Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (19 page)

Mary thought she sounded exactly like the queen as she heard the plural pronoun slip from her lips—commanding and powerful, which was how she felt with the bow in her hands.

“Oxford, ma’am. Oxford told us all he has made do with you, and now he has no more use for you. Told us you were still ripe for plucking,” said Pakington.

Mary shifted her aim slightly and let loose the arrow. It struck a stump near Pakington’s head.

“I tell you this, sir. My honor is unstained. You should do well to take this news to anyone who doubts it. And now, you shall ride back to the castle with me. We shall tell the queen I am unwell and have gone to bed. And you, sir, shall not ever speak to me again,” said Mary.

She stomped to her horse and mounted. Pakington followed behind her, meek as a lamb.

*   *   *

After enjoying Sir Norris’s hospitality for several days, the long train of wagons and supplies was ready to travel. Mary had spent many nights wondering how to undo the damage to her reputation caused by Oxford, crying in her pillow and raging at him in her imagination. The shame she felt for the dalliance
she
had allowed burned in her chest, along with indignation that he had discussed her among the other courtiers. Finally, she had spoken to Mistress Blanche about the matter. Mistress Blanche, who knew everything and was wise in the ways of the world, told her to hold herself with pride and dignity, give no further cause for gossip by behaving circumspectly, and show herself as a woman of prayer and faith. Soon, the rumors would die and she would be held in high esteem once more. Mary was relieved to hear Mistress Blanche thought such gossip would blow over quickly and she planned to follow her advice.

The caravan was ready to move out, with Mary in her place behind the queen’s litter, when a horse drew up next to her.

“Good morning, Mary. I did not see you after the hunt the other day. I had hoped to speak with you at last night’s dance but was told you were ill. I hope you are better now,” said Sir John Skydemore.

“Thank you, I am much better. I see Sir James has kept you quite busy—I have not seen you at any of the festivities,” said Mary.

“I’ve been going back and forth to London on business. But I shall be with you and the queen for the remainder of the progress. Which is why I wanted to speak with you. We are going very close to my modest house, Holme Lacy, and I would be honored if you would ride with me to visit. I long to see my children and I want to show you the place,” said Sir John.

“God’s blood! You think I would go with you to such a place without a chaperone? Sir, I know not what you have heard of me, but I shall never do such a thing!” said Mary, her anger quick in her throat.

“No, no, Mary—you mistake me. I have already arranged for Mistress Blanche to accompany us. It is but a two-hour ride from Sir Norris’s and I want you to see it,” said Sir John, his brow wrinkled. “I would never dishonor you, Mary.”

Mary stared into his eyes, those eyes that made her think of water lapping against the shore, bluish green and beautiful. No dissembling there that she could see. He did not seem to know anything about her sullied reputation. He
seemed
sincere, though she had learned not to trust quite so willingly after riding with Pakington earlier.

“Perhaps my illness has made me testy. If the queen gives her permission, I shall be glad to make the trip with you and Mistress Blanche,” said Mary.

Suddenly, they heard hoofbeats galloping up the dusty road toward the castle. The rider wove in and out of the line of wagons to stop abruptly at the queen’s litter. Mary could see he was covered with sweat and his horse was lathered as well. He dropped down and fell to one knee.

“I have a message from Master Cecil for Your Majesty,” said the man.

“God’s teeth! Bring this man some ale—drink first, little man. Then you may give your message,” said the queen, holding her pomander to her nose.

After he had gulped down two mugs of ale, the man delivered his message.

“Your Majesty, the Pope has issued a bull of excommunication against you. Master Cecil wished me to read it to you.”

Peers, subjects, and people of the said kingdom and all others upon what terms soever bound unto her, are freed from their oath and all manner of duty, fidelity, and obedience. These same shall not once dare to obey her or any of her laws, directions, or commands, binding under the same curse those who do anything to the contrary.

“Master Cecil begs you to return to London at once, ma’am. He says you are in grave danger to move in the open among your people. For now, they must decide whether to obey the Pope or you, Majesty. The Pope has also said that for
your
murder, there would be no sin on it,” said the messenger.

