Roses Have Thorns: A Novel of Elizabeth I (25 page)

Year of Our Lord 1584

The Palace of Whitehall

Sheen, Richmond

Winter: Year of Our Lord 1585

Wilton and Langford, Salisbury

T
hat year found me with child again. Whilst it was not quite an immaculate conception, it was something of a miracle as it was a rare night that Thomas and I spent in one another’s company any longer, and when we did, it was disappointingly perfunctory. I was mainly waiting upon the queen; as the Scots situation grew tenser she relied upon her principal ladies to keep her entertained and soothed. Thomas was often away, on the queen’s business, though of late he did not share with me the locations of his destinations or how long he would be gone. He simply shrugged off my questions; hurt, I stopped asking and turned toward my own duties, keeping those details to myself as well.

One day, as I laid out the jewels the queen would wear that week, coordinating with the Countess of Nottingham, who
was in charge of the robes, she noticed that my midsection had swelled.

“My grandfather Boleyn said once that his wife brought him a child each year,” she said to me, in a rare reference to her mother’s family. She fingered the locket ring, in which hid her mother and herself; she never took it off and that brought me great pleasure these nearly ten years after I’d gifted it to her.

“I am apparently trying to keep up with your illustrious family, Majesty,” I said. My back hurt and she noticed and bade me sit near her.

“How do your children?” she asked.

“They are well. Elizabeth is by turn a pirate or a lady, but she runs the household in my absence,” I jested. I knew my daughter, though but one of many named after Her Grace, brought her pleasure.

“The others grow by turn, too,” I said. I dared to broach a topic that had long been on my heart and mind and that Thomas had urged me to speak of with the queen. “Perhaps, Majesty, after this babe is born, I might be given leave to spend more time with them. They grow so quickly . . .”

“Of course, you should take the time to repose till you are churched,” she said, smoothly moving beyond the request she knew I’d made.

I recalled Lady Cobham, an especial favorite of the queen and the mother of seven, recently hoping to get leave to rest her weary bones in the country, but the leave was denied. I felt for her as a mother, as a lady of the bedchamber, and also, as she was a relative of sorts to both of my husbands. We had grown to be friends.

I was both weary of court and wishing to spend more time with
my family, and thrilled with court and its many intrigues and the hard-won friendships and fulfilling duties I immersed myself in each day.

Some months later, the queen called both Thomas and me into her Privy Chamber, alone. “We have a gift for you,” she said. “We are giving you the former priory at Sheen, near Richmond Palace, as a residence for you, for life, so you may be nearer to your family when you wait upon us at court.”

I smiled and leaned forward to hug her, which she seemed to tolerate but which I knew she truly enjoyed. “Thank you, thank you, Majesty. You know Richmond is a particular favorite of mine, with the gardens, and to live nearer by will be a great delight.” I had always loved Sheen. It was the most important gift she had ever given me, and what’s more, she gave it to both Thomas and myself jointly.

Thomas nodded with respect. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said. But although he was perfectly proper, he was not as enthusiastic as I was, and I knew why.

“Are you not pleased with the gift?” I asked him later, in my luxe apartments at court.

“’Twas kindly given,” he admitted. “But by providing Sheen to us, for life or until she decides to revoke it, the queen is allowing the children and me to be closer to court, and you, but not giving you direct leave to spend more time with us.”

“Still, ’tis a great honor. Many courtiers and foreign ambassadors have coveted lodging near Richmond for many years.”

“I know,” he said, and then looked beyond me. “I’ve got someone to meet shortly. Can we speak of this later?”

I agreed, and kissed him afore he left. He kissed me back, but not with passion. He closed the door behind him, and I sat on a
chair, hands in my lap, for an hour, wondering why he couldn’t be happy with the gift of Sheen and if I was wrong in feeling so.

We moved in shortly thereafter, and after some changes, we made an occasion to invite the queen, and her close circle, to our new home for one of the first performances by the Queen’s Men.

