by Betty Younis
Michael wore black breeches with the silk hose given him by Elizabeth the previous Christmas. Anne and he had determined that the neckline of his nightshift most closely resembled what a pirate’s upper garb would look like and so his breeches had an odd, stuffed quality to them. His hat was a wreath of laurel with feathers stuck round.
As the bed sheet rose upon the mast, Michael gallantly placed a foot on the plank seating of The Pirate Man and waved solemnly to his sisters. The tiny craft rocked and the sail almost billowed as he pulled away.
Anne pretended to cry.
“Farewell son! Bring glory to England. And loot! Do not forget the loot!”
“…and he pulled away and was dead at sea because I am going to tell Papa all about it…”
*****
Elizabeth was elated. Francis Drake had captured yet another trove of Spanish silver bound for the coffers of Spain from the new world. It was hers now, and in her mind she ran the calculations over and over again of what the windfall would mean for England. Even though she kept stringent control over the crown’s resources, there seemed to be a hole in the bottom of her purse through which all her monies poured. She knew that keeping the Spanish treasure would create yet more problems in a relationship already strained by religion. With his new world wealth and resources, Philip was sure to one day to apply those means against the heretic queen of England. She knew it would come and had quietly begun to build a navy that might somehow outmaneuver the Spanish fleet.
But not today for such worries. Suddenly, she was a wealthy sovereign – surely she was entitled to one day’s enjoyment of the welcome news. She leaned back on the lavishly upholstered seat of her barge and turned her face to catch the sun. As she did so, a small craft far across the river caught her eye. Too distant to read the name, she felt certain she had seen the sail before. She ignored it and directed her boatswain to stop at Coudenoure.
As they neared the small dock, Elizabeth caught sight of Anne sitting on its end, dabbling her feet in the water. Contrary to her usual ebullient greeting, Anne stood and shifted uneasily on her feet. She curtsied prettily as Elizabeth came ashore pretending not to notice the total wreck of her favorite’s dress.
“Good day, Lady Anne,” she called gaily.
“Majesty,” came the slow reply as Anne looked down river nervously.
Elizabeth suddenly realized where she had seen the sail she had noted on her way up river. With a quick turn, she whispered to the captain of her guard. He nodded and smiled and ordered one of the barges back out onto the river. Its oarsmen turned the vessel towards Woolwich.
Anne looked worriedly at Elizabeth.
“Majesty, perhaps we should talk.”
“I should like that very much indeed!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “But first, tell me, where are your siblings? Master Michael? Lady Catherine?”
“Oh, Catherine is fine, although the child cannot keep secrets, Majesty.”
“Hmm,” Elizabeth intoned thoughtfully. “And Michael?”
“The secret is about Michael,” she turned her ebony eyes on Elizabeth and continued in a half whisper. “You see, Majesty, he is sailing for the new world today, and Catherine has gone to tell Papa. And, I must confess, I am not certain how sea-worthy his craft may be.”
Anne pondered for a second. “But Michael is a fine sailor, and he promised, should I help him with the boat, that he would bring me treasure.”
“My barge has just left for Woolwich, so ’tis likely they will pass Master Michael as he sets forth. I am sure they will inspect the craft and see to his safety.”
A cloud seemed to lift from Anne’s delicate features. She smiled and Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat, for the resemblance between Anne and her namesake had never lessened. For Elizabeth, it was as if she were looking upon the mother she had barely known.
They walked hand in hand to the drive of Coudenoure and then progressed along it as Anne pointed out the various flowers and grasses, proudly calling them by their proper names.
Bess opened the front door and waited for them with a stern look upon her face directed at Anne. As they drew closer, Elizabeth bent low and whispered.
“Perhaps, Anne, ’twill be best if you scoot round the corner of the manor, and I talk to your mother first. What do you think?”
Anne’s grateful look was delightful. Impetuously, she reached her arms around Elizabeth’s neck and kissed her heartily on the cheek before scampering away.
The two women settled, as always, in their chairs before the library fire.
Quinn joined them.
“Majesty, Drake and Dee are supping here at Coudenoure this evening. Will you not join us? Perhaps we can find someone to play a tune and be festive?”
Elizabeth nodded in agreement.
“Michael has set sail today for the new world, Quinn.”
“Ah, yes. Catherine told me all about it. The boy is mad about the sea.”
He pointed to the hearth, where great fleets of painted, wooden ships battled royally against one another.
“Perhaps Drake can use an apprentice,” Elizabeth suggested. Bess turned to her furiously.
“No, I am sure he may not. Michael is a child, not a man.”
Elizabeth reached out and patted Bess’ hand.
“Friend, today he is a child, tomorrow, no. You must see to his future and prepare to let him go.”
“Not today. And have you seen what Catherine does with the gowns you pass along to be recut for her?” Bess turned to the servant and ordered that Catherine be produced. In good time, she appeared, still in the same garish, grubby costume she had worn earlier. Elizabeth stifled her laughter.
“Majesty, I see you smile. So you like my dress, do you?” inquired Anne.
Elizabeth nodded.
“Then I shall have one made for you as well!” She ran from the room, calling out to her nanny for help with the project.
