by Betty Younis
“Bess, child, you must tell her one day.”
Her mother’s hand, gentle and kind on her face.
“Why? It will all pass into history and should she know it, it would only bring trouble.”
Prudence shook her head.
“Look at her, Bess. Look at your child. And what you cannot see I will see for you. I knew them all. She is Anne. She is Elizabeth. The queen sees it as well.”
“It will pass,” Bess insisted, as though determined to protect her child.
“No, it will not,” came Prudence’s forceful reply, “For it was clear at birth as it is now. And the ring? Have you not seen the ring?”
The door opened and Jane appeared in the studio shattering the moment.
“Lady Bess says you must prepare for the dance, M’lady.”
Anne nodded in an acquiescing manner – she wanted nothing but to be left alone again. But as Jane closed the door, Anne realized the memory was gone.
“What ring?” she wondered, and began pounding at her marble once more.
*****
Coudenoure was not grand, but its ancient architecture made it seem so. The high arched ceilings of the quondam monastery, medieval in form and vast in perspective, gave a quality of timeless grace to its interior spaces. The expansive carpets which lay upon its cold stone floors and the ancient tapestries which covered its equally cold stone walls muted the noise of the day-to-day world of the estate, lending a serene hush to all activity within. The family’s activities revolved around the library, the kitchen, and the workshops of Bess and Quinn. The great rooms were seldom opened, for even with the children they were simply not needed save for special occasions. The stone construction meant the rooms were always cool and the great hearths of the monastery were always lit if only for a slow burn. While Quinn had seen fit to refit his own workshop, as Bess had done her studio, neither of them felt the main features and rooms of Coudenoure should be touched. They remained as they had been for centuries. Should those who came before suddenly stumble through time and find themselves back at Coudenoure, they would have recognized it in an instant. Bess found the continuity and antiquity comforting, as did her husband.
Bess was deeply satisfied with the self-sufficiency of the estate. The monies from the state treasury were still allocated by Elizabeth on an annual basis, and Bess accepted them happily. She tucked them away carefully, not even mentioning to Quinn the growing horde of hard coinage. Cecil occasionally stopped by the estate, and as its prosperity became more and more evident, his suspicion grew commensurately. His inquiries became so routine as to be almost scripted, for while his accountancy skills were legendary, so too was his almost complete lack of subtlety.
“Madame,” so the conversation always began, “I notice Coudenoure does well this year.”
“Indeed,” would come the pat response from Bess. She knew his next statement by heart, but she had come to enjoy the formality and routine of the exchange.
“Our good and dear Majesty has many estates, you know.”
A nod was called for and given by Bess. At this juncture, the script called for a deep sigh from Cecil. Occasionally, he removed his black woolen hat for emphasis.
“Many of them, Bess, suffer, for they do not have the sure and brilliant guidance you and Quinn so ably provide for Coudenoure.”
Early on in these exchanges, Bess had bristled, for Quinn was oblivious to the running of the estate. In fact, she had often thought of staging her own investigation along the lines of one of her husband’s experiments. How long would it take him to realize no one had called him for dinner or supper? She suspected that days rather than hours would be the outcome of the trial. But time had rendered her indifferent to Cecil’s male-oriented view of God’s division of brains amongst his creatures and she now ignored the innuendo. In fact, she mostly ignored all innuendo and found she was happier in doing so. As always, Cecil coughed at this point to pull her back from what he viewed as the feminine inability to focus. Indeed.
“Lord Burghley, you are too kind in your praise,” Bess would give a shallow curtsey at this point, “As our good queen is too kind in her support of our small and inconsequential estate. Why, sir, were it not for her support I do not know what would happen!”
What would happen is that she would be forced to spend her ever-accruing coinage, something she had no intention of doing. This was not part of the ritualized conversation, only of her ritualized thoughts in this regard.
Another deep sigh from Cecil.
