The Other Elizabeth: Royal Sagas: Tudors II

by Betty Younis

  Anne appeared with gowns in her arms and the two sisters immediately began discussing their options for that evening’s attire.

  “Will the queen be here?” asked Catherine as she admired herself in the looking glass they had years earlier purloined from their mother’s room.

  “Oh, aye,” said Anne, using an expression she had picked up from her father, “And I am hoping that she may advance my Christopher’s cause.”

  “Oh, yes – he needs her patronage, does he not?”

  “Eh?”

  Anne had searched high and low that morning until she finally had found the gown she was looking for – the one she had worn the first time she and Christopher Marlowe had met five years ago. The burgundy velvet, slashed with a fine burgundy brocade still suited her and she flashed her skirt now this way, now that, in the mirror. She hoped Christopher would remember.

  “I believe Marlowe will advance marriage this evening.”

  “Anne, I am certain that Joshua is to do so – would not that be grand indeed? What would mother and papa think then?”

  Anne laughed as she spoke.

  “They would think, ‘…um, I must order new marble on the morrow or um..., I wonder what might happen if I convince a bumble bee to mate with a wasp...’”

  Catherine snorted.

  “Yes, but when we finally got their attention, they would be thrilled! We could have a double ceremony!”

  While Catherine prattled on and they continued to try on gown after gown, Anne’s thoughts stayed with Christopher Marlowe. He wrote regularly, and had attended every Yuletide feast since the first, but seemed somehow distant. He had the strange and irresistible habit of combining intimacy with aloofness. It nearly drove her mad with desire. His letters to her were deep, witty and full of learned observations about the very manuscripts they studied together each Yuletide. Yet in person, he seemed somehow absent, not quite in the moment with her. She believed that if she could only help him unlock his own reserve, he might be able to express what she was certain he felt for her. Oh, joy when such a time should arrive! Each Christmas, as they danced, played cards and combed the library together, she became more and more convinced that her feelings were being reciprocated on his part. His plays were becoming legendary, and his love of Coudenoure and its library had not gone unnoticed by Anne. They were, she had long ago decided, the perfect couple. He just needed to see it.

  As the years had passed, Anne had come to realize that she was her father’s daughter. Both loved adventure but both chose to seek it out only within the loving embrace of Coudenoure. But while Quinn’s great adventures took place in his workshop, Anne’s were centered within the books and manuscripts of the library. Both had a love of the order which cataloguing could bring to the study of a subject. Accordingly, Quinn spent a considerable amount of his time writing careful exegetical notes to accompany his many experiments. Anne, on the other hand, had stumbled across an early attempt at cataloguing and organizing the contents of the library. Both she and her parents were thrilled to find a careful list of manuscripts which might help round out their collection. She took it, studied it, and began to improve upon it. At that point, she had turned to Elizabeth for help and guidance.

  Michael had apprenticed early, and what his relationship with Elizabeth might or might not become upon his return remained to be seen. But Elizabeth was protective of Catherine who viewed the queen as the font of all that was courtly, majestic, learned and pure. She also viewed her as the font of all gossip courtly and otherwise, gowns, hats, carriages and the other accoutrement of fine living. Both the queen and her mother had insisted that she was better off at Coudenoure than at court, and that belief had been an integral part of her childhood, so much so that it had now become an essential element of who she was. That Elizabeth provided such largesse as a means of buying off her great-niece’s desire to mingle at court never crossed her mind. She was not a shallow person, only innocent and naïve.

  But Anne’s relationship with the realm’s sovereign had taken a different turn. When Elizabeth visited Coudenoure, she spent as much time with Anne as Bess. They could be seen on sunny days strolling the wide perimeter walk which mirrored Coudenoure’s outer wall. Together they practiced their languages, discussed art, politics and any other topic which might come to them. An ease of communication had developed and over time revealed the similar natures of the two women. Anne was too intelligent not to have noticed the phenomenon of their alikeness, but as when she was younger, she could not ascertain its origins. Perhaps it was mere coincidence.