A moment’s quiet contentment settled upon the three of them.
“You have done well, Bess, and Quinn. Well indeed.”
Bess nodded.
“My life is quiet and complete, for Quinn is my partner in all I do.”
The two exchanged a loving glance. Elizabeth waved her hand and peered upwards.
“Wait,” she said wryly, “For I believe I hear the sound of heavenly doves descending upon the two of you. Really. You should have the occasional fight just for form if for no other reason.”
The afternoon drew on and as promised, guests arrived. Dinner at Coudenoure was a familial event whether guests were present or not. A hearty feast of lamb and pork with sour bread and fruit was laid before them, and the conversation rose to a merry babble. Afterwards, the children were put to bed and there was dancing and drinking. A fine evening.
Periodically, Elizabeth looked about her wistfully, absorbing the happy chaos that was Coudenoure: the toys on the floor; the packs of children running through the great halls; the servants who were as much family as employees; the constant projects of nature, architecture, art and music constantly engaged in by all who lived there. Her court by necessity was formal, and this place, these people, were the only ones with whom she might dismiss her guard and be carefree. Bess and Quinn were the happiest people she had ever known, and she wondered how that could be. Even her love for Dudley knew bounds and reached the end of its tether when they spent too many days in one another’s company. But despite seldom leaving their estate, Bess and Quinn never quarreled and never engaged in harsh words. Their love seemed not passionate but deep, slow and ever burning regardless of the season of life.
Chapter Eighteen
The candles burned brightly at Coudenoure. True to her word, Elizabeth had provided tutors for the children. They had arrived with fear in their eyes and learning sputtering from their lips even as they stepped from the carriage, for they reported directly to the queen. They knew not the nature of the relationship between the strange family which lived at the isolated estate and the queen, nor did they ever
dare ask. Cecil, now Lord Burghley in honor of his great service to Elizabeth, had vetted them carefully through layer upon layer of family, background, temperament and beliefs. Only then had they been interviewed by Elizabeth. She tested them carefully, for she had no desire to see the enthusiasm of her young kin dampened in any way – she merely wanted it augmented so that whatever road they chose, they would take with them a deep knowledge of the type she herself had always found invaluable.
Had her involvement ended at that juncture, their work might have flowed more easily. But it did not. Elizabeth found that in planning for Anne’s, Michael’s and Catherine’s education she was transported back to the one area of her own childhood which was not tainted by fear and terror. The memories of primers, of practice pages and of hours spent learning everything from geography to mathematics made her happy, and she sublimated those memories to her efforts on behalf of Bess’ children. It was demanded that each tutor present his lesson plans to her for review. She studied them assiduously, and was frequently heard cursing loudly at points which displeased her. Language lesson reviews in particular took years off their lives, and more than one of them lit a candle in the chapel before going in to see the queen at the appointed hour. Only after such study of the materials they presented and proposed, and with the tutor happily on bended knee – for it signaled the end of the interview was near – would she carefully re-write the curriculum to her satisfaction. She realized that had she not been fated to wear the crown, she would have been happy performing the task endlessly. There was a certain entrancing rhythm to the work. The entire exercise confirmed her in the knowledge that she was a stickler, and an unwelcome one to all but herself.
As Quinn chased butterflies, collected bark, boiled chemicals and wrote ever more esoteric monographs about his findings, Bess hammered her way through a small quarry’s worth of stone. The children on the estate were fascinated by their mistress who turned ordinary, ugly rock into delicate renderings of the very estate on which they lived. Here was the façade of the manor house; here a bust of Quinn; there, perhaps a fragile depiction of the great elm which graced the hill crest just outside Coudenoure’s wall. Occasionally she would have one of the children sit for her but they had soon learned to recognize the look which usually accompanied such requests as they had the tedious amount of time usually involved and the strict orders issued concerning fidgeting. Not even sugared scones were worth such torture. The result was an absence of children whenever Bess looked round for a new project. In the corner of her studio was a bust upon which she worked slowly and only intermittently. It was of a man with long locks and striking features. His head was turned slightly as though responding to some call from afar and his eyes, even cast as they were from marble, showed a man in search of a vision, one who was driven by passions and understanding that was rare if not unique. Quinn had questioned her about him one day.
“Should I be jealous, Bess, for I see you take great care and work with a loving touch upon your mystery man.”
She only smiled. Quinn gave a nervous grin – he had never got over feeling that he would wake one day and find that such a creature as Bess loving him was only a fleeting dream. She patted his cheek.
“Do not be a nit, Quinn.”
“Well, then…who is it?”
She had stared at the man emerging from her stone before answering.
“’Tis my father.”
She said nothing further.
With the arrival of the children, the tutors, two new cooks (also from Elizabeth) and various nannies and workmen (to whom Quinn could frequently be seen giving direction in the construction of yet another outbuilding), Coudenoure had become a hub of bustling activity. The servants’ cottages behind the estate were now full, and Bess had determined to make the estate self-sufficient. Norman, their stableman, had taken on two young apprentices, and a miller was hired to coordinate grain production and storage. Bess took inordinate pride when she walked through fields which had lain fallow since her great-grandfather’s day. The ripe wheat heads waved gently as far as the eye could see. Field after field had been planted and Margaret, the new cook, had immediately commandeered Quinn’s glass house when she realized it meant she could grow greens even in the winter. Quinn had easily acquiesced, which had initially puzzled Bess and the woman.
