I laugh out loud. “I had not thought of that! What fools they are! To entrap themselves when they hoped to catch us.”
“Fools,” he says with the deep delight of a lover in the arms of his beloved. No one else matters, no one else is of value to the two of us, entwined in bed with the fire flickering on our half-naked bodies: “Fools in a foolish world, exiles from this, our joy.”
THE TOWER, LONDON,
SPRING 1563
Mary comes to see us, bringing me some fresh-baked little breads formed into the shape of men with currant eyes from the royal bakery for Teddy, her arms loaded with little gifts.
“Heavens, what are these?” I ask her.
She is laughing, spilling presents on the table. “As I walked through the city people recognized me and gave me things for you. I was all but mobbed. My guard is showing the lieutenant all the things that he carried, to make sure there are not notes among them.”
“Gifts?” I ask.
“All sorts of little toys and fairings. The people love you. Everyone shouts out to me that you should be released and allowed to live with your husband. Everyone in England thinks you have done nothing wrong and should be freed. Everyone—I mean really everyone—from the ladies at court to the sluts of Smithfield.”
“They call for me?”
“I think they would march for you.”
We say nothing, looking at each other for a moment. “No marching,” I say quietly. “Anyway—praise God that you did not take the smallpox,” I say, kissing her. It is awkward for me to bend over and she notices it at once.
“It would be large pox on me,” she remarks. “What’s the matter with you? Have you hurt your back that you are so stiff?”
I wait till she has hauled herself onto the chair and then I put my finger across her mouth to prevent her crying out. “I am with child,” I whisper in her ear.
She is wide-eyed in my grip until I release her.
“My God, how?” she demands.
I laugh. Mary is always so practical. “Since they found against us, the lieutenant has let Ned come to me most nights,” I say. “We bribe the guards and we spend all night together.”
“When do you expect the birth?”
“I am not sure. Soon, I think, within a month or so.”
She looks anxious. “Katherine, you must keep it secret, for everyone is speaking of you at court. The people who call for you to be free would go mad if they knew you were carrying another baby in here. They would storm the Tower for your release and the guards would throw open the gates. I think Elizabeth will be forced to name you as her heir, recognize your marriage as valid and your son as heir apparent.”
“Really? I know the lords are advising her to name me . . .”
“She attended parliament, and in the church service before the opening the dean himself told her that she must marry, in his sermon! Then both Houses told her, one after another, that she must name her heir. They won’t tolerate a deathbed nomination of Robert Dudley. She has gone too far now. She has lost the loyalty of the lords and the parliament by that mistake. She spoke to the lords in council very fair, and told them that it must be her choice, and they told her flatly that she must marry and make an heir or name one, that they wouldn’t be commanded by her passions.”
I gasp at her. “They never said that!”
“I can’t begin to describe the scenes at court. She summoned Henry FitzAlan, Earl of Arundel, and he said to her face in front of all of us ladies that if she was going to be ruled by passion, then he and all the lords would prevent it.”
“He dared to say that to her?”
“He did. And he wasn’t the only one. Everything is different since her illness. I can’t tell you how much everything is changed. I think she feels that she betrayed herself. Everyone saw how much she loves Dudley. She put him before the good of the kingdom. The lords and her advisors think she has betrayed her country. Nobody trusts her now; nobody believed she would go so far as to name Dudley to rule England. Everyone feels she has shamed herself and let us all down.”
“What did she say to Henry FitzAlan?”
“She was so furious, she started to rage and then she burst into tears. You’ve never seen such a thing. We ladies didn’t know what to do. She was speechless with tears, and he just looked at her and bowed and went out and she flung herself into her bedroom and slammed the door as if she was a child in a temper. She didn’t come out for the rest of the day—but she has never sent for him again.”
I look at Mary. I am quite stunned by this description of Elizabeth becoming a furious child instead of a commanding queen. “My God, she has lost her power,” I say wonderingly. “If FitzAlan can scold her, she has lost her power over her court.”
“And Robert Dudley has none. Did I tell you that on her deathbed she willed a fortune to his valet?”
“To Tamworth?” I ask, remembering the man who rose up from his bed and went to guard the door without surprise or question, as if he had done it many times.
“On her deathbed,” Mary repeats. “So now everyone says that it proves that he guarded the door while she was with Dudley. She is completely shamed and Dudley too.”
“Nobody supports him for Protector of the Realm?”
Mary makes a contemptuous face. “Not one. Not even he speaks for himself. He says that Henry Hastings should be heir, but that’s only because they are brothers-in-law. Not even Dudley dares to claim the protectorship. It was the delusion of a fever, and it shows that the only thing the queen thinks of when she is about to die is leaving her kingdom to her lover and hiding their secret shame by paying off his valet.”
“And the parliament will force her to name an heir?”
“They won’t grant her the money for the army in France unless she does. They have her in a vise. She has to send money for her troops, and parliament will only give it to her if she names her heir—if she names you.”
“She can’t name anyone else?”
“There is no one else.” Mary’s eyes are bright. “I can’t tell you how many friends I have at court now. You would think I was six feet tall. Everyone is my friend and everyone has been heartbroken for you. I have dozens of messages for you. Everyone knows that it has to be you. Even Elizabeth. She will have to announce it any day now.”
I pause for a moment so that I can feel my triumph. “It’s certain, Mary? I can’t stand another false hope.”
“It’s certain,” she says. “She will have to name you. She has to name someone, and there is no one else.”
“And release me,” I say.
“Of course release you,” my sister confirms.
“And Ned, and name him as my husband.”
“She has to. She cannot put a woman’s whim against the will of the parliament. She has publicly promised that she will take advice, and name her heir, and nobody advises anyone but you.”
“Is she very scarred by the pox?” I ask, thinking of Elizabeth’s frantic vanity.
“She’s doing all she can to overcome it. She has only a few marks on her face and she’s painting them out. They cut her hair when she was in the fever, so she’s wearing a wig of red horsehair. But she looked well when she went to parliament in her scarlet robe trimmed with ermine. One or two said that she looked so young and healthy she could give them an heir next year if only she would marry now.”
“But she’ll never marry at their bidding,” I predict.
Mary shakes her head. “I would swear that if she can’t have Robert Dudley, she’ll never take anyone. Most people think she showed that herself, naming him as her heir.”