Betrayal (16 page)

Forget everything you thought you knew about sea battles and pirates, because in Elizabethan times, war at sea wasn’t as clear-cut as you might imagine!

In the sixteenth century there were no naval uniforms, no press gangs (men who later forced civilians into joining the army and navy), and only a few purpose-built warships, which often doubled as privateer vessels. A privateer was a pirate who preyed upon the ships of one or two countries, as allowed by his sovereign in a letter of marque.

At this time, the Royal Navy was basically a random collection of privateers and armed merchants who volunteered to serve the Queen whenever it was necessary. Very often they weren’t paid unless they captured another ship, and then they received prize money for it.

Later in Elizabeth’s reign, Sir Francis Drake was one of the most successful of these pirates—with
investments from the Queen as well as many of her courtiers. The early Elizabethan ships were quite primitive, but the technology was evolving at a tremendous rate. And when the Armada came in 1588, it was thanks to the race-built galleons—designed by John Hawkins—that the English ships were able to outsail and outgun the Spanish.

In 1485, Queen Elizabeth I’s grandfather, Henry Tudor, won the battle of Bosworth Field against Richard III and took the throne of England. He was known as Henry VII. He had two sons, Arthur and Henry. Arthur died while still a boy, so when Henry VII died in 1509, Elizabeth’s father came to the throne and England got an eighth king called Henry—the notorious one who had six wives.

Wife number one—Catherine of Aragon—gave Henry one daughter called Mary (who was brought up as a Catholic) but no living sons. To Henry VIII this was a disaster, because nobody believed a queen could ever govern England. He needed a male heir.

Henry wanted to divorce Catherine so he could marry his pregnant mistress, Anne Boleyn. The Pope, the head of the Catholic Church, wouldn’t allow him to annul his marriage, so Henry broke with the Catholic Church and set up the Protestant
Church of England—or the Episcopal Church, as it’s known in the United States.

Wife number two—Anne Boleyn—gave Henry another daughter, Elizabeth (who was brought up as a Protestant). When Anne then miscarried a baby boy, Henry decided he’d better get somebody new, so he accused Anne of infidelity and had her executed.

Wife number three—Jane Seymour—gave Henry a son called Edward and died of childbed fever a couple of weeks later.

Wife number four—Anne of Cleves—had no children. It was a diplomatic marriage and Henry didn’t fancy her, so she agreed to a divorce (wouldn’t you?).

Wife number five—Catherine Howard—had no children, either. Like Anne Boleyn, she was accused of infidelity and executed.

Wife number six—Catherine Parr—also had no children. She did manage to outlive Henry, though, but only by the skin of her teeth. Nice guy, eh?

Henry VIII died in 1547, and in accordance with the rules of primogeniture (whereby the firstborn son inherits from his father), the person who succeeded him was the boy Edward. He became Edward VI. He was strongly Protestant but died young, in 1553.

Next came Catherine of Aragon’s daughter, Mary, who became Mary I, known as Bloody Mary. She was strongly Catholic, married Philip II of Spain in a diplomatic match, but died childless five years later. She also burned a lot of Protestants for the good of their souls.

Finally, in 1558, Elizabeth came to the throne. She reigned until her death in 1603. She played the marriage game—that is, she kept a lot of important and influential men hanging on in hopes of marrying her—for a long time. At one time it looked as if she would marry her favorite, Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. She didn’t, though, and I think she probably never intended to get married—would you, if you’d had a dad like hers? So she never had any children.

She was an extraordinary and brilliant woman, and during her reign, England first started to become important as a world power. Sir Francis Drake sailed round the world—raiding the Spanish colonies of South America for loot as he went. And one of Elizabeth’s favorite courtiers, Sir Walter Raleigh, tried to plant the first English colony in North America—at the site of Roanoke in 1585. It failed, but the idea stuck.

The Spanish King Philip II tried to conquer
England in 1588. He sent a huge fleet of 150 ships, known as the Invincible Armada, to do it. It failed miserably—defeated by Drake at the head of the English fleet—and most of the ships were wrecked trying to sail home. There were many other great Elizabethans, too—including William Shakespeare and Christopher Marlowe.

After her death, Elizabeth was succeeded by James VI of Scotland, who became James I of England and Scotland. He was almost the last eligible person available! He was the son of Mary, Queen of Scots, who was Elizabeth’s cousin, via Henry VIII’s sister.

James’s son was Charles I—the king who was beheaded after losing the English Civil War.

The stories about Lady Grace Cavendish are set in the year 1569, when Elizabeth was thirty-six and still playing the marriage game for all she was worth. The Ladies-in-Waiting and Maids of Honor at her Court weren’t servants—they were companions and friends, supplied from upper-class families. Not all of them were officially “Ladies”—only those with titled husbands or fathers; in fact, many of them were unmarried
younger daughters sent to Court to find themselves a nice rich lord to marry.

All the Lady Grace Mysteries are invented, but some of the characters in the stories are real people—Queen Elizabeth herself, of course, and Mrs. Champernowne and Mary Shelton as well. There never was a Lady Grace Cavendish (as far as we know!)—but there were plenty of girls like her at Elizabeth’s Court. The real Mary Shelton foolishly made fun of the Queen herself on one occasion—and got slapped in the face by Elizabeth for her trouble! But most of the time, the Queen seems to have been protective of and kind to her Maids of Honor. She was very strict about boyfriends, though. There was one simple rule for boyfriends in those days: you couldn’t have one. No boyfriends at all. You would get married to a person your parents chose for you and that was that. Of course, the girls often had other ideas!

