The next morning, I still felt sick to my stomach. I’d saved Dudley’s life, plotted Amy’s death, and now had Cecil to face. When Rosemary helped me dress, I asked her to not lace me so tightly. It couldn’t be good for the baby.
After Lady Clinton and I had dressed Elizabeth in a gown of nut brown brocade with sleeves slashed with pink and a headpiece covered in pink beads and small shells, I lightly touched Elizabeth on the wrist. She stopped, stunned. No one touched the Queen. She did all the touching. I waited until Lady Clinton had left, then I collapsed at the Queen’s feet, my skirts billowing out like Marilyn standing over the city grate. I looked up into Elizabeth’s concerned face and realized how much I respected this woman. She would help me.
“Please, Your Majesty, there is no one I can turn to but you. I know you are petitioned every day for Your Majesty’s grace and wisdom, but now I find myself one of these helpless beings who falls at your feet.”
Her hand rested lightly on my head, spreading warmth down my neck and across my shoulders. God, I was hungry for touch of any kind. Elizabeth lowered herself gracefully into her chair. “Pray tell us what has brought you to this state.”
“Lord Cecil is your Spirit, Robert Dudley your Eyes, and you have named me your Spark. Well, this spark is about to be dimmed too greatly to ever be relit.” I swallowed hard. “Ma’am, Lord Cecil suspects me of something almost too horrid to even speak out loud, but I must. My lord suspects me of plotting against you.” Something other than fear of Cecil crept up my throat and made it hard to talk. It was the very idea that I would do anything to harm this woman. I had already prostrated myself before her. I would not cry as well, so I rose up onto my knees and straightened my dress around me. Both of us could see that my hands shook. “He says I’ve plotted with three men to harm you, and that if I do not reveal the names of the men, and the nature of the plot, he will use the Tower to extract the information.”
A hot tear slid down my cheek, cooling before I could wipe it away.
Elizabeth stood and graciously helped me to my feet. “My dear Spark, Cecil is our advisor, not our ruler. And if we say you are free from the taint of treason, he will have no choice but to respect that.”
I bit off a strangled sob, partly in relief, partly out of love for this woman. Then I took Elizabeth’s hand, pressed it against my heart, and placed my hand over hers. When the young queen’s eyes widened, I struggled to breathe through my emotions. “I know you do not require oaths of your ladies, but I say this to you now: I have never, and will never, harm you or your realm. I will be your faithful and loving servant for as long as I draw breath. I will accept no advice but yours. I will live for no voice but yours.” I released her hand and stepped back, only then meeting her eyes. They glistened as mine did.
“We are…” Elizabeth’s voice struggled, thick and tight. “We are deeply moved by this, Blanche Nottingham, and will accept your pledge without reservation.” Then she smiled shyly and touched my chest. “We know your heart, and we know it is good.”
* * *
When Elizabeth gave a summer party, she spared no expense even though her royal coffers ran low her entire reign. Out on one of the broad lawns between the courtiers’ apartments and the forest, she had men build a banqueting house of birch boughs and ivy. Stiff canvas painted blue with white clouds formed the roof. Underneath the canvas, rows of tables groaned under pitchers of drinks and platters of sweets and fruits. The most impressive was a menagerie made entirely of spun sugar—camels, lions, frogs, mermaids, and unicorns. The banqueting house’s open sides allowed the hot air to circulate, but there was still barely a breeze.
It was a beautiful day for a party, and I seemed to have acclimated to wearing all these layers of clothing. Women sat on stools and benches, while the men strolled among them. I sat off by myself, knowing that if Elizabeth needed me she would let me know. Meanwhile I held the collar I was supposed to be mending, only pretending to stitch by moving the needle up and down through the fabric. The saturated air settled over the party as if it, too, was exhausted.
Harriet’s job was to keep the dessert trays full, so she’d disappear now and then, returning with another full tray. After the third tray, I wandered close, pretending to study the choices. “How was the tart?” I asked.
“What tart?”
“The one still on your face.”
Gasping, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. We didn’t look at each other, but both chuckled softly. Ladies and servants didn’t share jokes together.
“Do you like tarts?” Harriet asked.
“I do.”
She picked up another empty tray with a devilish grin. “That’s good, because I am one.”
Now I did laugh out loud. I might have been stuck in the pregnant body of a bitch named Blanche in 1560, but at least I had Harriet to add spark to my days. The look Harriet tossed over her shoulder as she left reminded me so much of my friend Mary that, for a second, Harriet seemed a contemporary, a twenty-first century tease.
“Lady Blanche.”
I jumped at the male voice behind me.
“Might I have the honor of your company as I stroll around the edge of the garden?” It was Lord Winston again, my definition of a waking nightmare.
“Get stuffed,” I said. He was the reason I was walking around pregnant.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Leave me alone.”
Winston dug his fingers into my elbow so deeply I gasped as he pulled me away from the party. He had shed his cape, so I could see that dark stains rimmed the undersides of his billowing sleeves. The vest he wore sparkled with silver threads woven through the green.