“I thank you for this news, good sir. Rest with us tonight and on the morrow ride back to Master Cecil and tell him I have no fear of my beloved people. I shall not return but shall go onward as promised. I shall let my people see me and receive their love as they shall receive mine. Now, Lord Robert, lead on!” said the queen. The courtiers threw up their caps and cheered. Mary saw a look of concern pass over Lord Robert’s features and he called for the Gentlemen Pensioners to surround Her Majesty’s litter before they progressed. Then, the long train of wagons and mules and horses and litters moved slowly through the countryside, heading now for Warwick Castle before returning to London.

Twenty-two

Late July 1570

“The trees give good shelter from the sun,” said Sir John as he rode beside Mary, with Mistress Blanche riding behind. Great branches made a green canopy above them, and birds filled the air with song. Mary could hear linnets and larks twittering in the leaves. An occasional rustling along the ground might reveal a squirrel or coney, perhaps a deer. The countryside was filled with gentle, rolling hills with fields divided squarely by hedges, and great forests offering shady comfort.

“I have not been this far west before—I had no idea it would be so very peaceful,” said Mary, adjusting herself in her saddle, sitting higher so she might have a better view.

“I’m glad you like it—I have always loved these lands. We are on
my
land now and Holme Lacy will come into view in another hour,” said Sir John. “How are you doing back there, Mistress Blanche?”

“I’m fine, sir. You must not keep asking after my welfare—I may be old but I am not decrepit yet,” said Mistress Blanche. She shifted in her saddle, rearranging her skirts.

“How large is your holding, if I may ask?” said Mary.

“Several thousand acres, I should think. We have recently acquired a nearby farm so I am unsure of the exact number. My steward will know the precise figures,” said Sir John.

They rode in silence for a while. Then, to the surprise of the women, Sir John produced a small flute from his pocket and began to play an old country tune. The women sang along. Soon, the sun had risen to its peak and Sir John reined in his horse. Mary did the same.

“There it is—Holme Lacy! I love how it looks from here. My heart always feels lighter once I see the place, and I begin to smile in spite of myself,” he said.

Mary gasped and stared. What she saw shook her to her bones.

“It is the same! The same!” she said, her voice stretched high and thin.

“What do you mean, ‘the same’? You have not been here before,” said Sir John.

She grabbed his arm and squeezed.

“In the crystal—this is what I saw! At Dr. Dee’s! Do you remember?” she said, barely aware of what she was saying.

“Yes, I remember. Do you mean to say you caught a vision of my house?” said Sir John.

“It was here. I would recognize that house, for even as I spied it in the glass ball, I found it beautiful—the red brick and the lovely windows, the stately wings on each side of the main house, the gardens. And we were there, too, John! You and I stood at the front door, talking to one another,” said Mary.

“Do you remember what question you asked the crystal?” said Sir John.

“Oh, it was a foolish girl’s question—silly!” said Mary, afraid and feeling light-headed.

“What was it, Mary?” he said.

“I asked to see the man I was to marry,” said Mary quietly.

Neither of them spoke. The silence became thick and Mary found it difficult to breathe.

“Are we going to stand here goggling all day or are we going to ride to that great house for some food and drink?” said Mistress Blanche behind them.

They both laughed.

“We shall away with all speed, Mistress Blanche. We should not wish for you to perish for lack of sustenance!” said Sir John, spurring his horse.

Mary followed suit and urged her horse to a run. She sped by Sir John, the wind against her face cooling her. She raced to Holme Lacy, feeling as if the house itself welcomed her with open arms. Never had she experienced such an immediate love of a place. Love tempered with an eerie feeling of danger. She wondered what magic Dr. Dee had concocted and what strange forces were at work in her life.

Sir John caught up with her easily, and together they rode into the large yard. Mistress Blanche was several minutes behind them, her horse not up to a gallop in the heat.

Sir John helped Mary down from her horse and held her hand.

“Mary, you must know why I brought you here. I have told you before that I wish to court you—I would have you as my wife,” he said. His eyes looked at her with intensity and longing.

