She accepted my praise with composure. ‘Once they stop gawping at me,’ she said, ‘or asking to touch me, or to finger my hair, they pay me no more attention than if I were a dog or cat.’
Every night, as I prepared for bed, she came into my chamber, to sing me to sleep and report on anything she might have learned.
Together, we made a list of my proposed suitors.
The Dauphin of France. Becomes Louis XIII of France, after the death of his father. Catholic.
Even I already knew that France was my father’s greatest ambition for me. When I was six, I had eavesdropped on the Harington’s discussing my marriage to the Dauphin, the son of French king, Henri IV, and his queen, Marie de Medici. Union with one of the two great powers of Europe. Negotiations with France had begun in 1603, as soon as my father took the English throne.
Frederick Ulrich of Brunswick. Protestant.
I was forced to include Frederick Ulrich. After befriending the wife of the clerk of one of Cecil’s secretaries, Tallie reported that the German prince’s spring visit had been unofficial. In spite of any overtures he may have made, there had never been a formal proposal. Therefore, his proposal had never been rejected. His mother continued to pursue the match. My father continued to consider her overtures.
Along with Brunswick, my father also flirted with everycrowned head of Europe, as well as an assortment of lesser rulers and a few English nobles. In the next months, Tallie smuggled letters, overheard talk or bought information, sometimes no more than unverified gossip or hints. Our list grew:
Victor Amadeus, Duke of Piedmont, son of the Duke of Savoy. His sister offered to Henry. Both Catholic.
Felipe, Crown Prince of Spain, son of King Philip III. Sister, the Infanta Ana offered to Henry. Both Catholic.
Frederick, The Elector Palatine. Protestant. Rumour only. No letter seen.
Edward Seymour. Protestant.
William Seymour, his brother. Protestant.
The Earl of Northampton. Uncertain.
Lord Howard de Walden. Uncertain.
The Great Cham of Tartary.
The Devil.
‘Don’t trouble yourself trying to find letters or other signs of love from the last two,’ I told Tallie. ‘My father speaks for them himself.’
I had expected her to be a good listener when I lent her to other companies of musicians to widen her freedom to roam Whitehall. I had guessed that she might have dog-sharp ears for gossip. But I wondered where she had learned her astonishing skill at smuggling portraits, borrowing documents and stealing copies of official letters. I ached to learn more about her than she was willing to tell. Questions quivered on the tip of my tongue every time she slipped another filched paper from her sleeve or fished a clandestinely borrowed miniature out of her bodice. But, remembering her anger when I had jested about thievery, I never quite dared to ask. Even with the hedgehog subdued.
In the early triumph of a successful hunt, I confused thecapture of names with a grasp on reality. As if he knew what I was trying to do, my father constantly changed his stated intentions, blowing hot, blowing cold, rejecting, pursuing, until the growing list of my suitors swam under my eyes.
Prince Otto of Hesse. Protestant.
Prince Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden. Protestant…
All of them possible. None yet certain. I began to feel more confused than when I had known nothing. Through Henry, I learned that even those closest to the king had difficulty keeping up with his ever-changing thoughts on my marriage. Even the subtleties of influence on him were elusive.
Cecil might or might not have influence. Carr very likely carried weight though he would undoubtedly echo his master’s choice. My Catholic convert mother, when asked, quite naturally favoured a Catholic match. I knew from Henry that several of the militantly Protestant German princes, including Brunswick, Hesse and the Palsgrave, or castle-holder, of the Palatine, were already pressing him, in secret communications, to become an ally in the threatened religious war on the Continent. My brother had entered into a war of wills with the king, threatening the king’s purpose in Europe by his vigorous opposition to a Catholic match for either of us.
Hot with satisfaction at having made peace between England and Spain in 1604 after forty years of war, my father had taken to calling himself ‘The Peacemaker King’ and announced his intention of mediating like another Solomon between the Catholic and Protestant states on the Continent. He would marry one of his two older children to a Catholic, the other to a Protestant. And until he decided how to arrange this even-handedness, he meant to keep me hanging in the balance.
I didn’t know even what language to pray in.