“Madame, at any point I would be happy to inspect your expenditure lists, your books, to see if I might be able to assist you. Who knows? Perhaps there are pockets of expenses which might save you money, and think of that! Think upon what you could do with such surplus!”
“Ah,” would come the closing remark from Bess, “I surely appreciate your offer, but I believe Quinn prefers to keep his own accounts.” It was only a small lie. God would forgive it she was certain. “And should we ever be fortunate enough to run a surplus, why, Lord Burghley, we would never dream of retaining it but would swiftly return it to your safe-keeping!” A bigger lie. No certainty as to God’s thoughts on this one.
Part of those necessary if thought by some to be extravagant expenses were bees’ wax candles rather than the usual ones fashioned from animal fat. Quinn in his later years had developed a cough and Bess found that the bees’ wax light lessened his discomfort. Quinn himself had only noticed he coughed less.
Prior to the evening’s festivities, Margaret and Jane had marshalled the servants for a thorough cleaning of the manor house. It was at this point that Jane’s second extraordinary skill came to light: she was a task master. As shy as she was even yet around the family, in equal measure did she dole out orders to her fellow servants. For two days, her barking commands could be heard throughout the house. By the third day, exhaustion and a high-regard for her organizational skills were written in equal measure across everyone’s faces. Out of concern that fear might be the next emotion to play across those same countenances, Bess and Quinn declared the cleaning venture a wild success and ordered ale for all who had participated. At this refreshment, Jane was not so much extolled as avoided. Except by Michael. A woman who could command, clean, cook and love him – what else was there to be sought from life? In his imagination, he launched himself upon endless fantasies of adventures by sea – and adventures at home with his wife…Jane. The detail was fuzzy but the intent and determination grew almost daily. Catherine chided him endlessly, but Anne was his true confidante.
“You must needs win over our parents,” she told him as they sat together one evening in the kitchen. They had both slipped off their shoes and were warming their feet before the dying fire of the main hearth. “They may have their own ideas as to your future wife.”
Michael scoffed.
“Sister, those two!”
Anne giggled, her usual acknowledgement of the eccentric natures of Bess and Quinn. Michael proceeded to tell her of his plan.
“I shall apprentice soon with one of father’s friends,” he began.
“…I hear someone – Drake? – a great sea captain, will be at our gathering,” Anne interrupted.
Michael nodded excitedly.
“Yes – I am very hopeful. In any event, sister, after my apprenticeship I shall come home in glory and propose to my beloved Jane!”
Anne smiled, happy to see him so pleased.
“That sounds like an excellent plan – and with you going off to sea…”
Now it was Michael’s turn to interrupt.
“Exactly! With my departure on a long adventure at sea, well, they will have to give in to my will. And, sister, do not forget: At that point I shall be a man.”
Anne nodded.
“You may have to wait until the completion of your first voyage – an apprenticeship is not the same as a becoming a seasoned professional.”
Michael waved his hand as though doing so would make all problems with
his vision evaporate.
“Be that as it may be. ’Tis fine! The end result will be a pleasant life with my Jane.”
They munched happily on the pastry crisps which had been left out for them by said Jane. Life was fine.
*****
Before the guests arrived Quinn knocked tentatively on his own bedroom door. Michael stood close behind him. They had been warned that under no circumstances should they enter until specifically ordered thus. A mild scurrying, a little giggle and then a voice floated through the door.
“Entre, Papa!”
He did as he was told, surveyed those within and immediately began to cry. After a moment, he collected himself and spoke.
“What have I done to deserve such a family as this? Such beautiful daughters and my wife! My wife! Bess, you look like their sister, not their mother.”
He came further into the room and sat before the fire. Michael sat opposite him. The fire glowed and candles lit the far walls.
“Now, each of you must do a turn before me and Michael so that we may appreciate your beauty and grace.”
