They were both at fault to some degree. Elizabeth had been reveling in her freedom from tension and ordered behavior. She wanted to make love, to play, to go to balls, to see wonders of the elven world in which she had shown little interest. Denoriel knew he should have spread out their lovemaking and merrymaking over several weeks but he could not resist indulging her, having her all to himself; she did not even ask to see Harry.
Too much time passed. In order to bring her back to the mortal world on the morning after she had left it, Denoriel had to twist time far more than was safe or sensible. Elizabeth arrived in her bedchamber shortly before dawn, but she was badly disoriented and Denoriel was drained to the dregs.
Over the few days it took Elizabeth to recover completely, several messages had come from London, mostly from the young men who bemoaned the loss of her liveliness and wit. A middle-aged priest came too, together with beautifully rich furnishings for a chapel. Elizabeth turned a lackluster eye on them all, only when prodded by Kat troubling to read the message from Queen Mary and, with gritted teeth, to write a reply full of grace and gratitude. To the young men she made no reply at all, but she did attend Mass when Mary's priest said it.
Slowly as the week passed, Elizabeth's liveliness began to return. She went riding with Lord Denno on Thursday, read the piled up letters her secretary had kept for her on Friday and to Mary's ladies' shocked surprise discussed them with Lord Denno who came to dinner that day. Laughing, he advised her not to reply at all or, he said, she would soon have no time for anything but their nonsense.
Saturday was given over to estate business. Elizabeth having learned that her treasurer, no matter that she was very fond of him, was not overly accurate in his accounts, checked all Master Parry's figures, initialing the bottom of every page. Sunday she attended Mass, but to Gage's and Marberry's disappointment did not invite any gentry from the neighborhood to join her. She did, however, appear attentive to everything the priest said and did, and at dinner that day asked the priest, most civilly, what he thought best to do to celebrate Christmas, which was coming soon.
To no one's surprise but most of the household's dismay, he advised against appointing a Lord of Misrule and spoke against many of the season's typical excesses. Elizabeth listened gravely. That she was regretful of missing the celebration was plain; nonetheless, she took the advice.
Usually the entire neighborhood was invited to eat and make merry at the lord of the manor's expense. This year, Elizabeth quietly, and out of sight of the priest, put a fat purse into Sir Edward's hands and told him to arrange for the guards and servants to go into the town in shifts over the twelve days. There was no reason, she said, for those who preferred a merrier celebration of Our Lord's birth to be bound by Mary's priest's prejudices.
Sir Edward met her eyes for a long moment; then he bowed deeply and promised her that his men and her servants would drink her health in the town with all their hearts, although they would be sorry to miss her company.
It was the priest who was disconcerted when he realized that no one had been invited to join the religious celebration he planned. Ashridge had a very quiet Christmas, closed and silent, impervious to the curious glances of those who traveled past its gates. Elizabeth did attend a late Mass on Christmas Eve and two Masses on Christmas Day. Her ladies, perforce, attended also, but Elizabeth Marberry noted that they were sullen, that some simply ignored the kneelings of Catholic ritual and obviously paid little attention to the sermons.
Both Marberry and Gage noticed that the old merchant, who usually visited two or even three times a week, did not appear even once between Christmas Eve and the end of the year. His absence was so unusual that the priest asked Elizabeth if the so-called Lord Denno was a heretic, avoiding the Catholic Mass.
"I have no idea," Elizabeth replied, with wide-open eyes. "I do not believe so. Lord Denno and I do not talk about religion. The only thing I ever remember him saying on the subject was that it was too important for a common merchant like himself to decide, and that he was happy to follow the order of the ruler of the realm that had given him shelter. Now that Queen Mary had decreed it so, he attends the Catholic Mass at his neighborhood church."
Whatever doubts the priest and Marberry had concerning Lord Denno's absence were put to rest on New Year's day. Well after breakfast (and after Mass too) a loud summons from the gate brought the diminished guard to full alert. But alarms soon changed to cries of welcome and Sir Edward himself went to open the front gate. Not only had Lord Denno arrived, but he was at the head of a small caravan of sumpter mules.
With a crow of delight Elizabeth ran out into the courtyard to meet him, all solemnity cast to the winds. Her long-time maids followed giggling and crying out welcomes. Thereafter there was no need of a Lord of Misrule. Everyone fell upon the separate parcels Lord Denno had had prepared for each group of residents in Ashridge. There were gifts, male and female, for the lowest servants, the scullery maids and men who forked the manure from the stables, different gifts for the grooms, for the cooks and bakers, for the men-at-arms, the laundresses and upper maids.
Sir Edward saw to the distribution of those and then himself carried in what remained: one parcel for Nyle, Gerrit, Shaylor, and Dickson and another for the maids of honor. The guardsmen had gold, ten fine guineas each; for each maid of honor there was a package of the finest silk, worth double that sum. Kat had silk, too, enough for two gowns or a gown and a night rail. The priest had a heavy gilt cross. For Sir Edward a single narrow box with his name, which opened to show a beautiful poniard, the blade of Damascus steel, the hilt of chased gold set with semiprecious stones, small enough and close enough to make a slightly rough surface that would not slip even when wet with sweat or blood. Sir Edward was speechless, staring at it.