I had been feeling remiss in my caretaking of Sofia; she had come to England to be a companion to me, and although I had provided company to her when I could, and for her English education, I had not had much time to spend with her. Apart from court, I had little time of my own. So I had a fine gown made for her of midnight blue silk shot through with gold and she wore her hair down, long and shimmering, as was her right as a virgin.

“Can I assist you with your clothing?” I asked Thomas, meeting him in his new chamber.

“No, thank you. Tobias has already laid out something suitable,” Thomas said.

“Oh, all right.” Tobias was Thomas’s closest manservant. “Perhaps after dinner, then, I might return with you and we can discuss the events of the evening?”

He nodded politely. “Perhaps.” Thomas indicated that he would meet me at dinner; Sheen was large enough that we each had our own bedchambers. They were near one another, but it was the first time in our married life that we did not sleep in the same bed each night when we were in the same house. I spent a moment wishing, perhaps, we were at the less-opulent Blackfriars instead.

There were a hundred or more courtiers already downstairs; our servants had made them welcome and I took time to greet each one once I made my arrival. As we were seated, Sofia made her way down the stairs, and I will admit that all male eyes were upon
her for a time, but she had eyes for only one person present, the eighteen-year-old Earl of Essex.

“Who is he?” she asked me after dinner, before the entertainments were to begin.

“He’s the son of the queen’s enemy,” I said with a smile, “who is forever banished from court. Essex is also one of her current favorites, along with Walter Raleigh.” I nodded in the adventurer’s direction.

“Ooh, that makes Essex ever more interesting,” she replied mischievously in German. She’d taken to speaking German to me when she wanted to keep our conversations private. This was fine, but I knew that there were others at court who had a smattering of German and may be able to understand us, and they’d certainly understand the name Essex.

“Be careful not to be too loose in your speech,” I said. She nodded but would have rolled her eyes, I knew, if she could have.

I took time to explain to her that Essex was the son of Lettice Knollys and her first husband, the Earl of Essex. “My first husband, William, was also the Earl of Essex,” I said, “before he died.”

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we each married an Earl of Essex?” she said.

At that I stopped cold. I needed to return to my guests, but she had to understand that Essex was a high-flown young man; Lord Robert, his stepfather, was placing him very carefully at court, for Lord Robert’s benefit as well as Essex’s.

“He’s not within your reach,” I said softly.

“ ‘Who shoots at the midday sun, though he be sure he shall never hit the mark, yet as sure he is he shall shoot higher than who aims but at a bush,’ ” she answered. “Sir Philip Sidney’s
Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia.
”

“Where did you read that?” I demanded.

“Thomas was sharing some of the court poetry with me,” she said a bit saucily before moving on.

Thomas? My senses were alerted.

The Queen’s Men were duly assembled. Although Thomas had initially seemed displeased, once they were at court, or here at Sheen, with splendid sets and costumes, he was proud of his work, and I of him. Courtiers had long had their own troupes, the Earl of Sussex’s men, of course, and the Earl of Leicester’s men, but for the Queen’s Men to have been formed and perform regularly for Her Majesty meant that the stain of disapproval was removed from actors. Not only had she sworn them to her service; she allowed them to wear her livery, a high honor indeed. In so doing, she had made actors, before known as ne’er-do-wells if not outright cutpurses, into honorable entertainers. Playwriting, formerly looked down upon, became another high form of artistic expression, and lads, and some ladies, from the lowborn through the young Countess of Pembroke, took up their pens in new manners. Elizabeth was perhaps destined to be known as the Queen of Revels.

The play Thomas had chosen for them to perform that evening was another by his favorite, Lyly, who also was well thought of by the queen. This play,
Campaspe
, spoke of Alexander, who had traveled to Athens and fallen in love, unexpectedly, with a young woman. He loved her well and commissioned her portrait be painted, but the artist, too, fell in love with the charming young woman. He was so reluctant to let her go that he continued to mar his own painting day after day so that she would be forced to sit with him, continually, as he never finished his work.