First was Catherine. A gown of fine silk, the palest of blues, had been fitted for her. The corset dropped to a sharp V at the waist, accentuating her lithe, slim figure. As she twirled a great swishing arose and she batted her eyes happily at her father. Michael clapped and Anne stepped forward next. Her gown, also a refit from those provided by Elizabeth, was the hue of a deep burgundy wine. Each girl had carefully chosen the shade that would most flatter her natural color. The blue of Catherine’s gown made her eyes impossibly cerulean and deep, while Anne’s dress fitted her dark, smoldering looks. Each wore a simple necklace of gold with a golden cross. In the fashion of the day, their hair was pinned, held in place by a jeweled caul consisting of gold netting with fine, small pearls woven into the mesh of the fabric.
Michael clapped once again and as they stepped back and Bess came forward. Quinn’s eyes glowed with the love he felt for her – this woman, this marvel of creation who had given him three fine children, who ordered his life and respected his work. God in heaven, he thought, what did I ever do to deserve all of this happiness? Impulsively, he stood, bowed and held out his hand to his loving wife. Bess wore a simple white gown, but around her neck was the familiar ruby cross. Together, they danced slowly across the floor as they gazed into one another’s eyes. They needed no music for their hearts sang their own song. They always had. Catherine, Anne and even Michael grew hushed and still as they watched – would they be as lucky?
After a moment, Bess bowed deeply to her partner, kissed him quickly on the lips, and turned to her children.
“Remember, speak when spoken to and girls, no flirting – you must be seen as chaste.”
Anne nodded excitedly at her mother; Michael concurred quietly with Bess’ directions; Catherine ignored her. Together, they went downstairs.
*****
All were present by the time Elizabeth arrived. Bess was immediately concerned. Cecil had not exaggerated. Elizabeth looked proud, but worn. Deep circles had appeared under her eyes since Bess had seen her last, and for the first time, she was so thin as to appear frail. She greeted her bowing subjects and passed on into the library. Quiet conversation was getting underway when a sudden loud gong sounded.
“What in heaven’s good name?” Bess said in puzzlement. Again, a loud gong.
“Quinn?” Quinn was her go-to suspect when something untoward or unusual happened. He shrugged his shoulders and together they stepped into the hall. Jane caught sight of them and smiled happily.
“Jane?” came the query.
“Madame, we found this in the attic. ’Twas used by the monks to call their brothers in from the fields for their evening meal.”
“Jane, the monks have not been here for many centuries, and we are not coming in from the fields.”
Quinn saw the hurt look on the girl’s face and stepped in to mitigate what was clearly viewed as a reprimand.
“’Tis lovely, Jane! And a fine idea as well! And what a festive call to supper!”
Jane brightened and straightened her cap.
“Now, go tell cook we are ready.”
Jane left and Bess cut her eyes at Quinn while shaking her head.
“How do you ever bear to kill the insects which you so assiduously pin to every free surface in your workshop? Um? Your heart bleeds too easily, my love.”
“I do feel for them, ’tis true. Why, just last week dear…”
“The gong?” Elizabeth interrupted them as they returned to the library.
Bess gave the slightest shake of her head to indicate it was a closed subject even as Quinn raised his voice and continued to discuss his insects. Dee listened to him excitedly. Catherine meanwhile was batting her eyes at a youth whose name Bess could not recall, while Anne was intently focused on the young man Cecil had introduced as a playwright. Hovering near the kitchen door was Michael, who seemed as though he might become apoplectic if he did not soon get another glimpse of his love. The musicians Elizabeth had supplied stopped playing, started up again, and then stopped once more, confused as to their role in the current situation. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow to Bess, who smiled and gave her a half-curtsey, half-nod. Coudenoure and its enduring chaos was home. She began to relax.
As Bess now beckoned their guests to supper, she suddenly realized that Michael was not shuffling about in anticipation of seeing Jane again, but rather was serving as her lookout. A moment of fear took hold of her.
“God in heaven,” she whispered to Quinn, “What has that child wrought this time?”
“Whatever it is,” came Quinn’s reply, “’Tis sure to be covered in pastry.”
On that point he was mistaken.
