The Spymaster's Daughter (50 page)

What now?
Frances wondered. “Yes, Majesty?”

“The Earl of Essex is altogether too young and unsuitable for a hero's widow. I forbade him to marry. And you, Lady Frances, must retire to your country manor and mourn for at least two years, after which I will find a suitable husband of rank for you…neither too high nor too low. Nay, express no gratitude; I honor your secret service to me.”

So, Frances thought, the queen did not know that her father had given Essex permission to marry her. Perhaps she would stop it. Her heart grew more lightsome, as much as it could this day.

The queen nodded to her subjects, who were both sad for Philip Sidney and happy that the hated Scots queen Mary had lost her head but a week earlier. They had lit bonfires and danced in the streets to celebrate. “It took three blows to sever her head,” Elizabeth murmured, her hand resting on her neck.

Though she did not explain her change of subject, Frances knew the queen was haunted by Mary's death.

“Three,” the queen whispered. “And her little dog crawled from her skirts to lie in her blood.”

The words were barely perceptible, so that Frances had to bend close to hear them. The queen seemed unaware she'd spoken.

“I did not order her death. My faithless councilors tricked me, and now all Catholic Europe comes for
my
head,” she said, her voice rising. After a deep, shuddering breath, she pressed her lips together and spoke no more.

Frances had heard as well that after the sheriff's men made Mary's death mask, her head was buried in a secret place, lest it draw Catholic pilgrims.

The carriage turned down Ludgate into Paul's yard. Elizabeth spoke again in a softly understanding voice, looking at Leicester. “As a woman, Lady Frances, I know that at times, in full youth, the
heart speaks louder than the head. Yet as queen I know that my duty lies, as does yours, in obedience to God's order of being.”

Frances nodded.
Not too high, not too
low.

The queen was speaking of her old love for Leicester, Frances knew, and that kept her from screaming out,
My heart is not with Essex, but with Robert Pauley
. She dared not say the truth aloud, dared not name her love, as Elizabeth did not. Were women made silent by their forbidden emotions?

The carriage stopped, and Frances, carrying her Bible, put one foot forward and then the other. Her heart was gladdened by the chance to pay due homage to Philip. She had not been the wife he wanted in life, but she would not disgrace him in death.

Her head high, she walked down the wide stone aisle of the empty nave. The queen went first toward the chancel arch, which was illumined by a thousand candles to chase the dark into the far, dusty corners. The rose window cast its many colored lights over the pointed arches and clustered pillars. To honor Philip, the Chapel Royal choir sang sweetly the solemn music written especially by the queen's composer, William Byrd.

Frances caught her breath at sight of Philip's casket before her. She stopped by her chair, feeling some faintness. Always when in need she looked for Robert, but this time she did not see him.

Now the endless procession of public mourners began. First came thirty-two poor men, one for each year of Philip's life; then nobles carrying Philip's sword, spurs, and armor; then high men of the guilds, the lord mayor, and many other dignitaries.

Amongst the nobles walked Lord and Lady Rich…. Stella, as Frances had known, would not ever miss the prospect of excited notice. Or was she truly mourning the man who had made her immortal? Frances would never know.

Frances sat, her head erect, unable to wish Stella gone. All who loved Philip, all whom Philip had loved, should be with him now, though his soul had long since departed for heaven.

She heard little of the service, the long praise of Philip's worth as a courageous soldier of England, his bravery in giving his leg armor to another, his generous act having made him vulnerable to the bullet that smashed his thigh and eventually killed him. She saw him again as he rode away from Barn Elms, hoping in vain to have left a son behind to keep his name alive.

She had lived so many emotions of late that she felt numb to more when she should have felt most. Her gaze wandered across the tombs of ancient kings along the far walls and lifted to follow the jackdaws and pigeons as they flew near the high crevices that held their nests.

Eulogy followed eulogy until, finally, the service was over and Frances moved toward her husband's casket to kneel, her hand on the crypt.

As her fingers came to rest on the cold stone, her discarded faith flooded back into her soul. Now that she loved Robert, she understood Philip's love, and her love of God was no longer blocked. The moment she forgave Philip, God restored her faith. She whispered what was in her heart, what she could never have said if Philip had lived. “I know now, sweet husband, what you suffered married to a woman you did not love and leaving your true heart elsewhere. Rest, brave Philip, at last.” She rose, her legs trembling. “Astrophel, dear star lover, I will bring your star to you at last.”

Retracing her steps down the nave aisle, Frances stopped next to Lady Rich, whose lovely face glowed even in the dim light. Frances held out her hand to Stella, who hesitated but took it, linking her arm with Frances's and returning with her to the casket. Frances had no words, so, placing Stella's hand on the casket, she gave Philip over to her, leaving her there. Returning to Paul's courtyard, she stepped into her father's carriage…where Essex was waiting.

He was magnificent in a silver breastplate and helm and held a sword across his lap. “Philip's sword,” he said, caressing it. “He gave it to me…as he gave you to me, dear Frances.”

She said nothing.

“The queen has called me to her,” he went on, his mouth set. “I will tell her that I will marry you immediately. If we wait, she will work her will on your father. I have seen it too many a time. My stepfather, Leicester, advises that she would forgive me quick enough…and you, though it will take her longer and she'll never accept you back in her service.”

Frances could scarce breathe at such news. “Yet, the queen…Her Majesty may send us both to the Tower.”

