by Betty Younis
Her headache had become a thundering roiling noise in her brain and she could no longer deal with the court. Cecil had been speaking and she waved him silent as she abruptly rose and passed out of the hall. Men and women alike bowed deeply and behind her rose first a hushed whisper then a cacophony of voices. Whom had she heard that day? Which cases had been settled, to whom had she granted favors or shown signs of dislike?
Enough. She would retire to her rooms, change out of the restrictive clothing she currently wore, and go for a walk to clear her head. Perhaps Bess was available to entertain her with gossip and straight-forward and thus amusing repartee. But even the thought of her young niece’s ability to find humor in the day-to-day goings on of the court did nothing to alleviate the fatigue. She paused to catch her breath at the large window on the stairwell which looked out upon the great lawn. An ancient oak sheltered the eastern portion of the yard and beneath it she saw Quinn and Bess talking and eating from a basket which sat nearby. She watched them for some time: Quinn gesticulating wildly while Bess nodded. What would she do, she wondered, when the time came to release her niece and send her home to Coudenoure? Since her arrival at court, Bess had become Elizabeth’s fondest and most trusted confidante. How could she give that up? To whom would she turn for such trust, such family? There was no one else, and so she had decided to keep Bess at her side. She watched another moment before continuing on up the stairs – she would think about it tomorrow, perhaps. The idea of a walk no longer seemed appealing. A nap was called for. Yes, that would refresh her.
*****
Quinn and Bess sat happily together in the shade of their favorite oak. It provided a vantage point for observing the comings and goings on the palace’s main drive, which in turn provided the two young lovers with entertainment. Bess had used the sudden progress to Hampton Court as an opportunity to visit Coudenoure briefly and leave a message for Quinn. He had arrived that morning.
Bess missed Quinn and Coudenoure terribly. Life at court had initially been enthralling, amusing, – an endless curiosity for her. And the progresses! Elizabeth used them to show herself to her subjects and inevitably rode a great steed and dressed in her finest clothes as she moved from one grand palace to the next. She insisted that her courtiers and ladies ride behind her in their finest, and that even every animal in the procession be marked by her Tudor arms, indicating to one and all her great wealth and power. For everyone else, however, the monumental labor involved in moving so much and so many was tiring and tedious. Everyone and everything had to be taken along and the ox-driven carts which trundled behind the initial, glittering parade were always laden to the hilt. For those who served, there simply was no settled place to call home, and yet no one seemed to mind.
Bess marveled at this time and again, for her own nature called for home and family and like a swallow beating ever northwards her heart had begun to turn towards the peace of Coudenoure. Elizabeth needed her desperately though, and Bess was keenly aware of the attachment. They were for each other the closest thing to family either of them had. Bess sighed.
“What is it, my love?” Quinn paused in his explanation of the geometry of conical structures and turned his loving face to her. Bess brushed the crumbs from her lap as she responded.
“Elizabeth. She needs me, and I must say, I need her – she has become a mother for me in so many ways. But when will the day come that I am released to return home?”
Quinn threw a piece of bread and they watched in silence as a fat squirrel promptly carried it away.
“The day will come, dear. Do not worry. She has many things on her mind and you have told me often that you are her sounding board.”
Bess nodded.
“’Tis true. There is Dudley, always Dudley, and of course that woman Mary.”
“Mary?” Quinn did not follow court intrigue or politics of any kind. Unless the word architecture appeared in a sentence, he skipped along in his own world oblivious to the greater environment.
Bess laughed and patted his hand. Her physical touch was heaven, and he froze his hand lest he cause her to move hers. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment.
“Mary, Quinn.”
“What?”
Bess pulled her hand in feigned exasperation.
“The French woman who is a pretender to Elizabeth’s throne. Really, do you listen to what I say?”
“Sometimes.” They both laughed at the frank admission.
“Well,” Bess suggested after a moment, “You could come to court, you know – that way I would not feel so bereft of home and hearth.”
Quinn laughed.
“And what, pray tell, would I come as? The queen’s nit?”
“She no longer calls you that,” Bess assured him.
“Not to my face,” Quinn replied. “But no matter. Bess, there is no place for me at court.”
“You could be a courtier – you are a knight after all.”
“Ah, a courtier, right until the moment I split my pants bowing or dropped a stuffed pheasant into William Cecil’s lap at table.”
“He does not eat with the queen.”
Quinn ignored the correction.
“Or perhaps I could be a char boy? Hmm? Burn the place down?”
Bess caught his playful mood and giggled.
“Or a chef! I hear that on the continent royal courts routinely employ men as their premier cooks!”
Quinn rolled on his side with laughter.
“Madame Queen,” he pitched his voice.
“Majesty,” Bess again corrected him.
“Madam-We-All-Do-Your-Bidding,” he started again, “I have prepared a special treat for you this evening. It begins with grouse feathers arranged smartly in a sauce of oak leaves and spring saplings!”
“Never mind,” Bess gave up.
“Talk to her about coming home,” Quinn suggested and stood. “Now, I have to go for there is a minor baroness on the south coast…”
“I am a minor baroness! How many of us are there?”