All were examining their own gifts. No one saw the expression on Denoriel's face as he knelt beside Elizabeth's chair and opened the box. In itself it was a treasure, smoothed of scented woods and inset with mother-of-pearl. A tray atop held a magnificent emerald necklace with armbands and a tiara to match. In the body of the box was a gown that Aleneil had created for Elizabeth Underhill and could not be matched with mortal-woven fabrics.
"How?" Elizabeth whispered, touching the shimmering folds; she still, and always would, believe that nothing made Underhill could persist in the mortal world.
"It was specially blessed by the queen," Denoriel whispered back.
So the new year of 1554 began more merrily than 1553 had ended. And prospects continued hopeful at first even though Mary had succeeded in forcing her Council to agree to the Spanish marriage and envoys had arrived to write a treaty. Unfortunately that was all Rhoslyn knew when she reported on the first mortal Tuesday night of the new year. Having secured a victory, the queen, as she so often did, became all gentle female. It would ill befit her, Mary said to Renard, to herself meddle in the treaty of marriage. Rhoslyn knew Renard wanted her to join the negotiations; he had known that she would yield anything and everything to have Philip with whom she was already deeply in love.
The first week in January, Elizabeth made Elizabeth Marberry and Eleanor Gage wonder why anyone was willing to serve her. Mary was often lachrymose and, even they felt, good Catholics as they were, spent too much time on her knees. But her tongue did not cut like a knife nor did her hand as often raise welts on her maids of honor's cheeks. Even Lord Denno made himself scarce.
"I will try to find out," was the last thing Marberry heard him say as she passed closer than necessary behind Elizabeth and her favorite when he last bowed in farewell.
He did not soon return—the ladies sighed but did not blame him; he took the brunt of Elizabeth's bad temper when he was present. But on the thirteenth of January he rode into Ashridge. Without cloak or shawl, Elizabeth ran down the steps and out into the courtyard. Elizabeth Marberry followed her, holding out a warm shawl. She was in time to see Lord Denno dismount and Ladbroke, the head groom, lead Denno's mount away—not by taking hold of its bridle but
with a hand on its shoulder.
"What news?" Elizabeth asked breathlessly.
Lord Denno smiled. "Good news. I have a letter from an old friend to show you, but I think you should read it where everyone can hear."
"Ahhh." Elizabeth drew out the word. "That is good news indeed."
As Marberry came up to her and placed the shawl over her shoulders, Elizabeth turned and smiled. "Thank you," she said graciously, but it was Lord Denno's arm she took and, Marberry noticed, pressed to her side.
When they reached the parlor, Elizabeth hurried to the fire, her ladies slipping to the sides to give her room. Without particular invitation, Lord Denno joined her, taking a folded letter from an inside pocket of his doublet.
"My lady." He bowed and handed her the papers.
She took them without acknowledgement, unfolded them, scattering some pieces of wax from the broken seal, and began to read. After a moment she laughed.
"A long enough salutation to be a whole letter itself, but I have come to the meat at last." She began to read aloud:
"As you must know, my lady, the queen convinced her Council that the most suitable husband for her would be the emperor's son, Philip of Spain. Once this was decided, Queen Mary most wisely withdrew herself from any negotiation concerning the articles of the marriage, leaving that wholly in her Council's hands. I heard that the Imperial ambassador feared no treaty would be written because of the animosity of the councilors against each other, but this did not prove to be true. Understanding the queen's will, they worked together nobly to a most excellent result.
"To wit: Although the prince of Spain will have the title of king and it is acknowledged that he will assist the queen in governing, he is to have no legal power in the government. All offices of government and the Church will be conferred only by the queen and must be held only by Englishmen."
Elizabeth heaved a great sigh. "That will save us from the horrors of oppression by foreign lords which drove rebellion after rebellion in the reign of King Stephen." She lowered her gaze to the letter again.
"Moreover, England was not to go to war against France whether or not the Empire made peace."
Elizabeth nodded, smiling now. "That will save us from being drained dry the way the Low Countries were, paying for a war from which only the Empire could profit.
"Furthermore, the laws and customs of England were to remain intact and not be overruled by the laws and customs of Spain or the Empire or any other realm in the Empire.
"Thank God and all the saints for that," Elizabeth breathed.
Eleanor Gage looked satisfied by Elizabeth's mention of the saints. Elizabeth Marberry frowned and asked why Elizabeth should be so pleased with that part of the agreement. Elizabeth raised her brows.
"The Spanish are reputed a cruel people. The tales that have come out of the Low Countries with merchants and what I have seen of their slaves gives some credit to that accusation. But whether it is true or not, the English common folk believe it. They envision themselves with their doors broken in—which you know is forbidden by Magna Carta—" (likely they did not know before, but Elizabeth made sure they now knew the value of English law) "—and their wives and daughters violated by Spanish soldiers."
"That is not true," Elizabeth Marberry cried. "Queen Mary would never permit it."