  Elizabeth of course knew otherwise. As Anne had grown older, each visit to Coudenoure grew ever more precious for the queen. The resemblance between her own mother and Anne had become so acute as to be startling: her sharp chin, almond-shaped ebony eyes and slight build all contributed to conjure up for Elizabeth an image of the woman who until now only lived in faint and whispery memories. The combination of similar interests and physical resemblance to her mother had given her a powerful, maternal interest in the girl. Unlike Catherine, whose proclivities were simple and in line with those of other young women her age, Anne’s were complex and riveting. She never ceased to amaze her parents and Elizabeth with her requests not for gowns and ribbons but for books and tutors. Like Quinn and Elizabeth herself, she had begun to write and her work revealed a sensitivity and kindness unusual in their scope and development. She was mature beyond her years, and seemed to have the ability of long-term, strategic thinking even at her tender age. Elizabeth loved her as a daughter.

  *****

  Michael stood at the gates of Coudenoure, drinking it in. He had missed his home every day, but until this very second he had not known how much. His heart almost ached with the love he felt for place and family. The mist had finally risen, revealing the soft winter landscape of a December day at Coudenoure. The meadow was bedecked with snow and ice and as the sun began to beat down, a certain ethereal quality settled in upon it. The manor house remained unchanged as did the chapel ruins, orchards and cemetery on its western side. To the east, the old caretaker’s cottage still stood, desolate and almost abandoned. On sudden impulse, Michael decided to further surprise his family. And Jane.

  He ran quickly with a stealthy gait to the east side of the manor, hugged its wall as he circumnavigated to the back of the estate, and then paused. Would she remember him? Perhaps she had married or now loved another. He grinned at the foolishness of his own thoughts, for he and Jane were as one, now and forever. Quietly, he opened the back door to the main kitchen and grinned – some things never change.

  “You there! That is right, you, you clod! Why is that fire not tended?” It was Margaret, yelling and throwing whatever was at hand at all whom she perceived to be morning slackers. They were never in short supply in her august opinion and the routine had not varied in twenty years. A ladle caught the offender on the head and he gave a short, frightened, “oof!” before skiddling over to the fire with apprehension in his eyes.

  “You should move quickly, lad,” Michael shouted, “…for I myself happen to know that if the mistress should find you slow, the ladle will be followed by a by a dough bowl! I speak with great authority on this matter.”

  Margaret turned and gasped. Jane fainted dead away into a scullery maid’s arms. The lad blew the fire furiously.

  “So I have achieved my goal and surprised all of you!” He said cheerfully. Margaret threw a dough bowl in his direction and flicked water in Jane’s face as she came round.

  “And a fine entrance, indeed! Did it never occur to you, Lord Michael, that such a surprise might be too much? Eh? Why, a knock on the front door with you on the other side would have been quite enough!”

  “Oh, ’tis Michael, my lady, never mind with the titles.” Even as he spoke, he knelt gently by Jane. Without thinking, he stroked her hair. She closed her eyes and smiled.

  “Ah, yes,” he said more to himself than anyone else, “I am home. Indeed.”

  *****
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  A short while later Michael entered his father’s workshop.

  “Papa?” he called loudly and tentatively. “Papa?”

  “Shhh,” came a whispered, furtive reply, but from where Michael could not ascertain.

  “Papa? I am home, Papa!”

  He felt a hand on his lower leg. Quinn was on all fours, motioning to his son to do the same. Michael did as he was bidden.

  “Hello, son! I have surely missed you!” Came Quinn’s whispered yet heartfelt welcome.

  “Why are we whispering and why are we on the…”

  Michael stopped mid-sentence. A sudden clabbering sound could be heard in the far corner of the workshop.

  “Down, boy, stay down!”

  “Papa, what is it?”

  “I do not know yet. Drake brought it to me after his last voyage.”

  “What do you mean you do not know what it is? How can that be?”

  Quinn looked at him and grinned.

