“Allow me to welcome you to my humble abode—not as commodious as Holme Lacy but it has served well enough for a traitor,” he said.
“Are you a traitor, John? Please tell me the truth—I have played our lives over and over in my mind. I admit, it is possible our whole marriage has been part of a plot. No, say nothing. Let me finish. I must know the truth, even if it hurts me. I will still try to save you because I love you. But you must tell me everything; it’s the only way for us to come out of this alive. We must be honest with each other,” said Mary.
“Well, I shall not have to be honest for long—a week at most,” he said, smiling.
“Do not joke. I have been eaten up with worry, and now, now that I finally hold you in my arms again, you make light of this disaster,” she said.
“Better that than moaning away, wishing for impossible dreams to come true. You were my dream, Mary. I should have known something so good could not last,” he said.
“You have not answered my question. Are you a traitor? Were you involved in a plot against the queen?” she said, standing away from him.
“Look at me, my love. Look into my face. I tell you God’s honest truth—I have never been, nor will I ever be, a traitor to Her Majesty. I do not know why they think I am. I heard the evidence Walsingham presented. He told me about letters and ciphers he had found, all in my hand. He was convincing; I almost believed him myself. Yet, I knew nothing about any letters. I did not write a letter to a Jesuit priest, much less the dozens Walsingham held. As you can see, they tried their best to get a confession from me. But I had nothing to confess,” said John.
Mary looked at him, studied his face, his eyes. She looked again at the bruises and bloodied spots on his face and neck. She said nothing.
“Dearest, I swear to you on the lives of my children that I have done nothing against our queen,” he said quietly.
She knew, then, that he was innocent.
And she knew what she must do to try to save him.
She went to him and kissed him more fully. He responded quickly and his hands began to rove over her.
“You look beautiful even dressed in cotton and dust,” he mumbled, nuzzling her neck.
“I imagine I look a fright … but we have no time for kisses—I must be about my business. I shall speak with Lord Robert—if anyone has a way to the queen’s heart, it is he,” said Mary.
“He is not in the highest favor at present. I heard the Lady Sheffield delivered him a fine son,” said John, still caressing her.
“If that is true, things might be better than I had hoped. If I know Lord Robert, he will have sent Lady Douglass to the country for her lying-in. And soon, he will ignore her and his baseborn son. For he knows the queen is the source of everything he holds dear—Kenilworth, his fine clothes, his power. And though he takes other women for his pleasure, it is the queen who has his heart,” said Mary.
“I hope you are right in this, my love. For if you are not, I fear for both of us,” said John.
“Kiss me once again for luck, dearest. Then I shall be off,” said Mary.
* * *
Mary and Thomas found rooms at Cross Keys Inn on Gracechurch Street. Mary had bundled her clothes along with her treasure box in an old woolen cloth, scratchy and moth-eaten. She did not know exactly why she had brought her special box with her, except she never went anywhere without it. Having it gave her comfort and courage. It reminded her of all she had been through as a child: the loss of her parents, the frightening journey to London, the terrifying bustle of people at court. But the contents also spoke to her of the good things from her childhood: gifts from the queen, pretty rocks she had gathered with Lord Robert, flowers from Tom Wotton, memories she cherished. The box reminded her that, even though she was without parents, she was loved.
As she placed the box on a rough-hewn table, she remembered the ring the queen had woven from their hair so long ago. Why had she not thought of it before? She imagined them on that picnic, Lord Robert cutting the strands of hair, the queen laughing as she made them each a ring. The queen had told her if she ever needed help, show the ring to Her Majesty. No matter what the problem, the queen promised to do all in her power to assist Mary.