The play was well under way and still Thomas had not made his way to sit next to me. I worried. Where could he be? The queen,
justly proud of her men, was riveted by the tale of romance. Lord Robert, reinstated into her high favor, sat next to her. They still had an easy companionship and teasingly deep affections, but I sensed none of the sexual undercurrent of their earlier life; I credited this to Her Majesty as well as Lord Robert. She still loved him, but both recognized he was another woman’s husband.

In the end, Alexander declared his love to be immortal and everlasting but came forward to set the young woman, his own true heart, free, so she may live with the artist with whom she had fallen in love. At this, young Bess Throckmorton turned to look at handsome Walter Raleigh, who shot a wicked smirk back in her direction.

Ah, Bess, it has not been long enough since your cousin badly handled the queen for you to be thinking of Raleigh
, I thought.

As soon as the main player came near to the front of the stage, I could see who it was. Thomas! How had I not recognized him behind the paint and mask? I sighed with relief, reassured. ’Twas not that he was avoiding me; he had taken up a place as an actor. When he took his mask off along with the other players, everyone stood and applauded and he glowed in the triumph of having fooled them, for the moment, with his performance. Several glanced at me to see if I had been surprised, as indeed I had been!

Applauding loudly, too, but looking at Essex, was Sofia. She would not meet my eye, but instead made her way to the charming, handsome earl, who was not only the queen’s darling but, owing to the tragic situation of his mother, which brought sympathy from all but the queen, the rest of the courtiers. He spoke with her kindly, but it was clear she was more interested in him than he in her. The queen caught my eye with a sharp, warning look. I would have to speak with Sofia again.

The second night, we had arranged for one of the Queen’s Men to please her with a comedy, which she loved nearly as much as romance. Richard Tarleton, a witty jester, was one of Thomas’s greatest discoveries. Tarleton mimicked and mocked and strolled and charmed. When someone from the audience threw a phrase out at him, he was able to twist it to both tease the shouter and please the queen with his banter. From the second he poked his head round the curtain, the audience began to laugh.

Midway through the performance, the queen’s little dog escaped her grasp and ran upon the stage. Tarleton shrieked as the tiny spaniel came toward him, bewildered. “Majesty, Majesty!” Tarleton called out. “Please call off your mastiff or I am undone!”

Elizabeth laughed until she had tears, and at the end of his performance she said, “Take away this knave, lest he continue to force us to laugh in such an unregal manner!”

That night, after the guests had retired, I rubbed ointment into my husband’s back and told him he had done a fine job. “I should not but wonder that she does knight you for plays and jesting,” I said. “And that is not a bad service to offer to someone who is so often weighed down.”

“Perhaps not,” he said. “I know it is the way of things, but to see young Essex swaggering in his earldom does not sit well with me.”

I was weary of his complaints and I did not hide that. He was weary of entertaining the court, and he did not hide that, either. We kissed perfunctorily and separated for sleep.

•   •   •

Shortly after our entertainments at Sheen, our good friend Thomas Radcliffe, the Earl of Sussex, died.

I made my way to Mary Radcliffe’s chambers before I took my
leave to prepare for my lying-in. I greeted her, both of us wearing black, with a long embrace.

“I am sorry for the loss of your brother, my friend. The queen has so few good councilors, those who loved her long, and well, and put her interests above their own,” I said. “I shall send a heartfelt letter to Lady Sussex before I leave court and keep you in my prayers.”

Mary embraced me in return; though we were the same age, she looked older than I. Perhaps it was the loss of her brother, or the fact that she had no husband to comfort her in her sorrows. “She has spoken to me of his constancy,” she said. “As, one by one, her trusted friends and councilors grow old, and infirm, she will rely yet more upon those of us who remain.”

I took my box of herbal preparations with me and placed the queen’s jewelry into the close care of the Countess of Nottingham.

“They’ll be fine, Helena, don’t fuss so,” she said.

I thought upon who would carry the queen’s train in my absence; who would have to decide who could enter the queen’s Privy and Presence Chambers. In a very real way, I controlled access to the sovereign. Although I looked forward to going home, it would be untrue to say that I would not miss court, or my high place there, for the few weeks I was gone. I’d grown accustomed to, and enjoyed, being the second highest lady in the land, and the closeness to the queen.