  “Oh that Drake, he is clever. He had it delivered to me! Otherwise I would have known his game. It was brought it to me in a box with only tiny air holes and Drake’s man left before I could examine the creature within.”

  “But why?”

  Quinn looked at him with exasperation.

  “Why? Because, dear lad, the year previously I gave him a similar package.”

  “What was in that one?” came Michael’s breathless question.

  “Oh, ’twas a gift to me from a Spanish sailor.”

  “How did you come to know a Spanish sailor, Papa?”

  Quinn waved his hand to indicate that Michael should not ask bothersome questions. Another clabbering. Then he continued.

  “Anyway, dear son, I received it in good humor, but after the creature ate the Sunday supper that cook had laid out, and after it began eyeing the mouser in her studio, Bess made me pass it along. A real pity, that.”

  “But what was it?”

  “I do not know, but I understand from Dee that Drake was much vexed for it is still growing and cannot be left alone with the farm animals. ’Tis some type of hooven creature but ’twas but a babe when I gave it to him. How was I to know?”

  “A babe that ate an entire dinner?”

  Quinn waved his hand at nothing. Another great clabbering, but this time, the sound was accompanied by something, what was that…ah yes.

  “Tell me, Papa, is that the sound of claws scrabbling along wood?”

  Quinn raised his head and listened carefully before he began crawling rapidly towards the door.

  “Large claws?” Michael sounded alarmed as he half-crawled, half-walked behind his father.

  “Come along, Michael. We must let your mother know you are here.” A giggle. “You gave her no warning of your coming – she may throw her mallet.”

  “The women hereabouts seem fond of throwing things.” Michael grinned as he crawled along.

  They were behind a long table now, only feet from the door. Quinn looked his son in the eye.

  “On my count. You must get out quickly lest we lose it.”

  “But we do not know what ‘it’ is.”

  “Exactly! If only I was certain it did not crave meat…”

  The retreat successful, they closed the door behind them and went in search of Bess.

  *****

  In years to come, if asked about Coudenoure, Bess always chose to summon the memory of that night. Her children were mature, confident adults, her husband had not yet managed to blow himself up, and Elizabeth had finally come to terms with Dudley and her own spinsterhood. Her own sculpting had entered a new phase, one of quiet accomplishment, and she found peace easy to come by. These years had been golden ones. Her life had unfolded as a single piece of exquisite warp and woof, each color bright yet blended into the pattern, properly stitched and knotted as if with golden thread.

  On that magical night, forever more in her memory, the candles seemed to glow more brightly. Their flames flickered and waved in a happy, shadowy dance upon the walls and ceilings of Coudenoure. There were Catherine and Anne, beautiful in their gowns, graceful and charming. And Michael, home at last. Quinn and she had spent the afternoon chuckling over their son’s continued devotion to Jane, and hers to him. Before he had left so many years earlier, the queen had extracted a severe promise from him: she would have no baron of her land marrying a kitchen maid. Michael had insisted that he must, for they had been matched in heaven even before they were born. Impressed with the romantic sensibilities of her great-nephew, she had struck a deal whereby he would wait to marry until his 25th birthday. That was the age she had become queen, and she knew his temperament would be set by then and likely his mind changed as well. There were, after all, many women in the wide world he was about to explore –and he was an English baron. Michael had agreed, but had insisted that his wait should be rewarded not only with a bride, but also with the neighboring estate, Tyche, with the manor house Quinn had built. The deal was struck. Each Yuletide since then, Elizabeth had striven to move beyond her normal insistence that social hierarchy be observed, for after all, this was Coudenoure. As for Bess, she secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Her son would be fine, for any boy who could bargain with a queen would do well regardless of the circumstances of his life.

  That magical night, the women’s dresses seemed more elegant, their jewels more bedazzling; the men more courteous, life more charmed. And everything was still possible.

  ****

  Later that evening, Bess noticed Anne and Elizabeth standing apart from the others. Anne was whispering shyly in the queen’s ear. She moved to join them.

