Queen of Ambition (3 page)

“Thank you, Aunt Tabitha,” I said in astonishment. Tabitha was a stickler for the proprieties she had mentioned, but I hadn’t expected her to maintain them after what I had done to Uncle Herbert. I did indeed want to visit my mother’s grave, and had been planning to go there very early one morning and do so before people were about. I didn’t bother to ask how my aunt knew I was going to Richmond. Half the Withysham villagers at least had relatives in the village at Faldene.

I called for refreshments and asked after my uncle and cousins. My uncle’s gout had been better of late; my cousins, all now married, were apparently thriving. My cousin Edward was actually married to a distant relative of Gerald’s and now had a baby daughter.

“We were pleased,” Aunt Tabitha said, “when we
heard that you had settled in France with Matthew de la Roche. We hoped you had seen sense at last and perhaps your husband would save your soul for you. We were also pleased, though surprised, to hear that Withysham had been restored to the two of you. But are you going back to France?”

“Yes, in the autumn. I shall take Meg with me.”

“And in between, you are returning to court and the service of that red-haired heretic of a queen. It seems that you can hardly keep away from her.” Aunt Tabitha and Uncle Herbert adhered to the old religion, which was how they had got entangled in treason.

I looked at her coldly. There had been an occasion, long ago now, in the days of the passionately Catholic Queen Mary, when she and Uncle Herbert had returned from witnessing a burning, and by way of warning me against heresy, had forced me to listen while they described it. I still had occasional nightmares about that. I would never either forget it or forgive it. “The days of the heresy hunts are over,” I told her. “And people are grateful to Elizabeth for it.”

“They may think differently when they reach the hereafter.”

“I was sorry for Uncle Herbert, believe it or not,” I said. “And I do have a sense of family loyalty. But—I have other loyalties, too.”

“That is obvious,” said Aunt Tabitha, and unexpectedly sighed. “Ah, well, I suppose we must be glad that at least you mean to return to your husband. Your first loyalty should be with him, after all.”

We exchanged a few more desultory words and then she took her leave, repeating that I was welcome to
visit my mother’s grave though I should not come to the house. The whole visit had a very odd atmosphere. My aunt’s attitude had been—well, not quite conciliatory but close to it—and she had been strangely lukewarm about the news that I was going back to France in the autumn. It was almost as though she didn’t want me to go. I felt as if she had come for some purpose that she had not declared.

But I had no chance to pursue the matter. I did visit my mother’s grave, very quietly, early the next day. And then it was time to load the pack ponies, mount our horses, and go. The court was beckoning.

And it really was beckoning. It was always the way. Once I had done with saying good-bye to Withysham and dried my tears on parting from Meg, my resentment and surprise at this early summons faded away. The prospect of the court, the exhilaration of it, the cut and thrust and double-talk of political maneuvers, and above all, the personality of Queen Elizabeth, glittering, dangerous, vulnerable, frightening, and lovable, began to seduce me. Elizabeth and her court were like a heady wine, and I was an addict who longed with all her heart to drink of it once more.

I liked Richmond. With its ornamental turrets and sparkling fountains, and its well-lit, airy rooms, it was to my mind the prettiest of all Elizabeth’s residences and for me it had good associations. After Gerald’s death, when I was an impecunious young widow who was lucky to have friends who had found her a post at court, it was to Richmond that I had come, to enter a new life and it was there that my grief had begun, slowly, to heal.

It was there, in the summer, when the gardens were in bloom, that Matthew and I had first met.

This too was summer and as Dale and I, accompanied by a page and two men to carry our hampers, made our way toward the palace building, the sanded path led past flower beds ablaze with color. The air was full of the hum of bees and the beguiling perfume of lavender and roses.

