All the Sweet Tomorrows (96 page)

Lettice Knollys’s amber eyes narrowed in contemplation. “Methinks you know well the ways of a man and woman, Conn O’Malley, but I suspect that you need some schooling in the refinements. Come and see me when you’ve gotten what you want from my cousin, the Queen. It would be my pleasure to instruct you thoroughly in
les arts d’amour.”

“M’lady will never have a more willing pupil, I can assure you,” Conn proclaimed, and then he let his eyes drop to her bosom. Slowly he feasted himself upon the lush display of ripe flesh, and then taking her hand, he kissed the palm and the pulse.

Lettice shivered with delight. “Devil!” she hissed.

“Conn!”
Skye pulled her brother away from his amorous dalliance. “The Queen has finished eating, and ’Tis time for us to present ourselves.”

Elizabeth Tudor had indeed finished her meal, and left the table to sit in a comfortable chair that gave her a full view of the room. In the minstrels’ gallery above, the musicians were beginning to tune their instruments, and many of the guests had also left the tables to stroll about the floor greeting each other while the servants cleared the tables and moved them away.

Lord and Lady de Marisco, Conn O’Malley safely in tow, moved across the floor and stood before Elizabeth Tudor, awaiting her acknowledgment. The Queen did not keep them standing long. With a quick word to the courtier to whom she had been speaking, she turned and smiled brilliantly at Skye and Adam. Her sharp gaze flicked to Conn, and obviously liking what she saw, she favored him with a smile also.

“Majesty,” Adam said, “may I present to you my wife’s brother, Master Conn O’Malley.”

Elizabeth nodded to Conn pleasantly. “You are most welcome at our court, Master O’Malley,” she said.

Conn’s look was one of intense admiration. Kneeling, he caught at the hem of the Queen’s skirt and kissed it. “In Ireland,” he said in his soft, lilting voice, “they say ye are the Divil’s own daughter, madam, but having seen yer Majesty I must disagree. Thou art Gloriana herself, and I worship willingly at yer feet.”

Elizabeth’s mouth twitched at the corners with suppressed mirth. She was not so foolish as to believe his outrageous compliment was totally sincere and from the heart, but nonetheless she was flattered. “Rise, Conn O’Malley,” she said. “I want a better look at you.” He rose gracefully, and the Queen assessed him frankly. A very handsome lad, she thought, pleased, and quite eager to be in her good graces. A sharp Irish wit and tongue, she had not a doubt. Ah, how she loved such rogues! “Do you dance, Conn O’Malley?”

“Aye, Gloriana,” he answered her boldly.

“Then you’ll open the ball with me this night, Conn O’Malley,” Elizabeth Tudor said, standing up and taking his quickly offered arm as at once the musicians began to play.

Sir Christopher Hatton looked crestfallen, for he had fully expected to dance the first dance with the Queen. The lad was no clod on his feet either, he observed, although he was not worried about losing his place to this young Irish upstart.

“They come and they go, the dancing masters,” murmured a satisfied voice in his ear. “I wonder how long the bog trotter will last.”

“It’s been a while since she’s confined all her attention to you also, Dudley,” Sir Christopher returned. “The Queen, being a woman of intellect and refinement, likes choice and variety in those about her. You bored her to death long ago.”

“They’re worse than jealous women,” Adam said low to Skye.

“She plays them off against each other so none will ever gain ascendancy over her,” Skye said softly.

“An astute judgment, madam,” said William Cecil, who without their knowing it had come up behind them.

“Dammit, m’lord, you walk like a cat!” Skye said irritably.

Lord Burghley gave a dry chuckle. “A talent that has stood me in good stead on many an occasion. You need have no fear, madam, as long as your intentions toward England are honorable.” He gently took her arm. “Will you both come with me?”
he asked. “I have something to say to you that requires privacy.”

They walked with him from the room where the revels were being held, and out into the deserted corridor. “What is it you have to tell us, my lord?” Skye said.

William Cecil stopped, and looking around to ascertain that they would not be overheard, he spoke. “The Queen wishes you to know that should she find your brother worthy of her trust, Lady de Marisco, then the patents that he desires for your family will be forthcoming in a few months. For now, her Majesty wishes Conn O’Malley to remain with the court so she may judge his worth. After Twelfth Night, however, you and Lord de Marisco are to be excused from court to go to your new home at Queen’s Malvern. You are forbidden for the next few months from traveling to France. Is that understood?”

