Queen of Ambition Page 3

  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.

  4

  A Ridiculous Entertainment

  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?”

  “Stuff and nonsense! Who will want to harm me in Cambridge? If in the whole realm there is a stronghold of support for me, it’s in Cambridge. It was the seedbed of the English Protestants. These young men are my subjects as much as any of their elders. They are being kept away from the plays and dissertations, but if they wish to participate in my welcome for just a few merry, lively minutes, why not let them? Robin here is not indifferent to our safety, or our dignity and position—or his own, either—and yet he agrees with me. Do you not, my sweet Robin?”

  The queen’s sweet Robin, very splendid in the gold-slashed crimson that was his favorite color scheme, bowed to her and to Cecil. “I trust none of them will be threatened, whether deliberately or by accident. If Your Majesty wishes me to take part in a playful sword fight—elegantly planned and carefully rehearsed, of course, and at a safe distance from your person—I am at your disposal.”

  I eyed Dudley doubtfully. I had on occasion had reason to be grateful to him, but I did not like or trust him and Elizabeth’s evident preference for him had often worried me—though, unlike Cecil, I suspected that she did not trust him either. Entranced by him she might be, b
ut Elizabeth was one of the few people I have ever encountered who could look at a member of the opposite sex and distinguish between attraction and reliability. She knew a dangerous man when she saw one. Which did not stop her from now and then making alliance with him against the gravity of Cecil.

  Like Elizabeth, Dudley now glanced in my direction. “Good morning, Mistress Blanchard.”

  I responded with another polite curtsy and Elizabeth, with a flick of her long, jeweled fingers, signaled to me to take up a position behind her chair, beside Kate Knollys. Obeying, I found myself looking straight into the faces of Cecil and Dudley. I observed at once that Dudley’s swarthy face was grave, but that his dark eyes were agleam with malicious humor, while Cecil, despite the controlled tone of his voice, was pale with rage, the permanent worry line between his blue eyes deeper even than usual. As for Elizabeth, I had sensed her mood at once.

  Elizabeth’s moods were so marked that sometimes they amounted to different personalities. She could be a queen with all the splendor of sovereignty about her—and then change in a moment to a vulnerable young woman whose elaborate gowns seemed too heavy for her. She could be a railing fishwife, an ethereal moon goddess, or a pouncing, bright-eyed cat, ready on the instant to play or to claw. The latter Elizabeth was the version that most exhausted and exasperated the dignified Cecil, and this morning, most decidedly, he was trying to cope with a mischievous feline.

  Even as I took my place, however, Elizabeth’s mood altered. The cat slid out of sight and the queen edged into the ornate chair in its stead. Suddenly, the royal plural was not a matter of form, but was being wielded like a weapon. “Master Secretary, you are not to think that we do not appreciate your care for us. But in this matter, you are overruled. This began, if we understand aright, as a students’ jest, and what Master Woodforde and his brother wish to do, is take the jest over, give it official blessing, and thus control it. If we forbid it, these hotheaded young men may think of some other jest, and perhaps then get themselves into trouble. No, let them play their little comedy, under official aegis. And now, gentlemen, we wish to be private with our ladies. I have not addressed a single word of greeting to Mistress Blanchard. Come round before me, Ursula. How well you look. The air of Sussex must suit you.”

  “Ma’am,” I said, curtsying again as I came around to the front of her chair. Then I inquired: “Did I hear the name of Woodforde mentioned?”

  “You did. What of it?”

  “Is he a smallish man, not very striking, who looks like some kind of clerk or scholar?”

  “We have not personally seen him,” said Elizabeth. “But he is a scholar, yes. He is employed as a tutor at Cambridge. Cecil?”

  “It sounds like the same man. I take it you have come across him? That is quite possible; he is at court just now,” said Cecil, and then, changing the subject in a smooth fashion which I recognized as a warning not to pursue the matter of Master Woodforde, he added: “My wife, Lady Mildred, has a message for you—a somewhat lengthy one, concerning Meg. When your hours of duty are past, you will find me in my study. I have my usual Richmond quarters. Please attend on me and we can discuss what she has in mind. It may take some time.”

  “But I shan’t release you until your duty is over,” Elizabeth said, smiling. “I have not seen you for far too long and in a day or two you will be setting off for Cambridge. You are to be sent there with an advance party of official harbingers, led by Master Henderson, to see that all is in order for my visit.”

  “That is why I was recalled from home so soon?” I asked.

  “It is, indeed. Master Cecil suggested that you should be included among the harbingers. You have always understood my requirements very well and your advice will be of value. Good day, Sir William,” added Elizabeth, coolly dismissing them. “Good day, Robin.”

  I had no opportunity to see Cecil that day, for the rest of it was spent with the queen. With her other ladies, I attended on Elizabeth while she held an audience for the Spanish ambassador, walked in the garden, and watched a game of tennis. Later, we sat talking and sewing together, but within call, while she spent an hour, as she often liked to do, studying books from her considerable library of works on history and politics. Then came supper, cards, and music, until at last, she withdrew with her ladies of the bedchamber and I could go to bed.