A few gardeners were busy with weeding, and
courtiers, men and women, their costly doublets and embroidered skirts as vivid as the flowers, were strolling along the paths. One or two of them recognized me and called greetings. I returned the greetings but did not stop. The June day, so beautiful when one was sauntering through a garden, had also meant a hot and dusty ride from Thamesbank, where I had left Meg in the morning. Even the horses had been weary at the end of it. Brockley had taken them off to the stable, murmuring soothingly to them about buckets of water and fresh hay. Being used to riding, I was not unduly tired but I did feel the heat and Dale was drooping badly. She was in her late forties and she had never liked horseback travel. She had already said that she hoped the Progress to Cambridge would be the last long ride she ever undertook in her life. The sooner we were in a shady room, washing our faces in cool water, the better.

Once indoors, the page led us along a wide, flat-ceilinged corridor that turned a corner into an unfamiliar wing. Through the windows on one side, I saw sunlight flashing on the Thames, but I could not work out quite where I was. “I’ve never been lodged on this side of the palace before,” I said to the page.

He glanced at me, sidelong. He was about sixteen, exquisite in white and silver brocade, and with a nascent beard around his lips. Pages, in my experience, fell into four broad categories: the cheeky, the timid, the circumspect, and the knowing. This one was on the cusp between circumspect and knowing. “There are a number of guests at court, Mistress Blanchard, and Lady Margaret Lennox is among them. As is her
custom, she has brought a large retinue and they need a great deal of accommodation. I have myself had to move into different quarters.”

I quelled a smile. His voice was almost completely bland, but there was the very tiniest trace of resentment in
had to move
. His new quarters were probably squashed and he would of course know all the court gossip about Lady Lennox. She was a cousin of the queen, since both of them were descended from Henry VII, and family propriety (Aunt Tabitha would have understood) required her to be treated with dignity. Elizabeth, though, had good reason to detest her, and did. Good courtiers followed Elizabeth’s lead and detested her too, and young pages, when they mentioned Margaret Lennox, could afford to let their voices be tinged, just, with dislike.

Though wise court ladies did not encourage this. I didn’t answer and was glad of that when, half a second later, a door on our left was flung open and through it strode Lady Lennox herself, no less, tall and commanding, her farthingale almost filling the doorway, her cream satin skirts adorned with enough embroidered flowers and sewn-on pearls to rival anything in Elizabeth’s own wardrobe, and one beringed hand angrily straightening a pearl-edged headdress, which seemed to be on the verge of toppling sideways off her waves of crimped brown hair.

We stepped aside to let her pass, but ignoring us, she stopped short and swung around to face a nondescript little man in the dark gown of a scholar or cleric, who had followed her out of what I now saw was an anteroom, presumably to her private apartment.

“I have told you before! I will not have you impor-rrtuning me in this fashion!” I knew that Lady Lennox had been reared in England, but her father had been a Scot and her Tudor mother had lived in Scotland long enough to pick up the accent. As a result, Lady Lennox had it too and the rolling northern
R
’s magnified the natural harshness of her voice. “Must I put arrmed guards on my door in the queen my cousin’s verra palace, in order to have some prrrivacy?”

“But, my lady, if only you would listen!” The little man held up imploring hands, palms pressed together as if in prayer. “I came today to tell you that I paid heed to what you said when last we met! If only you would take me back, I would prove my worth to you! You wouldn’t regret it! I would do wonders for you! I would do anything for you. I have no desire to displease you, only to return to your favor …”

“You would be grrreatly in my favor, Master Woodforde,” said Lady Lennox furiously, jamming her headdress back into position, “if you were lying in your coffin with your hands folded on your heart and a carpenter at hand rrready to nail down the lid! Now get out of my sight and stay out.
Madge! Bess! Ladies!
Where the devil are you all … !”

In a flurry of skirts and feminine exclamations, Margaret Lennox’s ladies came rushing through the anteroom to their lady’s side.

“My lady, we are so sorry … !”

“Oh, what a disgrace! Is he here again? Be off with you, you pestilential creature!”

“Madam, do forgive us … !”

“Where
were
you?” demanded Lady Lennox. “I did
nothing but leave my rooms for a moment to speak with a friend, and the moment I returned, I found this … this nuisance waiting in ambush—here, within my own anterrroom!—and no sign of any of you! You are the senior lady, Madge; you should know better!” The noble Margaret made a gesture with her right hand that would have been a blow, had Madge not stepped back just in time.

