Queen Elizabeth's Daughter (37 page)

“You have made Holme Lacy truly a home, sweetheart. Little Alice adores you and I think you are winning Harry over, too. Flowers throughout the house, tarts and other pastries made from the recipes of the queen’s own kitchen … We have our own little court right here,” said Sir John.

“I never dreamed we could be so happy—it seems I have found the family I have longed for all my life,” said Mary, leaning against him, smelling his manly odor. She could not get enough of him.

“And I have a wife I truly love … I am fortunate, indeed, to have found two such women to marry. Do not fear, wife. As you know, I shall always love my Eleanor but my heart is large enough to love you, too. And love you I do,” he said, pulling her closer and kissing the top of her head.

“Shall we sit for a while beneath the large oak in the front lawn? I’ll have Constance bring refreshment,” said Mary. The tree in front of the house was very old and filled half the yard. Mary had grown quite fond of it and spent many hours relaxing in its shade and quiet beauty. She grabbed a cloth and some pillows and led Sir John by the hand. She stopped by the nursery to ask the new governess, Mistress Jane Ballard, to bring the children outside to join them. Mistress Katherine Blakely continued to care for the younger ones, just as Mary had promised.

Mary and Sir John spread the cloth and put the pillows on it. They sat as Constance, the serving girl, brought out mugs of light beer, some mutton, and bread, along with a bowl of almonds and berries. The younger children ran to them and crawled over Mary, talking to her all at once. Harry and James, the two older boys, tossed a ball between them.

Suddenly, Mary felt the ground shake and heard the thundering of hooves on the road. She shaded her eyes with her hand and could see at least half a dozen horsemen heading their way. She blinked a few times. The men seemed to be wearing the uniform of the Yeomen of the Guard. But that could not be—why would the queen’s men be racing toward Holme Lacy?

As they drew closer, Mary saw they were, indeed, the queen’s soldiers. She sent the children inside and stood as the men rode into the front yard. She noticed the men were armed and Walsingham led them. He was the first to dismount. He strode over to where she and John stood.

“Sir John Skydemore?” said Walsingham in an official voice.

“Yes, Sir Francis, you know it is I,” said John.

“I have a bill of attainder for your arrest for plotting against the Queen’s Majesty. I am to take you to the Tower at once,” said Walsingham.

“What? This is a lie! Sir Francis, you know my husband is the queen’s staunch supporter! What madness is this?” said Mary, her heart beating fast. She could taste bile rising at the back of her throat. She looked at John, who seemed stunned and unable to move.

“Lady Skydemore, please stand back. We must take Sir John immediately!” said Walsingham.

“But he has no change of clothes—no food or money. Wait and I shall pack him a bag,” said Mary.

“My orders were to bring him directly to the Tower. I am sorry, my lady, but there is no time for such things,” said Walshingham.

Mary turned to her husband, who was being led to a horse by two of the guards.

“I’ll bring your things, John. I’ll come as soon as I can,” said Mary.

“I am sorry, my lady, but the queen has forbidden you to attend court. She gave me express orders to tell you to stay at Holme Lacy. You come to London on pain of death,” said Walsingham.

Without a word, he remounted and led the men away, John riding between the two guards. Her husband did not turn to look at her as she waved to him, tears streaming down her face.

*   *   *

The next morning, Mary had packed a bag with Sir John’s clothing, some gold coins, and writing implements with a roll of parchment so he could communicate with her from the Tower. Though she had been forbidden to go to her husband, she had cajoled Thomas, the gardener, into making his way as quickly as possible to London and taking the bag she had prepared to Sir John. Thomas was to bring her word about what was happening. She could not imagine what was going on, why her husband, who seemed the best of men, should be arrested. She knew the queen was angry about their marriage, but after her initial outrage, surely Her Majesty’s wrath had died down. The queen was not one to sulk and moan about a spat—she was usually as anxious to mend friendship as the courtier who had offended her. Mary would write to Her Majesty at once, begging her forgiveness and her help.

“Do be careful, Thomas—London is a dangerous place full of thieves and cutpurses,” said Mary, handing him some coins for the journey.