Mary quickly snatched the box from the table to make sure the lock of hair was still there. Carefully, she opened the painted lid. Inside, the contents were jumbled together. Slowly, she searched through her treasures and there, at the very bottom of the box, was the ringlet of black and red hair, braided long ago on a summer’s day. She picked it up and held it to her heart. Surely the queen would remember this! Surely if she begged and showed her this ring, the queen would relent and John would be saved. Mary carefully replaced the ring at the bottom of the box and laid the other items on top of it. Then, feeling more hopeful than she had in weeks, she began her nightly ritual: rubbing her teeth with a cloth, washing her face, and making use of the nearby chamber pot. Then, hope blooming in her heart once again, she crawled into the clean-looking sheets of the inn, happy she had the means to pay for a nice place to stay and glad she did not have to share her bed with a stranger, or even worse, Thomas. She’d had to pay highly for that privilege and she was thankful she’d been able to afford such luxury.
* * *
The next day, Mary left Thomas once again at Cheapside, selling the few vegetables he had left over from the day before. She was on her way to Leicester House to speak with Lord Robert. When she finally arrived, she was disappointed to find he was not there, but at Whitehall Palace with the queen. Mary began the long trek to Whitehall.
As she approached the palace, she wrapped her scarf more fully over her face, looking like a woman who had suffered from the smallpox and was trying to hide her disfigurement. She knew if anyone recognized her, she would be hauled to the Tower herself. She first entered through the kitchen gardens where the herbs and flowers grew in their full abundance. The kitchens were filled with bustling cooks, stirrers, bakers, and others who went about their business quickly, shouting out instructions or telling humorous tales as they created food fit for a queen. Mary ducked through and had almost made it when one of the big men who turned the spits pulled her arm.
“What are you doing in here, lass?” he said roughly.
“I’m lost sir, looking for the laundry,” said Mary, her voice shaking.
“Looks like you could do with a washing—go out that door yonder, then straight down the hall to the left. The laundry will be at the end. Now, get out of here!” said the man, swatting her bottom as she turned in the direction in which he had pointed.
She hurried down the corridor and found the large washroom at the end, just as he had said. It smelled of lye and lavender, and enormous crocks were filled with water of various colors. Next door was the folding room and Mary could see women pressing the clothes into neat piles. She then followed the back hall that led to the queen’s apartments, the hall she knew Catspaw would take to bring the queen’s clean shifts. That is, if Catspaw were still alive and if she were still able to work. Mary hid in a small alcove and waited, saying the same prayer over and over—God help me, God help me.
After most of the day had passed, Mary heard slow, soft footfalls coming toward her. She peeked out to see if it was Catspaw.
“What you doing in there, girl? Like to scared me into my grave,” said Catspaw.
“Do you remember me, Catspaw? Mistress Mary Shelton?” said Mary. She saw the old woman’s eyes were covered with blue and wondered if Catspaw could see at all.
“You should not be here—the queen banished you! Are you mad?” said Catspaw.
“Here, let me help you with those. Yes, she did banish me, but my husband, Sir John, is in the Tower. I hope to get him out,” said Mary as she took the bundle from the old woman’s arms.
“How? Nobody gets out of the Tower unless they be carried out,” said Catspaw.
“I shall ask the queen to help me,” said Mary, leading the way to the queen’s apartments.
&nb
sp; “Her Grace does not love you, mistress. I never saw her so furious as the day she found out about your marriage! They say she broke your finger. Is it true?” said Catspaw.
Mary turned to face the woman and held up her hand to show her little finger, which was slightly bent in comparison to the surrounding digits. She nodded at Catspaw.
“I’ll be … I knew she had a temper—I’ve gotten swats on the head enough when she didn’t like the way I washed her night shifts—but never thought her strong enough to break a bone,” said Catspaw.
“She’s stronger than she looks,” said Mary.
They were coming to the door of the queen’s apartments. Mary stopped.
“I need to see Lord Robert. As soon as possible. Can you get him that message? You don’t need to tell him who I am—just say a young lady is desperate to speak with him in the laundry passage. Tell him I’ll wait until he comes, even if I have to spend the night here. Can you do that, Catspaw?” said Mary.
