The other queen

1569, MAY, WINGFIELD MANOR: BESS

They can’t dine here,” I say flatly.

My husband the earl raises his eyebrows at me and I realize that my anxiety has put the twang of Derbyshire back in my voice. “I am sorry, my lord,” I say rapidly, “but they cannot dine here. You should not have ridden with them. You should have told them to ride on by. You should have brought her straight home as soon as you saw them.”

He looks at me as I might look at a recalcitrant maid. “These are my friends,” he says carefully. “Fellow lords of England. Of course my door is open to them. I would be shamed not to welcome them to my home. My door is always open to them.”

“I don’t think that Cecil—”

His face darkens. “Cecil does not have the command of my house, of any of my houses,” he says. “I shall entertain my friends as I wish and my wife will show her good will to them.”

“It’s not a matter of good will,” I say. “It is not even a matter of my obedience. It is a matter of the safety of the Queen of Scots. What is to prevent their passing information to her? What is to prevent their plotting with her? What is to stop them riding off with her?”

“Because they are my guests,” he says carefully, as if I am too stupid to comprehend normal speech. “It is a matter of honor. If you can’t understand this, you understand nothing about me and my world. Bess, your third husband, St. Loe, was a gentleman even if the others were not. You must know that no gentleman would plot against another while breaking his bread.”

“They are probably besotted with her,” I say, irritably. “Like half the fools in England.”

“She is to marry the Duke of Norfolk,” he says, his voice very calm and measured in contrast to my sharp tone. “She is to marry him and return to her kingdom as queen. Her future is assured; there is no need for her to plot and escape.”

“Perhaps,” I say doubtfully.

“She will be restored. Percy told me himself. It has been agreed with the Protestant lords of Scotland. She is to guarantee their safety and that of the Protestant faith. In turn she will take the Mass in private. The Protestant lords of Scotland are prepared to have her back if she is a married woman, as a queen with a king consort of their own faith, of undeniable nobility, fortune, and strength. They believe that Thomas Howard will bring a safe alliance with England and will make a great king consort for Scotland. They planned this with Howard last year at York. And they think he will keep her in order and get another son on her.”

I am silent, thinking quickly. “And has our queen agreed to all this?”

His hesitation tells me everything.

I knew it! I knew no one had dared to tell her. She hates weddings and marriage and anything that takes her court away from her. To tell the truth, she hates not to be the center of attention, and a bride on her wedding day must rival even the Queen of England. And I swear on my life that she would never agree to see her own cousin Thomas Howard jumped up to be a rival king! Howard has always been a difficulty for her; she has never loved him as a cousin; she has always envied him his pride and his lands. She will never want to see him raised up so high. She will begrudge him his throne. I would put money on it—she would rather see him dead at her feet than have a son of his inherit her throne. This is a jealous queen, she never wants anyone else to gain wealth or power. She has to be supreme. She would never let her cousin, her young cousin, overreach her. From the moment I saw Howard’s letter of proposal I knew she would forbid the marriage as soon as she learned of it.

“She will never allow it,” I say bluntly. “And Cecil will never support anything which will make Howard King of Scotland. Cecil and Howard have been rivals for power for years. Neither Cecil nor Elizabeth will let Howard leap up to greatness. Neither of them could stomach him as a king.”

“Cecil will not rule this kingdom forever,” my husband says, surprising me with his authority. “The days of the steward in the master’s chair are done.”

“You cannot say that.”

“Yes, Bess, I can.”

“Cecil is far more than a steward. He has planned every part of Elizabeth’s reign; he has guided everything she has done. He is more than a servant. He has made England as it is today. He is her guide. Half of what she thinks has been taught to her by him.”

“No, he is not. And soon he will not be even that.”