He laughed. “I know her well. She loves me and cannot have me from her. She keeps her youth in me.” He was still smiling. “She may threaten, but one tear from me…” His low voice trailed away, suggesting he was not as certain as he wanted Frances to think, as he himself wanted to think.

Frances knew that would mean all would be done in haste.

R
obert was at the door when Meg opened it to a knock. Frances sat before her sea-coal fireplace, yet was bone-chilled from the penetrating cold of London and St. Paul's.

Meg answered with the haughty air of a countess's maid. “I will ask whether my lady may see you, since this is her husband's funeral day.”

Frances called out, trying to make her tone normal, as her heart beat against her bodice. “Of course I will see Master Pauley.”

He was swiftly there, kneeling before her. “Robert,” she said softly. “I could hope for no better end to this day than to see you.”

“You may hope for better, sweetest.”

She saw then that he was dressed in a newly cut suit, richly embroidered, and wore a single earring. She gave a small, tremulous smile. “I have never thought to see you play the fine courtier.”

“Think it then, Frances. By the queen's order and own hand this very hour, I am made Sir Robert Pauley by Henry the Eighth's own sword of state, to honor my distinctive service.” He put a hand
to his burned cheek. “It is the real reason I suffered this, in hopes of having the right to claim you as my wife.”

“You could not have known….”

“I hoped…always hoped. It was my only path to you.”

“But I am asked for and promised—”

“I know Essex has sought your father's agreement, but the queen does not look kindly upon the match. In fact, she forbids it outright.” He took in a deep breath. “Her Majesty also kindly provided me with a small estate once belonging to a Catholic traitor. She has decided that I am more suitable than she once thought.” He grinned.

“An estate—”

His eyes shone and his scar nearly disappeared in his proud smile. “It will bring me an income that, while not large, is enough to care for a wife with the simple needs of a former brewer's apprentice.” He stood and held out his hand to lift her up, his eyes shining brighter yet.

Frances was in his arms, her head quickly on his shoulder, his mouth hard on hers. She half cried, half laughed, while he yet hungrily kissed her. “This cannot be happening,” she murmured.

“It can and it
is
, sweetheart.” His entire face smiled. “Come, we will haste to your father before Essex can escape Her Majesty's close attention. Walsingham
will
want your happiness on this day of all days.”

She was swept along the corridors, her hand in his, avoiding the shadows, seeking the light. Within minutes, they were passing the halberdiers and walking swiftly down the long office, lanterns aglow, past openmouthed secretaries toward her father's writing table. Walsingham pretended not to see her, and spoke only to Robert.

“Yes, sir knight, I have heard.” He handed Robert a pouch with a red seal hanging from it. “Here is the queen's appointment for one Sir Robert Pauley as secretary to her ambassador in Paris. You are to depart immediately…and alone.”

“No!” Frances cried out before she could stop the word. Elizabeth had worked her will after all. No lady of her court was to find the happiness that had been denied the sovereign.

Walsingham was not finished. “Here are also orders from me to report on the ambassador, who may be in the pay of Spain and France.”

“Sir Walsingham, I cannot accept the appointment—”

“It is not yours to accept. It is yours to obey, or rest in the Tower for your life long.” His voice softened. “I value you, Robert, but I value my family's good name more. Go now, before I call my guards and your skills are lost to me and to the queen.”

Robert half turned to Frances….

“Now,” Walsingham said, with real menace. “Do you want to ruin the lady Sidney's good name on the day her husband finds his last rest?”

Robert's hand reached for the pouch in Walsingham's hand, the orders for his posting and the end of his dream. “I will do what is best for you, Frances.”

“No, Robert,” she said, her voice trembling, a tear falling onto her lips, her tongue reaching to take it in.

He looked at her, his gaze seeming to see forever. “Remember what I said.”

She whispered, and though her father obviously strained to hear her, he could not: “Our love can never be conquered.”

Robert bowed to Walsingham, then to Frances, hesitating, his gaze memorizing her face, and marched back down the long room and out the door.

“My barge waits for you,” her father said, not looking at her, his dark-circled eyes on his many papers. “I myself will escort you home, daughter. You will marry my lord the Earl of Essex in one week's time at Barn Elms. Set your mind to it; you will have him and bring honor to our family….”

“Rather, Father,” she replied, her words bitter, “I feel certain such haste will confirm my disgrace.”

February 24

B
ARN
E
LMS

I
t was a small, very quiet wedding. Until the final words were spoken, Frances was never quite sure that the queen would not send her royal guards to break down the door and stop it. She did not. When she wished to know nothing, she made nothing truth. Everyone—Walsingham, Essex, and all who knew—agreed the queen would soon forgive her handsome young favorite.

As Frances repeated her vows, it was to the remembered image of Robert Pauley's face that she made her promises, though she knew he was on a ship braving winter storms on its approach to Calais on the French coast. She spent the wedding feast treasuring again every moment that they had spent together…and most especially in the secret knowledge that she carried his son below her heart, Robert with her forever.

She raised the cup Meg gave her and smiled at the guests, including Essex's sister, Penelope Rich…
Stella…
who was part of her life again. Above all she toasted her father's pleased face. Finally, she was the daughter he'd always wanted.

For herself, she would fill the empty days ahead with her son, who would be an earl, with all the privileges and more that his true father had been denied.

It would be enough, she knew, taking a deep breath. She would make sure it was enough. Their love would live on, every day to come, in their son.