Skye nodded. “May I tell my brother, my lord?”

“No. It is better he not know for now.”

Adam agreed. “Aye, my love. If Conn feels his goal is not yet attained he will continue to be on his best behavior. It would not do,” he finished with meaning, “for Conn to feel free of all restraints.”

“Yes,” Lord Burghley replied. “Her Majesty should be most displeased should the young O’Malley divert his attentions from her to say, ah, the Countess of Essex.”

“Is there anything you don’t see, my lord?” Skye said, amused.

Again the dry chuckle. “Very little, madam, very little indeed.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I would be pleased, madam, if when we return to the revels you would honor me with your first dance.”

“Honor you, my lord? I think it is you who honor me,” Skye said.

Lord Burghley smiled his sour smile. “You O’Malleys have charm, madam. I am frankly relieved to find you safely within the keeping of a loyal Englishman again. We shall have to see what we can do to win over your young brother. I tremble to think of any of you loose upon England again.”

“There was a day not long ago, my lord, when you had cause to tremble,” Skye rejoined. “I shall keep the peace if England does. The treachery has never been on my part, and well you know it.”

“Come, madam,” William Cecil said, pretending to ignore her words. “Both the night and I grow older by the minute.”

Then the Queen’s Secretary of State led Skye back into the paneled chamber where the musicians were playing a sprightly tune. The Queen was still favoring young Conn, and he partnered her with grace and charming devotion; but everyone’s attention was diverted from Elizabeth Tudor and her latest swain by the sight of William Cecil dancing gaily with the beautiful Lady de Marisco. It was very rare that the Queen’s loyal and dour servant was seen to dance, and no one in the room that night could remember him ever dancing with anyone other than his wife or the Queen.

“I think you have made me the envy of all in the room, my lord Burghley,” Skye laughed.

“Nonsense,” Cecil chuckled. “It is I who am to be envied, madam.”

“You have caused an outrageous amount of gossip by your behavior, my lord,” Skye teased him. “They will spend days trying to decide why you have danced with me when everyone knows your habit is not to dance.”

“Yes,” Lord Burghley murmured, “they will wonder, won’t they?”

“Why, you have done it on purpose,” Skye said, delighted by his unlikely attitude.

“Yes, madam, I have. It is better that none, even yourself, madam, be too sure of William Cecil.”

“You have one constant, my lord, that all may be sure of.”

“Indeed, madam, and what is that?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Your loyalty to the Queen, my lord. That will never change.”

Cecil nodded. “You are right, Skye O’Malley. My loyalty to Elizabeth Tudor will never change, nor will it cease, and now, madam, I will return you to your devoted lord. I thank you for the dance. It has been a long time since I allowed myself such a frivolity.”

With a gallant bow he handed her over to her husband, and Skye watched as he moved off back to the Queen’s side. Adam smiled down on her from his great height. “You will be both envied and feared by almost everyone in this room for the rest of your stay at court,” he noted.

She smiled back at him. “There are few here I should care to call friends.”

“Then I know it will not displease you that we are not to follow the court now that we are back in England.”

“No, it does not displease me. I would like at least one of my children to have a secure home with both parents.” She sighed. “Home. I wonder what it will be like, Adam. Is the midsection of England beautiful, or is the Queen punishing us?”

“I have only been in the Midlands once, Skye, but it is a fair green land of well-watered valleys and rolling hills. It is, I think, probably the most peaceful place in England. I suspect the Queen has been kind in her way.”

Skye remembered his words some three weeks later as they sat astride their horses looking down upon their new home. It was a cold, clear day in the middle of January. The sky was smooth and bright blue, the sun sharp and yellow. The land lay brown and quiet in the sparse and frugal warmth of midday. Above them a small flock of pigeons whirled softly.

Queen’s Malvern was set like a small, perfect jewel in a little valley that nestled in the Malvern Hills between the Severn and the Wye rivers. The house, built in the shape of an E, had been constructed a hundred years earlier, during the reign of Edward IV, and his wife, Elizabeth Woodville. It had been Edward’s gift to his wife, hence its name, Queen’s Malvern. Throughout all its years, it had remained a royal property. Now it belonged temporarily to the de Marisco family, a gift from Elizabeth Tudor.