“…who wishes to have a glass house for her peacocks. She tells me they do not like the sea breezes but need the sun.”
He made a show of taking off his hat and bowing to her before disappearing towards the stables.
She picked up her basket and walked on without him, deep in thought as to possible solutions for her love life. It took a moment for her to realize that two men walked behind her at a more rapid pace and were slowly overtaking her.
“Careful, she is the tutor for the queen’s maids.” The words were French and Bess attuned herself to them as the men approached.
“Do not worry, she speaks Italian badly and no other language save English.”
She bristled at the insult but remained quiet, being careful to give no outward appearance of comprehension.
“We must act quickly, for the queen is impatient.”
“Not too quickly, for we must have a papal blessing lest we risk our souls.”
“But the Yuletide comes quickly, and we must be ready.”
The men tipped their caps as they passed her and walked on, their voices fading on the breeze. Bess watched them curiously. Their manner of dress marked them as foreign – huge plumes in their velvet caps and pantaloons and vests embroidered in gold in a heavy, continental style. She did not recognize them and initially thought perhaps they served one of the various ambassadors which advocated for their own masters at Elizabeth’s court. But only two days earlier, just as they were planning to quit Whitehall for healthier quarters, there had been a masked ball. Bess was fairly certain that all of the ambassadorial contingents had been present, and she did not recall seeing the two men who had just passed by her.
Had their tone been conspiratorial or were they simply passing tidbits of court gossip confidentially? As they turned sharply and disappeared from sight she remembered the quiet conversation she had overheard earlier. The men were not familiar to her but then, she reasoned, she surely did not know everyone at court. Yet t
he conversation was disturbing in a way that Bess found hard to pin down. Elizabeth was head of the Church of England – what need had she of a papal blessing for any undertaking? She pondered the matter as she returned the basket to the kitchen and on impulse went in search of the queen. With quick steps, she crossed the inner courtyard leading onto Elizabeth’s private quarters hoping to find her there. Luck ran with her, for Elizabeth was in her room, resting by an open window. She smiled when she saw Bess and dismissed her maids, beckoning Bess to come close.
“You have seen your young Quinn, I see.”
“How did you know that?” Elizabeth was uncannily good at knowing when Bess had had a rendezvous with Quinn and she was puzzled by her aunt’s ability. It had become a game between them with Bess slowly working her way through whatever clues she thought Elizabeth might be picking up on. “I am not blushing, nor am I particularly happy with the meeting, so it can be nothing in my demeanor which tells you that.”
“Settle down child,” Elizabeth chuckled. “I saw you out the window.”
“Oh.”
A deep, hacking cough rose from Elizabeth’s chest and Bess immediately voiced concern.
“Have you a cold? I will send for Huicke at once.” She rose to summon the doctor but Elizabeth bade her sit again.
“’Tis a small cold, nothing more.”
“Still…” Her words trailed off as she felt Elizabeth’s forehead. Concern began to write itself across her countenance.
“Bess, ’tis nothing,” Elizabeth insisted, “Robert Huicke has been my physician since Hatfield and he trusts my judgment in these matters. He will tell you the same. And since when are you my nanny?”
“Since you are the only relative I have in this world, since that is since when.” Bess answered curtly.
“Grammar grammar grammar. Your last sentence was rubbish.”
Bess ignored her and pulled a satin coverlet off the bed, placing it gently over Elizabeth’s legs.
“I will send for some hot chicken broth and the doctor will be here shortly.”
Elizabeth wagged her finger at her niece but did nothing to stop her. It was comforting to know that someone wanted nothing more than her well-being. Indeed.
*****
Elizabeth was seldom alone, and as Bess hurried from the room, she decided against ringing for her maids. Solitude was a luxury now, one she could not purchase nor demand nor barter for. It had to find its way to her through the crowds who wanted bits and pieces of her, always wanting more and always crying her name. The autumn breeze brought the sad, sweet song of a whippoorwill through the open window, and she closed her eyes and listened to its mournful melody. It matched her mood. So much to do today, she thought, and so little energy.
Dudley had stormed off to Kenilworth Castle, his northernmost estate, that morning, ridiculously angry at what he knew to be the only path open to her. She could no more marry him than she could swim to the moon and yet he finagled, schemed, and plotted constantly towards that goal. Had he become more insistent, she wondered, or was she just tiring of the constant thrust and parry of his conversation. He was the only person in the entire kingdom who counted his wife’s mysterious death as naught against his desire for the throne. Long ago, she would have believed he wanted her and her alone and that the throne was only a secondary consideration. Now…she smiled to herself as she waited for Bess to return with the doctor. She was still not immune to his charms, but the years had taught her well: power was never a secondary consideration and those who considered it thus did so at their own peril. Such a sad situation, she thought, for she would have been happy with him on the throne by her side – he had much good judgment and she had been confident she could manage him. But all that was gone now.
She watched the singing bird as it continued to trill its melody just beyond her window. So much to do today. And yet she felt such fatigue.
