesty, you must allow me freedom to intercept these men—some are trained assassins, I am told—to keep the Protestant cause alive,” said Walsingham.
“I thought you were supposed to keep me alive,” said the queen.
“Your Majesty, they are one and the same—you are the champion of the Protestants around the world. If only Your Majesty would consider sending more aid to the Huguenots…” said Walsingham.
“Enough! We have done all we can. Now, what of these priests who are coming to our shores?” said the queen.
“We shall do everything in our power to protect Your Grace. You must not go on progress this year—in the public eye, your person is vulnerable. If you stay in London, we have much more chance to shield you from harm,” said Burghley.
“Does this perambulation around the garden kill you, Spirit? I see you are tired. Come, let us return to the Presence Chamber,” said the queen, stopping to examine her man.
“Forgive me, Majesty. I am not as young as you, nor as spry,” said Burghley.
The queen and her councillors turned back to Whitehall Palace and continued their discussion.
“As to the progress, I shall head this summer to the west of our land—I have not been that way in some time and it will do the people good to see their queen,” said the queen.
“Majesty, I beg of you, do not go away from London this summer—it is too dangerous,” said Burghley.
“You fret over me like a mother hen, Spirit. It is the love of my people which sustains me and my love for them which shall keep me safe from harm. However, do not fear. I shall send our good Walsingham to search out these foreign Jesuits and to find which of the recusants are to be trusted and which are under our suspicions. Now, gentlemen, I shall break my fast and see you later in the Presence Chamber,” said the queen, shooing them out as if they were children.
The men turned to go.
“Walsingham, you may stay. I should like for you to come with me to my Privy Chamber so we may discuss these threats over ale and manchet,” said the queen.
* * *
The Privy Chamber was set with a sumptuous meal of ale, bread, strawberries in cream, and a variety of tarts and other pastries. After the queen had nibbled on a few of these, she offered some food to Walsingham, who declined. Then she sent the food to her ladies and cleared the chamber.
“I have a few names to give you, Walsingham. I want these families investigated thoroughly. In Herefordshire, the family of Sir James Croft—” said Her Majesty.
“Surely Sir James is not suspect! He has served you faithfully, lo, these many years,” said Walsingham. “Even I recognize Sir James’s loyalty, I, who suspect everyone.”
“Do you think I give you these names lightly? I have suspicions of him, just a feminine feeling that he might be up to something,” said the queen, wiping the corner of her mouth.
“I shall look into it, Majesty. If you would but execute the Scottish queen, you could rest easy in your bed at night. She is the source of all the discontent in the realm. The Pope wishes to place her on the throne in Your Majesty’s place and that is why he sends his army. He knows France as well as Spain will come to the aid of the Scottish queen, once the people have been turned back to Rome,” said Walsingham.
“There is another family in Herefordshire—the Skydemores. That whole clan is Catholic and, I fear, not likely to convert, though it be law. I wish you to locate a Sir John Skydemore—he is the one on whom my suspicions fall,” said the Queen.
“He is Sir James’s son-in-law, is that correct?” said Walsingham.
“Yes—they are plotting together, I fear,” said the queen.
“Was not this Sir John one of your Gentlemen Pensioners? Did not he save your life?” said Walsingham.
“Yes, that is the man. But we have heard rumors since then that we have lost his love. He married our dear cousin Mary, without our permission. We banished them from court. For this, he plots against us. He thought to use Mary to gain more promotions from us. But his plan has returned him to the penury from which he came. We fear he wishes to do us harm,” said the queen, her face inscrutable.
“I shall turn my full attention to this matter, Your Majesty. My spies will begin digging in the dirt this very day,” said Walsingham.
“Your spies are diligent and clever—I am sure they will find something, enough evidence to bring Sir John to the Tower. That is what I would like, Walsingham, to bring that recusant to the Tower and show the people of England what happens when they do not obey the law of the land. You will bring him forth?” said the queen.
“Yes, Majesty. I, too, wish to rid our land of the Roman vermin,” said Walsingham.
“Then we understand each other?” said the queen.
“Perfectly, Your Majesty,” said Walsingham, kissing the hand she offered him, then, bowing, setting to his task with his usual fervor.
