By Royal Command (16 page)
There was more laughter at this and I glanced to Mistress Pryor. Yes, she was still there, leaning on the balustrade, applauding and laughing along with everyone else.
Tomas disappeared with the last of the children and, the musicians striking up anew, about eight lads and lasses came on dressed in country style as milkmaids and shepherds and carrying Christmas garlands and coloured ribbands. They proceeded to dance a pretty set before the queen, criss-crossing the ribbands they held and dancing to and fro with much agility. Sometimes the fellows lifted the girls so high that a flurry of white petticoats, stockings and coloured garters could be seen, which set all the men in the audience a-cheering.
I turned again to look for Mistress Pryor and saw her still applauding. When would she leave? Would she go at all? She must, I thought, be a very brave woman if she would secretly plot against Her Grace in the midst of her own Court. But then, if she held Mary Queen of Scots to be the true queen she would probably do anything to see her on the throne – in the same way that I, too, would be prepared to lay down my life in
my
queen’s interests.
A woman clothed all in white and silver, wearing a headdress of snowy-white flowers, came on the stage next and announced that she represented the Spirit of Winter. She handed Elizabeth a key, said it was the key to the hearts of all her people, and sang a beautiful song, but this was all in a foreign language and I did not understand what it was about. Her Grace evidently did, however, for she applauded very much at the end and spoke to the woman for several minutes.
Next came a wonderful amount of birdsong, which caused the men on the stage to stare at the skies and cup their hands to their ears theatrically, as if they were filled with wonder at such a sublime noise. It was not clear where it was coming from, for none of the musicians seemed to be playing, and I asked my lady friend if she thought it was a nightingale, and if so, how she thought it could sing on cue.
‘It is not a bird. It is Stamford! It is Stamford singing his heart out!’ whispered the man with us, and as the birdsong continued, the leaves on the false tree shook and shivered. When it stopped, the branches parted and a man was revealed sitting on a branch. He was dressed as a minstrel in red silk doublet and hose, and carried a lute.
‘Your Grace, I seek your pardon,’ he called, sounding very humble, and read a sonnet asking for forgiveness. After this, playing a plaintive tune upon his lute, he sang a song which complimented the queen on her wit, her elegance and her beauty, ending with the plea that he might return to her side and be one of her favoured circle once more.
As the last notes of this died away, all eyes were on the queen to see what her reaction might be, and there were several moments of silence during which Her Grace seemed to be considering her answer. At last, however, she smiled, rose to her feet and went over to the tree, where she offered the singer her hand so that he might climb down.
Everyone cheered mightily at this, for although not many would have heard of the man nor know why he’d been banished, the exceedingly cheerful mood of the evening meant that had England’s great enemy the King of Spain come by then, he, too, would probably have been forgiven for his sins. Yes, and given a bag of treasure, as well.
Stamford knelt before the queen, then seized her hand and kissed it effusively before she bade him rise and join the other men on the platform.
I looked back to my quarry, standing at the balustrade. Was she really conspiring against Her Grace? How was that possible? Such was my devotion that I couldn’t envisage a world where the queen wasn’t loved and admired more than any other living person.
I returned my attention to the platform, wondering what was coming next. It was a chill night but the proximity of so many others and the sheer excitement of what was going on were enough to warm me through. A play followed: a story enacted on the other cart which purported to show members of a family sitting around a dining table having their supper. There was much discord between them, many arguments and oaths, with the father of the family bitterly complaining to his wife and children of this and that. Suddenly, however, an angel appeared from a trapdoor in the cart and counselled them all to love each other, and following this they vowed to make friends and live in unity ever after. This was acted in a seemly manner and easy to understand, but I could not accept the sentiments therein, for I knew that my father would never suddenly become mannerly, kind or generous, whether appealed to by one angel or ten.
The play finished and, as the cart was rolled away, there was a sudden noise like a gunshot – nay, a score of gunshots together – making us gasp or cry out. The only one who didn’t seem disturbed was Her Grace – but, of course, she had seen fireworks before.
A puff of smoke went up from somewhere to the right of the platform, then a sheet of pink flame, and everyone murmured in admiration and made themselves ready so that the next great commotion would not catch them unawares. This came as a comet trailing orange and yellow sparks, and after this a wheel of fire, then a vast column of coloured sparks accompanied by a tremendous rush of noise. There was great applause and cheering at these violent and fiery explosions (which went some way to drown the screaming of frightened children) in spite of the fact that they sent sparks in every direction and one lady’s gown began smouldering.
The display lasted several minutes, only stopping when another great comet-like object hurtled sideways instead of upwards and, falling on to a thatched pig-barn on the other side of the wall, set it alight. All the pigs could be heard running out, squealing and grunting, and in a moment the roof was blazing high and bright. There was great alarm, of course, in case the fire spread towards the palace, and people immediately began running for buckets and organising themselves into a chain to bring water from the river to put it out.
It was then, in the midst of all this chaos and while the queen was being escorted safely inside on the arm of Robert Dudley, that I turned and realised that Mistress Pryor had disappeared.
I stared at the space where she’d been, furious with myself, muttering a curse under my breath at my own stupidity and making my female companion look at me in surprise.
I murmured an apology, ran down the steps and pushed through the throng, searching for a woman in a green velvet gown. She was not there, however; she had fled, and I was deeply embarrassed and ashamed. I’d failed Tomas and, to my mind, failed Her Grace also.