A knock on the door interrupted her reverie. The doctor had arrived.
Bess waited in the hallway with Elizabeth’s maids, listening to their chatter and speculation about the queen.
“She is pale of late – I am certain.”
“Perhaps it is more than a malady…”
“Perhaps she is…”
On and on they went with their idle chatter until Bess was ready to scream. But she had learned to hold her tongue and be invisible – much gossip came her way as a result.
An hour later, the doctor appeared in Elizabeth’s door and singled Bess out to enter the room.
“Child, she wishes to speak to you in private. Afterwards, you must come see me immediately. In the interim, I must gather some things.”
The court ladies fanned themselves furiously, feigning not to listen or care. Both Bess and the doctor knew far better.
He walked away but turned back.
“And Bess,” he whispered to her alone, “…take care.”
He left.
*****
Bess entered the room tentatively. Elizabeth had moved from her favorite chair in front of the window to the bed. The room was stiflingly hot and Bess noticed Huicke had built a blazing fire and closed the window. Elizabeth smiled wanly when she saw Bess and propped herself on several pillows. As Bess adjusted them for her, she coughed and finally spoke.
“Oh, my friend, it seems I have a disease.”
Fear was written across her flushed countenance. Bess dipped the corner of her apron in a nearby pitcher of water and wiped Elizabeth’s face before she continued.
“I have the pox, Bess. Smallpox.”
Bess instinctively hugged her tightly. Elizabeth clung to her and sobbed. After a moment, she lay back.
“So the rumors will come true at last – I will be the old virgin queen.”
“Auntie, you may marry anyone you wish! Any man would be thrilled to have you as his wife!”
“Before, perhaps. But not now with the scars and pocks and savage inflammation of such. Now they will only want me for my throne.”
She adjusted herself, blew her nose and looked sharply at Bess.
“You think it is just vanity on my part, do you not?”
Bess shook her head vigorously.
“No, I do not. I think ’tis the woman speaking, not the queen of all the land. What, do you feel that because you are sovereign you should welcome such scarring as may come?”
Elizabeth smiled, relieved to have Bess at her side. Bess eyed her speculatively.
“Do you think your father welcomed his ulcerated leg because he was king? Hmm? Or perhaps my grandfather, Thomas, thought happily upon his useless leg – after all, he gained it in battle.”
She adjusted Elizabeth’s covers.
“No, you see, ’tis about courage and the will to live in the face of fear – the outcome will take care of itself.”
“The doctor seems to think I will survive.”
Bess reached beneath her undershirt and pulled out a gold cross set with rubies. She carefully removed it and hung it gently about Elizabeth’s neck, tucking it securely beneath the queen’s nightshirt.
“What is this?”
“Well, I will tell you: when your father and my grandmother became pre-contracted, Henry removed this fine piece from your grandmother’s jewels.”
“Margaret Beaufort?” The beginnings of a smile appeared on her face.
“Indeed,” laughed Bess. “He gave it to my grandmother, but I give it to you now for a special reason. You see, when my grandmother Elizabeth’s ship sank in a great storm in the Mare Nostrum, she was wearing this cross. My namesake and yours believed it saved her, for it carries Henry’s love within it.”
“My mother, too, was wearing it the day the great stone fell, and she believed this cross to be the reason it fell only on her leg, but her life was spared. ’Tis a talisman against any evil which might threaten she who wears it. And so today I give it to you for I know it will protect you and see you through this ordeal.”
Elizabeth coughed and clutched the ruby cross tightly
beneath her clothing.
“Dudley.” Elizabeth spoke with longing. “He will no longer desire me. I will lose him.”
“Majesty, I have something I must confess.”
The tone in Bess’ voice and the look of contrition on her face caused Elizabeth to forget her melancholy and sit up.
“What is it, Bess?”
“For some time now, I have been privy to information I have not shared with you.”
“Go on.”
“I have undeniable proof that Sir Robert Dudley…”
“YES?”
“…that Sir Robert Dudley is a vain nit of the first order.”
Elizabeth fell back giggling with relief.
“Do tell.”
“Well, I have personally seen him adjusting his hosiery, and combing his beard, while viewing himself in a secret looking glass he keeps tucked within his purse.”
Elizabeth, too, began to giggle.
“And Majesty, ’tis a famous fact that he has more articles of clothing than you, me and all of your ladies combined.”
“My Robert may be vain,” Elizabeth acknowledged.
“May? And Majesty, you run circles around the man intellectually. Why, my horse can calculate an arithmetical addition faster than his lordship.”
Elizabeth howled with laughter.
“You know, Bess, your ridiculous twitter does not change the fact that he may not want me with the scarring.”
“Who knows and who cares? First, let us focus on winning this battle, then you may decide on how best to keep him, if that is your desire. And truthfully, I believe beneath his lust for the throne he loves you as a woman.”
A knock on the door interrupted them. Huicke appeared and behind him a small contingent of servants. Bess leant low over Elizabeth, held her gaze and spoke.
“I will not leave you, Aunt, not until this is done. We will see it through together.”