Early May 1574
“You have not been this fidgety since you were under house arrest when your sister was queen,” said Mistress Blanche as she rubbed the queen’s shoulders with almond oil. “Then, you had good reason to lose sleep. Tell me, dearie, what is the matter?”
The queen lay in her bed, Mistress Frances on the trundle bed beside her where Mary used to sleep. The queen turned away from Mistress Frances and whispered.
“All of Christendom wishes me dead, Parry. The Scottish queen plots and plans to steal my crown. My Sweet Robin has married that dreadful Sheffield woman, or so I hear. The Protestant cause is suffering from bickering among its own. Why should I not be overwrought!” hissed the queen.
“This is as it has always been. I thought perhaps there was something else on your mind—I have missed our poppet, and I know you well enough, dearie, to know you have missed her as well,” said Mistress Blanche gently.
“Poppet be damned! She has brought this banishment upon herself. If she thinks to soften my heart by not writing me or asking forgiveness, such a ploy will not work! She must beg on her knees before I will allow her back into my court,” said the queen.
“I remember when she first came to court, all those years ago. You had just been made queen and she called you the ‘shining lady,’ remember?” said Mistress Blanche, warming the oil by rubbing her hands together quickly before applying it to the queen’s back.
“That feels wonderful, Parry. Yes, I remember my little Fawn—those dark eyes and that beautiful long black hair. How she loved me then!” said the queen. She started to cry.
“There, there—our Fawn will come back to us. Why don’t you send for her, tell her all is forgiven—things can be again as they once were,” said Mistress Blanche.
“No! She deliberately went against my wishes and she shall pay. And that recusant husband of hers shall pay as well. Then, after he is gone, I shall bring her to me, and she shall help me sleep with her soft singing and her special cordials,” said the queen.
“What do you mean, ‘after he is gone’? What have you done, Your Majesty?” said Mistress Blanche.
“Nothing. I have done nothing,” said the queen.
Fifty-four
Most gracious Lord, forgive me, for I do not feel any guilt whatsoever for what I have done. I have merely set the wheels of justice in motion. Sir John Skydemore stole what was, by all rights, mine. Dear Lord, as Your representative on this earth, it is my queenly duty to bring him to task for his misdeeds. That is all I am doing.
I do ask that You bless my Fawn and turn her heart back to me. Once the blush of love has faded, as it surely will, after her husband has been removed from her, she will come back to me. And we shall continue as before, she and Rob and myself—my own little family. Already, my Sweet Robin
shows signs of tiring of Douglass Sheffield. He would never agree to marry such a woman, not when he hopes, still, to marry me. I want his hope to grow. Forgive my womanly pride. But I would know his love for me is true, in spite of everything.
I know restoring my “family” to me must be Your will, Lord, for it is what is in my heart. Steer me aright, if I am mistook. Or if I act from anything other than the best of intentions.
Fifty-five
June 1574
The weather at Holme Lacy was warm and sultry. The freshly cut hay from the surrounding fields gave a sweet smell to the air. The flowers and herbs from the gardens at the back of the manor house bloomed in a variety of colors and the sound of bees humming made a kind of music. Mary and one of the gardeners were pulling weeds in the early morning before the sun rose too high for such work. Since coming to Holme Lacy, Mary had discovered she had a love of the domestic life and a gift for managing the affairs of a large house.
“Shall I gather some of these daisies, mum? They’d look pretty in your bedchamber of a morning,” said Thomas, the head man in charge of the vegetable and herb gardens.
“That would be lovely. Maybe you can bring in a few of those red roses—the daisies and roses would look well together,” said Mary, tugging at a stubborn weed.
“Here comes the master,” said Thomas, pointing to the far field where Sir John walked toward them. He had gone fishing at the nearby pond, and from the look of his lively step, he had had a successful morning.
Mary rose and waved to her husband. She walked to him, anxious to see what he had caught.
“You are as pretty as those roses, milady,” said Sir John, dropping his pole and the pail filled with fish, and then hugging her. His eldest son, Harry, lagged behind and was just leaving the edge of the woods. She smiled at him as he approached.
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