The earth crunched beneath the wheels as the carriage made its way through the iron gates. They'd returned later than intended, a delay caused by an unexpected downpour, but with no other engagements that evening she didn't consider it to be of any great concern. Perhaps, if she allowed herself to think about it, it might have actually been a blessing; the days were growing longer now, her mind becoming wearier as time seemed to crawl by.
The coachman pulled open the door to allow Elizabeth to step out. He'd steered the carriage as closely to the entrance as possible to save Her Majesty from the torrential weather, but no precaution could have prevented Elizabeth's hair from becoming soaked as she rushed inside the palace. Her outer garments were tended to as she shook the water from her face. She had to admit it felt good to be home after a tiring day.
"I wish to sup alone this evening."
"Yes, Your Majesty," came the reply before she retired to her bedchambers. Not that she ever believed she was truly on her own.
It's beautiful, isn't it? she thought to herself once she had arrived upstairs. She was watching the rain as it continued to wash down the sides of the building. It pelted the surface of the river, splashing into tiny whirlpools. The shower was coming down fast and hard, and it didn't offer any indication that it was going to stop any time soon.
"I suppose the city was in need of a good cleansing anyway," she mumbled as she gazed out the window, standing just outside the door to her bedchambers. She fought to erase the images of the countless infected bodies they'd passed on their journey back to the palace. How many had there been? It would have been impossible for her to count them, but she was certain numbers were increasing.
Not wishing to think about the disturbing conditions of London's streets any longer than she had to, she allowed her thoughts to drift back to the view in front of her. The long corridor that overlooked the Thames was dimly lit, now even darker as the heaviness of the clouds cast a shadow over the city. She stroked a tassel as she rested her head against the velvet curtain, her wig of fiery red hair now dried and loosely fixed on one side of her neck.
Being alone, she allowed her attention to drift as she admired the flowerbeds below, watching them drink in the water that fell from the sky. She was overcome with a sense of peace as her eyes glanced across the river. There was a particularly soothing quality about the way it moved that she couldn't avoid admiring. It was possible she'd never experienced anything more tranquil than the gentle surface of the flowing river.
"There is freedom in the water," she thought, as she considered its movements. Nobody told the river where it had to be, or what it had to do. It moved with the flow, and perhaps that was something a person could envy. Her people obeyed her—countless bodies bowing down at her every command through fear and worship—so why was it that she felt so restricted?
Perhaps she needed to consider the possibility that she'd never really known life. She could have anything—everything – she wanted, ordered for her without notice, so why did she feel trapped within her own sovereignty?
Her mind weary, she returned her focus to the outdoors as she watched her city absorb the refreshing downpour. She knew there was still some life in her, and while she was still standing nobody could take the beauty of nature from her. She was sure nothing could have disturbed her in that moment.
"Your Majesty?"
The voice had sounded from the end of the corridor. She quickly straightened herself, smoothing down the crease in her skirt. She tucked the loose strand of hair that hung around her face behind her ear and took a step away from the window.
"Lord Burghley?" she addressed the person who had interrupted her. He was a tall man with a nest of greying hair upon his head. "You will be aware that it is quite late. Is there some sort of problem?"
He scurried up the corridor until he was standing nearer to her. Elizabeth again straightened her posture, ensuring her dominance was asserted over him.
"Your Majesty," he spoke as he bowed. He hesitated slightly, having been unprepared to find her standing in the corridor and not in her bedchambers. It had allowed him no time for composure. He neatened his burgundy coat, allowing him a mere second to regain his confidence. "I'm very sorry to disturb you at such an hour, but I am afraid that I must announce that there has been word from Ireland that there are plans for another revolt."
Something told Elizabeth that she should have been shocked by this news, but she would be lying if she said it was not something she had expected.
"And this has been confirmed?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. The leader of this apparent revolt is said to be one Tibbott Bourke. I could not say how many men stand behind him, but I do not think we can afford to take risks. Of course, it is up to you what action is to be taken on this matter, Your Majesty," he added, fearing that he'd overstepped the mark in issuing his own opinion when it was not requested. He continued: "They say there is strength in his parentage. It is possible that he may have an expanding fleet."
"I expect you are right, Lord Burghley. To ensure the safety of my empire, something must be done about this. I will see to it that this Irish brute you speak of is captured and brought to London. I trust you will be able to inform Lord Bingham and instruct him to take the required actions?"
"Right away, Your Majesty." He bowed and started down the corridor.
"And, Lord Burghley,"Elizabeth said, returning her attention to the window, "make sure the boy is brought back alive."