“Madam, we were in the inner chamber, arranging your spinet music as you wished and …”

“I didn’t wish you to neglect your duty at the same time and let this …
pairrson
in!” She glared at the nondescript man, who was standing quite still, his gaze fixed on her as though he did not know how to withdraw it. “
Will
you go away?”

The little man seemed to come to himself. He turned away but not, I saw, in any very chastened fashion. As he brushed past us, his gaze swept impersonally over us, as though we were inanimate objects rather than people. Then he glanced back over his shoulder and called to Lady Lennox: “But I meant it! One day I will earn your gratitude and your love, I promise!”

“
Love!
” gasped Madge. “Of all the impertinence!”

“Back inside!” ordered Lady Lennox. “Forget him!”

She swept them all away through the door to the anteroom. The door was shut. We were left feeling as though we had been invisible, ghosts observing the antics of people who did not know we were there. We looked at one another. The men with the hampers were rolling their eyes and pursing their lips in silent whistles.

“A remarkable woman,” said our satin-clad page. “She attracts hangers-on, of course. Many ladies admire her
greatly. Do you know she has not a single gray hair on her head?”

I did know. I had also heard that Lady Lennox’s beautifully waved brown hair was a wig but I wasn’t going to discuss such things with a page. It might not be true, anyway. Although she was in her forties, she was still very handsome of face and perhaps her hair had survived the onslaughts of time as successfully as her well-kept complexion.

“Never mind Lady Lennox,” I said sharply. “I want to wash and change and would like to reach my room soon. Today, for instance!”

I had expected to find myself sharing a room with one or two other ladies but to my surprise I found I had a small room to myself. In the past, when at court, I had sometimes had a private room, but only for a special reason, which I hadn’t thought would apply this time. I raised my eyebrows, and remembered once more that my summons from Withysham had come strangely early. Well, I would no doubt be told all I should know before too long. The page, indeed, had a message, to the effect that at five of the clock, I would be fetched to attend on the queen.

The room had been well prepared, with jugs of washing water and a set of towels in readiness. By the time the page came back for me, I was washed and rested, wearing a fresh gown and with my hair tidy. I followed my young guide through the passages until we reached familiar territory, and I saw before me the double doors to the queen’s own rooms.

Guards moved aside to allow me past and the page, opening the doors, announced me. I entered. Queen Elizabeth was there, seated regally in an ornate chair, behind which stood her favorite lady, Katherine Knollys (a nearer cousin to the queen than Lady Lennox and much more beloved). Standing before the queen were Sir Robert Dudley, Master of the Queen’s Horse and Elizabeth’s favorite (though not her lover, whatever the gossips might say), and Sir William Cecil, the Secretary of State.

The atmosphere was tense. In fact, it could have been sliced up with a knife and served as well-matured cheese. As well as stepping into the royal presence, I had also walked into the midst of a quarrel.

Elizabeth acknowledged my arrival and my curtsy with a single brief glance, but her attention was on Cecil. Her tawny eyes were bright with indignation. “We can see no harm in this notion, Master Secretary, no harm at all. Why should there not be a little lightheartedness on these occasions? It will take only a few minutes and satisfy the undergraduates’ very proper and very loyal desire to play a part in our reception. They are surely hardworking youths. Let them have their reward. When this lady, whoever she is, is whisked out of our sight, let all be brought to a halt with a blast on a trumpet and let there be a distribution of largesse to the onlookers. Of silver coins—shillings and half crowns,” added Elizabeth thriftily.

“Ma’am!” Cecil spoke protestingly. “It is my duty as your Secretary of State and also as the chancellor of Cambridge, to ensure that your royal visit there is conducted with the dignity due to your position and my
reputation. Every man of note in the entire university will be assembled to greet you—at Queens’ College and King’s College Chapel and …”

“And my position and your reputation will be shipwrecked by a harmless jape which will allow us all a little laughter?”

“No, ma’am. But I am concerned for your safety as well as your dignity. A pack of shouting, overexcited young men, and swordplay—even with blunted blades—within a few feet of your person! What can you be thinking of?”