The days blurred into weeks as the line of notches on my table leg lengthened. We were always required to be close at hand should Elizabeth want to do something. We all crowded into coaches when she wanted to go out and be seen by her people. We went with her when she watched a tilting or tennis match. Tennis in 1560. Who knew? And most of the time, Dudley was there with us. The center of attention most of the time, the tall, straight-backed man had an easy laugh. He sported a trim black beard and gray eyes that sparkled. Three times now, when the Queen was busy talking with someone else, he’d caught my eye and winked.
Robert Dudley, the man Elizabeth yearned to marry. I struggled to dredge up details from the books I’d read. He was not nobility, but he’d pissed off many nobles with his arrogant habit of inserting himself into decisions without being asked. He wasn’t on the Queen’s council, yet he acted as if he led it, as if being the Queen’s favorite placed his opinions above all others. He also acted as Elizabeth’s lovelorn suitor and she lapped it up like a kitten lapped cream.
Elizabeth’s eyes almost always followed him, no matter where the activity, and her face softened whenever he looked at her. Note to self: Do not encourage Robert Dudley. It would be an excellent way to get kicked out of the palace. Life was bearable only because I had food and a place to live. But if I displeased Elizabeth and she “fired” me, I’d have nowhere to go. Maybe I’d have to knock on Ray’s cell door and ask to bunk with him.
The more I encountered Dudley, the more I agreed with Cecil and Winston. The country didn’t need an ego-driven Master of the Horse swathed in ermine to be its king.
At least our activities involved movement and being outdoors. My least favorite time was sitting in the presence chamber, mingling as Lady Blanche Nottingham was expected to do. Being a courtier was like playing a card game without knowing any of the rules. Certain men smiled politely, others gave me such cold looks I even shivered once. Blanche had obviously alienated many people at court, and I was stuck with whatever she’d done. While the room hummed with voices and laughter, it also vibrated with tension. People were fearful of making a misstep, while at the same time hoping to witness the mistakes of others.
It felt a bit like the scene my roommate Mary and I used to take in Friday and Saturday nights at our favorite campus bar. Mary called it visiting the zoo, maintaining that if you spent enough time perched on the corner bar stools you could witness the full range of human interaction—falling in love, falling out of love, awkward conversations, money fights, jubilation, depression. Mary was a great student of human behavior, and I wish I’d paid more attention to her pearls of wisdom so I could better “read” this crowd of courtiers.
I’d been here long enough to know that the man in the ermine cape in his late thirties, who often bent his head in consultation with Elizabeth, was William Cecil. Elizabeth’s trusted secretary was also her spymaster until he died an old man. He might be someone I should befriend, so when he passed me early one afternoon, I stood and smoothed out my skirts. “Lord Cecil,” I said, my mouth dry. “You’re looking good this day…I mean, you’re looking well.”
No one had yet commented on my English, which would have sounded like a foreign language, but there must have been enough of Blanche still in this body for communication to work. I probed my mind gently but could not feel any mind but my own.
The man’s gaze chilled me to the bone. “Do not expect your wiles to work on me, Mistress Nottingham. Your father, the earl, was no friend of mine, nor the Queen’s. That your head still rests on that pretty neck is a surprise to me. Our Queen is generous to a fault.”
I forced a laugh. “Come now. Let’s forget the past. No hard feelings, whatever happened. Friends?”
Cecil leaned closer, so I did the same, imagining he could see down my gown all the way to my navel. “Step lightly, girl. You may find yourself up to the neck in quicksand and none in this room will lift a finger to save you.” In a swirl of brown velvet cloak, the man stalked away. Damn it. Besides the Queen, was there anyone who liked Blanche?
After he left I spent some time fuming about my gowns. They made women so dependent on everyone around them. Were I to fall in this gown, I would be like a turtle stuck on its back, unable to right itself. The stays and boards were too stiff to allow any natural movement. It struck me that the gowns were the sixteenth century equivalent of S&M chains and tight black leather. Apparently, restraint was erotic in any century, at least to some people.
Late afternoon of an endless day filled with stupid courtly activity, someone pinched the back of my arm. I whirled to face Lord Winston wearing an unpleasant smile. “We meet again.”
I scowled. “Another perfectly fine day ruined.”
Now his smile was real. “The more I disgust you, the deeper runs my desire. It has been six weeks since I took you in the park. I wish to do so again.”
Hell’s gates. I growled low in my throat when it hit me that he’d said “take you in the park,” not “take you to the park.” I didn’t know who to be more disgusted with, Winston or Blanche.
Winston dismissed my anger with a wave and leaned closer. “Why have you not sent me word? We are tired of waiting.”
I twisted free. “Dudley comes and goes from the palace without warning.”
“We must create the moment we want.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve decided to bow out, since—”
Winston moved in so close others might have thought he was about to kiss me, but I could see the flint burning in his eyes so knew differently. “You are not going to bow out, my sweet little cunt. What would the Queen do if she were to learn that her virginal Blanche could no longer be sold off to a bridegroom as pure? When I reveal what you and I have done, you will lose all prospects of an advantageous marriage. Your father’s debts have left you existing solely on the Queen’s good graces.”
“God’s teeth, you are such a prick.” One eyebrow shot up, but he looked amused rather than threatened. God, I hated this man. “I’m not going to help you murder Dudley.”
“Perhaps we will proceed without you, but you will be implicated nonetheless.” Winston bowed, a movement dripping with sarcasm, and moved to another cluster of courtiers.
I closed my eyes for just a second, willing the tableau to change when I opened them. It did not. I retreated to the nearest window bench and leaned back against the wall, welcoming the cool against my steaming back. When Vincent hopped onto my lap, I spread his ears out across my skirt and began picking out bits of leaves he’d picked up outside. I wished he could come with me when I returned to my own body, but that was impossible. When Vincent sighed with contentment, I sighed with boredom and a smidgen of worry. I had friends in Ray, Harriet, and, I think, Jacob, but none were as powerful as Lord Winston or William Cecil.
I flexed my hands and straightened my back. Hope. Don’t lose hope, Jamie Maddox.
I imagined that hope was a balloon floating by that I could reach up, grab, and hold tightly to my chest.