  “And what is this? ’Tis a conspiracy?” She asked laughingly.

  “Shh,” Elizabeth demanded. “Anne has just told me of the listening post in the library wall just yonder. We believe we shall hear what the men have to say.” She was clearly enchanted, as always, with her niece and her ideas, and if Anne wanted to listen, well, then, she would as well. Why not?

  In a huddle, the three women moved cautiously to the wall. Bess shocked them by removing the mortar herself.

  “’Tis an old trick, Anne. Old indeed.”

  Together, they leaned in close. John Dee’s voice could clearly be heard.

  “Old Janyns, my friend,” he was saying, “Why are we not in your workshop this evening? Have you stumbled upon the secret of fire and wish not to share it with us?” He referred to one of Quinn’s more recent interests.

  “Um, no, no, I have not yet discovered the nature of flame, but ’twill come shortly, I am sure.”

  “Then why are we not in the workshop?” Dee raised an eyebrow and when Michael coughed politely the aged alchemist realized he was on to something.

  “So, I see young Janyns is in on your secret. If you will not tell, surely we must investigate.”

  And just like that, all made a run for the door. Just as quickly, Bess, Elizabeth and Anne stepped back from the wall, all the while pretending to deep conversation. A mad and chaotic ruckus began at the end of the hall.

  “Open the door, Quinn!”

  “Oh, no. No, perhaps not this evening.”

  “Open it,” came a voice from the herd which had thundered past the women.

  In desperation, Quinn acquiesced.

  “I warn you, gentlemen…’tis green with a tail as long as my arm.”

  They stepped in and closed the door behind them. Elizabeth heard a scraping sound as candles were lit. Silence. More silence. Then a great chaotic shouting.

  *****

  Finally cornered, captured, scrutinized and duly appreciated, the great, green lizard was retired to an appropriate cage, and the older men returned to the party amid hearty self-congratulations for their courage and exploits amid admiring astonishment at Drake’s strange gift.

  The women soon returned once more to their listening. Now alone in the library with Joshua, Marlowe, Anne’s love, was speaking.

  “Aye, my plays do well thanks to the Queen’s patronage,” he spoke happil
y. “She is my defender and I trust that will continue.”

  Elizabeth looked at her companions and smiled happily at the acknowledgment.

  A deep laugh came from Joshua.

  “Well, you must marry Anne, Sir Christopher, for she is your avenue to the queen’s heart. And, as I hear, the young maid has already quite captured yours. I will tell you that this evening…,” Joshua leaned forward confidentially, “This very evening I have been accepted by her sister. I must speak to Sir Quinn, but I tell you man, ’tis a fine feeling! You must act tonight – yes! How splendid would that be?”

  Anne blushed and smiled as Christopher rejoined.

  “She is pretty, aye, but she is not for me.”

  “What mean you?” Joshua sat up, for Catherine, with her belief that a secret was something one told one person at a time, had kept no detail from him of her sister’s passion for Marlowe.

  Marlowe gave a low, ugly chuckle, and a chill went down Anne’s spine. Instinctively, Bess and Elizabeth attempted to move Anne from within hearing distance. She threw her arms out and her hands up to ward them off. Marlowe’s next words fell like a mighty stone upon her slender frame, crushing it in an instant.

  “I know she is the queen’s favorite, you nit! Why else do you think I come to such a God-forsaken place as this each Yuletide and listen to the girl babble on about her splendid library? Eh? Why indeed? I have need of patronage, and Anne is my entrée, but nothing more. She is pretty, but not pretty enough. When I am done, I shall move on. ’Tis Fate which threw her my way so that my plays might be heard.”

  Tears filled Bess’ eyes as Anne backed away from the library wall. Elizabeth put her arm around the girl’s waist while Bess replaced the mortar piece. There was nothing to be said and the three stood in the middle of the grand hall, stung through with the harshness of Sir Christopher’s words. Suddenly, the library door was thrown open and Joshua approached them. Marlowe was close on his heels.