The Poyson Garden (31 page)

Ahead stood the tall, ancient oaks where she had been caught in a storm the day her aunt had

sent that secret missive that began her quest for Desma Ormonde. It seemed so long ago and yet but a scattering of weeks. She did not feel half as free as she had thought she would with Desma gone. More than anything, Desma's words that her royal sister might at the last moment name another heir, a Catholic--Mary, Queen of Scots--haunted her.

"I can read your thoughts, Your Grace," Ned's voice interrupted her agonizing as he caught up with her.

She spun to tell him to leave off but watched, chagrined, as he climbed into one of the oaks and dangled upside down by his knees from the lowest limb. "Family trees," he shouted. "Nothing more upsetting or dangerous."

She just waved him away and shook her head. Never had she been less in the mood to tease or laugh. Though she had paid his uncle well and sent them on their way, she could hardly treat her own kin that way.

She heard hoofbeats before she saw the riders. A group of them, all men, galloped headlong toward her down the lane from the main road, their dark cloaks flapping behind them like ravens' wings. As ever--especially now--she instinctively feared the worst. At the last moment, when the queen heard that her plan to poison her Protestant sister had failed or that she had killed Desma Ormonde, had she sent guards to take her back to the Tower--or worse?

Ned came to stand beside her as Jenks ran up and scraped out his sword. Thomas Pope, huffing, hurried toward her. Meg and Kat were halfway to the distant manor house, swinging the empty picnic basket between them, but they dropped it. She saw them lift their petticoats and come running.

"Go into the forest, Your Grace," Jenks cried. "I don't like the look of it."

She shook her head and stood her ground. The one in front in this pell-mell band of men was Cecil, with Harry right behind him. And, broad-shouldered, her old friend Robin Dudley, whom she had not seen since her time in the Tower. Her stomach cartwheeled.

Boldly, she stepped out into a sudden shaft of sun.

Cecil almost vaulted off his horse and went immediately to one knee, with Harry kneeling close behind him and Robin uncovering his head and going down too. The others--several of her father's old advisers, two of her brother's, none of Mary's. She clasped her hands tightly and pressed them to her lips, waiting.

"Your Grace--Your Majesty," Cecil said, out of breath. He extended to her in his square palm the onyx coronation ring that left the monarch's hand only upon death. It glinted in the sun. Elizabeth stared wide-eyed at it, not moving, not daring to believe.

"Your royal sister--I regret," he said, looking up and biting back a smile that lit his eyes, "that she has sadly departed this life, this vale of tears, and left to you the throne and realm of England, Scotland--and Ireland."

Tears blinded her eyes, but she blinked them back and took the ring. Shaking, she thrust it on the fourth finger of her right hand. It was too big, but she would fast get it fitted.

They were all kneeling now, even her own people and a trembling Thomas Pope, staring up at her.

"This," she said in a clarion voice, "is the Lord's work, and it is marvelous in our eyes." She breathed in hard, lifted her face to the heavens, and smiled.

"Rise, all of you," she commanded, turning toward the house. "We have much to do. Cecil, I see now why you wanted me back at Hatfield, and I charge that you shall become my principal secretary and counselor."

"Yes, Your Majesty, with pride and--" "And purposeful ambition," she finished for him with a little laugh. She realized her head pain was gone for the first time in weeks. It made her almost light-headed as she began to stride toward the house.

"Dear cousin Boleyn," she went on to Harry as the men scrambled after her, dragging horses, "I have missed you, missed you all. Robert Dudley--Robin," she added and blushed as the smiling, handsome young man came close and managed to kiss her hand, even as she walked, "I shall need a Master of the Horse, and I have just the man to work for you, Stephen Jenks by name.

"Gentlemen"--she stopped for one moment and they clustered around her--"Hatfield is not a grand place, but I shall hold my first council meeting in the great hall yet today, where my royal parents used to entertain in their happy days."

She glanced back to where Meg stood between a grinning Jenks and wet-eyed Ned, while Kat sobbed into her apron. "All my people," she called to them, gesturing with one raised hand. "I have need of all. Come on then." She waited long enough to see Kat wipe her face and Meg take both Jenks's and Ned's hands to tug them forward.

Elizabeth the Queen began to walk briskly again, but she could have soared.