Built of mellowed pink brick, some of its walls ivy covered, it sat silently awaiting its new owners. As they rode down the hill to the house Skye felt that the building had an almost expectant air about it, and she thought to herself: We are alike this house and I. We both need each other. It suddenly came to her that no family had ever really inhabited the place. It had always been a royal residence, to be visited during a progress if its owners happened to be in the neighborhood. Still, as they approached it she could see with her critical eye that the house appeared to be in good repair. The diamond-paned windows were dirty, but unbroken.

As they reached the main entrance of the building it opened and a small man emerged. “Be ye Lord de Marisco?” he asked politely.

“I am Adam de Marisco,” came the reply.

“I’m Peter, the bailiff, m’lord. Welcome to Queen’s Malvern. Ye’ll find the house in good condition, but there ain’t much in the way of furnishings, being the royalty always carried their things with them. There’s a good cabinetmaker in the village, should ye need him.”

Their horses had come to a halt, and Adam said, “We left our family and things in Worcester while we came on to see the house, Peter. Though we have much, I am sure my wife will make use of the cabinetmaker.”

Peter bobbed his head in acknowledgment of Adam’s words. “Then I’ll be on my way home, m’lord. The wife and I occupy a little house on the edge of the property. If you need anything we’ll be there.”

“We will need servants,” Skye spoke. “Tell the village that anyone wishing to enter service should come tomorrow morning.”

“Aye, m’lady! There’s many that’ll be happy to hear that news.” He bobbed his head again, and then shuffled off out of sight around the side of the house.

Adam dismounted his horse and tied it to a nearby bush. He then helped Skye to dismount and secured her mount, too. For several long minutes they stood looking at the house, and about them, each caught up in their private thoughts. As much as he had loved Lundy, Adam had to admit to himself that this beautiful estate was a better and more fitting place for his wife and child. He felt a great contentment as he looked about him.

Skye gazed at the house and thought: This is the first home that belongs to Adam and me. Lundy and Belle Fleurs are his, Greenwood mine, Lynmouth Robin’s; but this is ours, and I am at last free of all my responsibilities to the O’Malleys. She smiled thinking about how the Queen had made a decision for her that Skye hadn’t thought she would be able to make herself. Before they had left London Elizabeth Tudor had suggested to Skye that she appoint her full brother, Michael O’Malley, to the office of the O’Malley, head of the clan.

“But he’s a priest,” Skye had protested. “I often think that one of the reasons he became a priest was to avoid being the O’Malley.”

“That was when he was a boy,” the Queen replied. “I understand from the Spanish ambassador that the Pope intends to appoint your brother to the bishopric held by that old reprobate, your late uncle. The Church doesn’t appoint men who avoid responsibility to high places, madam. If the Pope thinks highly of your brother you can think no less. None of your other brothers will ever be fit to hold the office, I suspect from what Master Conn has told me. Let the priest run the family, and pass on the office to one of his nephews eventually. He’ll not necessarily
pick the eldest, and they’ll all have to scramble to gain his approval.”

“I had thought that perhaps Conn would suit,” Skye mused.

“Hah!” The Queen’s bright eyes snapped with amusement. “Conn O’Malley is an ambitious man, madam. He seeks to make his fortune here in England. I will shortly appoint him to my Gentlemen Pensioners. There is always room for another handsome young man.”

Skye was astounded.
“Conn?”
she gasped. “A member of your personal guard?”

“Aye,” Elizabeth replied. “He’s a rogue, ’tis true, madam, but he has a good heart, I’ve found. Be sensible, my dear. Your brother is. What is there for Conn O’Malley in Ireland? Not only is he the youngest son, he is the youngest child of your father. He has neither lands nor wealth to recommend him. He must make his own fortune, and what better place to make it than here in my service?”

She had known that the Queen was right with regard to her brother, and after she had spoken with him Skye decided to do as the Queen suggested and make Michael O’Malley the head of the family. The Queen had made it very clear that she would no longer tolerate Skye in such a position of potential power; power that could be used against her.