* * *
‘I’ve seen the Dauphin’s portrait,’ Tally reported one night. ‘It’s kept in full sight in the king’s lodgings, in his small presence chamber, which is difficulty enough. And the frame is too large for me to smuggle, even if I could manage to foist it. You’ll have to come see it for yourself.’
The king was away hunting at Theobald’s. Even when he was at Whitehall, he would never permit me to enter as far as his small presence chamber. When he was away, I would have no reason to try.
‘Only his close male friends are welcome there,’ I said. ‘How did you manage?’
‘The same way you will. I’ll tell you how when it’s time.’
From the gallery of the bowling alley tucked behind my lodgings, I watched the Earl of Arundel cast his ball. I listened to his shouts, and those of his friends, urging the ball to roll straight, and heard the pleasing wooden clatter of his direct hit. Then I heard a burst of male laughter.
Near the door, still wearing his travel cloak, the Seigneur de St Antoine waved his arms and mimed tearing his hair. Arundel and the others gathered around him, still laughing. The Seigneur staggered as if in despair. He bayed like a hound, then fell to his knees before his delighted audience, threw his arms around an invisible neck and passionately kissed the air.
Sir John Harington, my guardian’s nephew and close friend of my brother, broke away from the others. ‘You should hear this tale, your grace!’ he called up to me. ‘The king’s favourite hound Brutus disappeared last week from the hunting pack. His majesty was distraught, certain that the dog had been stolen. But then a few days later…’ He met me on the little stairs and offered his hand. ‘The Seigneur says that the beast suddenly reappeared in the pack as if it had never been gone.’
St Antoine leapt to his feet when he saw me, but I waved him back down to his knees to continue his antics.
‘Och, my sweet Brutus!’ he resumed in a fair imitation of my father’s voice. ‘Ye came back tae me! ‘Wheer’ ha’ye been sae lang?’ Kiss. Kiss. Then he mimed discovery and astonishment. ‘What’s this? What can this be, tied to yer collar?’
He stood up and resumed his own voice. ‘It was a stern letter to the king,’ he said. ‘Unsigned but reeking of Cecil… who else would have dared? “Come back to London, your majesty,” it said. “You are needed here. There’s work to be done."’
I clapped my hand to my mouth.
There was more laughter, but it had turned thoughtful.
‘How did the king take it?’ asked Harington.
‘Evilly! He was out of temper for the rest of the day. But he obeyed the summons like a dutiful schoolboy and has returned to London.’
The men exchanged glances. If I had not been there, I’m certain they would have said more.
My father must never guess the part I had played, I thought. In a boil of terror and delight, I saw myself again, Cecil’s clandestine agent, handing his secret instructions to the Master of Hounds. Then the delight faded. Once again, my father’s gaze would weigh me down. And his return might make it impossible for me to see the Dauphin’s portrait after all.
Two nights later, I sat in the Banqueting House at Whitehall, watching Henry dance with Frances Howard. She smiled shyly up at him, then looked down blushing, as if overcome by his nearness. When the set finished, he invited her to sit with him and watch the next dancers. As always, Henry was so civil and charming that it was impossible to tell what he truly thought.
I would not have recognised that demure, simpering creature sitting beside him as the cold-eyed knowing youngwoman I had dismissed, if I had not seen her lean against his arm as if by accident, so that the side of her breasts pressed against him. My brother jumped and blushed.
I felt another body settle beside me.
‘She has vowed publicly that she’ll have his maidenhead.’
When I turned my head to look into the Countess of Bedford’s narrow, pretty face, I saw only the intent to inform. No malice.
‘How widely is it known?’
‘Wagers are being laid in the guard room,’ she murmured.
‘At what odds?’ I felt sick with apprehension. Other eyes in the great hall were assessing my brother and his companion.
Lucy shook her head slightly, refusing my question. In silence, we watched my brother being urged on in conversation by wide blue fascinated Howard eyes. The breasts had retreated but hung provocatively, not far, promising another accidental touch.