“I’ll do it. But you mustn’t go anywhere—for if I send an important man like Lord Robert to you, you should be here. Else he’ll have my head!” said Catspaw.
“Thank you, oh, thank you. I have a half-crown for you—but I do not have it with me. I promise, though, once I see Lord Robert, I shall bring it to you,” said Mary, hugging the old woman.
“I don’t want any coins—the queen is generous to me in my old age. You are young—you’ll need the money,” said Catspaw.
With that, she was gone.
Fifty-seven
July 4, 1574
Mary had no idea she would have to wait in the laundry hall for two days. She hid in an alcove whenever she heard footsteps and slept fitfully while the palace grew quiet at night. Luckily, Catspaw had a kind heart and brought her chunks of bread with light ale a couple of times. But, even with such generosity, Mary’s stomach growled and complained that it needed more sustenance. She feared it might make such a noise as to give away her presence but, luckily, most of the grumbling took place after everyone had gone to bed.
Finally, just when Mary was ready to give up all hope, she heard heavy footsteps followed by lighter, slower ones.
“She’s in here, Your Worship, just as I said. I’ll be on me way now,” said Catspaw as she ushered Lord Robert into the alcove.
Mary’s hands went immediately to her hair—she had not combed it and it was still dusty from her drive to London. She felt her face grow warm as she thought about how she must look to Lord Robert, himself one of the best-dressed men at court. She curtsied and remained bowed low.
“Oh Fawn, what has happened to you?” said Lord Robert kindly.
She had not expected gentleness, but rather consternation at what she had done. She couldn’t stop the tears from flowing as she ran into Lord Robert’s arms.
“My dear girl, let it out—that’s it. Let those tears flow. I know what has happened to your Sir John. And I know what it feels like to be banished from court, away from the one light in our land—our Elizabeth,” said Lord Robert, cradling her as if she were still a child.
She wiped her tears with the back of her hands and stopped her sobbing. She had not come to cry but to ask his help. She would do that with as much dignity as she could muster.
“I know we have done wrong in marrying without the queen’s permission, milord. And we are very sorry. But I swear to you, upon my honor and all that is holy, my husband is no traitor. Yes, he is a Catholic, but he loves the queen. Of this, I am certain,” said Mary.
Lord Robert remained silent, staring intently at Mary.
“How can you be so sure, Fawn? Walsingham found letters, very compromising letters between Sir John and a Jesuit priest. How do you explain that?” said Lord Robert.
“I cannot explain it. I only know that John is innocent. He has sworn his innocence to me on the lives of his children. I believe him,” said Mary.
“That is not very factual, dear. And I fear you are not unbiased in this case,” said Lord Robert.
“Is there no hope then?” said Mary.
“As long as there is breath, there is hope. I believe the best way for you to help your husband is to speak directly to the queen. Her Majesty often relies on her womanly instincts to make decisions of guilt and innocence. She may see more in your words than do I,” said Lord Robert.
“But how can I see her? She has forbidden me to come to court,” said Mary.
“Ah, that is where I come in. Let me see what I can arrange. I make no promises—I do not have the sway with the queen I once enjoyed. But there may be a way, yet. I shall call for you few days hence. Be ready, little Fawn. Be ready,” he said.
“I shall be at Cross Keys Inn. I shall wait for you there,” said Mary.
“I will send my man, Rogers, for you. He wears a cap with a black feather—that is how you shall know him. Until then, watch yourself. London is full of scalawags,” said Lord Robert as he turned to leave her. She listened as his footsteps grew softer and softer, then stopped altogether.
Mary sighed and waited until her heartbeat returned to normal. Then, she slipped out of the palace and back to her room at the inn.
Fifty-eight
July 10, 1574
“You have not met me in the laundry hall for many years, Rob. What is this all about?” said the queen, leaning against the cool stones.
“I thought you might enjoy remembering our dalliances here, Bess—it seems so long ago,” said Lord Robert, putting his arm against the wall and moving closer to face the queen.
