Robert shrugged. “I’ve heard it said that Norfolk is particularly keen to keep this quiet, thus protecting Mary’s reputation from those who might otherwise be abhorred by her shameful conduct.”

At this, the queen sat up. I took the goblet from her hand; she handed it to me without acknowledging my presence. There was only one reason that Norfolk, who was rumored to be secretly practicing Catholicism while acting outwardly Protestant, had to protect Mary. He was plotting on her behalf.

“We will have the next meeting of the council here, at Westminster,” she declared. “And then Cecil will attend as well. We will not condemn a crowned queen based on hearsay.”

We women looked at one another, all thinking, perhaps, of Elizabeth’s mother, Queen Anne Boleyn, convicted and beheaded on whispers and a lone, pitiful, racked confession.

“I shall look upon this evidence myself,” she finished. Within weeks, she did, as did many of her courtiers, all of whom were shocked by the unsavory contents. To those gathered the queen sadly pronounced, “The letters contained many matters that cannot be repeated before honest ears, and may be easily drawn to be clear proof against the queen.”

She looked tired. In light of the findings, there was no way to receive Mary at court, but the queen did send clothing and finances and promised to underwrite her household expenses, which was no mean amount. It didn’t please her vanity, either, when her own courtiers seemed taken with the much younger Mary’s beauty and charm. After returning from a visit to Carlisle, one of Elizabeth’s courtiers told Cecil, when he was unaware that we ladies were nearby, “Mary has an alluring grace, a pretty Scottish accent, and a searching wit, clouded with mildness. Fame might move some to relieve her of her miseries,” he finished, “and glory might stir others to risk much for her sake.”

William told me that Norfolk had asked to take some of William’s birds on a hawking expedition he was undertaking with Maitland, who had once been secretary to Mary, Queen of Scots, but was now an emissary on behalf of the new Scottish government.

“Do you doubt Maitland?” I asked.

“I doubt him not at all,” William replied. “I am certain he is in the employ of the Scots queen and arranging with Norfolk for marriage between them, and then from there to rule England. Norfolk has already pressed the Privy Council to agree that Mary will be freed if she is safely married to an English lord. I’m certain he has just such a lord in mind.”

We talked for some time and then I grew weary. “Good night, William,” I softly said, preparing to leave for my own chamber. I’d felt increasingly odd kissing him knowing that he was still married, even though his “wife” had not spoken to him for decades and had left him for another man, and so I didn’t. He respected that but I know it pained him. He continued to treat me with the utmost respect and affection, and we spent time together at court, hawking, dancing, and studying Italian, but we’d grown distant. I sorrowed that, but I could not give my heart to a man I knew was not mine.

“Good night, Helena,” he replied.

We were in ginnungugap, the Nordic place of void and in-between. I finally determined that, should another suitor appear while William’s wife still lived, I was free to consider him. I had acted charitably and in good faith, but I couldn’t allow feelings for a married man to grow, nor set aside my own life forever.



SIX

Year of Our Lord 1569