I felt a tremor of excitement run through the big hall. My brother, widely thought to still be a virgin, had never been seen to favour a woman. I suspected that the same thought was in many heads, including Lucy’s. I was certain that it was in the minds of the Howards. The Howard family had put two of their women on the throne as wives of the last King Henry. The first one, the old queen’s mother, Anne, had almost wrecked England and paid for it by losing her head. The second one, too, soon lost her head.
As if reading my mind, Lucy leaned closer. ‘I never believed the old saw about “third time lucky",’ she murmured. ‘I think this one will bring herself down, just like the first two.’
I almost trusted her with a reply but merely nodded instead. Then Sir John Harington asked me to dance and I lost track of Henry and Frances Howard as we took our places in a set, joking quietly about the adventures of Brutus the Mystery Hound. As I emerged from the bottom of theset after stripping the willow, I saw Tallie waiting in the shadows of one of the tall wooden pillars. She made urgent eyes at me. I excused myself to my partner and skipped out of the set.
‘You go first,’ I said. ‘Then I have a new task for you.’
‘Plead a megrim! Now!’ She pushed me down onto a stool and laid a warm hand on my forehead. ‘Poor lady!’ she said loudly. ‘To come on so sudden. No more dancing for you tonight. Shall I help you to your bedchamber?’
She led me out of the Banqueting Hall, but not back to my lodgings on the Parkside. Instead, we went into a cool room in the nearby pantries.
‘Her grace needs quiet,’ she told the serving groom asleep in one corner, supposedly guarding the cheeses.
‘You may go,’ I murmured, taking up my part at last. ‘Mistress Bristo will tend me.’ I was certain I saw Tallie wink and slip the boy a coin. She closed and barred the door.
‘Now’s your chance to see the Dauphin.’ She shook out the bundle in her arms. A serving man’s livery in my brother’s red and gold.
‘Why so urgent?’
‘These clothes belong to Peter Blank. He’s waiting half-naked in a cupboard just down the passageway till I return. Put them on. Quickly! He must go back soon to St James’s with the prince… Pull the collar up!’
I could smell Peter’s scent on his shirt. Putting on the smell of a man felt even odder than the clothes themselves. I tried to glimpse my strange new male self in my glass.
‘No time for that.’ Tallie pulled me away.
Stumbling after her towards the king’s lodgings, in over-large boots and carrying a pair of candlesticks, I felt like a rustic clown in an anti-masque. I was certain my father would suddenly appear and yank off my cap.
‘Go set the candlesticks on the tall sideboard,’ said Tallie. ‘The picture is there.’
‘So are a great many people!’
‘They won’t see you, I promise, so long as you keep your eyes down and don’t bump into anyone.’
Heart thumping, I obeyed. By the time I had walked half the length of the room, I saw that Tallie was right. People see what they expect to see. No one looked at me twice in my groom’s livery. I felt my limbs loosen. I may even have swaggered a little in my over-sized boots.
I reached the sideboard, set down the candlesticks and snatched a hungry glimpse of the Dauphin’s dark, trout-like profile. I moved the candlesticks a few inches to the left, to buy more time to look at my possible future. Not only was he much younger than I was, he looked both melancholy and arrogant. I remembered Mrs Hay’s relish for the latest scandal from France.
‘You must never say that I told you,’ she had whispered. ‘I have heard that he often throws up his shirt to show his cock to all the court ladies, and then asks the queen and her ladies to tickle it. “Please,
maman,
tickle my
pipi!”
he says.’
I wanted to stare longer but could not risk getting Peter Blank into trouble. Or being recognised.
‘Did you enjoy being invisible?’ asked Tallie when I met her again in the passage.
‘Yes!’ I said with surprise. ‘I think I did.’ Even if I might have to marry a melancholy baby trout. Who might ask me to tickle his
pipi.
On balance, however, I thought I might survive him better than Frederick Ulrich. The Dauphin was a year younger than Baby Charles. I should be able to manage him. Marriage to Brunswick would warp me into a ghost, like my mother.
‘I would like to be invisible forever,’ I said.
I was almost asleep in my bed before I remembered to tell her to trawl for gossip about Frances Howard. I wanted toknow what her husband and his family thought of her behaviour and what they meant to do about it. I could not bring myself to ask even Tallie if she thought that my brother had ever bedded a woman.