“I did not believe you were ready to love again when you first mentioned the idea. Nor did I know if I was ready. I still do not know the answer to either question,” she said, allowing him to continue holding her hand.

“I am not certain how to answer—I shall always love the mother of my children. But I also know that I want to see you in the mornings when I arise. I want to spend our evenings playing cards and singing with the children. I want to see you with a babe of your own. My heart will always carry its sorrow for my Eleanor, but that is part of who I am. If you can accept a man who has known grief, one who does not play as merrily, perhaps, as other men, then I believe we can make a life together that will be rich and filled with God’s blessings,” said Sir John.

He spoke so simply and so truly that Mary’s heart was touched. She realized she could, indeed, find love with this steady, kind man. And when she looked up into his face, his blond shock of hair hanging playfully over his eyes, those mysterious aqua eyes unlike any she had ever seen, she felt her body shiver just slightly. She wanted to be in his arms; she wanted the kind of love the queen had with Lord Robert. She did not want the shame she’d felt with Oxford and the complete humiliation Pakington had given her.

“You honor me, sir. If you wish to court me, then I will be happy to receive your attentions—with the queen’s permission, of course,” said Mary quietly.

“It is you who do me the honor, Mary. I shall do everything in my power to bring you happiness. And yes, the queen must give her blessing,” he said. He did not move to kiss her. Instead, he walked toward Mistress Blanche, who approached them. “May I help you down, Mistress Blanche?”

Mary watched as he carefully lifted the older woman from her mount. Then he linked his arm in hers and walked toward the front door.

“Come—let us meet my children,” he said.

They entered the Great Hall after servants had taken their hats and gloves and brought them refreshing light beer. Mary was amazed at the beauty of the house itself—the stone mullions and many gables. Inside, the walls were hung with arras and a few tapestries. Servants scurried to do Sir John’s bidding, and soon a sumptuous meal was set before them, trays filled with fresh apples and cherries, stewed turnips and cabbages, roasted goose and pheasant, and a large boar with an apple in its mouth.

“This is quite a feast,” said Mary.

“I sent word ahead … just in case you agreed to come,” said Sir John.

Sir John called for his children and they appeared rather rowdily. Firstborn son, Henry, a lad of around nine, raced in to see his father, his face sweaty and somewhat smudged with dirt. Then in ran his two younger brothers, James and John. Two small girls followed: Ursula, perhaps a bit over four and Alice, the youngest child, almost three. The girls toddled around, while their brothers galloped like wild horses. When they saw their father, the boys settled down a little, but the girls did not seem to know him. They had the look of children who had no one to love them, though their clothes were fine enough. Mary could see their need for motherly interest and concern. She knew at that moment how lucky she’d been to have the love of the queen. The queen and Mistress Blanche had seen to it Mary had been properly bathed and cared for, educated and tenderly handled, the intimate, detailed care given in motherly love.

“Hello, little one. Alice, isn’t it? Come here, child. Do you like gooseberry pies? Here, have a bite of this,” said Mary as she fed the child a piece.

Mary and Mistress Blanche spent a long time with the children, playing hide-and-seek and bathing the younger ones, who, it seemed, had either become extremely dirty in a day’s time or had not had a bath near often enough.

“Mistress Blanche, what do you think of Sir John?” said Mary as they watched the children run and play with two new pups in the front yard.

“He is a fine man—courteous, kind—but he has so many children. His poor wife must have given him one each year for their entire marriage,” said Mistress Blanche.

“He has asked if he may court me—he wishes for us to marry,” said Mary. Her voice could barely eke out the words, she was so nervous.

“This cannot be! The queen will forbid it! He is a Catholic and holds with Sir James Croft, not one of the queen’s favorites. You must refuse him at once!” said Mistress Blanche.

“But I am not sure I
wish
to refuse him—I like him. He is handsome and thoughtful—nothing like Oxford and Pakington, brutes both! I feel a different kind of affection for him … a friendly sort,” said Mary.

“I do not care a sheep’s teat for your affections! He is a Catholic—they are all suspect these days, Mary. If I were queen, I’d round them all up and send them to the Tower forever!” said Mistress Blanche, peeling an apple in her lap.