‘I was watching her all the time,’ I said to Tomas, very contrite. ‘I hardly took my eyes off her but for a minute.’
Tomas shrugged. He was disappointed, I could tell, but was trying to make light of it. ‘Mistress Pryor is very good at disappearing. She’s already escaped from me twice.’
‘I’m so sorry, Tomas.’
‘You’re forgiven,’ he said. ‘You’re new to this game.’
‘I promise I won’t fail the next time. There will
be
a next time?’ I asked anxiously.
‘Of course. You are coming to the palace with Dr Dee and his partner, are you not?’
I nodded.
‘Perhaps you’ll have occasion to follow Mistress Pryor then. But now you must go home, for the fire’s been put out and the courtyard is emptying fast. He felt in his pocket and pulled out a silver coin, which he gave to me. ‘Use part of this to hire someone to light you home, and keep the rest in case you need it on another occasion.’ Hailing a passing lackey, he asked him to find a link-boy to see me safely back to Mortlake, and I thanked him very much, though I
had
been hoping that he’d have taken me home himself. Instead, however, I was wished goodnight in a kind enough way, but with no kiss, nor even clasping of hands.
I’d hoped that Mistress Midge would have retired for the night, for, my mind full of the sights that I’d seen, I wanted to go straight to bed and think of them all. I did not, besides, want to have to make up any tales of how Isabelle and I had gone a-mumming around the streets. In spite of the late hour, however, Mistress Midge was still in the kitchen, sitting on her usual stool before the kitchen fire and looking very glum.
‘Are you still here?’ I said, pulling my cloak tight around me so that she wouldn’t see my fine gown. ‘I thought you’d be a bed long ago.’
She sighed. ‘I’m fair mouldered with tiredness,’ she said, ‘but the news has made me so out of sorts that I know I won’t sleep.’
I looked at her in alarm. ‘What is it? Has something happened to one of the girls?’
‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘Nothing like that. ‘Tis just that the Walsinghams aren’t coming to dinner after all.’
‘Not coming!’ I cried, thinking of the amount of food we’d prepared and set on shelves in the cold room, the pickled oysters, the peacock, the roasted calf’s head, the sugared flowers, coloured jellies and sweetmeats – not to mention the greenery around the house, the new table linen and glassware and the
venison
. ‘Why ever not?’
‘Sir Francis must remain with Her Grace, for she has ordered that all her gentlemen are to stay at the palace until Twelfth Night.’
‘Oh,’ I breathed, and though I was sorry that I wouldn’t be seeing the mighty Sir Francis Walsingham, I was also somewhat relieved, for I knew the day would have been full and very fraught.
‘Dr Dee is very much vexed, for he’d set his heart on having a noble family come to eat the queen’s meat,’ said Mistress Midge despondently.
‘But . . . well, we’ve been saying all along, haven’t we, that ‘tis far too much work for us and that we’d never manage it all?’
She nodded grudgingly. ‘We have.’
‘Then isn’t this good news?’
‘But to let us know
now
, at this hour, when we have enough foodstuffs in the cold room to feed King Harry’s Army. The waste of it all!’
‘So who will be at the table for dinner?’ I asked.
She spat into the fire. ‘That dog-in-a-doublet Kelly – but he hardly counts, because he’s always here – Mr Sylvester, Mistress Allen – the toad-faced strumpet – and the master, mistress and children.’
‘That’s seven in all.’
‘Seven. And it should have been near double that, with the Walsinghams.’
‘Then we’ve got away lightly. And there will be plenty of food left over for us!’
Hearing this, Mistress Midge cheered up somewhat. And I went to my bed and hardly slept, my mind full of fireworks and excitement.
C
hristmas day dawned and passed much like any other, for servants do not keep Christmas. To them it merely means two church services to be fitted into their day instead of one, and more cooking, cleaning, fire-making and fetching of water if their family have visitors staying.
Waking up on Christmas morn at the bellman’s five o’clock call, I immediately thought of Ma and wondered what she would be doing, for this was my first Christmas away from home. The day would not be much different for her, either, for although she didn’t work as a servant, she cut and stitched a pair of gloves every day of her life, come winter or summer, snow or sun. The only difference to her mornings came if my father had been shut in the lock-up the previous night for being drunk, was in the stocks being pelted with rotten fruit, or lying half-senseless in a ditch, waiting for someone to find him. These memories made me very melancholy about my ma’s life, so I said a quick prayer for her safety and rose to begin that day’s chores.
Late that afternoon I was called into the library to be told how I was to assist Dr Dee and Mr Kelly at the palace. My master, I knew, was not easy in his mind about carrying out such a deception, but as I entered, Mr Kelly was busy assuring him that it would serve to bring their powers to the attention of a greater following of clients. ‘And ’tis only anticipating our own transmuting of gold – for we will surely be able to do this for ourselves very soon.’
‘
Will
it be soon?’ Dr Dee asked wearily.
‘Aye, it will, Dee. Just as soon as you’ve interpreted correctly all that the angels have told us.’
I was standing before them during this exchange, waiting for my instructions, and saw Dr Dee frown and sigh at this comment. He looked up at me with rheumy eyes. ‘I am proud to inform you,’ he said ponderously, ‘that I, together with Mr Kelly, am to attend on Her Majesty at Richmond Palace on New Year’s Eve.’