“Don’t worry, mum. I may not have been to London afore, but I know how to take care of meself—I’ll send word as soon as I’m able,” Thomas said, riding one of Sir John’s horses.

“Godspeed, Thomas,” said Mary, saying a silent prayer for him and for her husband. She turned to go back into the house, where she would soothe the children and keep them busy so worry would not nag at them, though it gnawed at her already, her head aching and her hands trembling as she made her way into the front hall.

*   *   *

The long days of summer seemed even longer than usual as Mary awaited word from Thomas. At first, she sought to comfort the children, but they were so used to their father’s absence that they did not seem particularly worried. Even Harry, at ten, was busy being the man of the house, a role to which he had grown accustomed during the long months while Sir John had been at court. He did not seem to be concerned that soldiers had taken his father away, only that the household affairs run smoothly so Sir John would be proud of the job he’d done when he returned.

Seeing the children nonplussed, Mary was able, at first, to keep fear at bay. Besides, running the household and seeing to the children’s needs took up a great deal of her time. When night darkened the earth, she found herself falling onto the mattress, exhausted and going to sleep almost immediately.

She had written to the queen the day after John had been taken away, making abject apologies for her marriage, her disobedience, her lack of proper gratitude to Her Majesty, anything she had ever done that might have irritated Elizabeth, from the time she had arrived at court until her banishment. Thus far, there had been no response.

She busied herself with sewing, mending the children’s clothing, and making a new shift for little Alice, taking particular care with the blackwork she embroidered around the edges. The flowers and butterflies were designs she made herself to please the youngest child, the one who had grown to toddling age without a mother’s care. Soon, a week had passed. No word.

Another long week passed before Thomas returned. Mary was in the kitchen discussing menus for the next day when she heard Thomas greet the other gardeners as he entered the kitchen. His face was smeared with dirt and his hat covered with dust. When he saw her, he bowed.

“What news, Thomas?” she said, handing him a mug of ale. He drank quickly before he spoke.

“I got into the Tower and gave Sir John his package. Had to bribe the jailer just to do that. Oh, mum, the news is bad, very bad,” said Thomas, taking another gulp of ale.

“What is it? Speak, man,” said Mary.

“They say Sir John has been in a plot to put the Scots’ queen on the throne—him and others as well. They have all been sentenced to death at the queen’s pleasure. He’s to go to the block on the twelfth of July—I’m sorry, mum,” said Thomas, his eyes glistening.

“But how? What proof? I do not understand…” said Mary, her mind unable to stay on one thought, but skipping willy-nilly, as if it were playing a game of hide-and-seek with itself.

“That Walsingham fellow had papers, ciphers he said they was. Them Jesuits have been coming into the country to rile folks up and Sir John was a-helping them. Walsingham had letters between Sir John and a Jesuit priest. Said Sir John was to gain the queen’s trust so that when all was in readiness, he could get at her, kill her if need be,” said Thomas.

“That cannot be true. He … he saved her life,” said Mary, staggering onto a stool.

“To gain her trust, they say. It all come out in them papers—why, they say he even married you to get close to Her Majesty. Said he picked you because the queen loved
you
best,” said Thomas.

“Is there anything else?” said Mary, her voice dull.

“No, mum. I think I told it all,” said Thomas. He drained the mug and turned to go to the gardens. “I’m sorry, mum. I wish I knew how to help you.”

“Thank you for all you have done, Thomas. At least I know what’s happening. I shall be in my bedchamber if need arises,” said Mary, slowly rising and shaking her head as if to make sense of the world.

She walked slowly to her bedchamber, the room she had shared with John, the room where they had made such sweet love that she shuddered even now with remembering. Could his lovemaking have been an act? Could a man dissemble so? Was it possible her John was mixed up in treachery? Had she been so deceived?

