"I beg you to thank Her Majesty for me for her great kindness in sending me this warning. I will do my best to obey her as I always have and always will."
She thought Clarencieux's expression showed a flash of dissatisfaction over her answer and wondered whether she should have tried to look awed or delighted, but dismissed the doubt. She was thinking too intently about the reason for Mary's warning. The most obvious possibility was the simplest: an affectionate urge to be sure her baby sister made a good impression.
Absently Elizabeth thanked Clarencieux personally for carrying the message and politely dismissed her. Far more likely, Elizabeth thought, Mary had a double purpose: first to make her dress inappropriately so that Philip would dismiss or discount her and second to give her time to work on prepared speeches that would raise doubts in Philip's mind of her sincerity.
Her ladies, of course, had heard Clarencieux's message and began to babble. Elizabeth Marberry at once described one of Mary's most ornate gowns, a red velvet over a gold-brocaded underdress with huge fur sleeves. Elizabeth smiled at Marberry; Susan Norton said she thought Philip was very fond of cloth-of-gold. Elizabeth sighed and said she had none.
At last she said she would lie down and desired quiet. The ladies remained in the parlor of the suite while Elizabeth went into the bedchamber. There, Blanche settled herself beside the bed and described what Philip and Mary had worn for several days.
"So much black," Elizabeth sighed. "I have read that Spain is a country with fine weather and much sunshine. Why are they so gloomy?"
Blanche laughed softly. "It is fortunate that you look well in black. There is that pale blue satin undergown with only a very little silver embroidery. You can wear that with the black velvet kirtle. His highness will like the black velvet."
"And perhaps the simple undergown will make him think I am simpleminded," Elizabeth growled under her breath.
It had been a long time since Elizabeth had any excuse to wear her most magnificent gowns and the priceless jewels that Denoriel had given her. But Blanche had told her the tale of how Philip would not wear the surcoat Mary had sent him to the wedding banquet. The robe was of cloth of gold, embroidered with the roses of England and the pomegranates of Spain intertwined in gold beads and pearls and had eighteen huge buttons, made from table diamonds. Philip said it was too ostentatious, and left it behind in his lodgings. Elizabeth growled again, but chose a relatively simple, although large, blue sapphire hung on a long gold chain that could be wound several times around her long, slender neck.
"Hush," Blanche said, patting her arm. "Be glad he is so curious about you that he comes only two days after your arrival. I suspect that did not entirely please the queen."
"Hmmm. No. You are right about that, Blanche." Then she sighed. "I almost wish Da had not made it clear that Philip is so important to me. Now I am so anxious that I am sure I will say or do something that will turn him totally against me."
"No you won't, love," Blanche murmured. "You always know just what to say to people." She paused and grimaced. "Unless, of course, you want to cut their livers out with your tongue—but I warrant after the talking to His Grace gave you, you won't do that to King Philip no matter how you feel."
"King Philip?" Elizabeth snarled softly. "Not yet, he isn't."
"Oh yes he is," Blanch insisted. "The emperor abdicated the throne of Naples and gave it to Philip. It was announced the day before the wedding so that Queen Mary could marry a king."
"Oh," Elizabeth said flatly.
She had been indulging herself with the pleasure of giving Philip a nod of the head instead of the full reverence due a king of England. She thought she could get away with that as she was playing the role of young, innocent, and ignorant.
"Yes," Blanche said. "And you keep in mind what His Grace of Richmond told you. He said not to annoy King Philip and warned you not to be too smart."
So it was when Philip was announced and entered Elizabeth's private parlor that she sank all the way to the ground, head bent. She told herself as Philip graciously took her hand and raised her up, that she would have done as much for any visiting royal personage to whom her father or brother introduced her. The man was only her sister's husband, not the king of England.
He said something and Elizabeth raised her head, offering a tentative smile. She cocked her head as if she were trying to understand, but used the few moments to examine him closely. Had she not held in her arms the exquisite beauty of a Sidhe, she would have found Philip pleasing to look at. She did not at all wonder that Mary, who had likely never even thought of a man as a man, was wholly enamored.
Philip had pleasant, regular features, a broad brow above large, blue eyes. His thick eyebrows, hair, and beard were probably called golden; to Elizabeth who was familiar with truly golden hair, Philip's was merely yellow. His nose was straight and his mouth wide, normally something that Elizabeth liked, but Philip's lower lip was thick and pendulous. She thought of being kissed by that mouth and had to stiffen her shoulders against a shudder.
She turned the incipient motion into a shake of the head, denoting incomprehension, and replied to what Philip had said in French, speaking slowly in the hope he would understand. "I am so sorry," she said. "If only my sister, the queen, had given me a few weeks to make ready, I would gladly have learned Castillian Spanish. I am very good with languages. I also speak Latin and Italian, if either of those would be easier for you than French."
"What a learned young woman you are," Philip said in Latin, a language in which he was fluent from his constant association with churchmen; he thought briefly it was a shame Mary's Latin was rudimentary, only phrases from the Mass.