“It was long ago—before your other dalliances came between us,” said the queen.
“I confess it—I have made love to others. I had to make do with coarse bread because I could not have manchet. You know, it was only gossip about my marriage to the Sheffield woman—we were never legally wed. She spreads it about because she wishes it were so. But I have loved you, Bess. I can never marry another. I still love only you,” he said, his face so close his beard tickled her nose.
“Oh please … enough of this foolish talk. Why did you bring me here?” said the queen, pushing him away.
“Is it so foolish? To speak of a love that has lasted these twenty years? Longer than many have lived,” he said. He pressed into her.
“When you have had a baseborn babe with another, yes, it is foolish to remember our own youthful enchantment. Yet, I am happy to learn the rumors about your wedding Mistress Douglass are untrue. I can forgive a bastard or two, I suppose,” said the queen, smiling ruefully at him. “Why have you brought me here?”
“Because I love you. And I would save you from your lesser nature,” he said, moving away from her.
“What do you mean, ‘my lesser nature’—I ought to box your ears for such insolence!” said the queen.
“Bess, dearest, you have done violence enough to those you love, have you not?” he said, grabbing her hand before the blow could land.
“I suppose you speak of the poppet,” said the queen.
“You know I do. You have had Sir John arrested for treason. He is set to die two days hence. Will you not stay your hand? There was scant proof Skydemore was involved—and I do not believe he was. As much as I applaud his efforts to root out every plot against you, I fear Walsingham has been overzealous in this case. I cannot believe you do not see this as well. Your queenly judgment is usually so keen,” said Lord Robert.
“I take Walsingham’s word—you have been happy enough to see me execute Norfolk and almost daily demand I try the Scottish queen. Why are you not happy to see these plotting recusants go to the block?” snapped the queen.
“Those who are guilty deserve death. But I do not think Skydemore is one of these. I think you wish to rid yourself of him so you can have Mary back at court,” said Lord Robert.
The queen turned to him, her finger wagging at him.
“And what if I do want her back! Is that so wrong? He has taken her from me as surely as the hand of Death would. And he shall die for it,” said the queen.
> “Bess, sweetheart—this is unworthy of you. Can you not remember when we were young? How we loved? The chances we took so we could be together? Why, right here in this very corridor—do you not remember?” he said. He walked to her and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned against him and began to sob softly.
“Yes, Sweet Robin, I remember. We thought we could love and rule the world,” she said.
“I would that I had whisked you away as Skydemore did our Fawn. How happy we might have been,” said Lord Robert.
“Would we? Would you have been happy without your power and position? Would I? We cannot know what might have been. We must live with what is,” said the queen.
“Then let us live in such a way as we first started—with honor and fighting for what is right. Will you see our Fawn? She has come to London to beg your forgiveness. Will you see her?” said Lord Robert, still holding the queen close. He kissed her gently on the mouth.
“God’s blood, Rob. Send her to me. I shall see her. Now, kiss me again, won’t you?” said the queen.
Fifty-nine
By all the saints in heaven, how is it I have agreed to see her? What magic does the Earl of Leicester possess that causes me to throw away my perfectly reasonable ways and take up his own? If I did not know better, I would say Dr. Dee has given Leicester some sort of potion to bend me to his will. God’s blood!
Now that I know she is coming, what am I to do?
Yes, Parry, I will be glad to see the urchin. I know what she wants—that husband of hers released from the Tower. I shall not release him—he has been proven a traitor! I had nothing to do with it, Parry. And what if I did! It is my right as queen, is it not, to suggest possible traitors to my spymaster! I am queen! I will be obeyed!
I wonder if these weeks away from court have changed our girl. Has she gained some creases across her brow? Is she wasting away from worry? Does she miss us? Has she shed tears because she has displeased us?
Queen Elizabeth's Daughter: A Novel of Elizabeth I Page 30