Later on in her reign, the Queen had a full-scale secret service run by her great spymaster, Sir Francis Walsingham. His men, who hunted down priests and assassins, were called Pursuivants. There are also tantalizing hints that Elizabeth may have had her own personal sources of information—she
certainly was very well informed, even when her counselors tried to keep her in the dark. And who knows whom she might have recruited to find things out for her? There may even have been a Lady Grace Cavendish, after all!

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And here have I another daybooke and five fine new quill pens from the feathers of one of the geese, and the Queen has given me a new bottle full of ink, made with crystal and chased with gold, and it has a stopper that locks. She gave it me on condition I do no more writing when wearing my white damask gown. Not even if I am very careful. We have unpicked the piece that somehow got ink upon it and put a new piece of white damask in—I think it looks very well, though Mrs. Champernowne grumbled that the colour was a little different.

I am writing this as I sit upon a big chest full of
clothes, wearing my black wool kirtle, which will take no harm from ink at all, so fie on you, Mrs. Champernowne.

Olwen, Lady Sarah’s tiring woman, is trying to pack all Sarah’s little pots of face paint and unguents, but Lady Sarah keeps unpacking them again. She has a new spot on her chin, and she is searching for an ointment her mother gave her yestereven—of goose fat with a burnt mouse’s tail mixed in it—sovereign against all blemishes.

Mary Shelton is nibbling at some gingerbread and watching. “Did you never think that perhaps it is all the creams and elixirs you use that give you so many spots, Sarah?” she just asked.

Sarah only tossed her head and made a “
Ptah!
” noise, though I think Mary has a point.

When we leave the Oxeys’ house, the Court will move to Kenilworth, which is my lord the Earl of Leicester’s chief residence—the Queen gave it him five years ago. It is very exciting—my lord of Leicester is Master of the Queen’s Horse and her best friend and he organizes all the revels and processions and ceremonies for the Court and so we are looking forward to wonderful entertainments at his own residence. My tumbler friend Masou will be performing. He has already gone ahead to make ready.

I love being on progress. Although it is tiresome to have to share a chamber with all five of the other Maids of Honour. Lady Sarah constantly fusses over her face paint—of course, I am used to that—and bickers with Lady Jane Coningsby. Carmina Willoughby and Penelope Knollys gossip incessantly like noisy geese. And Mary Shelton, with whom I share a bed, snores most horribly and keeps me awake half the night. Nevertheless, even if it were not a way for the Queen to see her people, feed the Court at the expense of her nobles, and allow the London palaces to be cleaned and whitewashed, going on progress would still be the finest way to spend the hot summer months when London is full of plague.

I don’t even mind all the riding from one house to another with the rest of the Court cavalcade, because all of us Maids of Honour ride nice steady amblers and we each sit behind a groom on pillion seats. Lady Jane Coningsby, who is a good rider, complains that it is too tedious for words, but I feel much better with another controlling the horse. Somehow, whatever I ask a horse to do, I find it always does the opposite.

The Queen says I am too soft with my horse and do not make it obey me, and that is why my mounts
always act so froward and unseat me—or run away with me!

Lady Sarah is now squinting to put on her spot cream by the light of one small candle. As her creams usually do, it smells very nasty despite having heal-all pounded into it as well as the mouse-tail ashes.

My dear friend Ellie, the laundrymaid, just went by with her arms full of sheets and rolled her eyes at me over Sarah. One of the best things about being on progress is that I can borrow Ellie from the laundry and have her with me as my unofficial tiring woman. She is currently making herself useful by helping Olwen pile the sheets into chests, while Olwen mutters to herself, “Wherefore six sheets and nine smocks and every one of them used? Ah, bless you, Ellie, they can all pack here, look you, and then we shall have space for the pillowcases. …”

One of the men from the Removing Wardrobe of Beds has begun to take down the bed curtains. Usually they wait until we are all gone but they want to be off soon. The Removing Wardrobe has two sets of everything, so while we are in Kenilworth they will be going to our next destination and setting everything up again ready for the Queen.

Now the other two men are on ladders, unpegging
the tester-frame and the posts, and carrying bed parts through the passageways and out into the courtyard. I can see the carts waiting by torchlight, with the horses still munching in their nosebags and stamping their huge hairy feet.

The Queen’s Chambers are the last to go. The men always wait until she is gone before they start dismantling them and taking down the frames of brocade from the walls. When everything is ready we will go and attend upon her. Oh, no, not again! Sarah picked up another pot—with ground talcum in it this time—and a swansdown puff to carefully powder the end of her nose.

“Will you kindly be giving me that, my lady?” Olwen snapped, picking up the pot and holding her hand out for the puff. “You shall be late for attending upon Her Majesty, look you. …”

“But my nose is all shiny again,” Sarah said with a pout. “I’ll just—”

Olwen has just tutted and nipped the swansdown puff out of Sarah’s fingers, because Mrs. Champernowne, Mistress of the Maids, has come bustling in.

“Where are the Maids of Honour?” she is saying. “Come along with you, now. You should have been ready to attend Her Majesty ten minutes ago!”

And so I must put my beautiful new daybooke and my penner away in my embroidery bag to attend the Queen—I wonder what she will be like today. She hates mornings but she loves progresses, so it is like tossing a coin.