Elizabeth smiled again. "My father was most insistent that his children be well educated," she replied in easy Latin, proving she had not been boasting. "And since I was a daughter what I was taught was mostly languages. I know some Greek too, but I am not fluent enough truly to converse in that language."
"No history, no art, no music?"
"Oh yes, all of those, but we each have our own special abilities. Mine were for books. In music, yes. I can play the Virginals, but, Your Majesty, my ability is nothing compared with that of the queen. Queen Mary loves music. She is truly an accomplished performer."
From his expression, Elizabeth thought, music was not what Philip wanted to talk about.
"Surely you learned history."
"Surely I did." Elizabeth laughed and gave him a sidelong glance. "What I remember is another matter entirely."
"You do not find history interesting?"
She could not divert him; he would talk politics. Elizabeth sighed. "It does not seem very pertinent to my life. I have even been forbidden to hear any news, except, to my great joy, that of the queen's increasing."
"Your sister is very sorry for the restrictions she was forced to put on you, but she is afraid that you will again be involved in treason—"
"I never was!" Elizabeth interrupted rudely and loudly. "I never would be! I am Queen Mary's most loyal and loving subject."
Philip looked taken aback by her violence, but would not abandon the subject. He said, "Then how did your letter get into the French ambassador's mail pouch?"
Elizabeth widened her eyes and shrugged, indifferent now that he had no new information, only that old chestnut. "How should I know? I had nothing to do with the French ambassador, nor had any person in my household. God knows they were questioned closely enough. Not a hint of guilt was discovered. And I was in Ashridge while the ambassador was here in London. It would be stupid to send such a thing by messenger. Is it not more likely that someone in the queen's own household—it is much larger than mine and not every person in it as close or well known—copied the letter and sold it? The copy was not even writ on paper common in my supplies."
"No one is blaming you now," Philip said, raising a placatory hand. "The rebels have been punished or pardoned. Just to ease your sister's heart you should be willing to beg pardon for a fault
and allow her to grant you the mercy of pardon."
Mercy of pardon, Elizabeth thought. More likely the mercy of the axe.
"Not that fault!" she said, loud and indignant again. "I never would. Never! I have never been disloyal in word or deed to the queen."
Now Philip laughed, waved the subject away, and with his last words transferred the guilt for raising it to Mary. "Well, I said I would try to convince you. Before she is brought to bed, the queen wished to have a clean slate."
Elizabeth shook her head, speaking more gently, almost regretfully. "I cannot confess to something of which I am not guilty. That is a lie before God. Let the queen ask me to confess to pride, to vanity . . . Oh, there are so many faults of which I am guilty."
Philip laughed again. "If God will forgive you, Queen Mary will also."
It was almost a promise, Elizabeth thought, and set her hand on his when he offered it. He was smiling and led her toward a pair of chairs, one a little more elaborate than the other. As they approached, Elizabeth curtsied again, though not so deeply, and seated herself on the lower chair. Philip did not seem to notice, but he was still smiling and Elizabeth was sure he had noticed. He was, she had heard long before she started for London, very aware of his dignity.
The next subject he raised was totally unexceptional—English gardens and the English landscape. His own country was in many places too hot and arid for such lush greenery, he said. Elizabeth thanked him for his compliments and said she was sure there were great beauties in Spain that did not depend on grass. There was a momentary pause in which Philip's eyes looked into the distance, seeing some picture. And when he spoke Elizabeth thought she heard a lonely echo in his voice.
It must be hard, she thought, to be exiled for political purposes to a place where you are hated. So when she answered him, Elizabeth's voice was softer and her smile enchanting. Philip, aware without being aware of the more genuine welcome, stayed longer than he had expected, and spoke with animation of several neutral topics, particularly of the difference in Spanish customs and English customs.
Elizabeth listened with real interest, commenting frankly and intelligently on which of the Spanish customs she thought sensible and more elegant than those of England. But she was quick to point out that she herself was "mere English" and never wished to leave the land of her birth. Nonetheless when he finally rose to take his leave of her, Philip seemed almost reluctant to go.
After Philip's visit, Elizabeth hoped that she would be invited to dine or that other members of the Court would come and call on her. However, no other sign that she was known to be in Hampton Court appeared. Five days passed slowly, until soon after dark on April thirtieth. Discouraged and downhearted, Elizabeth was in her bedchamber, reading by the light of a branch of candles with her ladies seated on cushions around her chair, when Blanche sidled in and touched her arm.
Elizabeth was startled. Not only was Blanche returned too early from visiting (and collecting gossip from) a friend who served one of the queen's ladies, but her eyes were wide with distress and her face pale. Susanna Norton looked up with a disdainful frown; she had told Elizabeth outright several times that Blanche was far too free in her manner.
Heart leaping in her throat because she understood something terrible had happened, Elizabeth made three swift jabs with her forefinger, and muttered, "Bod oer geulo!"
All three women froze, Susanna with her mouth still open to reprimand Blanche.
"What?" Elizabeth asked barely above a whisper, not because the women would hear but because she did not really want to know.