“Madam, I had thought he would put up a fight. ’Tis why I asked you to stand with me whilst I told him.” She brushed flour from her hair with a hand smattered in flour. Her hair, a salt and pepper mix neatly tucked beneath a cook’s bonnet, seemed the same as before.
“Indeed, Margaret, indeed.” Bess was more than a little curious and a bit apprehensive, too, for Quinn’s dislike of confrontation was not the same as an absence of backbone when something important to him was at stake.
Two months later, three large wagons rumbled up the drive – a master glazier had arrived with his crew to begin work on a second, yet more elaborate conservatory. Quinn had only smiled at Bess and Margaret and gone about his business.
*****
Christmas 1578
In the end, he left her.
Elizabeth hid her agony and heartache beneath a façade of furious wrath. Only she knew her heart.
Dudley had left her for another. Not just left, but left and married another. Why? The question refused to lie still within her mind, but pushed and shoved its way to the front of all her thoughts. Morning, noon and night it dug its talons into her consciousness, demanding an answer but receiving none, for she had none. He had left her and that was all she knew. He left despite the gifts she had insisted rain down upon him over the years. Why, his perpetual income from her own purse was no less than twenty thousand pounds each year! He left despite the titles she had bestowed upon him. He left despite the estates, the accolades from she herself, despite the protection she had provided him against all those who spoke in her ear with sharp vitriol against him!
He left her. In the end, he left her.
Her nights became tortured as she lay awake, trying to find within her memories the moment he must have begun the deceit. He surely had not married the woman with no planning and no foreknowledge. So there had to have been a moment in which he decided to go forward with the foul scheme. One moment he must have thought, “I shall not hurt my lifelong friend and queen”, and the next, “Yes, I shall do it anyway”. And afterwards, well, he had not even found the courage to tell her. She had been left to discover his falseness from rumors within her own court. She relived the day endlessly.
It was a Tuesday afternoon, quite leisurely. The winter rains were upon London and outside the world was dreary and damp. The malaise which sometimes settled in as autumn closed its shutters sat heavily upon her ladies that afternoon and their melancholy mood was contagious. She had no desire for work, and Dudley was not there to regale her with his endless humor and gossip. On impulse, she clapped her hands and demanded her musicians come forth.
Two hours later, in the great hall at Hampton Court, the furniture had been put aside, sweets and fruit such as might ameliorate the malaise were laden upon side tables, while Elizabeth and her women practiced their dance steps and invented new ones. The pensive gloom of the early day gave way to jolly glee as they pranced, ate and enjoyed themselves on the dance floor with no men to judge or assess their movements. The exercise and music seemed to relieve all but two of them of their moodiness. Lady Mary and Lady Beatrice of Riverstill stood aloof in the corner eating plums and whispering in one another’s ears. But they were not whispering love secrets from this or that courtier, for Elizabeth noticed that no giggle or smile, nor even a blush, accompanied their talk. She stopped dancing mid-song and summoned them.
“I notice, my ladies, that you do not partake of our pleasure this afternoon, but prefer to closet yourselves away in a corner.”
Both women blushed.
Hearing the tone in the queen’s voice, her ladies gathered round and the music faded. But only silence met the queen’s increasing curiosit
y.
“To resist such fun on such a dreary day, well, you must have something very worthwhile to discuss. Pray share it with us!”
She looked around and her ladies nodded enthusiastically. The blush became a crimson rose. Elizabeth grew tired of their silence.
“What were you discussing? Hmm? I demand that you tell me immediately.”
Finally, both women began to stutter.
“You see, Majesty...” said Lady Mary.
“Majesty, it seems that Lord Robert…”
My Lord Robert?” Elizabeth exclaimed, looking around and laughing. “You have news of my Dudley?”
Finally, Lady Mary closed her eyes and blurted it out.
“Majesty, he is married. In September last, he married the Countess of Essex, Lady Lettice Knollys.”
A great stillness settled upon the room. The musicians evaporated into thin air.
“I am sorry,” Elizabeth spoke quietly, “But I do not believe I heard you correctly. You must repeat yourself.”
And so hell had descended upon her.
*****
Bess was startled. It was the new girl, Jane, who had recently joined Coudenoure. Bess tried to place her as she spoke.
“Someone is here? To see me?”
Jane bowed again and shifted on her feet. Her cotton blue-print frock was overlaid with a cook’s white apron. Her small white cap accentuated her pale features and light brown hair. Jane, Margaret’s daughter – yes, that was it. Bess finally placed her in her mind. She had recently joined her mother at Coudenoure from some estate to which she had been apprenticed in the southland. There was a backstory of sorts – something about having failed to live up to the estate’s expectations of a scullery maid. Bess was not sure about any of that, but she had noticed the child had a way with pastry.
“Who is it?” she asked, wiping her brow and putting down her mallet.