Michael disappeared into the kitchen before joining them minutes later, a bright smile on his face.
While the great room at Coudenoure was large, it was not large enough for a top table for the queen and their higher ranking guests. Instead, a fine chair had been placed for the sovereign at the head of the single, large table. On one side of the queen sat Bess while Cecil with a rather determined look on his face occupied the other. Clearly, business was on his mind. Quinn chose to sit with Dee and Drake at the farthest end of the table, oblivious to protocol and hierarchy. In fact, Dee, Drake and he were already hunched over some sort of scrabble Drake had produced from his pocket. Seeds from some unknown land? Minerals from afar? Special dirt perhaps? Bess almost snorted but instead just shook her head. All conversation ceased, however, as the door to the kitchen opened and Margaret, dressed in her finest linen frock, appeared. A collective gasp went round as the first subtlety was placed on the table. Jane leaned shyly against a far wall, watching the reception of her latest creation.
Bess had never seen such a delicate culinary creation as that which now graced her table. Jane had used marzipan and spun sugar to produce a glittering, icy recreation of Coudenoure in a snow-covered landscape. So real and accurate was her representation that Cecil put his finger out to touch the confectioner’s sugar snow which draped the wintry fields and house. As Margaret bowed deeply to Elizabeth, she spoke.
“Margaret, is it not?”
Another deep bow.
“And who makes this subtlety? For even my kitchen cannot produce such fine artistry.”
Margaret pulled her daughter close. Jane bowed repeatedly.
“’Tis lovely, child. Ethereal, fleeting and magnificent.”
A huge grin broke out across Michael’s face as though he himself were responsible for the queen’s pleasure. Cecil, in the mood for business, could not hold his tongue.
“Why, Bess,” he exclaimed, “’Tis a fine example of why the queen must support Coudenoure! Think how much together we might save her Majesty if we but cut back on such delicacies!”
“Cecil, you are an infernal wart upon cultured society.” Elizabeth could be blunt when she chose. Cecil almost took the hint. But as the kitchen servants brought out meat after meat, pastry after p
astry, pie after pie, he could not but attempt one last observation.
“Sumptuary laws…” he whispered sternly across the table at Bess, hoping the queen would not hear.
Elizabeth placed her fist on the table laughingly.
“Sumptuary laws allow me to have as many dishes as I choose.”
“A sumptuary law? What is that?” The question came from Anne in wide-eyed innocence and once again Cecil looked sternly at Bess. His only answer from her was a deliberate spooning of meat and sauce onto her plate with a shrug in his direction. When the final subtlety appeared with the hippocras he almost fainted. Jane had made a splendid marzipan throne, replete with carving, newels, cushions and jewels, all covered in fantastically colored spun sugar.
The repast was a great success. Elizabeth allowed no one to touch the throne and ordered that it should be sent to Greenwich as an example to her own chefs. Jane beamed from ear to ear.
“I am done, and I wish to speak to the lady of the house alone.” Elizabeth announced her intention and stood. “Bess, you will accompany me to the upstairs of your manor where we may speak in private. For you…” she paused and nodded at the remaining guests and family, “…the musicians will play for dancing in the library.”
*****
Bess closed the bedroom door behind them. Elizabeth, sure they were alone, sat before the fire before speaking.
“Well, he left me.”
“Auntie, the entire kingdom knows that.”
Elizabeth smiled.
“You have not called me that in many a year,” she observed.
“Yes, well, you have let that cumberground and his nefarious marriage wear you down.”
Elizabeth stared into the fire.
“Bess, I have no tears left, no sorrow. Only exhaustion. Truly that man is the devil’s own.”
Bess remained silent.
“What? No words of advice? Everyone has advice for me these days! Marry a great prince and teach Dudley a bad lesson indeed! Send him to the new world with Drake. Send his wife to the new world with Drake; or my favorite one – send them both to Cathay and have their ship burned upon arrival. Umm, yes, now that would be satisfying.”