"I know she would certainly try to protect her people," Elizabeth said. "But if the law was Spanish law, she might no longer have the power to do so. However, we need not be concerned. The Council, wise men that they are, have secured our own laws to us." She sighed, frowning. "Now if only this can be explained to the people, all will be well."
Her eyes went back to the letter and she smiled again. "They have protected the queen also, as well as they could." She read: "And Queen Mary was not to be taken abroad by the order of her husband or any other person without her consent."
"That is, I suppose, a good provision to include," Kat remarked with a wry twist to her mouth, "but I question whether the queen is likely to refuse consent if her husband asks her to accompany him."
"If he plans ill, it would not do him any good," Lord Denno remarked. "Come to the provisions in case one or another dies."
Elizabeth's eyes skipped over several lines and then she said "Ah!" again, a smile like sunrise lighting her face and eyes.
"If Queen Mary should die childless, Prince Philip is to have no further right or interest in England."
Safe! Her mind caroled in silence. Safe! I will not need to fight him for my throne.
"But if she should have a child?" Eleanor Gage urged.
Elizabeth looked back at the letter. "If Mary has a son, he will inherit Burgundy and the Low Countries as well as England and in the event of Don Carlos's death without children, Mary's son will inherit everything, the entire Empire."
"That is very generous, is it not?" Dorothy Dodd said, looking rather awed.
"I suppose it is," Elizabeth agreed, grinning, "but think of the troubles poor Emperor Charles has had ruling that empire." The grin broadened. "I wonder if it is a kind of revenge." She was no longer grinning. "I really would not envy that poor little boy."
"What 'poor little boy'?" Alice Finch asked, looking bewildered.
"The putative son of Queen Mary and Prince Philip who would outlive Philip's son Don Carlos," Elizabeth said. Alice clearly still did not understand and Dorothy was explaining softly. As Elizabeth listened, a decided gleam came into her eyes. "Oh my!" she breathed. "Think of trying to get advice and forge agreement in a Council where no more than two or three councilors spoke the same language. Heaven knows that although all of the queen's Council is supposed to speak English, they do not seem to be able to understand each other."
Dorothy Stafford uttered a strangled giggle. Lord Denno shook his head. Elizabeth cocked a brow.
"Who knows?" she said, looking raptly into the distance. "Perhaps if they could not think they spoke the same language they would quarrel less."
Lord Denno, frowning, stepped closer and touched her arm. Elizabeth started, looked at him, then suddenly smiled.
"I hope all the queen's children will be taught several languages," she said, with an expression of angelic innocence. "Think of the advantage a ruler would have if he was the only one who could understand each member of his Council."
"Lady Elizabeth!" Lord Denno protested. "I am not even interested in real political events. These flights of fancy are ridiculous."
"Yes, of course," Elizabeth said sobering. "But I must agree with Dorothy. I cannot help but be surprised at the generosity of the agreement. Apparently the emperor so greatly desires this marriage that the Imperial envoys have been ordered to yield anything the British really insisted upon. Why is it so important to His Majesty Charles that Queen Mary should marry Philip?"
"I think it is partly because the emperor has not been very well recently," Eleanor Gage offered. "It is said he is tired of war. I think he did not wish to face the possibility of Noailles, the French ambassador, calling the Imperial negotiators greedy and convincing Queen Mary to unite with France against him."
"The queen is far too clever for that," Elizabeth said.
In fact, she thought her sister utterly stupid for choosing Prince Philip and arousing the whole country to rage against her. Elizabeth herself would have played France against Spain and not chosen to marry at all. Marriage . . . marriage was fatal. Her mother, her cousin . . . If a woman did not die by execution for the foolish act of marriage, then she died in childbed, like Jane Seymour and her poor stepmother Catherine Parr.
A general discussion broke out among the ladies about the effect of the Spanish marriage as limited by the Council's agreement. Elizabeth moved closer to Denno and started to fold the letter as if to return it to him. He shook his head and glanced toward a table. Elizabeth laid the letter there for all to see so no one could suspect her of concealing anything. Eventually no doubt someone would give it to her and she could pass it back to Denno. She would not want anyone who
knew it, say in the Court, to recognize William Cecil's handwriting.
For the rest of the week, Elizabeth was in a much better humor. The horror of needing to wrest her realm out of the hands of the Imperials if it had been left to Philip on Mary's death no longer tormented her. There was, of course, the chance that Mary would have a child; then Philip would be Regent, but Mary was thirty-seven and Elizabeth did not think a child too great a danger. And, in that case, she would not be ruling anyway.
So it was in an easy, pleasant mood that Elizabeth accompanied Denno to the Inn of Kindly Laughter on mortal Tuesday night. It was Alice Finch who rested comfortably in an ensorcelled sleep in the truckle bed. Eleanor Gage and Elizabeth Marberry no longer intruded on Elizabeth in the middle of the night. No matter what had been whispered about her, Gage and Marberry knew she had no male favorite, except Lord Denno, who was never a guest at Ashridge after sundown and was old enough to be her grandfather.
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