She moved from the large window to the bed, ran her hands along the heavy coverlet of silk, and then hugged herself. She could not cry. Tears refused to come. She felt completely baffled by all that had happened. Her injured finger was throbbing as it often did. The pain made her remember the queen’s anger. But Her Majesty had been angry with others and had eventually forgiven them. She was merciful in so many cases. Even the Duke of Norfolk was released from the Tower after nine months for his first treasonous offense. Her Majesty had finally executed him but he had driven her to it: Norfolk had had treason in his heart. He was going to marry the Queen of Scots, and together they would have toppled the queen. Or at least tried.

Could it be that John was truly guilty? Had he courted her to reach the queen? Could he be a Catholic traitor? His name was on the list of dangerous Catholics. She had thought the list was made of
all
Catholics, seeing as how Lord Burghley considered them all untrustworthy. But Burghley was a Protestant and Walsingham an even hotter variety, a Puritan. Walsingham had spies everywhere and knew all that went on both in England and the Continent. If Walsingham had evidence, could that evidence be wrong?

Back and forth, back and forth, she went. Before she realized it, evening had come. She had been pacing in her room all day. Constance knocked on her door gently, asking her if she would like a tray brought up. She could not imagine swallowing anything but knew she would need her strength. She would need it because she was going to London to find out the truth. She was going, even if it meant she, too, would end up in the Tower. She was going to beg the queen for her husband’s life, even if it meant losing her own.

Fifty-six

July 2, 1574

Mary rode next to Thomas in a cart filled with vegetables from the garden: cabbages, corn, asparagus, and radishes, three sacks full, the allotted amount for country farmers to bring to Cheapside for sale. She was surprised at how comfortable she felt, dressed in Constance’s cotton gown, an apron tied around her waist and a partlet at her chin. Though the bodice had been stiffened, most of the stiffness had worn out and she breathed easily. She had not realized how much her fine clothes confined the body. She found she moved more gracefully when wearing a garment that moved with her, rather than one that forced her figure to its own straight lines.

Though the cotton was a rough weave, it was cool. She wore Constance’s straw hat. Thomas rode beside her, holding the reins and guiding the horse and cart with expertise. She was glad to have him with her.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, mum, this idea of yers is a bit ninny-brained,” said Thomas.

“You must have faith, Thomas. You live up to your name—for you are surely a doubter,” said Mary. She had argued with him all morning before he had finally agreed to accompany her to London, posing as her husband.

“I don’t doubt our Savior, mum, but this unsound plan of yers might just get us both killed. Forgive me if I have my doubts,” said Thomas.

“The plan is simple, really. I do have some friends in London. I will go to Lord Robert and beg his help. If I can see the queen, I believe I can persuade her to release John,” said Mary.

“And what makes you think she will let go a traitor?” said Thomas.

“He is not a traitor! She will release him because I ask it of her. She loved me more than a little once. I have asked for nothing. She will grant me this one request—she must!” said Mary.

“As you say, mum, as you say,” said Thomas.

The road was dusty and Mary wrapped the cloth Constance had given her around her mouth so she could breathe. By the time they had been traveling for three hours, her entire dress was covered in dust. Insects buzzed around her head, flies following the horse. The cart bumped and tossed her every which way, up against Thomas and almost onto the ground a few times. With each jostle, her determination grew stronger.

It took three days to reach London. Mary had brought a bag of gold coins, enough to carry them through until she had accomplished her mission. They made their way to Cheapside and Thomas set their produce under one of the tents provided. She helped him put the vegetables on a table for display.

“I shall go to the Tower first to speak with Sir John. After that, I will decide what to do,” she said, once again pulling the cloth across her mouth.

“Have a care, mum. If you ain’t back by nightfall, I’m coming fer you,” said Thomas.

“I fully expect to be back by then. Thank you, Thomas, for everything,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze.

She made her way through the crowded streets to the Tower. The sun bore down upon her like a heavy weight and she could feel sweat dripping from her shoulders to her waist. She must have looked worn out, exactly like a servant. No one gave her a second glance.

Suddenly, the Tower loomed above her. She wanted to get inside; she needed to see John and find out for herself whether he was a traitor or not. She thought she could tell by merely looking at him. A certain cock of his head, a look in those aqua eyes—such things would give him away if he were deceiving her. Surely she could not have been duped so easily. Surely the love he bore for her was true.