Blanche seized Elizabeth's hand and pressed it. "The maid told me in confidence that her mistress had been called away because the queen is in labor."
Elizabeth pressed her free hand to her mouth as if to suppress a cry, then breathed, "I have been living in a false dream of hope because Rhoslyn saw no babe. "Oh, God help me. I must release these women and act as if I were overjoyed."
"Release them, but say nothing about the queen, say nothing about any excitement. The maid said she should not have told me. Mayhap something is wrong. Meanwhile, say the reading has given you a fierce headache and I should bring you a tisane. Then you will be able to go to bed. I do not think many know yet that the queen is brought to bed. And remember if Rhoslyn saw no babe, like as not this one will not live. You can settle your mind to what has happened over the night."
Shying away from the horrible hope that her sister's child would die, Elizabeth said only, "I do not think I will ever settle my mind to it. With an heir to follow her, Mary will destroy this realm and I will be unable to save it."
"Certainly you will not if you are dead," Blanche said dryly. "First save yourself, then worry about the realm."
As the hour advanced toward midnight, Rhoslyn became more and more tense. Earlier the queen had withdrawn to her bedchamber. Soon after, other courtiers left for their own beds. When the door opened inward, however, Rhoslyn started violently and the book she had been reading slipped from her hands. Sidhe! She sensed Sidhe. She blessed her reaction as she bent to pick up the book, which let her watch the servant who had just come in. She could not see through his illusion of humanity, but she knew him to be Sidhe.
He moved quickly, bent as if to whisper into the ear of the countess of Arundel. She rose rather stiffly and walked right out of the room; the servant bent over Lady Rochester who swiftly followed the countess of Arundel. The duchess of Norfolk looked mortally offended, staring after the women who had left.
Now everyone was looking at the servant. Rhoslyn did so too, her heart pounding in her breast. The lindys fastened to her bodice began to quiver. Yes, he was Sidhe; she was sure of it. Albertus's plan to provide a child for the barren queen was under way. Rhoslyn was now supposed to go to the garden entrance of Hampton Court to escort another Sidhe, wearing the face and body of Albertus and carrying his medical bag, into the queen's bedchamber. No one would question her; the doctors came and went with increasing frequency.
The women remaining in the chamber were moving around talking to each other in uneasy whispers. Rhoslyn rose, put her book down on the stool on which she had been sitting, and hurried out. To her relief, the lindys was now almost leaping off the bodice of her gown to which it was fastened. She knew Pasgen was waiting in the empty house for his lindys to signal the alarm. He would Gate to Otstargi's house, follow the false Albertus, and rescue the newborn . . . if it had survived its cruel birthing.
Meanwhile Rhoslyn had to stop the flow of attendants and Court officials in whose minds Aurilia was planting the false images of the queen's delivery. She scuttled through the corridors to the chamber Albertus had shown her but stopped well away from it, catching her breath. Even at a distance and through the walls and closed door she could sense Aurilia's power. Shivering, she pressed herself into a shadowed doorway.
There was too much power in the Dark Court. The burnings for heresy, which had started in February, had continued and increased. Not only the agony of the victims, but the fear and hatred of those who shared the victims' belief had overwhelmed the joy and good feeling engendered by the queen's announcement of her pregnancy; strength poured into the Dark Court. Aurilia had power to spare and Rhoslyn was afraid to confront her.
The Sidhe acting as a servant was leading two blank-eyed courtiers down the corridor. Rhoslyn recognized one of them as a member of Mary's Council. She could not recall his name but that a member of the Council had been snared was dangerous. If an officer of the Court announced the birth of an heir, he would be believed.
The Sidhe looked toward her—likely he sensed the presence of another Sidhe—but did not stop. Rhoslyn hoped he still had others to gather up. If Bishop Gardiner and Lord Paget were already in that room she would be too late. No, he hadn't enough time to get to them. If she could bind him, too few would announce the false birth. Pasgen would make sure the child did not arrive.
Rhoslyn backed down the corridor until she could slip around a corner. She could s
till see the door but she wished to put as much distance between her spell and Aurilia as possible. When the Sidhe dressed as a servant came out, she gathered her strength, and as he passed the side corridor, she stepped out, caught his sleeve and drew him back around the corner.
He sensed her as Sidhe as he had sensed her earlier; that made him compliant in responding to her pull. His lips parted to ask what she wanted—and Rhoslyn thrust a violent "Obey" command into his mind. His face blanked; his eyes looked without seeing. Rhoslyn breathed a long sigh of relief.
When the lindys shook, Pasgen assumed mortal disguise, leapt to his feet, and rushed to the door of the empty house. Torgen was waiting, and Pasgen drew in his breath with pleasure. The Gate was not far; he had planned to walk to it, not to trouble Torgen. But Torgen frequently knew what he needed before he did. In fact, Pasgen thought as he reached toward the elvensteed, he would need a horse in the mortal world, unless he was fortunate enough to catch the false-Albertus before he left Otstargi's house.
And Less Than Kind Page 60