  But in the morning, Elizabeth had a conference with her Treasurer and I was free at last to seek Cecil out in his study. It was a pleasant room overlooking the Thames. Reflections from the river rippled across the paneling and the flat ceiling with its crisscross of narrow beams and its exquisitely carved and painted Tudor roses of red and white. The leaded window was open and from outside came the gentle tinkle of the musical weather vanes which were one of Richmond’s most charming features.

  Cecil rose courteously to greet me and came around the desk, limping. “Is it your gout?” I asked him with concern.

  “It is. No one seems able to recommend a cure. I try this diet and that, but my old nurse’s medicines seem to work best, though heaven knows what she puts in them. Since I’m the chancellor of Cambridge, I shall have to accompany the queen—indeed, I intend to get there ahead of her to make sure all is as it should be. Dear old Nanny has agreed to come too, and bandage my gouty foot for me. To her, I think I’m still the little boy she used to scold for getting his feet wet.”

  I urged him to sit down again and he did so but not behind his desk. Instead, he moved to a settle just under the window and sank onto it, hitching the hem of his formal dark gown up so that it would not touch his swollen foot, which was bandaged and encased in a soft slipper. He beckoned to me and I took the other end of the settle. Studying his face, I saw again how marked was that line between his eyes, and noticed that his fair beard was fading from flaxen to gray. He looked tired.

  “The queen,” he said abruptly, “has a brilliant mind. Her grasp of political theory, of the motives of rulers and the art of diplomacy, never fails to astonish me. My wife is an intellectual woman but Elizabeth surpasses her by far. Most of the time, that is. At other times,” said Cecil with feeling, “although she is now thirty years of age, a few months older than you, Ursula, she behaves as though she were playing games—chess games—with people as her pawns. She is doing it now and I am at my wit’s end to know how to manage.”

  “What is she like in the council chamber?” I asked curiously.

  “In council? She has a mind like a rapier. She makes her points like a swordsman thrusting. But the tone in which she makes them varies with her mood. And even in council,” said Cecil gloomily, “there are times when I think she is playing with us. You have been away from the court for some time. Did you know that she has revived that business of offering Robin Dudley’s hand in marriage to Mary Stuart of Scotland?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. The previous evening, while Elizabeth was reading, I had sat at the opposite side of the room with the other ladies, and in low voices, they had regaled me with the latest gossip. “But surely,” I said, “she doesn’t mean it.”

  “God knows what she means! I don’t think she knows herself. I can see the point of offering Mary a husband of Elizabeth’s own choice, yes. It would put a stop to the ambitions of Lady Lennox. She hasn’t recently mentioned aloud that she has a good-looking son who would be interested in uniting two descendants of Henry VII by marrying Mary himself, but I doubt if she has forgotten it. An uneasy prospect. What if they had a healthy son!”

  I nodded. “England would have a Catholic dynastyin waiting and the risk of a party gathering round it.”

  “Precisely, especially if Elizabeth goes on refusing to marry and produce an heir of her own.” Cecil turned away from me for a moment to stare through the window. He had given his devotion to Elizabeth and to the Protestant movement in a public way from which there was no retreat. The day a Catholic ruler ascended the throne of England, Cecil would have to flee or risk death.

  “Though even young Darnley might be better than a Spanish
marriage,” Cecil said as he turned back to me. “At least we have his mother here in England as surety! But what we need most of all is an heir of the queen’s body. Again and again, the council has pleaded with Elizabeth to take a husband. She fobs us off by promising to marry when it should be convenient. As far as I can see, it will be convenient the day after the Last Trump, and meanwhile, Mary of Scotland is her likeliest heir. Getting Mary married off to a Protestant with no royal blood would be an excellent idea. She’s welcome to Dudley! Except for the small difficulty that she has made it clear that she isn’t in the least interested in him—the queen’s horsemaster, she calls him—and Dudley has made it equally clear that he isn’t interested in her, and as for Elizabeth, well, if he did suddenly pack his saddlebags and announce that he was off to Scotland to seek his fortune, I think she would have him carried off to the Tower between two huge Yeomen of the Guard with his feet six inches off the ground. She’d never let him go! I don’t know what she’s about. Whatever game she’s playing, I don’t understand the rules. And now, my dear Ursula, we have this royal Progress to Cambridge University.”

  “I gathered yesterday that there was a … a difficulty.”

  “Difficulty!” It came out as an explosion. “I should think there is! This visit, Ursula, is a significant occasion. As you no doubt heard the queen remark, Cambridge was where the English Protestant movement began, the place where Martin Luther’s ideas first took hold. A visit by Queen Elizabeth means something—it signals very clearly that she and her council have chosen to be on the Protestant side of the religious divide. It has to be a success—has to be. And in the middle of all the preparations … !”