When he felt we’d walked a safe distance away, Winston directed me to another bench. I sank down gratefully and decided to play offense. “Have you considered my alternate proposal, Sir Winston?”
“I have.” The man’s thin moustache twitched, and I could see that it had been dyed to better match his black hair. “And I have decided that as much as I want to harm Dudley, I am unable to harm an innocent woman.”
I tried to hide my sigh of relief, but my breasts gave me away by nearly popping over the top of my bodice. By the downward flicker of his eyes, Winston clearly found my sigh fascinating. “Then I guess we will have to think of something else,” I said.
Winston’s tight smile made me nervous. “No, I think not. Your plan is a sound one. But instead of one of my men performing the act we spoke of the other night, you will do it yourself.”
I lumbered to my feet. “I don’t think so.”
“Don’t be coy, Blanche. You are as capable of performing this act as the most ruthless man.”
I swallowed despite the lump of fear blocking my throat. “I cannot kill anyone.”
“You have all but done it with your plan. Sneaking into Cumnor Place and giving Amy Dudley a push down the stairs will be nothing.”
I didn’t need to ask what would happen if I refused. Winston could send me to the Tower as easily as Cecil.
God’s teeth. What the hell was I supposed to do now?
* * *
I rejoined the other women in the shade and picked up my stitching. Damn that Winston. I tried to concentrate, but thoughts of Amy Dudley kept piercing my focus. Amy must die in order to keep the time line intact. But what if Chris was right? What if I really wasn’t here, in 1560, but just playing out some weird fantasy in my mind? What difference would it make if Amy lived, or if Dudley and Elizabeth married?
None. I was either deeply mired in a struggle for the future, or I was boxing with shadows. I didn’t know which, and I hated that. I needed to talk to someone. Ray. I needed to see Ray.
During a lull in the conversation, I stood and curtsied, requesting permission to remove myself from the party. Elizabeth nodded, so I walked back to the palace and found Jacob in the guardhouse. “Jacob, darling,” I said. If flirting worked, I’d do it. “I was wondering if you could take me to visit Hew Draper in the Tower.”
Jacob stood, scratching his unshaven cheek. “I am sorry, m’lady, but my friend at the Tower was here sharing a jug last night. Said that your friend died yesterday.”
I exhaled and doubled over in pain. Jacob rushed to my side. “I am sorry to be the one to bring you the bad news. Is there anything you require?”
I stood, brushing away tears. “No. Thank you, Jacob, for telling me.”
I quietly returned to the party. Poor Ray. Transported back into the past, with no way to return. Now both he and Hew Draper were gone. I stitched quietly. Selfishly, it hit me that I still had no one to talk to.
After about thirty minutes of this, I snarled my thread so badly that I couldn’t keep going. “Hand it to me,” Lady Mary said. But when I tried to do that, the fabric snapped free of my hand and clung to my skirts.
“What?” I tugged at the collar, only to realize that at some point I had actually sewn it to my dress. “God’s blood. Today I seem to have hooves instead of hands.”
Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed, a welcome sound at the edge of the quiet party. Surprised, I caught the Queen’s mirth, and we both laughed until tears streamed down our faces, which helped banish, at least temporarily, my sadness over Ray. As we laughed, wagons rattled down the rutted King Street and several boats floated by on the Thames.
That’s when it hit me: Living in this century—or this corner of my mind—wasn’t so bad. The weather was similar to modern London. The Queen adored me and I think even depended upon me. Harriet kept me sane and grounded. I actually liked it here some days, even though the air was so moist my legs and arms were slick with sweat.
“Lady Blanche, how are you feeling?” Lady Mary gave me an insincere smile over her stitching.
“I am well, thank you.”
“It is just that you have not seen your courses for many weeks.”
The women around us gasped, and the Queen looked up from her card game with Lady Clinton and a few others.
I glared at Lady Mary. “Kind of you to notice, but they came yesterday.”
“Perchance you are lying, since your rags remain in your trunk.” The little sneak had looked through my things.
“Don’t ‘perchance’ me, Lady Mary. This is none of your business.”
“But it is ours.” Elizabeth’s chilly voice froze us all in place.
Fire truck.
The Queen waved her hands. “Be gone with all of you. We wish to be alone with Blanche.” I kept my eyes on the ground as the women gathered up their skirts and headed toward a knot of courtiers, and wondered how much leeway the Queen would give her Spark.
“Who is he?”
I stammered with guilt even though I’d done nothing. “I am so sorry, ma’am. I never meant this to happen. That I have disappointed you wounds me deeply.”
“You must marry this man.”
Marry Winston? Perchance when Republicans supported universal health care. “I do not wish to marry.”
“What you wish is of no consequence to us. You cannot remain in court unless you do. Who is he?”
“I cannot tell you.”
Elizabeth stood, becoming in less than a second the haughty, to-be-obeyed monarch that she was. I swallowed hard.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the brilliant flash of heat lightning that yanked me from Blanche’s body and shot me skyward.
Thank God. Now Blanche could deal with her own mess.